Marriage of Inconvenience (13 page)

“I feel as if it must have been built by Mr. Capability Brown, which would suggest to me it was constructed during your father’s tenure as earl.”

“Right you are. Which I knew you would be.”

She uncovered the picnic offerings, broke off a serving of crusty bread for him and took one for herself. “Oh, my dearest, I forgot to tell you the most wonderful news!”

“Which is?”

“First, I got a letter from Maggie, who has managed to secure for us a new housekeeper. She’s been with Lord and Lady Bermondsey for these past five years, and she arrives here tomorrow!”

“That is, indeed, wonderful news.” He would not have had to say a word, for the happy expression on his face bespoke his pleasure.

“It gets even better.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed to procure a governess, too!”

She nodded sheepishly. “That is, Lady Agar did.”

“It’s my good fortune to have married a well-connected woman.”

That was the first real praise she had warranted from him since they had wed. She couldn’t have felt happier had he said he loved her.
Loved her?
Now why in heaven’s name would she go using the word
love,
even if it was only an internal thought? The former Miss Rebecca Peabody
never
thought about love. In fact, she had resigned herself to the reality that she was one of those women who would never experience love, never marry. Not that she was experiencing love, of course. Even if she was married.

But ever since the night she and...John had stood together before the fire in Lord Warwick’s library, her life had been turned completely upside down from what it was before. She most assuredly was no longer Rebecca Peabody. And she wasn’t precisely P. Corpus, either. She hadn’t managed to write a single word on an essay since John had offered for her hand.

Now she was a mother, whether the children wanted her or not. She was mistress of a home more palatial than any grand home she’d ever slept in. And she was John’s life partner.

With the Lord’s help, she prayed they would never be estranged again.

She proceeded to give him all the details about their two new employees. “Oh, I forgot another piece of good news.”

“Perhaps I should get angry more often if I can return to such an abundance of welcome announcements.” His eyes flashed mischievously.

“I pray you don’t.” She reached into the basket and plucked an apple for him, then another for herself.

“Geoffrey’s coming home?” he guessed, a hopeful expression on his face. At times like this, he did not seem old enough to have a son fighting on the Peninsula.

She felt wretched that she’d gotten up his hopes. Her face fell. “Unfortunately, my news isn’t
that
good, though I pray every day the Lord will watch over our soldier son, and that he’ll be coming home soon.”

His face was utterly somber. “Thank you.”

“My last piece of good news regards Emily. I’m so proud of her. You will not believe how wonderfully she took to my proposal that she write a play based on a Biblical parable.”

“You’re talking about my daughter?”

“Indeed. She actually seemed excited. I expect she’s madly working on it in your library at the moment.”

“It’s not
my
library.”

How sweet of him! She was so unworthy, yet he really was so very good to her. “Emily told me that first day that you did not like to be disturbed when you were in
your
library, and she has certainly been at Dunton longer than I.”

He shrugged. “I regret to say I can be a curmudgeon. It appears I shall have to apologize to Em, too. I enjoy sharing the library with my family—provided they’re quiet and don’t disturb my work.”

“Your work is very important. I am most impressed with the speech you’re working on at present. When will you deliver it?”

“Probably not until we present Emily.”

“Oh, dear.”

“She’s complained again about her refusal to be presented?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Do you think I’m being too domineering because I want my daughter to have a Season as do all other ladies of her class?”

“I’m not going to take sides in this. I understand each side only too well. Do allow me to say that I hated my Season more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Granted, I was not a beauty, like Emily, nor was I the daughter of an earl. There is no doubt Emily would be a spectacular success.”

“Thank you.”

His affection for his children was so touching. “Not all young ladies enjoy such endeavors. The purpose of a Season, after all, is to land a husband.”

“And Emily believes she has found her husband right here at Dunton.”

She nodded in agreement. “Peter’s a good fellow. Really. And he does love your daughter very much. Do you know what he told me?”

“What?”

“That he wanted to marry Emily more than anything on earth.”

Aynsley frowned. “You can understand why I wanted something else for my only daughter.”

“Of course.” Rebecca’s arm swept toward the lake and arched to encompass all the area between them and Dunton Hall. “After all, she’s been raised with such incredible privilege. It would be difficult to step down and marry a mere mister who has no property.”

