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MARCH
Although I still feel wary of forming a new attachment, I have allowed M’sieur Blondel – Pierre – to pay court to me. He lives in rooms provided by the College and are not suitable for me to visit so we are limited in where we can meet. I invited him to lunch here today, being Sunday, and he greatly admired my house. He is indeed personable and seems anxious to win my affection although I confess I find him a little too serious. I can’t help thinking of the fun Arnaud and I had in our short time together; we found much to laugh about, whereas Pierre is less frivolous, wanting to discuss such matters as the work on the harbour or the state of the roads out of Town.
I have discovered that we have in common a love of books and he has introduced me to new authors, in particular Edgar Allan Poe and his short stories and poems. I have previously concentrated on French literature, but Pierre, being a Guernseyman, has read more English and American books. He teaches literature at the College so is well qualified to advise me on what books to read.
April
Last night we attended a supper at Hauteville House and it passed pleasantly enough. However, I have to admit to enjoying listening to M’sieur Hugo’s words more than Pierre’s. He is such a man of the world! I do not think there is any subject m’sieur cannot discourse on. I am aware that he and m’dame take a keen interest in how the courtship is progressing and today she asked me outright about my feelings.
‘I can’t yet say I love him, and perhaps I never will. Not all marriages are based on love, I know, but mine to Arnaud was and has created an...an expectation in me.’ I twisted my hands together in my lap as we sat in her drawing room.
‘Would you consider a marriage based on affection, companionship and shared interests, my dear? Which is what many do choose, is it not?’ She peered at me with her ailing eyes and again I felt for her and the sacrifices she had made to remain by m’sieur’s side. Although now widowed, he has no intention of marrying her and my friend asserts she understands and is content. But I do wonder.
‘Yes, I think so. I have begun to realise how insular my life has been and if – when – you and M’sieur Hugo return to France, I shall have few friends around me. Perhaps it’s time I considered my future.’
‘Life can be hard for us women, n’est ce pas? I do truly wish for your happiness and in time you may find M’sieur Blondel takes a place in your heart. Now, I have had Suzanne go through my wardrobe and there are several outfits which are no longer any use to me and I wish you to have them. Naturally, I’ll arrange for them to be altered for you so you can look your best when on the arm of your suitor.’ She smiled, and sought my hand.
I was overcome by her continued generosity and thanked her with all my heart. When I left a lump had lodged in my throat from the suppressed emotion. How would I manage without her friendship and love when the time came for her to leave? And m’sieur? It was with heavy heart that I walked the short distance to my own house and spent the afternoon gazing into the fire in the parlour, as if the flames could tell me what the future held.
May 1869
M’sieur Hugo’s latest novel, L’Homme Que Rit, is now published and the reception from readers is not greatly favourable, I heard. To be honest, I had not enjoyed it as I had his other works, finding it quite a puzzle to follow. M’sieur explained to me that it represented his view of the English aristocracy in the seventeenth century, and, to my mind, it was not very complimentary. Sales are lower than for his previous books but France is in the middle of elections, with Republicans gaining seats and weakening Napoleon III’s hold on power. Thus bringing closer the opportunity for m’sieur to return to his beloved France. My own feelings are not as strong for my birth country, not being a famous giant of literature and a peer of the realm, with much to gain on their return. M’sieur is still writing, which is like air to him. He needs to write and I am happy for it gives me not only a reason to be near him but to earn a living.
Today I met with Pierre for a walk. The spring sun has encouraged us to take exercise and our favourite is to walk to Fermain Bay and stroll on the beach. Today we arrived to find M’sieur Hugo sitting on a large rock as if it was an armchair, gazing out to sea, deep in thought. Not wishing to disturb him, we retraced our steps up the lane.
Lectures are held at Clifton Hall in Town and we attended one today on what changes are needed in Guernsey in order to keep up with the new technological world. Not very romantic, but it allowed us to spend time together. Afterwards, Pierre surprised me with a box of confectionery, delivered with a bow and a smile. I was a little embarrassed to receive such a gift, but accepted it with a smile. It is pleasant to be admired as an attractive woman and indulged. He is not one for flowery speeches or grand gestures, but he appears sincere in his affection for me. I could wish he laughed more and at times his smile does not quite reach his eyes, but he would be a steady companion, I feel. The subject of children arose as we made our way home and he made his feelings clear.
