A letter from Mama today. She writes of Marcus’s newborn son, who will be christened Thomas. Lord L. expressed joy and bade me send his felicitations, but afterward he appeared tired and sad, and retired early. Bertie said I ought not to have told his father. When I said I should like to make a visit to see the child and the rest of the family, Bertie said it would only stir up trouble with his father, and perhaps he is right. I do not wish to bring any more despair upon Lord L., who longs sodesperately for a grandson. Bertie said I may write Hannah and Marcus, and send a gift.
I do hope we shall attend the Season in London next year.
December 1820
A quiet Christmastide at Kenlington. Mama was to come, but a bad cold kept her home until the roads were too dangerous to travel.
She hints in her letter at my condition. No doubt she wonders why a year and a half of marriage has produced no child. I cannot tell her the answer, that Bertie would rather spend his evenings drinking at the Black Bull in Keswick than doing anything with me. I fear his father’s constant prodding and prompting about an heir has given Bertie a disgust of the whole business. So long as his father tries to push him into my bed, Bertie runs the other way—leaving me to tell his father every month that I am not expecting. Until we have a child, Lord L. will keep at Bertie, and Bertie will seek other society so long as his father hounds him. What a dreadful muddle.
Bertie does not shun me altogether; it is a bit worrisome that we have not been blessed. Perhaps a child would revive Bertie’s devotion, as well as give me something to fill the hours of the day.
February 1821
Mama sent me a packet of all the latest fashions. She wonders why we aren’t to be in London this year again. I have replied to her that Lord L. is in poor health and needs my care. That is not completely untrue, but not completely true, either. The truth is that Bertie will not even ask his father’s permission, and without it, we have no funds for a Season.
I am not certain I would enjoy the Season in any event. I fear I’ve grown unfashionably quiet and dull, although I have improved my needlework and read a large number of books.
March 1821
After luncheon today, Lord L. summoned me to his chambers. He gave me a magnificent set of jewels, almost fit to rivalthe Exeter pearls. They were Bertie’s mother’s, he explained, and should be mine now.
I thanked him and left. I believe Lord L. begins to feel his mortality, and meant well, but I came back to my room in a dismal mood. I have no place to wear such jewels, here in the wilds of Cumberland.
April 1821
Mama asks if she might make a visit. I have cowardly told her no. She will bring news of Marcus’s son, and that can only grieve Lord L. and annoy Bertie. It seems most things I propose annoy Bertie now, or are not interesting to him.
Before we married, Bertie swore he loved me above all others and that he would adore me forever. Either we disagree on what adoration means, or forever is far shorter than I expected.
May 1821
Jane Melvill is engaged to be married—to David’s old friend Mr. Percy! At first her letter did not name him but only said we would nearly be sisters, her husband was such good friends with my brother. For a moment I thought she meant Mr. Hamilton, for all that she and every other young lady in London was in awe of him. The thought did not please me, I confess with shame. Jane is perfectly lovely, but she would never truly understand Mr. Hamilton.
Her news has made me think of him for the first time in months. Bertie would not be pleased, but I do miss the way Mr. Hamilton was so easy about my teasing. I never laughed so much as with him.
July 1821
Lord L. continues unwell. His poor health unsettles Bertie, who is almost never at home now. We have hardly traded two words this fortnight. I don’t know what to say to my husband anymore. At home he is quiet and moody. In company he is charming and merry. I cannot fathom how I never noticed that before.
August 1821
Bertie leaves tomorrow for York. It is a shooting party for the gentlemen, at Mr. Cane’s hunting lodge. Lord L. is not pleased. I overheard them shouting at each other for almost an hour last evening. Lord L. wants Bertie to undertake the management of Kenlington, but Bertie does not wish to. When I asked him why he didn’t have more interest in his future estate, he said he would have years to deal with those worries when his father was dead, and why should he sacrifice his youth as well? He is seven-and-twenty; when my father died and left Exeter to Marcus, my brother was only twenty-three. I don’t recall ever hearing him complain about “those worries.”
For my impertinent question, Bertie called me a scold and said I should work more embroidery. I wanted to throw the hoop at his head.
August 1821
A letter from Bertie today, asking for funds. I am to ask Lord L. to send the money at once. At first I feared Bertie was in danger or injured, but surely his friends would come to his aid in that event. I wonder what the trouble can be?
August 1821
Lord L. does not wish to send the money, and I hope he does not! After dinner I overheard two maids gossiping. One said she had learned from the messenger who brought Bertie’s message that the money is to hush up a scandal over a girl in York. Bertie trifled with her, it seems! It would make me very happy if he were forced to stay in York and suffer the consequences of his actions.
But I suppose that would leave the poor girl with nothing, and that wouldn’t be fair. No doubt she, like others, was blinded by Bertie’s charm and manner.
September 1821
Bertie returned from York today. He was in good spirits and greeted me and his father with great affection. I did not believeit for a moment. As soon as we were alone I asked if it were true, about the girl in York, and he upbraided me for not being more civil. He said not one word of denial.
I feel as though the scales have fallen from my eyes. This is how Bertie has always been: charming and dashing when there is an audience to impress, and selfish and arrogant otherwise. I have made a terrible mistake and do not know how to repair it.
September 1821
Bertie and I have not spoken in a week. He feels I am over-reacting by scolding him for his behavior in York. I am at a loss as to how I could have been so blind to Bertie’s true character. Not only has he not denied or rebutted the accusation of impropriety, he declares I am a shrew for speaking of it. As if it is wrong for me to want my husband to come home to me!
October 1821
Two letters from Mama this month. I don’t know how to reply. I cannot bear for her to know how things stand between Bertie and me. She was so pleased to see me marry for love, and how it has turned out now. It would break her heart if she knew. I don’t know how much longer I can deceive her, though. If she should visit, she would know at once everything is wrong.
February 1822
Lord L. has recovered some of his health. The weather has been very mild of late, and I persuaded him to walk with me in the garden every day. He vows it has done him a world of good. He is so improved, he declared we might attend the Season this year. I believe it was meant as a gift to me, after the way Bertie behaved last fall.
I waited up to tell Bertie the news, but he returned from the Black Bull very late, soaking wet and in a foul temper, and so drunk he didn’t know what I said. He has begun drinking more than is healthy of late, but I dare not tell him this. All my suggestions are met with indignation or scorn. I hold out fainthope that time in greater society will improve things between us, but I do not know if we shall ever feel affection for each other as we once did.
February 1822
Bertie is ill. I sat by him last night, but he was so cross I snapped at him. Then he growled at me to go away, and so I did. It is not fair to make the maids stay with him, though, so I shall try again tonight. It is no doubt a wife’s duty