Marriage of Inconvenience (9 page)

“I believe the blond hair came from Mama’s family. Most of the Comptons have had dark hair, and many of the earlier ones even had brown eyes.”

Rebecca slowed down and gazed at one portrait of a bejeweled, black-eyed woman with a headdress and a stunning ruby necklace lying against milky-white skin. “Now this lady
was
beautiful.”

Emily’s mouth yielded a tight smile. “That is actually the first Countess Aynsley. She was a reputed beauty.”

“Indeed she was.”

They continued along until they came to a great room with walls of oak, floors of stone in the same gray as Dunton’s exterior and ceilings that soared more than thirty feet overhead. A mustiness hung in the air. “As you can tell, since you are knowledgeable about Tudor architecture, this is the great room where banquets were once held. When Mama was alive we used it as a ballroom. Now, it’s not used.”

“I daresay you weren’t old enough to dance here.”

Emily’s pretty face fell into a frown. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Should you like to once more have balls at Dunton?”

“I grew up dreaming of them.”

“Then we shall have to have one—after you are presented.”

Emily stiffened. “I have no desire to be presented.”

“You have communicated that to all of us, but your father also has made it clear he intends to see that you have a Season in London.”

“He’s being very obtuse!” Emily’s stride quickened as they swept through the great room.

The next room was a chapel that was intimate despite its high, vaulted ceilings. No more than twenty could be seated on its old wooden pews. Rebecca strolled down the tiny nave, knelt before the gilded crucifix that hung on the sanctuary wall between two arched Gothic stained-glass windows and began to pray.
Dear Lord, I thank You for this day. I thank You for bringing me to this man and his family, and I pray that You will guide me with Your wisdom
.

Her gaze lifted to the windows. The blessed Virgin Mary was on the left, England’s patron saint, St. George, on the right. A sense of peace and deep contentment washed over her as she returned to a standing position and faced Emily. “What a wonderful place! Do you come here often?”

“Oh, dear me, no! I daresay it hasn’t been used since the Dissolution.”

“What a pity,” Rebecca murmured.

Emily opened a rounded wood door and began to leave the chapel. “Papa’s rather a heathen.”

“I mean to change that.”

Her stepdaughter whirled at her. “You can’t just come in here and change things.”

The harsh tone of her voice wounded Rebecca. “As to the physical, I plan to change very little. I will redecorate my private chambers because I believe it would be painful for you children to see another woman occupying a room that so distinctly bears the stamp of your dear mother. But as to the spiritual, I’m giving you notice that I hope to be the instrument that reunites God with all the Comptons.”

Emily made no response as she led the way back to the Georgian section where their tour had originated. They began to mount still another staircase—this one as wide as a room and constructed of marble. “Would you like to see the nursery?”

“Indeed I would.”

It was located on the third floor. Emily explained that the servants’ rooms were also on the third floor. Which helped explain to Rebecca why the ceilings here were so much lower.

Chuckie was playing with tin soldiers on the carpeted floor. Knitting in a nearby rocking chair was his nurse, a kindly old woman they referred to as Beaver. They both looked surprised when the door creaked open. “Did you come to play soldiers with me?” Chuckie asked Rebecca, his bright blue eyes filled with hope.

She felt dreadfully guilty to disappoint him. “Not just now, my sweet. Emily’s showing me around my new home, but I promise to come play with you very soon.”

Emily spoke through gritted teeth. “You do not know what you’re getting into.”

“I daresay you’re right, but the poor lamb must hunger for other children to play with.”

“It is a shame. He’s my only brother who was not paired with another of his own age.”

Rebecca wondered if Dorothy would have given birth to another child, had she lived. Before they left the chamber, her gaze skimmed from the old wooden children’s table that could accommodate from six to eight youngsters, to a bookcase crammed with slender, dog-eared volumes to the basket filled with toys, including a doll that must have been Emily’s some years previously. At the far end of the room was a stage complete with curtains.

They said their farewells, and Emily proceeded to show her all the family members’ bedchambers, along with closets for silver, linens and even the larder.

A highlight of the tour was seeing the more recent Compton family portraits. These hung in places of prominence for everyday activities—over the chimneypiece in the drawing room (the last earl) and the dining room (the last countess).
Dorothy.
John’s wife. Why was it she thought of him as John while gazing at her predecessor? It was as if she wanted to reaffirm an intimacy with this woman’s husband. Goodness gracious, could she possibly be jealous? In her entire eight and twenty years, Rebecca Peabody—now Rebecca Compton, the Countess of Aynsley—had
never
been jealous.

