Page 57 of Murder in Matrimony
Mrs. Scott gestured to her reflection. “Iamlooking, and you look beautiful.”
“You know what I mean.” Madge pointed to Winifred. “Even Lady Winifred knows what I mean. I am not a woman who wears dresses and tends houses. I am more comfortable in the shed with a hammer. What am I going to do when the captain finds out I can’t cook soup?”
Amelia detected the panic in her sister’s voice and rushed to ease her mind. She remembered her own raucous feelings the morning of her marriage to Edgar. One moment she’d been watering horses, and the next she was to be the wife of an earl. She’d almost run away that morning, but she was so happy that she hadn’t. Marriage, she had found, wasn’t based on soup alone, and no matter what the domestic magazines said, they would never adequately relay what happened between two people after they married. “Many women in London do not cook their own soup, and I am lucky to count myself one of them.” Amelia smiled. “Captain Fitz is not marrying you for your cooking skills. He is marrying you for you.”
“That’s right,” Penelope seconded.
Madge shook her head, and several fiery strands fell from her loose coiffure. “But why am I marrying him? How well do I know him? Not well at all. My head was turned by him, naturally. He is a good-looking man. But do I want to spend all the days of my life with him? Think of it. Every second from now until my last breath will be in his company.”
Amelia frowned. “When you put it that way, any marriage sounds dreadful.”
“Exactly.” Madge crossed her arms. “Which is why I do not know if marriage is for me.”
And there it was. The idea that Winifred had put in Amelia’s mind days ago. Under the time constraint, the wedding arrangements were trying; delaying them would be more trying still. Then Aunt Tabitha must be considered. Picturing her face upon hearing the news of Madge’s reluctance made Amelia’s heart turn to lead. Yet, she would rather face all of it than see Madge miserable or Captain Fitz taken unaware by the situation. Madge was young, and London had perhaps gone to her head. Going back to Somerset might have changed things, changed her mind.
“Have you felt this way long?” asked Amelia.
Madge tipped her chin. “Ever since I put on this blasted dress.”
So about thirty seconds.
“Margaret Ann, watch your language,” Mrs. Scott scolded. “Children are present.”
“Maybe it’s the dress.” Amelia knew how much her sister hated frills. Perhaps they were having an adverse effect on her. “Take it off. Then we’ll talk.”
“What aboutourdresses?” asked Sarah.
“We might not need them after all,” Penelope muttered.
Mrs. Scott motioned to her daughters. “Come along, girls. You, too, Lady Winifred. We will try on our dresses while Amelia talks to Madge. She knows the situation best.”
“But Mama—” Amelia started, but it was too late. They were gone. For better or worse, she would be the one to talk to Madge.
TWENTY-FOUR
Dear Lady Agony,
Before we married, my wife professed to enjoy the smell of a cigar. She said she found the scent relaxing. Now she nearly faints at the sight of one, and when I was enjoying a smoke in the drawing room, she threw my case into the fire. She said it was wrong, and she would not have her draperies soiled. Isn’t it she who did wrong to lie to me in the first place?
Devotedly,
Young Husband
Dear Young Husband,
I advise you to give up the expensive habit immediately, or, at the very least, find a less offensive place to take your cigar. It was wrong of her to mislead you, yes, but many ladies are in the custom of saying things they do not mean when they are in love. Be lenient and learn. Many are the lessons of early marriage.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
When Magaret was out of her wedding dress and into her own clothes, she and Amelia discussed Captain Fitz at length. It was obvious Madge loved him, so Amelia was unsure of the problem. He enjoyed her company; he reveled in her beauty; he even found humor in her eccentricities. There could be no question of hardship. He had an adequate income and required no large dowry. What, exactly, concerned her sister? She put the question to Madge.
“I am not marriage material. I am who I am, and that is all.”
“That’s enough,” Amelia promised.
Madge stubbornly shook her head.
