Chapter Twenty-Two
Many Irons in the Fire, some must cool.
Benjamin, too, was regretful to see his mother go, for much the same reasons as Maria, and he told her so at breakfast on her last day, before his wife came down to join them.
“My dear boy, you should want to be alone with her, your marriage is so new,” Mrs. Ellsworth answered. “It concerns me that, instead of regarding my visit as a great nuisance, you both have earnestly asked me to stay.”
“Maria has asked too?”
“She has.” Reaching across the table, his mother laid a hand on his.
“I think because she fears loneliness. Only consider, Benjamin! She has always lived surrounded by her family, never alone! And now she lives away from them and sees them only now and then. She cannot even go home herself because this Mrs. Dere person disapproves.”
“Her sister Mrs. Weatherill lives very near.”
“And Mrs. Weatherill has a husband, three little children, and the responsibilities of the school.” She gave his fingers a squeeze and then released him to take up her teacup again.
“I am saying, do not leave her so much to herself. Bah! All this work you do, all these ‘halls’ you say you must attend. Maria is alone for hours and hours. Do you not like her company?”
“I like it,” he said shortly.
“Then why can you not return home sooner most days? And why must you always bring your brother?”
“I brought Austin because I thought you might like to see him as well. And if I do not return home sooner, it is precisely because I am trying to secure a future for Maria and myself.”
Mrs. Ellsworth gave him a fond smile. “I know you, Benjamin. I know you must have a share in everything. I only beg to remind you that Maria must be one of those things. A wife must be nurtured if the marriage is to thrive. And Maria is a whole person, possessing not just her pretty face and figure but also a mind and a heart. You will forgive my bluntness, but if you spend so few waking hours with her, even if your conjugal relations are pleasant, in the end it will not be enough.”
Benjamin went scarlet, but not for the reason his mother supposed.
Having known her all his life, he was well used to her frankness.
No, what made him color now was the muddle of it all!
Such a muddle. Everything from the pretense he and Maria had engaged in throughout his mother’s stay to the guilt her kindly-meant counsel now stirred up.
Added to these was the chief “everything” he had indeed taken a share in, an “everything” unknown to anyone as yet but Austin.
If it prospered as Benjamin hoped, he might once for all gain his footing, but if it did not—well—
And lastly, as the finishing stroke to the whole jumblement—or was it more accurate to call it the alpha as well as the omega?—there were his feelings for his new wife. Feelings he mistrusted. Feelings which grew daily, whether he neglected her or not. Whether he were in her presence or not.
Had he once thought his inclination for Miss Allen to be love?
Certainly he had told himself it was. He had told himself he was willing to work and to wait years for that young lady.
But now he discovered, rather to his own embarrassment, that his depthless, deathless devotion had vanished like the skin of a bubble, leaving only enough residue to attract his wife’s notice. And in its place—
Benjamin had begun to think there was nothing he would not do for Maria.
Clearly, or he would never for an instant have considered what he was now actively working toward.
Despite his change of heart, however, he had refrained from making her any declarations, still less had he made any attempts to woo her.
He told himself no woman would want to hear avowals from someone who had so recently loved another.
Would they not seem…cheap? Flimsy? Worthless because reused?
Therefore he told himself he would wait and see the results of his experiment before he spoke. Let time pass. Let friendship grow. Let him come at the right time, bearing proofs she could believe in.
“Which is not to say conjugal relations are unimportant,” his mother continued, when he said nothing. “And better that they be pleasant than otherwise, but you must be sure as well to tell her of your love. In words, yes, but also in your actions.”
“Yes, Maman.”
It was the gleam in his eye, half amused, half rueful, which reassured her, more than his mocking agreement.
Ah. He does love her, then. Which means it will all come right in the end.
Still, it pleased her when Maria entered and Benjamin not only stood but said, “Ah, there she is. Good morning to my sleeping beauty in the wood,” and Maria looked all pretty confusion.
“I wish I had awakened earlier,” she murmured, “since it is your last morning with us, Maman.”
“There will be other visits,” Jeanne Ellsworth replied complacently. “We have all our lives before us.”
As Maria had feared, Mrs. Ellsworth’s departure marked a change for the worse in the household fortunes, with the first reverse coming that same day at dinner.
