Spring in Hyde Park

by Jennifer Moore

“I am sorry, I did not have a chance to warn you about them,” Mother Kathleen said, linking her arm through Maryann’s. “They do tend to be rather ill-mannered.”

  “That is an understatement, if ever I heard one.” Maryann blew out a breath. “They were utterly boorish, and if they were not family, I would not have tolerated their snide remarks one bit. How do you endure them?”

  “Their mother passed only a short time before their father married me. I was not a noblewoman and only a few years older than they were at the time. You can imagine how difficult this was for them.” Mother Kathleen smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes. “Unlike his marriage to their mother, ours was a love match. And then a year later, the heir was born. I was determined that the girls never felt replaced or slighted, but it never seemed to improve their opinion of me.”

  “You are much kinder than I,” Maryann muttered as her mind turned over the circumstance. Maryann knew the women’s words today had hurt Kathleen. Had they been cruel to her for the entirety of her marriage to the marquess? And what of Jonathan? Had his elder sisters been overbearing and patronizing to him as well?

  Mother Kathleen’s entire countenance had seemed to wilt in the presence of her stepdaughters, but she’d borne their snobbish conversation gracefully. Maryann felt as though the dowager thought she deserved the treatment.

  They stopped outside Mother Kathleen’s bedchamber.

  “I think I will take my luncheon in my room,” the older woman said. “I feel a bit tired.”

  Maryann made up her mind. She squared her shoulders to perform her first act as the marchioness. She took the woman’s hands in hers. “Mother Kathleen, their rude treatment of you ends today.” Seeing the dowager’s brows raise, she continued, “If Jonathan wishes to receive visits from his half sisters, I will happily join him, but you are under no obligation. I will not allow them to speak to you—or him—in their patronizing manner. They will give the marquess and his mother the respect you both deserve. And if they insult either of you again within my hearing, I shall . . .” She smashed together her lips as she tried to adequately express her indignation. Finally, she lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, I do not know what I will do, but I’m afraid my actions will not be at all befitting of a marchioness. They might even involve acquiring pugilist skills.”

  Kathleen laughed and kissed Maryann’s cheek. “Thank you, Maryann.” She reached for the door handle.

  “I should like to see that.” Jonathan’s voice caused them both to look toward the other end of the hallway as he approached.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” Kathleen patted his cheek when he reached them. “I was just about to rest for a few hours, if you will both excuse me.”

  When the door closed, Maryann felt Jonathan’s eyes on her, and a wave of embarrassment over her outburst made her chest hot.

  She looked down at the carpet. “I am sorry. I should not have spoken so boldly about your family. I have a bit of a temper, you see, and they were—”

  “I know how they are.” Jonathan’s low voice was nearly a whisper. He tapped her chin—an action he’d performed before, but still made her heart jump. When she raised her gaze, his eyes were soft.

  “Thank you.” His finger lingered, lifting her face toward him, and his thumb brushed across her chin. “If I’d had my way, I would have said something years ago.” He tightened his jaw. “In deference to my mother’s wishes, as well as my father’s, I have held my tongue, but it seems my mother welcomes a defense. Thank you for doing what I could not.”

  Their gazes locked, and Maryann was certain he could feel her pulse thumping and heat spreading where he touched her face. His eyes dropped for an instant to her lips, and her mouth went dry.

  Bashfulness won out, and she took a step back. “Will you stay for luncheon?”

  His brow cocked. “Yes.” He clasped his hands behind his back and dipped his head, indicating for her to precede him down the stairs to the dining room.

  Maryann clasped her own hands together as she walked, worried that she’d overstepped, but how could she not defend this woman she was coming to love? A tightness pulled at the back of her throat as she thought of the half sisters and their insinuations. They were disappointed at Jonathan’s marriage to a daughter of a simple country gentleman. And the tightness grew as she thought that he must be disappointed as well. Not only had he been prevented from an advantageous connection to a high-ranking woman of society with a large dowry, he had also lost the opportunity for a love match. Her heart was heavy as she realized his sisters had every right to be disdainful of her.

