Chapter Three
As the carriage rocked, rumbled, creaked and jolted, Hypatia was forced to wonder whether or not Thorn’s promise—and Ian’s when he’d handed her back up into it, after dropping Thorn off at his temporary London home and bidding him safe journey, while he continued on his own way—that the dusty, musty old contraption that smelt of damp and old patchouli, would survive the trip to Kent.
However, the thing did appear to have solid bones, and wasn’t entirely uncomfortable—if slightly used, especially as concerned the dips in the cushions, or flaking leather of the squabs—and thus far, it had held true.
And given their speed, and the hours travelled, the miles covered, they had only about an hour or so left before they arrived at Gadmin Hall, so she could only hope the men’s promises would hold true; though admittedly there were enough stops along the road that were they to encounter any issue, they would not be far from aid or shelter.
Though we do not have much coin for either.
Indeed, she had only what she had squirrelled away over the years—portions from what little pin money she was on occasion allowed, or bits and bobs she kept after running errands—not an insignificant amount altogether as she’d never done much with it, hoping to someday use it to build her own future, but an amount she now considered as hers and Thorn’s; and which would likely be needed to aid in building their future given all she’d heard about the house and farm, and despite her portion.
Some might find it odd, just how quickly she’d come to think of things in terms of her and Thorn, their future, having only been married this morning, having only met the bridegroom days prior, knowing practically nothing about him, and given that this was a contract which obliged her to nothing more than speaking vows and keeping to them in many ways; however, that was a great part of who Hypatia was.
Someone adept at quick and efficient adaptation; someone who found themselves in new situations, faced with new obstacles, and who merely accepted them, and soldiered on.
Not entirely without grudging, but with a clear-cut understanding that no amount of dislike would change what was necessary for her to do, and so, on she would go.
In this respect—her marriage—she couldn’t say she was in any fraction grudging.
In fact, she was rather excited, and hopeful.
She’d liked Thorn well enough in the garden, and in every small moment since, she’d not seen or felt anything to counter that liking.
Of course, she’d had doubts and questions—from the first; wondered if she was making the right choice, or if she was somehow being a hopeless, romantic dreamer for the first time, being impulsive when really, that wasn’t her at all.
She’d asked herself quite often after their first encounter, what she was agreeing to; who she was entrusting herself to.
Wondered if this all didn’t work out, would he let her go, in peace?
Would he give her the means to do so, or would she have to survive another way?
Would he turn out to be a terrible person, once her dowry was his, and she was trapped?
Should she be thinking of her money as hers; as a means to escape in that eventuality?
Or generally, should she be thinking of hers as hers, and his as his, rather than ours, and we, and committing herself to anything more than their initial agreement of money for freedom?
Only she couldn’t help but be certain that he was a good man.
From all she’d heard, seen, and felt—even his wanting to stand up for her with her father this morning—every little detail, every word, had been a clue to build the somewhat picture of a man with a head on his shoulders, who told no lies, and was…
simple. She had as much conviction of his character as one could ever have, and in the end time would tell.
For now, she trusted him, to behave as he had thus far—with honour, decency, and integrity—and that was what trust had always been to her.
A conviction that someone would behave as they’d demonstrated they were apt to.
There was an allowance for surprises, naturally.
However, betting on a certain pattern was as good a bet as one could lay; or so she had found thus far.
So no, in the end, she’d concluded that she wasn’t being a hopeful romantic dreamer, but instead pragmatic, seizing a most welcome opportunity.
And as regarded her small savings, well, she would keep a portion of it, enough, just in case escape was ever required as she too had a head on her shoulders, or so she liked to think, but the rest…
The rest would be theirs. As for their future, the farm, the house, any of that, well, she would have to see what awaited her in Kent, however, she posited that success and solvency for the estate and the title would require more than simply Thorn’s efforts, and if she could help, she would.
In the end, there was nothing wrong with ensuring all that would likely be providing her a life and a future, would do just that.
