Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (25 page)

“You’ll be a viscountess . . . for a time, anyway,” Lady Cromley said. “The expectations and pressure upon you will be enormous, especially since you’ve not been raised for the role. It takes a great deal of training, not to mention generations of breeding, to prepare a young lady for such an august position in society. Either of
our
daughters, my Arabella in particular, would have been perfect for the position . . . if it wasn’t for the danger inherent in accepting the viscount’s proposal, of course. If matters run true to form, after an exhausting confinement, harrowing labour, and the sacrificial provision of an heir, there’s every expectation you will
die.
”

The dowager’s black-gloved hands fluttered in the air, reminding Hannah of a pair of crows.

“Lord Blackthorn and I believe the risk to my life is minimal.” It would be if he had his way. “But as to my fulfilling the role of viscountess, I am open to any advice you may have to offer.”

In the ensuing weeks, Hannah came to regret her choice of mentors, though she couldn’t deny the ladies were knowledgeable when it came to the ways of the
ton.
During sessions that seemed to last forever, Hannah was tutored in how to comport herself when presented at court, which invitations should be accepted and which declined, the
correct
way to conduct a ball, to which dressmakers she should give her patronage, and what charities she should support . . . the anti-slavery league noticeably absent. Hannah was left wondering how she could possibly avoid the seemingly numerous faux pas they warned her about, any one of which would be considered disastrous to her social standing.

“One must maintain an air of civility and composure at all times.” Lady Cromley demonstrated by lifting her already prominent nose high in the air.

“And one must never,
under
any
circumstances, be seen to display affection towards one’s spouse in public.” Lady Wescott eyed her reprovingly, though Hannah hardly thought the friendly smiles and innocent touches she and William shared on occasion warranted the rebuke. Hannah could only imagine how the ladies would respond if they knew of the passionate kiss they’d shared on the afternoon of his proposal. On the rare instances William and she had been allowed a few minutes alone, he had not attempted a repeat, even though she would have been very happy to oblige him. His actions confirmed her suspicion he hadn’t
enjoyed the experience as much as she had.

Socialising with the local debutantes, as she was now welcome to do, was even worse than receiving instruction from their mothers. If the young ladies, who were closer in age to Rachel and Naomi, had possessed a fraction of her sisters’ intelligence, Hannah wouldn’t have minded. But while they could run rings around her when it came to knowing which type of lace, brand of tea, or mode of dance was currently fashionable, they had no interest in the issues that engaged her.

Hannah missed Grace’s company, but they were still at odds. Even her village friends treated her differently, showing a degree of deference she neither wanted nor expected. While some matters were still brought to her attention, to her frustration, others were kept from her.

“Ye mustn’t bother Miss Foster,” she’d heard whispered on more than one occasion. “She’s to be a viscountess soon and shan’t have time for such petty issues as she dealt with when she was just the vicar’s daughter.”

In addition to their reticence to come to her with their problems was a pervading sense of gloom over her predicted demise. There were times Hannah felt like she was attending her own wake—a long and protracted one. To make matters worse, she had a lot of time on her hands now the vicarage was supplied with a full retinue of staff, courtesy of William’s generosity. If it wasn’t for the wedding preparations, she wasn’t sure what she would have done with herself. Endless hours spent hunched over an embroidery hoop or dabbling in watercolours had never appealed to Hannah, her mother’s example having inspired her to pursue a different path. As a vicar’s wife, Hannah’s mother had found herself in the unusual position of maintaining her social standing while having ample opportunity to put her talents to good use—in particular, her ability to offer wise, caring counsel, and to both see a need and find a way for it to be met. The goal of a gentrified young lady was to look pretty at all times while accomplishing nothing of great significance, or so it seemed to Hannah. Like her mother before her, she much preferred being needed . . . and useful.

Hannah began to fear the worst part about becoming a viscountess would be the boredom, until William alerted her to the many opportunities that would be at her disposal as his wife. His revelation came at the time of their first major disagreement when she raised the matter of the size of her sisters’ dowries and her marriage settlement.

“The amounts are exorbitant,” she argued. “What on earth am I going to do with an income of five thousand pounds a year, when you insist you’ll be paying all the bills, including those of my dressmaker?”

“Whatever you like,” he said with a shrug. “Buy property, start a new charity. It’s entirely up to you.”

Hannah was rendered speechless, not having considered such possibilities, but she soon regained her voice.

“All I ever wanted for my sisters was for them to marry men of their choosing. But with ten thousand pounds each, I fear we’ll have fortune hunters lining up at the vicarage gate.”

William’s sober expression assured her he understood her concerns, as foolish girls enticed into an elopement lost all rights to whatever funds they brought to the union. It was necessary for the marriage settlement, a legally binding document that required ratification, to be negotiated between a father and prospective groom
before
the wedding to ensure the bride was protected. She could not access the capital unless widowed, of course, but the yearly income was hers to spend as she saw fit . . . unless she was tricked with flattery and false promises.

“Since Naomi and Rachel are to be my sisters-in-law, it’s expected they should have a reasonable income,” William said. “I’ll gladly give them more should they ever need it. As to their being targeted by unscrupulous fellows, I promise to guard your sisters against harm as fervently as I plan on keeping
you
safe.”

