Chapter 4: The Second Night

William Cavendish rummaged through the jewelry box. "Now that you're married, you may wear more elaborate pieces," he declared. Unmarried girls, as everyone knew, were encouraged to embrace simplicity and restraint. Alicia, having slipped into pale green satin shoes, allowed her lady's maid to style her hair. She was quite accustomed to her cousin's presence in her chambers, as she was, in general, a remarkably good-natured girl. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. Cavendish observed her through the mirror. Their eyes, the same shade of ordinary blue, were strikingly similar, a trait inherited from their shared great-grandmother. They both possessed the same diamond-shaped face and full lower lip, though Alicia's nose was decidedly more delicate. William Cavendish's gaze was one of pure appreciation as he held up a large garnet necklace and an emerald armlet. "Which will you wear?" "They're too heavy. I dislike them." She still held the aesthetic sensibilities of a seventeen-year-old. "Then the butterfly hair comb?" It was crafted from green glass, exquisitely detailed. Alicia glanced at the lifelike butterfly in his hand and nodded. No one understands your preferences better than I, William Cavendish thought, finding himself more easily satisfied than he had anticipated. She linked her arm through his as they went to breakfast. Alicia found no joy in the activity. She was utterly exhausted and yet couldn't simply sleep the day away. Her brow was slightly furrowed, but her mood remained, as ever, quite stable. Breakfast was served at a round table near the French windows, offering a view of the verdant lawns, the rolling hills, the lake, and the clear sky. A welcome change, at least, from being separated on opposite ends of a long dining table. William Cavendish studied her expression. She seemed weary, but then again, she always possessed a certain languid air. The tea, bread, pudding cake, stewed meat, roasted fruit, and asparagus were all to her liking. Alicia sampled a bit of everything. This secluded honeymoon period meant they had brought very few servants with them, making even the meals simpler than those served at home. "What do you think of breakfast?" he inquired. Alicia, roused from her reverie, responded, "Is there a difference?" William Cavendish pursed his lips. He had changed the chef. She had previously complained about disliking the Frenchman, finding his flavors too heavy. But he kept this observation to himself. They discussed their itinerary. Although the Continent was embroiled in war, they could travel north to Sweden and Russia. Ireland and Scotland were also options. Alicia's late maternal grandmother had been a Scottish noblewoman, and they owned a castle there. She used to accompany her grandfather on yearly visits. "I want to go home," Alicia stated directly. William Cavendish choked back his surprise, mentally striking several plans from his carefully crafted list. "Then home we shall go." Alicia, after a moment's thought, offered an explanation. She always had reasons for her actions, though she seldom felt compelled to articulate them. "Autumn is approaching. I have no desire for long journeys." She couldn't fathom why her cousin would choose to visit Sweden and Russia in the winter. William Cavendish had, just the previous year, accompanied a diplomatic mission to Russia as an ambassador's secretary. He had been forced to rush back due to the Duke's grave illness. The old Duke's dying wish had been for his grand-nephew to marry his granddaughter, ensuring that the ancestral property remained within the family. He knew how much his son adored his only daughter. As long as the future Duke was willing, he could divide a large amount of property, titles, and territories, and give them all to his daughter regardless of the inheritance law. They had been betrothed at his deathbed and held the funeral at Chatsworth House, the magnificent ancestral home of the Cavendish family. Only after three months of mourning did they proceed with the wedding. Their union, though sudden, had been long anticipated and therefore, easily adjusted to. Alicia harbored no romantic feelings for him. In her eyes, he remained her somewhat unreliable cousin. The sole comfort was that they both shared the name Cavendish, sparing her the need to change her surname. Their London residences were a mere half a street apart, and their country estates were adjacent. He knew she would want to return to London. That was why he had chosen Wimbledon Manor, the closest estate to London, as their first honeymoon destination. After breakfast, Alicia reclined on the sofa, engrossed in a book. Her reading habits were eclectic, ranging from Gothic novels to classical texts. She devoured anything she could get her hands on, and William Cavendish had pre-ordered a selection of books she had not yet read. They had two months of honeymoon to fill, after all. The Gothic novel was rather explicit, but Alicia's expression remained impassive as she turned the pages. Her cousin sat beside her, his arm naturally draped around her waist, their bodies close. He looked down at her, noticing how the butterfly comb in her hair seemed poised for flight. If it were removed, her golden hair would cascade freely. He longed to kiss the soft skin of