Page 3 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

Hannah creaked open the door to the drawing room believing she may be the first to arrive since there was total silence. It surprised her to see that her mother and father were already seated at the large breakfast table. Evelyn smiled tightly and Vincent simply watched her approach.

‘Good morning, Mother, Good Morning Father…’ Hannah nodded to them both, scurrying to her seat.

Hannah felt extremely weary. The night had been later than a usual bedtime and she had been standing in heels for so many hours her feet were sore that morning. It occurred to her that the nervous energy she had pent up across weeks leading up to her debut all came to a crescendo last night and now she was crashing from the height of it all. Looking across at her mother, who looked a little pale, with dark smudges under her eyes, she concluded that she had to feel the same way.

As the butler pulled out a heavy chair for her and she took her seat, thanking him, her mother poured tea from an ornately patterned china pot, avoiding her daughter’s eye. Vincent took a brioche from the silver platter and took a large bite.

Hannah bristled with the tension in the room. Why was it that nobody spoke? It was rare for them to take a meal in absolute silence; usually, there would be inane chatter, but specifically the morning following her debut, Hannah had anticipated tripping over one another with exclamations and gossip. Certainly, there was much to be said.

Had it gone so terribly badly? Had she shamed her parents somehow? Hannah felt quite sick. She reached out for a honey cake to place upon her plate to signify normality, but she did not know how she might bring herself to eat.

Busying herself with the jug of hot tea, she focused on not spilling as she poured into her cup with shaking hands. The longer this silence continued, surely the worse the situation had to be.

In her mind, Hannah ran through potential misdemeanours she may have committed the past evening – perhaps she had been expected to smile more as she navigated the steps; it was possible they were disappointed by her amateur display of dancing with the Duke; maybe her mother disapproved of her running off to speak with Sophia when the Dowager Duchess had been present; or perhaps her parents had expected her to spend more time socialising within the crowd, as opposed to staying within the safety of her friends. She did not know, but the silence was unusual and unsettling.

Replacing the hot teapot back down, Hannah considered she might be able to initiate a conversation herself.

‘I am very grateful to you, Father, for my debutante ball this evening past,’ she smiled sweetly. Vincent did not meet her eye, simply pursed his lips accepting her thanks, and nodded once, attending only to the cake he ravished.

Hannah’s eyes zipped feverishly between her two parents, willing one of them to speak and when neither did, she tore limply at the honey cake on her plate, hoping nobody would notice that she put none of it in her mouth.

Vincent gulped down the last of his cake, sat up decisively, and cleared his throat with a demonstrative air. Hannah saw her mother steal a brief unnerved glance at him.

‘Daughter,’ Vincent addressed her sternly now, looking her firmly in the eye.

Hannah paused, with her cutlery poised unnecessarily over her food.

‘It has been arranged, that you will marry His Grace, Caleb Exley, the Duke of Montwood.’

Hannah’s fingers released with the shock, sending her fork clattering noisily to her plate. Her mother startled; her father blinked rapidly and Hannah could scarcely breathe.

‘The …Duke of Montwood??’ Hannah stuttered, not able to grasp what her father was telling her.

‘Yes,’ her father nodded curtly and folded his napkin.

‘The gentleman with whom I danced…?’ Hannah knew exactly to whom they referred, but she could not process this new reality; it surely could not be so.

‘The very same, dear,’ Evelyn interjected with a tight, forced smile. ‘A fine upstanding gentleman indeed. You will bring honour to the family by marrying him. I hear his Montwood country estate is the most idyllic place – you will prosper there.’

Only as her mother said these words did it hit Hannah that she would be expected to leave her home to live with this cold stranger who could barely look at her. This was not to mention his ghastly mother who had publicly scorned her.

Hannah shook her head as all these overwhelming thoughts tumbled in – how could her parents expect her to marry into such a family?

As if reading her thoughts, Vincent contributed;

‘I worked closely in business with the late Duke of Montwood, His Grace’s Father, may he rest in peace. He was a good man – solid, dependable, trustworthy. We agreed years back upon the union between young Caleb and yourself. This evening past was simply to ensure the Duke is consenting and all parties have now agreed.’

‘But Father, I…’ Hannah began to protest.