“I suppose you will want me to return to the other bedroom now,” said Benjamin mildly. “Though you never complained, the sofa must have been very uncomfortable all this time.”
Maria served herself more fish because the location of the platter allowed her to avert her face.
Of course she didn’t want him to return to the other bedroom!
She loved waking up every morning, knowing he had carried her in his arms and tucked the bedclothes about her.
Just as she had loved her farewell kiss in the morning and her kiss of greeting in the evening and every other little gesture of affection he had shown her for his mother’s sake.
But of course one could not come straight out and say such a shameless thing, even if she had not sworn she would let him come to her.
It was one thing to pretend affection for each other when they both knew they were pretending and why, but quite another to ask him to carry on acting the fond husband, please, because she liked it.
Spooning the sauce over the fish, she imagined saying just that.
Would he brighten, declaring, “Very well, then. We will continue with it, to our mutual satisfaction!” or would he hesitate, dismayed, but determined to be courteous?
He would likely comply with her request either way, but it would be ruined for her, knowing he went through the motions simply because she asked him to.
“If you return to the other room…” she replied, making a compromise with her cowardice, “Rundell will know of it when she comes to make the beds.”
“I daresay the maid—and likely everyone under the roof of 12 Pembroke Street—already has suspicions about the true state of our marriage, Mrs. Ellsworth, despite me putting the extra bedclothes away every morning.”
“I suppose she does,” she returned. Bracing herself, she raised a cheerful countenance.
“And you are right, of course, that she would have no reason to keep it to herself, even if the others hadn’t already guessed.
After all, we don’t know who does all the beating on the ceiling with the broomstick—Chop, Pork, or Rundell. ”
“Doubtless they take it in turns, so as not to exhaust themselves.”
They grinned at each other, each hoping the other did so from genuine amusement. Because finding humor in the same things was promising, was it not?
That was the bright spot of the evening.
But Benjamin removed to the other bedroom all the same.
The next unfortunate thing was that Della sent a note announcing an outbreak of measles at Keele’s.
“You mustn’t call, dear one,” Mrs. Weatherill wrote, “because you were the only one of us never to have measles as a child. Gerry has got it, I’m afraid, but Lord Dere sent the coach for Ranulph and Bumble Babykins, who will stay at Iffley Cottage until the danger has passed. ”
Not call! Her sympathy for Della aside, Maria had enough left over for herself.
She had hoped to tell her oldest sister of her new post, now that Mrs. Ellsworth had gone.
She could and did run to St. John’s to speak with her only other confidante in the matter Miss Hancock, but nine times out of ten there would also be the Marlows or Miss Allen or Miss Allen’s beaux present, making private conversation difficult.
Thus it was Maria had no one to tell or to consult when the third unfortunate thing took place.
She and Mrs. Cheney were sitting in the parlor, Miss Cheney gathering sheet music before a lesson, when the door opened and a young man entered.
He was the male version of Miss Cheney, being tall and straight and sallow.
If anything he looked sallower because of the black stuff commoner’s gown he wore.
“Raymond!” said Miss Cheney. “I did not know you intended to call, or I would not have arranged to give a lesson now. It’s been at least a month.”
“What? A month? Never say,” he answered, stooping to give his mother a kiss. From Mrs. Cheney’s sudden radiance it was clear this Raymond’s visits were infrequent treats.
“This is Mrs. Ellsworth, Mama’s companion,” Miss Cheney informed him, a defensive note just detectable.
“She comes a few times a week so I might steal out to give lessons and Mama need not be alone. Anne has met her on another occasion and given her approval, and so has Mark. Mrs. Ellsworth, this is my younger brother Mr. Cheney.”
Maria curtseyed, but Mr. Cheney afforded her the barest glance and inclination of the head before addressing his sister. “Hurrah. You approve of the arrangement, Anne approves, and therefore I approve. So give your lesson, Tab, and leave me to have a comfortable coze with Mama.”
“Perhaps I ought to go as well?” ventured Maria. She had not made the same suggestion when Miss Cheney’s sister Mrs. Skeet called, but she did not like to be left alone with Mr. Cheney.
“Better not,” he replied at once. “I sadly can’t stay long.”