“Which is what my sister did, and I believe she came to regret it.”

“I daresay your sister did not marry a man who had loved her almost since the cradle, though.”

“True.”

“Whether she has a Season is entirely up to you. You are, after all,” she added with a smile, “the lord and master of all of us at Dunton.”

“The Dunton curmudgeon is more like it.” He did not look happy.

“It’s difficult to achieve a delicate balance between affection and guidance. You, understandably, don’t want to come across as a complete milksop.”

“I have an aversion to being a milksop in any way.”

“Yes, I learned that most painfully last night.”

He offered her a smile. “This impromptu picnic was just what we needed.”

“Indeed it was,” she said, her voice soft. Being with him, sharing with him, seeing his anger dissipate, uncoiled the tightness and gloom that had been inside of her.

* * *

Rebecca’s good humor carried over to the start of the dinner hour. As John escorted her to the dining room, she felt like a fairy princess. She wore the Aynsley emeralds, and they looked spectacular with her green velvet gown.

Not long after they sat at the dining table, her husband made the announcement about the procurement of a new housekeeper and governess, and Rebecca filled in with what she knew of their backgrounds.

“I daresay I’ve met the governess before,” Peter said as he was cutting his grouse. “I was at Eton with one of the Devere sons and spent some time at their home.” He shrugged. “Pity is, I can’t remember a thing about the poor creature.”

“I pray that you’re not calling her a poor creature because our boys will be rough on her,” Rebecca said.

Peter set down his fork and eyed her. “Surely you’re aware of the fact those little
angels
have run off many, many governesses?”

“Unfortunately,” Emily added, eyeing Rebecca, “what he says is true. It all started with Fordyce and Geoff, and now all the brothers feel they have a family tradition to uphold.”

“Well, this father intends to put an immediate stop to such an unacceptable practice!” Aynsley said in his sternest voice.

After a considerable period of silence, Peter spoke. “And let’s hope we can keep the housekeeper, Mrs. Cotton.”

“You say this grouse is rotten?” Ethelbert shouted, pushing away his plate. “I just won’t eat rotten grouse.”

“Uncle,” Aynsley said, “the grouse is
not
rotten!” He raised his voice. “The new housekeeper’s named Mrs. Cotton.” Aynsley pushed the plate back.

Rebecca was happy to see that Emily was becoming more compassionate toward her great uncle. Emily smiled at him and began to speak in an elevated voice. “I’m writing a play in which I want you to act.”

“Will I get to kiss the heroine?” he asked, a broad smile on his aged face.

As they all began discussing the play, Rebecca’s attention strayed. For her, the dining room was dominated by Dorothy’s portrait. She could not take a bite of food without staring at the blonde’s elegant countenance. Rebecca wondered if the Aynsley jewels would look half so good on her own bony neck—not that she even wished to wear them now that she associated them with Dorothy.

She kept peering at the portrait, then at Emily. There was a strong resemblance between mother and daughter, but where Emily appeared delicate, Dorothy was formidable.

Rebecca had become more aware of the portrait with each successive meal. The first night she’d not known for sure that was Dorothy staring down at her—though from the fairly recent style of hair and dress she was almost certain the attractive woman in pale blue silk and lace had to be Dorothy. That first night Rebecca had too many other things on her mind to give the portrait much notice. Each night thereafter, though, she seemed more aware of it and was made more uncomfortable by it. And now she felt almost as if Dorothy were a silent guest at the meal, a silent guest even more hostile than Emily.

As John spoke to the others, Rebecca obsessed over her predecessor. Had John loved her deeply? Had she been madly in love with him? Did he still grieve for the woman who’d given birth to his beloved children, the woman whose traits must remain in her progeny long after she had gone from this earth?

The more Rebecca dwelled on Dorothy, the more morose she became. If John were attracted to blue-eyed blondes, he must be very disappointed with Rebecca of the dark hair and almost-black eyes.

To sink her even lower, she had learned that Dorothy was the daughter of a duke. How exceedingly disappointed John must be in Rebecca. She’d brought nothing to the marriage except the ability to catalog a library! No wonder he’d gotten so upset with her didactic ways the previous night.

She tried to tell herself it was her lack of sleep that made her so melancholy, but then she’d feel compelled to stare at Dorothy, and the painting seemed to say, “You’re not worthy to take my place. He’ll never love you.”

