Thank you for the love you showered on the last chapter. Apparently you love the teasing banter between Bella and Edward as much as the sexy times between them!
This chapter is a little late, but it is also longer than others. It took me some time to get into Elizabeth's mind, but now I know what she wants to say.
Not beta'ed.
Chapter-22
At breakfast, Edward writes a note to his mother and asks Jasper to take it to her. He looks up to find me watching him intently.
"What?" he smiles. It is just a smile, yet it makes my heart flutter.
Since the thoughts rising in my mind are not suitable to be revealed at the breakfast table, I ask him something else I had been wondering about.
"Does your mother mind that you married me?" He cocks an eyebrow, so I explain my question. "I mean, not me really, but a widow. Anthony's widow, to be specific. Does it seem odd to her?"
He nods in understanding. "Oh, I see. Not to my knowledge, and really, I don't think so. Marrying one's cousin's widow, or in some cases one's brother's is not that unusual, you know? The family members prefer to keep the money and property as it is, instead of sharing it with an outsider. My mother is aware that James asked me to marry you for this very reason."
"That's a relief," I murmur. "I wasn't sure if she thought well of me, if she even wanted to meet me. I was afraid I would be imposing upon her."
Edward gives me a soft look. "Of course you won't be imposing upon her, Bella. She has been wanting to meet you since before the wedding, but I held her back, thinking you were probably not ready for that kind of chitchat. And after we were married, I wanted you to be comfortable around me first. My mother...she will probably talk your ear off," he gives a sheepish laugh, "she is somewhat biased in her opinion where I am concerned. Maybe all mothers are; I don't know for sure."
I take a sip of tea to help the piece of toast I have been chewing go down easily. "I am sure whatever she will say will be within the reach of truth, my lord. From what I have seen, you have many good qualities, and nothing a mother wouldn't be proud to boast of."
My words affect Edward more than I had imagined they would, for he looks more like a shy boy than the man he is now, the tips of his ears turning red. For a second he reminds me of the Edward he was before he left for France, but then the expression passes and he gives me a confident wink.
"In that case, you won't believe any stories she might tell of my being a naughty child, will you? You can verify that I am good through and through, can't you?"
I laugh aloud, amused at his flirtatious behaviour. "I will verify that you are a good husband," I stressed. "But if she chooses to entertain me with tales of your childhood, I certainly won't stop her!"
He sighs and pouts, actually pouts like Lizzie when she doesn't get her favourite toy to play with, but it only makes me laugh more. He turns to Mrs Stanley, who has just entered the room, and appeals to her fairness, but she smiles and declines to interfere.
Jasper comes back with a short note from Mrs Masen just as we finish the meal. Edward reads it and laughs.
"She says she is ecstatic that you want to visit her," he states. "I knew it, Bella. Now she will forget me completely; she will love you so much."
I shake my head at him. "Let us go see Lizzie before we leave. I want to tell her that we might be late for the riding lesson."
I expect Lizzie to be disappointed, but she seems more curious, asking questions like who am I meeting and where does she live and most importantly, if she would want Lizzie to call her grandmother.
I tell her that I will ask her but it is very likely that she will like the address. I also promise her to arrange a visit for her soon.
Elizabeth's house is situated perhaps a mile away from our mansion. It is neither pretentious nor poor, just a normal red-brick double-storey house with a gabled roof. The tiles are slate-grey and the trim a darker red. Smoke is rising lazily from the square chimney on the top, indicating that cooking is going on in the kitchen. Edward opens the little white gate set in a low brick wall and we walk arm-in-arm to the welcoming white door, just two steps above the ground. There is no drive, short or long, as there is not enough distance between the gate and the house.
I notice a few flowering shrubs in the small garden in the front, and a tiny kitchen garden to the left. There are tall trees behind the house, framing it in a picturesque manner. The overall effect is homely but charming.
