Page 10 of His Illegitimate Duchess

Throughout their acquaintance, Lady Burnham had revealed bits and pieces about the tragic loss of her only son in France, and her husband perishing in battle soon after.

She even shared her suspicions that her husband actually died of a broken heart on that battlefield, and Lizzie cried many nights at the thought of that father’s love.

And here she was, this unbelievably strong woman, refusing to spend her days lonely or idle, teaching Elizabeth how to be a proper lady instead. Elizabeth strived to emulate Lady Burnham’s strength and poise in her own approach to life.

“As soon as our tea gets here,” Elizabeth smiled as she rang the bell.

“If you’d be so kind to pour today, Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Burnham suggested when the tea arrived, and Lizzie knew it was her teacher's side speaking, so she prepared the tea as gracefully and elegantly as she could, careful not to slosh the liquid or clink the tea things together.

As it was steeping, Lizzie dared a hopeful glance at her instructor and got a smile in return.

“I’ve almost got it, haven’t I?” she grinned, and Lady Burnham shook her head affectionately.

“You can do everything you set your mind to, Elizabeth, and you know it. Now tell me what’s been on your mind.”

“With Charlotte’s wedding coming up, I’ve been wondering whether I shall be able to secure the kind of match that my brother expects of me.”

Lady Burnham tilted her head to the side in what was now a familiar and soothing gesture for Elizabeth. It signified she was pondering the issue before her.

“I was actually wondering something entirely different,” she finally spoke.

“I was wondering whether it would be possible for you to enjoy the process of finding that match? You’re a young woman, doesn’t getting dressed up and dancing with other young people sound wonderful?

I remember my first Season,” she said wistfully, before correcting herself, “well, my only one as an unmarried woman. I was called a diamond of the first water by many, and my late husband, may the Lord rest his soul, asked for my hand after having danced one dance with me,” the old woman recounted dreamily.

“We were married for twenty-five years.”

“All this time, I’ve been learning about courtship from a woman who was engaged after one dance?” Lizzie teased, feeling like she’d break her teacher’s heart if she told her the truth: that not one fibre of her being was looking forward to dancing with anyone.

“Was he a good man, your late husband?”

“The General was a very good man. Human and imperfect, of course, but kind, strong, and loyal. A good father, an attentive husband. He taught me to smoke cigars with him, you know,” she said conspiratorially, and Elizabeth gasped.

“No!”

The older woman nodded with a smile, and Elizabeth found her own face mirroring it.

“I still smoke alone in our library some evenings, but it’s not the same.”

Elizabeth said nothing, suddenly feeling oddly envious of Lady Burnham’s grief.

“I have his portrait, you know, but it doesn’t do him justice.

I wish the artist had managed to capture him looking up from his book when I entered the room.

Or while he laughed,” Lady Burnham stopped speaking abruptly, and lifted her teacup to her lips with a trembling hand, most likely overwhelmed by the memories.

Perhaps it is better not to love one’s husband, Lizzie thought.

*

As expected, Mary laughed that evening when Lizzie told her of Aunt Isolde's words about the marital bed.

“Do you think your poor sister knows anything about men and women?” she asked as she brushed Lizzie's waist-length mane before braiding it for bed.

“It's hard to tell with that one, she keeps herself so closed off, with me at least,” Lizzie said, allowing her bitterness to creep out in Mary's presence.

“But judging by what Lady Burnham told me of proper ladies, unless she has her own Mary Ward or has spent time on a farm, I truly don't think she has any idea what to expect.”

“I bloody hope someone will talk to her,” Mary said angrily, “the first time can be awful.”

“I don't think she wants a lecture on carnal relations and the application of olive oil from the mistress's daughter, who, by the way, is as inexperienced as she is. Besides, her Earl seems accommodating, I'm sure he'll be considerate.”

Mary rolled her eyes to indicate what she thought of men, and Lizzie smiled at her in the mirror.

Again, she thought about her faceless future husband, and her cheeks flamed at the thought of getting close to him in that way .

She suddenly remembered the man accosting her two years ago, standing unbearably close to her.

The memory unsettled her. She made herself think of the dreaded dance lessons she had scheduled for tomorrow and felt her odd excitement transform into worry, just like she knew it would.

“Instead of worrying about Charlotte, I should worry about myself,” she sighed.

“What's there to worry about – you’re handsome, you excel at embroidery, your French was declared “passable”, and you're learning to dance! Besides, you read that etiquette book more than priests read the Bible, I think you know everything there is to know about being a lady.”

“Yes, Mary, I'm learning to dance twelve years after everyone else. If gossip doesn't precede me, which I’m sure it will, one misstep on the dance floor or one wrong word in the ballroom will make it obvious to everyone that I don't belong.”

“You don't need to belong . You need to find a husband,” Mary said, uncharacteristically sober. “Lizzie, when you started at Miss Euphemia’s, you were the slowest one at the salon. Two months later, you were among her best workers. I've never seen anyone adapt so quickly or so well.”

“It’s because I dislike standing out. But thank you for reminding me of my objective, Mary,” she said. “First thing tomorrow, let's continue embroidering the bodice of my dress.”

After Mary said goodbye and the candle by her bed was blown out, Elizabeth closed her eyes and said a brief prayer.

Dear God, let him be a good, kind man. I shall want for nothing more if he is good and kind. Please.