Chapter 50. The Age of Innocence

After the New Year, the winter held them almost entirely indoors, snow falling softly outside, the two of them nestled together. Apart from the occasional social engagement, their days were filled with reading and writing letters. They read aloud to each other, or lost themselves in their own books. Alicia, however, found herself with even more energy to devote to her scholarly pursuits, exchanging a flurry of correspondence with members of the Royal Society. Winter, with its crisp, clear air, was undeniably the best season for stargazing. The newly ordered telescope had arrived, installed on the third floor. Twenty inches in diameter, it wasn't quite up to the standards of the most serious instruments (those behemoths that resembled towering structures erected in open fields), but it was more than sufficient for her purposes. In her leisure hours, Alicia dabbled in writing. A number of aristocratic ladies possessed a certain flair for the written word, honed by countless letters, showcasing their quick minds and talents. Like her grandmother and her cousin Caroline, Alicia wrote poetry and essays, and eagerly attended the most fashionable plays. William Cavendish, of course, was full of praise for every word she penned. She had received an excellent education, coupled with a keen eye for observation and a rather unique perspective. Alicia raised her head, her gaze suggesting a certain skepticism regarding his taste. He remained steadfastly by her side, assisting her in organizing her various projects. She continued to paint, her winter sketches now dominated by snowy landscapes. He could finally decipher the diagrams charting her celestial observations, diligently marking positions and data on her star charts. He was her constant companion, unwavering in his devotion. Contrary to the pronouncements of Alicia's Aunt Harriet, he hadn't grown tired of her in a mere three months. Indeed, they had been together for nearly half a year, and his enthusiasm remained undiminished, as fervent as that of a newlywed. He murmured affectionate good mornings and good nights, bending to bestow gentle kisses. His first act upon returning home was invariably to seek her out. Even with his own responsibilities demanding his attention, he found himself unable to stay away. Alicia reflected that people were, after all, different. She didn't object to his presence; on the contrary, she found herself feeling a twinge of longing and a certain boredom in his absence. The townhouse on Park Lane, which they had moved into, had undergone a transformation at Alicia's leisurely pace. Decorating one's estate and residence was an unavoidable task for a married lady, a testament to her aesthetic sensibilities and personal style. A parade of furniture makers and interior decorators had called upon them. Vast quantities of hand-painted wallpaper, Persian carpets, mahogany furniture, and silk damask had been purchased. Alicia was rather extravagant in this regard, having never experienced the slightest financial constraint throughout her life. In this, at least, she had fulfilled one of Cavendish's desires. He was responsible for signing his wife's bills. She was finally spending his money, the sharp distinctions she had previously insisted upon beginning to blur. They were, piece by piece, constructing their nest: the gardens before and behind the house, the design of the balconies, the classical lamps and statuary, the material for the ballroom floor, the glassware and porcelain, the linen tablecloths, the scented candles, the heavy velvet curtains that draped the windows. Before the arrival of spring, everything was utterly transformed. His chin rested upon her shoulder. With the melting of the snow, the London social season, as always, had commenced. Another bustling year had begun, a fresh influx of people into London, new acquaintances to be made. This time last year, they had been immersed in the preparations for their wedding. Now, they knew each other intimately. The only matter causing concern among their relatives was the fact that, after six months, the bride showed no signs of pregnancy. The family physician, after a discreet visit, paid particular attention to this matter, but all his examinations indicated that everything was perfectly normal. The Duchess had questioned her daughter on the subject. Alicia's monthly cycles were regular, her health excellent, with no discomfort. Her complexion was rosy, without any trace of pallor or weakness. Unlike many women who suffered miscarriages or stillbirths, she had simply not conceived at all. There was no sign of the heir that both families so eagerly anticipated. Surely, some reasonable explanation had to be found. After all, the future of the title and the estate was at stake. "They don't know we're taking precautions," Alicia murmured, nestled in his arms one evening. She understood her relatives' concerns. Her Aunt Georgiana, returning to London from Howard Castle in March, had inquired about the matter with genuine care, also seeking to understand her husband's perspective. She was relieved to learn that William Cavendish was unconcerned. Female relatives could alleviate a new bride's anxieties, and reassure her. Most married ladies had, at some point, experienced similar worries. Even those who had successfully given birth to daughters often fretted over not having a son. The husband and his parents, more often than not, placed great