Chapter 15
Elizabeth gazed happily out of the window to the western gardens beyond the great stone terrace that ran the length of that side of the house.
Mrs. Reynolds had told her it was the favoured place to sit in hot summers, although now it was snow-covered and deserted.
Her letter to Jane lay half-finished on the escritoire at which she sat in the peace of the library.
She decided that this was quite her favourite place to sit and laughed to herself. Was it only so few days, less than a fortnight, since she had believed she could never feel at home here?
The new understanding between her and William had awakened in her an affection for his ancestral home too, and she anticipated seeing the great house and grounds in all seasons of the year.
She shook herself from her reverie and returned to her letter. She looked at what she had written and picked up her pen to continue writing.
… yes, William was telling me of his family as we walked the gallery yesterday and he says that he hopes his sister and cousin will be joining us for Twelfth Night.
I am anticipating meeting my new sister very much — I have missed you greatly, and I understand the cousin is an amiable gentleman; the son of an earl, no less!
Ought I to practice my curtsy, do you think?
The weather here has been terrible; sometimes I could not take my walk out of doors and had to walk the gallery instead. It is enormous, I thought it would take me five or ten minutes complete to walk the length of it!
I jest, of course; except for the times I was stopping on the way to look at the portraits.
I am to have mine painted, I believe, but William says I may choose the landscape I want behind me, and if he believes it will be of the formal gardens, then he does not yet know me very well. And that, we are resolving.
Oh, my dear, I find my feelings for him are changing so fast; but then I believe I have been softening towards him these last few months without realising it. He is so kind to the servants and I even …
The door opened and Elizabeth looked up, smiling as her husband entered the room, a sheaf of letters in his hand.
“I thought I would find you in here, dearest. I have a letter from my sister. She says that Richard believes they will arrive here on the second day of January.” He crossed the room and bent to place a light kiss on her head.
“I am very much looking forward to making their acquaintance, William. And their chambers are prepared and only need airing.” She laughed.
“I believe Mrs. Reynolds has adjusted the menu several times for the night they arrive.” Elizabeth frowned slightly.
“I suppose the drifts will not melt soon enough to discover if there are any snowdrops for my new sister’s room.
Are any other flowers available at this time of year? ”
She wiped her pen nib and rose to cross to the comfortable chairs by the fire, knowing he would join her. “Oh, and you need to know that I have chosen the background for our portrait.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” His eyes were soft as he gazed at her. “And where do you think, seeing that I will not allow it to be in our bedchamber?”
“Why, it will be in here, of course!” Elizabeth flung her arm out to indicate the room. “The artist will be delighted at having to portray all the books in these carefully-ordered shelves!”
His laugh was unrestrained, and Elizabeth delighted in the feeling that her presence made him happy, for his happiness was important to her.
He placed his letters down and drew her into his embrace.
“Georgiana will be happy with a few sprigs of greenery, I am sure. Although you might ask Mr. Reed if he can speak to the head gardener. Mr. Potts may have some early flowers in the hothouse.”
“You didn’t tell me you have a hothouse here. I shall be sure to walk out this afternoon.”
He laughed. “You will please me by allowing me to escort you — in the phaeton. It is quite a way in this cold weather. Grandfather built it for my grandmother’s pleasure — you saw her portrait, remember?”
“He was as kind as you then, William.” Elizabeth snuggled closer into his arms, feeling his breath hitch.
The hothouse had to wait until the next morning. William had insisted they prepare properly for the journey, although it was short, and the hot bricks were warmed, along with a number of blankets.
Elizabeth hid her impatience with the necessity, certain that a laughing dash through the snow would have been easier.
Once they had arrived, she was delighted. “This is lovely. When you said hothouse, I imagined a large place, with formal rows of plants with flowers for cutting. But this is charming. So much greenery, and it is lovely and warm.”
“Grandfather loved her very much and she spent many happy hours here, I understand.” William seemed solemn. “But look, Mr. Potts has placed a few pots here.”
Elizabeth examined the pots of primroses, pansies and violets. “Oh, how lovely they are. As their stems are very short, perhaps he would permit me to place a pot of these violets in Georgiana’s room.”
William smiled indulgently. “I will instruct him — and that he place one in your chamber, too.”
Elizabeth stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him. “Thank you.” Then she slowly strolled, as if aimlessly, towards the door, enticing him that way. She was determined to unbend him a little.
Once close enough, she dashed outside and picked up a handful of snow. There wasn’t time to press it into a snowball, as William had followed her. “Elizabeth!”
Giving a whoop of laughter, she spun round and flung the snow at him, before hastily reaching for more.
“What?” He looked bemused for an instant, before he laughed. “If that is your plan, madam, then be warned.”
Elizabeth flung the snowball at him and then dashed behind a tree where his riposte landed with a damp thud.
She could not prevent a small involuntary cry as she was lifted off her feet. William had raced to the other side of the tree and caught her up in his arms. A quick kiss and he placed her down, before peppering her with handfuls of snow as she retreated, giggling.
“I had only sisters. If I had had the experience of the strength of a brother’s throw, I might not have risked this,” she said breathlessly, before gamely gathering another handful of snow.
Their laughter echoed through the grounds, and Elizabeth caught a fleeting smile from the groom standing by the phaeton and pretending not to see. Even the world, it seemed, shared in their happiness. She wondered what he must think of his master now.
Soon they retreated back into the hothouse to recover their breath before setting out again.
“A hot bath for us both before luncheon, I believe.” Elizabeth smoothed down her skirts. She reached up. “You look wonderful; tousled, red-cheeked and smiling. And you have dimples!” she pulled off her gloves and touched his face, then she huddled into him. “Keep me warm, please.”
“And who was it that started this?” he chuckled, and she raised her face for his kiss.