Chapter One #2
“Two weeks ago, I stood in this room, barely able to see the floor through the chaos,” he said, vocalising his earlier thoughts.
“Manuscripts everywhere. Artefacts in heaps. Mrs Thornberry stood amid it all with the severity of a final reckoning. And then that letter arrived. The Society of Antiquaries, reminding me that they expected a gathering here. That they looked forward to the hospitality of the newly appointed Countess of Penwood.”
Alexander gave a low whistle.
“That was a well-aimed dagger,” he said.
Marcus nodded, running his hand through his hair, undoing what little combing had been done to neaten his hair for the day.
“I had no idea what to do,” he said, setting the paperweight down with care. “How could I explain that there was no countess? That I lived surrounded by relics and footnotes and did not require help managing a household because I barely managed it at all?”
Alexander nodded, his eyes reflecting his steady understanding.
“You needed a solution,” he said. “As any man in your position would.”
Marcus nodded, though it felt more like concession than agreement.
“Yes,” he said. “And Thomas Beaumont offered one.”
Alexander leaned back and stretched his legs out.
“Indeed,” he said. “His sister required a respectable position. You required a respectable countess. Neither of you sought a love match. Neither of you had any expectations beyond those of convenience.”
Marcus glanced away.
“It should be a practical success,” he said quietly. “She understands academic work. She understands order. She managed Thomas’s household for two years without complaint.”
Alexander nodded once more, his eyes patiently encouraging.
“And now she will manage yours,” he said.
Marcus hesitated.
“But what if she regrets it?” he asked. “What if the practical advantages are not enough?”
Alexander frowned, then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“She had the choice to remain with her brother,” he said. “You saw how efficiently she ran his house. And it is quite evident how dearly they love one another. He would not have cast her off.”
Marcus nodded again, though he could not find convincing reassurance in his friend’s words.
“No,” he said. “He said as much.”
Alexander opened his hands in a gentle gesture that told Marcus he felt his point had been rather obviously proven.
“Then why did she leave?” he asked. “Why agree to marry a near-stranger, to enter an unfamiliar household, and take on all the duties of a countess? There must be something more in it for her than linens and precedence at table.”
Marcus stared at the hearth again, then said quietly, “Mayhap she values discovery—or prefers to build something of her own, rather than remain in the comfort of what is already ordered. During her visit here last week, she paused before the Roman pottery case and began asking questions that caught me entirely off guard. She sees connections I had overlooked. That day, she observed that the wear upon one jug’s base suggested repetitive grinding—not storage, as I had assumed.
I consulted the excavation notes afterwards.
She was right. And the conclusion alters one’s understanding of the villa’s entire domestic labour structure. ”
Alexander’s mouth curved in a faint smile.
“Then she is a woman who can challenge you—and that is no small thing. Such a wife is hardly a liability, Marcus.
Marcus shook his head.
“Of that, I have no doubt at all,” he said. “My concern is her contentment—or rather, her lack of it, should she find none here.”
Alexander gave Marcus another kind smile.
“She is not a fool,” he said. “She knew precisely what she accepted. There must be something of contentment in the deal for her. Perhaps, she simply enjoys keeping things ordered.”
They sat in silence for a moment. The fire gave a muted crackle, barely audible beneath the ticking of the mantel clock. Marcus could hear the distant murmur of servants in the hallway, the echo of activity preparing for the ceremony.
“She asked me about the Society’s visit,” Marcus said after a moment. “About how many guests to expect. She had already considered the arrangement of bedchambers. She requested the list of dietary restrictions from Mrs Thornberry.”
Alexander chuckled.
“She had barely arrived when she asked for the guest list,” he said with a short nod. “I saw her with it myself.”
Marcus blinked, recalling how confident and poised Catherine Beaumont had been.
“She said she would need a full week to prepare menus,” he said.
Alexander made the open-handed gesture again.
“Then she means to make it a success,” he said.
Marcus sighed. He understood his friend’s logic, and it was sound. But could Alexander not see cause for his concern for Miss Beaumont’s—Catherine’s—emotions, as well?
“I am still afraid she will regret it,” he said insistently.
Alexander stood.
“Then your task is to give her no cause,” he said.
Marcus gave a short, mirthless laugh.
“I do not think I am very capable in matters of sentiment,” he said.
Alexander laughed with a bit more amusement,
“Good thing she is not marrying you for sentiment,” he said.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. But before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Garrett entered with a low bow.
“The wedding party has begun to assemble, my lord,” he said.
Marcus nodded. His hands felt curiously detached from the rest of him as he pulled on his gloves. Garrett stepped back to allow them passage. Marcus looked at Alexander, who gave no speech or jest. There was only a slight dip of his head before he turned toward the door. Marcus followed.
They descended the staircase in silence; the air filled with the subdued sounds of preparation.
Marcus’s thoughts turned inward as they crossed the marble foyer and approached the chapel.
What had begun as a necessity had become something else.
Not quite hope. But a stirring of something unfamiliar.
Something that bore no resemblance to the careful logic that had guided his life thus far.
Whatever brought them to this moment, he must now make it more than convenience. He must make it a life.