She comes towards me and gestures to one of the rooms off the center of the church. I follow her into the room, which is a kind of office for Mr. Peabody.
“I have made up marriage articles,” she says brusquely once the door is closed. “They are very much to my favor.”
She puts the document down on the desk. I move towards it, knowing that I have no leverage or ability to negotiate.
“You may look it over of course,” she sniffs. “But I will tell you what is in it. If I die, you are to have my entire fortune and all of my properties, which are considerable. That will include Trescott. It is not entailed. Any children—if there are any—will have great sums of money settled upon them. If I die after the birth of a child or children, they will get many of the properties in addition to cash settlements, but all of that will be disbursed and allocated at your discretion and held by you until they come of age. In such circumstances, you will have a comfortable income and one of the properties—of your selection, except for Trescott—settled upon you. In any event, you will be settled for life when it comes to the pecuniary aspect of our arrangement.”
“It sounds like you have dealt with me very generously,” I say, confused now by her warning. I am not offended by the stipulations in regards to any children. It makessound sense to provide for them in such a way—and her fortune is so vast that it would make no difference to me. I am merely glad that she is thinking of children. That she seems open to them.
“There are conditions,” she says, “that Mr. Perry thought unusual and that indeed are unusual. The first, however, is not unusual and is even customary in situations such as this one when the fortune of one party so exceeds the other. You will take my surname. Upon our marriage, you will no longer be Mr. Alfred Saintsbury, but Mr. Alfred de Lacey.”
I pause, surprised. Once the initial shock fades, however, I find no objection within my breast. She is correct of course. It is not uncommon for men to change their last names when marrying into families of greater rank and fortune. Similarly, if a great person leaves the bulk of their fortune and estates to a nephew with a different surname, the heir often changes it as a condition of the inheritance. And I like the idea that she would stamp me as her own. That I would become, officially, hers.
“I do not object,” I say, meeting her eyes and finding surprise there. She thought I would be affronted.
“Very well,” she says. “That is not all. You will lose all of the benefits of this agreement if you are not faithful to me while the…corporeal part of our marriage lasts.”
Now Iamaffronted.
“I do not understand.”
“I will not be trifled with,” Annabelle says. “I require your faithfulness. I will not have you bedding other women. If we mutually agree to end that part of our marriage, then of course you are free to seek other lovers.”
“You mean ifyouseek to end the corporal part of ourassociation? Because according to this article, if I understand it, I cannot.”
Annabelle blanches in the dim light. “You believe I would force you to bed me.”
“No,” I say, “but this article is not necessary. Annabelle. I would never deceive you or be unfaithful. I take the marriage state seriously. When I pledge to be faithful to you for my whole life in our vows, I will mean it. I will not break that vow. My body is yours for the entirety of my lifetime.”
She blinks at me. “That is not necessary. I only want assurance that you will not trifle with me while our?—”
“Yes, while thecorporealpart of our marriage continues,” Alfred says. “But I do not need such a stipulation. I can promise you right here, right now, that I’ll never bed another woman as long as I live. Even if you die. I am yours forever.”
“I am not asking that of you,” Annabelle says, a slight horror edging into her tone. “I do not wish to make you take another vow of restriction. You have had enough of that for a lifetime. I only mean to protect myself.”
“If it assures you, I will sign it. I will promise to bed no other woman while we continue to bed each other. But it is not necessary because I make another promise here before you, Annabelle. I am yours. I’ll never bed another woman as long as I live. You are to be my wife. And I will be faithful to my wife all the days of my life.”
Her eyes dilate slightly in the candlelight. I can tell—I am not sure how—that my words arouse her. She is contented with my pledge even though she will not return it. I want to show her my devotion and I have found a way. She might regard this marriage as a mere bit of fancy paperwork, but she must know that I am taking it seriously. She might tire of me and take other lovers.I never will.
“Then sign it.”
She hands me the pen. I sign where she indicates, feeling not a sense of loss or entrapment. Instead I feel blessed beyond belief that of all men, I get to be hers.
“Come,” she says. “We must marry. Then we will go home.”
“I have one question,” I say. “Do you expect me to keep the living?”
“That is entirely up to you.”
Part of me wants to keep it. It is one thing that this marriage will make more possible. But another part of me is not sure I belong in the church anymore.
“I am uncertain. But I would like to see Mr. Peabody move into the vicarage since I will no longer need it. And his per annum raised. Given that I suspect I will be distracted from my duties for some time.”
“Then so be it,” she says. “We can discuss it with him after the ceremony. I am sure he will be delighted.”
I nod. I am sure he will be. He is a young man with a growing family. It is nearly as good as becoming vicar himself.
I smile at her, hoping to inject the moment with more levity.
