"I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I've lost." Nan Goldin
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XXI.
Word spread throughout the house quickly. So much so that by the time the bell rang for Grace to assist Lady Sarah with dressing, all the servants were aware of the duke's illness and the fact that he was to now keep to his room.
Gossip was rampant. Mr Cole and Mrs Hayes could not do a thing to stop it. The death of a duke and the inheritance of his son was always a time of great change, and people hated change. Ashwood House had not known any change in twelve years. Grace wished that she could assure them all that they would be safe with Adam.
Adam would always do the right thing, even at the expense of his own happiness.
Ruby had mended Sarah's spencer coat and had left it perfectly folded in the laundry as Grace had asked her to. Grace collected it and took it back up the stairs to Sarah's bedroom.
When she knocked on the door and entered the bedroom, she found Sarah sitting at her dressing table with Lady Ashley standing at the wardrobe, pulling gowns with a frustrated expression on her face.
Grace quietly placed the coat on Sarah's bed and went to her at the dressing table, pulling the pins from the style that she had fixed that morning. Sarah smiled at Grace in the mirror.
"Do whatever, Denham," she murmured, before turning to her mother. "What's the matter, Mama?"
"None of these gowns now seem fit for a duchess," Lady Ashley complained. "Far too plain, too simple," she added distastefully.
"They are all new this year," Sarah reminded her. "You made Papa spend a fortune."
Lady Ashley scoffed. "On the wardrobe of a bride, not a duchess. My dear girl, this is such wonderful news! You need to be seen this minute as a matriarch, not a girl."
Grace's hands froze over Sarah's head as she heard the words leave Lady Ashley's mouth. She certainly could not mean that the duke's imminent death was wonderful news, could she? Surely her ears were hearing things.
"Mama, please," muttered Sarah, embarrassed as she watched Grace cautiously.
Grace made an effort to control her face knowing that Sarah was aware of her.
"I cannot help that I am excited!" Lady Ashley protested as she finally settled on a gown. She carried it over to the bed and laid it down beside the coat. "It is not every day that one's daughter becomes a duchess. Obviously as you were marrying the heir, I knew it would happen someday. But to have it happen so soon? Oh, Sarah dear, it is all I ever wanted for you! You will be a young, beautiful duchess! Every door in England will be open to you!"
Grace now knew that her ears had not been deceiving her. Lady Ashely was glad about the duke dying. She then wondered if such a feeling was a mortal sin and God would strike her down dead because of it.
Sarah's cheeks were flushed. "Mama!" she exclaimed. "Go and dress! Denham can ensure everything is ready for me in here. I will be fine. Go!" she insisted.
Lady Ashley eventually nodded, coming over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "Oh, I am so proud of you," she said quietly with a smile, before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
"I am terribly sorry," Sarah said bashfully. "What an awful thing for her to say."
"You needn't apologise to me, milady," Grace said politely. Really, a lady never needed to apologise to a servant, so she did appreciate it coming from Sarah.
Sarah turned her body in her chair, taking her head away from Grace's hands so that she could look at her properly. "No, really," she insisted. "The duke is your master and it was entirely wrong of her to be saying such things. Are you alright?"
Grace's eyes widened in genuine surprise. Was she alright? Of course not. Would she confess such a thing to Sarah? Certainly not. "Yes, milady," she said calmly. "We are all dreadfully sorry to learn of the poor duke's condition."
The words felt meaningless, even if they were genuine. Grace wanted to help Adam, and she would do so by being there for him, but she could also help him in another way. Whether she liked it or not, Sarah was going to be his wife. Perhaps she would regret doing this later, but she needed to try. Grace knelt beside Sarah's chair.
Sarah looked a little taken aback but moved a little closer to listen, furrowing her eyebrows.
"Five years ago, I lost my own father to the same illness," she revealed quietly, in perhaps the sincerest tone she had ever used when speaking to Lady Sarah Ashley. "It is a dreadful death, and I would not wish it on my worst enemy."
"Oh, dear Denham, I am so sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.
"Thank you, milady. I don't know when the duke will die, but I fear he is not long for this world. His death will hurt this household immensely."
Sarah nodded slowly; her expression serious.