Toying with the simple silver band beneath her glove—somehow a perfect fit, and decorated inside with ivy, a touching detail she wondered if Thorn had even noticed when he’d purchased it, likely at some pawnbroker’s, not that she minded—she glanced outside the dusky window as the road eased slightly.
She wondered, for a moment, if like so much else of her character, people would think her odd for so quickly thinking of herself as a wife, but giving no second thought to herself as a bride.
For not truly feeling anything but calm and settled this morning; excited and hopeful for her marriage, just not for her wedding.
While some brides were nervous she knew, she hadn’t felt anything such.
Perhaps it was that the marriage had been her choice, and she had no fear of any potential time spent in the marital bed, not being so unknowledgeable as others.
Or perhaps it was that it had merely felt so right.
Simple. Seeing Thorn there, waiting outside the church at the appointed hour, it had settled the only nerves she’d had; that he wouldn’t be there.
After that, it had all been eminently lovely, and without fuss, just as she might’ve hoped had she ever truly dreamt of a wedding day for herself.
And it wasn’t that she hadn’t cared about it at all, she took the vows she made seriously even if she didn’t believe in God, and therefore made such vows without the fear of Him and His retribution and judgement, only of her own.
Really, it was just that to her, the wedding day held no great importance in her heart; the vows, the journey which followed, the years, those were the things of great importance.
As the miles continued to blur past hastily, Hypatia tried to guess how far Thorn had gotten by now, and curiosity besting her, she wondered what awaited him whenever he finally arrived; what his old home was like.
Some part of her wished she might’ve gone with him, to see the sea, to learn more about him, but she knew it was better this way.
And it couldn’t be discounted in the least, that this parting demonstrated the trust he held in her—sending her to begin their work alone.
Inherently accepting, asking for her help.
She didn’t feel as though he’d abandoned her, or cast her off now that he’d gotten what he wanted, but again, time would tell.
Just as time would tell what kind of life they might have, what they could build.
Together, and yes, perhaps eventually, apart.
For no matter that their fates were entwined now, this was a business agreement, and no promises beyond a certain level of partnership had been agreed to.
They might be husband and wife; time alone again would tell what that might look like two, five, ten, or even twenty years from now.
If we shall be friends, or partners still, or perhaps nothing more than civil strangers.
After all, nothing lasts forever.
In the meantime, Hypatia couldn’t but be rather excited again at the prospect of building something together, just as she couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of discovering what would be her new home, soon.
If the surrounding countryside is as lush, and full of dips, hills, meadows and trees as these vistas, I think I shall rather like it.
The sun emerged from behind a rather fluffy bunch of white clouds, dancing shadows upon the colourful landscape beyond, as if to thank her for her compliments, and promise that it would in fact be so.
Now you are in fact being a hopeful romantic.
But as I have never been one, I think, I should rather like to try it.
Dreaming, too. That has always sounded rather pleasant.
‘Oh dear,’ Hypatia mumbled as the carriage jerked to a stop before the Tudor erection, which was more or less erect.
Mostly thanks to the swathes of ivy that appear to hold it together.
She grimaced slightly, her eyes travelling over what she could see of it, as she waited for Ian to come open the door.
‘Well, as promised, derelict it is, so at least it will keep you busy,’ she sighed, preparing herself as she heard him leap down, and crunch on the gravel.
The carriage’s door opened with a now familiar thud, bump, screech and creak, and Hypatia took a deep breath as Ian’s bony arm, swathed in his worn coat, appeared in the empty space before her.
This is a challenge, not a disappointment; regardless, you must show neither.
Descending the carriage, she reminded herself that she was no longer Hypatia Quincy, but Lady Hypatia Ackerman, mistress of this house, Countess of Gadmin, and that ladies such as her smiled, and were kind and respectful of those around them—at least so she believed ladies of such standing should be, there were always plenty to disprove the rule.