Page 4 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

As Hannah returned home from her visit with Sophia, she couldn’t shake the darkness that weighed upon her mind. Sophia had provided a much-needed levity but as Hannah’s coach had pulled away and the two friends waved through their respective windows at one another, it had hit Hannah once again that she may soon not be permitted such freedom. She hoped that it would still be her right to visit friends whenever the will took her, but she did know of ladies who disappeared from their preferred social scene once they took a husband. Some men could be possessive and wish their wives to stay at home for the majority of their days. Tears slipped into Hannah’s eyes as she considered the terrible impending loss of autonomy which could potentially be her fate.

This had bothered her the short journey back to her parent’s town-house and as she stepped down from the coach steps, she lowered her head, determined that nobody should notice her red-rimmed watery eyes. Ascending the concrete steps with some urgency, she had decided to request Lucy draw her a bath – she needed some alone time and wished only to soak in warmth with her thoughts.

Head down, bounding up the steps, Hannah had been quite unaware of the front door opening and the gentleman stepping down onto the top step as she arrived there. Suddenly, she impacted with the solid fabric of a suited chest – the shock of it sent her flailing backward and a panic rose desperately into her chest.

Then there were strong, large hands clutching at her upper arms and pulling her safely back to the step before her body was unbalanced and fell. Hannah looked up into a face she knew and yet before her mind had correctly placed the identity, she exhaled as an unfamiliar sensation hit her – a simultaneous reaction of feeling safe, of being thankful, of admiration for this person so tall, strong, and quite markedly handsome. Her breath left her body as she registered all these new feelings hitting all at once. As recognition set in, she realised with a jolt that it was the Duke.

For Caleb’s part, he had been quite surprised to see a lady scuttling so quickly toward him as he stepped out of the door and before he had a moment to call out, she had collided with him and the impact sent her scrambling backward. Caleb would not usually dare touch a lady without consent, but she was certain to fall should he not reach out – the concrete steps were steep and she would undoubtedly land far down on the pavement beyond which should be an impossible fall to endure without injury. His instincts had him reach out to grab her upper arms, which were slim and lithe – he pulled her back toward the top step and she was so light that he pulled her in closer than planned.

It was only when she looked up into his face that Caleb realised he was looking at his future wife. Her face was pale, with rosy flushed cheeks; her eyes wide and wet. She stared up at him with an innocence and honesty that had not been there the night before. As a demure debutante, her composure had been formal and reserved. There on those steps, she had not been expecting a collision; especially not so with the man she had just that day been advised she was to marry. In her unprepared state, Caleb saw a fiery authenticity in Hannah’s eyes that intrigued him.

It must only have been a fleeting moment, but Hannah felt as though Caleb looked into her eyes with such an intensity it must have been longer and Caleb could scarcely pull his eyes from searching her face.

Once she was upright, Caleb quickly removed his hands from her arms.

‘Lady Hannah – are you quite alright?’ Caleb asked, composing himself.

‘Thank you – I….yes,’ Hannah bobbed, embarrassed.

For one more passing moment, they simply stood looking at one another – aware that there was so much to say. Here they were; practical strangers who were on the precipice of committing their lives to one another, yet their nuptials had never featured in any conversation between them.

Finding the awkwardness excruciating, Hannah turned to the door and pushed her way in, without a further word to the Duke. As she passed, he noted her floral, sweet scent and as the door closed, he breathed in deeply.

As the door closed, Hannah leaned back against it, resting her head against the wood and taking a deep breath. There was the man causing her such consternation and threatening the world she currently inhabited. Yet he had just saved her from a certain nasty fall and she saw in his face a tenderness that he had successfully masked the previous evening.

Having regained her physical stability and having allowed her heart to calm, Hannah pushed away from the door to find Lucy and request a bath. However, as she did so, her Father’s steward approached and requested she attend the drawing room where her Father and Mother were keen to speak with her.

Instantly, Hannah’s heart lifted – surely the Duke had attended with second thought and decided they should not marry as they did not share compatibility.

