Margaret Moore (18 page)

“Jealous?”

She rose from her chair and came around the desk to face him. “I have got you now, not them, and,” she said, boldly and possessively caressing him, “I will not share.”

“Good God, woman,” he muttered, yanking her into his arms, “I believe I have married a cock-tease.”

“Richard! Must you be so crude?”

Laughing softly, he kissed her lightly on the forehead before moving toward the door. “I am not the one attacking my spouse in the
closet in the middle of the morning. However, since you profess to be so busy, I shall take myself to the stables.”

“You are quite right about the stallion,” she said with a sigh when she realized he was in earnest. “He does have a mean mouth. He was my husband’s horse, and William was a cruel horseman. I have given up trying to sell the poor beast, for no one will take him. Oh, I nearly forgot!” She reached for a letter open on the desk. “Alfred Sedgemore has invited us to dine with him this evening, to welcome you.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “How neighborly.”

“It is neighborly,” she replied. “He has invited all the important families around Owston to meet you.”

“There is no possibility of refusal, I take it?”

“Not unless you wish to be considered arrogant and rude.”

“That is a tempting thought. Then nobody shall force their presence upon us with unwelcome visits.”

“Richard, I think to refuse would be most unwise.”

“Heaven forfend that we should insult the neighbors, especially the ferrety-faced Mr. Alfred Sedgemore!” he cried with mock horror. “I shall endure as best I can.” He grew thoughtful. “I wonder if I shall know any of them, or they me.”

“Sir John Norbert will be there, and his family.”

“Sir John—of course! Is he as fat as ever?” “He is … stout.”

“He is married and had a girl, I seem to recall.”

“Girls. He has three daughters of marriageable age.”

“If they take after their father, I hope they have large dowries.”

Elissa could not quite stifle a smile, for in fact the Norbert girls—young ladies, really—did take after their father, in girth, manner, and appetite. Fortunately for the Norbert girls, they would indeed have very large dowries. “They are very nice young ladies.”

His mouth betrayed a certain skepticism. “I promise to be charmed.” He grinned ruefully. “If I can put up with Sedley and his ilk, I should be able to endure your country society.”

“I did not see that London society was so very special. In fact, I would say the opposite was true.”

“You were not exposed to the best of it,” Richard replied. Then he made a contrite face and bowed. “My apologies, wife. It is the habit of those in the city to disparage those in the country, and playwrights most especially. I shall endeavor to correct this grievous fault.”

“Please do.”

“For your sake only, of course. I cherish your good regard.”

“You should seek their good regard.”

He looked genuinely surprised.

“Don’t you want them to like you?” she demanded.

“My dear madam, I don’t care one whit if they like me or not. I don’t particularly care if anybody likes me or not—except you and Will, of course.”

There could be no mistaking that he meant exactly what he said.

Unsure whether she was impressed or dismayed by his attitude, she said, “Perhaps you know Mr. Assey?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Assey. He is a very wealthy wool trader.”

“He should take some of that money and purchase a new name.”

Elissa stared at him a moment, then smiled and flushed with sudden comprehension. “I have never thought of that before. Now I shall never be able to look at him without blushing.”

“Don’t look at him at all, then. In fact, I don’t think I like the notion of you looking at other men, ever.”

“I shall have a very difficult time doing business if I cannot.”

“Don’t do business,” he answered glibly. “That should be a husband’s job anyway.”

Her expression froze. “I have been handling the business of this estate for five years and have no intention of turning it over to anybody.”

“Not until I prove myself, at any rate, eh?” Richard said lightly as he went to the door.
“Adieu,
wife.”

She watched him leave, thinking that although she valued her hard-won independence, it was very tempting to let Richard take the more onerous of her responsibilities from her hands.

She heard Richard call for Will, and her son’s boisterous and delighted answer. He had never been a quiet child.

She frowned as she thought of all the times his father had brusquely ordered him to hush, even when he was but a babe, incapable of understanding speech.