importance on a male heir to inherit the property and the title. Indeed, one might say that marriage itself was often entered into for this very purpose. Lady Morpeth was exceptionally fortunate, having given birth to her eldest son shortly after her marriage. To date, she had eight children. Alicia had consulted with the physician, who had enumerated various possibilities for infertility. In summary, the issue lay either with the woman or the man. If this continued, rumors of infertility might begin to spread. However, subjecting Alicia to specific examinations would be tantamount to admitting that something was wrong, potentially damaging her reputation. The Cavendishes naturally refused such a course of action. Fortunately, Lady Diana, having had few children herself, was understanding, even if she did care, she loathed the casual judgments of others, having endured countless whispers in her own youth. The impediment on the side of the newlywed couple without children had been removed. The husband's parents were unconcerned, a cause for general rejoicing. But if three years passed without any change, other considerations would have to be made. He still asked her, "Do you want children?" They had always been in harmony on this matter. Of course, he remained apprehensive about the risks she would face in childbirth: miscarriage, difficult labor, stillbirth, puerperal fever, and so on. He knew of women who had given birth to several children, and others who had tragically died in their first labor. He was unwilling to gamble with those odds. John Lambton's wife had given birth successfully, but he had seen the child, a sickly little girl. Both parents were deeply worried about the child's survival, and the mother's health had been poor, requiring a long recovery after the birth. Alicia's Aunt Harriet, on the other hand, recovered quickly, and her children were all robust and healthy. The two sisters were remarkably fertile. Their brother and parents, however, had few offspring. Nothing was certain. Cavendish's thinking was, in many ways, quite modern. After careful observation and discussions with the physician, he believed that a woman should reach a certain age before considering pregnancy. Ideally, after she had fully matured, perhaps twenty-three years of age. This meant they would face questioning for five or six years, assuming their precautions continued to be successful. Alicia, during this period, had grown fond of the private world she shared with her husband. She felt that children might intrude upon that space, dividing her attention. Of course, there were also couples whose love deepened through their shared focus on their children. Her intention was to continue as they were. She wasn't bothered by the scrutiny. She simply wasn't ready for children. They rested their foreheads together, embracing silently. Lord Byron had proposed to Annabella last October, only to be rejected. He seemed all the more determined because of it. The passionate poet had become the lover of Lady Oxford, fourteen years his senior, who was utterly infatuated with him. Lady Oxford was a friend of Alicia's cousin, Caroline. One wondered what poor Caroline thought of all this, her former lover having completely lost interest in her, discarding her like a worn-out shoe. The letter that Alicia and William had unearthed, sent to Dublin, had led to a brief reconciliation between that couple. William Lamb, recalling past tenderness, began to make an effort to provide his wife with emotional support. The future remained unknown; one could only hope for the best. "We will be happy," he declared, with quiet conviction. Like those famously devoted couples. The aristocracy might be routinely dissolute and pleasure-seeking, but there were those who remained faithful to each other throughout their lives. As for the matter of children, the ultimate solution was for William Cavendish to subtly suggest to his family that the issue lay with him. He would certainly see a physician and cooperate fully with any treatment. There was little anyone else could say. His family did their best to conceal the matter, though, naturally, some whispers inevitably circulated. "Aren't you concerned about your image?" Her cousin had always valued his reputation above all else. "What does that matter now?" They were playing croquet. In the evening, they sat together, solving riddles. This life, just the two of them, could likely continue for several more years. Spring arrived, bringing with it more time spent outdoors. They could finally enjoy rides in their open carriage again, and strolls in the park. "Would you like to go to Primrose Hill?" It was located near Marylebone Park, offering a panoramic view of the northern suburbs of London. In March, the hillside was a riot of wildflowers. Apart from Hyde Park, it was a favorite destination for Londoners, who could bask in the warm sunshine on a rare clear day. She stood on the small hill, holding a parasol. He had gathered a bouquet of newly bloomed snowdrops, their delicate white, bell-shaped blossoms drooping gently. Alicia turned, her head tilted. A white veil, caught by the breeze, draped across her face, enveloping her in a halo of light. She was looking at him, her delicate nose and those captivating eyes visible beneath the soft folds of the fine gauze. