Directly following the splendid wedding in the village church a month later, situated just across the lawns from the Hall within the estate boundary, and the reception in the ballroom in the Hall, Uncle Arthur stood up and delivered his speech to the fifty guests, most of whom Margaret didn’t know. There was no-one in London she was particularly close to or whom she had wanted to invite so apart from her family which only consisted of Uncle Arthur, Aunt Sarah and their youngest daughter, Beatrice, who was the only bridesmaid, the remainder of the guests were made up of Charles’ mother and friends of the Canleigh family. Elizabeth and George remained in Edinburgh with Margaret’s child.
Uncle Arthur hadn’t much to say and kept his speech short and to the point, stating how pleased he was about the union of his ‘favourite’ niece to Charles and wished them well. As soon as the speeches were over, the cake cut and the champagne drunk, he rounded up his small family and made a hasty departure. A swift handshake with Charles, an even swifter peck on the cheek for Margaret, the same from Aunt Sarah and Beatrice and they were gone. Margaret knew full well there was little chance they would have contact again. It really was the end of an era but even though her family had washed their hands of her, she had a whole new and exciting future to look forward to.
However, her expectations weren’t realised. To her dismay, she found she was pregnant not long after the honeymoon and had a niggling suspicion that the child may well not belong to Charles. She felt ill and miserable as her figure changed, and terrified when she discovered she was expecting twins. Her last birth had been bad enough and she dreaded the coming labour. Charles and her mother-in-law were excited and did all they could to allay her fears but she couldn’t tell them about her first child and that she knew what she was in for. Even though she was frightened, wretched, and depressed, the labour couldn’t come quickly enough and then when it did, and she and the twins arrived home from hospital, she was puzzled as to why both Charles and her mother-in-law were so very distant towards her. Anne hardly spoke to her and Charles avoided her company. Seemingly, he found it difficult to talk to her, apart from mere banalities and she was completely mystified as to what had changed. It was all very strange, as she had expected both of them to be delighted with her for producing not only a precious heir but a girl to boot.
Margaret became almost jealous of her babies and all the attention they received as Charles and Anne doted on them and made every excuse they could to either be in the nursery or walk them around the estate in their prams. Margaret felt excluded, especially when Charles insisted the boy was named Richard after the first Duke of Canleigh and only allowed Margaret a choice over the girl, whom she named Delia.
Relations thawed slightly, around fifteen months after the twins were born. Charles had celebrated the publication of one of his books, forgot himself in the euphoria and somehow they ended up making love, although what love had to do with it Margaret really didn’t know. She had no idea what the word meant or how it felt to actually love anybody or anything and Charles had certainly fallen out of love with her. That night it was just plain sex, a mutual need for satisfaction and Margaret was horrified to discover she was pregnant again but the birth was easier and resulted in Victoria, a happy, gurgling, pretty baby whom everyone in the family treasured.
The twins, two years Victoria’s senior, were mesmerised by the new baby and couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t get up to play with them but as soon as she could toddle she followed them everywhere and the giggles and laughter emanating from the nursery and out on the lawns on a nice day seemed to make all and sundry smile, apart from Margaret. It just irritated her and gave her a headache.
Between pregnancies, Margaret had tried to persuade Charles to entertain as she had first envisaged but he was adamant they wouldn’t.
“I flatly refuse to have hordes of rowdy, drunken people in my home,” he had said forcefully. “No, Margaret. I’m sorry but we are simply not entertaining on that scale. The odd charity or family luncheon or dinner maybe, especially if you would like to invite your Uncle Arthur, Aunt Sarah or Beatrice to stay for a while but that is it. Strictly no balls or parties.”
In sheer desperation, Margaret tried to make friends with a couple of local families who owned lesser, not so grand, stately homes near to Canleigh. She found they had very little in common and were much the same as the Kershaws, their nearest neighbours at Tangles, with whom Charles and Anne had very good relations but as their conversation was all about the countryside and in particular, horses and dogs, Margaret found it all yawn inspiring and had nothing to add. Relationships, therefore, remained lukewarm and polite.
Margaret was lonely and frustrated, with no stimulation, no excitement, and nothing to interest her in the countryside and the vague interest in the children, summoned up more for Charles’s benefit than hers, quickly disintegrated. It was a relief when the only time she had to endure their company was in the early evening when, once they were old enough to walk, they toddled downstairs to the library to say goodnight. Her lack of desire to be with them for longer than absolutely necessary was a real cause of contention between her and Charles. Although he was busy with
