Chapter 5: The Peculiarities of Odd-Numbered Days

Alicia, having enjoyed a most restorative slumber, had quite reverted to her usual schedule. She found herself increasingly inclined to agree with the family physician, Sir Roll's, pronouncements on the matter. The segregation of odd and even-numbered days, it seemed, possessed a certain merit, particularly in preventing her cousin from becoming overly agitated. She rose and followed her routine, changing into a gown of fine muslin. Her hair was done up in a style befitting a maiden, for she harboured no particular fondness for the elaborate fashions favoured by married ladies. Of the trousseau of new garments that had arrived post-nuptials, only two small trunks had been employed. Upon emerging, she discovered her cousin standing in quiet contemplation, his tall frame a picture of elegant stillness. He had clearly been waiting for some time, though he affected an air of nonchalance. William was ever thus. Alicia privately considered her cousin rather dense at times. William Cavendish turned, a faint flush upon his cheeks. "I neglected to kiss you goodnight yesterday. A proper goodnight kiss, you understand." Alicia accepted this explanation with a nod. He bestowed upon her a polite peck. His lips were soft, but her heart remained stubbornly chilled. Such, she supposed, were William Cavendish's current sentiments. He joined her for breakfast, engaging in polite conversation while his mind wandered. Was this the customary honeymoon experience? It felt remarkably similar to their pre-marital days at home. Their routines were drastically different. Cavendish was the quintessential London gentleman: rising lazily at ten, taking an afternoon constitutional in Hyde Park (whether on horseback or by carriage), frequenting his clubs, indulging in cards and wine. Evenings were a whirlwind of balls, soirees, and theatre visits, often attending several in a single night, returning home in the wee hours, around four or five. The aristocracy, after all, were not burdened with work; their days were devoted to socializing, especially during the spring social season in London, a practice mirrored by aristocratic ladies and their daughters. Alicia was an anomaly in this regard. Perhaps it was because she was not troubled by the pressure to secure a husband. William Cavendish, for his part, was making a valiant effort to align his schedule with that of his new wife. Though outwardly a rake, he possessed a strong sense of propriety and responsibility. Upon becoming his uncle's heir, despite his reservations and the perceived constraints on his freedom, he had resolved to marry his cousin. He deemed it his duty. Young ladies of the nobility without close male siblings often found themselves in a precarious position. Their fathers' titles and estates were bound by entail, passing only to male relatives. In the absence of a close brother to provide support after their father's death, their prospects, both before and after marriage, became uncertain. They were reliant on the goodwill of their future husbands to maintain their accustomed standard of living. William Cavendish's own mother was a case in point. She was the only daughter of the previous Duke of Bedford. With no male heirs, her father could only pass the title to a cousin, a cousin whose father was half-brother to hers. This effectively meant that her mother's lineage had come to an end. After Alicia's mother, the current Duchess of Devonshire and Countess of Sutherland, was deemed unable to bear more children, his mother, Lady Diana, lamented her future predicament: lacking a brother, or even a close uncle, she feared the old Duke of Devonshire might draft a will forbidding the division of the ancestral property. Although the Earl of Burlington was his cousin, the Cavendish family was not known for its prolificacy and the continuation of the family's glory rested on this branch. Lady Diana's father and her half-brother had both passed away early, leaving her with only three distant nephews. Consequently, she had managed to secure all movable assets from her father, in addition to those from her mother and grandmother. Alicia's mother was also an only daughter. Her grandfather was exceedingly wealthy, but the Marquis title and estate could only be passed to his half-brother, her uncle, Lord Granville. It all came down to the laws of inheritance. Furthermore, William Cavendish and his uncle were only ten years apart in age. Though he held the title of heir presumptive, it was highly likely that his son would be the one to formally inherit the dukedom. Given their already distant kinship, further complicated by this generational gap, it was unlikely that Alicia could expect much support from that quarter. At the time, he had thought that he could be considered half a brother to her. ...The sun cast a shadow beneath his eyes, highlighting a faint bluish tinge. William Cavendish finally broke the silence. "The mere thought of you keeps me awake at night." His eyes were filled with a tenderness that, while often feigned, felt remarkably genuine at this moment. He was unsure what had come over him. He would likely be disgusted by such a display under normal circumstances. Yet, after their physical intimacy, he found himself increasingly attached to her, yearning to hold her constantly. "I was asleep," Alicia stated simply, forking a piece of pan-fried ox tongue with a squeeze of lemon. Her appetite was unaffected. William Cavendish pursed his lips. He should not have expected a more profound response. He picked at his own food before resting his chin on his hand, a melancholic expression on his face. "Have you no sympathy for me at all?" "What are you referring to?" William was momentarily speechless. The odd-numbered days, the even-numbered days... why had she arranged everything so meticulously? When he longed for her, he could only pace outside her door. Convention dictated that lovers might exchange letters as a means of expressing their affection, but when he'd gone through her correspondence, he'd found only polite inquiries after his family. "My dearest cousin," one letter read, "I am enjoying a pleasant stay in the countryside, not at Chatsworth, but at Hardwick. I expect to return to London in two months' time. Mother wishes me to extend an invitation for you to visit... Please convey my regards to your mother." See? She did not even call him Will. Hence, he addressed her only as "cousin." Was the term "Cousin" so difficult to utter? After breakfast, a walk was proposed. Alicia donned her outdoor attire, complete with gloves. He finally had the opportunity to assist her with tying her bonnet ribbons. Though Alicia insisted her maid could manage, he pointed out that the staff here were few and unfamiliar. See, how lovely a bow I've tied? The latest style from La Belle Assemblée. He expressed some concern. "Are you truly planning to walk two miles? And then back again?" This was an almost inconceivable feat for a man who would choose a carriage over riding, riding over walking, and only deigned to