“I suspect as much. But it doesn’t stand to reason, does it?” Harry replied. “There are such things as odds, you know.”
“All stacked against us,” Aaron put in.
“Well, perhaps I am speaking out of turn. Eugenia has said nothing to me.”
They looked at one another, then shook their heads, and agreed that Harry probably had the right of it.
“And what of you, Aaron? When are you going to produce offspring? Perhaps your new blood will run true?” Timothy asked, not sparing the man’s blushes, for he was young and unable yet to make light of life’s more serious endeavors.
“Newly married,” Aaron mumbled into his cravat.
The others had a chuckle at his expense, but then Edmund said, “Besides, it’s not Aaron whom our wives drive us mad about, Timothy. It’s John, of course.”
“Really?” John asked blandly. “Do you mean to say my breeding capabilities are a part of your pillow talk?”
Edmund refused to rise to the bait. “Quite right,” he said, every bit as droll as John. “And I for one grow quite weary of it. ‘John this,’ and ‘John that. Will he marry? When will he marry? Whom will he marry?’ I vow you have no care for us other poor souls, for you do nothing to relieve us of this burden.”
“You are suggesting I tell my sisters they are not to make a sound once you are abed? I could do so, if you truly so desire.”
“Edmund, it’s no use. The man’s as callous as the bottom of a savage’s foot,” Harry said, laughing in quiet amusement. “If these women of ours could not make him marry ’fore now, there is no hope we can persuade him to do so.”
“At last we are speaking sensibly,” John said approvingly.
“But what of Miss Yardley?” Aaron chimed in, his blushes at last receding, only to be born anew under John’s cool sideways glare. “I mean, it seems to me…that is…,” he stammered.
“Let us speak instead of Lady Mary,” John said, turning to her so that she saw the light of displeasure still lingered in his eyes. “I must inform you all that she is being so cruel as to abandon us this day.”
“Already?”
“Never say it’s so!”
“Stay another week, at least.”
Mary felt an aching warmth grow inside her, a combination of thankfulness for their sincere regret mingled with her own. Nonetheless, she knew, via Mrs. Pennett’s eye on the calendar if not her own logic, it was surely time to go, and so she said lamely, “I must return to the season.”
“By Jove, I’ve a thought!” Timothy announced suddenly. “I’ve got business waiting for me in London as well. I had planned to stay another day or so here, but since you must travel now, why don’t I just change my plans and go along with you? It would save John’s horses a return trip,” he explained. “Angela can return with Hortense.”
“Of course,” Mary said, smiling in his direction, but it was really John she watched from the corner of her eye, because for a moment she had seen him frown. A second later a noncommittal look settled across his features. She knew full well, perhaps better than even those of his family, that this meant he was not quite pleased. But of course he was not, for he himself longed to return to town, and he must feel a trifle jealous of Lord Gateway’s freedom to leave.
And so it was Timothy’s bags were added to the top of her father’s carriage as soon as the luncheon was over. Angela presented her husband with a list of things to do and purchases to make before she returned home to London, a week hence, and gave him an earful of verbal instructions as well. Their daughters, Katherine and Suzanne, each gave their papa a hug, and extracted a promise for a surprise of some kind when they were reunited in town. Hortense requested that Timothy send a note ’round to her London staff, to inform them she would be returning to London soon.
Mary looked on, unable to suppress the small sigh of covetousness that passed her lips as she observed the cozy familial scene. Well, she had not been gone from the city long, and so she had every hope that there was still enough season left for her to fulfill her plans of matrimony, and subsequently satisfy this burning desire for a family of her own.
“You are sad to leave me,” John put his interpretation on the sigh. He stood at her side, just outside the coach entry.
“I am. But there is much work yet to be done in London, and Mama is expecting my return.”
“I will be coming soon, my pet,” he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. It was not the formal kiss of a stranger, but rather a caress of his lips in truth against the back of her fingers. She did her best to suppress the quiver that ran suddenly and unexpectedly through her, and all but snatched her hand from his, pretending to need it to gather up the basket of goodies the cook had assembled for the travelers.
“Perhaps I shall be engaged to marry before you ever return to London,” she said in a manner she could only define as ‘gabbling’ as she turned purposefully to the open door of the carriage.
“Let me wish you good hunting then,” John said, offering her a hand up the steps.
She shook her head in mild vexation with him as she settled on the squabs, for it had not sounded much like a joke to her. His words had carried a bit of the infamous ‘Blade’ sarcasm in them. “Thank you,” she said somewhat drily as she adjusted her skirts, looking out at him with less than completely sincere eyes.
“Mary,” he said, then hesitated. “Forgive me. I am not quite myself. This country life--it turns me swiftly into a clod.”
“Then spend more time with your steward and be done with your work here,” she chided him, but she had softened yet again toward him at this, his rare act of offering an apology.
“I will, for my Mary has said I must.” He smiled at her, and at last she could smile back.
“And don’t spend too much time with Miss Yardley, or else you may never escape here,” she dared to tease.
Fortunately the quip succeeded, for he laughed and agreed it was sound advice. “Let me tell you, I am wondering what the creature has to say for herself, for we never really have had a chance to chat. At your leaving, now that I am desperate yet again for companionship, I shall avail myself of her time as to at last arrange the possibility of knowing.”
