Chapter 17
Vix occupied the days following her marriage with a great deal of errands. There was much to do and, as far as she was concerned, never quite enough time in which to do it.
She still had not managed to move into the bedroom she’d chosen in her new house. Ambrose had found various ways to prevent said migration from occurring, always in such obvious, ridiculous ways that she had a hard time feeling anything but flattered by it.
“I’m sorry, darling, I honestly do not know how your new pillows ended up outdoors,” he’d say one night. And then the next, “It is only that Bear has struggled to find a bed he likes, and your new duvet is finally the thing. Look how peaceful he is.”
She smiled to herself, shaking her head as she took the steps up to Holy Comfort, trying not to feel disturbed at how warmed she was by her husband’s foolishness.
It was also that she was enjoying sleeping next to him as well.
He would chatter to her about the day, about idle thoughts, and about nonsense from the past in the dark hours before they slept.
Sometimes he would hold her hand or turn and gaze at her, but he had not, to his word, attempted a consummation.
Not until she asked.
That was enough to make her smile fall away.
Ambrose. How was he so perfectly intolerable?
“Vix!” cried Matthew Everly from the pulpit, where his ink-stained hand was poised over the week’s sermon, holding a quill like a sewing needle. “You’ve come for the register entry?”
“No,” she said, gesturing down at the puppy trotting by her side, “I’ve come to force you to baptize the dog.”
Matthew grimaced, slapping the quill down and coming around the pulpit with a wary look at Bear. “New congregant, is he?”
“Very devout,” she assured him, giving a smirk at the way he flinched. “Yes, I’m here for the register. Is it ready?”
“Of course it is,” he said with an offended little sniff. He glanced around behind her, peering beyond the door. “No one else with you today?”
She blinked. “No. Someone you wanted?”
He grinned at her, scratching at one of his frizzy curls. “Of course not. You’re just always in such delightful mixed company.”
“Hm,” she said, turning to follow him toward the office.
“It’s true,” he continued. “The healer woman. The wicked little Jewish miss. That pretty blonde girl with the ribbons …”
“Rosalind?” Vix suggested, raising her brows.
“Is that her name?” he asked, not nearly as cleverly as he thought. “Certainly, a good example. Where might Rosalind be this morn?”
“Probably a Presbyterian kirk,” Vix said sweetly. “Where she belongs.”
It made him chuckle as he opened the door and ushered her into the office. “We’re not that different,” he said, raising his brows. “Church of England, Church of Scotland. Siblings, practically.”
“Siblings, is it?” she asked, tossing her reticule onto a chair and guiding Bear into the room. “I didn’t realize you were looking for a sister in Christ in sweet Rosalind, Matthew. How perfectly chaste.”
He turned behind the desk and tossed her a little flash of a grin, flipping open his folio.
“Bear,” she said firmly. “Platz.”
The dog immediately collapsed, limbs askew, not unlike a raw chicken.
“Beautiful,” he said, blinking down at it. “Your dog is German?”
“Yes,” she said. “The registry.”
“I have it,” he said, holding it up and waving it in the air. “Perhaps a trade is in order. I never got a proper introduction to the lovely Rosalind, you know.”
“Matthew, keep your cassock on,” she snapped, reaching out for the page and failing to snatch it before he could whip it away. “Honestly. I will set this room on fire.”
He laughed, relinquishing the document to her and gloating over her huff as she smoothed it immediately with her fingers. “Arson is a sin,” he said with faux somber rebuke.
“No, it isn’t,” she snapped, eyes scanning over the document. “Your penmanship has improved.”
“How very dare?” he said, his voice going up a pitch. “It has always been immaculate.”
She smiled, glancing up at him and folding the paper toward her chest. “Thank you, Matthew. It’s perfect.”
“Of course it is,” he said, frowning.
“I have to go,” she said, snapping once, which brought Bear back to his feet. “I’m meeting my … mixed company at the modiste. Shall I mention you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I suppose it depends on what you say.”
“Who can know,” she said airily. “I rarely plan such things in advance. Oh, and I am throwing a ball. Three weeks from today. You shall attend.”
“Shall I?” he said, blinking.
“You shall. Hier, Bear,” she said, clicking her tongue. “We mustn’t be late.”
The air was bracing this morning, a gentle post-shower breeze winding its way through London and offering reprieve from the summer swelter.
She might have otherwise found Bear’s propensity to stop and sniff every third blade of grass an annoying obstacle to her tasks, but for some reason, stopping and watching his delight at every new smell and sight was the most entertained she had felt in all her life.
“Do not roll in that,” she said, more than once.
Bear had not learned that command yet.
