Chapter Two: The Higgins Family Contemplates
Author's Note: Thank you, those who added me to Author Alert and favorited this story, as well as its predecessor, I am so flattered! However, I really do love reviews. Good reviews, so-so reviews, any reviews at all! I am a bit of a sucker for validation, and it keeps the creative juices flowing. Thanks again, and enjoy chapter two!
The elder Eleanor Higgins never thought she would see the day when she would have to take Henry back under her wing. Like most women of her age and station, she had been enjoying her final years of independence before she would be expected to be taken in by Henry to be cared for in her twilight. Not that that particular time was coming soon; Eleanor was an extremely active sort of person for her age. She still took regular walks, whether it be balmy weather or freezing, and preferred to run her own errands with the assistance of her lady's maid, if she could possibly help it. Eleanor was blessed with sound hips, and the only real complaint she suffered from was a slight rheumatism. Yes, Eleanor was a picture of health and independence.
Needless to say, Eliza's unusual request did not surprise Eleanor in the least. Her son, for whatever reason, had treated his young wife most appallingly, and now he had to face the consequences. It pleased Eleanor, the fact that Eliza wasn't one of those submissive wives that welcomed their erring husbands with open arms, no matter the infraction; the girl had pride. Henry's father would have adored the spirited chit.
Eleanor never failed to look upon her years of marriage with Arthur Higgins with the greatest fondness. She had been raised in a very strict, very Victorian household, and had gone into marriage with the air befitting her feminine training. She was meek, and completely ready to serve her significantly older husband. Arthur, who had apparently seen a steel spine underneath her soft, simpering exterior, raged at her lowered eyes, and gentle voice, and promptly educated her in the art of speaking her mind. "And you had best do it in a loud voice, because I've a loud family," he instructed. Eleanor never quite reached the levels of assertiveness typical of a Higgins, and did not entirely shed her Victorian ideals, but she had become somewhat of her own person, rather than the milquetoast prototype that she was expected to be. Yes, given his help in shaping Eleanor's personality, Arthur would have admired his favorite son's wife very, very much. In fact, Eleanor imagined that, somewhere, Arthur was having a good laugh at Eliza's deft handling of Henry.
Henry arrived in the late afternoon, after having spent the previous ten hours sleeping off the exhaustion of his travels combined with the long wait of Eliza's first childbirth. To Eleanor's astonishment, Henry had brought Colonel Pickering with him, and both men were carrying suitcases.
"I've invited Pick to stay too, Mother, I hope you don't mind. He has a knowledge of females that I lack, and I daresay he will be more use to me here." Colonel Pickering bowed his head, apologetically.
"I could remove myself to the Carlton, Mrs. Higgins. I would hate to impose on you."
Before Eleanor could open her mouth to make a rejoinder, Henry spoke first. "Tosh! Mother doesn't mind. Do you, my dear?"
Eleanor sighed, "Of course not, Henry." She gestured for the two of them to sit. " I will have your rooms prepared shortly, gentlemen. In the meantime, let's take tea and discuss the grim business of courtship."
Once the tea had been delivered and served, Eleanor decided to take charge of the conversation. "So, Henry, what are you going to do?"
"Pardon?"
"This business with Eliza, what have you decided on as a course of action?"
Henry shrugged. "I'm damned clueless- excuse me, Mother- I'm completely clueless. I don't know what she likes."
Pickering's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed, Higgins? You married her, you ought to know very well what she likes."
Henry frowned. "What I've gleamed is that she loves flowers, but has no ear for poetry; She seems to not dislike jewelry, or else my taste in it is so fine that she doesn't object to it." He trailed off. "She likes shackling herself to confirmed old bachelors and throwing their lives into absolute disarray."
"She seems to enjoy dancing, or at the very least excels at it," Eleanor offered, helpfully.
"I excel at dancing, and I despise it," Henry replied. "Although, once she got the hang of it, Eliza did seem to enjoy herself." Unbidden, a memory arose of his hand resting gently at her side as they glided across the floor at the Embassy ball. She had performed admirably with her other dance partners that night, but with the icy reserve of one that was carrying out an expected task. From the moment Henry took Eliza into his arms for the waltz, she seemed to glow with an internal light, and her body relaxed at his touch. He had often replayed that memory with fondness during their separation, conveniently pausing his recall at the moment he had handed her off like a sacrificial lamb to that oily Karpathy. The hurt and confusion in her eyes did not register with him that night, but had come back to haunt him later.
"Once a reliable nanny is established, I believe a night on the town would not be out of sorts," Eleanor suggested.
"You mean facing other people, and making inane conversation with them?" Henry asked with a shudder of disgust.
"Oh, Henry, really! This is not about what would please you most; you are trying to court Eliza's favor. She is young, and perhaps she would like to socialize, as young things are wont to do."
Henry resisted the urge to sulk. His mother was right, of course. He didn't wonder if Eliza's request was more punishment than experiment. In trying to court her, he was being dragged from his comfort zone, kicking and screaming. Henry fervently wished that he could skip all of this, and the two of them could be sitting together in quiet contemplation of their marriage. He could see it now: Himself sitting in his armchair in front of a fire, smoking a cigar and poring over his latest text; Eliza on the sofa, her posture relaxing into an unselfconscious sprawl as it often did when she did not have an audience, studying her Greek, or perhaps Latin. Perhaps she would lift her head and smile at him in her breathtakingly feminine way, with a little bit of a blush creeping over her ivory cheeks. With words, unspoken, he would set down his book, and she hers, and they would head upstairs in pursuit of the more pleasurable aspect of marriage.
Henry frowned once more, when he realized he had neglected to factor in Little Elle on this portrait of family life. It was so easy to forget that he was now a father. The idea had been so remote to him, especially after his long years of bachelorhood. What sort of father could he possibly make? Would he be able to mould the child into a strong, intelligent young woman, or would Elle wither and retreat under the constant exposure of his acerbic nature? Surely, Eliza's kind and gentle nature would make up for what Henry lacked. Elle's calm, slightly unfocused gaze came to mind, and Henry was filled with a rush of determination. That was his family, and he would walk naked through the fires of Hell to get them back, if need be!
