Chapter 55: Of Journeys and Jitters

No sooner had the Battle of Waterloo concluded than Alicia dispatched a letter home to assure them of her safety. The reply, confirming her grandfather's stable health, brought a wave of relief. Once the dust settled, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, along with the Marquess of Stafford, arrived in Brussels in early July. After a brief reunion, they journeyed onward to France. Following a month's sojourn in Paris, the Duke and Duchess prepared to head north. Parting ways with the Devonshires, Alicia devoted herself to accompanying her grandfather on his journey to the south of France. Their party, however, had grown by one – another patient to tend to. Cavendish's arm was firmly immobilized. Though he insisted he was on the mend, the physician recommended another month of caution to prevent any lingering complications. Some damaged flesh had been removed earlier, and thankfully, there had been no further infection. Alicia had watched the doctor and his assistant at work, her brow furrowed slightly. He had refused opium, claiming it was a mere trifle. And then, beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. Cavendish opened his eyes, requesting a stiff drink. "A kiss, my love," he said, with a wink. "A reward for my bravery." He always maintained that flippant, devil-may-care attitude. Restless as he was, they shared a suite at the hotel, and a bed. He stroked her cheek; she gazed back, her eyelashes fluttering. Thrown together as they were, it was inevitable that… certain things would occur. During the day, nestled in the carriage, Alicia would tuck a blanket around her grandfather as they toured the streets, listening to him reminisce about the changes in Paris. He recalled his time as the French ambassador, spent within the gilded cage of Versailles, witnessing the endless revelry of balls and banquets. With the war finally over, Paris was once again brimming with the English, a sea of familiar faces. Hats were tipped, and hushed, wistful tones were used to speak of the fallen, offering condolences and reflections. But life, as it always does, marched on. The Congress of Vienna had concluded, reshaping the map of Europe. The Duke of Wellington, showered with accolades, returned to his post as the French ambassador. The British aristocracy, with their unwavering traditions, continued their hunting seasons. Meanwhile, a northern city called Manchester was quietly rising, the Industrial Revolution transforming the world at an unprecedented pace. By the time they left Paris, William Cavendish's right shoulder bore a healed scar. He found it rather unsightly, but consoled himself with the thought that, in his old age, he could at least regale his grandchildren with tales of his battlefield valor. Alicia nipped at his shoulder, telling him to be quiet. After the scab had fallen away, the skin was a rather angry shade of pink, though it gradually faded. He complained of an itch, and then, slowly, he began to resemble the husband she knew so well. In just three years, Parisian fashions had undergone a dramatic transformation. Cavendish, during his enforced period of rest, diligently perused the fashion magazines. Skirts had become shorter, rising above the ankle, and were adorned with an abundance of intricate embroidery, frills, and lace. With Napoleon's downfall, the Empire style, once championed by Empress Josephine, had gradually fallen out of favor. The aristocracy, once again, embraced opulent attire as a display of status, albeit with a touch more elegance and refinement. Following this period, over the next twenty years, Rationalism waned, and the era of Romanticism officially arrived. Lady Diana and her husband came to visit their only son. Lord Cavendish expressed his pride in his son's achievements during the campaign. William Cavendish had relayed orders, observed enemy movements, and, with unwavering courage, performed the duties of an aide-de-camp – and, most importantly, had survived. Newspapers carried the story, reporting that, despite his injury, he had accompanied Major Henry Percy in delivering the eagle standard and dispatches, bringing news to the families of his comrades. His very presence soothed frayed nerves. But most importantly, he had returned to see his wife. Their love story gradually came to light: Lady Clifford's nursing in the makeshift hospital, her patient waiting, her words of comfort, and her sending her husband off to battle. And he, just as he had promised, returned alive, hastening to see her and hold her in his arms. This sudden, unexpected battle had only served to deepen their love, to make them belong to each other even more completely. Upon their return to England, they were somewhat amused to find their story had become a touching romance set against the backdrop of war. In August, Cavendish celebrated his birthday. He was officially twenty-nine. Considering his wife was a mere twenty, William Cavendish breathed a sigh of relief, sincerely hoping the number thirty would arrive a little later. The passage of time would, eventually, smooth out the age difference. When he was fourteen, for example, no one would have dreamed of pairing him with a five-year-old girl. But after he turned