‘I was naturally grieved at losing my dear wife, but also mourned the loss of our child. I have always wanted to have a family and, for the moment, the boys under my care at the College are my substitute family. But it’s not the same as nurturing a child of your blood from infancy, is it?’
I took a deep breath, my own loss still painful to contemplate.
‘No...it is not.’
He drew me closer to him as we walked and I’m sure he assumed I wanted more children, as all women were supposed to. In one way I would love to have another child, someone to love and take care of; it is only fear that holds me back.
June 1869
What I have been both expecting and dreading has happened – Pierre has asked for my hand in marriage. It was not a romantic proposal, like Arnaud’s, accompanied by expressions of undying love. We were sitting on a bench in Cambridge Park listening to the militia band playing as they do on two evenings a week. The walk around the park is very pleasant on a warm evening, with an avenue of elms offering shade in the heat. As we sat and applauded the band, Pierre pulled out a small box from his pocket, saying, ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, Eugénie?’ His serious expression caused me to wonder if I had heard him correctly, but then he opened the box to reveal a small garnet ring. I must have looked startled, for he said, ‘I understand you might wish to think about it and I’m happy to wait a few days for your answer.’
‘Oh! It...it’s, I mean, you’ve taken me by surprise, Pierre. We haven’t talked much about the future...’ This was true, there had been no talk of love, or spending our lives together, only the type of conversations friends have. Apart from his desire for children.
‘I’m not one for fanciful declarations, Eugénie, such as M’sieur Hugo and his fellow poets would offer you. We’ve both been married and sadly lost our partners, and now we are looking for friendship, and a companion, are we not?’ He smiled, patting my hand.
I could only nod my head, not sure enough of my own feelings to say anything. I knew I did not love him, although I have become fond of him, but in a contrary way, I wanted him to love me. Not just see me as a companion.
‘May I give you my answer at the end of the week? It’s such a big decision to make in a rush.’ It was now Thursday so I would not keep him waiting long.
His smile slipped for a moment, but was quickly replaced.
‘Of course, my dear.’
Today I confided in m’dame and she was delighted for me, but understood my hesitation.
‘I know you wanted love, ma chère, as do we all, but it might grow, on both sides. But I think there is something else troubling you, yes?’ She gently touched my face.
‘This might sound terrible, but sometimes I wonder if he is only interested in my house, as he has none of his own and no chance of owning one. Each time he’s been around he walks about the rooms, stroking the mantelpieces, the furniture, the staircase. And he has only ever kissed my hand, nothing more.’ Since the proposal, I have thought of these things until they have filled my mind to the exclusion of all else.
She frowned.
‘I see. It’s usually the other way around, is it not? We women are accused of wanting a husband for what he can provide – a home, security, children – and not necessarily for love. But I think M’sieur Blondel does have feelings for you, he simply does not find it easy to express them. He has told M’sieur Hugo how much he admires you and how much he enjoys your company. Your lovely house is indeed an asset, but I feel it’s not your only one, ma chère. Not by a long way.’
Her words cheered me and I began to think it was my own fear which had conjured these concerns. And as both m’dame and m’sieur considered Pierre an excellent choice for me, then perhaps I was simply exaggerating my concerns. I still was not happy at the thought of marrying Pierre, it was more a feeling of having little choice but to marry again and he was quite agreeable.
Sunday
Pierre and I met today and I accepted his proposal. This time his smile was broad and he flung his arms around me before kissing my cheek. Encouraged by his response I laughed and he joined in! He suggested we called on M’sieur Hugo to tell him the news, seeing him in the role of my surrogate father as well as employer. I was a little hesitant to call uninvited, but he assured me m’sieur would want to be the first to hear our news. In truth who else was there to tell?
‘Ma petite! I am overjoyed for you. This is cause for celebration, is it not, m’dame?’
We were in the garden where we had found them relaxing after their lunch. I was hugged and kissed by them both and Pierre’s hand was shaken before M’sieur Hugo sent for wine. Although pleased with m’sieur’s obvious delight, I was contrarily wishing he forbade me to marry anyone so I could stay at his side. A foolish notion indeed and I immediately pushed the thought away as Pierre put his arm around my waist and squeezed me. His face shone with happiness and I was caught up in celebratory mood. The wine arrived and we sat and drank with them for most of the afternoon.
