Chapter 41: Blessings

The unfortunate incident at the Royal Society did not, as some might have predicted, cause a rift in the relationship between Lady Alicia and her cousin, Miss Catherine. Although, it must be said, Mr. Long-Wellesley did tend to regard the Duke with a certain degree of sheepishness thereafter. Catherine, a devout member of the Evangelical movement, found her charitable inclinations amplified by the approach of winter. Alicia, ever dutiful, accompanied her on her visits to the poor houses, distributing clothing, blankets, and dispensing hot soup and bread to the less fortunate souls of Leicester Square. He was, therefore, conveniently absent, indulging in manly pursuits in the St. James's district—discussing politics, consuming copious amounts of spirits, and overseeing the lavish redecoration of Wanstead, a grand estate that had come into his possession through his wife. Not that his absence was grieved. Cavendish, for his part, took a peculiar delight in observing Alicia, her head wrapped in a modest kerchief, diligently slicing bread and distributing it to the queue of waiting indigents. She performed this task with a practiced ease, having been thus employed since childhood under the tutelage of the Duchess. Such hands-on charity was, admittedly, rather uncommon among the haut ton, being more the province of the landed gentry and the middling sort. As she handed out the bread, her delicate features, illuminated by the flickering gaslight, were softened by a gentle smile, giving her the ethereal beauty of a Madonna. Cavendish found himself quite captivated by the sight. To be perfectly frank, his inherent arrogance usually precluded him from noticing anyone below the rank of Baronet. Before encountering Alicia, he had never considered engaging in such activities. She was often so serious, yet there were moments, like this, when she surprised him. He took the bread knife from her, offering to assist. The Duchess, in recent years, had become a veritable whirlwind of good works. She had overseen the refurbishment of hospitals for retired and disabled soldiers, established schools for orphaned children, and was currently embroiled in the rather thorny issue of prison reform. This involved the separation of male and female inmates, the expansion of the overcrowded women's quarters, the distribution of uniforms, and the introduction of knitting as a means of productive labor. The Prison Reform Society had been established at the urging of a group of influential individuals, and there were plans to introduce female guards into the women's prisons. Many of the inmates were incarcerated for debt, often accompanied by their numerous offspring, whose education also needed to be addressed. Cavendish observed Alicia navigating this unfamiliar territory, surrounded by a gaggle of children who addressed her affectionately as "Lady Alicia." Though neatly dressed, the difference between her and the children was quite apparent. She read to them, helped them write on slates, and even joined in their games of catch. She was far more approachable than usual, and her smiles came more frequently. William Cavendish felt a surge of contentment, a feeling quite novel and not altogether unpleasant. "You actually accompany me in these endeavors," Alicia remarked on their carriage ride home. She had not expected this. Her mother, after all, had always been considered something of an anomaly in high society. Possessing an overabundance of social responsibility, she openly engaged in political discourse, and even her charitable acts went beyond mere donations, extending to actual advocacy and criticism. Alicia's initial expectation had been that he would not object, that her cousin would allow her to be an independent individual, free to pursue her own interests. "We are one now," he said, taking her hand. When they had taken their vows at the altar, they had become inextricably linked. Alicia felt the warmth of his hand in hers, and her heart gave a little flutter. The latter half of October witnessed a dramatic reversal of fortune on the Continent. The brutal Russian winter had descended, and the French army, having overextended its supply lines, found itself in a precarious position. Tsar Alexander I, having steadfastly refused to negotiate, finally saw a glimmer of hope. Napoleon announced the retreat of the French army, which, harried by the pursuing Russian forces during its southward march, soon devolved into a desperate flight. Just like the wager at White's Club, fortunes had fluctuated wildly. By the end of the month, it was patently obvious that the newly married couple were, without a doubt, deeply in love. Lady Alicia even declined social invitations, citing a desire to go riding in the countryside with her husband. When the bets were settled, Cavendish emerged a substantial victor, having won over forty thousand pounds. Even Francis, who had cautiously wagered a mere thousand pounds, saw his stake multiply sevenfold. Those who had anticipated a spectacle of marital discord were left utterly despondent, their pockets considerably lighter. Cavendish was utterly