Hannah knocked upon the drawing-room door and entered to find her parents sitting together on the long sofa.

‘Hannah, do come and sit,’ Vincent gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa.

Hannah perched herself upon the edge of the seat, poised to hear the happy news, that her day of anguish had been in vain and that her life should return to its conventional blithe design.

‘Daughter, the Duke of Montwood has visited me,’ Vincent began and Hannah noticed her mother dip her head sorrowfully.

Hannah simply nodded – she did not wish to disclose her collision with him on the steps.

‘He has advised that he will be meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury to expedite your nuptials. There will therefore be no traditional reading of the banns and the wedding will be held by special license before the week is through.’

Hannah’s parents watched her face intently. This was not the news she had anticipated. She had not thought her predicament could be worsened, but here it was.

‘I do not understand….’ was all Hannah could mutter as her mind processed this new blow.

‘By the end of the week, you shall be the Duchess of Montwood, darling!’ Evelyn asserted cheerfully, though Hannah could see through the facade, her mother’s own disappointment and distress.

‘Will there be a wedding?’ Hannah asked tentatively, ‘or simply a ceremony?’

Vincent and Evelyn exchanged glances and Vincent responded.

‘A ceremony here, at home and a family meal to celebrate.’

Hannah gulped as she recalled her sister, Clara’s wedding. Clara had been terribly excited to marry Lord James Ashworth – it was a wonderful match.

As she thought of this, Hannah wondered why it was she who had been promised to the Duke. Clara was closer to his age. She pondered if perhaps her father had promised one of his daughters to the Duke, intending Clara to be Caleb’s bride and then when Clara fell in love with James, the contract deferred to Hannah. She felt a surge of rage that this needn’t necessarily be her life. If Clara had somehow managed to escape the fate of being wed to the miserable Duke, could it not be the same for poor Hannah? In a panic, she thought of all the men she could claim to be in love with who might otherwise be a good match that her parents would reconsider. Hannah knew she would be much happier matched with a gentleman like Lord Nathaniel Bryant, Sophia’s cousin. They shared a passion for art and he was blithe and interesting. Even as her tormented mind thought it, she knew it was futile – as she had communicated to Sophia; her father was a man of his word and the deal had already been made.

Hannah thought, with great envy, of her sister Clara and her happy marriage - James was renowned for his successful business and propensity to travel to exotic places. In becoming his wife, Clara had adopted this extravagant lifestyle and not only that – she had been instantly attracted to James, who felt mutually fond of her. The build-up to their wedding had been an excitable flurry of dresses and cake-tasting; of beautiful colour and high tinkling laughter. The house had been filled with joy, femininity, and a fun togetherness.

If Hannah had to marry the brooding Duke, at least she should be permitted the right of any bride – to spend time adapting to her new life, trying on dresses to find the perfect garment for her impeccable day.

It seemed that the Duke was set upon stealing all joy from her.

‘What is the Duke’s reason behind the special license?’ Hannah wanted to know. She worried that there was some scandal he may be covering up that he should wish to capture her with such urgency.

Vincent looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. Evelyn looked over at him, also apparently keen to hear his answer.

‘Whilst it is sensitive, I do suppose you are owed an explanation….’ He began and cleared his throat.

The two ladies watched him in earnest. Hannah’s heart spiked as she imagined some awful scandal that was about to break and that the Duke needed an announcement in the newspapers to distract from his transgressions. Was she to be a mere distraction tactic?

‘The Duke declares that he requires a special license so that the wedding does not need to be held in a public church at peak time for audience….’

Hannah blinked, following but not yet understanding.

‘The Duke claims timidity…’ Vincent clarified.

‘Timidity?’ Evelyn repeated through a frown. Vincent nodded.

Hannah could not believe this and with raised eyebrows queried ‘He is timid!?’