her ear and neck, but feared she might send him away. William Cavendish, after a moment's hesitation, carefully extended a finger. He was too close, far too intimate, with no distance between them. Alicia disliked people being too near. She turned her head and inquired sincerely, "Don't you have your own matters to attend to?" William Cavendish froze, then withdrew his hand. "Indeed," he mumbled. She was dismissing him, and he hadn't even done anything yet. "Of course, I have things to do." He paused. "I shall go for a ride." When they returned to London, he would be at his men's club every day, he thought. Alicia made no move to detain him. He looked back thrice as he departed, only to find her comfortably sprawled on the sofa, chin propped on her hand, absorbed in her book. His impervious cousin, she only showed him a modicum of warmth in bed. But even then, if displeased, she would not hesitate to kick him. William Cavendish, with a grim set to his jaw, left the room. He wouldn't return until nightfall. ... Alicia felt quite at ease, as if she were at home. Marriage, to her, was akin to donning a heavy wedding gown, reciting vows, and accompanying a familiar man to a different location. She had often visited Wimbledon Manor as a child; it was hardly unfamiliar territory. She played the piano, discovering with delight that it was a newly-made Steinway from Germany. She was particular about everything, always demanding the best. Though she rarely voiced her desires, she was accustomed to having them fulfilled without needing to ask. She wrote letters to her numerous relatives. Alicia came from a large family, on both her parents' side. She wrote to her parents, assuring them she was well and that the wedding night had been as her mother had described. She also complained that her cousin was too clingy and too boorish. She did not like it. Well, she amended, scratching out the words, she tolerated it. She added that fulfilling her wifely duties was rather uncomfortable, and she hoped to have a child soon so that it would no longer be necessary. Her father had two younger sisters, only about ten years older than Alicia. The elder, Georgiana Dorothy, aged 29, was married to the eldest son of the Earl of Carlisle. Her mother-in-law was Alicia's mother's aunt. The younger, Henrietta Elizabeth, aged 27, had married her mother's uncle, Lord Granville, three years prior. Lord Granville was also her maternal grandfather's half-brother. Lord Granville had also been the lover of her grandmother's sister, Lady Bessborough, for over a decade, and they had illegitimate children together. Alicia was accustomed to the tangled relationships of the aristocracy. After all, the entanglement of her grandparents in the last century was still a topic of much discussion. The old Duke of Devonshire, the Duchess, and his mistress had all lived together. If not for her birth, things might have been even more scandalous. Thus, she was well-prepared for her marriage to her cousin. Even if he had a mistress, she wouldn't mind. Conversely, she could have one too; each could take what they needed. This had been agreed upon beforehand. After finishing her letters to her numerous cousins, Alicia set down her pen. Half the day had passed. She rose and had some tea and snacks. There was no formal lunch; she would eat some cold food if she felt hungry. She strolled outside, taking in the view of Wimbledon Lake. On the other side of this large lake stood the main building of Wimbledon Manor, built in a more magnificent Palladian style. But for a newlywed couple, living in the smaller house was more comfortable. She had married her cousin simply because they shared the same surname, which meant she wouldn't have to move in with her husband's parents after the wedding. She could still live with her own family. Their grandfathers were cousins, and the Earl of Burlington's property had also been inherited from an uncle. Sooner or later, it would be merged back. They had known each other since childhood. He was annoying, narcissistic, smug, and often spoke rudely, but at least she knew him well. Alicia was a very clear-headed girl. Once she understood the situation, she agreed. At least William George had no mistresses or illegitimate children. She did not want to marry a stranger. As for the heartbroken suitors who had pursued her, Alicia had forgotten them all. They held no place in her heart. Just like last night, apart from making her very tired, it left no lasting impression. She saw him riding his grey-white steed, approaching from afar, dashing and debonair. He had dark hair and blue eyes, a head of hair like that of a Roman statue, inherited from his mother's side. His features were strikingly handsome yet retained a masculine edge, and his figure was tall and straight. "My dear cousin," William Cavendish said with a smile from atop his horse, looking down at her. "I knew you would be bored, so I, in my infinite kindness, have returned to you." He produced a small bouquet of wildflowers from his coat, presenting them to her with a flourish. It was no easy feat to find such a bouquet in September. Alicia accepted them and, feeling playful, began to pluck the petals one by one. He hissed theatrically at the sight. Then, after a moment, he leaned down, assuming a rather precarious position, and stole