She went to the window, which was open to catch the breeze. She could see Richard and Will heading toward the stables. Will’s excited voice reached her easily, and although she could not hear Richard’s exact responses, she could catch his amiable tone as he matched his stride to the boy’s.

He was very good with children, and she suspected that if he truly did not care what the neighbors thought of him, he did value Will’s good opinion.

She put her hand to her stomach and wondered
if he would continue to do so when he had a child of his own.

It was much too early to be sure, of course. A mere day or two. When she was absolutely certain, then she would tell Richard that she was carrying his baby.

“A
h, Lady Dovercourt! How lovely you look this evening,” Mr. Sedgemore cried as he hurried toward them in the grand entrance hall of his country home.

Like the late William Longbourne, Alfred Sedgemore had razed the original manor on his estate. Mr. Sedgemore had done an even more thorough job of this, however, for he had torn down the whole of the house and built afresh. The result was a country home of the latest design, featuring pediments and columns and massive chimneys on the outside and impressively decorated rooms on the inside.

“Your servant, my lord,” Mr. Sedgemore said to Richard as he bowed.

“Your servant, sir,” Richard replied evenly, inclining in his head.

Despite the smile on her husband’s face, she was very much reminded of his arrogant
attitude the first time she had seen him in that boat on the Thames.

Confused by his manner, she said nothing as he placed her hand on his arm. Together they followed their host into the huge parlor paneled in dark oak and hung with various portraits of what she assumed were Sedgemore ancestors, all of whom looked as if they suffered from chronic indigestion.

Apparently Mr. Sedgemore had invited every person who had any claim to gentility for several miles around. Despite the crowd, conversation halted in midsentence as they entered, and everyone turned to look at them.

Elissa had believed her arrival at her wedding would be her one and only sensational entrance. She was quite wrong. Apparently, however, Richard did not find this at all unusual, for he bestowed a magnanimous smile upon them all.

Nevertheless, she knew something was very wrong.

It was not that the women stared at Richard as if they had never seen a man before. Clad in his black velvet jacket and breeches, pristine white shirt, and lace jabot, Richard looked very handsome and elegant and worldly compared to most of the men of Leicester. He also had the aura of the court to add to his luster.

In contrast to the feminine admiration, however, many of the men’s reactions were openly hostile and obviously scornful rather than envious,
a reaction she would have understood. To be sure, a few of the ones she knew to be ambitious regarded him speculatively, as if already planning on seeking his influence at court, but in general, it was as if Richard had returned from London a leper.

She told herself most of these men would look down on anybody who had to earn their living by any means other than agriculture, and especially anybody in the theater.

Despite her attempt at rationalization, Elissa couldn’t help feeling that there was more to their reactions than the snobbery of the righteous.

Appalled and confused, she glanced at Richard—and could scarcely believe the calm equanimity on his face, the merry mockery in his eyes, and the wry twist to his lips. That he might find the women’s responses amusing was one thing, but how could he laugh at the men’s?

“As I live and breathe, it’s Sir John Norbert!” Richard cried suddenly, abandoning Elissa and sauntering toward the plump man who half rose from the settle, then apparently wished he had not. “It has been a long time, Sir John!”

Sir John scowled and sat heavily. “Richard Blythe,” he huffed, growing red in the face. “You’re back.”

“Obviously,” Richard replied with an elegant bow. “Back to the land of my fathers, the
bosom of my family. You all missed me, I’m sure.”

Elissa looked on helplessly as Sir John’s scowl deepened.

“And here is the charming creature who finally managed to ensnare you after all those years of carefree bachelorhood,” Richard went on, addressing the equally plump, bejeweled, and middle-aged lady beside him.

“Yes,” Sir John said with no attempt at courtesy. “Lady Alyce, you remember Richard Blythe.”

“Lord Dovercourt,” Richard corrected with a genial smile and shrewd eyes.

Sir John cleared his throat. “Lord Dover-court.”

“And who might these nymphs be?” Richard inquired, turning toward Sir John’s daughters, who stood clustered nearby.

