Marriage of Inconvenience (7 page)

With effort, she refrained from laughing when she saw Chuckie seated there. He was so small his head barely protruded above the table’s surface. As she drew nearer she saw that he was perfectly dressed with a freshly starched cravat around his little neck. “I declare,” she said, “I believe Master Chuckie needs a very large book to sit upon if he’s going to sup at the big persons’ table.”

“That’s what we told him,” Spencer said, “but he was not obliging.”

“My name’s not Chuckie!” the child protested loudly.

“It is, too,” Alex argued.

Chuckie’s face clouded. “Is not.”

“Yes, it is!” Alex yelled.

Aynsley leveled a stern gaze at Alex. “Enough.”

The boy clamped shut his lips.

“I beg that you procure a tall book to elevate Master Chuckie,” Rebecca said to the footman.

“Grandpapa’s
Plutarch’s Lives!
” Emily said, rising. “I’ll fetch it.”

Rebecca favored the lady with a smile. Did Emily fear the footman could not read? More likely, he would have no idea where to look for one particular title among the many hundred in her husband’s library. Rebecca turned back to Chuckie. “How very handsome you look tonight, Mr. Hock.”

Chuckie beamed. “Thank you, Mother.”

“She’s not your mother,” Spencer said.

Alex glared at his elder brother. “There, my brother, you’re wrong. She actually is our mother, our stepmother.”

“See,” Chuckie said. “She is my mother.” He looked up at Rebecca with his enormous blue eyes.

“Our Heavenly Father has sent me to be your mother because He needed your other mother with Him,” she explained. She quickly glanced at Lady Emily, who was lugging a voluminous tome and placed it beneath her youngest brother.

When Rebecca took her seat at the foot of the table she realized that for the past three years Emily had undoubtedly occupied it. She turned and addressed her stepdaughter. “How kind of you to save this chair for me. I cannot tell you how honored I am to take it.” Her gaze leaped to Aynsley at the table’s other end, though her view of him was partially obstructed by a large silver epergne laden with fruit. “And how honored I am to be your countess, my lord.” It was important to her that Emily not think her a scheming fortune hunter, that she realize Rebecca’s true sense of humility.

Halfway through the soup, Rebecca addressed Emily. “Pray, Emily, do we have you to thank for Master Chuckie’s most agreeable appearance?”

Emily sighed. “It was no easy task, I assure you.”

“The lad is, I’m told, particularly fond of his Guards uniform.”

“See, Alex, I told you people can tell I’m in the Gawds,” Chuckie said.

Alex shook his red head vigorously. “Our new mother is just being nice to you, imbecile.”

“You are
not
to call your brother an imbecile,” Aynsley scolded. “Apologize.”

“Pray, forgive me
Mister
Hock.” Alex’s eyes narrowed.

Sitting on his linen-covered book, Chuckie glared at his sibling like an overbearing monarch. “I don’t even know what an abacile is.”

“It’s imbecile, you idiot!” Alex said, then sheepishly peered at his father from beneath lowered brows.

His father uttered but three words. “To your room.”

“Yes, my lord.” A now-remorseful Alex scooted from his chair and cowered from the room.

It took every ounce of restraint Rebecca could muster not to protest, not to beg that Alex be allowed to stay at the table during their first meal together. But she could not undermine her husband’s authority. Especially in front of the children.

After he was gone, she said, “I beg that you allow the children to dine with us again tomorrow night, my lord, for I’m determined that all of us will enjoy a meal together.”

“I shall take that under consideration.” He looked at the sons who remained. “It will depend now on the conduct of Spencer and Chuckie.”

“I don’t know who Chuckie is,” the tiny lad said.

Rebecca and Emily exchanged exasperated glances. “My youngest brother most decidedly has a mind of his own.”

“I daresay I was a far more trying child than Chuckie because I went for a very long time refusing to answer to Rebecca. I wished to be Robin. In fact,” she said with a laugh, “I wished to be Robin Hood. I was excessively enamored of him.”

Everyone at the table laughed. “That’s Alex’s favorite book. He says he’s read it thirty-eight times,” Emily said.

Rebecca and her husband peered at one another. “You told me before you met him,” Aynsley said, “that you thought Alex had a great deal in common with you when you were a child.”

“But she’s not a carrottop like Alex,” Spencer added.