“She’s a beauty,” Mary said on a sigh, for there was no denying that which was factual.
“Of form, there can be no doubt. Of manners? Of wit? I must see. I’ll write. Better yet, I’ll finish my work, and come to you. Soon. I have vested interest in whoever shall be your groom, and would like to inspect him thoroughly before you are wed, for my own peace of mind.”
“Do that.”
“Farewell. Don’t let Gateway talk your ear off. If he so much as mentions his interest in pulleys, you are to kindly but firmly cut him off at once.”
“I’ll remember that. John, take care.”
“I shall. Godspeed, Mary.”
She smiled warmly, if a little sadly, for she had spent her morning saying farewell to the large hosting body that had entertained and appreciated her this week past, and--truth be told--she did not really want to leave them, though she must for the sake of inner peace. It had been a warm and welcoming interlude, but, too, it had been disturbing at times.
John’s strong hand reached into the carriage, took her arm and pulled her toward him a little. He did not kiss her cheek, as she was half prepared for, but instead kissed her full on the lips. She knew nothing else for a moment but the feel of his mouth on hers, and could not help the fact that she kissed him back.
He did not release her hand, so that she had to sit back and pull it from his grip. Their eyes met, and for a moment she allowed a spark to flare between them.
“Good heavens, John! Have a care for your rag-tattered manners,” Hortense scolded from behind him.
Mary’s lids lowered over her betraying eyes, for she had seen that Hortense’s words had brought a wolfish grin to his lips, and she could not bear to think he might see she was unable to take the kiss lightly, even as he obvio
usly did.
Timothy apparently saw nothing wrong with the exchange, for he chatted easily as he settled on the opposite squab. “This is a fine carriage, Mary. I can only respect your father’s choice in both his comforts and his horseflesh. That’s a fine pair of goers you brought down with you.”
Mrs. Pennett gazed across the carriage interior at her charge, but her face was as carefully blank as Mary’s.
“Thank you,” Mary said absently as the carriage door was closed. She allowed one huge ripple to course through her, but then she rallied and turned to the window to offer a small wave. John lifted his hand in a single salute, and then the coach turned in the drive and she could no longer see him.
“What was that John was saying about pulleys? Did he happen to mention I have made quite a study of a variety of pulley systems…?”
She let Lord Gateway talk on, let him fill her head with incomprehensible facts and supposed points of interest, let him distract her heart, to prevent that poor organ from fulfilling its one true wish to slump down into her half-boots for a good old-fashioned sulk.
Chapter 12
John walked the field next to his steward, pausing occasionally to bend down and feel the soil with his hands, or to nudge a tuft of dislodged grain back into place. He made a concerted effort to hear what the man was saying, but it was in truth not much more than a repeated recitation of the reasons why John could not return to London just yet.
“Those cattle what I was afeared might have a bit o’ bad lung? Tain’t heard cough nor naught more from ‘em in a week. Had the local barber up--had me tooth pulled, y’know--and he gave his opinion, saying’ as they was good to go to market,” the steward, James Rigger, said seriously.
But try as he might, John found his attention straying. One minute he was listening, and the next he was caught up in the diversion of watching a flight of swallows overhead, or a mare running in the adjoining pasture, or thoughts of the conversation at table last night, or wispy, unfocused remembrances from days both recent and long past.
He recalled such a day as this; cool, crisp, with breaks in the fat white clouds. The clouds, then as now, were high in the atmosphere, slowly moved by a wind that did not deign to touch the earth, causing the clouds and the sun to play a lazy game of hide and seek far above the heads of the mortals below. So it had been on that other day, the day his heart had first been touched with the frost of unrequited love. Melinda. Pretty, clever, cruel Melinda. Although the thought of her no longer caused that organ which resided in his chest to contract painfully, still the thought of her was a sobering one, and unwelcome. Especially unwelcome today, for some reason he could not even begin to name. He forced his mind back to the conversation at hand, until yet again the steward’s words began to wind away, John’s thoughts once again gone astray.
It was time to move on if he could not concentrate, so he bid his steward good day, and realized this move only left him two options: he could visit Miss Yardley, as he had promised he’d do sometime today, or he could stay locked in his own thoughts the rest of this not altogether comfortable nor pleasant day. He chose the former.
Still, the ruse proved no defense when he found himself alone on his way to call. Free to be totally distracted, John gave up the fight and allowed his mind to wander where it would as he worked the reins. The lane was wide and even, his nag content, and the dogcart a simple vehicle that did not require much of his attention. He had deliberately chosen the dogcart, for it did not have room for more than one other person. If Miss Yardley wished to ride with him, it would be without benefit of a companion at her side.
The thought of a companion made him smile just a little, for a picture of Mrs. Pennett leaped into his mind. She had given a little taste of her spirit, that spirit so dedicated to her darling Mary, and it had surprised him at the time. He had been playing cards, not even seated at table with Mrs. Pennett’s charge, and yet he had looked up to see the companion stitching as usual in the corner, giving him the most serious look he had ever been given.