thirty, Alicia would have a full decade in her twenties, a lady in the bloom of youth. He, on the other hand, would be a man in his thirties – though, in the eyes of most, still quite young. Alicia, however, thought that if he was like this at thirty, she felt a slight trepidation, anticipating that his forties and fifties might be even more trying. After two months of convalescence, William Cavendish resumed his exercise routine, riding regularly. He wanted to appear youthful. However, Alicia advised against shooting, boxing, and driving. She fastened his thick cloak, and he covered her hand with his gloved one, a smile gracing his lips. While his injury required careful handling, they were cautious. Once he had fully recovered, at long last, they could… Returning from a banquet, William Cavendish wrapped his arm around her waist, eagerly pulling his wife into his embrace. He rested his chin on her shoulder. "My darling, my dearest, my sweet little crêpe," he murmured, his words sweeter than maple syrup. William Cavendish decided to take an extended leave of absence. In truth, he had never taken his duties as an ambassador's secretary particularly seriously. He declared that he had worked diligently for many years and that it was time to devote himself wholeheartedly to his family. He couldn't bear to be apart from his wife; they had been married for three years, yet it still felt like a honeymoon. Shortly after Cavendish's birthday, they celebrated their wedding anniversary. He presented her with a set of jewelry he had designed: a tiara, necklace, brooch, ring, bracelet, and armlet. Diamonds were arranged to resemble stars, which he called "Alicia's Stars." The two of them explored Europe extensively before finally returning to England. The Marquess of Stafford remained in Switzerland. Alicia and Cavendish continued south, first to Vienna for a few concerts, then on to Milan, Venice, and Florence. They lingered leisurely on terraces, inhaling the fading fragrance of wild ginger blossoms, gazing out at the Renaissance landscapes. They drifted in a Venetian gondola, sheltered by a parasol, whispering softly to each other. Finally, they spent the winter in the mild, rainy climate of Naples. Compared to England, the days were longer, with ample sunshine – no wonder everyone flocked there. By the time they returned, they attended the Venice Carnival in February, and after much meandering, it was already 1816. They departed Italy, enveloped in the lingering scent of orange blossoms. Their journey had lasted approximately six months – not an excessive amount of time. The English were, after all, scattered across the globe. Before the war, most had resided throughout Europe, and fathers and sons could go years without seeing each other. In Europe, whether in Paris, Vienna, or Naples, Alicia was the most sought-after lady the moment she appeared. Everyone flocked to her; she possessed an innate radiance. William Cavendish had to admit, he was quite jealous. Those men occupied far too much of his wife's time. They danced with her – the waltzes, polkas, and mazurkas he had always longed to dance – holding her hands so intimately in the dance, laughing and conversing one-on-one, twirling and leaping. Those noblemen and princes, with their various accents, complained that William Cavendish was far too possessive. How could he bear to keep his beautiful and talented wife confined to his side? She deserved to shine, to be surrounded by everyone. But Alicia, she indulged him with her partiality. She adored the scent of his skin, the color of his eyes, the feel of his touch. Rather than socializing with those others, she would prefer to exchange a few more words with him, to see his smile. In April, the couple returned to England, just in time for Princess Charlotte's wedding. The Crown Princess, having refused to marry the Prince of Orange designated by her father the previous year, had caused quite a stir. The Prince Regent had placed his daughter under house arrest, but ultimately, thanks to public protest and the assistance of the Cavendish family, Princess Charlotte had gained her freedom, acquired her own residence, and made an appearance in Weymouth. – This was a political investment. At the very least, in the matter of the Princess's marriage, there was a clear wave of Whig supporters, much like those who had once been close to the Prince Regent, standing by Princess Charlotte of Wales. This year, the Prince Regent remained obstinate on the subject of the Princess's marriage. Charlotte was enamored with Prince Leopold, but her father looked down on this prince from a small, impoverished country, preferring an alliance with the Prince of Orange to expand the British royal family's influence in northwestern Europe. Finally, after the Prince of Orange became engaged to a Russian Grand Duchess, the last obstacle vanished, and Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold were finally united. They issued their announcement in March and were officially married in May at the Prince Regent's Carlton House. Alicia and William Cavendish attended as guests. "They seem quite happy," Alicia observed. "Just like us," Cavendish replied proudly. Alicia's grandfather, the Marquess of Stafford, continued to reside in