“Do you think she will like me?” The question slipped from between my lips and hung suspended in the air.
My gloved hands were in my lap, and I was wringing them. As the carriage conveyed us and we neared my new husband’s ancestral home, Ashby Hall, my doubts became insurmountable. The wheels of our transportation hit every rock and hole on the well-trodden road, jostling us about, unsettling my nerves further. After a scandalous elopement to Gretna Green, my husband and I spent our honeymoon in gorgeous Scotland. The guidebooks failed to capture the majestic beauties of the neighboring country. Unfortunately, we could not stay there forever.
The she I was referring to was my new mother-in-law. Whilst I had heard much about her, we had never been formally introduced. My dear Benedict did not seek her blessing when he proposed to me. Neither of us petitioned our parents for their permission because we wouldn’t have received it. His mother’s objections to me would have been due to my small dowry and lack of social connections. My tender age of nineteen would have been my parents’ primary concern. The impetuous spirit within me led them to believe I was too young for marriage.
I cast a glance out the window and made out the silhouette of Ashby Hall beyond the hills and wood. My parents were not pleased that I ran off, leaving only a letter behind. But they would forgive me in time. However, it was his mother we were to live with.
Benedict leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mother will love you. She enjoyed your lively letters.” He claimed my now trembling hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “She has wanted me to marry for ages.”
“Letters are not the same as a first impression.” I countered and chose not to remind him that she had not responded directly to my missives. His mother sent her replies to him, rarely referencing me at all.
In her carefully worded notes to him, I detected the loathing she must have felt for me. She would have preferred her only son and heir to wed a lady with money and rank.
“Please, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Benedict dropped another kiss on my hand. The warmth of his lips penetrated through the material of my glove and sent my heart fluttering.
It was no mystery why I set my cap at him. His looks first beckoned me. His flaxen hair was so lusciously thick, and when the air was moist, a cowlick fell across his noble brow. Benedict’s piercing blue eyes stared directly into my soul—that was how it felt when we were first introduced. Then there was his charming smile, when spread it revealed two rows of perfectly white teeth. When I learned of his fortune and position in society, I used every charm and flirtation to engage his affections. And my scheme worked. He proposed, and I accepted. We eloped to Gretna Green, and there we were wed. My future was secure. On our honeymoon, I rejoiced in my good luck, as I found I rather liked my husband and felt we had every reason to be happy together. Money and security in life were a recipe for contentment. At least, that was my philosophy.
But to live with a woman whom I did not know and who may
