Page 18 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Chapter eighteen

M rs Owen gave Lady Catherine a more substantial tour of the house that afternoon, and they made a plan to meet after breakfast each morning to review menus and discuss household business. This, she was comfortable with. This, she had been prepared for thoroughly. To run her own home would be a pleasure, and it seemed that even if her marriage were one in name only, Sir Lewis had told Mrs Owen that Catherine now had the run of the house.

The knocker had been removed from the front door the day before and would be reinstated in three days’ time. It was appropriate and typical for newly married couples to have some time to themselves before they received morning callers or guests. It was not entirely enough time for Catherine to feel she had the house in hand, but it appeared from what she had seen so far that Mrs Owen was managing just fine on her own.

After some adjustment to the upcoming week’s menus and requesting changes for refreshments during receiving hours, she sent Mrs Owen on her way.

She had finally seen the west wing of the house. The drawing room and great hall there were in remarkable condition and up to date. So, it was to her to consider reopening the east wing’s principal rooms. She was most excited about the morning room and drawing room she had seen the night before.

When she entered the old morning room his mother had used, she was again impressed. Even in the darkness the night before, she could see that the room was well furbished.

A light-yellow stucco covered the walls, integrating a Neo-Palladian wall scheme with delicate ornaments in the spirit of the French Rococo. White moulding complimented the yellow walls, contrasting smartly with the mahogany furnishings and oak floors. The dark stained doors and shutters were equipped with gilt-bronze hardware that reminded her of some of the fixtures she had once removed from the attics in Oakley to update her own room. Before she could start with renovations, she would first have to ask Mrs Owen to air out the room.

The adjoining drawing room was going to be her masterpiece—she knew it. The detailed, plaster ceiling with ornamental wheel moulding and garlanded trophies was just to her taste. A rose-coloured paper covered the walls and was the backdrop to large murals of classical myths symbolizing the elements. It was extravagant, and she would embrace that theme as she made her own decisions to update the room.

As there was another drawing room on the ground floor, she decided she would begin calling this one the Rose Room, with its soft pink walls and sharp details. The contrast from the rich colours and the oak floors was dramatic, but one did not replace flooring like this—it was likely cut from trees felled on the estate, which made it all the more notable.

The Rose Room would take much more time than the morning room, for under the white sheets she found solid, well-made furnishings with worn fabrics that would require replacing. She could hardly wait to explore the warehouses in London for materials that would be equal to the beauty of the two rooms. It would take more patience than she possessed.

When Lady Catherine arrived at dinner that evening, Sir Lewis stood at her entry, pulled back her chair, and told her how lovely she looked. What a show he was putting on for his servants! She pursed her lips at his flattery.

This evening was much more pleasing than the previous, for they spoke about their days, and—bless him—Sir Lewis appeared enthralled by her animated descriptions about her future renovations. It was rather a treat to have a gentleman who shared her interests—or if he did not share them, he was doing a remarkable job of appearing to care.

After dessert, they both adjourned to the east wing so she could continue telling him about her plans. He followed her around both rooms, giving attention to all of her ideas and agreeing to each of her schemes. She was elated that her updates might please him too.

She was standing on her toes, showing him a small rose painted into a mural in the Rose Room, for which she was planning to base the remainder of her decorating scheme, when he came up behind her and said, “If I give you a compliment, will you give me your word that I will not suffer for it?”

She laughed at her husband. “Do you admit to being afraid of me? Do I treat you so badly?”

“No, not as such. But I have seen the way you react to flattery.”

He was correct. “Of course,” she said and held up her hands in submission. “You have my word. You will not be punished.”

His smile created a buzz all its own that worked its way through her body from her shoulders to her toes. Why would he not simply say it? His delay was beginning to vex her, and she was certain that was by design. “Out with it,” she finally said.

“It is lovely to have a lady in the house again. And not just any lady—you.”

Well.

There were no retorts for such thoughtful words. She had been prepared for some flavour of mockery, not the kind courtesy which found her instead.

“I bid you good night,” he said simply, his voice laced with sincerity.

He had no need to ask her permission, she would never have given him trouble for such kind words. And he could never know how much she had a need to hear them.

On the third morning after marriage, Lady Catherine de Bourgh woke with a start. A strange sound had stirred her, and she flinched when she found herself in an unfamiliar room. It took some moments to remember where she was. Tucked under the luxurious bedclothes, Catherine calmed immediately as she remembered she was mistress of Rosings Park. It had taken some time, but the last two days had given her a surge of energy. At last, she had a purpose.

No longer the girl waiting for a future to find her, she was a wife and the mistress of one of the largest estates in Kent. She had heard mention of other properties as well and would look forward to learning more about her new life.