She did not want to be conspicuous gazing at the picture of Emily’s mother. Besides, she had memorized every detail of the woman’s face the previous night at dinner. Then, she’d been too shy to ask who the woman was. But she had known the handsome woman with wavy blond hair and eyes the same blue as Emily’s and Chuckie’s must be Dorothy.

And now she understood that she had—completely against her will—been imbued with a new vice.

Chapter Eight

R
ebecca had been so busy since her arrival the previous afternoon, she’d had no opportunity to see Pru or to learn if she was happy with her new accommodations. Rebecca felt guilt that she could live wherever she chose—a choice never offered to a servant.

As Pru helped her dress for dinner, she inquired about her chamber.

“Oh, my lady, my chamber here has a fire as well as a window with a view of the lake. His lordship provides well for his servants.”

Rebecca had flinched at being called
my lady,
but this once thought not to rebuke her servant. She was ever so relieved that Pru was not resentful about being displaced.

Just as she was clasping the pearls about her mistress’s throat, Pru’s hand stilled. “I declare, what can all that noise be?”

Rebecca had a very good idea. The sudden pounding of feet outside her chamber and a shrieking remarkably like Lady Emily’s normally icy voice had burst into Dunton’s stately quiet like a cannonball.

When she heard a babyish whimper, Rebecca leaped from her chair and bounded for the corridor. “Pray, what is going on?” she demanded as she threw open the door.

Chuckie skidded to a halt and eyed his stepmother. “She’s being mean to me.”

Rebecca tossed a sympathetic glance to Emily. “I cannot believe your sister would ever be mean to you.”

“I was merely—” Emily started.

“She was, too, mean! She won’t let me wear my
wegimentals to dinner.”

While Rebecca had no objection to Chuckie’s wearing of regimentals to dinner, she could see that taking his side would further alienate Emily. “Come here, Mr. Hock,” Rebecca said in her sternest voice.

Rubbing away the tears, Chuckie obliged.

Rebecca had to school herself not to drop to her knees and take the precious child in her arms, but the children needed to learn she was a figure of authority. “You sister is obviously concerned that your regimentals not get soiled by the food. What would you wear to battle tomorrow if your fine red coat has to be cleaned?”

“Then I won’t spill my food tonight!”

His brothers, who had come to investigate the ruckus, guffawed. “You have the table manners of a swine,” Alex said.

“I daresay that’s why Miss Hatfield left,” Spencer added. “She could not stomach watching you eat.”

Rebecca effected a frown. “Now, boys! That’s a wicked thing to say. I’m certain Miss Hatfield found Chuckie delightful.”

The lad being discussed drew one last sniff and bestowed a radiant smile upon Rebecca as he began to divest himself of the bright red regimental coat.

“You can’t disrobe in the presence of ladies,” Spencer admonished.

“But I’ve gots to keep my uniform clean for tomowow’s important battle.”

In the battle being waged in this corridor, Rebecca had scored a victory.

* * *

Minutes later Aynsley knocked on her chamber door to escort her to dinner. His glance flicked to the pearls. “Careless of me to have neglected to get you the Aynsley jewels. You’ll have them tomorrow.” He proffered his arm, and they left the chamber. “How did your tour go?”

The tour of Dunton with Lady Emily that morning had been as enjoyable as getting a tooth extracted. Though her stepdaughter refrained from disparaging her, the girl’s complete dislike of Rebecca was apparent in her chilling demeanor. But nothing would be served by imparting this information to Lord Aynsley
.
Rebecca wished to always foster the positive, banish the negative. “I enjoyed it very much. Dunton’s far more grand than I’d expected, and it’s obvious it’s been run by an efficient and capable staff.”

He shrugged. “You’ll have to procure the services of a new housekeeper and a governess.”

“The governess will have to be most qualified. The last one certainly was, if Alex’s reading ability is any judge. Isn’t he awfully young to read such big books?”

“I don’t mean to boast, but he read very well at five. He had begged to sit in on Spencer’s lessons, and despite his youth, he caught up with his brother quickly. So, I do believe the last governess must have been most capable.”