“You’re not to call your brother a carrottop,” Aynsley said. “You know how he dislikes that.”

Spencer frowned. “Yes, Papa.”

“Papa?” Chuckie said.

“Yes?”

“Can Alex have his pwesent after dinner?”

Rebecca threw her husband a pleading look.

“What do you think, Lady Aynsley?” her husband asked.

“I beg that you allow him to. You must realize the lads are not accustomed to dining with adults.”

“Very well.”

“And,” Rebecca met Aynsley’s gaze, “oblige me by addressing me by my Christian name when it’s just family.”

A look of distaste on his face, Aynsley said, “Very well, madam.”

Peter broke the long silence that followed. “Tell me, my lady, were you also in the habit of reading every waking hour as Alex does?”

“I still am. My sister marvels at how I can climb stairs while reading.”

More laughter. Except from Emily, who glared.

* * *

After dinner they retired to the drawing room—another opulent room with some half a dozen silken sofas beneath full-length Gainsborough portraits and Italian masters. Aynsley’s glance darted to Alex as he strode into the room, a contrite look on his face and a very thick book in his hand.

“Do you play the pianoforte, my love?” Aynsley asked Rebecca.

“Very poorly.”

“One who reads incessantly, I daresay, has little time to develop other talents,” Emily said.

Rebecca smiled. “How right you are. My ladylike accomplishments are most inferior.”

“But,” Aynsley defended, coming to place a firm hand on her shoulder, “her ladyship is possessed of other accomplishments. I am told her organizational skills are remarkable, and I believe her more than a competent writer.” Dash it all! He wasn’t supposed to know of her writing talent.

“You could tell that from the single letter I wrote you?” his wife asked.

Thank goodness she had penned that one note to him back in London. Though its purpose had been to inform him she was accepting his invitation to the opera, it had cleverly been put to verse. “My dear, one cannot hide so great a talent.”

Rebecca shrugged, then eyed her stepdaughter. “I beg that you play for us, Lady Emily. Your father has told me how much pleasure he derives from your musical talent.”

“Very well.” Lady Emily moved to the pianoforte with grace and elegance.

While she was playing, he reached into his large sack and began to distribute the children’s gifts. Alex was inordinately happy to receive four new books, and Spencer delighted in the gargoyle statue for his bedchamber. Chuckie waited patiently—well, actually not so patiently if one considered that he could not resist the urge to jump up and down—while his brothers got their presents.

“And for you, Chuckie...” His father paused.

Leap. Leap. “What? What?”

“I’ve brought you a new uniform.” He pulled from the bag a little red coat with shiny brass buttons, epaulets and crossed white sashes.

Chuckie squealed and rushed to try it on. Amidst protests from his siblings, he peeled off all his clothes.

Emily turned scarlet.

Alex and Spencer—along with their elder cousin—laughed hysterically.

Aynsley himself had to force back the propensity to smile. “You could have put it on
over
your shirt,” he said in a stern voice. “It’s not proper to remove your clothing when you’re in the drawing room. Especially in front of ladies.”

Chuckie was not listening. He was too intent upon buttoning up the jacket over his bare chest. “I got to get my swowd.” He went to dash off.

“Not until you put your breeches on!” his father scolded. “Come here at once.”

Chuckie stopped, pivoted and scooped up his breeches but could not take time out to put them on.

His brothers continued to wail with laughter.

It was all Aynsley could do not to join them.

He finally allowed himself to meet his wife’s gaze. Her cheeks dimpled with a deep smile, and her eyes flashed with humor. “I believe Chuckie likes his present,” she said.

Aynsley shrugged and shook his head.

“As you can see, my lady,” Peter said, “the lads will need some motherly instruction on proper behavior.”

Emily glared at her cousin, but he was still looking at Rebecca. “I don’t suppose you’ve had the opportunity to meet Uncle Ethelbert yet?”

“Does she know?” Emily asked her father.

All eyes leaped to Rebecca.

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve been told of your uncle’s exceedingly peculiar habit.”

Aynsley picked up the bag and strode to the pianoforte where Emily sat. “For you, dear love, I’ve brought some lengths of lace and silk. Rebecca’s sister, Lady Warwick, assisted me in making the selections.”

“Unlike my wretched self, my sister is cognizant of what is fashionable,” Rebecca said.

