A year later, disregarding the two lines of servants waiting on the front drive to greet them, Brook lifted his young bride into his arms and carried her across the threshold of Hunters Hall. Mindful of the astonished faces of his waiting staff, he kissed Harriet before setting her on her feet and walking her back down the steps. Holding her hand, he effected the introductions: first, the upright, immaculate figure of his new butler, Fletcher, who he had been fortunate enough to inherit from the previous owners of Hunters Hall. The family had left for Shropshire leaving not only Fletcher but most of their former staff behind them for the young newly-weds. These included the appropriately named Mrs Baker, the cook, a middle-aged, experienced Scotswoman, and a number of junior servants – housemaids, footmen, kitchen maids and, not least, the necessary lower orders as well as the outdoor staff. Only two of the staff had arrived with Brook and his wife: his valet, Hastings, and Harriet’s lady’s maid, Bessie. Each of them had accompanied the couple on the month’s honeymoon which had followed their wedding.
Following their betrothal Brook had taken Harriet to see Hunters Hall, the beautiful old house which was to become their home. Since then, during the long months of their engagement, it had been redecorated and furnished.
At that time, Harriet and Brook had stood hand in hand in the big hall deciding where the portraits should be hung, what colour she would like for the furnishings and which of the forty rooms they would select for their bedroom and dressing rooms. Whenever Brook had been able to escape the notice of the decorators, he had drawn her into his arms and kissed her. She thought those kisses the most exciting thing in the world, but that was before Brook’s lovemaking on their honeymoon. With his gentle teaching, she had learned how wonderful the days and nights of love could be.
Today, the start of their life together as a married couple, Harriet was enchanted once more by the loveliness of the house basking in the warm, summer sunshine. She was delighted by the smiling welcome of the staff as they bowed or curtsied as Brook introduced them.
On the journey up to Leicestershire from London, Brook had been a trifle apprehensive, unsure how his young wife would cope with a household of strange staff and the responsibility of seeing that everything was to his liking. However, Harriet herself was full of confidence; besides which, Bessie had learned well enough during her years of service at Deerskeep Manor to know how a big house was made to run smoothly, and would be there to offer advice to Harriet should she need it.
Brook now tucked his arm through Harriet’s and guided her back indoors while the footmen unloaded their many pieces of luggage from the second coach. Mr Fletcher, the butler, approached his new master.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of instructing Albert to carry hot water up to your dressing room, sir, as I thought you would want to refresh yourself after the journey, and one of the maids will be bringing water to madam’s dressing room.’
He took Brook’s top hat and travelling overcoat and, turning, said, ‘May I bid you and madam welcome, sir, and Cook has asked me to tell you she has taken the liberty of preparing a
poussin
for your evening meal with apricots and peaches from your glass houses to follow, not being sure what time you would arrive home to give her orders.’
Having thanked Mr Fletcher, Brook guided Harriet up one of the two wide curving staircases towards their rooms. Brook pressed her hand in his, saying, ‘It seems as if we might be well satisfied with our new employees. I could tell that they are going to be delighted to serve you by the admiring look on their faces – and how could they not? Why, even Father, who had it in mind for me to marry that rich widow who attended our wedding, has quite fallen in love with you and intends to call on you as soon as we are settled.’
He drew her into their bedroom and, barely waiting for Bessie and his valet, Hastings, to depart, put his arms round her and said gently, ‘You know, my darling, I never imagined married life could be as wonderful, as perfect as this. Had I done so, I would have married you years ago.’
Harriet returned his kiss, laughing. ‘So you would have had a silly little child for your bride. You forget, Brook, I am only eighteen now. Not so long ago I was still in the nursery!’
Brook kissed her again. ‘Then I would have emulated some of those royal kings in the past who sometimes became betrothed to children still in their nurseries – for dynastic reasons, of course. Oh, Harriet, my dearest, do you think we can always be as happy as this? I wake up in the mornings now thinking how fortunate I am that there is nothing – nothing at all I want that I have not got!’