‘I believe him, daughter. You ladies do not understand nor have any place to analyse the inner complexities of a man’s preferences. The Duke prefers a private ceremony without raucous festivities and I quite agree that it is his right to request so, should he wish.’

Hannah’s chest nearly burst with the unfairness of it. Was it not also her right to a joyous occasion? She knew that her preferences would be viewed as frivolous and not taken at all into consideration – there really was no point in trying to communicate her own feelings on the matter to her parents.

‘How soon will the wedding be?’ Hannah asked quietly, knitting her fingers together in her lap.

‘The Duke is familiar with His Grace, the Archbishop – he will be speaking with him today and will send word once confirmation has been issued,’ Vincent nodded, with closure.

Hannah did not look at her parents.

‘May I be excused?’ she asked weakly and her Father agreed.

Hannah forgot about the relaxing bath – she felt an anger and frustration unlike any other and headed directly to her art room.

Seating herself on a stool by a blank canvas, Hannah bypassed the usual gentle, pastel hues and collected a dollop of furious red on her broadest paintbrush. With a strike, she whipped the brush across the page, as if tearing an injury into its flesh. She loaded another brush with black and added more swoops of anger and darkness across the canvas. Opting for a bright green, she contributed globules of jealousy, hidden in corners – how she envied those debutante girls whose season had not been stolen from them, whose lives had not been mapped out by a cold, heartless stranger.

Feverishly, she layered the canvas with bold feelings represented in tormenting colours and shapes. As she finished, she sat back and reminded herself to breathe. It was an impressive piece. Hannah found herself wondering if Nathaniel would like it – and then began to cry as she realised he would probably now never have the chance to see it.

***

Caleb strode into the drawing room, where his mother was taking afternoon tea with Emmeline. As he entered, he could hear his mother still droning on about Lady Lucinda Fairfax. Closing his ears to it, he crossed the room to the wooden cabinet where he kept the Montwood legacy paperwork – the sort of documentation that wasn’t often called for, but he considered would be relevant upon his trip to see the Archbishop.

Anne and Emmeline’s conversation halted as they watched him enter wordlessly and begin rooting through the cabinet.

‘Whatever are you doing, Caleb?’ demanded his mother.

Sighing, he acquiesced that he would need to communicate his intentions to his family as they would, too, be affected by his actions, so he crossed the room to take a seat with them.

‘I have requested an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury, to request special wedding license so that I may marry Lady Hannah Haworth without the obligation of calling the banns,’ he explained resolutely.

‘What!?’ Anne shrieked, holding her hand to the pearls at her neck. Even Emmeline looked alarmed by the news.

‘Whyever would you do that, brother?’

Caleb side-eyed Emmeline, having hoped that he could rely on her solidarity.

‘Is there some scandal!?’ Anne cried shrilly.

‘No, Mother.’

‘That is what they will think! That is what they will say!! You will scandalise the Ton!’ Anne was becoming quite hysterical and her Butler stepped over from the boundary of the room to pour a glass of water for her.

‘I will not, Mother. I do not wish to marry in front of a full congregation. It is not in my proclivity to wed publicly.’

Emmeline nodded slightly, seeming now to understand somewhat, and turned to Anne.

‘Caleb has never been one for demonstrative gestures, Mother. Nor does he value an audience,’ she shrugged sadly.

‘We have the social standing, Mother,’ Caleb continued ‘that it will simply be assumed we are procuring a special license because we can .’

With that said, Caleb nodded once and stood, to continue his rifling through paperwork at the bureau.

His Mother and sister sat silently as he filtered through birth certificates and paused briefly at his Father’s death certificate. He felt a pang in his chest. The date on the paperwork was still so recent and the pain of his passing remained raw in Caleb. The memory of that night and the news of his horse bolting as it was spooked by a man running across the road. Caleb had tortured himself for years with the questions and alternative endings that could never be. He had never understood why a man ran into the road in front of the horses’ carriage; the horses’ panic caused the whole carriage to pitch and crash sideways, securing his father a head injury there was no recovering from. It was all so unnecessary and unprecedented, even all this time on he still imagined he might be told it was all a mistake and his father was perfectly well and coming home. He closed his eyes momentarily, allowing himself to feel the keenness of it and letting it pass.