At his returned scrutiny, she did not blink, nor in any wise back down, and he had the uncanny feeling she was telling him something. Ah well, that then was easy enough to decipher, with a reputation such as his: “stay away from my girl,” of course. And yet, too, it had been something more…but what? That was the puzzle. For had he read some deeply buried, yet nonetheless real, hint of approval there? It was a contradiction. He must stay away and yet Mrs. Pennett liked him… If one wanted to be rid of another’s presence, one could not, surely, also like them…?
For one of the rare moments since he had left his innocence behind, John did not understand what ought to have been eminently understandable. That is what made him smile now, for Mary’s advent into his life had had that same effect on everything.
He’d had no intention of respecting his family’s wishes, but suddenly Mary was there, telling him that, yes, he ought to marry, and now he found himself mulling over the very idea that a week ago he would have sworn he should never care to give so much as a thought. Where once he would have let his mother prattle on about such silliness about duty and inheritances with scarce a peep of annoyance from himself, just this week he had roared at her that he had heard quite enough--and all, in truth, because he found the topic had somehow become embarrassing just because Mary sat at his table.
The gaucheness of his family had mortified him, until he saw the upturned corners of sweet Mary’s mouth.
The loveliness of his estate had never struck him as such a point of pride until he saw the approving glitter in Mary’s soft brown eyes. All the old pains of returning to this place, the home of his youthful follies, had been as nothing as soon as the good lady had placed one tiny slippered foot upon its soil.
It was her musical laughter, and the lilting sound of her voice raised in those ancient songs of love and adoration that came so pleasingly from her lips, not to mention the comfortable silences they had shared, that now filled his ears.
Too, there had been a certain moment other than these--a moment that had rocked him for the time it lasted. It had started so simply: he had only meant to give her a brief, saluting kiss. A kiss to send her safely on her way.
Somewhere, somehow, even in its brevity, it had become much more than that: he had seen without a doubt that Mary was a being waiting for love. She thought her only desire was for children, that everything else could be put aside in the pursuit of such, but he had seen her more clearly. That kiss, so revealing, had shown him just a hint of the passionate nature no one care to know existed within the lady.
The knowledge was vitally important. He knew, more than ever before, that not just any fellow would do for Mary. The lucky man must be capable of affection, must be able to fall in love with her. It meant that he, John, must look all the harder at the applicants to that position, for even Mary herself did not really comprehend what she must have, what sort of person her husband must be if she was to be happy and to go on being John’s dearest, most extraordinary Mary.
Ah, Mary, my heart, he sighed to himself, how I miss you already and only half a day gone. How did you slip past my defenses so cleanly and easily? Why did I let you open my eyes again to the virtue, and the complications, of life simply lived?
And there were still too many days to go before he could return to London. Just this morning hadn’t his steward been again telling him of the sale of some of the Whitden property at auction? It was not adjacent to, but very near his own. He would be a fool to let some other landowner purchase it. Such an investment might recoup--not this year, but perhaps next-- some of their losses, and would in any event be good land to own. There would be a price to be haggled over, documents to be signed. Not to mention the new roofs he had ordered on three of the present estate’s cottages, and the blasted stone fence that had been discovered could not be rebuilt in the same place, for fear of the same thing happening later, Too, there was that danger of disease with the cattle...all of which could be handled by his st
eward, if only Georgette had not developed a fever. It was not uncommon, said the doctor, following birth, but John could not, and would not, leave until she was recovered. Mama was quite beside herself with concern.
There was no hope of leaving for London soon, so a’calling he would go.
As he moved toward that engagement, John’s mind slid past thoughts and impressions of the lovely Miss Yardley, aimlessly to thoughts of how he would have asked Mary along this day, to come with him to review the girl. He would have asked Mary the best way to learn more of this creature, how to bring out the young lady’s true opinions, for he knew full well that the ladies of his circle oft times said what they ought, not what they thought. Too, in truth, he would have used Mary as a kind of buffer, a way to keep the ardent-eyed Miss Yardley from being too forward.
That thought made him laugh aloud, for it was not usually his way to wish a beautiful woman out of his arms, but--he thought more soberly--this was not a matron with full knowledge of her deeds; this was a “marriageable,” with certain expectations, and thereby entailed with certain consequences to certain actions. Women had one set of rules; young misses another. And Miss Annalee Yardley was a young miss, make no mistake.
He sighed then, and was almost glad to see the clouds once again closing over the brief bit of sun that had begun his journey. Had he wanted to persuade Miss Yardley to drive alone with him? No, he could not really fool himself, and knew it had never been his intention. The imminent rain only served to make it that much less likely.
He noted how the front doors were pulled open for him in a manner more styled for royalty, and how the daughter, mother, and father of the house stood just inside the door to greet him the very second his boot first touched their flooring. His hat and coat were solicited, and then his need for drink, followed by edible refreshments. Only when he had denied the latter two did the trio recall themselves enough to let their guest step aside that the doors might be closed. He was then offered profuse apologies for the lapse, followed by an escort into the front parlor, where once again he was offered a round of refreshments, which he decided to accept as it seemed so very important to them.
The Marriage Mart Page 12