She had little reason to imagine they would become close friends or confidants, but that was not what made a marriage, and she did trust his word.

She broke her fast with her husband, met with the housekeeper, and created lists upon lists of work for herself. Just like when Eloise died, finding a task and a purpose in her ever-changing world felt grounding.

When she met her husband in the dining room that evening, he looked tired. Had he not been sleeping well? She never heard him in his bed chamber at night and wondered how little he was sleeping. The Catherine of last week might have said something unkind, but since he had been magnanimous in welcoming her into his home, she, too, wanted to show some compassion.

“Are you well?” she asked him sincerely.

“Yes, and you?”

“I am, though you look—”

“Say it, Kitty,” he said with a smirk and then shovelled a large forkful of beef into his mouth.

Catherine groaned audibly at the audacity of her husband. “I loathe being called Kitty.”

“Really? What shall I call you? The Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh feels slightly formal, does it not?”

She rolled her eyes. Her ladylike composure that had been driven into her all her life was nearly a memory after a few months of sparring with Sir Lewis.

“You may call me Lady Catherine, or my lady, or your ladyship.” Her voice was saturated with irritation.

“Fine. Now tell me what it is you mean to say, Minx.”

Heavens above! “Did you study the art of conversational redirection or was it born of your peculiar temperament?” He studied her intently, his grin widening with amusement. “I was going to tell you that you look dreadful.”

At that, he nearly choked on the beef. His laugh boomed through the dining room, surprising not only herself but apparently the footmen in attendance too, for they were struggling to maintain their solemnity. Propriety be damned, she wanted to laugh too.

“Might I ask Mrs Owen to prepare you a sleeping draught tonight? It is obvious you have found little rest of late.”

“How perceptive you are, my lioness.”

First a small feline dependent upon field mice and now a comparison to an exotic, wild animal. He lived to rile her. “Lioness? Do you expect me to answer to your ridiculous nicknames? For I shall not.”

“Much more suited to you than Kitty, if you ask me.” He smiled around his fork.

Catherine stood then from the table, abruptly, even as her husband was clearly not finished with the second remove and long before dessert would be delivered. But due to her position in the household, Sir Lewis was forced to swallow quickly, abandon his cloth napkin, and join her in standing.

She smiled at her small victory. “Shall we adjourn to the library, sir?’

From his smug smile, you would think he was enjoying her little prank as much as she was.

“Please give my gratitude to the cook,” Catherine told the butler who attended over their meal. And then she left with a kick in her step and a smile on her face.

Point, Catherine.

The sun shone abundantly through the large, extravagant windows in the old morning room the next day. Catherine was pleased with the quick work of the servants to open the two rooms and told the housekeeper as much. She still had much to do, but not on this day, because she was on her way to the parsonage.

It would be the first time she was seeing her friends since her marriage. They would place the knocker back on the door that day, but she asked Mrs Owen to delay. For instead of waiting on callers of her own, she only wanted to visit the parsonage. There would be many days for receiving guests.

Catherine hurried down the steps, adjusting her hat and pulling on her gloves. When she reached the drive, she found Sir Lewis walking with his hounds.

“Sit,” he ordered the dogs. “See here? This is my new wife who has relegated you both to the stables for the remainder of your days.”

“Oh posh! I did no such thing.” Catherine did not stop walking. She had time in abundance for her husband’s goading, but not today.

“I seem to remember you saying that dogs do not belong in the house,” he said, coming to walk beside her down the drive, his hands clasped behind his back in his casual manner.

“I am not so highhanded.”

“I do not mean to say you are highhanded—you are mistress of this house.”

Catherine had no time to play his games today. “When I mentioned that I did not think animals belonged in houses, I was not speaking of your dogs specifically, and that was long before I was mistress of Rosings. Now, I am off to visit Miss Sedgwick. I shall return in time to dress for dinner.”

“Shall I have the carriage brought around?”

“That is not necessary. I am perfectly able to walk. It is only half a mile across the park.”

“I am aware of your abilities, but that does not signify that you should walk if it is not your preference. You should know that I ordered a second carriage, and it has arrived. Walk if you must, but I know you are not fond of being out of doors.”

A new carriage! She finally stopped and turned towards Sir Lewis.

“A new carriage?”

“It is only right that you should have one. It arrived from town today. The new coachman is called Marley, and he shall be at your disposal.”

She hesitated. It would be rather lovely to call for the carriage, but she did not like to delay. She had sent a note ahead to tell Virginia of her intentions and expected arrival time.

She looked back to the stables and then to her husband. “I thank you. I shall call for the carriage on my next visit.”

She returned his smile, and he nodded to her. “It is no more than you deserve.”