  He waited for her to be seated and, instead of taking his rightful seat at the head of the table, sat beside her with only the corner between them. He motioned for the footman to serve their food.

  Maryann twisted her fingers together beneath the table, a combination of nervousness and excitement at his close proximity making her timid. Her emotions seemed utterly unpredictable when The Marquess of Spencer was nearby, she thought.

  “How do you enjoy the decorating project?” He took a sip of sherry.

  “I am enjoying it very much.”

  A footman set plates before them.

  “And my mother listens to your opinions? She is not taking control of the entire venture, is she?”

  She smiled to reassure him that he had no need to worry. “Not at all. She uses all my favorite colors and her own fine taste to make everything exquisite. My chamber is to have lavender walls.”

  “I am glad Mother has something to keep her occupied.” He glanced at her. “Lavender is your favorite color?”

  She nodded, feeling silly at the childish turn to the conversation.

  “I did not know that,” Jonathan muttered, sliding his knife through a piece of ham. “I look forward to seeing your chamber when it is complete.”

  Maryann froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Oh, of course.” She forced the piece of potato into her dry mouth and chewed. Heat flushed over her skin at the implication in his words.

  Jonathan paused in his movements and then took an intense interest in cutting the remainder of the meat.

  She scoured her mind for something to say to dispel the awkwardness. “I hope the expense of this undertaking is not too dear. I am trying to be sensible.” She tried for a businesslike tone, but thought it may have come out as nervous chattering.

  He set down his utensils. “Maryann, you are the marchioness. The mistress of a fine house. It is yours to adorn as you like.” He touched her hand until she looked up at him and gave her a warm smile that felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “Remember that.”

  “Thank you, Jonathan.” The flush remained, but it was no longer caused by embarrassment. How often had she dreamed of that very smile being directed at her?

  He squeezed her hand and released it, returning to his meal.

  The two ate quietly, and Maryann tried to think of something brilliant to say to break the silence and impress her husband. She stole glances at him and saw he was carefully arranging his steamed vegetables. He separated the carrots into a tidy pile on one side of his plate and then ate the others.

  “Do you not like carrots, Jonathan?” She nearly rolled her eyes at the stupid sentence. That was brilliant?

  He glanced up and saw she was watching him. “Not at all.”

  “Truly?” A giggle welled up at his scowl. The expression reminded her of one a little boy might make.

  “They are repulsive.”

  She stabbed a carrot from his plate and popped it into her mouth. “I could not disagree more. Carrots are my favorite. Parsnips, on the other hand . . .”

  He darted his fork to her plate and snatched a parsnip, waving it in front of her before sticking it in his mouth, closing his eyes as he slowly chewed, and swallowing with a satisfied, “Mmm, delectable.”

  Opening his eyes, he grinned. “Maryann, what a joy it is to discover that you and I are perfectly compatible in the marital area of v
egetable appreciation. I never dreamed I would be so fortunate to find a wife who will eat my carrots and provide me with extra parsnips in return.”

  His smile was contagious. “A very perfect vegetable match indeed.” She stabbed another carrot from his plate.

  A thought occurred to her. “What about carrot cake?” she asked. “Surely you don’t dislike that.”

  “Chopping the vile things up and cooking them into a cake does not make them any less disgusting.”

  “I suppose I shall have to eat your portions of that as well.”

  “It is a burden you take upon yourself as my wife.”

  Maryann laughed.

  They looked toward the door at the sound of a throat clearing and saw Archie leaning against the frame with an enormous grin.

  Maryann noticed how she was leaning across the corner of the table toward her husband and sat up straight, embarrassed that he’d seen her acting so very unladylike.

  “Archie.” Jonathan motioned to an empty chair with his fork. “Please join us.” He nodded to the footman in a signal to bring Archie a plate.