the south of France. The couple visited the elderly gentleman on their way back to England. He reminisced about Alicia's grandmother, the Countess of Sutherland, who had joked that when they were old, they would definitely retire here. "Eliza always said that by then, we should be surrounded by children and grandchildren, and when they sat on my lap, I could keep them guessing, telling them the stories of how we met, how we fell in love…" The Marquess of Stafford gazed softly. But his wife, Elizabeth Sutherland, his Eliza, whom he had fallen in love with before he even turned twenty, whom he had married in London – she had passed away in 1784 due to illness. They had only been married for thirteen years, and in the blink of an eye, thirty-two years had passed. He had never remarried. Later, their eldest son, Granville, also passed away tragically in 1794. The Marquess seemed lost in thought. Alicia sat silently at his feet, stroking her grandfather's aged hand. He planned to return to England with his daughter and son-in-law after they returned from Austria. That wouldn't be until next spring; he had no desire to move these old bones during the winter. Alicia agreed, promising to return for Christmas after autumn. Coincidentally, Cavendish's grandparents were also planning to reside in Paris for an extended period. She kissed his cheek and bid him farewell. After March, Alicia finally came of age. On her birthday, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire traveled from Vienna, and together with her grandfather, the Marquess of Stafford, they held a small family gathering in Europe. Friends and relatives still in England also sent gifts, and Alicia wrote letters of thanks. Lord Byron and Annabella had married early last year, and at the end of the year, their daughter, named Ada, was born. Alicia expressed her congratulations in a letter, but Annabella clearly harbored doubts about her marriage to the poet. Byron was in financial ruin and somewhat mentally unstable. His relationship with his half-sister was also excessively intimate, causing Annabella considerable distress. In January of this year, she had moved out of their Piccadilly Terrace residence with her daughter and returned to her family home. After careful consideration, she formally separated from Lord Byron. Their union had ended in tragedy. Alicia and William Cavendish became increasingly aware of how precious their own marriage was. They loved each other and had never truly experienced any hardships, sudden illnesses, or the torment of separation. This was proven true as time passed. In September 1816, Alicia was enjoying a brief holiday in Paris, together with William Cavendish's family, and visiting her grandfather. She was responding to a complaining letter from her aunt, Harriet – she and her husband were in Vienna, and she said she was pregnant again. She had just given birth to their eldest son, named Granville, the previous year. Some couples had good relationships and did not practice contraception, often having children year after year, as unavoidable as catching a cold. "Although it's not right to say this, Leah, childbirth truly feels like a curse on women." Alicia and her husband's situation was a source of concern and speculation to outsiders. They had been married for four years, and as it appeared, their relationship was close and loving; no one could separate them. But at the same time, they had no heir. The two of them might, like some couples, remain childless for the rest of their lives. In that case… Alicia was also a little puzzled, but not anxious. They had probably stopped using contraception around the end of last year. Perhaps life in Naples had been too comfortable, and they had gradually felt it unnecessary. But there were still no signs of pregnancy. William Cavendish never mentioned it, fearing it would worry her. She didn't dwell on it either; she didn't feel quite ready for another person in their lives. But often, it happens so unexpectedly. On the ship returning in mid-October, Alicia leaned against the railing, unable to suppress her nausea. William Cavendish watched anxiously beside her, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief and offering her lemon water to rinse. Alicia felt terrible. She had never been seasick before, but this time, she couldn't stroll on the deck and had to rest in the cabin. Cavendish stayed by her side, worried, perplexed, and pensive. He held her in his arms, patting her back to provide warmth. "We'll be ashore in half a day," he said, planning to rest at an inn in Dover. It was too cold; she must have caught a chill from the wind. He blamed himself for not wrapping her in more coats. "Are you alright?" He touched her forehead to check for a fever and quickly sent someone to ask if there was a doctor on board. After much fuss, the doctor inquired about Alicia's recent condition in detail and made a tentative diagnosis. The couple looked at each other, dumbfounded. They had been married for four years. But it was the first time they had realized what this meant. Their long absence of this possibility had left them completely insensitive to it. After several days of rest after landing, further observation confirmed the fact. Alicia was pregnant.