The Scottish Bride (25 page)

“You went to Scotland, Vicar,” said Mrs. Padworthy, “because you inherited a Scottish title and a castle that likely is so old it is in ruins and smells of damp. You are now Lord Barthwick. That is why you went. You didn't go there for any other reason at all.”

He smiled at all of them, each one in turn. “True. However, I found, quite simply, that when I met Mary Rose I knew—yes, ladies, I knew all the way to my very soul—that she was special. It took me a very long time to convince her to marry me and live here with me in England. Her arguments were sound: she didn't know anything about the English, for to her, you see, we are all foreigners, with different beliefs and manners, perhaps we even commit different sins, although she and I did not discuss any specifics.

“I assured her that everyone here would be delighted to meet her, to welcome her, to befriend her, for the English were a sunny-tempered race, very important since it rains here so very much, a gracious people, a kindly
people. Ah, here I am going on and on and it isn't Sunday, and thus this is not a sermon, just a devout plea from my heart for your understanding. Forgive me for disturbing you, ladies. I will remove myself and let you continue getting to know each other.”

He gave each of them an austere smile, the sort of Sunday smile, Mary Rose thought, that was aimed at people who were seriously considering committing major sins.

“This is very unlike you, Vicar,” Mrs. Padworthy said. “I shall tell my husband about your very lax conduct if he is still breathing when I return home. We will see what he has to say about all this.”

“But only if he is still breathing,” Tysen said, smiled at all the ladies again, and left the drawing room. Mary Rose could swear that she heard Meggie's voice just outside the door. Actually, she wanted to run after him and leap on him and kiss him until he was silly with it.

She drew a deep breath and said, “Ladies, I very much admire my husband. He is a wonderful man.”

Mrs. Bittley said after a moment, very much aware that the other ladies were no longer quite so ready to hurl themselves into the attack, “It did not take the vicar all that long a time to convince you to marry him. He wasn't gone for any time at all. It was very quickly done, too quickly done. Evidently you did something quite severe to him. He isn't what he was. We will have to study this. There is a mystery here. We will all hope that your English will improve when you have lived here a while.”

“Or perhaps,” said Mary Rose, “some of you will begin to speak with the soft lilt of Scotland, perhaps a bit less bite and clip in your speech. What do you think?”

Mrs. Bittley harrumphed. Mary Rose wondered if she and Mrs. Priddie were related.

Mrs. Tate, the very young, quite pretty wife of the local blacksmith, Teddie Tate, cocked her head to one side, her
lovely black hair sliding across her cheek, and said, “I believe I would like lessons in a lilt. What do you think, Glenda? You haven't said anything at all. Come, tell us, what do you think about learning to lilt?”

Glenda Strapthorpe, just turned nineteen and well aware that she was the prettiest young lady in these parts, actually, in many other parts as well, turned her lovely pale face toward Mary Rose. “I believe a lilt would sound terribly common, Bethie. Mayhap vulgar. Rather like red hair, I think.”

Bethie Tate wasn't certain what to do with that, and so she said quickly, “Mrs. Sherbrooke, do tell us about Kildrummy Castle. Just imagine, Reverend Sherbrooke is now Lord Barthwick. I wonder what his brother, the earl of Northcliffe, thinks about that.”

 
 
 
 

Northcliffe Hall

Near New Romney

 

T
HE EARL OF
Northcliffe, Douglas Sherbrooke, was reading Tysen's short note at that moment. He finished reading and looked blankly toward the fireplace, which was quite empty since it was warm out today. He read it again, then one more time.

“I don't believe this,” he said, and looked up to see his son Jason peering around his estate room door.

“What don't you believe, Papa?”

“Come on in, Jason. It's time for your chess lesson, isn't it? It's a letter from your uncle Tysen. He's gotten married. She is Scottish and her name is Mary Rose. He, er, sounds quite happy, very lighthearted, indeed. Quite unlike himself, actually. He writes about how Meggie dressed like a boy and played his tiger all the way to Edinburgh. He said he nearly expired on the spot when she was unmasked, so to speak. I wonder why he didn't write of this when he wrote before to take Oliver away from me.”

Jason sniggered behind his hand, then cleared his throat and stared down at his boots. His father grew very quiet. “Did you know what she would do?”

“No, really, not quite, Papa. Just the idea of it is worthy of note, don't you think?”

“No, I don't think.” Douglas knew his beautiful son, knew he was more stubborn that a stoat, knew that he'd never get any more out of him, particularly if it would get his cousin in trouble. He said, “Thank God she came to no harm. An idiot thing for Meggie to do. They have just arrived back at the vicarage.”