He handed the bag to Emily.

Her mouth gaped open as she removed the fabric from the sack. “Oh, my goodness, I’ve never seen such lovely fabric.” Her glance flicked from her father to Rebecca, to whom she spoke. “I am greatly indebted to Lady Warwick for this is the very kind of silk and lace for which I’ve been so desirous. I cannot wait until Mrs. Egerton fashions these into gowns.”

She stood and draped the fabric over her rose-hued dress and began to waltz around the room.

“What a beauty you’ll be in those gowns,” Peter said.

For once, Aynsley was
not
out of charity with Peter’s remark. “Lady Warwick assures me dresses of such fabric will be all the rage during your come out.”

Emily stopped and glared at her father. “I don’t want a come out. I prefer to stay at Dunton.”

Aynsley’s face was grim. “And I prefer that you go to London.”

Without a word, she neatly folded the fabric and returned to the pianoforte where she began pounding at the keys in a most agitated manner. In her own way, his daughter was every bit as obstinate as Chuckie.

Rebecca had gone to sit on the sofa near the boys. “What are you reading, Alex?”

He looked up from the tome he’d brought. “Homer.”

She smiled. “There are some very exciting stories there, if I recall.”

“I like it very much,” he said. “Of course, I’m reading an English translation. I have not yet sufficient command of Greek.”

“I know Greek,” Spencer boasted.

“You do not!” Alex shouted.

“I do, too!” Spencer’s fist balled and he slugged his brother.

Alex kicked him.

“Boys!” Aynsley frowned.

Like two soldiers at review, they straightened up and directed remorseful looks at their father.

“But Spencer lied,” Alex said. “He can’t read Greek, except for infantile words.”

“Infantile. Imbecile. Why can’t you use normal words?” Spencer demanded.

Alex glared at his brother. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m two years older than you are!”

If his sons kept up at this rebellious state, Rebecca would be sure to take the next post chaise back to London. “I beg that you boys show your new mother that you can comport yourselves as gentlemen,” Aynsley implored.

The door banged open, and Chuckie, waving a crudely fashioned wooden sword, burst into the room. His father was relieved that he’d restored his breeches.

“Papa says you have to sheathe your sword when you’re in the drawing room,” Alex told his younger brother.

Slashing the stick in the direction of his brothers, Chuckie ignored the admonishment.

“A pity you could not commission a small-size helmet for him,” Emily lamented. “One grows tired of seeing that ridiculous bucket stuffed over his head.”

“It’s not a bucket,” Chuckie protested.

“It is, too,” Alex said.

His brows lowered, Aynsley effectively silenced Alex with The Glare. “You don’t always have to have the last word, Alex.”

Alex’s lips puckered into a pout. “Yes, my lord.”

Whether to make peace or to make mischief, his daughter directed her attention to Rebecca. “Tomorrow I’ll guide you around Dunton. I’m sure you’re anxious to
change the guard,
so to speak.”

“How very kind of you to offer,” said Rebecca, dispelling his uneasiness. “I look forward to learning all about Dunton Hall, but my work is cut out for me if I’m ever to manage as capably as your father tells me you do.”

* * *

When Aynsley walked with his bride upstairs an hour later, he felt as if he’d come from an Iberian battlefield. He was exhausted and irritable and excessively disappointed in his boys’ behavior. “You must see how badly my children need discipline. I only hope that you won’t change your mind about staying at Dunton.”

“I assure you I will not. Not ever. I told those boys the Heavenly Father had sent me.”

“But you haven’t met Ethelbert yet.”

She stopped on the tread and whirled to face him. “I knew
everything
when I agreed to marry you. Do you think I’m a flighty girl prone to changing her mind?”

He touched her chin. “There’s nothing flighty or girlish about you.”

She resumed the climb. “I’m gratified that you understand that.”

They reached the second floor and strolled toward their bedchambers. “May I come sit with you for a few moments? There are a few matters I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course.”

They went to sit in front of the fire on a silk brocade settee. “I wished to discuss my children,” he began.

“Our children now.”

Her simple declaration was a balm for his perpetual loneliness. The thing he had missed most with Dorothy’s death was losing the one person who loved their children as he did. Though the marriage had never been a love match, love for their children abounded. Could the potency of those feelings transfer to his new wife?