  “Good day to you both.” He looked between them. Maryann wondered how long he had been watching their interaction. “There is nothing I would love more than to swap root vegetables with two of my dearest friends, but I am off to my Aunt Edna’s garden party.” He raised up his eyes to the heavens and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  “Oh, I am sure it will be delightful,” Maryann said. “The weather is perfect for an outdoor gathering.”

  “Yes, the weather. I shall remind myself of that when my uncles corner me and ask why I’ve not yet found a wife, or when dear Aunt Edna refers to me as her ‘darling nephew who has finally grown out of his porky cheeks and childish lisp.’”

  Maryann could not hold in her laughter when she saw the twinkle in his eye.

  “You do not have the monopoly on aggravating relatives,” Jonathan said. “Maryann entertained my sisters this morning.”

  A wave of concern moved across Archie’s face. “Oh? And . . .”

  “She has plans to train for their next visit with Gentleman Jackson.”

  Archie threw back his head in laughter that echoed through the room. “Oh, I beg of you, please notify me before the boxing starts.” He held his sides and doubled over, still laughing. “Ren, she’s a keeper, that one.” He patted his friend on the shoulder, wiping moisture from the corner of his eyes.

  Maryann loved how Archie brought happiness with him wherever he went. He had a way of making each person he met feel important and their spirits lighter when they spent time with him.

  He patted Jonathan’s shoulder again. “And you’re off to research the fascinating topic of water rights, old boy?”

  “Yes. Perhaps not fascinating, but an essential issue for our country.” Jonathan’s expression became serious. “If you have time this evening, I would like your opinion on my approach.”

  Archie glanced to Maryann and must have seen the question in her eye. “The Marquess of Spencer is to present a motion concerning water distribution in the countryside before Parliament in two days’ time.”

  She turned to her husband. “Jonathan, what an honor.”

  He ran a finger inside his collar. “Yes, well. I have quite a lot of preparation still.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “I should get to it.” He rose.

  “Will you tell me more about it at supper?” Maryann asked. She did not want him to think that she was no longer interested in their conversation once the subject moved to a more serious topic.

  “Do you really wish to know about water rights? Or are you just hoping I will be distracted so you can pinch my vegetables?” He smirked.

  She felt self-conscious speaking so personally in front of Archie. But understanding the things that occupied Jonathan’s time and attention were important to her. Just as knowing her favorite color had seemed to be of importance to him. “I am interested,” she said. “Because I can see that it matters to you.”

  Jonathan studied her for a moment. He finally nodded before glancing toward Archie. “Until tonight, then.”

  “Until tonight.” She rose and followed the men into the entry hall, bidding them farewell.

  Chapter Seven

  Jane was in high spirits when Maryann visited her that afternoon after Jonathan had left and she was certain Mother Kathleen was sleeping. Maryann attributed it to the fact that the spring showers had not seemed as heavy this year. Thunderstorms had luckily been few and far between. If only her parents and the institution’s administration could see Jane as Maryann did. She spoke intelligently, smiled, carried on a typical conversation; she was not insane, only frightened of thunder, which caused her to behave erratically. And who could blame her? Nobody, aside from Jane, knew the truth of what had happened the night their mother had been killed. If the only effect she suffered from the trauma was a bit of strangeness during noisy weather, how could she be faulted?

  A twinge of guilt pinched Maryann’s insides as she glanced at Jane’s bedside clock. “I shall return tomorrow, dearest.”

  Jane sighed, her fingernail playing over the stitching on her quilt. “I wish you did not have to go.”

  “If the weather permits, maybe we can walk to the park. Would you like that?”

  Jane glanced to the window. “Yes. And you will tell me more about your husband.”

