Page 98 of A Mismatch Made in London

“I understand. No one is perfect, and you do not have to be perfect for me to love you.”

Did he truly mean that?

I’d never really thought about it before, but I supposed love between a husband and wife must require that kind of mindset. My mother and father loved each other. I was sure of that. But they were not perfect. My father could be irritable with my mother when his gout was acting up. And my mother was known to completely ignore my father the next day when one of the babies had kept her up most of the night.

I loved my brothers and sisters, and none of them were perfect.

I’d dreamed of my husband since I was a child. I’d imagined our marriage to be perfect, but of course, there would always be occasional quarrels and tension between two people who lived together and who have children together. After all, everyone has flaws and foibles.

“What do you think the two of us will quarrel about?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps we will quarrel about where to go on our honeymoon.”

“I wish to go to Scotland. I have never seen its peaks and lakes and castles.”

“I have also never been to Scotland, and I also would like to see its castles. So that is settled. No quarreling there.”

“I like to rise early and go for a walk in the mornings. Would that annoy you?”

“Only if you will not permit me to go with you.”

“You may walk with me. In fact, I would prefer it if you did.”

“No quarreling there.”

“You may wish to go to your club every evening instead of staying home with me. We could quarrel about that.”

“I have never liked going to the club as a habit. I only go when I am meeting someone. Would we quarrel if I only went to the club once a month?”

“No, I suppose not.” I tried to think of other things we mightquarrel about. I didn’t think I would be angry with him when one of our babies kept me awake at night, as I would have a servant to help me so that I could get more sleep. Mother was very stubborn about letting the servants take care of the babies at night, probably due to an incident when the nursery maid had not realized my oldest brother had a fever one night while my mother was sleeping. He’d been crying, but my mother hadn’t realized he was sick and had left him in the maid’s care. She was upset the next morning when she realized he had cried all night and grown quite ill, and yet the nurse had not awakened her.

I tried to think of other things we might quarrel about—whether to send our children away to school or to hire a governess and tutors and educate them at home. But perhaps we wouldn’t quarrel about that. Perhaps we would decide together, amicably.

I thought back on my time with Jeremy and Juliet. They were brother and sister, and Juliet could be quite difficult. I even remembered feeling a bit sorry for Jeremy because of how Juliet could be deliberately contentious, but he never yelled at her, never was cruel or unfair to her. I mostly recalled him being patient and kind.

We talked about a lot of things on that journey, about our childhoods and about the balls we’d attended together, about our friends. I told him about my closest friend, Margaret, who lived a mile from me. We used to walk to see each other nearly every day when we had finished our studies. There were a few years that we studied together, as our parents shared the expense of a governess, who stayed at Margaret’s house but also taught my sister Lavinia and me. And Jeremy told me some stories of his school days that I hadn’t heard before.

The time passed quite pleasantly, and before I would have thought so, we were turning down the lane to my home. We’d made it the entire journey without kissing, and now there might be no opportunity for such a thing until we returned to London.

I felt a pang of disappointment.

“Do not let my brothers bully you into doing everything they want you to do,” I said. “And don’t let my father intimidate you. He is softhearted and easily swayed, he just doesn’t want anyone to know that.”

“Do not worry. It will all be well.”

We drove up to the door, and my father and mother met us on the front step.

My breath was coming in shallow waves. Why was I so nervous?

Jeremy looked just as handsome, his hair and cravat just as tidy, as when we left London. His eyes were alert, but otherwise he did not look nervous.

Mother was smiling broadly, while Father had pasted on a stern frown.

I made the introductions. Jeremy’s manners were very genial and friendly.

Father must have threatened my brothers, for they were all lined up and on their best behavior as they were introduced to Mr. Beaumont. Mother had let the servants hold baby Philip and little Diana. It was strange to see her without a baby in her arms.

Father grew a bit friendlier as he offered to show Jeremy around the place.