Her mother held up her palm, to stop her daughter from speaking.

‘Hannah, your Father has arranged an unrivalled match.’ There was a warning in Evelyn’s tone and Hannah took heed of it as she watched her Father; his face resolutely set, as he stood from the table and exited the room.

Hannah’s head began to spin slightly; the room took on an unfamiliar tilt and she was aware of her mother speaking – words such as Duchess and honourable status washed over her as she attempted to rebalance.

‘Mother, might I excuse myself to my bedchambers?’ Hannah said as soon as her mother paused for breath in the narrative designed to convince her daughter.

‘There is much….to think upon…’ Hannah justified.

‘Indeed, there is,’ Evelyn smiled, satisfied that her daughter should go and daydream about her impending wedding day.

Hannah escaped the room gracefully, but she was unable to escape the imprisonment of this proposed union. It felt as though her father had placed bars around her with his announcement and the main question that rang in her head was Will I have the freedom to paint!?

Reaching her bedchamber and slamming the door behind her with passion, Hannah paced the floorboards as though she might find emancipation if she could only pace long enough. She recalled the Duke from the previous evening, desperate to find any redeeming qualities. He was striking and dark – if she saw him across a ballroom, she would undoubtedly have considered him a handsome man. In her mind, she tried to make his face smile. Yet she did not know how his features would fall in such a scenario as throughout their meeting and their dance, his lips were curled downwards at the edges; his eyes wide and betraying no joy there whatsoever. She could not imagine him smiling. And she could not imagine a life with a man of misery.

Hannah stopped pacing and threw herself upon her bed. The maids had already made up her bedclothes and she thought that was probably a fortunate happenstance or she might have grabbed the pillows and sheets to throw across the room in frustration – or worse - crawled into the waiting covers and cried there until she fell asleep. As the bed was a neat matchbox of tightly quilted corners, the most destruction she could do to it was to perch on the end, leaving a seated indentation.

It was no use, she needed to express this inner turmoil. Again, she grabbed the sketch pad, poised to draw the way she was feeling, but she was faced by her picture from yesternight. As she traced the measure of darkness in that image and attributed it to the man who was set to be her future husband, Hannah knew that any self-reflection was too minimalist a treatment for such monstrous news – she had to speak with her friend. Immediately, she called upon her maid, Lucy. Scribbling a note about meeting urgently for afternoon tea, she instructed the note to be taken immediately to Lady Sophia Camden.

***

Caleb contributed very little to the drawing room chatter at breakfast even on the most usual of days and today was most unusual. His mind clamoured with duties, responsibilities, the precision of timeliness, and all the things that would need to be done. He was keen to eat and leave at the earliest convenience – there was no time to spare on frivolous blather. He generally left chatter to the ladies of the house in any case, but that morning his mother infuriatingly insisted on inviting him into the conversation with some persistence.

‘Did you see Lady Lucinda Fairfax at the ball, son?’ Anne prompted.

‘At the Haysendale ball thrown for Lady Hannah Haworth, Mother?’ Caleb responded.

Emmeline stifled a giggle – she did so love how her brother could indicate that his mother’s comments were inappropriate without outrightly humiliating her.

‘Of course,’ Anne bristled.

‘I believe I may have seen her at some point, in amongst the many ladies of thick perfumes,’ Caleb looked down at the bread he was eating, reluctant to engage his mother.

‘You may then have noticed, how gracefully she danced?’

‘I did not,’ Caleb attempted to close the conversation.

‘Have it on my authority then, that she did – as if she were a swan.’

Caleb raised his eyebrows and immediately dropped them, demonstrating indifference.

‘Not a foot wrong – and such an excellent conversationalist as she danced. Poise, articulacy, and coordination perfectly aligned,’ Anne waxed.

‘One hopes she should not mind you eavesdropping, Mother,’ Caleb retorted.

‘Eavesdropping?’

‘Otherwise, how might you know that she was an excellent conversationalist, Mother?’ Emmeline chimed in, enjoying the game and taking the heat off her brother for a moment. Caleb flicked her a look of gratitude.

‘I simply mean, of course, that she was busy talking whilst maintaining flawless transitions in her dancing,’ Anne justified.

‘She may have been talking about frogs or…horses’ manure…’ Emmeline giggled.