A blush warmed her cheeks at his praise. He was truly charming when he wanted to be. His short brown hair was slightly mussed around the edges of his tricorn hat, and his commanding tone only increased his handsomeness. She was staring at him too long. It was time to go.

“Please do try to stay out of trouble, Catherine.” He yelled after her, and the bubble of admiration she had just felt for his person popped and faded as she rolled her eyes and turned towards the path that led to the parsonage.

After crossing the lawn of the church and walking through the garden that surrounded the rectory, she felt she was taking her first breath since the ball.

Virginia’s parents were in the small parlour in the back of the parsonage when she was announced by their maid.

Mrs Sedgwick stood upon her entry and offered congratulations on her marriage and wished her well. She excused herself to find Virginia while the parson invited Catherine to sit.

Mr Sedgwick was an educated man of middling fifties if she were to guess. By the look of him, he had something he wanted to share with her before Virginia arrived.

“Well, well, you look in good health, my lady. It appears that marriage agrees with you.”

“Thank you,” Catherine gave a gracious and demure response to his flattery.

“I was surprised when Sir Lewis approached me with a special license last week. The entire village was. I am sure you comprehend that I should not like my Virginia to have any false admiration for a quick run to the altar. A lady’s reputation is as fragile as glass—what begins as a small sliver of a crack often leads to its inevitable demise. Rumours can just as swiftly blacken the name of a genteel lady, no matter her position. As the parson, I take the sacred oaths of marriage exceedingly seriously, as do my parishioners. I alone hold the responsibility to set an example for the parish.”

Their efforts to hush the rumours surrounding her engagement had obviously been thwarted. No matter, the deed was done. She was married. And Mr Sedgwick, as he had so finely put it, was the head of the local parish, and his interests were tied to quelling such allegations about her and her husband.

Catherine was not a stranger to proud gentlemen. “I thank you for the well wishes, sir. Of that, we are in accord. It is certainly an auspicious day when your patron takes a wife. And speaking of responsibility, as the principal landowners in the neighbourhood, my husband and I also understand the importance of setting an example.”

It was good for Catherine to remind him of who she was to him. She would not be pushed to reveal personal information about her marriage to a man whose living depended on her estate. Did he not realize her position in this community now? He would do best not to accuse her of any wrongdoing.

He held her gaze, clearly deciding whether he wanted to continue the conversation he attempted to begin. “Blessings on your happy marriage, your ladyship. If you will excuse me.”

He stood and informed the maid by the door that he would be in his book room.

If Catherine lived long enough to see the living at the Hunsford rectory vacant one day, she would certainly choose someone who would know their place.

When Virginia entered, she brought good cheer and happy wishes. So, too, did Emilia and Diana when they arrived. After some time was spent discussing the preparation of tea, and the selection of cakes and biscuits, the ladies finally came around to discussing Catherine’s quick marriage.

“We were so surprised!” Emilia cried. “Why did you not tell us of your engagement?”

Virginia and Diana sent quelling looks at her, asking her silently to stop her line of inquiry.

Catherine reached out a hand to Emilia and patted her arm. “Your questions are acceptable. We are friends, are we not? You can ask me anything you like.”

The three ladies all looked to her to continue.

“The engagement was of a short duration, but I am happily married. And I am thankful to have all of your support—especially yours, Diana, as I am new to being a married woman.”

“Of course!” Diana cried. “You may rely on me.”

“I think it all very romantic!” Emilia joined in, just as Catherine could have expected.

“It is all as it should be,” Catherine said. She would not divulge any details to her friends. “Sir Lewis met my family at Oakley before I came to Kent. We were certain of their esteem for my husband then, and our friendship grew accordingly once I was in the neighbourhood.”

Catherine turned to Virginia. “I did not have the pleasure of speaking to you overmuch at the ball. Have you given Lord Metcalfe an answer?”

“Oh!” Virginia exclaimed. “I had nearly forgotten that you had not heard. Yes, I have agreed to marry Lord Metcalfe.”

“Have you?” Catherine was surprised.

“I cannot imagine why I thought to toss away such a good prospect over a flirtation! I did not answer him that night, but when I heard of your wedding, it helped me come to my senses! I could not become the future Mrs Webb! It would be unseemly.”

Diana frowned at that. “Mr Webb is a kind gentleman.”

“To be sure! But a life with Mr Webb would not compare to being a viscountess.” Virginia sounded convinced, but there was less certainty behind her smile. Catherine wondered how many ladies made their marital decisions with such little conviction. “I see now how clever you have been, my friend, and it helped me see to my future. And we shall be neighbours always! Just think—soon I will be serving tea from my own drawing room. It will be far grander than this little parlour my mother allows for my use.”

Catherine hoped, for Virginia’s sake, that she would enjoy her new life. Heaven knew, she was realizing it was not promised for all married ladies.