triumphant. "No, of course, I shall not forgive their debts," he declared upon his return, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ensure that promissory notes are duly drawn up." Alicia watched her husband, who, in his exuberance, swept her into his arms and spun her around. She had, by now, grown accustomed to these displays of affection, and simply looped her arms around his neck, utterly unfazed. "And what has brought about this merriment?" she inquired. Their new residence at 12 Park Lane had recently been inundated with furniture purveyors and interior decorators, Cavendish having taken it upon himself to completely refashion the house according to Alicia's tastes, or at least, his interpretation thereof. She had been subjected to an endless barrage of questions regarding carpet patterns, curtain styles, the choice between newly crafted or antique furniture, the color of the wall coverings, the fabric of the sofas, the waxing of the ballroom floor, the arrangement of statues in the long gallery, and so on, until she was quite weary of the whole affair. She finally declared that he should simply make all the decisions himself. Cavendish's collection of artifacts, previously housed at Burlington House, was transferred to his official new home. Like Alicia's father, who was an avid collector of statues and antiques, members of the Cavendish family all had their own collections. William Cavendish's greatest passion, however, was for jewelry. That night, he led her into a room that glittered with a dazzling array of jewels. Long strands of large, lustrous pearls were casually displayed, heaped together in glittering piles. There were tiaras of every conceivable design, along with matching necklaces, brooches, earrings, bracelets, and armlets, crafted from a variety of materials and in a range of styles—Oriental, French, and English. Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, ivory, amethysts, black crystals, enamel, turquoise, diamonds, and red coral—a veritable rainbow of precious stones. This was the culmination of a hobby he had cultivated since the age of seventeen or eighteen. The majority of his annual income of sixty thousand pounds, along with his two hundred thousand pounds in bank deposits, bonds, stock investments, and other assets, had been poured into this collection. Including gifts from relatives and inheritances from his elders, the collection was worth at least three hundred thousand pounds. His trip to Russia last year had proved particularly fruitful. He placed a tiara adorned with a large, pear-shaped aquamarine upon her head, the central stone complemented by a multitude of tiny, sparkling diamonds. "I acquired this from a Russian Grand Duchess," he explained, clearly pleased with his own discerning eye. It suited her perfectly, just as he had imagined it would. He then fastened a multi-strand pearl bracelet around her wrist and produced a dazzling diamond necklace. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he gazed at their reflection in the mirror, at the radiant woman before him. "You did not wear the jewels I gave you at our wedding," he remarked, gesturing towards a set of exquisitely crafted sapphire jewelry, each piece a deep, rich blue. "According to custom, I was to wear jewelry from my maternal grandmother and your mother," she replied. It was in keeping with the old adage: "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe." Besides, Alicia's maternal grandfather had expressed a desire to see her wed in a particular diamond necklace. She had simply chosen a few pieces from the collection. Cavendish planted a kiss on her cheek. He understood Alicia completely by now; she always had an explanation for everything. He had been seeking solace, but perhaps this was sufficient. In a burst of unrestrained enthusiasm, he lifted her, setting her down amidst the glittering array of jewels he had so proudly presented. Yet, even the most magnificent of his gems seemed to pale in comparison to her own inherent, and far more captivating, beauty. No diamond could match the sparkle in her eyes, no ruby the blush on her cheeks. "Alicia, you are more precious than all the jewels in this room!" he declared. "Naturally," Alicia replied matter-of-factly. "My future estate is estimated to be worth at least four million pounds." This was, in fact, a conservative estimate, considering only her mother's inheritance. Cavendish was momentarily taken aback. "I know, Will," Alicia said softly after a moment, her gaze meeting his. He responded with an affectionate peck on her forehead. They accompanied Alicia's great-uncle and his family on a visit to the elderly Lady Spencer. After the death of her husband, her son inherited the title, and if he were married, his wife would become the new Lady So-and-So. As for the widowed mother, she would be styled with the prefix "Dowager" and would be expected to vacate the ancestral home, relocating to a smaller dower house on the family estate. The Dowager Lady Spencer did not enjoy a particularly cordial relationship with the current Lady Spencer and resided primarily in St. Albans, northwest