Edward raises his hand to knock, but the door opens suddenly to reveal Elizabeth. She is dressed in a simple blue gown, her hair in a low bun with a few tendrils escaping. For the first time I notice the similarity in the colour of their hair, though Edward's hair has more hues than his mother's. Also, her hair has a few strands of grey.
Much more important than her appearance is the wide smile she greets us with, the enthusiasm in her handshake, though Edward is given a quick hug. He clears his throat in an embarrassed manner and introduces us formally.
"Come in, come in!" Elizabeth rubs her hands and beams at us. "I am so happy to see you, Isabella. May I call you Isabella, or do you prefer Lady Masen?"
I shudder at the grim-sounding title. "I definitely prefer Isabella from you, Mrs Masen. The staff addresses me as my lady, and some of our guests have used LadyIsabella, but nobody calls me Lady Masen. It sounds so strange!"
She smiles. "Isabella it is then. Come into the sun room. It is so nice at this time of the day. Would you care for some tea?"
"We just had breakfast, Mamma," Edward answers as we follow his mother into a small room full of sunshine. The floor to ceiling glass forms a curved wall, and a long window opens into the garden, bringing in cool, refreshing breeze. There are wrought iron chairs with cushions, and a table on which some knitting is lying. There are also a couple of women's magazines. It must be Elizabeth's favourite place during the summer days.
"Perhaps later then," she says, almost like a question. I smile and nod, and we take our seats.
To be honest, I had not expected her to be this cheerful. From what I remember of her on my wedding day and the one meeting we had when I was still Anthony's wife, she had been subdued to the point of being melancholy, hardly a smile appearing on her thin face. My mother had been favourably impressed though, so perhaps their conversation had been satisfactory even though it must have been brief.
And yet, here she is, warm and kind and almost…happy. What is it that has made so much difference?
Elizabeth asks me about married life, or rather married life with Edward, about the improvements I might have planned for the mansion and its gardens, what I think of Edward's idea of breeding and racing horses and about Lizzie. It is quite obvious that the last subject really lights her up.
"Oh, she is such a darling," she gushes, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I could not take my eyes off her at the reception! I wish I had had the opportunity to meet her before."
Of course I agree with her that Lizzie is precious. I also invite her to the mansion to meet her, and then I ask her if she would like to meet my mother as well.
Her smile does not falter, but she pauses before answering as she gives Edward a look. It is almost like a question.
Edward shakes his head very briefly, and Elizabeth confirms that she would like to pay us a visit as soon as possible. But what was that silent conversation about?
Mentioning my mother leads to the subject of my parents and siblings, and also my childhood. All these questions might have reminded me of Lady Delaney's nosiness, except that it doesn't. Firstly, Elizabeth is Edward's mother, which gives her the right to know more about me and my parents. Secondly, and more importantly, her manner is so unassuming and gentle, and her smile so delighted at my answers that I cannot think her questions as intrusive in the least. It is very clear that she wishes to know me better as Edward's wife, but also as myself. She makes me feel like I matter as a person, not just as a countess.
Edward is as attentive to my answers as his mother, even though he already knows some of it. However, as soon as I ask Elizabeth about Edward's childhood, he begins to get restless.
"I think it is time for us to leave, Isabella. Lizzie must be waiting for us to go riding."
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow towards him and gives him a look that only a mother can give to her child, even though he may be a grown up man. "Is that the only reason you must leave, Edward? Or do you not wish Isabella to know more about you?"
He grins sheepishly. "I am only afraid you will tell her what a scamp I was as a child, that is all. She is already adept at teasing me; your tales will give her even more ammunition!"
The smile his mother gives him is so full of mischief that it alters her face considerably, bringing a sparkle to her eyes and making her look years younger. Its similarity with her son's smile when he is in a teasing mood takes my breath away.
"Well, if you promise to visit more often, perhaps I can contain myself a little?" she asks, laughter in her voice. "I promise to tell her only the least embarrassing stories in that case. Is that all right with you?"
Edward groans. "I knew this would happen! Fine, I will visit more often, but I can't sit here and listen to those tales. I will go for a walk."