Love?
Why did she keep thinking of love? The former Rebecca Peabody never thought about love. And love had never been part of this marriage. So, why in God’s wide, wide world had John stooped to marry her?

“Why so quiet, Rebecca?” Peter asked.

Her glance flicked from him to Emily, who sat across the table from him and glared at Rebecca. “I daresay I’m just worn out. I was unable to sleep last night and haven’t felt quite right all day.”

“I didn’t sleep well, either.” John sent her a warm look. “I think we’ll be early to bed.”

Even though she was incredibly tired, she did not like the prospect of going to bed shortly after dinner and not enjoying private time with her husband. The evenings with him had become like a sumptuous dessert after a modest dinner, something she greatly looked forward to all day.

Was Aynsley sincere about wanting to be early to bed, or was he eager to have his library to himself—alone?

Chapter Twelve

A
ynsley looked up from his desk when his weary wife came to the library after reading another chapter of
Ivanhoe
to the lads. Gone now was the sparkle he’d observed in her that afternoon when they sat in the folly beside the peaceful lake. He immediately left the desk and strode toward her. “Don’t even think about staying here, madam. You need to go to bed.”

“As do you, but there’s something I must speak to you about.”

The serious tone of her voice disturbed him. Was one of the boys sick? “What is it?”

“Please, let us go sit by the fire.”

Once they sat down, he turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

She drew a deep breath. He could see that she was trembling.

“Is something the matter with the children?”

She quickly reassured him. “No, they’re all perfectly fine.”

“Then it’s you?”

Her face incredibly somber, she nodded. “I must tell you why I’m so disturbed.” She looked at the flames, then drew in another deep breath. “What I’m going to say will make me seem horridly selfish, and I fear I’ll alienate the children, but I have to speak my mind.”

“What’s the matter, Rebecca?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I cannot believe any other woman in the kingdom must eat dinner every night in her own home beneath a larger-than-life-size portrait of her predecessor.”

Of course she was right! When a new countess came in, the old countess’s portraits were consigned to the attics. How insensitive he’d been not to think of Rebecca’s feelings! “Forgive me. I never thought of it. I’ll have it removed in the morning.”

“I fear Emily will hate me even more.”

He wanted to reassure her, but she was likely right. Emily could be only barely civil to her stepmother. “I won’t let her blame you. The removal of the portrait is
my
decision entirely. If my daughter blames anyone for the removal, she will blame me.”

“Where will you put it?”

“Nowhere at Dunton Hall. Her portrait can return long after you and I have passed from this earth. For now, it will go to the heir. I’ll send it to Oxford, and Fordyce can keep it in his chambers there.” Aynsley took her slender hand in his. The poor girl. Her hand trembled. “I’m going to commission an artist to do your portrait.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, I haven’t earned the right to have a portrait hanging at Dunton.”

His brows lowered. “What can you mean? You’re the Countess of Aynsley whether you wish to answer to that title or not. You don’t have to
earn
anything.”

“What I mean is,” she said in a barely audible voice, “that I shan’t merit a portrait until I could give birth to a child of Aynsley blood.” Her eyes were downcast, as if she were too embarrassed to look at him.

Her words nearly knocked the breath from him. He knew he should say something, but he did not know what to say. At that instant he realized the prospect of having a child with his wedded wife held great appeal. Finally, he thought of a response. “Then we shall wait until then before I send for the artist.” He was sure that day would come even if he didn’t know when.

They both sat in silence, peering at the repetition of rising, flickering and falling flames, then he was aware of a whimpering. He spun toward her and met her watery gaze just before her face swooshed into her palms, and her shoulders began to shake with racking sobs.

He did not think; he only reacted. His arms closed around her as he hauled her into his chest, patting her and murmuring soft words.

“I—I—I am such a pea goose,” she managed between huge sniffs.

“Whatever is the matter, dearest?”

“I don’t belong here. I know you must wish you’d never married me. I’m so sorry.”

He held her a bit tighter while shaking his head to emphasize his denial. “You are wrong. Not for a single minute have I regretted marrying you.”

She began to bawl even louder.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

She shook her head. “I have no handkerchief, and I fear I’m ruining your fine coat.”

