Chapter Eleven #2
A shadow flitted across her features, but before he could read it, she shrugged it away, something changing in her manner.
She sat up straighter. Lifted her chin. Withdrew, somehow, though she didn’t stir an inch.
“Who can say?” she answered lightly, beginning to prepare the tea.
“Sometimes I am hungrier than other times. And I did eat, if not in quantities to please Rundell. Never mind. Do tell me about your first day of term, if it doesn’t weary you.
Were you glad to see everyone again? Once you were back within the walls of the college, did the last week feel like something you dreamed, and that nothing in your life had changed after all? ”
Her insight startled him. Because—except when everyone twitted him about his marriage—he had felt exactly as she described.
(And the twitting would only diminish as time went on.
In fact, he would be surprised if anyone mentioned it again the following day.) Within the walls of the college, time indeed stood still, and if a medieval scholar had been miraculously transported to the hall or chapel or grounds, Benjamin thought, he might not think anything amiss.
“It…did feel unchanged,” he replied slowly, and from the corner of his eye he saw her bosom rise and fall in an unheard sigh.
Ah.
However similar his day had been to the many which preceded it, hers had been entirely different. It was an obvious realization and yet not one he had made until this very moment.
She had been torn from all that was familiar and comfortable and comforting.
Moreover, she was forbidden by circumstance from returning, though home and village lay so near.
As a result, she had spent her first day in her new exile, and he had left her to it, only returning when Patterson’s tedium annoyed him.
While the two of them were no love match, brought together by conventional means, Benjamin nevertheless felt a twinge of self-reproach.
A rueful acknowledgement that he was not, perhaps, entirely undeserving of Rundell’s low opinion.
He might not beat his wife, but he had indeed neglected her.
In common courtesy, he ought to have returned home when the long (and long-winded) dinner ended, at least on this first day.
Or, alternately, he might have stolen home during that one interval between tasks and meetings, when he had wandered the New College gardens, trudging up the snow-covered Mound to gaze absently at the prospect.
A more considerate man might have wondered how his new wife fared in her solitude.
I will do better, he promised himself. Beginning now. Austin was right. He would never get to know his bride if he never saw her. An hour at breakfast and another before bed—
But first he would let her eat, which meant he must talk and provide a decent cover.
“Perhaps it might amuse you to hear a Day in the Life of Benjamin Ellsworth, Fellow of New College,” he began.
“It might apply equally to any fellow in the last five hundred years, and I make no claims to its being eventful, but at least it will paint a typical picture, to which, in succeeding days, I need only point out variations.” Seeing her smile and nod and take another sandwich, he obligingly launched into a monologue.
If she finds it tedious, he told himself, it might be all to the good, for then she won’t miss me when I’m away.
She did not find it tedious.
“What is a servitor?” “Why do some of the young men have so many black tufts on their gowns?” “Did everyone at New College come from Winchester College?” “Do all the fellows tutor so many students?” “How long has the oldest one been there?” “Do none of them wish to marry?” “What does everyone do in the senior common room?” And so forth.
In her inquisitiveness, her reserve fell away again, forgotten, and Benjamin found himself spinning out longer answers and dropping little titbits to provoke more questions because he liked how she leaned forward in her interest, her eyes alight.
“Do you and your brother often play at billiards?” she asked, when she had finished her soup and pushed aside her empty crockery.
“We often play games. Not always billiards. Backgammon, cards, dice. There are those who sit around talking and drinking, but Austin and I usually have our fill of that at the high table. A few sit with a newspaper.”
“I suppose, apart from the absence of ladies, it isn’t entirely different from how my family spends its evenings,” she mused. “Though we often had music and dancing when we were invited to Perryfield. And once, one summer, we even put on a play.”
Then he had questions too, and matters were going swimmingly until he said, “And now you must tell me about your day. Did you call upon your sister Mrs. Weatherill again?”
Her teacup halted in its progress to her lips, and she set it down hastily, almost missing the saucer.
“Er—no. Not today. Keele’s term began as well, so I suspected they might be busy. Perhaps tomorrow.” She picked up her cup again. Then set it down a second time, rotating it to align the teacup handle with the saucer’s painted violets. “Let me see…I worked and read and wrote a letter or two.”
“Did you not leave the house all day?” he asked, feeling even guiltier.
“Oh, yes, certainly I did. I went for a walk.” Folding her hands in her lap she said, “It so happens I received a letter from the rector’s wife—Mrs. Terry from Iffley—saying a family friend had recently become engaged, and therefore would I be kind enough to call upon the young lady. So, I did.”
A mixture of relief and pleasure overspread his features. “Splendid. I am very glad to hear it. Congratulations to your friend and his intended! Have they set a date?”
“Not yet. George—our family friend George Denver—he used to be a pupil at the rectory, along with my brother Gordon and Peter Dere, the baron’s great-nephew—George has taken a cure in Headington and must save his money before they can afford to marry.”
Avoiding his gaze, she had reached for her sewing while she spoke and began to ply the needle with alarming speed and haphazardness, crimson staining her cheeks.
Regarding her in amazement, a suspicion plucked at Benjamin.
Why her sudden discomfort? And why had she not mentioned going to call upon this would-be Mrs. Denver until he himself asked if she had gone out?
Could it be that…her own fondness for this George Denver person passed beyond the general affection borne him by her family?
Once the idea entered Benjamin’s mind, it struck him as likely. Even logical. Because what would have been more natural than for a young lady his wife’s age to be thinking about marriage before marriage found her? And what swain more likely for her to consider than a longtime family friend?
Hard on the heels of this realization came another. He hated the idea. How were they to become friends and lay a foundation on which to build a life, if her heart belonged to someone else?
He was not such a fool that he did not recognize his own hypocrisy, but he insisted to himself that this was different. He had renounced Miss Allen, after all. And indeed, he had hardly thought of Miss Allen all day.
“No fairy godfather to smooth the way for George Denver, then?”
She threw him a sharp look, as if to say, This again? But aloud she only replied, “I’m afraid not.”
“You know what, Mrs. Ellsworth?” he declared, slapping his knees.
“An old married couple such as ourselves ought to entertain. We should invite Mr. Denver and his beloved for dinner. Or, if he cannot tear himself away from Headington, we might just invite the beloved and perhaps my brother Austin and the Weatherills. What do you say?”
“I—I say we had better not,” she coughed. Clearing her throat she added, “We must economize, you know.”
“Economize, fiddlestick. If I am eating my dinners at New College four or five times per week, those are four dinner portions Mrs. Chop is saved. Let her put those four portions toward our dinner party. Simple arithmetic. I will take it up with her. You simply name the day, Mrs. Ellsworth, and we will receive this Mr. Denver and Miss—”
“Hancock.”
“—Hancock with open arms to our groaning board.”
“Thank you,” she said faintly. “I will see about it. But I had no intention of calling upon her again anytime soon. It will simply have to wait.”