Marriage of Inconvenience (15 page)

Heat began to sting Rebecca’s cheeks. For someone who had never blushed until her twenty-eighth year, she was squeezing a lifetime’s worth into the past several weeks.

What an incredibly intimate topic for the governess to introduce! Rebecca herself had not even thought on that subject recently. Miss Seton’s comment left her momentarily mute. “Your desire to make your home with us, hopefully for the rest of your life, is just the very thing we have hoped for. I will do everything in my power to see that you will be happy here at Dunton.”

“Thank you. Now what can you tell me about the lads?” For a woman who’d been an authority figure over others for more than two decades, Miss Seton was surprisingly soft-spoken, and her countenance was meek.

“I believe Spencer and Alex are both very intelligent. They are being tutored in Greek, Latin and mathematics by Mr. Witherstrum in the afternoons. They will come to you in the mornings. You will help with their French, penmanship, reading and music.”

“How do the lads get on with each other?”

Rebecca smiled. “The fact that you ask that question tells me you must have experience with squabbling brothers.”

“In my experience, brothers come to fisticuffs with one another on a weekly basis—not that I tolerate such behavior.”

In her wildest imaginings, Rebecca could not picture Miss Seton being an assertive disciplinarian. “I believe a lot of the friction between Spencer and Alex results from Alex wanting to do everything his brother does—and not quite being able to measure up—”

“Because he’s two years younger.” The governess was nodding. “Exactly like my Stephen and Richard. They, too, were two years apart.”

My Stephen and Richard.
Those four words from Miss Seton’s own lips were the most stupendous recommendation of her employment.

Rebecca knew Miss Seton was the perfect governess for her sons.

That night she eagerly picked up her pen and wrote to John.

Dearest
,

I have every confidence you will shoot off a letter to me at the completion of every day you are in London because you know how much I share your interest in the workings of government and how much I long to hear of everything you are doing.

Miss Seton arrived today. That she came in the Devere family carriage speaks to her worthiness. The Deveres valued her highly.

I like her very much. She’s more meek than I would have expected, but the lady is possessed of a good heart, which is, to me, the most important recommendation. She called the Devere boys “my Stephen and Richard.” Is that not a wonderful testament to her temperament? She may not be a stern disciplinarian, though she assured me she did not tolerate fisticuffs between her lads!

I do hope Spencer and Alex do not engage in fisticuffs. As you know, I abhor violence of any kind.

Miss Seton was with the Devere family for fifteen years, and while I did not ask specifically, I think they were probably not her first family—owing to her age. She, too, is well into her forties. Unlike Mrs. Cotton, Miss Seton is a little on the portly side. I do hope our lads are inclined to like her as much as I do. And I pray they will comport themselves as the gentlemen they should be.

I do miss you dreadfully. Every room where I am accustomed to seeing you now seems wretchedly void without you. And as much as I have grown to love Dunton, I think I do not like it without you. Am I not most pitiable? What has happened to that strong woman I assured you I was?

I shall go to sleep happy now, knowing I will have your letter tomorrow.

With deepest affection,

R.

The next day’s post brought another letter from her husband. She rushed to the library to open it, sitting herself right down at his desk to read it.

He was true to his word, apprising her of all that he’d been doing in London. She could almost hear his voice as she read the words he had written. She read the letter through two times. As she was finishing the second time, Chuckie entered the room.

“Mother? Is this the day you and I are going to go walking with Uncle Effelbert?”

Her heart melted like cheap tallows when he called her
mother.
“Yes, love. Would you like to go now?”

His head bobbed up and down.

When they arrived at Ethelbert’s cottage, he leaped from his invalid’s chair and smacked Rebecca on the cheek while throwing his arms around her.

She distanced herself from him by several inches. “Uncle, you are to be seated. We’ve come to take you for a walk.” She had learned to raise her voice considerably when she spoke to the hard-of-hearing man.

“Hello, Uncle,” Chuckie shouted—as Rebecca had instructed.

“Hello, lad. Would you like to ride on my lap?”

“Indeed,” Chuckie answered, looking up at Rebecca for approval.

She nodded. “If you’d like, love.”

Chuckie climbed onto Ethelbert’s bony lap, and Rebecca pushed them out the front door.