He started to laugh. “My dear wife, you may blow your nose on my jacket for all I care. I have many more.”

Sniff. Sniff. Then she, too, began to laugh as he tightened his arms around her, stroking and whispering soft words.

“Never forget, Rebecca, that night in Warwick’s library it was I who asked you to marry me. Nobody can make me do something I don’t want to do.”

“But what have I brought to this marriage?”

“Much.” She obviously confused wealth with intangible assets.

“I can’t think of a single thing.”

His gentle hands swept circles on her back. He rather liked the size of her. She was a bit smaller than average. “But I can. Were you not here, I’d be sitting in my library with nary a soul on earth with whom to share my life. Until we became reacquainted, I thought I’d die a lonely old man.”

“Pray,” she whispered in a soft voice, “I beg that you not talk about dying.”

He smiled. “You see, that’s another very good thing about having a wife. It’s nice to know someone else cares for you.” Now why had he gone and said that? She hadn’t actually ever
told
him she cared for him.

“I do understand what you’re saying. I thought I should miss Maggie dreadfully, but because I’ve got you—and I must own, your ideas and mine do not clash as mine and Maggie’s do—I feel I’ve gained a best friend.”

Even though having a best friend was
not
his motive in marrying her, he understood what she meant because he felt much the same. “I don’t think I ever realized until we married how lonely I was.”

She nodded, and he could feel the tension ease from her. “Me, too. Though I love Maggie most dearly, we had nothing in common. With you I feel...it’s like the words at our wedding ceremony
a man shall be joined unto his wife; and they two shall be one flesh.
”

He was so touched by her words, it took a moment before he could find his voice. “We had much in common before you came to Dunton, as witnessed by our never-ending stream of shared ideas during the journey here. Now, I feel even closer. Because of the children. Raising children by oneself is difficult. I don’t know how you’ve managed it in so short a time, but I know your affection for them is genuine. “

“Oh, it most assuredly is!” She straightened up and offered him a smile. “I was looking forward to being a mother, but I never imagined I would lose my heart so quickly.”

He would not bring up Emily. Her animosity toward Rebecca would only send his wife back into hysterics. He took a good long look at her. The firelight was reflected in the spectacles that seemed to accentuate the red now in those soulful eyes of hers. “You look tired, and it’s my fault you didn’t sleep last night. Come, Lady Aynsley, it’s time you go off to bed.”

He was pleased she did not chide him for referring to her as Lady Aynsley, a title he rather liked.

“You know, another thing that’s better at Dunton now that you’re here,” he said as they mounted the stairs, “is having my uncle back at the dinner table.” Dorothy had forbidden the poor old fellow to even come up to the big house.

“You are making me feel so much better. Two months ago I never dreamed I’d ever have a family of my own, and now I find having a family even more fun than—” She stopped, then shrugged. “Well, more fun than anything in my previous life.”

He knew very well that she almost alluded to her essay writing, but she had stopped short. Why could she not be totally honest with him? This could never be a true marriage until he gained her complete trust.

That she would not be completely open with him once more sent him into curmudgeon mode. By the time they reached her chamber door, the smile that had been on his face was gone, and he brusquely brushed his lips across her cheek. “Earl’s orders, madam, get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could not deny it. He liked being referred to as
my lord.
Another source of friction in a marriage that held much promise.

* * *

She could not fall asleep despite the fatigue that made her body ache, despite the earl’s orders and despite that she and John had repaired the previous night’s rift. The previous night’s melancholy was now replaced with a buoyant feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Rebecca Peabody had always prided herself on her analytic mind. Rebecca, Countess Aynsley, was an altogether different creature. Numbers and theories were things she clearly understood. But these...these
feelings
were untried, unfamiliar and unwelcome territory. She had actually become a watering pot tonight! She had experienced a jealousy toward Dorothy that was so intense, it had made her feel as if she were the most inferior creature ever to draw breath. And this wasn’t the first time since coming to Dunton that she had experienced jealousy—though in her previous eight and twenty years she could not remember ever having a jealous thought!

Even though she did not understand why she was becoming such a slave to emotions—which she most decidedly had never, ever been before—she rather fancied the pleasant emotions she was experiencing now. Dear John was going to remove Dorothy’s portrait! Dear John did not regret marrying her. Dear John was no longer lonely.