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to speak. Cavendish gazed at her from afar, and then he was running towards her. Later, he would say that she had stood there, the wind whipping at her dress and veil, so animated, as if she were about to be swept away. That moment became eternal. He clumsily followed her, sitting on the grass, learning to weave the snowdrops into a garland. A faint, elusive fragrance emanated from the blossoms, almost, but not quite, overwhelming. He interspersed a few violets among the snowdrops, and when it was finished, he carefully placed the garland upon her head. After several months of careful deliberation, the majority of the Lords in the Upper House finally voted to approve Alicia's peerage. Even if this had not been the case, she would have been fully entitled to a new title based on the lands and property she would inherit. However, the Duke of Devonshire had a strong desire for his daughter to carry on the family's Barony of Clifford. This ennoblement was a solemn occasion, with a meticulously planned ceremony. The Duke of Devonshire, as Lord Chamberlain, arranged for the ceremony conferring the title to take place at the royal palace for his only daughter. The decree was signed jointly by the Prince Regent and Parliament, issued from the Privy Council. Alicia donned a ceremonial robe of crimson velvet and white ermine, crafted over two months, with a long, flowing train. It differed from the style she had previously worn as a Duke's daughter; this bore the heraldic emblems of a Baron. "By the authority of the Prince Regent, the title of Baroness Clifford is specially granted to Alicia Anne Cavendish, and to her heirs." In the presence of the Archbishop and a gathering of attending nobles, Alicia bowed her head, kissed the Prince Regent's hand, and was invested with the coronet of a Baroness—a simple circlet of silver gilt adorned with six pearls. An Earl's coronet, by comparison, consisted of eight strawberry leaves and eight pearls raised on stalks, while a Duke's coronet was embellished with jewels and five sculpted strawberry leaves. Her title, in the future, would only rise higher. Her innate nobility and wealth were truly the envy of many. Just as with her wedding, this ceremony was widely reported in all the major newspapers and magazines. At banquets, the announcement now changed from "Lady Alicia" to "Baroness Clifford." Cavendish, with a touch of playful teasing, addressed her as "Baroness" and "Lady Clifford." The London social spring thus passed, and the couple found themselves at the height of their renown. They attended gatherings together, took boat trips on the Thames, watching the distant sunsets. Alicia handed him the parasol handle, her eyes lowered, leaning her head against his shoulder. This attachment had never waned; it only deepened with time. They loved each other, remained faithful, and nothing could divert their affections. They were destined to become one of those devoted couples spoken of for decades to come. People would say, "Look at that Baroness and her husband." Even with her charm, so captivating, she never cast a glance at another, never wavered. It was hardly surprising. They were perfectly matched; no one could be more suited to each other than he and she. While busily translating her calculus manuscript, Alicia did not neglect her celestial observations. By observing the positions of the stars and measuring their relative locations, she had detected an anomaly. One bright point of light did not appear on her star charts. This meant it could be a new star. But further observation and prediction of its trajectory were necessary. She was thrilled by this prospect. She had always deeply admired the Herschel siblings, who had discovered "George's Star" (later renamed Uranus), especially the female astronomer, Caroline Herschel. From initially assisting her brother, she had progressed to independent work, confirming the existence of several nebulae and comets she had discovered, indexing Flamsteed's observations, and compiling a catalogue of 561 stars missing from the British Catalogue. She became the first woman in British history to receive a salary for astronomical work. Alicia corresponded with numerous scholars, verifying her hypothesis. She maintained a continuous, regular schedule of observation and recording, tirelessly dedicated, utterly absorbed. William Cavendish watched the light flickering in her eyes. Alicia rarely displayed strong emotions, except for the things she loved. He had gradually, it seemed, become one of those things. As the parliamentary session drew to a close in June, Cavendish wholeheartedly supported her endeavors. He performed the tasks of an assistant, composing elegantly worded and precisely phrased letters to address difficult questions. He organized her previously translated manuscripts, neatly copying them, patiently waiting for Alicia to make her revisions and corrections, and then copying them again. (This was remarkable, as he was usually quite careless with his own writing, content as long as he could understand it himself.) He approached the task with one hundred percent seriousness. He was proud of his wife, and delighted to be her husband. Meanwhile, he had finally prepared a gift. He implored Alicia to take some time and accompany him on an outing. She thought he must be tired, and that this would be a welcome diversion. They drove to the northern region of Belper. Under a veil of secrecy, she beheld a massive reflecting telescope under construction. "It's nearly finished," William Cavendish announced proudly. The giant telescope built by William Herschel twenty-four years earlier had a mirror diameter of 48 inches (122 centimeters) and a length of 40 feet (12 meters), located in the town of Slough in Berkshire. Alicia and Cavendish had visited it once; it was a popular attraction in England. People were naturally curious about such a towering telescope. William Cavendish had later conceived an even grander idea, spending two years sporadically contemplating it, gradually bringing it to fruition. This nearly completed astronomical telescope had a diameter of a full 56 inches, a breakthrough achievement. "Yes, I began preparations for it after our engagement." Alicia was utterly astonished. She threw her arms around him, her excitement overflowing. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and he swept her up in a hug, spinning her around, his laughter filled with contentment. They moved into a small cottage nearby, living in seclusion. Alicia observed the planet's trajectory until it was no longer visible. Simultaneously, she attempted to calculate the planet's predicted orbit using mathematical formulas. After a year of exploration, Alicia was certain: it was a new star, a distant asteroid. All that remained was to accurately calculate its trajectory, prove it with subsequent observational data, and write a paper presenting her findings. She immersed herself in the mathematical problem, day and night. "I can't solve it," she confessed, for the first time so visibly distraught. She tugged at her hair, spending her days indoors, clad in a loose robe. Her only outings were to climb the platform and use the enormous telescope—an immeasurable aid to her work. Alicia gazed at the nebulae, the comets, their elongated tails and hazy shadows. She was completely captivated by this vast world, soaring through the cosmos. She suspended her translation work, neither eating nor drinking, consumed by calculations and observations, exhausting stacks of paper and notebooks. William Cavendish was deeply concerned. He prepared everything for her, coaxing her to sleep, massaging her temples. He organized her perplexing problems, finding ways, despite the ongoing war, to contact renowned mathematicians and mathematical societies on the Continent. The day he received a reply, he returned, relieved, about to speak, when he saw Alicia rushing towards him, brimming with excitement. "I've solved it! I've solved it!" He joyfully embraced her, offering praise, concealing the letter in his arms. This was entirely her own achievement. Of course, Alicia soon discovered the letter. She studied it carefully, fascinated by the different approach to the solution, suddenly flooded with new ideas. She reached up to kiss his cheek, and then, closing her eyes, she fell asleep, exhausted but utterly relaxed. The results of her calculations required further observational confirmation. Alicia continued her fulfilling and busy life. She absorbed new knowledge every day, never tiring, constantly enriching herself. Cavendish marveled at her brilliant, agile mind. He observed her rigorous, logical arguments, astonished by her brilliance, and diligently pursued his own career, lest they one day find themselves with nothing in common. His focus lay in politics and law. He applied his talents to foreign diplomacy, striving to mediate and contribute. And, of course, he used his position to collect the latest journals, research reports, and lectures in mathematics and physics from the Continent, neatly arranging them on his wife's desk. Their mode of interaction might have seemed bizarre to others. They were perpetually busy, and when they shared a room, it was often with a yawn, leaning against each other in exhaustion. Alicia found relaxation in listening to him read poetry, essays, and novels. Simultaneously, she would write or draw, her mind capable of multitasking with remarkable ease. Spring drew to a close. A significant event occurred during this time. On June 21, 1813, the Battle of Vitoria took place. Viscount Wellington, leading the combined British, Portuguese, and Spanish forces, decisively defeated the French army under the brilliant command of Napoleon's brother, Joseph, who fled in disarray. The British army achieved a resounding victory, advancing into Madrid amidst the cheers of the local population, liberating all of Spain. Viscount Wellington was promoted from General to Field Marshal, pursuing the victory. Earl Percy, serving as an aide-de-camp to the Viscount, conveyed intelligence on the battlefield, inevitably sustaining injuries. He narrowly escaped death and returned to England to recuperate. He had matured considerably. Cavendish, having long since let go of the events of many months ago, had forgiven them. He and Alicia went to visit him. Earl Percy was fortunate not to have been disfigured, though he had sustained a facial abrasion, said to have been caused by a passing shell fragment. It had been a close call. "Your relationship is truly enviable," Earl Percy said, offering his blessings from his sickbed. Alicia allowed him to kiss her hand. William Cavendish was no longer jealous. Because he knew that nothing could shake them. He was irreplaceable in Alicia's heart. They took a summer holiday in Brighton, a brief respite. They agreed that during this time, they would do nothing of importance, participate in nothing, but simply enjoy their vacation. It was like a second honeymoon, except that they were now