She set one gloved hand in his and lifted her skirt with the other as she stepped down onto the street. As she drew her hand away, she met his eyes. “I am determined, sir, to obey my father. I am, therefore, resigned to do my best at making you a good wife. In the coming weeks, I shall try to learn to like you. Failing that, I shall tolerate the situation as duty requires.”
As she walked past him toward the grand house, Stafford could feel his jaw drop open. Try to learn to like him? Tolerate the situation? By all that was right, he should pack her into the carriage and send her back to her beloved cottage. How could anyone in her right mind take pleasure in such misery? And how could she find only misery in the great pleasures he had promised her through marriage?
“Stafford!” Sir William Cooper stepped out of a clarence that had stopped just behind the carriage. “What a pleasant surprise. We did not expect you until tomorrow. Lady Cooper and I have just been calling on my father.”
Stafford’s closest friend fairly bounded down the street toward the party that had just arrived from the country. His petite wife hurried along behind him, her cheeks pink with excitement.
“Sir Michael, you have accomplished your mission in record time!” she cried. “And what did I tell you? Did I not assure you the young lady would be delighted to accept your offer? Where is she? We must meet her at once!”
“Come, my good man, where is your blushing bride?” Lord Cooper and his wife peered into the depths of the carriage, as if in anticipation of discovering Cinderella herself.
“She is . . . over there.” Stafford tapped his friend on the shoulder and gestured toward the young woman who waited with her father near the door. “Lord Buxton, Miss Treadwell, may I present Lord and Lady Cooper?”
“Pleasure, my good man!” Lord Buxton beamed at the pair. “And am I to understand that you are the son of my dear friend Lord Remington?”
“Indeed, sir. My father speaks very highly of you.”
“And how is Arthur these days?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. Gout has all but incapacitated him.”
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Lord Buxton clapped the man on the back. “I shall go and call on him as soon as possible. Good old Artie. What times we had together at Eton!”
“My father does not hear well,” Miss Treadwell said softly. “I beg you to excuse him.”
“But of course!” Lady Cooper took her visitor by the arm and led her into the marbled foyer. “We shall all speak up when addressing him, shall we not, William? My husband adores his father, and I know he will do anything to assure the comfort and ease of Lord Buxton. Do permit the valet to see him to his room, where he might rest after such an arduous journey.” She waved at a liveried man standing at the ready. “Jones, please see Lord Buxton to his rooms.”
As her father was led away, Miss Treadwell gave the woman a smile. “Thank you so much, Lady Cooper.”
“Don’t mention it! We are delighted to have you with us, Miss Treadwell. I can promise you that William and Mick spent hours poring over the prospects—but your name was never dislodged from the top of the list, almost as if God himself had placed it there.”
“Mick?” Miss Treadwell asked.
“Sir Michael, of course. Didn’t he tell you? That’s what his closest acquaintances call him.”
The women entered the morning parlor and began divesting themselves of hats and shawls. Stafford handed his hat and greatcoat to a servant, though he felt he would like nothing more than to abandon the company and take his horse out into the countryside for a long ride. His life had been a carefully calculated series of moves along the road toward wealth and distinction. Had he now taken a wrong turn that could not be rectified?
“First we shall take tea with the men,” Lady Cooper was saying as she seated herself near Miss Treadwell. “And after you’ve had a bit of a rest, we shall set out for town to visit my favorite milliner’s shop. I am planning to host an engagement party for you and Mick within the fortnight, and you must have a new hat and gown for the occasion. You will not believe the hats at this shop! They are magnificent, Miss Treadwell. Oh, may I call you Rosalind? I feel as if we are dear friends already!”
“Of course.”
“And you must call me Caroline. William, is she not the most beautiful creature?”
“Indeed, my dear. And that makes two of you gracing our home.”
A peal of delighted giggles greeted the servants as they brought in trays of tea, cakes, steaming scones, clotted cream, strawberry jam, and tiny ham sandwiches. Stafford tried to concentrate on all of the company rather than on the silent young lady who sat across from him.
“Come now, Mick,” Lady Cooper said when everyone had been served. “You must tell us all about your journey. Was Rosalind not surprised? Was she not utterly shocked to be made such an offer? And to such mutual advantage!”
Stafford sat back and gave his tea a stir. “Shocked might be the correct word to describe her reaction. Though I believe the arrangement has been agreed to without her acknowledgment of its mutual advantage.”
“Whatever can you mean?” Lady Cooper turned to Miss Treadwell. “Are you not pleased, Rosalind, my dear? Is Mick not the most charming and handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon?”
Miss Treadwell gave him an inscrutable glance. “I would prefer to know his heart.”
“His heart!” She laughed. “But women fairly swoon at his feet.”
“Miss Treadwell is not enamored with the notion of an arranged marriage,” Stafford explained. “She feels she cannot be happy, because she does not know me.”