‘Emmeline! Not whilst we are dining!’ Anne shrieked.

‘My point is that really, Mother, you have no insight as to whether or not her conversation was scintillating or sheer nonsense. In actuality, she may have been merely counting out her dance steps!’

Anne sneered at this and continued to eat. Caleb and Emmeline shared a knowing look.

Despite their age gap, the siblings had bonded over a common theme. There was a night they both remembered when Caleb was about fourteen and Emmeline three. Their parents were rowing once again but on this occasion, it sounded as though something had been thrown. A yell of aggression from their mother had been closely followed by a smashing sound and Caleb could well imagine she had pitched a plate across the room at his father’s head, thankfully missing and hitting the wall instead. The noise had caused both Caleb and Emmeline to venture out onto the staircase, where they sat, peering through the balusters of the banisters. Emmeline had begun to cry as the shouting escalated and Caleb had hugged her tight to him. She felt safe with her big brother and the protectiveness he felt toward her had continued strong since that night.

When their father had died, Caleb had been only twenty-six and Emmeline a tender fifteen. On some instinctual level, Caleb had known that he would now assume the role of father in her life as well as brother. He tried to strike a balance between discipline and playfulness but was just finding his way with trial and error.

‘I wonder if she will play piano when we dine with the Fairfaxes this week…’ Anne began again.

‘Who, Mother?’ Emmeline feigned ignorance.

‘Lady Lucinda Fairfax, of course!’ Anne snapped.

‘Oh…is she good on the piano then?’ Emmeline almost giggled aloud.

‘She’s outstanding!’ Anne rose to the bait. ‘It’s so important for a lady to be musical, don’t you think, Caleb?’

Caleb looked up and frowned at his mother, as though she had interrupted his thoughts.

‘I am not musical; therefore the ability is not a priority to me,’ he explained factually.

‘A lady does so possess such elegance though, when she can seat herself at a piano and regale the audience with a beautiful tune…’

Finishing his mouthful roughly, Caleb wiped a napkin across his lips and dropped it to the table. He came to standing and excused himself.

‘Mother I have no time to talk – I have obligations this morning. Good day to you, sister,’ Caleb bobbed his head to Emmeline and let the room.

*

The Butler knocked on the heavy dark wooden door and upon hearing the Marquess’s admittance, pushed open the door, standing aside and announcing

‘His Grace, Caleb Exley, the Duke of Montwood, my Lord…’

Vincent smiled from behind his desk and stood to welcome his esteemed guest. The two gentlemen bowed to each other.

‘Please, Your Grace, take a seat, here by the window…’

Vincent moved away from his desk and gestured toward two sturdy leather armchairs that looked out upon a manicured green lawn.

‘Would you care for tea, Your Grace?’ Vincent queried.

‘No, thank you.’ Caleb was keen to necessitate all duties without being delayed by social niceties.

‘I was happy to see you dance with my daughter this evening past, Your Grace,’ Vincent smiled warmly.

‘Indeed, My Lord,’ Caleb hurried on, ‘Thank you for meeting with me this morning. It is my intention to marry Lady Hannah with some urgency. I propose marriage by special license within six days, eschewing the traditional reading of the banns.’

Vincent appeared a little taken aback, sinking back into his chair a moment.

‘Is there some burning purpose to expedite the nuptials, Your Grace?’ Vincent furrowed his brow.

‘No, My Lord. Only personal preference.’

‘No reason for alarm nor concern?’

‘None at all, you have my faithful word…’ Caleb sat straight as a pole, his hands calmly folded in his lap. His physical posture did not ring any alarm bells for Vincent, who took a deep breath, weighing up the implications of this rush.

Caleb sensed an uneasiness regarding the proposal and jumped in to reassure Vincent.

‘I am not a man who indulges in audience nor enjoys celebratory festivities. I would prefer not to perform on a stage for all to rejoice, but to take these personal milestones with discretion. I do hope you understand.’

Vincent narrowed his eyes slightly and leaned forward to clarify.

‘A touch of timidity?’ Vincent asked.

Caleb’s wish to rush through the nuptials was more due to his desire to sign and seal all business as soon as possible so that his duty to his father’s wishes was complete and he could move onward.

