The Six-Month Marriage

by Amanda Grange

  ‘Ready to go?’ came Philip’s voice behind them.

  ‘Ah! Philip. I was just congratulating your beautiful countess on her marriage,’ said Lord Hadley smoothly.

  ‘I’m sure you were,’ said Philip levelly, but the look he gave Lord Hadley was a searching one. ‘However, it is time for us to leave. Madeline?’

  He gave his arm to Madeline and together they went out to the waiting carriage, leaving Letitia and Lord Hadley behind.

  Letitia wore a decidedly pleased expression as her eyes followed Philip and Madeline out of the door. She looked like a cat who had eaten the cream.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ remarked Lord Hadley. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, my dear.’

  ‘By allowing Philip to marry? I don’t think so. Little Miss Delaware’s pretty enough in an unassuming sort of way, but she’s no great beauty. And even if she was, young girls fresh from the schoolroom are not to Philip’s taste. Besides, I had to let him marry. Without the temporary marriage he wouldn’t be able to claim his fortune, and I can’t wait for ever whilst his lawyers try to find another way round his father’s will.’

  ‘No, that would never do,’ said Lord Hadley sardonically. ‘Philip must have his fortune. God forbid that you should marry him without it.’

  ‘What would be the point of that? Really, Robert, sometimes you are just too stupid. If I am to become a leading member of the ton, if I am to have influence and power, then I must have the fortune. Rising to the top requires money: money for clothes and jewels, money for renovating the London house and the Yorkshire estate - what a pity it’s so far away from London,’ she added, vexed, before continuing, ‘however, it will have to do. Money for hosting glittering parties, money for entertaining royalty. If I am to have money for all these things then I must have the fortune.’

  ‘You must?’ he asked mockingly.

  ‘Philip must,’ she shrugged. ‘It amounts to the same thing.’

  ‘And does he know just how mercenary you are, my dear?’

  She raised her finely-drawn eyebrows. ‘Philip has few illusions. He knows the fortune is important to me. Even so, a sensible woman keeps the less attractive sides of her personality to herself.’

  Lord Hadley laughed. ‘I have to admire you, Letitia. You may be cold and calculating but you know what you want, and you know how to get it.’

  ‘I do. And what I want most of all is to be the Countess of Pemberton.’

  ‘You’re magnificent,’ said Lord Hadley admiringly. ‘Does nothing frighten you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘except poverty and obscurity. Which is why I have taken a few precautions, in case little Miss Delaware and Philip should get too close to each other in the coming months. I have made sure that one of the servants at the Manor is loyal to me. It was easy enough - a little matter of a down payment, and the promise that he will become the new butler once I am safely installed at the Manor. Then if Madeline and Philip get too close I will hear about it, and I will know what to do. I am going to be the Countess of Pemberton, Robert, and nothing - and no one - is going to stand in my way.’

  The sound of the dinner gong reverberated through Philip’s London house. With one last tweak of her gown Madeline went downstairs. She would be pleased when her own gowns were finished. Emma’s gowns were a little too tight for her curvaceous figure, and she would be more comfortable in clothes that were a proper fit.

  The Earl was waiting for her outside the dining-room and they went in together, sitting in state, one at each end of the long table. To her surprise, Madeline found that she was hungry. It had been an eventful day.

  ‘Did you enjoy your afternoon?’ asked the Earl, as one of the footmen served him with a bowl of green pea soup.

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  Madeline had spent the afternoon at the modiste’s, choosing a few final items for her wardrobe. The experience had been as pleasurable as her previous visits over the last week, and she had not been able to help making a comparison between her own and her mother’s lives. Her mother had never been allowed to choose anything for herself, whereas Madeline had been free to choose her entire wardrobe, selecting the styles and colours that suited her and that she would find enjoyable to wear.

  As they ate their meal, with servants serving each course - a baked turbot with truffles, stewed venison and finally a pyramid of sweetmeats – they talked of Madame Rouen’s ideas, and then of the topics of the day. But when the servants had been dismissed, Madeline found her thoughts drifting back to the wedding ceremony and the time she had spent in church.

  Philip looked at her curiously and then, throwing down his napkin, said, ‘Something is troubling you.’

  ‘No. You are mistaken,’ she remarked.

  He leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes penetrating. ‘Don’t try to fool me, Madeline. It doesn’t work. Something is definitely troubling you. Are you regretting it?’ he asked. ‘Going through with the marriage?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  He nodded thoughtfully. Then suddenly he asked, ‘What did you think of Letitia?’

  The question took Madeline completely by surprise. ‘She is . . . very beautiful. And very elegant.’

  ‘Yes. She is. Letitia is the most polished woman I have ever met.’

  Does he really think so? Madeline wondered with an unaccountable sinking feeling. Before reminding herself that it was no business of hers what he thought.

  ‘She seemed to know all about it,’ Madeline said nonchalantly. ‘Our . . . arrangement.’

  He nodded. ‘She does.’

  ‘And does she not object? To your marrying someone else?’ Madeline asked.

  ‘Would you object?’ he asked. ‘If the positions were reversed.’