“But surely you have informed her of your merits,” William said. “Brought up in India, left the legacy of a small fortune by your late uncle, educated at Cambridge. You have told her about your businesses, have you not? My dear Miss Treadwell, your future husband owns factories in Manchester and Nottingham, and he is connected with the highest—”
“Yes, he told me.” She gave him a small smile. “Indeed, I am well aware of his excellent reputation. My father wishes his familial line to continue, of course, and Sir Michael’s kind offer provides the means for that. As I have told them, I am willing to do my duty in this matter.”
“Your duty?” Lady Cooper frowned for the first time. “But dear Rosalind, you will be so happy in this match. Did Mick not tell you about his London house—more than twice as large as this one? And he has leased a grand estate in the country where we enjoy the most marvelous parties.”
“Miss Treadwell does not care for fine houses and parties,” Stafford said. “She takes her joy from religion alone.”
“And my happiness from many quarters, Sir Michael. I assure you, it is not the prospect of living well that dismays me. Rather it is the thought of a future without the joy of true familial companionship. To know and to be known . . . I believe this forms the foundation of a blessed and fulfilling marriage. I cannot welcome the thought of living with a man I am forbidden to know.”
“Know?” Lady Cooper stood. “But what is there about him that you do not know already?”
“I do not know anything about him other than that he owns seven dogs and two fine houses, and he believes that joy derives from the accumulation of objects and from one’s place in society. I do not know his passions—what makes him weep or laugh, what brings him nightmares, what gives his heart wings, what secrets he hides, or what dreams he cherishes. I do not know to what he has given himself heart and soul. How am I to be a wife—bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh—when he is but a stranger to me and has made it clear that he wishes to remain such for the duration of our marriage?”
Lady Cooper sat down again on the settee and gazed at her husband. Sir William stared back at his wife. Finally, she cleared her throat.
“Surely you are aware, my dear Rosalind, that marriage is most commonly born of necessity. In time, a certain fondness may develop between husband and wife. Children are born, and this solidifies the bond of mutual affection. Perhaps
the sort of blissful communion you dream of may become a possibility, but it is never required, and it is not to be expected.”
Stafford watched as his future wife absorbed this information. He was relieved that his friends had so clearly expressed the truth about marriage. And yet, there had been something strangely compelling in Miss Treadwell’s impassioned plea. Her face softened, and she gave a nod. “You are right, of course, Caroline. But I have never longed for mere fondness and mutual affection. I can share those emotions with a favored rat terrier.”
“Terrier? Upon my word, Miss Treadwell, I am more than a dog.” Stafford set down his teacup and leaned forward on the settee. “I am a gentleman, and I shall not be regarded as anything less.”
“Of course,” she said.
“I have come to believe that this woman has been away from enlightened company far too long.” Stafford addressed his friends, while nodding at his intended. “She has read too many books and has looked after her father for so long that she does not know the true pleasures life has to offer. Rather than take her comments as an insult, I am determined to take them as a challenge.”
“Good show,” William said. “Bravo, my dear man. You intend to share your heart with her, then. To make of your wife a true soul mate.”
“A soul mate? Of course not. I intend to shower her with every luxury that life has to offer, to so overwhelm her with the pleasures of wealth and fine company that she abandons her silly notions of becoming bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Whatever that means.”
“Aha.” William glanced at Miss Treadwell.“There you are, then. You have set him a challenge, and I have never known Mick to fail at any challenge. Your husband will give you everything your heart desires, and you will become truly the happiest of wives.”
“Thank you, I’m sure.” The woman herself rose from the settee. “I shall ask the servant to show me to my quarters now, Lady Cooper,” she said in a soft voice.
“But have you no response to Mick’s plan?”
“He already knows I do not respond well to plans or schemes,” she said. “If a husband of mine wishes to give me my heart’s desire, he has only to provide me with one thing.”
“And what is that, my dear girl?” Caroline asked.
“Love,” Rosalind replied. She gave the party a curtsy. “His true, abiding love. Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Cooper, Sir Michael. Caroline, I shall be ready to visit your millinery shop within the hour.”
“Is this not the most divine color?” Lady Caroline Cooper smoothed a hand over her silk evening gown, two weeks later, as the two prepared for the promised engagement party. “I have never seen a purple of quite this shade, have you, Rosalind?”
“Indeed, I believe that in these past two weeks, I have seen every possible hue of purple available in London’s shops.” She sat before the mirror as her lady’s maid arranged a decoration of blue ribbons and tiny white roses in her curls. “But it is a lovely gown, Caroline, and I greatly admire the sleeves.”
“Your sleeves are far more beautiful than mine. That flare displays the fringe-and-tassel trim to great advantage. My seamstress was quite correct in recommending it. Honestly, Rosalind, have you ever known a better seamstress than my dear Mrs. Weaver?”
“Never.” Rosalind wished for a fan to hide her smile. Before coming to London, she had known only one seamstress, and the aging villager certainly had no use for purple silk or fringe-and-tassel trim. Her tastes ran to common brown muslin, and Rosalind was comfortable with her simple wardrobe.
“I would wager that Mick will fairly swoon when he sees you tonight.” Caroline stood back as Rosalind rose from the dressing table. “You have never looked lovelier.”
“And who is this Mick fellow of whom you speak?” Rosalind asked. “Have I met the man?”
“Oh, don’t tease,” Caroline scolded.