Grace took a deep breath. "You must be ... sensitive ... with Lord Beresford. He will need time, and he will need understanding ... and he will be hurting in so many different ways. But he loves his father, no matter their differences, and this loss will change him." Grace's breaths were so shaky and nervous that she was afraid she would not get her words out, but she had said them, and the prayed that Sarah took heed of them.
Sarah inhaled a deep breath as she sat back in her chair. She thought for a long moment before she spoke. "Do you speak from experience, or do you know Lord Beresford well?"
Grace stood up and smoothed out the skirt of her dress as her fingers knitted together in front of her. "Experience, milady," she said truthfully. It certainly was not a lie, even if the other part of her statement was true as well.
Sarah nodded calmly as she turned her attention back towards her reflection. "Do you know, Denham, I never noticed the colour of your eyes before now," she murmured quietly. "What an unusual blue."
Grace's eyes dropped as she concentrated on Sarah's hair. "Thank you, milady," she replied softly.
***
Dinner had been quite the disaster. Susanna could not stop weeping. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Adam looked as cheerful as a gravestone. And poor Lady and Sarah Ashley had a front row view to the spectacle.
Cecily Beresford had noticed a change in Sarah since she had spoken to them that afternoon and informed them of the duke's failing health. She was quieter at dinner, more observant, though there was much to see.
Lady Ashley had been trying to discuss appropriate wedding plans seeing as they now needed to move up the date, but Adam had been absolutely disinterested in the conversation and could only tend to his sniffling sister, and even Lady Sarah did not feel the need to contribute.
Cecily had ended the night with a thumping headache and an overwhelming desire for a sherry.
Why? Why did this all need to be so difficult? People died all the time. It was tragic, she was well aware. Death was indeed something to mourn over. But weddings, matches like Adam and Sarah, were society dreams. Such an agreeable match was to be revered. It did not matter that they were not in love. Nobody in their circle was in love when they married. But did it mean that the weddings were droll affairs? Absolutely not.
Her son infuriated her. There were a dozen other girls that Cecily could have matched Adam with, but she had selected wisely. Sarah was rich and lovely. There were plenty of rich trolls on the lookout for husbands as well, so she had done her son a service.
Cecily was the last to go upstairs but stopped herself nearly halfway up when she saw Adam leaning against the banister, looking down the hallway towards Sarah's bedroom. Could it be? Could he be interested in his fiancée? What a change! Cecily crept up the remaining stairs so that she could peek down the hallway, but her face fell when she realised who he was really watching.
Grace Denham had let herself out of the servants' passageway and was walking down the hallway towards her lady's bedroom. She had not seen Adam and did not know that she was being lusted after.
The minute she was inside Sarah's bedroom, Adam bounced off of the banister and went to walk in the direction of his own room. But that was when he spotted his mother watching.
Cecily could see the remnants of a longing smile on his face, though it quickly disappeared as he looked down at her.
"I didn't see you there, Mother," Adam murmured.
"No," replied Cecily as she made her way up the rest of the stairs to the landing. Cecily looked up at her son's face, and she did feel a keen sense of sadness. Adam did look dreadful. He was very tired, owing to Peregrine's senseless concealment of his illness, as he had been sleeping poorly. He definitely looked a little thinner, and his once cheerful eyes were very empty. "Do I need to move her on?"
Adam's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "What?" he snapped.
Cecily almost winced at the sudden harshness of Adam's tone. Adam rarely used a civil tone when they spoke, but whenever his precious Grace was mentioned, he became a Neanderthal. "Will she be a distraction?" Cecily repeated calmly. "Do I need to find her a position elsewhere?"
"A distraction?" Adam scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Mother, every moment of my life when I consider myself to have been truly happy, Grace was the cause. You took her away from me once. You do it again and I will follow her, this estate, my inheritance, be damned."
Cecily wanted to accuse her son of being dramatic, but she knew that he was telling the truth. Every memory that she had of Adam laughing and smiling as a boy was because he was running about with Grace Denham. She would not deny that the girl had made him happy.
"Would you do it over again if you had the choice?" Adam suddenly asked her.
Cecily frowned. "What?"