Elissa hurried forward and made the introductions. She might have been invisible, for all the attention the young women gave to her.

Claudia, the eldest and the kindest, was unfortunately also cursed with a slightly crossed eye that she endeavored to hide by constantly keeping her head to one side. Livia would have been the beauty of the family, if she had ever learned to smile with fewer teeth and more sincerity. Antonia was undeniably plain, and yet she was unaccountably the vainest of the three. She thought of nothing save her hair and clothes, unless it was her effect on the
male population of Owston. Now, she batted her thin eyelashes at Richard as if she had a piece of soot lodged in her eye.

“Your servant, ladies,” Richard said with another elegant bow.

He did not linger, but moved on to the next man, glancing at Elissa expectantly.

It was Mr. Sedgemore’s place to make the introductions, but Elissa, not sure what was going on, took over that function.

The introductions were nearly complete when she stopped in front of a well-dressed, middle-aged man wearing a curled peruke, very lacy jabot, and lemon-yellow jacket and breeches. “My lord, this is …”

Blushing, she hesitated, afraid she would do something undignified, like giggle.

“This must be Mr. Assey, of whom I have heard so much.” Richard bowed. “Delighted, sir, absolutely delighted. Such an unusual name. French, I take it?”

Mr. Assey’s homely face beamed with a broad smile. “Indeed it is, my lord. Indeed it is!”

“I thought there must be some explanation,” Richard answered.

He turned and nearly collided with Antonia. “You must tell us all about the court,” she simpered. “And the king, too. Is he as handsome as they say? As handsome as you?”

Sir John cleared his throat loudly, making Elissa jump. Antonia, however, seemed impervious
to any hints of inappropriate remarks as she smiled coyly at Richard. “Well, is he?”

“I shall have to defer to my sweet wife on that subject,” Richard replied gravely. “She is likely a better judge of the men of court. If it is the women you wish to know about, then by all means, I shall offer my humble opinion.

“Is the queen—” Livia began.

“What about the women of the court?” Antonia interrupted imperiously. “Are they so very beautiful?”

“They are very elegant and sophisticated, and naturally they dress very well,” Richard replied. “As for beauty … well, it is in the eye of the beholder, is it not?”

One of the younger men shifted his feet and glanced about nervously before speaking. “And Lady Castlemaine? Is she as pretty as they say?”

“She is very pretty, as are all the king’s mistresses. Very temperamental, though, Lady Castlemaine, but her other qualities more than compensate, or so I understand.”

Richard strolled over to the settle and insinuated himself between Sir John and Lady Alyce. “Of course, Charles likes a certain variety. I lost more actresses to the king’s desire than I care to recall. Zounds, I believe Charles thinks of the theater as a harem. It plays the very devil with my productions, I assure you.” He waved his hand in airy dismissal. “I have
given all that up, of course, for the bucolic delights of the ancestral estate, and my beautiful wife.”

Elissa could only stare at him.

What was he doing? Had he no notion of proper behavior among normal people? This might be considered appropriate talk and manners for the court, but not here in Owston.

Did he want them to think him the worst sort of decadent dilettante playwright, as she had? Could it be possible that he didn’t understand how he was embarrassing not just himself, but his wife?

He was too intelligent a man not to see that, surely.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t very well demand an explanation while they were in company—but the moment they were alone, she would find out why he had decided to humiliate both himself and his wife by acting the gossip-mongering fool.

“Well, that was quite a performance,” Elissa said as the coach rolled along the bumpy country road on the journey home. “You could not have done better if you were trying to make them all hate you.”

“I commend you on your perception,” Richard replied with a calmness he most certainly did not feel as he reclined against the hard back of the seat. “It
was
a performance.” He gave her a bitter smile. “After my years in the
theater, I know when the house is for or against me. Sometimes you can tell before the curtain rises. It was that way tonight, so there was no point to try to make them like me. They had all formed their opinion of me before I even entered the room.”

“Not
all
of them wanted to hate you.”

“No, not all. I had the women on my side.”