Meanwhile, her hostess leaned over to press her hand. ‘Please, do say you’ll at least consider remaining with us! Ah, here is Glendenning with the tea tray.’
But when the door opened, behind the butler she heard the rapid patter of footsteps. A beautiful little boy of about two years of age burst into the room, darted around the butler and ran to Lady Englemere. ‘Mama! Aubrey play with Papa’s cousin?’
‘Oh, dear!’ the golden-haired lady exclaimed. ‘Aubrey, you naughty boy!’ Looking up at the butler, she said, ‘I see he escaped the nursery again?’
The butler actually smiled, shocking Joanna, who felt sure the face of this august personage would crack at expressing such levity. ‘The lad can smell tea and macaroons all the way up in the nursery.’
The boy’s eyes brightened guilelessly. ‘Mac’roons? Aubrey stay, please, Mama?’ He turned to stare at Joanna with the unabashed interest of a child. ‘Pretty lady! Papa’s cousin?’
‘Yes, dearest, Papa’s cousin.’
‘Come play with me?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Give you biggest mac’roon!’ With a winning smile, he selected one and held it out to her.
‘Aubrey, ’tis more polite to let the lady choose her own sweets,’ his mother reproved. Turning to Joanna, Lady Englemere said, ‘His fingers are probably none too clean.’
But Joanna, who always had a soft spot for a child, could never say ‘no’ to so bright a little face raised trustingly to hers, its owner certain of offering her a delight. Replying in the only manner possible, she said, ‘Thank you, sir’, and accepted the biscuit.
At that moment, a hapless nursery maid rushed into the room. ‘Oh, there he be! I’m so sorry, your ladyship! I’ll take him back upstairs at once.’
Consternation on his face, the child tugged on his mother’s sleeve. ‘Stay, please, Mama? Be gentl’man.’ He hopped down from the couch, turned to Joanna and offered a very creditable bow. ‘Please to meet you, ma’am.’
His mother sighed and Joanna had to suppress a chuckle. ‘I suppose, if our visitor doesn’t object, you may stay for macaroons. Mrs Merrill?’
Even though a bittersweet pain lanced her heart at the knowledge that no little face would ever look appealingly at her and call her ‘Mama’, Joanna couldn’t resist his plea, no more than she’d been able to reprove her sisters after they’d committed some bit of harmless mischief when she’d had the rule of Papa’s household. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, too, Master Aubrey. Which macaroon would you like?’
While his mama nodded a dismissal to the nursery maid, the child selected one, then proceeded to chatter away about the metal soldiers his mother explained were his chief passion. While her hostess poured tea, somehow Joanna found herself doffing her bonnet and encouraging the child to climb up beside her on the couch. Before the pot ran dry and the macaroons had disappeared, she’d been induced to relate the story of her life to the kind lady with the turquoise eyes.
Finally, stuffed with sweets and warm tea, the boy began yawning. ‘I must take Aubrey back to the nursery for his nap,’ her hostess said, beckoning to the child. ‘I expect Nicky will have joined you before I can return.’
‘Pretty lady come, too?’ Aubrey asked drowsily.
‘Not now, pet. She must speak to Papa.’
‘Later?’ he asked. ‘Show soldiers!’
‘Perhaps,’ his mother replied. ‘Mrs Merrill has other business in London and may not be able to stay with us, though we certainly hope she will.’
The child turned back to tug at Joanna’s hand. ‘Please stay! Play later! Give you best soldiers. Gen’rl Blücher, too!’
Even as his mother murmured a reproof, she sent Joanna a rueful glance that said, ‘How can you refuse such a request?’
She couldn’t. Which was how it came about that Joanna Merrill, arriving in London determined to have as little as possible to do with the exalted cousin who had discharged her brother and never before concerned himself with her, agreed to become a guest in his home before ever meeting him or making clear any of the reasons that had brought her to his doorstep.