"You told me earlier that I was not the only one who had to give up someone that they loved for the future of their family. You loved someone, Mother," Adam reminded her. "If you could make your choice again, would you choose Father, or him?" he posed.
Cecily had not intended to reveal that to Adam. She had said it in temper, in frustration, and she had hoped that it had gone in one ear and out the other as so many things that she said seemed to when it concerned her children.
But his question shocked her, affecting her immediately as memories that she had once long locked away bubbled to the surface.
"What a senseless question," Cecily stammered. "One cannot go back, so there is no point in discussing such matters."
Adam's hard eyes softened as he exhaled. "Mother, I would be the last person to judge you if you said you would make another choice. In fact, if you said as much, I don't think that I would be able to explain the respect I would have for you."
Cecily's heart hammered in her chest as her mouth parted without words. But she could not say what he wanted her to say. "Goodnight, Adam. I hope you will behave more courteously and willingly tomorrow as we discuss wedding plans." With that, she walked swiftly past her son and marched down the hall towards her own bedroom.
Tears. She had tears falling down her cheeks. She had not cried in years ... in fact, she had not cried since ...
Cecily practically slammed her bedroom door shut behind her and eyed her bedside table immediately. She rushed over to it and pulled open the second drawer, throwing the clean, folded handkerchiefs over her shoulders as she searched for it. Then, at last, her hands felt something hard.
She had carried this with her, kept it by her bed, for nearly thirty years ... ever since she had painted it. Once upon a time, one of Cecily's many accomplishments as a young debutante was her painting skills. As a young lady, she had often occupied her time by painting pictures of her sisters playing out in the garden.
Cecily had grown up with four sisters, she the eldest of them all. Her father was a merchant, of common stock, and had deep ambitions of continuing to raise himself up in the world. Her mother was a lady and had brought great disgrace on her family when she had lowered herself to marrying a man such as her father.
For love. Love faded, as she saw with her parents, and her mother grew to resent her father for his business gambles that often left them skint.
Her maternal grandmother, Lady Susan Kentworth, had taken pity on her eldest granddaughter, Cecily Simpson. She had seen great potential in Cecily, and so had funded her excellent education. Cecily had attended the best boarding schools, and finally, the finest finishing school in the country, to ensure that she could be presented into society properly as a granddaughter of the Kentworths, and not a daughter of a failed merchant.
About the time that she had come out at age sixteen, her mother reconciled with her own mother, and they set about together in making the finest match they could for Cecily. For whatever match Cecily could achieve, her four sisters were bound to benefit. Without Cecily's fine marriage, they would be left to marry tailors or bakers. Her father certainly could not afford a decent dowry.
Lady Susan had entrusted a thirty-thousand-pound inheritance to Cecily, a sum so grand that her mother had about fainted when she had heard it. Such was the faith that her grandmother had had in her. Of the thirty, ten thousand was to be put in trust for her children upon her death.
Well, with such a temptation of thirty thousand pounds, Cecily was the object of every gentleman's affection. Cecily was young, beautiful, and had very old, strong connections through her mother's family.
But the prize of the Season was Peregrine Beresford, the recently inherited Duke of Ashwood. He was ten years her senior, quite handsome, and Cecily had thought herself in love with him. Or, what she imagined was love. Her mother and grandmother were experts in this game, and they orchestrated every single move that she made during that summer Season.
Cecily, so swept up in the balls, the gowns, the jewellery, and the idea of a title, that she hardly knew herself when she accepted Peregrine's proposal come summer's end.
And that was that. She had done her job, served her purpose at sixteen-years-old. She was to be married. She was to be a wife, to produce the duke's heirs. She was happy, or at least that was what her grandmother had told her to feel.
The engagement was announced, and it was only a short while before her mother had helped her to pack her possessions before they travelled to Hertfordshire for the wedding.
Considering it was only thirty miles from London, Ashwood was a very small village, and it seemed hard to believe that such a great estate could be positioned here. But great it was, and Cecily had been astounded at the sheer size of it all.
"And you, dear Cecily, will be her mistress," her mother had told her excitedly.
They had been received by Peregrine and his own mother, the soon to be Dowager, and Cecily had worried that her intended did not look very pleased to see her. Her mother, and shortly after her grandmother, had assured her that all gentlemen appeared disinterested before a wedding.