Caleb wondered if his mother ever felt this way when she thought of his father’s premature passing and instantly swept the idea away – of course, she did not. She spent their marriage pecking away at him; an irritable, nagging force that always pointed out what was wrong with a situation, that always pulled him up on how to make things more proper. It had been clear during his father’s life that his mother had no fondness for the man and even clearer at the point of his death when she practically celebrated her new status as a widow. For Anne, it merely claimed her good reason to play the victim – her favourite role - and propelled her into a permanent state of being able to place blame at the foot of her grief, for any misdemeanour. Her mourning was a facade that fooled neither Caleb nor Emmeline, who both felt their father’s loss with utter devastation.

Caleb knew what marriage was. He had seen it in his parents’ relationship – or lack thereof. It was a thinly veiled attempt at union so that one might harvest children to continue the family name. It was ticking a box on the form of societal norms so that one might be invited to events in a couple. It was having somebody to blame for all the things that didn’t go right for you. It was a person to shout at if you were feeling bitter. It was a togetherness you spent your life resenting.

Caleb did not want it. Had it been his own choice, he would have remained a bachelor and indulged all his time in studying books and learning – that was his passion. But his father had been keen for grandchildren so that the Montwood family legacy should continue to down through the generations. He had hand-picked the Haworth family with whom Caleb should continue this dynasty and Caleb had a responsibility to see it through.

He had no doubt Lady Hannah might resent his choice to wed her through the special license measures, but since he anticipated a marriage of vexation, it made no difference whether this was the source of her acrimony or some other detail that frustrated her. Truly, for his mother, she would find issues to be bitter about.

As a child, Caleb had watched as his father brought Anne gifts to please her – flowers she would say made her sneeze; chocolate she complained was too sweet for her taste; scarves she claimed made her skin itch. Caleb learned that there was no way to please a woman. He recalled sitting upon the staircase alone when Emmeline was still just a baby and listening to his parents yelling at each other. He had told himself then; that to take a wife was to sign up for a life of animosity.

This was all Caleb expected from his union with Lady Hannah and – in preparing for such – just wanted the thing done, with minimal glorification. Of course, he was unable to disclose these preconceptions to his mother or Lord Vincent. Playing upon his supposed timidity was the only acceptable justification for the special license.

‘People will expect a grand wedding for the Duke and his new Duchess, Caleb…’ Anne prattled on.

Caleb felt a burning of ferocity come across him – this whole scenario wouldn’t be so painful if it hadn’t been for the cynicism of his mother and the grievances of it wouldn’t be so provocative if she would simply accept his word and stop talking.

‘Mother, I do not care what people will expect. I have the status and money to approach the Archbishop for a special license and so I will. Lady Hannah and I will be married in no time at all and I will hopefully never need to hear the words Lady Lucinda Fairfax from you again! Good day!’

With that, Caleb grabbed up the required documentation and stormed out of the drawing room.

***

The two men chinked their crystal glasses together over the low table-top and Caleb welcomed the burn of whiskey as it flowed down his throat.

‘Congratulations, old boy!’ Albert sang out heartily. ‘In truth, I did not expect you would take a wife.’

Caleb frowned at his old friend. ‘I told you of my father’s wishes, did I not?’

‘Certainly, you did. It is a testament to your relationship with him that you are seeing it through to the letter. However, I wondered if that particular clause in his preferences might be – shall we say – overlooked by you?’

‘I fully respect my father’s request. He was a wise man who knew the best steps for me. I have faith in his plan,’ Caleb concluded.

‘Lady Hannah Haworth is beautiful and you are a lucky man!’ Albert raised his glass to meet Caleb’s again, but Caleb had sat back in his creaky, shiny, leather armchair and was running one broad hand over his face, so he didn’t see.