Harriet reached up and touched his cheek. ‘I feel as you do, Brook, but what of all those children you told me you wanted when we were drifting down the canal in Venice in that lovely gondola? Four boys and five girls, if I remember right. All the girls were to look like me and I said I wanted all the boys to look like you. That’s when you said nine wasn’t really enough: that if we had a dozen we would never run out of children to look out for us in our old age.’
Brook laughed. ‘Yes, we agreed a large family! At least I can then be sure that as you will be so busy having all these infants, you will never have time to run away and leave me.’
Harriet regarded him, wide-eyed. ‘Leave you? But why ever would I want to do that, Brook? I love you. I would never ever love anyone else, or want to be without you.’
‘Nor I without you, my dearest,’ Brook said. Then added with a smile: ‘Have you forgotten telling me how you had imagined when you were a child that your prince would have golden locks and blue eyes like Cinderella’s prince in your storybook, and here am I with dark hair and brown eyes – the very opposite of Prince Charming!’
Winding her arms round him, Harriet laughed. ‘Only because I imagined all princes looked like the one in the storybook.’
Brook broke away from her embrace. ‘I will not be answerable for my actions if I have you in my arms any longer. At this moment, I wish we had no servants at all who might appear at any second and be shocked to find us half-clothed on your bed. I’m seriously frustrated, my dearest! We have not made love since last night and the way I feel …’
He broke off as his valet knocked on the door and, without waiting for a reply, came in with two large bath towels over his arm.
‘I think Bessie has your bath water ready for you, madam,’ he said to Harriet. ‘She said to tell you she was afeared it would get cold if …’
Breaking free of Brook’s arms, Harriet said quickly, ‘It’s all right, Hastings! I’m just leaving.’ She hoped that she was not looking as disappointed as she felt. Her sister, Una, had warned her on the eve of her wedding to Brook that not every wife enjoyed their husband’s bedtime approaches. Having lost their mother at Harriet’s birth, Una, her elder sister by twelve years, had taken on the role, and had admitted she did not particularly welcome her husband’s visits to her bedroom, most of which invariably led to the birth of another child.
At the time, Harriet’s reply had been that everyone knew how totally devoted the queen had been to her husband, Prince Albert – so much so that she was unwilling to come out of mourning for him even though it was now two years since he had died. Surely she wouldn’t have loved him so much if she had not been happy to fulfil such duties? Harriet had no doubt whatsoever that she and Brook loved one another every bit as devotedly as the royal pair, or that she would ever tire of any demands Brook might make. Since Una’s warnings the blissful five weeks of their honeymoon travelling in Italy could not have proved more adequately how totally they had been unfounded. Once Brook had initiated her into the pleasures of their bodily union, she was only too willing to repeat them whenever Brook so desired.
Later that evening, as they sat one each end of the large, candlelit mahogany dining table, and the last of the excellent meal had been cleared away by the footmen, Brook drew a long sigh.
‘I suppose we shall have to do our duty and issue invitations to our neighbours to dine with us. I am far from being an unsociable person, as you know, Harriet, but I really don’t want to share you with anyone!’
They both smiled.
‘We will entertain them as seldom as possible,’ she agreed, ‘but I know I am required to make calls, and that I shall receive them.’
Brook nodded. ‘Fortunately, there are not that many big houses near enough for too many calls. Leicestershire is hunting country and in the hunting season the lodges are full, but that does not continue all the year round. Nevertheless, there is one family we must invite as soon as we are settled here – my father’s friend, Paul Denning and his sister, who is widowed. If you recall, they gave us that hugely valuable Venetian glass-footed bowl. Goodness knows what we are supposed to do with it, but we cannot ignore such generosity.’
‘Are they the family your father refers to as The Railway Entourage?’ Harriet asked, smiling. ‘He said Paul Denning was an excellent shot which is why he always invites him to his shooting parties, but that they had only become socially acceptable because of their wealth.’
‘There is a widowed younger sister, a Mrs Felicity Goodall,’ Brook replied, ‘but I’ve only met her once.’
‘Is she the one your father wanted you to marry?’ Harriet asked. When Brook nodded, she added curiously, ‘What was she like, Brook? You never told me.’