“You said that Uncle Tysen found a vicaress in Scotland?”

“Hmmm,” said Douglas and tapped the letter with a fingertip. “Tysen was smiling when he wrote this, I'm sure of it. I can see him smiling, laughing, his mouth all wide. Maybe even dancing a bit, at least his feet are moving. What is going on here? I think perhaps we should all pay a visit to the vicarage. What do you think, Jason? We could return the boys' clothes.”

“Do you think she's ugly on the outside?”

“Why would you say that?”

“I overheard you saying to Mama once that Leo's mother was close to an abomirat—”

“An abomination?” Oh, Lord, Douglas thought, he was continually forgetting that children's ears were so sharp they could hear a mouse eating cheese in the corner of the pantry.

“Yes, that's it. And I've heard Uncle Tysen say that the flesh isn't important, that it's what is in the soul, and in the heart, that makes a person ugly or beautiful.”

Douglas stared at the small human being who had come from his loins, and had excellent hearing, and very likely had looked up “abomination” in the dictionary. “Yes,” he said slowly, “your uncle is perfectly right. We shall just
have to see, won't we? Listen to me, Jason—you will not ever say the word ‘abomination' in your new aunt's hearing, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Papa, but do you think she will be as, er, unpretty as Leo's mama was? Although, of course, I don't remember her.”

“I have no thoughts whatsoever on the subject. Forget it, Jason.”

“Yes, Papa, but it will be difficult.”

“You're strong. You can do it.” However, Douglas found himself clearly remembering Melinda Beatrice, Tysen's first wife. He remembered that Tysen had believed her a goddess, the perfect wife for a vicar, his soul mate, his helpmeet—and he had been quite wrong. He winced. Well, Tysen had been very young, much too young to have his brains working properly. And any joy, any full-heartedness, that he'd had, that twit Melinda Beatrice had crushed right out of him. But now Tysen wasn't very young, and he seemed changed, and it was for the better. God be praised.

“You're always telling Mama how beautiful she is,” Jason said.

“Your mother is very special, Jason. Her insides are just as beautiful as her outsides.”

“I'll go tell James, Papa. Maybe our new aunt won't be able to tell me and James apart and we can pretend to be each other and gather information.”

“I request that you don't.”

But he knew that Jason was already coming up with scenarios that would make Douglas's head ache. They would drive the poor woman distracted, pretending to be each other.

“Can we play chess a bit later? A new aunt—maybe she'll have presents for us.”

“Greedy little beggar.” After his son left the estate
room, likely to wander with his twin in the Northcliffe gardens and ogle all the naked statues, Douglas rose and went to look for his wife, to give her the news.

He found her in the music room, practicing her new harpsichord. She was endeavoring to get through a Scarlatti sonata that had a goodly number of high, tinkly notes. It was to be played very fast, and she was trying, but the result was regrettable. She played with verve, however, just as she did everything. He rubbed her shoulders lightly, then leaned down to kiss her ear, then her nose, and then her mouth. She turned on the bench, her hands closed around his back, and she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Ah, bless you, Douglas. I was ruining my ears.” Alex sighed. “It isn't very easy.”

It wouldn't have occurred to him not to lie cleanly and quickly, and so he did. “It was wonderful, Alex,” he said, kissed her again, and added, “I will just give you a little respite. Read this letter from Tysen.”

“Oh, dear,” Alex said, blinking several times, when she finished the letter. “Goodness, she has two names, just like Melinda Beatrice. Do you think she has no bosom either?”

Douglas laughed and laughed. He remembered how Ryder had said that no girl should have two names and no bosom. Well, Tysen had married another girl with two names. He wondered if Ryder had received a letter yet and if he was thinking about his new sister-in-law and the rather astounding change in Tysen.

 

Chadwyck House

Between Lower Slaughter and Mortimer Coombe

The Cotswolds

 

Ryder Sherbrooke had one little boy tugging on his left arm, another little boy clinging to his right leg, and a little
girl with her legs locked around his middle, laughing in his ear, her skinny arms clasped around his neck. He was laughing himself, even as he tried to free just one hand. “Don't strangle me, Linnie. I must read this letter. It was just delivered, and it's from your uncle Tysen. I don't like letters delivered like that, it usually means something is wrong. All of you need to let me go for just a minute. That's right, I'll be a prisoner again, just let me sit down first.”

Ryder sat down in a very large chair, made exactly to his specifications. It fit one adult and at least three small children or two larger children. “And,” he'd said to his wife, Sophie, rubbing his hands together, “I'll even be able to hold one of the very little ones as well.”

