Wednesday, July 4, 1888
“My beloved, you look divine.” Simon, for the second time that day, kissed my cheek. “Wedding dresses suit you.”
I smirked. “Oh? Perhaps I shall wear one more often.”
He stuck his chin out defiantly. “The lady jests at the sanctimony of marriage. I will not stand for such disrespect.”
I tightened my lips, my chest quivering with laughter. Not that my chest could do much quivering anyway, what with the tightness of my corset under layers of ivory lace and silk and faux flowers and who knows what else. I would have married in my best sensible dress if Mama had not insisted on me being the height of fashion on my wedding day. My torso felt so confined while the skirt was extra voluminous, creating an extreme hourglass.
I absolutely cannot wait to get this dress off and go to sleep after this day is done.
“But I am quite serious when I say, wife, that you look beautiful today.” Simon’s eyes were warm and genuine.
“And you, husband, have obviously been dipping into your flask,” I teased.
Looking around the garden where our family, friends, and other guests mingled, I noticed many of them were strangers to me. Business associates of our families, no doubt.
I found myself watching pretty little Beth Baxter. Nobody knew quite what to say to the girl, so she stood off to the side by herself, alone with her punch. Nineteen at the most, she kept tugging at a bit of draped fabric on her gown, smoothing it out incessantly. I watched the tiny young woman glancing around nervously and then fussing with the fabric around her middle a bit more. She must have felt me watching her—our eyes met and we both gave an uncomfortable smile and an awkward little wave from our places across the green.
I gave Simon a little nudge with my elbow and leaned closer to him.
“I think your new stepmother might be expecting.”
Simon frowned. “Expecting what?”
“The crown jewels to be delivered to her at any second.” I gave him a look. “A baby, obviously.”
He ran a hand through his thick blond waves. “Surely not. She and Papa married only a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, well, perhaps the marriage came after the—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Amelia, I beg you.”
I hid my giggles behind my gloved hand. “Yes, sweetheart, as you wish. Oh, dear. She’s coming over.”
Simon scoffed under his breath before plastering a wide smile across his fine face. He opened his mouth to speak but Beth beat him to it.
“Amelia, you are such a vision of beauty and you could not have picked a finer day for a wedding,” she exclaimed, clutching my hand. “I am so jealous. It poured down rain on my wedding day.”
“Did it? I thought it only snowed in Canada,” Simon teased.
“Not in June, silly,” Beth said before wincing slightly. “Well, not usually anyway.”
Her Canadian accent seemed so alien to my ears. Despite having lived in London my entire life and hearing all types of accents on a regular basis, Beth’s accent was one I did not come across often.
“So kind of you to come all this way for our wedding,” I chimed in. “I hope the voyage was not too dreadful.”
Beth, a fair-skinned, fair-haired wisp of a woman, smiled nervously, folding her doll-like hands together in front of her. “It felt quite long. I have never been so happy to walk on solid ground.”
I imagined the poor girl, dealing with seasickness and morning sickness simultaneously.
“I hope you and Joseph are able to stay in London a while before returning to Canada,” I added. “Seems a shame to travel all this way only to stay a short time.”
A slightly sad expression flashed over her face, her large blue eyes looking away from mine. “I believe I am to stay here while he goes back to Canada.”
Simon and I exchanged worried glances.
“Surely not,” he said. “A newly married couple should not live separately for such a long span of time.”
“He is always so busy with the business,” Beth said in her mousey voice. She had a look about her that made me think she might cry at any moment. I wondered if that was permanent. “He mentioned that he would like me to live with…” Her eyes darted to the mass of people in the garden. “Oh no. I have forgotten. I have met so many people today and I cannot remember which are Baxters and which are Spencers.”
I laughed. “There is essentially no difference between the Baxters and the Spencers. We are all basically one family, so not to worry.”
It was true. Since combining skill sets as young men, Joseph Baxter and George Spencer built their business together, first on Britain’s railroad, then in America before moving to Canada. Back home in London their children grew up and were educated together. The Baxter-Spencers had already seen two separate marriages take place within the family. My wedding to Simon was the third of its kind, continuing the family tradition of strengthening the bond between the two clans.
God help us all if Joseph and my father ever had a quarrel and decided to break their partnership. It would make for entirely uncomfortable family gatherings.
Simon’s father taking a Canadian bride surprised us all. We always knew he would remarry eventually but choosing a woman young enough to be his daughter gave us all a bit of a shock. However, her obvious fidgeting with the front of her dress clarified a few things.
