should love him . . .
And yet, she had best love him, and only him, Jamie determined grimly. Charles absolutely deserved no less. She had appeared to recognize that Charles was refined and cultured, that he had once been a soldier, that he had moved in the world of the highest authority of the land, and still did. Surely, she would see all things, and be a good, loyal, and faithful wife.
Or else?
She would answer to him, and she would not be pleased to do so.
Chapter 3
In the days that came to pass, Maggie truly came to terms with her decision to marry Charles.
He was an amazing man. His stories about the world, his travels, the Queenâs little wars, his service to her, all were quite fascinating. He was modest when talking about himself, eloquent when talking about the Empire, and understanding when she chimed in to say that it was all well and good that they should create an Empire, but shouldnât they be looking to some of the wretched poverty and violence within their own country?
He agreed, and she was delighted to learn that he had several of her own same interests, that he supported rebuilding in the East End, and found some of the situations beneath their very own noses to be intolerable, indeed.
He took her to the Crystal Palace to see a concert, to the theater, where they saw an amazing, frightening version of the play The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They went to the Royal Opera House, where they had seats in the balcony next to those of the Prince of Wales and his wife, Princess Alexandra. They went on walks through St. James Park, and rides out to the country. Equally, he allowed her the private time she had always so cherished, nights with her poetry reading group at the restaurant in the Strand, social time with her small circle of friends, and more. Her âcharityâ time as she called it.
She had talked to him about some of her activities. Not all. There were a few events she attended that no one knew about except for Mireau. Charles might not know the actual extent of her work in the East End, but she did brush upon it.
As to the séances she attended . . .
Everyone knew about the first one she had gone to. The papers had been filled with news regarding her involvement.
Since then . . .
She didnât dare admit that she was determined as ever to stop some of the charades taking place, when she could.
But she didnât think that sheâd ever tell Charles the truth about those nights.
And still, she grew to like him more and more.
He was quite a capable man, as well, having served the Crown in India, and he was equally happy to hop on public hackney cabs, and tell her how London had changed, just in his lifetime. The sewer system begun in the middle of the century had truly improved all their lives, he assured her, and the train had made distances shrink.
He shared her love of reading, and they found they could spend pleasant afternoons together just reading, from the works of William Shakespeare to Dickens, and the American, Mark Twain, and the newer works of men such as Arthur Conan Doyle. They argued Darwinâs theories, and every manner of new-ism of the nineteenth century, hypnotism or mesmerism, phrenology, and spiritualism.
She learned, as well, that he had a daughter, beloved, who was in school on the Continent, coming of age that year, and headstrong and rebellious.
âOf course, she has lacked the gentler ways of a mother. I know that you will become such a dear friend to her, and guide her in all things,â Charles told her confidently.
Maggie wondered if it would be quite so easy.
She learned that in his family, he had but his daughter and Sir James, who was actually his great nephew. Charlesâs cousin, Jamieâs father, had served in India, and been knighted, and like his father, the son had gone into the Queenâs Service, and helped settle many an uprising in the Empire. Heâd left the military, but been knighted as
And yet, she had best love him, and only him, Jamie determined grimly. Charles absolutely deserved no less. She had appeared to recognize that Charles was refined and cultured, that he had once been a soldier, that he had moved in the world of the highest authority of the land, and still did. Surely, she would see all things, and be a good, loyal, and faithful wife.
Or else?
She would answer to him, and she would not be pleased to do so.
Chapter 3
In the days that came to pass, Maggie truly came to terms with her decision to marry Charles.
He was an amazing man. His stories about the world, his travels, the Queenâs little wars, his service to her, all were quite fascinating. He was modest when talking about himself, eloquent when talking about the Empire, and understanding when she chimed in to say that it was all well and good that they should create an Empire, but shouldnât they be looking to some of the wretched poverty and violence within their own country?
He agreed, and she was delighted to learn that he had several of her own same interests, that he supported rebuilding in the East End, and found some of the situations beneath their very own noses to be intolerable, indeed.
He took her to the Crystal Palace to see a concert, to the theater, where they saw an amazing, frightening version of the play The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They went to the Royal Opera House, where they had seats in the balcony next to those of the Prince of Wales and his wife, Princess Alexandra. They went on walks through St. James Park, and rides out to the country. Equally, he allowed her the private time she had always so cherished, nights with her poetry reading group at the restaurant in the Strand, social time with her small circle of friends, and more. Her âcharityâ time as she called it.
She had talked to him about some of her activities. Not all. There were a few events she attended that no one knew about except for Mireau. Charles might not know the actual extent of her work in the East End, but she did brush upon it.
As to the séances she attended . . .
Everyone knew about the first one she had gone to. The papers had been filled with news regarding her involvement.
Since then . . .
She didnât dare admit that she was determined as ever to stop some of the charades taking place, when she could.
But she didnât think that sheâd ever tell Charles the truth about those nights.
And still, she grew to like him more and more.
He was quite a capable man, as well, having served the Crown in India, and he was equally happy to hop on public hackney cabs, and tell her how London had changed, just in his lifetime. The sewer system begun in the middle of the century had truly improved all their lives, he assured her, and the train had made distances shrink.
He shared her love of reading, and they found they could spend pleasant afternoons together just reading, from the works of William Shakespeare to Dickens, and the American, Mark Twain, and the newer works of men such as Arthur Conan Doyle. They argued Darwinâs theories, and every manner of new-ism of the nineteenth century, hypnotism or mesmerism, phrenology, and spiritualism.
She learned, as well, that he had a daughter, beloved, who was in school on the Continent, coming of age that year, and headstrong and rebellious.
âOf course, she has lacked the gentler ways of a mother. I know that you will become such a dear friend to her, and guide her in all things,â Charles told her confidently.
Maggie wondered if it would be quite so easy.
She learned that in his family, he had but his daughter and Sir James, who was actually his great nephew. Charlesâs cousin, Jamieâs father, had served in India, and been knighted, and like his father, the son had gone into the Queenâs Service, and helped settle many an uprising in the Empire. Heâd left the military, but been knighted as
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