Being with John’s son and his uncle in some strange way compensated for his absence. Each of them had a part of John in them, and she was compelled to snatch whatever she could.

She was astonished at how much she missed him.

The following day she received another letter from him. Once again, she rushed to the library to read it at his desk.

My dear Wife,

I have now received two letters from you and could not be happier to learn that our home is fully and capably staffed. Pray, write me what the lads think of Miss Seton. I hope they are as happy with her as you seem to be. I would have preferred her to be a sterner disciplinarian. Lads are apt to take advantage of meek, middle-aged women.

It is well past midnight as I write this, and for the past few hours I’ve been eager to write to you and impart what has transpired today. I am still rather astonished at how successful I’ve been in my mission. I delivered five new votes to Lord Sethbridge today! Two of the Lords who were at the Hollands last night called on me today and pledged their votes. In addition, I coaxed three Lords at Warwick’s tonight. When I left there, I went by Lord Sethbridge’s.

He told me in the strictest confidence—and he, I and you are the only three in the universe who know this—that next year he will introduce the franchise-expansion bill, so I shall have at least ten months to use my so-called persuasive powers to bring around as many parliamentarians as I can to support it. Please understand that for now, no one else is to be privy to this information. I know I can share this with you, knowing it will go no further.

Do you suppose Lord Sethbridge knew something about me that I, myself, did not know? As you know, I am not a very social creature. Lord Sethbridge said it’s my very reticence and he used the word “solidity,” that make me command respect. I would never repeat any of the previous musings to anyone except you, and only because I perceive that you are somewhat partial to me. I do beg that you tell no one what I’ve just imparted. I would come across as one in possession of a most inflated sense of my self-worth.

If we keep up at such a rate, I may be home much sooner. As sorry as I am that you are melancholy in my absence, I confess the knowledge that you are, pleased me. Does that not make me a most selfish husband?

As it was a mild day, I hungered for fresh air, air like that in my beloved Shropshire countryside, so I went for a walk in Hyde Park, but I confess it made me wish you were by my side as when we walk through the paths of Dunton.

So I suppose I share your moroseness.

Please give my love to the children. Are you finished with
Ivanhoe
yet? What will you read next that will have the lads in such raptures?

I pray that Emily’s demeanor is less chilling. Will you please let me write to her, begging that she be more civil? I’m very vexed with her.

I am very tired, so I will close. I wish I were at Dunton. With you.

With deepest affection,

Aynsley

The most grievous source of her displeasure was her loneliness. She longed for him desperately. Emily had become even more antagonistic. Without her father’s presence, she was outwardly hostile to Rebecca. Each day in John’s absence had become more intolerable. Rebecca was still sitting there at his desk, his letter in front of her, when her stepdaughter entered the library.

“Have you seen Peter?”

Rebecca was thankful she had not asked if she knew where Peter was because Rebecca could not tell a lie. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

Emily’s icy glare fell on the letter. “Have you a letter from Papa?”

“Yes.”

“Does he say when he’s coming home?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“May I come and see the desk in your chamber, Mama’s desk?”

“Yes, of course.” Rebecca stuck the letter in the top drawer of her husband’s desk.

* * *

As much as she could enjoy anything in John’s absence, Rebecca had enjoyed walking with Spencer and Alex into the village. This was the day they had been excused from their lessons, awarded the pence they had earned by not arguing with each other, and spent their money on comfits.

She did not know if she could credit the ingenuity of her plan or Miss Seton’s soothing, steadying influence for the improvement in their conduct, but the boys had made her very proud. This was the first Friday they both got to go, and it pleased her how well they got along with each other during the journey. Their happy spirits combined with the radiant sunshine on the crisp, cool day lifted the gloom that had settled over her for the past two weeks of her husband’s absence.

It was late afternoon as they were returning to Dunton, which they could see in the distance. “I’ll race you to Dunton Hall,” Spencer said.

“But you’re faster than me because you’re older,” Alex protested.

“So I’ll allow you to start before me.”

“How much?” Alex asked, one red brow shooting up.

Spencer shrugged, looking up at Rebecca. “How much do you think?”

“It’s quite some distance still, which would allow you to catch him rather easily, unless you wait until he reaches the edge of the park before you start,” she said.

“But—” Spencer stopped himself in midcomplaint. “Very well. I still believe I can beat you!”

Alex took off running.