‘I say, what’s up, chap?’ Albert placed his glass back on the table.

Caleb took in a deep breath, inhaling the rich dusky smoke of a nearby cigar, and looked around the decadent gentleman’s club; affluent in highly polished, dark cherry wood furnishings; taking in the light crackle of the open fire that warmed them. He took another sip of whiskey as he contemplated how to answer his friend.

‘You are correct, it would be my preference not to marry,’ Caleb confirmed, lowering his voice so that he should not disparage Lady Hannah should anybody hear his confession.

‘And yet you are…’ Albert added quizzically.

‘Purely to satisfy my father’s wishes. It is my intention to wed quickly, and my hope to live quite separate lives from one another – our union is to gratify a condition and certainly not to embark upon any great romance or any such fantastical delusion,’ Caleb laid out his plans.

Albert nodded sombrely.

‘I have secured a special license for our nuptials,’ Caleb told Albert.

‘You have!?’

Caleb nodded.

‘To just get the thing done?’ Albert queried.

Caleb smiled and nodded – Albert seemed to be the only one who understood him without him having to make justifications.

‘I grew up with parents who should never have been married,’ Caleb confided. ‘The family home was a miserable place to spend time. My mother never gave my father any grace. She made his life laborious with her constant gripes and demands. I never want that. I will be content if my Duchess carves her own life quite independently from me and bothers me only when it suits me to be bothered.’

‘You may yet find though, that Lady Hannah surprises you,’ Albert suggested, leaning forward.

This both piqued Caleb’s interest and worried him in the same instance.

‘How so?’

‘I hear she is quite the talented artist!’ Albert revealed with a mischievous grin.

‘Oh. I heard something about her art…’ Caleb brushed it off.

‘Lady Sophia Camden is her closest friend-’ Albert began.

‘Ah yes!’ Now Caleb smiled broadly. ‘Speak to me of your Lady Sophia Camden!’

‘Not mine, Caleb-’ Albert corrected ‘Not yet, anyway…’ he added in jest.

‘The two ladies are close confidantes and I have heard Sophia speak so very highly of Lady Hannah’s artwork. You may yet be astonished,’ Albert suggested, swilling his whiskey around in his glass.

‘By her art?’ Caleb lifted one eyebrow, unconvinced.

‘By the lady herself. One does not portray art worth speaking about without having first had something notable to say…’ Albert asserted.

Caleb pondered this a moment.

‘Promise me something-’ Albert requested.

Caleb tipped his chin, awaiting the instruction.

‘Give Lady Hannah the chance to show you who she is, before you ascribe her to the same category as your mother. If I may be bold, I do not believe all women are of the same ilk as your mother.’

Albert slipped a cheeky half-grin in after his comment, testing if this were an appropriate statement.

Caleb half-smiled back, acknowledging his brazenness.

‘Quite right, I am aware my mother is a force. But tell me, Albert. When we met at Eton, did you not confide in me that it was quieter in the boy’s dormitory than in your parents’ drawing room at home?’

Albert laughed, recalling the memory.

‘As we threw pillows at one another’s heads and yelled competitive sports chants, did you not comment that we still could not match the volume of your parents’ arguments?’

Albert threw up his hands ‘I concede! Accepted – my parents were wont to quarrel, loudly and with vigour, indeed.’

It was true his parents would argue, but he witnessed tender moments too. Their stormy relationship certainly was not so turbulent an ordeal that it conditioned him to expect a loveless marriage of his own in adulthood. He had also experienced the vitriol of the Duke and Duchess of Montwood though, during a stay at Caleb’s house one summer out of term time and he quite understood how Caleb had been traumatised growing up in such a turbulent environment.

‘Yet you expect me to enter a marriage anticipating peace and pacifism?’ A smile teased the corner of Caleb’s lip.

‘I only wish it so for you, my friend!’ Albert raised his glass once again in hope and this time, Caleb met it with his own.

‘ That, I can drink to!’