Brook laughed. ‘Because I don’t think I’ve ever given the good lady a second thought,’ he said. ‘I suppose I do remember she was not uncomely,’ he added truthfully, ‘tall, quite sturdy but small-waisted. I’m not knowledgeable about women’s clothes but she seemed reasonably fashionable. I do remember now – her voice was a little loud, possibly because she was an accomplished singer. I seem to recall her entertaining the gathering with one or two operatic arias, and getting a lot of applause.’
Harriet felt herself relaxing. It had disturbed her in an inconsequential way when, at the time of her engagement, Brook had referred to Mr Denning’s sister as his father’s choice of wife for him. Jealousy, she reminded herself, was an unpleasant and in this case, a thoroughly unjustified trait.
She forgot all about Felicity Goodall who, had he not first met herself, might have been here in her place as mistress of Hunters Hall.
Unaware of Harriet’s thoughts, Brook continued to sip his port and talk about their nearest neighbour. ‘With the huge expansion of the railways, Denning will quite likely end up a multi-millionaire, and doubtless receive a knighthood into the bargain. Being the snobs we all are, despite his low birth, he’d then be a much-wanted guest! At the moment, Father told me, they tend to be shunned by the county.’
‘Then all the more reason we should invite them here,’ Harriet said. ‘I wouldn’t want us to shun nice people who you like just because other people do. They must be very lonely.’
Touched by his young bride’s kindly thoughts, Brook did not disillusion her by saying he thought it highly unlikely Denning’s sister would remain lonely very long. The one time he’d met her he’d found her very far from being a ‘grieving widow’ or a ‘shy violet’. She was flirtatious – some might say forward – with any male guest who addressed her, even himself. It was not just the way she wore her clothes. There was something about her which drew men to her: had them wondering – as indeed, had he – what she would be like in bed without the constraints of her clothes. Despite her obvious attractions he’d had no inclination whatever to respond to her attempts at flirtation.
It was a strange thing, he thought now, how he had never been tempted by the thought of marriage before he had fallen in love with Harriet three years almost to the day since that shooting weekend in Sussex shortly after he’d arrived back from Jamaica. He’d recalled the charming young immature girl he’d met on his visit to Deerskeep, playing the part very seriously of an accomplished hostess. It had surprised him to discover on his second visit that she was no longer a child, and that, at the age of seventeen had blossomed into a lovely young woman.
Although Harriet was not beautiful in a classical way, her vivacious manner combined with a contrasting youthful shyness had instantly drawn him to her side. Openly monopolizing as much of her time as he could, he had been intrigued by her avoidance of the usual party chit-chat, and the way she’d answered his questions intelligently. No one could have been more astonished than he was when, quite suddenly, she had looked directly into his eyes and said, ‘When Papa told me you were coming to the shoot today, I supposed that you would almost certainly be married and might bring your wife with you. I am so glad you didn’t!’
‘Didn’t what?’ he had asked her. ‘Bring my wife?’
‘No!’ had been her reply. ‘I meant get married!’
Almost immediately, before he had recovered from his astonishment and thought of a reply, she had said matter-of-factly, ‘It means that there is still a chance for me. You see, I made a promise to myself that if I couldn’t be married to you, I would never marry anyone else.’
Seeing the look of utter confusion on his face at such out-spokenness, quite suddenly she had laughed and, putting a small gloved hand on his sleeve, had said, ‘Please don’t think I am trying to make fun of you, or some such. You must remember that I was only fifteen years old when we first met, and of all Papa’s friends I had never met a handsome young man like you. Last thing before I went to sleep, I would ask God in my prayers to please hurry up and make me older more quickly and find a way to help me meet you again. I was very romantic, you see. I’d read far too many romantic poems – granted mostly with my mouth full of bonbons I had stolen from the dining room!’
Suddenly, they had both been laughing, and then equally suddenly, he had realized that he wanted nothing better than to spend more time with this delightful, unspoilt, unusual young girl who, flatteringly, had been telling him she had fallen in love with him, albeit not seriously.
Although he had spent as much time in her company that weekend as convention allowed, he had returned home and told his father he had met the girl he intended to be his wife. Now, only little more than a year later, they had returned from their honeymoon as deeply in love as it was possible for two people to be.