Spencer did not sprint away for at least a minute, possibly two, before his brother reached the lush green lawn.

Watching the sun sinking in the sky beyond Dunton and watching the lads who brought her so much happiness made her feel as if she, too, could run back to Dunton. How long had it been since she had run? Probably not since she had been Spencer’s age.

As she came into the park, her heart fluttered. She thought she saw John on the steps in front of Dunton. Her heart began to beat prodigiously. It was John!

All of a sudden, she did begin to run, like a barefoot child on a summer day. Her face lifted into a smile. She continued to run as he swung his sons into the air, then he set them down and stood there facing her.

Now she could clearly see his face. He was smiling!

Next, she found herself in his arms, found her arms hugging him tightly, found her face lifting to his. His head lowered to hers, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss this much-beloved man.

Chapter Fourteen

E
ven after the kiss—which seemed the most natural thing she had ever done—Rebecca could not remove her arms from her husband’s torso. It was as if by holding him, she could assure herself he was, indeed, home, that by holding him tightly she could prevent him from ever leaving her again. “I can’t believe you’re home! This is the most wonderful surprise ever!” She nestled her face against his chest, her smile reaching toward the heavens, her hands linking behind his back.

She was actually shocked over the boldness that had sent her flying into his arms, that allowed her to hug him like a child with its rag doll. She was shocked, too, that her actions did not embarrass her. How could they? Greeting her husband like this felt so right, so natural. This was the man to whom she had been joined in holy matrimony, the man whose flesh would be her flesh.

Her husband drew her tightly against him as he tenderly kissed the crown of her head. “Had I known I would be welcomed in such a manner, I would have gone away sooner.”

Still not ready to disengage from him, she said, “How did you get here? I thought you were going to send for the carriage?”

“We voted for the tax bill the day before yesterday, and I was eager to be home. Since the weather was fair, I rode. With great haste.”

That he admitted he was eager to be home compensated somewhat for his decision to leave her behind. That decision had hurt even more than his absence—and his absence had hurt a great deal. She had convinced herself he regretted marrying her, that he wanted to be away from her, that he still loved Dorothy. “You really missed...Dunton?” She had started to say
me
instead of
Dunton.

He pulled away in order to meet her gaze. “Very much. I’m happy to be home.” His head bent, and their lips came together. It was a light kiss, and it lasted but a second, yet it spoke more eloquently than a poet’s words of love.

She finally managed to pull away from him. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you home, my dearest.”

They held hands and climbed the steps to Dunton Hall together. She could not remember ever being happier than she was at that moment.

“The lads told me they walked into the village this afternoon and had enough coins to indulge in all the comfits they desired. How can this be?” he asked.

She frowned as they strode along the entry hall. “They could not go last Friday because they did not have enough pence, owing to their less-than-desirable behavior. I like to think that motivated them to be good lads this past week. Neither of them was penalized a single farthing all week.”

“I’m very proud of them, then. Why did you not take the carriage into Wey?” He nodded at the footman who was lighting candles in the entry hall’s wall sconces.

“The boys preferred to walk, and I must own, I rather liked the idea myself.”

“You barely made it home by dark. Had you forgotten how early night falls this time of year?”

“We did cut it close.” She gazed at the mock stern expression on his face. “The walk will have given them quite an appetite for dinner. Can they join us tonight? To celebrate your return?”

He nodded, smiling. “Very well. You certainly know how to spoil children. What happened to that woman I married, the one who said strict discipline was exactly what was needed with my rowdy boys?”

“She changed from being a sanctimonious spinster to a...” She swallowed, then lowered her voice. “I’d like to think to a mother.”

He squeezed her hand. “You are, my dear. My children are blessed to have you.” His voice lowered. “As am I.”

Then he did not regret marrying her! Her joy knew no bounds.

* * *

Aynsley sat at the head of the long dinner table, his eye cast over those assembled, those he loved most. At his left, lovely Emily. She wore about her elegant neck her mother’s pearls, the same Dorothy had worn in the Gainsborough.

The Gainsborough! His glance flicked to the wall where his first wife’s portrait still hung. Poor Rebecca. He’d forgotten to have it removed. Making his new wife sit beneath a larger-than-life-size portrait of her predecessor every night was more than any bride should be asked to bear. He silently vowed this would be the last night she would have to endure it.