Ryder smoothed out the piece of foolscap and let the children gather in close. As he read, he was stroking little Theo's arm, nearly healed now.

Dear Ryder:

 

I am writing to tell you that I have brought a wife home with me from Scotland. Her name is Mary Rose and she is lovely. When I left Kildrummy Castle, Oliver was dancing about, exclaiming over everything he saw, so excited that he could barely speak. He sends his love and tells you that he will do just fine as my manager there. Many things happened—I dealt with the strangest people—but all worked out, and I did gain a wife, who, to be perfectly honest about it, is adorable. She fills me with pleasure. My love to all your children. You will meet my Mary Rose soon.

 

Your brother Tysen

“By all that's amazing,” Ryder said slowly, staring over Linnie's head at nothing at all, unable for the moment to believe what he'd just read. “This is something indeed. No, don't any of you worry, it's not bad news. It's incredible news, actually. It appears that perhaps my dour, righteous brother has changed a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Hmmm, we'll have to see.

“Now, Theo, I saw you frowning just a moment ago. Does your arm pain you? No? Good. Linnie, my shoul-der's a bit numb. As for you, Ned, you may just stay right where you are and hug me as tightly as you want.”

“What is it, Uncle Ryder?” Linnie crawled closer and plastered herself to his side. As for Theo and Ned, they were each sitting next to him, each pressing against part of him, each touching him, from his neck to his knee. Now that he'd finished the letter, they moved even closer, something that was always possible even when you'd wager it wasn't. He'd learned there was always more room for a child, he'd learned that wondrous fact many years before. He hugged them all, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. They were still so afraid, he thought, afraid that they would suddenly find themselves back in the hells where he'd found them, afraid they'd feel pain again, the humiliation and helplessness, the god-awful hunger that had shrunk all their small bellies. He felt the pain deep inside him, and rage, knew he would feel it until he died. He realized how very lucky he was to have them, and he smiled at them, patted them, and stroked their small faces. They would get better. They would learn to trust. He had had few failures over the years, thank God. And they would learn that they would be loved forever. He felt Linnie snuggle up under his armpit. He dropped the letter to the floor and gathered them all even closer to him in that big chair.

“Do tell us, Uncle Ryder, who writted to you?” Theo
was very young and had learned to talk from a gin-soaked thief in the back alleys near the docks in London. But he'd improved tremendously in the four months he had been here, and his arm, finally, was mending well. Ryder said easily, “It was a letter from one of my brothers. He's your uncle Tysen. You met him, Theo, do you remember, just after I brought you here? Just at the beginning of summer? He is the vicar and he brought his three children.”

“Meggie taught me how to climb a tree,” Linnie said. “I fell on her, but she just laughed. She showed me how to hit a boy, too, so he'd really hurt.”

“Maybe I don't want to hear any more about that,” Ryder said.

Linnie said, “Meggie told us not to bother her papa, that he had very serious thoughts in his head, and that those serious thoughts occupied all of his time. She said he needed her close to protect him because he was so very unworldly.”

She knew her father very well indeed. Ryder smiled, imagining Meggie's precious little face as she'd said that. He said now, “He had very serious thoughts for many, many years. But now? A new wife? I wonder what has happened to Tysen? I wonder what Meggie thinks of her?”

“Leo taught us how to race,” Ned said, “around the big oak tree, jumping over the yew hedges, and around the pond back to the house. Leo taught the winner how to flip over backwards.”

“Max was teaching us Latin,” Theo said.

“
Vos amo
,” Ryder said, and kissed each of them.

“What does that mean, Uncle Ryder?” Linnie asked.

He gave each of them another quick kiss and a hug. “It means ‘I love you.'”

“
Vos amo
,” each of them said, then repeated it again
and again, until it became a chant. Ryder rolled his eyes, knowing that Sophie would hear nothing else from any of the sixteen children for the next month. As for Jane, the directress of Brandon House, which stood only one hundred yards from Ryder and Sophie's own home, Chadwyck House, he didn't doubt that all the children would be chanting it to her in unison until she was ready to throw up her hands and run from the room. Of course, she would be smiling because it would also wring her withers.

Theo said, “Max taught us
‘Diabolus fecit, ut id facerem!' ”

Linnie said complacently from Ryder's armpit, “That means ‘the devil made me do it.'”

“He said that never failed to make adults laugh,” Theo said. “He said any mischief followed by that would likely save you a hiding.” Theo frowned. “But how could that be true if the adult didn't speak Latin?”

“It couldn't,” Ryder said and laughed. He didn't stop laughing for a very long time.