“I do hope I can find one worthy of such brilliant charges.” She paused on the stairwell landing and gazed at his face, which was illuminated by a wall sconce. “I shall look forward to my first official duties as mistress of Dunton.” But how would she wrestle the controls from Lady Emily’s greedy palms? It was not a question she need pose to her husband. She not only wanted him to be proud of her, but she also prayed fervently that he would never regret his decision to marry her.

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to have the children eat with us,” he said.

“After tonight, they can go back to eating in the nursery.” She held her shoulders high and favored him with a smile. “I am determined to be so good a stepmother that I shan’t lose my dinner no matter how much squishy squash or pulverized peas end up on Chuckie’s cravat.”

He burst out laughing.

In the dining room, the children—dressed in their Sunday best—had taken their seats. Alex and Spencer sat on one side, Emily, Peter and Chuckie across from them. Rebecca could well understand why Peter could not remove his adoring gaze from Emily. She looked especially lovely in a pale blue gown that captured the color of her eyes.

“How splendid you children look tonight,” Rebecca told them.

Emily glared at her youngest brother, who teetered on the towering book. “I pray their table manners don’t discredit their agreeable appearance.”

“I declare,” Rebecca said, scooting in her chair at the foot of the table, “what is that heavenly smell?”

“That’s Cook’s special French sauce,” Aynsley said with pride.

Emily sighed. “Cook’s the only dependable upper servant we have.” She smiled at her father. “I daresay that’s because Papa pays her most handsomely. He lives in fear someone will snatch her away once they taste her French sauce.”

During the soup course Spencer and Alex were on their best behavior, careful not to speak while eating—or in their case, slurping—their food. They also refrained from disparaging each other.

Aynsley cleared his throat and addressed his daughter. “Em, your stepmother will be relieving you of the burdensome mountain of responsibilities you’ve had to cope with of late.”

“I pray that I’ll be able to run things agreeably, with assistance from the new housekeeper, of course.”

“Have you any prospects?” Emily eyed Rebecca. “It’s not easy to entice prospective staff to relocate to the wilds of Shropshire.”

Rebecca shrugged. “I have this afternoon dispatched letters to my sister and my best friend, Lady Agar. It’s my hope they’ll learn of someone from their vast network of acquaintances.”

Peter chuckled. “Let us hope none of them have knowledge of Uncle Ethelbert.”

At the mention of the eccentric uncle, both Rebecca and Aynsley exclaimed.

“The poor fellow must have forgotten,” Aynsley said, shaking his head. “His memory’s not what it used to be.” He directed one of the footmen to go down to the dower house to collect Ethelbert.

Lady Emily’s mouth gaped open. With narrowed eyes, she glanced at Rebecca, then at her father. “Surely you’re not allowing him to eat with us!”

“If the children can sit at this table tonight, I see no reason to exclude my uncle,” Aynsley said, the tone of his voice dismissive.

Spencer and Alex exchanged amused glances. “We should not apostelate about Uncle Ethelbert,” Alex said.

“Expostulate,” Emily corrected.

“You’re such a fraud,” Spencer said to Alex, “using words so big you don’t even understand them.”

“I know more than you,” Alex said as he kicked his brother.

“That’s enough, boys!” their father said, his voice irritable and harsh.

Rebecca could see she would need to curtail the lads’ disagreements. Their father particularly desired harmony; therefore, she would do everything in her power to see that he got it. Her voice stern, she said, “I shall have to implement a plan to encourage you to be more solicitous of one another.”

Emily harrumphed. “Good luck.”

Rebecca proceeded to empty the contents of her reticule onto the table.

The boys’ eyes grew wide when they saw the pile of sparkling pence. “Now, let me see,” she said, “what day of the week is it?”

“Friday,” both boys uttered.

She nodded. “Then on Friday next you will be released from your lessons so that you may go into Wey and purchase pasties or comfits or whatever you like with these pence.”

“We get all of those?” Spencer asked.

A broad smile transformed Alex’s face. “We really get out of our lessons?”

She nodded. “Each of you shall have ten pence every Friday.”

Spencer beamed. “Truly?”

Rebecca nodded. “Indeed you will.”

His red brows drawing together, Alex asked, “What is the
caveat?
”

“How clever you are, Alex,” Rebecca said, meeting her husband’s amused gaze, “for there is a
caveat.
”

“Because I know Latin, I know what a caveat is, too,” Spencer boasted. “Pray, milady, what is the
caveat?
”

Milady?
Though she had specifically asked not to be referred to as a countess, she could only allow herself to address one offense at a time. She sighed. “Every time one of you speaks or acts unkindly to the other, I take away a coin.”