“I believe Joseph said he wished me to stay with…” Beth pursed her lips as she struggled to remember “Ida? Eva?”
“Ivy?” I suggested.
Beth looked relieved. “Yes, that’s the one.”
I nodded and pointed to the elegant woman in blue. “That is Ivy Spencer, my mother. She would certainly be a gracious hostess to you, as long as you do not have a mind of your own.”
Beth blinked at me, wide-eyed. Simon cleared his throat, warning me.
“I am only joking. It will be fine.”
From across the garden, Joseph beckoned his young bride. She made her apologies and returned to his side.
I heaved a sigh. “That lonely young woman is going to be visiting us often, isn’t she?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Perfect.” I looked up at him. “Do you have any—”
Simon handed me the little silver flask before I could even finish the question.
I was exhausted by the time Simon and I arrived at our new home that afternoon. A little smaller than the house I had grown up in but more than enough room for the two of us, Simon had moved in a few weeks before the wedding to get it set up just right for us. He took it upon himself to pick the decor as I never cared for choosing such things and simply did not have the knack for it.
Simon gestured to a young woman in an apron and cap soon after we crossed the threshold. “This is Matilda, the housekeeper.”
In the midst of the day’s excitement, I had forgotten about having a new housekeeper. A new husband, a new last name, a new home, and now a different housekeeper than the one I had grown up knowing. Fatigue washed over me and all I could manage was a weak, weary smile.
“Lovely to meet you.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” she said in a charming Scottish accent.
Simon beamed, clasping my hands in his. “I have a surprise for you.” He led me to a door behind the front staircase and stood beside it. He nodded at it. “Open it.”
I turned the polished doorknob and pushed the door in and inhaled sharply.
“Oh, Simon!” I grabbed his hand and kissed the top of his knuckles, squeezing his fingers tight within mine. “It is wonderful!”
I stepped into the little room so carefully, as if heavy steps could shatter the dream I might be in. It was a private study, one wall lined with bookcases right up to the ceiling and one wall lined with windows. A desk, grand but not ostentatiously so, stood proudly in the middle of the room, a sparkling black typewriter placed in the center. I gasped when I saw it.
“Oh, Simon, no. You shouldn’t have. It’s too much!” I delicately ran my fingers over the white glossy keys, practically salivating at the thought of breaking in that divine hardware.
Simon flopped down on the sofa that lined the third wall, stretching out and propping his feet up on the round sofa arm. I had a feeling he picked out the sofa mostly for his own use as he had a habit of falling asleep while waiting for me to finish writing.
I shook my head at him, feeling as if I might cry—not a common occurrence. “We can certainly not afford all this.”
“I called in some favors and traded a few things but yes, dear, we will be living on bread and water for a year because I knew you would like it.” He gestured to the desk. “Sit down, will you? I want to see my queen at her throne.”
I slid my finger along the shiny desktop as I moved around it, pulling my skirts in closer to myself so I could actually fit in the chair at its place of honor behind the desk. I grinned at Simon. I did indeed feel incredibly powerful.
“Not bad,” I said.
Simon laughed.
“Really, Simon. You know me. You know you didn’t have to do this for me—”
“Oh, I know. But I wanted to.” He lowered his eyes, his face turning serious for a moment. “You did such a kindness for me today.” He hopped up from his lounging spot and leaned over the desk, cupping my face in his hands. “Your friendship means the world to me. Your sacrifice—”
“It was not a sacrifice, Simon, I told you—”
“I know, I know.” He sighed and propped his pointed elbows on the desktop. “I fear you will meet someone and want to marry them, and I will be in the way and you will resent me for it.”
“Despite this ridiculous dress, a marriage—a real one—is not for me. I have no desire to be with anyone in that way. Marrying you was no sacrifice. Today saved us both from familial expectations that neither of us could ever meet. How many people are fortunate enough to get to marry their dearest friend?”
Simon sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. “Not many, I suppose.”
“Exactly.”
He stood up straight and adjusted his waistcoat, smiling weakly at me. He beamed suddenly. “Heavens! I just remembered we were given some very good wine as a wedding gift. Why on earth are we not drinking it at this very moment?”
“Can I please change out of this dress first? I may genuinely pass out if I need to wear it for another moment.”
I followed Simon out of the study, but he paused to gesture back to the typewriter. “Oh, Amelia,” he said, “you had better get to writing today because this room isn’t going to pay for itself.”