As a result, she was indeed tardy to the modiste, but the others did not seem to notice. Dinah, in particular, seemed beside herself wandering through the rows of fabric while the others chatted.
Mae’s singular charm was on full display this morning as she glanced over at Vix, down at Bear, then back up again, and said, “You know we do not need you to buy us dresses, Lady Bountiful. We are not poor.”
“Are you not?” Vix asked, blinking in innocent bafflement. “Then why do you always look like that?”
It won a scoff and a gesture into the further embrace of the modiste’s parlor.
“We must be gracious, Mae,” Rosalind said in a whisper. “It is a gift.”
“Indeed it is,” Vix agreed. “If I’m forcing you all to attend my ball, then I thought it only decent that I provide the requisite silks.”
“I like silks,” Dinah announced from behind several dressforms. “And satin. And crinoline. And brocade.”
Hannah sighed. “Good morning, Vix.”
“Good morning, sister mine,” Vix answered with a little smile. “Am I missed at home?”
“Missed?” Mae scoffed. “I bet Hannah will be pregnant within a fortnight now that you aren’t there to interfere.”
At that, Hannah gave a little gasp and turned pink. “Not yet!” she protested. “Not for some time yet. I want to enjoy being married alone for a bit first.”
“Oh, but you have no control over that,” Rosalind said, tilting her head curiously to the side. “Do you?”
Mae and Hannah only turned to stare at her.
“Do you?” Rosalind repeated, a little breathier.
“Rosalind,” said Mae softly. “Come here, sweeting.”
“This will be my first ball!” Dinah announced, exploding from behind the dress forms with her arms piled high with fabrics. “Did Hannah tell you? My first!”
Hannah startled and then glared at her sister. “I don’t need to tell anyone that, Dinah. It is obvious.”
“Now, now,” said Vix, clicking her tongue. “Are you planning to sew all that together like a quilt?”
“Can I do that?” Dinah asked, staring down at it with a worrying sparkle in her eye.
“No,” said Hannah and Vix in unison.
“Do you think someone will ask me to dance?” Dinah continued, swaying back and forth with her armful of textile contraband. “What about that Mr. Reed?”
“No,” said both Hannah and Vix again, making Dinah giggle.
“All right, all right,” she said, moving forward to shove the fabrics at the other two women. “Help me, then.”
“What do you mean, removes himself?” Rosalind was gasping from the corner where Mae was explaining something with many, many hand gestures. “What?”
Vix glanced over at that and frowned. “Come along, Dinah.”
“There are also teas and herbs,” Mae said with a sigh behind them. “And a contraption made of sheep intestine.”
“Good Lord,” Hannah muttered, pushing them with her hands to move faster out of the vestibule and into the inner chamber. “Dinah, cover your ears.”
“Why?” Dinah said, grinning. “Everyone knows about the sheep intestine.”
Vix, to her supreme and benevolent credit, did not laugh.
The next handful of hours unspooled productively, with each woman outfitted in fabrics Vix thought would make them shine prettily on the ballroom floor. By the end, her stomach was growling and so was Bear, whose patience with platz-ing appeared to have worn thin after a certain amount of time.
“Shall we take him to the park? Just for a bit?” Dinah begged. “I’ve brought a little ball I can throw.”
“I think he is hungry, love,” said Vix, frowning and wishing she could just ask the dog like a reasonable companion what it was he preferred.
“There is a butcher near the park,” Mae said. “I bet he has scrap bones he’d offer.”
“Oh, yes!” said Dinah. “Please!”
In the end, Hannah and Rosalind broke away to attend their own business for the day, while Vix, Dinah, and Mae took Bear with them to a small park between the modiste and the path back to the townhouse.
“What have you been feeding him, by the by?” Mae inquired, watching Dinah trot ahead, the lead wrapped around her fist.
“Offal, mostly,” said Vix. “Our butler cared for dogs in the Prussian army and seems an expert on such things. I’m sure he will enjoy a bone, though.”
“Do not cook the bones you give him,” Mae instructed, sounding more serious than usual. “They splinter when you cook them. The raw ones do not.”
Vix blinked. “All right. Thank you, Mae.”
Mae grimaced. “Yes, good. Shall we talk about this charity ball you’re throwing? Or your husband? Which would distress you more?”
“Neither would distress me,” Vix replied, narrowing her eyes.
“The husband, then,” Mae decided. “Did you not want my insight on preventing babies before you want them?”
Vix frowned, the urge to snipe giving an odd little lurch in her chest against something else. She must have hesitated for longer than usual, because Mae stopped walking, her hand coming out and taking Vix’s arm, stopping her too.
“What?” Mae demanded.