She was still marvelling at that fact when the door opened and a tall, dark-haired man entered—once again, unannounced. ‘Mrs Merrill,’ he said, ‘I apologise for my delay in receiving you. I trust my wife tended to you well, though I understand my scamp of a son interrupted your tea,’ he continued, affection and pride infusing his tone as he mentioned the child. ‘I’m Englemere, of course. Welcome, cousin.’
Joanna was glad that the Marquess, at least, maintained some formality. After the upheavals of the last few days, she didn’t think her disordered nerves could handle addressing this impressive man, with his air of confidence and the instinctive authority of one born to high rank, as ‘Nicky’.
Ned had the same indefinable air, she reflected. Why had she not noticed it? She had, of course, she recalled—only she’d seen it just as evidence of his confidence, competence and concern. Which it was. A concern that had manifested itself in his tireless efforts on behalf of the tenants and villagers at Blenhem.
Her heart turning over in a spasm of grief, she thrust the observation away. She would not think about him yet. She couldn’t.
She surfaced from her memories to find Englemere gazing at her. ‘I must thank you for agreeing to stay with us. I know after what happened with your brother, you have good reason to resent me. I understand there may be mitigating factors in his situation. If so, I assure you, I will certainly make corresponding restitution.’
Given what she’d observed at Blenhem, her brother might well have deserved his discharge—if only for letting Barksdale wreak his havoc unopposed. Not yet willing to concede that to Englemere, however, she replied, ‘That would be fair.’
‘I also understand you have a more serious concern—that Barksdale, the villain, might have actually done your brother an injury. Excuse me for proceeding without consulting you, but given the gravity of the charge, I took the liberty of contacting the office of your family’s lawyer, Mr Gresham, to make enquiries. If it is agreeable with you, we will meet him tomorrow, as his assistant indicated he would be away from his office this afternoon. Although I hope Gresham will be able to reassure you about your brother’s whereabouts, if necessary, we will get Bow Street involved.’
Fear for her brother momentarily displaced all the other tangled emotions in her heart. ‘Do you think that will be necessary?’
‘I hope not,’ Englemere replied soberly. ‘But we should be prepared to take the next step, if warranted.’
Overwhelmed at being stripped in short order of all her grievances against Englemere, weakly Joanna said, ‘Thank you, my lord. It’s very generous of you to involve yourself—especially in light of the questionable service my brother gave you.’
Englemere waved a hand dismissively. ‘He’s my relation, too, after all. ’Twas partly my fault, probably, in offering your brother employment in a field in which he had little expertise. Blenhem, Ned assures me, is a land in good heart that will recover in time. It’s in his sure hands now, and I can think of no one better qualified to bring it back to prosperity. Even if it were not, whatever happened there was no fault of yours. But you must be tired after so long a journey. Sarah tells me your room has been prepared.’
He bowed. ‘Again, let me welcome you to London and assure you how glad we are that you’ve agreed to be our guest. I look forward to hearing about your life in India and your observations on Ned’s work at Blenhem Hill. Until dinner, then?’
He left Joanna with nothing to do but curtsy in response, while she wondered what in the world she might find to wear that would begin to meet the standards of such an elegant establishment. As she rose to her feet, Englemere rang the bell pull.
A maid appeared so swiftly she must have been stationed outside the door, awaiting the end of Joanna’s conference with Englemere.
‘I hope you’ll enjoy your stay,’ Englemere said, ushering her through the door and handing her off to the maid, who beckoned f
or her to follow.
‘Thank you…cousin,’ Joanna replied, the words still sounding strange on her tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Two
O ne morning a month later, Joanna sat before the looking glass in the cream-and-gold guest chamber to which the maid had shown her the day of her arrival. Pinning the last braid in place, she couldn’t help but admire how well the modest but fashionable russet morning gown became her.