There were debates to attend, lectures to frequent, and issues to be resolved within the family estate – he had no time nor inclination to fuss about putting up the banns, attending social gatherings to announce their engagement, getting involved in colour choices, fashion selections and all that vacuous preparation he viewed as gratuitous.

But he supposed this might sound brash – it was, after all, Vincent’s daughter to whom Caleb would be referring to as ‘business.’

Caleb wouldn’t class himself as timid, but considering the man’s feelings and not wishing to offend, he acquiesced;

‘Perhaps a little timidity, my Lord.’

Vincent laughed, seemingly finding this an endearing quality.

‘Then you have my blessing with regard to the special license. However, there will be costs involved and you will need to secure an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘This will not be a challenge, my Lord. Please do not concern yourself with the cost or the inconvenience. I have this all in hand and I will ensure it will cause minimal disruption to you and to Lady Hannah, I assure you,’ Caleb asserted.

‘Very well then. I suppose there are no further definitions to discuss?’ Vincent came to stand.

‘I appreciate your understanding,’ Caleb nodded, standing too. ‘My Father was correct – you are a fine and honest man.’

‘As was he, Your Grace. I must thank you for attending today to iron out these details – I shall inform my daughter of the plans and do send word via your man once you have confirmation on nuptial dates and arrangements.’

‘I will, of course,’ Caleb bowed.

Vincent bowed with a smile and Caleb departed to make an appointment with the Archbishop of Canterbury.

***

‘I am quite without words,’ Sophia clutched her palm to her chest, sincerely struck.

Hannah lowered her eyes to the floor, willing the tears not to drop. Telling her best friend the news made it sound real for the first time.

‘You say your Father agreed the match several years past?’

Hannah nodded. ‘Apparently soon after I was born. The Duke was aged ten when it was agreed.’

‘Yet your father allowed you to debut in the belief you had a choice of many bachelors?’

‘I suppose he did not know if the Duke would be willing to assent to his late Father’s wishes…’ Hannah shrugged. ‘They required his consent. Sadly they do not require mine… ’

‘He is handsome… ’ Sophia attempted to placate her.

‘And rude! Miserable and uncharismatic!’

Sophia made a sympathetic face and poured Hannah some tea from the pot.

‘These are delicious…’ Sophia indicated a plate of neat jam tarts.

Hannah held up a palm ‘I couldn’t eat a thing, thank you. My stomach is in knots.’

‘He may yet be kind,’ Sophia suggested. ‘Men do not always demonstrate their most favourable assets when meeting a lady for the first time…’

‘He met me knowing that I was going to be his bride – yet had not even a smile for me!’ Hannah protested.

Sophia allowed her shoulders to droop. No matter how she tried to appease her friend, it was an unavoidable notion that the Duke had appeared quite unfriendly and cold – there was no escaping that unfortunate fact.

‘Is there any possibility your Father might reconsider?’ Sophia suggested.

‘None. My Father is a man of his word – and in this case specifically, his word was to a dead friend, whose memory he honours. There will be no reconsideration; he is resolute. It shall be so. My best path would be to accept it,’ Hannah explained sadly.

‘I saw you with the Duchess…’ Sophia ventured, then narrowed her eyes apologetically, squirming slightly.

Hannah’s eyes met Sophia’s with an expression of horror in them.

‘His Mother? Did you then, also see how she scowled upon me as if I were a street rat?’ Hannah asked breathlessly.

‘Unfortunately, I did. However, you must not take this too personally Hannah – the Duchess of Montwood, Her Grace Anne Exley, is renowned for her demeanour.’

‘Is that so?’ Hannah asked quietly, not sure how this information should comfort her.

Sophia nodded emphatically.

‘My Mother used to know her when they were younger and shared an embroidery class. She says nothing could satisfy the woman. There was not enough red thread or somebody had taken her small scissors or she hadn’t finished in time because the other girls were so disruptive to learn beside. Then when she completed a piece, she would boast over her mediocrity to manipulate the teachers into thinking it was a masterpiece,’ Sophia gossiped.

‘What a charming individual,’ Hannah smirked hopelessly.