  ‘Most definitely,’ she said.

  He looked at her searchingly, as if trying to read her thoughts. Then he said, ‘Letitia doesn’t want to be poor any more than I do. She has plans for the future, as I have, and those plans require my fortune.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But it seems wrong to you; our six-month marriage?’ he asked, looking down at her with a frown.

  ‘It isn’t for me to judge. After all, without the six-month marriage, I would not have been able to escape from my uncle.’

  ‘Yes, you would,’ he surprised her by saying, and the intensity of his gaze unsettled her. ‘You would have become a governess, or a companion, and although your life may have been hard you would still have escaped from your uncle. In fact, I am beginning to wonder if I was wrong to talk you into this,’ he said, as though speaking to himself.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head forcefully, pushing back her own chair. ‘You suggested the idea, but I was the one who agreed to it.’

  A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, his expression one of respect. She gave a shiver. There was something about the sight of his face softening that made her melt inside. What it was she did not know; unless it was the contrast between his craggy features and the full lines of his mouth.

  His eyes lingered on her and she swallowed, feeling a sudden tension in the room.

  ‘Come,’ he said. He seemed to feel it too, and to make a deliberate attempt to dispel it. ‘Let us retire to the drawing-room.’

  She nodded. ‘Very well, my lord.’

  ‘Philip,’ he said, dropping his arm and taking her hands instead. He turned to face her. ‘My name is Philip.’

  She pulled her hands out of his own. She didn’t know how it was, but somehow his touch made her tremble. He seemed to feel it, too, and to her relief he did not try to reclaim her hands.

  ‘I can’t call you that,’ she said.

  ‘You’re my wife, Madeline. You can’t go on calling me “my lord”.’

  There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but she found the idea of calling him Philip too disturbingly intimate.

  But then she gave herself a mental shake. She was being foolish. Of co
urse she must call him Philip. He was right. She was now his wife. ‘Very well . . . Philip.’

  He put his finger under her chin and turned her face towards him.

  ‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

  ‘No.’ But standing there, as his strong fingers traced the line of her cheek, was.

  Why was she feeling this way? she wondered. She knew what men were: brutal, controlling and savage.

  Yes. Brutal, controlling and savage.

  She took a step back. ‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, ‘I am feeling rather tired. I will bid you goodnight.’

  Once more in her room, Madeline was relieved to find that Jenny did not notice how quiet she was. Instead, her maid was full of chatter, a chatter she was happy to encourage, because whilst Jenny talked she did not have to examine her own confused feelings. Brutal, controlling and savage; yes, that was what men were really like, and if Philip did not seem to be the same it was because he needed her in order to claim his inheritance. No man would be brutal towards someone who was to help him inherit a fortune which was, by Philip’s own admission, immense. It was after men had gained the promised fortune – their wife’s dowry, in most cases - that the problems really began. But fortunately for her, once Philip had claimed his fortune the marriage would be over, instead of just beginning, and she would no longer be his wife. There would be no risk of brutality; no risk of the fate that had befallen her mother becoming her own; just a house of her own and an annuity so that she could live out the rest of her life in freedom and independence.

  ‘Hinch has been telling me all about Yorkshire,’ Jenny said, as she helped Madeline out of her gown. ‘And, mercy me! It sounds almost like another country. The Yorkshire folk - that’s what they call people up there in Yorkshire, my lady, folk – the Yorkshire folk speak an odd sort of language called dialect. Now what do you think of that?’

  ‘I don’t know, to be sure,’ said Madeline, forcing herself to concentrate on Jenny’s lively chatter.

  ‘They say some funny things,’ went on Jenny. ‘“Put wood in t’ole”. That’s one of the things they say. And what d’you suppose they mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Neither did I, my lady, but it means, would you believe it, “shut the door”!’

  ‘Shut the door?’ asked Madeline in surprise. ‘Jenny, you must have got it wrong.’

  ‘No, my lady.’ Jenny firmly shook her head. ‘”Shut the door”. Put the wood in the hole, you see, my lady, that’s what it means, and if you think about it, it makes sense. When you put the wood in the hole that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re shutting the door!’

  Madeline laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Jenny, it can’t be true!’

  ‘It is, my lady,’ said Jenny determinedly. ‘As God is my witness – and oh! my lady, up there they swear God’s a Yorkshireman, would you believe?! – but as God is my witness I’m telling you the truth, just as Hinch told it to me. And she’s not one for funning, my lady, isn’t Hinch.’

  ‘But how will we understand anything they say?’ asked Madeline, her gale of laughter gradually subsiding. She wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek.

  ‘Well, to be fair, my lady, it’s only the country folk who talk like that. So Hinch says anyway. The ladies and gentleman, they talk like you and me. Though they say their words differently,’ she added judiciously as she unpinned Madeline’s hair. ‘They say bath, my lady,’ she said, making the a hard and short, ‘instead of “baaarth”.’ She drew out the sound to make the difference clear.

  ‘We will have our work cut out for us. Still, whatever happens in Yorkshire, it seems we will not be bored.’

  Jenny unlaced her corsets for her and, removing her chemise and drawers she pulled her night-gown over her head.