The subject of the wedding date was raised and M’sieur Hugo suggested the following month of July and Pierre agreed, seeing no need to delay. I had expected a longer engagement but M’sieur Hugo explained, ‘We shall be away from August for some months and we cannot miss your wedding, ma petite, and indeed, see ourselves in loco parentis and wish to be the hosts. You can have a party here after the service in church. What do you say?’ Taking my hand he beamed at me and tears sprang to my eyes at his loving words. I mumbled a thank you while Pierre offered a fulsome speech of thanks, something about ‘overwhelmed by the honour and generosity’. It was undeniably a great honour and while Pierre discussed details with M’sieur Hugo, I sat with m’dame, who explained they had previously agreed to be my ‘family’ in the event of my marrying.
‘We see you as our daughter, ma chère, one dear to both our hearts. And I insist on providing you with a wedding dress, to be made by my dressmaker. Oh, I’m so excited!’ she clapped her hands. ‘A wedding! They have been a rarity in our lives, as you are aware, and it’s good to have something to celebrate. You will marry at the Town church? Pierre’s a Protestant, is he not?’
‘Yes, and it’s where I married Arnaud, also a Protestant. I don’t see myself as a Catholic these days so it makes little difference which church we choose. Any...children are to be brought up as Protestants, as required by Pierre.’
We spent some time discussing who to invite to our wedding before we took our leave. More hugs and kisses before a giggling Henriette escorted us to the front door. Pierre walked me home and then left to return to College, promising he would contact the rector the next day about a date for the wedding and to arrange the banns.
M’dame took me to Agnew’s drapers in the High Street to choose the material for my wedding dress and we settled on an embroidered cream silk from India. We then purchased cream leather boots from Beghins before visiting M’dame Aubert in Commercial Arcade for the final item, my hat, also in cream with soft feathers. M’dame usually has her dresses made in Paris but has been using a local woman for alterations and she was charged with producing a dress that would not look out of place in London or Paris.
24th July 1869
My wedding day! I am writing this quickly before I depart from the house. I awoke after a restless night with my stomach knotted and my nerves in shreds. Any dreams I remembered had been dark and unsettling; in one the sea monster from m’sieur’s Les Travailleurs de la Mer lured me from a boat into the sea and wrapped its tentacles around me until I was near drowning, and then, thankfully, I woke up. In another, I was being chased by a baying mob. Not dreams to expect on the eve of one’s wedding! Even though I have reservations about the marriage, I have come to terms with the idea of it and that it is the right path for me. Pierre is a good man and I hope to love him in time.
My dress is beautiful. I am delighted with it. Today is the first time I have worn the complete outfit and Sophie has helped me dress.
She wiped away a tear as I stood in front of the mirror in my finery.
‘You do look such a beautiful bride, m’dame. And the groom is such a handsome man, too.
‘Thank you, Sophie. And I’m so happy you’ve agreed to stay on with us. If funds allow, I hope to take on a scullery maid to help you as the work will increase now.’ I smiled at her, one of the few people I could rely on, now wearing her Sunday best for the wedding.
We left the house and made our way to Hauteville House where a carriage waited to take me, M’sieur Hugo and m’dame to the Town church. Although it was a short walk down the hill, M’sieur insists we arrive in style. Of course, all eyes will be on him, not me, but I am content. Peter the driver doffed his hat as I arrived and wished me a good day. Inside the house, maids are rushing about with the last of the preparations for the wedding breakfast and I found my hosts in the tapestries room.
I was immediately fussed over by m’dame, resplendent in a wine silk dress, while m’sieur kissed my cheek as he exclaimed I had never looked more beautiful. The heat rose to my cheeks and m’dame commented on ‘the blushing bride’. M’sieur Hugo looked dapper for someone who was usually more careless with his attire. His jacket and trousers were freshly pressed and he wore a neat bow tie with a cream silk shirt. He suggested a small glass of Calvados to fortify us before we left and I was glad of it as my nerves were in shreds. The fiery liquid brought a sense of calm and I felt more composed as we took our places in the carriage, cheered on by the staff.