‘And when we were babies – well I suppose the Duke’s sister must have been only little then – Mother had the misfortune of crossing the Duchess’s path at a social event. I think perhaps a child’s birthday party of a mutual friend. Mother says Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess said not a word to the other Mothers, simply watched with disdain and had that awful frown about her. The thing Mother noted as the height of rudeness was that she did not once say ‘thank you’ and when she tried the birthday cake, simply turned up her nose and put it to one side with a grunt.’

‘Why, she is a joy to behold,’ Hannah’s voice lilted with sarcasm.

‘The woman has no grace – she is antagonistic and chilly at best,’ Sophia concluded.

‘….And is to be my Mother-in-law….’ Hannah reminded her friend once she had completed her rant.

‘Indeed, and my point is that you are not to take her hostility as a personal sleight. She was of an inhospitable disposition from birth, it would seem likely she will be so upon her deathbed. She should be grateful to inherit a daughter-in-law as wondrous, caring and talented as you.’

‘You are too kind, Sophia,’ Hannah reached out to touch her friend’s hand over the small table.

‘I cannot help but feel weak, like a small bird – a dainty canary perhaps, held behind narrowly set bars through which only my beak can taste the freedom beyond. I imagine being able to see a canvas and my paints across the studio, but being held so robustly within this confined cage that I am unable to break free and express my creativity…’ A small tear dropped into Hannah’s lap.

‘You do not believe they will allow you to paint?’ Sophia asked softly.

Hannah sniffed and clutched at a lace handkerchief she had procured from her dress pocket.

‘I do not believe they will. Despite Mother’s protestations at my artistic ‘time-wasting’ as she enjoys referring to it – she still allows me a room to set up my art so that I have my own creative space to go to. Can you imagine the Duchess of Montwood sacrificing a room in her precious house for me to paint?’

Sophia’s eyes dropped to the floor, telling Hannah all she needed to know.

‘The Duke might, though! It is his estate after all! Perhaps the London town-house may be abundant in rooms that are heavily furnished, but I am sure the country estate out in Montwood has corridors of rooms without purpose. The place is enormous by all accounts. There would certainly be a room there that you could make your own!’

This gave Hannah a flash of hope.

‘Would they approve though? Her Grace Anne Exley no doubt would prefer a daughter-in-law who sings and plays the piano, dances and creates embroidery….’ Hannah suggested darkly.

‘We can only speculate. I will certainly be happy to make an argument for your art!’ Sophia raised her chin in defiance.

‘Oh, you mustn’t involve yourself, truly Sophia. I will need you as my ally and therefore must keep you on good terms with them. A friend they approve of will be much more welcome for frequent visitations…’

This was a new fear that assaulted Hannah. Should she be permitted to see her friends at will? She worried that her role as Duchess would be so stuffed full of social events and mandatory attendances that there would no longer be time to see the people she cared most about. Additionally, she was anxious that – even if time should allow – it may be frowned upon to entertain in the house where the Dowager Duchess resided. Her prior appointments would presumably take priority over Hannah’s. A tremor began in Hannah’s chest with the apprehension that her whole life and level of freedom should be dictated to her.

‘This is true,’ Sophia agreed reluctantly and bit into a jam tart.

Hannah stared out of the window at a carriage below which had stopped to collect the family from across the road – there were three young daughters; two of whom Hannah recognised as fellow debutantes. They were smiling and chattering excitedly – how she envied them the opportunities they still had ahead of them.

‘A Duchess, though, Hannah! You are to be the Duchess of Montwood! How extravagant!’ Sophia smiled with the realisation.

Hannah allowed herself a small smile ‘It does feel rather unrealistic and intimidating….’

‘Mayhap you should not want to socialise with the likes of Lady Camden any longer…perhaps you will only associate with Dukes and Duchesses, Kings and Queens from this point on…?’ Sophia jested.

Hannah laughed and slapped her friend’s hand playfully. ‘Do stop!’

‘Ah, there she is!’ Sophia laughed at the success of having broken out Hannah’s smile.

‘Now – let us settle upon the positive points….’ Sophia advised.

‘There are positive points?’ Hannah looked crestfallen once again.

‘Indeed there are! We have a wedding to plan!!’ Sophia squeaked in excitement and clapped her hands together.

Hannah laughed – it had been the right decision to visit Sophia; she always knew how to lift Hannah’s spirits.