  ‘No, my lady,’ Jenny agreed as she folded Madeline’s things.

  Despite Jenny’s lively chatter, Madeline still felt restless as she climbed into bed. Try as she might, she could not ignore the fact that this was her wedding night.

  Determinedly she pushed the thought away. She picked up her book and, by the light of the candle, began to read, until at last Miss Porter’s tale about the Hungarian brothers sent her off to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Madeline awoke with a start. The bedroom was still dark.

  What time is it? she wondered.

  The moon was up. She could see its light through a crack in the curtains. But what was it that had awoken her?

  She had a vague feeling that it had been a loud crash.

  This was not what she had expected of her first night as Philip’s wife. She sat up in bed and listened, wondering if burglars had broken into the house. There had been a spate of robberies recently, and her uncle had taken extra precautions against the malcontents who roamed the streets of the capital. Had one such broken into the Earl’s house?

  Slipping a shawl around her shoulders Madeline left her room and, by the light of the moon, made her way cautiously along the landing.

  She heard the sound of voices coming from below.

  Taking her courage in both hands she crept downstairs, meaning to find out what was happening before rousing the house. She did not want to raise the alarm, only to find that the crash had been caused by a drunken footman, or a maid who could not sleep.

  As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she followed the muted sound of voices and saw there was light spilling out of Philip’s study. She went forward then stopped just outside the door, looking in.

  The first thing she saw was Crump over by the window, picking up the pieces of a smashed vase.

  So that was what had made the noise.

  Madeline hesitated. Now that she knew the cause of the crash had been nothing more serious than a broken vase, should she go in, or should she go back to bed?

  Then she saw Philip. He was looking strong and virile. He had evidently just been getting undressed when he had heard the noise, and his clothes were in disarray. He wore no coat or waistcoat, but was in shirt and breeches, the clothes defining the muscular contours of his lean body. His shirt was open, revealing a glimpse of powerful chest.

  Madeline looked away in confusion. She had seen a number of men in a state of partial undress in her uncle’s house, during their many drinking sessions, but they had filled her with nothing but disgust. Why, then, did the sight of Philip provoke such a startlingly different reaction?

  At that moment Philip looked up and saw her. An intense light lit his eyes, and an unreadable expression crossed his face. Was he angry? Madeline wondered. Pleased? Or simply surprised to see her there?

  He crossed the room in two strides until he was standing just in front of her.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, fighting down the tingling sensations that threatened to engulf her. There was something about Philip that set her skin on fire, but what it was she dared not think. Instead, she turned her attention back to the room. Something had happened, and she knew she would not sleep until she had discovered what it was.

  ‘There is nothing to worry about,’ he said, lifting his hands as though he was about to put them on her shoulders, and then, thinking better of it, dropping them again. ‘Go back to bed.’

  ‘Was it burglars?’ she asked.

  He hesitated. As he did so his eyes fell to her night-gown and she felt a sudden tension in him. ‘You should not be down here like that,’ he said.

  ‘I did not have time to dress,’ she returned, pulling her shawl more tightly about her.

  He turned away abruptly.

  ‘How did they get in?’ she asked.

  ‘Through the window,’ he remarked.

  Madeline looked over to the windows, expecting to see that one of them was broken, but they were all intact.

  ‘It isn’t broken,’ she said, puzzled.

  Philip hesitated, as though wondering how much to tell her. Then, seeming to decide to tell her something, at least, he sat on the edge of the des
k and faced her. ‘They were professionals,’ he said. ‘They prised the window open until the gap was wide enough for them to slip a wire inside and undo the catch.’

  ‘Then, if they hadn’t broken the vase, we would not have known they were here,’ said Madeline with a shudder.

  Philip nodded. ‘That was careless. But they were in a hurry.’

  ‘Have they taken anything of value?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s just it, my lady,’ said Crump, entering the conversation for the first time. ‘They don’t seem to have taken anything at all.’ He looked from Madeline to Philip, perplexed.

  ‘Then we are lucky,’ said Philip smoothly. But something in his tone of voice made Madeline aware that there was more to this situation than met the eye. ‘Crump and I will see to the clearing up. I suggest, Countess, that you go back to bed.’

  ‘I –’ She was about to protest when she realised that he would not, or could not, say any more for the present; and besides, she was growing cold. ‘Very well.’

  Now that she knew the house was not in any danger she felt her presence was no longer necessary. And she would find it easier to be away from Philip’s unsettling presence. It was bad enough in the daytime: by night it was even worse.

  She turned round and left the room, making her way back to bed.

  Philip, watching her go, felt a sense of relief when she had departed. He sat for some minutes, watching the space where she had been, and wondering why he had reacted so strongly to the sight of her in her night-gown; so strongly that he had had to turn away.

  True, he had reacted strongly to the sight of her in the crimson gown she had been wearing when he had first seen her, but then he had mistaken her for a harlot. But now, knowing that she was as innocent as she was chaste, the reaction still remained; and he realised that for one uncontrolled moment he had almost given in to an impulse to steer her back to her bedroom and reveal to her the passions of a normal wedding night.