walk for the sake of maintaining an aristocratic air. His usual "walks" were merely a means of displaying himself and socializing in Hyde Park. Alicia tilted her head, peering up at him from beneath the brim of her pale blue-trimmed straw bonnet, as if to say, "Are you unable to manage it?" William Cavendish acquiesced. Though she had visited Wimbledon Manor many times, this particular cottage was quite secluded. Oh, she had a fondness for geography, could read maps, identify directions and constellations, and was unlikely to get lost. She would likely appreciate the nearby beech forest. The ground would be softer in September, after the autumn rains. They strolled along, taking in the leisurely pace of country life. They had spent the entirety of their engagement in London, venturing to Brighton in the summer to escape the city's heat and stench, where they took walks along the beach and bathed in the sea. A number of regiments were stationed there, and he had even brought out his old uniform from his time in the 10th Light Dragoons when he was sixteen or seventeen, showing it off. Yet, she still refused to kiss him. He was quite certain of his own good looks. He was rather pleased with this excursion. When they encountered a particularly muddy patch, he even carried her across. He resolved to take a walk every day from now on. Alicia had brought a net bag with her. She collected any new plants she encountered along the way, carefully placing them in a book to be pressed into specimens later. If Cavendish were clever, he would have used Linnaeus' binomial nomenclature, properly classifying them and noting their scientific names. But he hadn't seen it yet. "Have you developed a new fascination with botany?" The dark-haired, blue-eyed man carefully parted the thorns of a plant for her, delicately slicing it with a small knife. It was fortunate that his military experience had taught him to be prepared for anything in the field. Still, he had never been so disheveled. He was about to pick one, but the girl shook her head, saying he hadn't distinguished between the two types. Just like Alicia at seven or eight, she had no qualms about ordering him to climb a tree to pick a fruit for her because it was red on one side and green on the other, and she simply had to have it. At the time, William Cavendish had thought this child was surely doomed. "Yes," Alicia replied softly, carefully storing her specimen. She was a quiet child, simply dressed, not like a duke's daughter at all. Walking in the countryside, if it weren't for her well-maintained complexion, golden hair, and the servants following at a distance, she would have looked like any other country girl. He plucked a leaf from her hair, pushed aside the waist-high grass, and pulled her out. "What were you doing down there?" he grumbled. He noticed the exposed skin of her wrist and neck, relieved to see no redness or any other symptoms. She was prone to illness. That was why Cavendish had raised an eyebrow last night, incredulous, at the declaration of her being in good health. But, upon reflection, it was to be expected. He followed Alicia's instructions, using the net to catch butterflies for her specimens, which she would pin with large-headed needles and carefully store. Cavendish had been startled at first, but after watching her dissect frogs, rabbits, and pigeons, he had come to accept it. If she were a male cousin, he would have liked her very much and would have gladly taken her along on his escapades. He presented the captured butterflies, their wings a riot of color, fluttering within the glass jar, as if offering a prized treasure. Alicia regarded them with a detached, almost clinical gaze. He both feared and was captivated by that look, utterly ensnared. "Allow me a kiss," he said, half-jokingly. She actually turned her cheek towards him. He froze, then leaned down and gently kissed her. His heart leaped in his chest. "Do you know why I chose you, cousin?" Alicia asked suddenly. William Cavendish was taken aback. She continued walking, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, her eyelashes long and delicate. "Because even when you do not understand what I am doing," she said, her gaze on him like that of a small cat or dog, "you do not oppose it, yet you do not entirely approve either." Cavendish blinked, following her. He was bewildered by her statement, but a strange sense of elation began to bubble within him. Her mind seemed far older than her years. But then, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He found himself strangely pleased. ...The long-awaited odd-numbered day arrived. William Cavendish, after much internal debate, snuck into the bedroom. He ought to have given her the cold shoulder, but the thought of her indifference, coupled with his own sleeplessness, was unbearable. He felt as though they were engaged in an illicit affair. It was damnable, this infatuation with his cousin. Was it merely because she was now his wife? She was a different creature in the daylight than at night. He adored her when she was aroused. Her face pressed against his chest, flushed and warm. Her soft, broken moans, begging to be silenced by his kisses. The mere thought was enough to excite William Cavendish. But as he observed her in bed, clad in her nightgown, a serene expression on her face as she read, he softened and approached, gently kissing her forehead. It was smooth and fair, almost luminous. His temper was notoriously volatile. People often warned against provoking Mr. Cavendish, describing him as a lawless and arrogant young man, the most haughty of all the aristocratic scions, and with the means to support his attitude. His deference to Alicia stemmed solely from her exalted birth; everyone treated her with similar reverence. William Cavendish had once been equally imperious, looking down on most. He only showed consideration to his blood relatives, for they shared the same lineage. Now, this kinship was intertwined with another bond. Marriage was a contract, a vow taken before the altar. They had spoken sacred oaths in the presence of the priest and God. He had placed the ring on her finger then, his hand trembling slightly. She had looked up at him, awaiting the next step. "Good evening, cousin?" They had already bidden each other goodnight. Alicia's greeting brought him back to reality. He replied with a touch of resignation, "Good evening." "Do hurry up," Alicia said languidly, setting her book aside. Her lips appeared even more crimson in the candlelight, ripe and tempting. She had commissioned a large half-length portrait upon their engagement. He had hung it in his room, and it had fueled his longing for her every single day. William Cavendish realized he had overestimated himself. He was not here for an illicit rendezvous; he was not even a lover. Alicia's arms encircled him, and she kissed him with a slow, almost indifferent manner. She was a quick learner. He leaned in, yearning, craving more. He was merely a tool, fulfilling his duty to produce an heir. This was even worse than an affair.