Elizabeth invites me upstairs once Edward has left.
"There are a couple of portraits I want you to see," she explains as I follow her up a modestly curving wooden staircase. On the wall by the landing, there is a large portrait of a newly married couple. I stand in front of it and stare curiously.
The painter has chosen a sunny morning in a garden as the backdrop, so there is plenty of brightness. Edward's mother and father are standing in a shrubbery in their wedding finery. They look young and happy and very much in love.
His father was quite tall, perhaps as tall as Edward, with the same lanky build. His features resemble Edward's a lot, though he has a moustache. I can't imagine Edward with one, but it suits his father.
"It was unusual to get a portrait painted in one's wedding attire, but Mr Masen insisted," says Elizabeth softly, an indulgent smile on her face. "He was a good man, content with the simple life of a pastor, but he could be stubborn at times."
Her expression is nostalgic. There is definitely a story behind the portrait. However, I don't think I am familiar enough with her to ask what it is. Later on, when we have known each other well and if she wants to share it with me, I will be happy to listen.
"Did you know him before?" I ask, looking at the smiling young woman in the painting. Surely her happiness is more than the joy of being married? Surely it has something to do with the man standing beside her in a long coat and a polished top hat?
She nods. "Yes, I did. My father was a baron, not a very rich one, but we did all right. He had taken my mother and me to London when I was introduced to the society. It was at one of the many balls we attended that we came across the Masen family."
"Was James—Lord Masen already married then?" I ask, thinking that Elizabeth's father would have preferred her to marry the elder son of the house if he was available.
She smiles, understanding my question. "No, he wasn't, but when I met them, I just gravitated towards Edward's father. Luckily he seemed to reciprocate my feelings. We were married six months later."
We move on to the next portrait, a much smaller one. A boy of perhaps five or six years of age stands straight against the blue sky, with a few clouds swirling grey. The seashore is visible behind him, the waves almost lapping at his feet. He is wearing a light blue shirt with short sleeves and knee-length shorts, and carries a fishing tackle on his shoulder. Reddish-brown curls are falling over his forehead, his eyes are alight with happiness and his smile is wide and exultant.
"Edward?" I whisper, forgetting that I should not be taking his first name. Before I can correct myself, Elizabeth nods, her eyes misty. I bite my tongue.
"He had just caught his first fish, and he was so proud of himself," she says, seemingly living that moment again. "My husband made a quick sketch of him, and later contacted a painter to turn it into a portrait. It seems just like yesterday."
She sighs quietly, her smile momentarily overshadowed by sadness. Then she shakes her head and comes back to the present. I look for a question that might distract her.
"His father used to sketch?"
Her smile is bright again. "Oh yes, he was really good at it. If you like, I will show you some of his sketches. Have you seen the portraits at the mansion, by the way?"
I had indeed seen the portraits of the Masen ancestors, all lord this and lady that. Most of them appeared stiff-lipped if not scowling, except a couple who had tried a formal-looking smile. James was even worse, condescension dripping from his expression and a smirk firmly sitting on his thin lips. Frankly, I found him utterly repulsive.
"I have, but I find most of them quite grim," I confess, trying to be as polite as possible. Perhaps she didn't had an equal aversion to those portraits? She was a baron's daughter, after all. "These two are different—so full of life."
She chuckled. "You can say that you don't like the ones in the Masen Hall. I don't mind. I have always found formal portraits a bit of bore anyway. I am glad Edward didn't have to sit for one as a child. Anyway, I am asking because there used to be a couple of sketches my husband had done for the family. Have you seen them?"
My forehead wrinkles in thought. "I haven't visited the gallery for years, Mrs Masen, but I am sure I would have remembered if there would have been any sketches among the portraits. I believe I have never seen any sketches in any part of the mansion. I'm sorry."
She nods slowly. "It's all right, dear. I almost expected that. James must have removed them from the collection long ago. I only wish he had given them to me."
"Uh," I begin timidly, "is it a fair assumption that the two brothers didn't get along? You don't have to tell me if it's not something you want to talk about…"
Elizabeth's smile is sad. "You are Edward's wife. There is no need to keep secrets from you. No, they didn't get along, they were just too different. And my getting married to Edward's father didn't help any."
I stare at her, confused. Why would James mind their getting married? Unless he…
"No, he didn't have feelings for me," says Elizabeth as if she read my mind. This is perhaps another thing common between Edward and his mother. "I doubt he has feelings for anybody. But you must have noticed how possessive he is?"
I nod in agreement. James really treats people as if they are his property.
"He didn't like that he was not given the option to either select or reject me, I think. As the elder brother, he expected to be asked first, and indeed that is what would have happened had I not been already enthralled by the younger brother. He never forgave us for that breach of propriety."
I shake my head in wonder. How can anyone be so entitled, so full of himself? And yet it matches with the little information Edward had shared with me long ago.
"Edward told me that he asked you to look after Anthony though. Do you think his wife's death changed him in any way?"
"Oh yes, the poor boy, losing his mother when he was a mere toddler," she murmurs, her face darkening as she remembers. "To answer your question, no, James didn't change. Not for better, anyway. He asked me only because he didn't trust the servants, not even the Stanleys very much. I was to supervise what they were doing, if Anthony's governess was teaching him well, if the servants were doing their jobs honestly, thinks like those. There was nobody else he could have asked."
I gape at her in astonishment. "How could he ask you to do all that? You had your own family to look after, didn't you?
She shrugs. "I couldn't refuse. He was family too, whatever his faults. Also, I didn't mind looking after Anthony; he was an angelic child. Edward was perhaps four months old then." Her eyes become wistful, as does her voice. "At first Anthony thought he was a toy. When he understood that he was a real baby, he became impatient for him to get up and play with him, asking why Edward didn't sit or stand on his own." A little smile forms on her lips. "They developed a wonderful bond as they grew up together. I was grateful for that at least."
She shows me the room Edward used to occupy before he left for France, the same one he had as a child, although the furniture had been changed as he grew up.
I get to see a whole sketchbook full of pictures of Edward, Anthony and Elizabeth. It is amazing how expressive pictures drawn using only a charcoal pencil can be. I can't help but coo over the gleeful expressions of the cousins as they ride their rocking horses or examine a plant in the garden, hands and face muddy with their activity. There is one in which both of them are sitting in Elizabeth's lap, holding a doll each in their chubby hands.
"Edward played with dolls?" This I am going to use to tease him some time.
"Oh yes," she almost giggles, "both of them were fond of dolls. Lord only knew what stories they spun around them—kings and queens, princes and pirates. They had a wild imagination!"
She narrates a couple of tales where the cousins had got into trouble, one of them involving a pony and a plan to travel the world together. I can't stop laughing over their adventures, all of them in a radius of three miles from the house.
"Mister Masen and I followed them discreetly while they met various people from the village and pretended to be either royalty or pirates as the fancy took them. Finally they had enough of wandering and got hungry, and Edward began to cry. Anthony was pretty much near tears too. When they saw us, Anthony tried to pretend that he was a soldier who had lost his way, and could we recommend an inn for him and his companion to spend the night. Edward just jumped into my arms and said he wanted his dinner."
The last part makes both of us smile as well as become teary-eyed. Children!
Elizabeth orders tea to be brought to the sun room, and Edward makes his appearance soon after. Once he has confirmed from his mother that she will be at the hall for lunch the next day, we take our leave.
My mind is full of thoughts and queries. Elizabeth seems to be much more than the image I had in my mind; that of a woman who had lost her husband too early and her child when he had just become a man—at least for a few years. She has personality, charm and wit, and is cordial towards me.
Hopefully, she will share with me more of the past soon, the secrets lurking in the shadows of fear and tyranny. I want to know everything that she and Edward went through.