His gaze moved across the table from Em to his nephew, who sat next to Ethelbert. How had Peter’s skin darkened so much in just a few weeks? Then his gaze moved to his three lads. Spencer and Alex next to each other, neatly dressed and freshly scrubbed and behaving remarkably well. Opposite them and next to Rebecca, Chuckie teetered on Aynsley’s father’s massive
Plutarch’s Lives,
which he was surprised had not been replaced since the
accident
the last time his younger boys had dined with them.

But of all those gathered there, the one who drew most of his attention was Rebecca, who sat at the opposite end of the table from him. He did not delude himself that she was a great beauty, but there was no other woman on earth with whom he would rather share his life.

The coral gown she wore accentuated the hint of coral in her alabaster cheeks. Her rich, dark brown locks had been swept away from her youthful face in a most becoming fashion. If he was not mistaken, her beautiful sister wore her hair in the same fashion. He recalled how melancholy it had made him to dine at the Warwicks’ and observe the sister who bore so striking a resemblance to his own bride. Peering at Maggie had made him long for Rebecca in the flesh.

Why had he not asked his wife to accompany him to London? He had to concede that he had not even considered it. With the new housekeeper and new governess both scheduled to arrive during the week of his departure, he knew the mistress of the house had to greet them and acquaint them with their duties at Dunton.

Also, he had become so accustomed to leaving his wife and children behind when he went to the Capital, he’d ordered his valet to pack his bag even before he’d told Rebecca the news. For so many years now—even when Dorothy was still alive—he’d lived so solitary an existence he was in the practice of making plans for one, never for two.

How incredulous it seemed that now, at the age of three and forty, he had finally found his life’s companion.

Not until he’d reached London did he realize how deeply he would miss Rebecca. Each day there without her had been miserable. That she had felt the same—and willingly confessed her melancholy—had eased his own suffering as effectively as an apothecary’s restorative.

How happy it made him to peer down the table at his sweet wife. The very memory of the stupendously satisfying welcome she had given him made him feel as if he could soar high over this candlelit dining room.

The purity and tenderness of her kiss had nearly shattered him. From the day he realized she was P. Corpus, he had known her huge heart capable of great love. Before he’d gone to London, he knew she loved his children. When he was in London, he suspected from her letters that she held in her heart a great fondness for him. Now that he had returned from London, he believed she had fallen in love with him. Did she even know it yet? Did she even understand the potency of her feelings?

He nearly lost his breath at the memory of their sweet kiss. Equally as touching was watching her help Chuckie cut his roast beef.

It was so very good to be home.

“Now that you’re home, Papa,” Emily said, “we are ready to present our production.”

“I am greatly looking forward to it. Rebecca said you’ve been sewing the cast’s costumes yourself,” he said.

She nodded. “My timing could not have been more perfect. I finished the last one this afternoon.”

“Then will we have the privilege of seeing your masterpiece tomorrow?” He looked hopefully at her.

She glared at Peter. “Will you be able to honor us with your presence tomorrow, Peter?”

“Seeing as how I’m to be the star,” he said facetiously, his eyes glittering as he watched her, “I shall be available tomorrow evening.”

“Tell me,” Aynsley said to him, “how is it you’ve become...darker in my absence?”

Peter hesitated a moment before he responded. “I have discovered I wish to be out of doors. No more idle days for me.”

“Of course there’s no title for you, young man!” Ethelbert shouted. “My nephew’s the earl. Just like my brother was, God rest his soul.”

“What I said, Uncle,” Peter said in a much-elevated voice, “is I don’t wish to be idle. No more sleeping the day away.”

“So what are you finding to amuse yourself?” Aynsley asked his nephew.

“I would imagine it has something to do with horses,” Emily said, narrowing her eyes with displeasure.

“I have always been horse mad, but I’ve learned my lessons about wagering.” He shook his head. “No more races at Newmarket for me.”

Perhaps Peter
was
maturing. “A wise decision.”

Spencer and Alex told their sister how much they had enjoyed their visit to Wey. Aynsley was surprised she did not show more enthusiasm. Surely she was not so jealous of Rebecca that she resented her successes with the lads! He was very disappointed in his daughter.

“Can I interest you and Rebecca in a game of whist after dinner, Uncle?” Peter asked Aynsley.