Hannah’s thanks for his generosity was subdued. While she appreciated William’s determination to protect Naomi and Rachel, the intensity of his avowal confirmed the unlikelihood of Hannah’s being able to circumvent his plans.

“As for the size of your marriage settlement,” he continued when she remained silent, “I want to ensure your financial security in case anything should happen to me.”

Hannah’s breath hitched. She’d just found William, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. “You’ve had enough brushes with death to last a lifetime,” she said, placing her hands on his chest, “and shall die a very old man in your bed, if I have anything to say about it.”

It was the closest they had been since their kiss, but rather than pull away, William covered her hand where it rested over his heart.

“I never intended to grow old.” His brown eyes appeared lit with a warmth from within. “But with you by my side, the notion is actually appealing.”

Most young ladies craved flowery words from their beaux, but Hannah couldn’t imagine a better compliment and cherished it during the final days of their betrothal.

After a week of intermittent rain, the wedding day of the sixth Viscount Blackthorn and the eldest daughter of the vicar of Hartley dawned to only partly overcast skies. It had been expected they would conduct a ball in the lead-up to the wedding, but the ballroom at Blackthorn Manor was yet to be renovated, and the groom was unable to dance. Hannah hadn’t minded, privately relieved when William chose to ignore the reproving comments of their peers.

“They can attend the service if they must,” he’d said, clearly reluctant to give ground to people who’d shunned him as a boy and were toadying to him now he was a man. “But if they think I’ll be hosting an extended house party after the wedding, or pandering to their opinions, they can think again.”

Hannah had been comforted by his comments, hopeful they denoted a less restrictive future for her than the one described by her mentors. The older women had even attempted to instruct her on her duty and comportment when it came to the marital bed. They’d informed her that gentlemen were expected to enjoy their conjugal rights while ladies were to actively deny any such feelings, enduring with stoicism the uncomfortable and humiliating affair. Since Adam and Eve had managed without the dowagers of Blackthorn to instruct them in acceptable procreative behaviour, Hannah had decided she was better off without their advice. Of course, the issue was moot unless she could convince her husband to actually
claim
his conjugal rights.

“You look beautiful.” Naomi said, looking over Hannah’s shoulder in the full-length mirror that now adorned her bedroom. The purchase was an extravagance, but so was her new wardrobe of gowns.

“
All
brides look beautiful on their wedding day,” Hannah said, unable to completely deny Naomi’s assessment. Her honey-coloured hair shone like spun gold, her new lady’s maid, Marianne, having fashioned it into an intricate design of braids and soft curls, interwoven with tiny flowers and seed pearls. Her wedding gown, made from ivory and gold silks and laces, flowed around her in gossamer waves. Her diamond encrusted tiara, necklace, and bracelet—gifts from William that had left Hannah gaping like a fish—added the perfect finishing touches.

Thank heavens she hadn’t been born a generation earlier, when gowns were made from layers of stiff, heavy fabrics, the dress often outweighing the wearer. Tight corsetry had been required, preventing one from bending or moving with ease, and one even had to be sewn into the gown. The revolution in France had put an end to such fashions when the English nobility, fearing their own lives could soon be at stake, began scorning dress that set them so far apart from the common people and made them obvious targets. Simpler fashions ensued, copying the empire lines and flowing fabrics of the Grecian designs. The gowns could be a bit draughty, requiring skin-coloured body stockings to be worn beneath in the cooler months or climes of Britain. But the freedom of movement and expression they allowed made the newer fashions a great success, quite apart from revolutionary fears.

A bride in the late seventeen hundreds would have been required to wear a wig fully twelve to eighteen inches high, her face powdered to a ghostly white with brightly rouged cheeks and lips. Hannah shuddered at the thought. In contrast, she’d permitted Marianne to add a hint of colour to her face, just enough to enhance rather than disguise her appearance.

While Hannah would never count herself a great beauty, she was pleased by the reflection in the bevelled mirror. Her skin glowed with health, and her eyes sparkled. If she could just remember to smile, she would look almost pretty
.
At least, that’s what she hoped William would think when he saw her.

Chapter 21

Ceremony

Standing in front of the congregation on his wedding day reminded William of the moments just before a battle. His breath came quickly and his heart pounded in his ears, but his mind was remarkably clear. In both situations, he was acutely aware that decisions he
made could mean life or death to those for whom he was responsible.

“You have the look of a man about to face a firing squad,” Loring, his best man, murmured. “Second thoughts?”

“About Hannah? No.”

“You do seem well suited.” His friend of many years nodded. “She’s mature, capable, intelligent . . .”

“Compassionate, beautiful,” William continued on without thinking.

“Ahh . . .” Loring raised a brow. “Not merely a match of expediency, I see.”

“Not on my part.” William kept his eyes trained on the sunlit door to the church.

“Is she aware of your feelings?” His friend kept his voice low. “I know it’s not fashionable to proclaim affection for one’s spouse, but she seems a sensible sort. I doubt she’d take offence.”

William shrugged. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

He shouldn’t have kissed her, certainly not in such a passionate manner. A chaste brushing of the lips would have satisfied her curiosity, but he’d allowed himself to be carried away by the desire her touch aroused. His only consolation came in the knowledge she’d been similarly affected.

William’s initial reaction had been to assume a profound apology was required for his lapse in gentlemanly behaviour. But in reliving the event—something he’d done numerous times since that fateful afternoon—he had come to a rather momentous conclusion.