“Caroline, during this fortnight, I believe I have come to know you far better than I know the man I will call my husband.”
“Now, Rosalind, you know your future husband has been very busy arranging the wedding and putting his business affairs in order. Men don’t have time to spend as we do, making calls and reading books and embroidering screens.”
“But truly, Caroline, he has dined with us no more than three times, he has taken me to the theater only once, and he has managed to get himself to a mere handful of the myriad parties I’ve attended. He has never taken me for a carriage ride through the park or sat beside me at tea. He dances with me, certainly, but he is loath to talk. We have not spoken more than five words alone in all this time.”
“What do you want with talk anyway?” Caroline slipped her arm through Rosalind’s and led her out into the wide corridor. “Men talk about the most boring things. Commerce, interest rates, trade agreements. If not that, they must converse on such ghastly topics as foxhunting or cricket or shooting tigers in India.”
“India, there! I should love to know about Sir Michael’s life in India. But every time I broach the subject, he gives me a polite smile and changes the topic.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about the past. He mourns his late uncle so greatly, you know. You must speak to him of the future, of your enjoyment of his gifts, and of the schedule of events you will attend in the new year. Why not tell him your dreams for refurbishing the family manor house at Bridgeton? That would please him very much, for I know he is interested in such things.” Caroline broke off as the two ladies noticed the object of their speculation standing at the foot of the stairs. “Hello, Mick!” she called cheerfully.
“Lady Caroline.” Sir Michael removed his hat and stepped toward the women as they descended the long stairway. “Miss Treadwell, you are looking lovely this evening.”
“What did I tell you?” Caroline elbowed her friend. “I knew he would adore your blue brocade and never even notice my purple silk.”
“Your gown is enchanting, Caroline, of course.”
“You have very elegant manners, Mick, but I see you can look at nothing but your dear fiancée. Is that not the most perfect neckline? Square is quite the fashionable shape this season, and it does show off her new pearls in a most excellent manner.”
“The pearls are exquisite,” Rosalind chimed in. “I have not had time to write a note thanking you for them, Sir Michael.”
The man beamed. “You must not write me so many notes, Miss Treadwell. My footman is quite exhausted with running back and forth between our houses.”
“Then you must not bestow so many gifts, Sir Michael. I am overwhelmed.”
“As I had hoped.” When Lady Cooper set off in search of her husband, Sir Michael took her place at Rosalind’s side. “It has been my goal to so overwhelm you with pleasures that your heart melts completely. Are you feeling a bit less put off by our coming nuptials, Miss Treadwell?”
“Would you be pleased if I told you that thirty new gowns, fifteen pairs of earrings, and seven necklaces of diamonds, pearls, rubies, and emeralds had transformed my heart? Or do you prefer that I be overcome by the sheer numbers of parties to which I have been invited? Or perhaps the endless array of succulent foods was intended to thaw my icy heart?”
“Well, I should hope that something in all that might have done it.”
“I confess I was nearly done in by yesterday’s potted partridge. I saw it, and my heart began to pound with passion for you.”
“Potted partridge, Miss Treadwell?” He was chuckling as he escorted her across the crowded ballroom toward an alcove that contained a settee and several chairs. “I shall have to remember that. If potted partridge makes your heart pound, what might happen with stewed pigeon?”
“I am not at all fond of pigeon. Too many bones.” She could feel heads turning as she and Sir Michael stepped into the alcove. As this was their formal engagement party, they were clearly the center of attention. “I believe this gathering to be unanimous in its admiration of you, Sir Michael,” she said as she sat down beside him on the settee.
�
�I am hardly the object of their approval tonight, unless it be for my choice of companion. Do you not know how lovely you are?”
“You flatter me.” Rosalind could feel herself flush. “But I do not qualify for such a compliment. My hair has a will of its own, and my fingers are frightfully—”
“Beautiful.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Miss Treadwell, my attempts at wooing you with pearls and potted partridge may not have been completely successful. But if my words could suffice, I should like to tell you how very much I have come to admire you since our first meeting.”
“And how is that, when we have barely seen each other?”
“But I am told all manner of good things about you. You are said to be polite and witty and altogether charming. I know you are kind, for I have seen how you cared for your father for so many years. And your intellect is reputedly of the highest degree, owing, I suppose, to the great number of books you have read.”
Rosalind thought about this for a moment. “But have you been told that I screech when I lose at cards, Sir Michael? And that when I embroider screens, one can never tell which side is the front and which is the back because both are all of knots and loops? Or that I like to take off my shoes and walk barefoot in streams?”
She could tell she had thrown him off course again, and she was pleased. This was a man who wanted controlled perfection in everything, including a wife. But real people weren’t perfect. They were flawed and sinful, and she longed to be loved in spite of—and because of—all that made her real.
“Screech?” His blue eyes widened. “Have you . . . screeched . . . since coming to London?”
“I haven’t had opportunity to play at cards yet. I’ve been too busy opening your gifts.”
“I shall have to keep them coming,” he muttered. “Miss Treadwell, have you any other interesting habits?”
A Victorian Christmas Page 26