of London. She and her late husband had shared a deep and abiding love, theirs having been a love at first sight. Upon their first meeting, she had thought, "Ah, he is as beautiful as an angel." They remained faithful to each other throughout their lives, and he, being of a delicate constitution, had passed away nearly thirty years ago. The Dowager Lady Spencer had always held a special fondness for her eldest daughter, Georgiana, and was particularly attached to the children she left behind, especially this granddaughter, who so resembled her. The late Duchess of Devonshire had been a woman of extraordinary beauty, though her marriage had been an unhappy one. The Spencer family, in pursuit of power and influence, had arranged a union with the Cavendish family, and the Duke of Devonshire had specifically requested the hand of the beautiful Countess. The Countess, accustomed to the loving relationship between her parents, had not anticipated that the chaotic world of numerous lovers was the norm among the aristocracy. The Dowager Lady Spencer had never anticipated that her eldest daughter, Georgiana, would meet such an end. Georgiana had tolerated her husband's illegitimate children and lived under the same roof as his mistress. Eventually, she herself had taken a string of lovers, each indulging in their own affairs, and she even had an illegitimate daughter. Lady Margaret Spencer had lived a long life, and her eyesight was beginning to fail. She had a premonition that her time was near, perhaps within the next year or two. She could still, however, make out the figures of the handsome, well-matched couple before her, their arms linked together. She could not help but recall her own seventeenth year, when she had first met the man who would be her beloved companion for the next three decades. Alicia kissed her great-grandmother's cheek and nestled close to her, engaging her in conversation with the affectionate demeanor of a beloved grandchild. Lady Spencer's other two favored granddaughters, Sarah and Caroline, were now grown women and could no longer indulge in such unrestrained displays of affection. Caroline was even married. Oh, and her great-granddaughter before her was also married now. How quickly time passed. "I showered your grandmother with love and provided her with the finest education," the Dowager Lady Spencer said, stroking the girl's golden hair, "but I failed to teach her how to manage a household." She always said this. They were so alike, with their golden hair. Georgiana had green eyes, while Alicia had inherited her grandfather's blue eyes. Both of her daughters had suffered unhappy marriages, and even her granddaughter, Caroline, whom she had raised, had been taken to Ireland by her husband, far from the temptations of London, in an attempt to salvage their faltering marriage after a scandal involving Caroline's lover. On their journey back to London after their honeymoon, Alicia and her cousin had made a pact that, upon seeing the Dowager Lady Spencer, they would, at all costs, present a united and harmonious front. But now, it seemed, they were genuinely happy. Alicia paused, glancing at Cavendish, who was sitting beside her, his chin propped on his hand, listening intently. He met her gaze with a warm smile. The Dowager Lady Spencer grasped the young girl's hand, her heart filled with a sense of peace regarding the couple. "You must cherish one another," she said, placing their hands together. Cavendish was pleased to have earned her approval. On the carriage ride home, Alicia turned to him and said, quite unexpectedly, "Thank you." She could not quite articulate the precise emotion that prompted these words, but seeing the serene smile on her great-grandmother's face, so different from the strained, silent interactions she remembered between her own grandparents, had stirred something within her, a desire to express her gratitude. He was momentarily startled, blinking in surprise. Then, a smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to kiss her. She found herself with nowhere to retreat in the confines of the carriage, and he took full advantage, kissing her with a thoroughness that left her breathless. She did enjoy his kisses, very much. "You are mine forever, Alicia," he murmured, playfully pinching her cheek, a sense of having finally gained the upper hand, a feeling that she, too, was not immune to his charms. To Alicia's quiet satisfaction, Cavendish was proving quite amenable to accompanying her on these charitable expeditions. This was a pleasant contrast to Long-Wellesley, who, much like his indifference to the unfortunate naval seamen, seemed quite unconcerned with the plight of the lower orders. Indeed, one suspected he would have actively discouraged such an expenditure, were the funds not solely his wife's to dispense. He tried to conceal his sudden unease and the rapid beating of his heart. When Alicia placed her hand on his chest, she felt it all, and with a gentle, understanding push, she created a little distance between them. And then he seized her hand, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened.