Page 22 of One Perfect Dance
Three Gables, Chelmsford, July 1812
Regina’s friendship withCordelia had survived her retirement to the country. She had married her earl and was now his marchioness, and the mother of a growing tribe of daughters.
She wrote most weeks, chatty letters mostly full of the doings of her girls, two of whom were Regina’s goddaughters. Regina wrote back with stories of her village and her household, and snippets of Elijah’s letters. While the village gentry were most impressed that Regina was close friends with a marchioness, Cordelia was awed that Regina knew the famous travel writers.
Several times a year, Regina traveled to spend a week with Cordelia at Deercroft, the seat of the Marquesses of Deerhaven, leaving Geoffrey and Gideon to the care of the servants.
Gideon, who had finally given up arguing she should divorce him and find herself a proper husband, insisted on these holidays. She had to admit she looked forward to them. Though she also looked forward to returning home, as she was now, coming over the hill with her nose pressed up against the carriage window to catch her first glimpse of dear Three Gables down in the valley.
She would miss the little girls until she saw them again in four months, but not the way she missed her menfolk. Geoffrey was waiting on the steps when the carriage drew up. At twelve, he usually counted himself too old to hug his mother, but he made an exception for her return.
He had something more important on his mind, however, barely giving her time to kiss Gideon’s cheek and ask how he had been in her absence. “Mother, we got a box from Mr. Ashby,” he said, pointing to the item in question, which was about the size of a hatbox.
“Do let your mother get out of her dusty things,” Gideon told him. “I would not let him open it, Regina, because it was addressed to you. How are your friends and the little girls?”
“All well, and they looked after me wonderfully. I am pleased to be home, though. Geoffrey, I shall go up to wash and change. If you fetch a bar to pry open the lid of the box, we shall open it before dinner.”
“Your son is impatient, madam,” Gideon teased, as the boy ran from the room as if someone had set fire to his shoes.
“Our son is twelve,” she replied. She was the only mother Geoffrey had ever known. Gideon had been his father since shortly after his birth, since his real father had not been able to offer him a loving home. He had been two when Regina met him, and she a bride of seventeen. If she sometimes, especially when she saw Cordelia’s little daughters, wished she had given birth to a child or two or three, she loved her son, and she relished the role of godmother.
She wondered what treasures would be in today’s parcel. Regina now had several brooches, a pair of earrings, and a hair ornament, all with various forms of shoes. Several letters ago, Elijah had written that, while he had started the practice and still found at least half of the little trinkets, Lord Arthur had taken on the quest with enthusiasm, and never saw a place selling baubles and curios without stopping to ask if they had anything in the shape of a shoe. They also never failed to enclose a gift for Geoffrey, Gideon’s ward, and for Gideon himself.
In her turn, Regina had embroidered bed slippers and handkerchiefs for them both. It seemed very little in return for a window on the whole world.
That’s what she told Gideon, when he said she didn’t deserve to be stuck in the country with no better company than an invalid and a schoolboy. She had the world at her fingertips in Elijah’s letters, she told him.
Furthermore, she was not chained to Gideon’s bedside. She went out to visit the neighbors. She joined in with village society. She traveled to see Cordelia. She had not seen her mother since the day of her wedding, but her brother visited often, even now he had reached his majority.
Compared to what might have been, she had a wonderful life. Almost as excited as Geoffrey, she hurried upstairs to wash and change, so she could find out what was in the box.
The following evening, she began her reply to the delightful letter that had been not the least of the box’s treasures.
Dear Elijah and Arthur,
Gideon has asked me to thank you for the hookah. He is looking forward to trying the hashish you sent and agrees it will be useful when he cannot sleep.
Our son Geoffrey is delighted with the camels. He has added a camel brigade to his collection of hussars and foot soldiers, and they are currently wiping the playroom floor of Napoleon’s troops.
I thank you for the little brass shoes. They are a delightful addition to my collection and take pride of place on the bookshelf near my favorite reading chair, along with the Holland clog you found in Egypt, the Murano glass shoes from the street peddler in Sardinia, and the little pottery booties you found in Baghdad that came all the way from China.
Every time I see them, I think of my friends, so far away. What a privilege to be able to not only travel to all those distant countries through your stories and illustrations but be reminded of them every time I look up from my book or put on one of the brooches or other adornments you have been so kind as to send.
Yes. she was very fortunate.
*
Ceylon, August, 1816
Dear Regina,
Your letter with your sad news arrived today. Rex and I did not want to waste a minute before writing to send our sincere condolences on your loss. We feel we have come to know your husband a little through your letters. He was a fine man, and I am sure will be greatly missed. I trust you, your son, and your brother have been able to comfort one another.
We have been here in Ceylon for six weeks, and I’ve enclosed several of Rex’s sketches of the local inhabitants. The peacock lives in the compound where we are staying and keeps us awake at night with the most awful braying screeches. Yesterday, we saw the elephants from the construction site near our temporary home being taken down to the water to wash and relax after working. And the monkeys are everywhere. Even as I write, one is watching me from a nearby branch. He hopes I might share some of my watermelon.
Rex has just come in to say he can get this letter into the governor’s mail bag, so I’ll close now, and write in more detail later.
My deepest sympathies.