All Aynsley really wanted to do after dinner was to be alone with Rebecca. He had stored up so many things he wished to share with her.

And he was anxious to acknowledge the love that had grown between him and his wife.

“Certainly,” he said. “We must allow Rebecca time to read to the lads. She goes to them every night before she meets me in the library.”

“Are you still reading
Ivanhoe?
” Peter asked Rebecca.

“Indeed, I am.”

“Papa, when will we get our bows and arrows?” Alex asked.

Aynsley smiled at his redheaded son. “I did not forget. I ordered some fine ones before I left London. You should have them in a few days.”

The boys’ faces brightened.

He drew in his breath. He’d been waiting for just such a pleasant moment as this to make the announcement that might offend his children. “Tomorrow I am sending the portrait of the late countess to Fordyce. I believe the heir should have his mother’s portrait in his lodgings at Oxford, and after he inherits, I daresay the portrait will be restored to Dunton Hall.”

Emily’s head whipped around to face Rebecca. “You’re behind this!”

“Emily!” He could not remember when his tone had ever been so severe with his daughter. “The idea is mine. Dunton has a new mistress now, and I demand that you show her the respect that is her due.”

Peter scowled at her. “Your father’s right, Em.”

Rebecca spoke in a soothing voice. “Emily’s done nothing for which she should be upbraided, and I beg that you not do so.”

“Never liked the late countess,” Uncle Ethelbert said. “Snooty duke’s daughter’s what she was! Thought she was too good for a mere earl, if you ask me.”

“No one asked,” Aynsley shouted. “That will be enough talk of the late countess.”

* * *

He wanted to extricate himself from the game without offending his daughter or nephew, without declaring he was ready for bed, either. He and Rebecca had won the first rubber, and they were now on the second, which looked as if their opponents would win. “I believe this will be the last rubber,” he finally said.

Peter eyed him. “You must be tired to death after riding all day.”

“That I am, but I also have much to impart to my wife before we go to bed.”

“I daresay my sister has tasked you with volumes to report to me.”

Thank God for Rebecca’s quick thinking. “Indeed, she did.”

Peter took the last trump, and they called the evening an even match.

“I should like a chance to annihilate you at a later date,” Peter said, peering at his uncle.

“There will be a rematch, but you mistake the victors,” Aynsley said, smiling at his nephew and daughter.

Once he was alone with Rebecca, he suggested they move to the sofa in front of the fire. He sat next to her and drew her hand within his. Contentment reached deep within him like the warmth of the fire.

“You must tell me all about the passage of the tax bill,” she said.

“A lot of my success came at your sister’s. She had assembled a great many Members of Parliament.”

“Were you the one who introduced the topic at her table?”

He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Pray, how did you begin?”

“I prefaced my remarks by telling them I had never once supported a tax increase, and I’ve been in Parliament half my life—in Commons before I succeeded my father.”

“A very good way to begin.”

“Then I proceeded to tell them why we need the additional taxes.”

“I would imagine the most persuasive argument was the war. If we can’t arm forces to beat Napoleon, there’s no telling how much more men of property—men like those dining at my sister’s—would stand to lose if the French win this wretched war.”

That Rebecca’s thoughts so closely mirrored his own never failed to amaze him. He was prodigiously glad she was possessed of intelligence, too. “I believe you’re right.”

“I’m so very proud of you, John. And I think I may not dislike Lord Sethbridge as much as I once did, owing to the fact he values you as you should be valued.”

She called me John.
Upon her lips his Christian name was to his ears the sweetest endearment. “Spoken like a prejudiced wife.” His eyes softened as he stroked her cheek with a knuckle.

She favored him with a smile. “I am so very happy to be your wife.”

“And I am happy that I’ve found you.”

“Pray, don’t leave me again.”

“I assure you I don’t want to. Dunton’s the place I love best.” He loved her, too, but he wouldn’t tell her just yet. She likely was experiencing too many new, unfamiliar feelings to comprehend them all. He stifled a yawn.

“Peter is right,” she said. “You must be whipped after riding all day. Why do you not go to bed early and promise to take me riding with you in the morning? Seeing Dunton as the green is being restored to the trees and lawns will do your heart good.”

“Springtime at Dunton is wonderful. I do look forward to seeing it with you after breakfast.” He rose, then offered her his hand.