I felt like a person of importance as we arrived at the Town church, thanks to the crowd waiting to see M’sieur Hugo. A brief cheer went up, and some kind folk shouted ‘Bless the bride!’ I entered the dimness of the church on M’sieur Hugo’s arm and walked down the aisle, my head held high as we passed the waiting guests. My eyes were focused on the men standing in front of the priest, Pierre and his groomsman, a fellow teacher named John Martel. Unfortunately, Paul Stapfer had recently left the island or he would have been asked. When Pierre turned round, he smiled as he saw me while m’sieur moved away. For a moment the memory of my dear Arnaud, standing in the same place, with his face filled with love for me, quite unnerved me. I faltered and m’sieur came back to place a steadying hand on my back. I smiled my thanks and took a deep breath.
The service was short, as becoming the wedding of those widowed, and it wasn’t long before we were climbing into the carriage for the short drive up the hill to Hauteville House. Another carriage had been hired to take M’sieur Hugo and M’dame Drouet home first. We waved at the well-wishers, including a group of College boys, who raised their hats as we passed.
‘Well, that went smoothly, did it not? And how do you feel to be M’dame Blondel?’ Pierre said, with a kiss. This was only the second time he had kissed my mouth, the first being moments before in the church and it felt strange. Not unpleasant, but not as I would wish; it lacked enthusiasm. And my body did not respond as it had to Arnaud’s kisses. I must stop comparing them, I know, but it’s to be expected, surely?
‘I don’t feel much different, as yet, M’sieur Blondel. But I expect that will change.’ I managed to smile at him.
He nodded, saying, ‘By tomorrow you will be truly my wife, and for now we have the pleasure of the celebrations at Hauteville House.’
The reminder of the night ahead did little to cheer me, but the sight of the waving staff on the steps was uplifting and as Pierre came round to assist me from the carriage, he circled my waist with his hands, lifting me high in the air to the delight of the maids. I joined in the laughter and he dropped a kiss on my cheek as he set me on the ground. Monsieur Hugo and m’dame appeared in the doorway and Pierre escorted me towards them. She was quite overcome and kept hugging me, tears seeping out of her eyes. We all waited in line to welcome the guests before moving out to the garden where a large table, decorated with sprays of roses, was set ready for the wedding breakfast.
I only have jumbled memories of the celebrations, but I do recall M’sieur Hugo delivering a speech extoling my supposed virtues which made me blush and an answering speech, much shorter and less fulsome, by my husband. The wine flowed and the food, as bountiful as ever, was served by the maids for what seemed like the whole day but was nearer three hours. I was unused to being the focus of attention at such a meal, and with such hosts, and nervousness led me to drink more wine than I was used to. By the time the guests began to disperse, I was overcome with fatigue and had to stifle a yawn. M’dame must have noticed for she suggested I return home for a rest before the evening’s excursion to the theatre, a treat planned for me by Pierre.
My husband agreed and escorted me to my – our – house. I expected him to stay, but he said he would leave me to sleep and returned to Hauteville House. This was a relief, as having slept so little the night before I was exhausted. Sophie helped me undress and I slipped into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. I was awakened by Sophie at five o’clock with a cup of tea and I felt refreshed and ready for the trip to the theatre. As she helped me into my blue silk gown, Sophie chatted about how beautiful the wedding had been and what a handsome couple we made.
After the theatre, Pierre and I returned to St Michel. I had told Sophie not to wait up and now I was alone with my husband I felt unsure of myself. He suggested a nightcap and I accepted, glad to delay retiring upstairs. We sat awkwardly on the sofa in the parlour with our drinks, almost the first time we had been totally alone that day. Strewn around the room were boxes of his belongings, mainly books, delivered from the College. His clothes were already in the wardrobe in one of the bedrooms, now designated his dressing room.
Pierre loosened his tie and stretched out his legs.
‘The day went very well, do you not agree? And I think you should write a letter to M’sieur Hugo, expressing our thanks for his generous hospitality.’
I had already planned to write such a letter and it irked me that he should suggest it. Taking a sip of my port, I agreed with him. Pierre talked at some length about the advantages to be enjoyed by being seen to be close to M’sieur Hugo and it occurred to me what a snob he must be. I wondered how I had not noticed it before.
‘Come, you must be tired after such a long and eventful day. Let’s go to bed.’ He led the way upstairs like the master of the house he now was, and left me to undress alone while he went into his dressing room. Anxious as I was, I fumbled over the fastenings and had only just changed into my nightdress when he returned, picked me up and threw me onto the bed.
(The above description of my wedding day I wrote early the following morning.)