Cecily's own nerves had definitely gotten the best of her. She had lost three inches from her waistline and all of her gowns were swimming on her, especially her wedding gown. There was no dressmaker in the village, and Cecily couldn't send all of her things to London. So, she had made a special trip to the tailor.
She had thought that a tailor ought to be able to help a little. She had not realised just how much that tailor would change her life. She had walked into his shop and had stopped dead in her tracks. Never had she stared so openly at a man before, but never had she seen a man as handsome as he.
He was young, still with youthful with his teenage years, though he was dressed as a young man in a smart suit. His hair was dark, and neatly combed, his smile kind and inviting. But his eyes, oh, his eyes. The looked like the sea off of Dover at sunrise. Never had she seen such gorgeous eyes before.
And she was not the only one who stared. He stared openly at her as well, in a way that no man would have ever dared before. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed around his counter to reach her, bowing awkwardly.
Cecily had blushed as red as a rose and stammered over her own words as well. She had never spoken to a man like him before, especially unchaperoned as she was.
But that had been it. It was love at first sight, and whatever affection she had convinced herself into feeling for Peregrine she knew wasn't real.
His name was Edward. He had insisted that she call him Edward, just as she had insisted that she be called Cecily. Such an intimacy felt right. Whatever was between them felt right.
Cecily used the excuse of her needing her garments altered and fixed to leave the house whenever she could. And when that didn't work, she simply said that she was going for a walk for some exercise. She used any excuse to meet with Edward, and she fell deeply, passionately in love with him. Edward was clever. Far too clever for his trade, but such was his lot in life. He was charming and witty and considerate. He listened to her, inquired about her, and was actually interested in what she had to say. Cecily realised during this time that she had never felt important before.
She had thought that she was important to her family, but she realised that it was her marriage that made her valuable, and not her as a person.
Edward made her feel as though she was worthy of true affection and care. And it wasn't long before they were making plans. They would elope, and Cecily would take her inheritance from her grandmother to find them a house and help Edward to start a business somewhere else.
It was in the woods behind Ashwood that Edward had kissed her for the first time, and he had told her that he was in love with her.
Four days before her wedding to Peregrine, Cecily had made the fatal mistake of confiding in her mother. She had told her mother everything, believing that she would understand. She, too, had ignored her mother's wishes and had married for love.
Her mother had been understanding, reasonable, and had promised her daughter that everything would be alright. She would sort it out. And Cecily had believed her. So much so that she had packed her things ready to run with Edward after church that Sunday.
Cecily could still vividly remember the odd look on Edward's face during that last church service. He wouldn't meet her eye and Cecily began to worry that something was dreadfully wrong.
She did not have to wait long to find out what it was as the marriage banns were read out by the vicar. Edward's name was announced, and for the briefest of moments Cecily thought that her mother had arranged for her name to be called alongside his.
But it wasn't her name. It was another's. He was engaged to another.
Cecily's heart split open in her chest and she bled out in that church. She had never experienced such heartbreak before, and her mother told her that Edward was reasoned with. She and Edward were cut from two very different pieces of cloth. He could never have made her happy. Cecily was born to be a duchess, not a tailor's wife.
Cecily had hardened herself on that day, and she had gone through with her own wedding to Peregrine, discovering only weeks later that he kept apartments for two favourites in London and would spend a month at a time visiting them. As much as it should have, it did not hurt her. Nothing Peregrine could do would hurt her.
She bore his children, and after the third, she put a stop to his visits, having no desire to spend any time with him. Peregrine, too, reciprocated, and preferred the company of his women in London.
And while he was in London, Cecily was forced to watch. For thirteen years, she watched as Edward fell out of love with her, and in love with his own wife. She watched as he became a loving father five times over.
To Catherine, Claire, Peter, Jeremy ... and Grace, his eldest and his favourite.
She watched as her own son was welcomed into their home, time and again. She watched as Edward would play with Adam, as he would laugh with him, before sending him home so happily that it would force Cecily to snap.
Adam would shout at her. He would wish that she was as kind as Mrs Denham. He would wish that his parents could be like Mr and Mrs Denham. At least they loved each other. Adam never knew that every time he spoke such things, he chipped a piece of her away.