a quick kiss on her lips. Seeing her wide, azure eyes, he was momentarily taken aback, then grinned roguishly. "A bouquet for a kiss, a fair trade, wouldn't you say?" Alicia turned and went inside. He hastily dismounted and followed her, only to find her arranging the wildflowers in a vase. His smile broadened. Alicia walked further in, leaving the bouquet behind. William Cavendish, with an air of possessiveness, replaced the vase of freshly delivered, blooming roses on the side table with the bouquet of wildflowers. The golden chicken-chrysanthemums, balloon flowers, sage, and sorrel were arranged in a charmingly haphazard manner. He opened the door to the small parlor and, with an exuberance that bordered on the boisterous, embraced her from behind, nuzzling her ear. Before she could express her disdain, he removed his riding jacket and began to display his "bounty" from the day, much like a hunter returning with his spoils. It was a collection of various minerals. Alicia, influenced by her grandmother, the late Duchess of Devonshire who had passed away six years ago, had a deep interest in geology. Their family scientist, Henry Cavendish, had even gifted her a small laboratory. She loved collecting and studying minerals. Alicia had received specialized tutoring in natural philosophy. She excelled at mathematics, loved geometry, and had recently become fascinated with calculus. She was also fluent in Greek and Latin. Such classical knowledge was typically reserved for boys, while girls received a more "ladylike" education. Nowadays, it was encouraged for girls to marry older men, who often enjoyed "re-educating" their young wives, reading philosophical books together, and studying astronomy and arithmetic. She was clever, as clever as she appeared. William Cavendish counted them out, "This is limonite, and rose quartz, biotite, talc, and olivine, correct?" He held up the stones he had carefully selected along the way. She gave him a look usually reserved for utter imbeciles. "You are mistaken. This is ordinary pyroxene. It has distinctive parallel columnar fractures on its surface," Alicia pointed at the grey-green stone, attempting to use language her cousin might understand. "And the hardness is insufficient." William Cavendish did not see himself as simply another gilded youth more concerned with cravats than character. He had attended university and obtained a law degree. He had served in the army, been a member of Parliament, and the chief secretary of a diplomatic mission. Yet, in the eyes of this young lady, he was perpetually deemed ignorant. He returned to his notebook and jotted down the differences between ordinary pyroxene and olivine, adding to the already extensive notes on astronomy, geography, and other subjects. Then, they changed their clothes, had dinner, and engaged in their respective evening activities. William Cavendish wrote letters to family and friends, a smile playing on his lips. Yes, Alicia and I are very happy. There are no conflicts. Her appetite is as good as ever, and I will take her out for rides and walks. He wrote to his grandparents, parents, and his in-laws—formerly his aunt and uncle. He also wrote to Alicia's maternal grandfather and her father's maternal grandmother, and so on. Being out of town, their evening activities were limited. There were no balls to attend, no plays to see, and no concerts to enjoy. By nine o'clock, Alicia retired to her bedroom. They bid each other a polite goodnight. William Cavendish, freshly scrubbed and smelling of crisp soap, knocked on her door with utmost decorum. In the flickering candlelight, an undeniable atmosphere had settled in the room. Alicia sat before the mirror as her maid removed the thin emerald chain from her neck and gently let down her hair. Every time he saw that hazy face framed by gold in the mirror, he longed to kiss her. Alicia saw him right away and tilted her head slightly. He wanted to inquire about her physical condition but instead leaned in, seeking contact and closeness. He loved the warmth of her body, a youthful, vibrant energy. Alicia's brow was furrowed, as usual. He smiled, about to implore her for a kiss. But she spoke first, "Isn't today an even-numbered day?" "An even-numbered day?" Cavendish was taken aback, his lips hovering in mid-air. "Odd-numbered days for intimacy, even-numbered days for rest," Alicia stated matter-of-factly, holding up her hand to cover his mouth, as she often did when refusing someone. He was rather fond of kissing her slightly sweaty palm. William Cavendish lost his earlier enthusiasm. He was utterly astonished. "Who said that?" "The doctor. Sir Roll said I should pay more attention to my physical and mental well-being." Cavendish's smile froze on his face. "Very well, physical and mental well-being," he agreed, nodding. He was shut out of her room, despite having worn her favorite green, the fabric finer and less likely to irritate her skin. He had paid attention to every detail, yet he had not anticipated this. William Cavendish spent the night alone, tossing and turning in the moonlight. He frowned, then rose to write a letter, carefully choosing his words. We are very well, very well indeed. We have even established odd-numbered days and even-numbered days. He ground his teeth. Thus concluded his second night of marriage.