Nor was she. For the first time in her life, actually.

Before she finally did drift off into sleep, she decided she would personally go to Birmingham in the morning to greet Mrs. Cotton. Sending only the driver was too impersonal. Mrs. Cotton must be shown how desperately she was needed, how grateful were the Aynsleys to have her.

Now that Rebecca thought on it, she was rather glad to be getting new servants. Servants of her own. Servants who would not owe their allegiance to the previous countess.

Forgive me, Lord, for being so wretchedly jealous of our children’s mother and help me to be a better person.

When Rebecca awoke the following morning, her sense of well-being was still with her. She rang for Pru. “I wish for you to make me very pretty today.”

“Yer always pretty, my lady.”

Rebecca scowled. “Now what have I told you about addressing me as a lady?”

Pru frowned. “Seeing as that’s how all the other servants refer to you, it seems only right that yer own maid would. Besides, I always fancied being lady’s maid to a fine Lady Something. Yer sister hasn’t ever minded being a countess.” She laughed. “She liked it so much, she married two Lord Warwicks!”

“Her first husband, you will remember, was a counterfeit Lord Warwick, the scoundrel. If I ever return to Virginia, I shall certainly have his grave marker changed.”

“A terrible man he was, deceiving your poor sister.”

Rebecca had come to sit before her dressing table. “You, of all people, must know how unlike my sister I am. I am
not
attracted to titles.”

The maid proceeded to style Rebecca’s hair, chattering constantly. Rebecca felt guilty that she wasn’t really listening. She was attempting to analyze her sudden interest in looking pretty. Looking pretty had never been something Rebecca Peabody had even spent any time contemplating.

But, of course, the newlywed Lady Aynsley was a different person. This Rebecca had a strong desire for John to think her pretty. There. That didn’t take any prodigiously analytical mind. She merely wished her husband to find her pretty.

What happened to her burning desire to write a book on political reform? She hadn’t even been capable of penning an essay promulgating something she felt very strongly about!

That would come later. Other things were more important now. Things like meeting the new housekeeper. And imparting to the new governess all that she wished for her to teach the lads. And taking time every day to ride with John. And read to the boys. And discuss reform with John in the library each night.

A pity she could not reach out and find some commonality with Emily. The play had been a start, but the little ground it had gained had eroded by last night. She’d felt her stepdaughter’s glare throughout dinner. Hers and her mother’s.

At least Dorothy would be banished today!

But Dorothy was not banished.

And Rebecca’s sense of happiness was destroyed when she came downstairs and met her husband. A frown on his face and a letter in his hand, he asked that she follow him into the library.

“I fear I’ve got some disappointing news.”

Her first thought was that his son had been killed in Spain. She was quivering, so her voice shook when she asked him what was wrong.

He closed the door of the library for privacy. “I have to return to London at once.”

As thoroughly disappointed as she was, she was at least relieved the bad news did not concern Geoffrey or one of the other boys. She collapsed onto a sofa, very much aware that her husband had said
I
rather than
we.
He did not intend to take her. “Why?”

“Lord Sethbridge has sent a special messenger to beg that I come at once. He desperately needs me to help him pass the bill to raise taxes.”

“But I thought you’d not made up your mind to support a tax increase?”

“It’s a grave step,” he said, shaking his head. “This war’s been costly, and I cannot help but to wonder how much more of a burden the people can sustain. I know, though, that if we don’t raise taxes, our troops won’t get paid and our government won’t be able to operate.”

“If that’s the case, every Member of Parliament who’s there should feel compelled to vote for it. I don’t see why you have to go. You’re only one person.” One person she did not want to do without. She was—dare she even think it?—
afraid
to stay on without him, without his support. He was her only advocate at Dunton.

“It may very well come down to one vote. Lord Sethbridge assures me that if I will support him, he will support my franchise bill.”

“He will actually support it? As in voting
for
it?” That would be a coup, indeed, for Aynsley. “I thought he told you he could not personally vote for it, but that he might consider not standing in your way.”

“He’s always vehemently opposed such a measure—as do a majority of the Lords, but he’s willing to compromise in order to get me back to London. In addition to my vote, he seems to think I may have some influence over other members.” He shrugged, as if he did not credit such an opinion.