intimately familiar with each other, and trusted each other implicitly. While strolling, they watched a passing regiment of Hussars. Unfamiliar, youthful faces. It was not the 10th Hussars, the regiment he had once belonged to, which had long since been deployed to the Peninsular War. In the Battle of Vitoria, despite the British victory, 426 officers alone had been killed, not counting those who were injured, maimed, or later died of infection. The list contained many familiar and known names, some of whom had danced with Alicia, a cause for momentary sadness. Not to mention the total number of casualties in this long, nearly 20-year intermittent war. This had led to an imbalance in the number of young, able-bodied men in Britain, causing many young ladies to remain unmarried for lack of suitable partners. The young men, who had not yet seen battle, and regarded joining the army as fashionable, wore Hungarian-style half-pelisse uniforms, looking dashing and spirited. With their military caps, they rode past with a great deal of showmanship, displaying their trim figures and handsome appearances. William Cavendish had once been one of them. Who could have imagined he would be like this now? A single year could make a man composed, though, of course, not entirely. For example, he now led Alicia to the seaside to feel the ocean breeze. They stood on the rocks, and after a while, he suddenly jumped down, leaving Alicia alone, stranded on the high ground. He opened his arms, expecting her to let him catch her. Cavendish waited for her to speak. Alicia, looking bewildered, lifted her skirt and took a detour down a nearby flight of steps. "You really haven't changed a bit," she remarked, after he'd clearly been thwarted. With a mock complaint, he swept her up into his arms. In Brighton, besides the magnificent buildings constructed at the Prince Regent's vast expense, the officers' encampments, and of course, the seaside pier and sea bathing. Doctors believed that the colder the seawater, the better the effect. Brighton was still too far south; it would be ideal to go north to Southend, near London. But the seawater in the southernmost part of England was, of course, much colder than that of southern France. Alicia, a girl who was so fond of hot springs and hot baths, was not particularly enthusiastic about sea bathing. She went purely as a challenge to herself, to strengthen her willpower. Ladies bathed in the sea wearing special long robes, riding in a type of carriage that could go to the edge of the sea, descending in privacy, separated from the men. She lifted her skirt and walked barefoot in the waves, squinting. People nearby held containers, scooping up seawater and splashing it on their bodies, turning their skin a vibrant red. They watched the seagulls soaring across the horizon, listening to their melodious cries rising and falling. Enjoying the scenery, their gaze fell upon an elderly couple nearby. The woman wore a bonnet, and the elderly gentleman beside her smiled as he poured seawater over her. They looked like country gentry, a typical couple, a microcosm of the thousands who came on holiday. Cavendish and Alicia exchanged a glance. He firmly believed that they would be like that one day. After spending a pleasant afternoon playing in the sea, Alicia meticulously rinsed herself off, frowning slightly. She believed that the cold seawater kept her mind clear. Cavendish watched her, amused. He had already prepared hot tea for them to drink afterwards. He was delighted to see her physique growing stronger year by year. She was still growing taller, the fullness of her face gradually receding, further highlighting her delicate, exquisite features. Her eyelashes, her lips, her teeth, her face still had a downy softness, yet there was an undeniable air of childish innocence. He recalled the sight of her in her wedding dress, becoming his bride. He had watched her emerge, stunningly attired, a beautiful veil covering her head. His heart had soared with joy, his mind suddenly blank. He had extended his hand, and she had taken his arm, stepping into the carriage. Sitting face to face, he had repeatedly rehearsed the vows he would make at the altar, terrified of making a mistake, checking the rings in his pocket again and again. He had been nervous, flustered, his voice trembling. He had never understood how, in such a momentous event as a wedding, the groom could possibly stumble over his words or make an error. He, who had always been so articulate and fearless, had nearly become that groom, the one who made a fool of himself. He was so close to the future he had known at fourteen, a future he had once dreaded and feared, and now eagerly anticipated. "She is my wife." Their hands were clasped together. He gazed at her deeply, thinking silently. In the early morning, Alicia went for a walk. She wore a white dress, standing on the pier that stretched out into the sea. The light of the rising sun gilded her figure. He came to find her, seeing that silhouette before the white lighthouse, gazing steadfastly. The sailing ships on the sea, due to the perspective, appeared to be drawing closer and closer to the lighthouse. He wondered, would she turn around before that ship reached it? Just as he was thinking this, she turned her head. So far away, yet he could picture her face, down to the precise number of her eyelashes, long and curled. She waved to him naturally, and he strolled towards her, smiling.