Alex’s lower lip worked into a pout. “Then I’ll never get to go to Wey.”

“I have much more confidence in you than you have in yourself,” Rebecca said.

“Can you possibly understand how thoroughly Spencer aggravates me?”

“What does aggwevate mean?” asked Chuckie, whose cravat was the receptacle of more soup than his mouth.

“It means to make mad,” Emily said.

“I for one am going to be most tolerant of my brothers,” Spencer announced, bestowing bright smiles on each of his brothers.

“Prevaricator!” Alex shouted.

Rebecca reached out and withdrew a coin. “This pence goes from Alex’s pile to my pocket.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed.

“Milady understands your big words, Alex.” Spencer helped himself to sturgeon, then spooned some of Cook’s famed French sauce on it. “Prevaricator, indeed! Why can you not just say liar?”

Milady
again. Not once the previous night had she been referred to by that title. Had the boys made some kind of pact to call her that?

“See, you called yourself a liar!”

“I did not!”

“Boys!” Their father drilled them with an angry stare.

“Yes, milord,” a repentant Alex said.

“Pray,” Emily said, glaring at Rebecca with hostility, “does my father approve of your bribery?”

“My wife has been given authority in everything that occurs at Dunton.”

“I only wish to ensure that things run smoothly,” Rebecca said.

Emily glowered. “Are you saying the house has not been running smoothly under me?”

“No. Of course not. Your father’s very proud of all you’ve done.”

“But I’m not proud of your demeanor now. I beg that you show your stepmother more courtesy,” Aynsley said.

“My dear,” Rebecca said to Aynsley, “I assure you Emily’s been delightful.” While Rebecca thoroughly disapproved of lying, she must do so now in order to shield Emily—as well as Emily’s adoring father. She vowed to never do anything that would jeopardize the bond between them.

Chuckie gazed at Rebecca. “Mother?”

“She’s not your mother,” Spencer snapped, then met his sister’s approving nod.

It took no great deductive skills for Rebecca to realize Emily had instructed her brothers
not
to refer to Rebecca as
Mother.
Rebecca smarted from the hostility in the boy’s voice. “I explained this last night. I’m to be his earthly mother.”

“Because our real mother’s been called to heaven,” Alex added.

“I’m sensible that you lads have fond memories of your mother, and I shan’t wish you to ever forget her.” Rebecca gazed at Chuckie, and her voice softened. “Chuckie, the dear lamb, never knew her. I’m honored more than I can ever convey to serve as mother to him—and to each of you. But I understand if you choose not to address me as such.”

Just then a footman rolled Uncle Ethelbert into the room.

“Just make a place for him next to me,” Aynsley instructed.

The great-nephews and Emily offered the elderly man polite greetings.

“Have you met the new mistress, Uncle?” Spencer asked.

“No, no. Not distressed at all. Been wanting to come up to the big house.”

Alex and Spencer could only barely refrain from bursting into laughter.

Aynsley’s quick glare sobered them. “As it happens, boys, your stepmother personally invited our uncle to dine with us tonight.”

Despite that Ethelbert sat at the other end of the table, he seemed unable to remove his gaze from Rebecca, which made her a bit uncomfortable.

Finally Ethelbert turned to address his nephew, and though they sat next to one another, he shouted. “John, my boy, you should tell that new wife of yours not to wear those blasted spectacles. Never in my life saw a pretty lady in spectacles.”

Aynsley looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

“I don’t believe I have, either, Uncle,” Rebecca agreed, her voice raised. “Spectacles
are
ever so unattractive, but I’m blind as a bat without them.” It did not escape her notice that Emily—her eyes flashing with merriment—sent Peter a smug smile.

Rebecca could not face these challenges without the Lord’s help.
Dear God, please don’t let my patience with Lady Emily wear thin. Help me love her in the same way her true mother did. I ask this in Jesus’s name. Amen.

During the remainder of the dinner the boys were relatively well behaved. Only once did she have to pocket one of Alex’s coins—for calling Chuckie an imbecile.

“But you said I wasn’t to call Spencer names!” Alex defended.

“If I recall from last night, your father was decidedly distressed when you spoke ill to Chuckie, was he not?”

Alex refused to reply.

Just before the sweetmeats were about to be laid, Rebecca heard a trickling sound, like the pouring of wine, but there was no wine at the table.