Cecily watched as her own son began to walk in his mother's footsteps. How like Cecily Adam was, and he never even knew it. He had such a large, open heart, ready to love whomever he pleased. And his choice was quickly made.
Cecily was resentful of Grace Denham before she had even known the girl. She was the daughter of the woman who had the life that Cecily had desired for herself. But she had the eyes of the man she loved beyond reason. Cecily had once heard Adam describing the colour as that of cornflowers, and she recalled her own description of the colour years earlier.
Cecily had needed to separate them. Any further and Adam was going to be as hard as she was. Adam couldn't marry Grace, the same as Cecily couldn't marry Edward.
Finally, after thirteen years of watching, suffering, Cecily had convinced Peregrine to take them away to London. She had given a few valid reasons, of course, but to be away from Edward and his family was what her heart needed. And she truly hoped that the separation would help Adam to forget about his attachment to Grace Denham so that he could one day make a suitable match that would make him happy.
But her son was a constant young man, and a faithful one at that. With the help of one of his school masters, she had intercepted an outgoing letter of his, and an incoming letter of Grace's.
Both were filled with childish, romantic notions of their impossible future. Cecily had sincerely thought that she was doing both of them a service when she had severed their communication.
They would certainly forget about each other. They wouldn't get to the maturity that she had been at when she had fallen properly in love. Adam wouldn't feel the pain that she had felt, and Grace would long be forgotten to him.
Estates, dynasties, were born, made and maintained by smart matches worth a lot of money. Cecily knew that. Her own money had fed the Ashwood estate greatly. But there was such emptiness in it.
The only thing worse than heartbreak over a beloved lost to another, was the loss of that beloved altogether. Cecily had read Edward's death announcement in the newspaper, the newspaper, of all places. She could still vividly remember herself crawling into a ball and crying such tears that she might have drowned herself. Every part of her felt broken, even after all these years.
DENHAM, Edward. P. May 23rd aged 41. of Ashwood, HERTFORDSHIRE. husband of Mrs Ellen Denham. father of Grace, 18, Catherine, 16, Claire, 12, Peter, 10, and Jeremy, 7.
Cecily had attended Edward's funeral incognito, sitting at the back of the church underneath a black veil. She had been distraught, her grief made only worse by the fact that she had never truly had him. She watched his wife grieve him at the front, supported by her five children, who grieved terribly also.
Cecily unfolded the death notice, which she had kept since that day five years ago wrapped around the miniature of Edward that she had painted. It was so like him, except for his eyes. She had not been able to mix the colour quite exactly. But she could see his face clearly in that painting, and it grieved her to this day.
Adam had asked her a question. If she could, would she go back and make another choice?
Her original plan had been to prevent Adam from such pain, but whatever connection she had thought severed was clearly not. Cecily could not be certain of Grace's attachment, but her son's was as clear as day. Cecily knew that she could force him. She knew that Peregrine would force him. Peregrine had spent his life thinking about money and being as a man and seeking carnal pleasure elsewhere, such things as love in marriage were inconsequential to him.
Cecily's lower lip trembled as she thought about Adam in pain. She knew that she did not show it well, that she was a hard woman, hardened by choices that were made for her, but she did love him. She realised now that she was taking the same path as her mother once had.
Adam had confided in her, just as Cecily had confided in her own mother. Of course, Adam was not as innocent as Cecily had been, but the intention was the same.
If she could go back, would Cecily have made another choice?
Cecily looked down at Edward's face and felt her eyes fill with tears.
Yes.
----
Hope you enjoyed it!!
I felt so sad when I planned this in my planning stage of this story. I felt so bad for Cecily, even though I wanted her to be cold and hard. Because she was like so many girls of that time. Teenagers sold to the highest bidder, bound to a dude they didn't like, who was free to mess around with whomever he pleased while they were housebound baby makers.
As much as I love the time period, I think we can all agree to be thankful that we are 21st century women and much closer to that glass ceiling than the poor girls of old were. I feel like in my small way, I am making up for them one at a time by creating happy marriages.
Alright, another 2am night. I need to go to sleep! Night guys xx
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