  “I will.” Maryann’s throat was tight as she saw the resignation in her sister’s face, but she could not remain too long. She had to hurry home before Mother Kathleen asked for her, or Jonathan returned. She hated to deceive them, but could not bear to bring a scandal upon their house. Obviously, she could not keep a secret of this nature forever. Perhaps once she knew Jonathan better and could predict how he would react, she would tell him.

  She was still musing on how exactly to handle the situation as she dressed for supper. Mother Kathleen’s headache persisted, so Maryann joined the men alone.

  She enjoyed Archie’s and Jonathan’s banter through the meal. The conversation was lighthearted, and Jonathan sat beside her once again, occasionally teasing her by snatching vegetables from her plate.

  When they finished, the men invited her to the library instead of remaining behind for port. Once Maryann was seated and the men had poured their drinks, she led into the conversation that she knew they were avoiding out of politeness to her. “Tell me what your presentation is about, Jonathan. Explain the issue, if you please. I am afraid I do not know the first thing about water rights or why they are necessary.”

  He tipped his glass, moving the amber liquid in a slow circle as he studied her. “Are you asking because you’re interested? Or just out of courtesy?”

  “I told you, I wish to understand matters that are important to my husband.” She tipped her head, hoping she wasn’t presuming too much.

  “Very well.” Jonathan took a sip of his drink. Archie sat back in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee.

  “With the number of mines increasing throughout the country, sheep farmers that have traditionally used the water are finding a short supply. They are forced to take their animals elsewhere for grazing, which causes an entirely new batch of problems: fencing of new territories, grazing protocol, and the time and effort involved in moving a herd can be costly to the farmers’ profits.” Jonathan counted off on his fingers as he spoke.

  “I don’t understand,” Maryann said. “Why is there not enough water? It rains all the time in Britain. Surely they can all share.”

  He shook his head. “Mines require quite a lot of water, and streams farmers have depended on for generations have been dammed or diverted. A system needs to be in place regulating the usage. My proposal will hopefully become a motion and eventually garner enough votes to be a law, protecting both parties.”

  “Then what is your strategy?” Archie asked. Maryann did not think she’d ever seen him act so serious.

  Jonathan stood. “I thought to explain the problem—much as I have just now t
o Maryann—and then to cite statistics.” He lifted a sheaf of papers and paced in front of his large desk as he spoke. “Average profit loss by year, the increasing amount of water being used by a growing number of mines, the acreage lost as crops are under watered . . .”

  Archie tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “At the end of a long day, you’ll find numbers won’t keep the attention of a sweltering room full of men who just want to get to their club and have a drink.”

  “Not just numbers, statistics. Sustaining such growth is impossible with the limited available resources.” Jonathan leafed through the stack of papers until he found what he was looking for and handed a sheet filled with numbers to Archie.

  Maryann had the smallest niggle of an idea, but she pushed it aside, closing her mouth tightly. The last thing these men needed was her silly suggestions on a matter she hardly understood.

  Jonathan chewed on his lip as he continued to pace. “Perhaps if I led with the statistics . . .”

  “I worry the approach is too dry—pardon my pun.” Archie’s brow was furrowed in thought. He set the paper on his legs and pinched his lip. “If you are to speak on the same day as war funding and Australian penal colonies are discussed, keeping your topic interesting is your main obstacle.”

  Maryann’s thought developed as the men talked and looked through the papers, but she worried they would simply indulge her, all the while wondering why a woman thought she had any place in this discussion.

  The conversation grew heated as Jonathan’s frustration became evident. He felt passionately about the topic, and Archie maintained that the opportunity would be wasted if all he could present to the House of Lords were dull facts.

  Jonathan tossed the papers onto his desk. He sat heavily in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders slumped with discouragement.

  “Perhaps I have an idea.” Maryann’s words leaped out of her mouth without any warning.

  Both men turned to her, and she saw exactly the polite, indulging smiles she’d dreaded.

  Her stomach churned as a wave of humiliation filled her insides with cold. Why could she not keep her mouth closed? “No, never mind. It is probably foolish.”