The garment was one of several gowns she’d recently been wheedled into allowing her cousins to purchase for her, after firmly refusing such largesse while accompanying her hostess on previous shopping forays.She’d never intended to trespass this long upon the Stanhopes’ hospitality. While unable to return a churlish response to the warmth and kindness of their welcome, she’d determined to remain at most a few days, so Englemere might assist in locating her brother and the distant cousins could become acquainted. But then Aubrey begged her to stay with him during several evenings when his parents were to go out, and Sarah always seemed to find another shop or garden or friend she wished Joanna to visit, and the investigation into her brother’s whereabouts dragged on and on…
Almost without her noticing, ‘a few days’ had become a week, then another. Until the point that, when they stopped at Sarah’s favourite mantua-maker to pick up some gowns previously commissioned while on their way to take Aubrey to the park and Sarah pressed her to consider purchasing a few for herself, she’d finally succumbed.
Joanna strongly suspected Aubrey had been coached to ask why his favourite cousin was not getting a pretty dress too. So when, along with his mama’s gowns, the proprietor brought out a russet confection that the boy declared ‘bootiful’ and Sarah proclaimed perfectly complemented Joanna’s vivid hair and green eyes, she’d not been able, this time, to refuse it.
Perhaps because after a month, she no longer thought of Lady Englemere as a Marchioness, wife of her noble cousin the Marquess, but simply as her friend Sarah. Indeed, that lofty image, which had nearly crumbled to bits during their first meeting, hadn’t survived one dinner en famille, when they’d been joined by Sarah’s younger sisters, Emily and Cecily, both to make their débuts the following Season. The sisters treated each other with a warmth and familiarity that reminded Joanna so strongly of life with her own family in India that she’d felt at once homesick and at home.
She’d learned her new friend, far from being raised amid august surroundings in the bosom of the ton, had grown up in genteel poverty and almost been forced to wed a villain even more despicable than Lord Masters in order to prevent her family estate from being sold at the block. Englemere, then just a good friend, had stepped in to save her by offering a marriage of convenience, which later had become a true love match.
Even if Sarah hadn’t succeeded in captivating her, Aubrey, with his child’s innocence and trusting heart, won her over from their first tea together. The second night of her stay, with the Englemeres engaged to dine elsewhere, he had again escaped the nursery and found his way to her chamber. Once there, he asked, with a cherubic smile no lady of tender heart could refuse, if she might read him a story. Reading to him had now become a fixture of their day, every afternoon before his nap and any evening his mama’s social obligations called her away. She found caring for the child both delightful and bittersweet, satisfying even as it tore at her heart with reminders of the son she’d lost and the child now she would likely never have. Once she had thought to subsume that longing in teaching the children of the estate. But, despite her promise to return in a week to open the school, she found herself unable to do so, still incapable of facing Ned and coming to a decision about him.
She’d even grown more comfortable with her august cousin Englemere, though she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to call him ‘Nicky’ in the breezy way his wife and young sisters-in-law did. It had proved impossible to continue regarding him as some high dignitary after witnessing him sprawled on the nursery floor playing soldiers with his son, rolling on the carpet tussling with the shrieking child after their game, or teasing his wife, for whom his respect and affection were evident.
She also owed him a great debt of gratitude for his efforts on behalf of her brother. Her worst fears had been confirmed when they had consulted Mr Gresham and discovered the solicitor knew nothing of her brother’s whereabouts. He’d received a hastily scrawled note from Greville some three months previously—which would have been approximately the time he left Blenhem Hill—saying her brother meant to call on him in London shortly. But Greville had never appeared, nor had the solicitor heard anything further from him.
Lord Englemere immediately proceeded to hire Bow Street Runners, who just a few days ago had returned both distressing and welcome news. Praise heaven, Greville was alive, but apparently had been attacked—as Davie had been—after leaving Blenhem and delivered unconscious to a press gang, awaking later to find himself the unwitting and unwilling newest member of the crew of HMS Indefatigable. Englemere was now pursuing contacts within the Navy department to see about obtaining Greville’s release from the service.
Tightly as Joanna had tried to hang on to her prejudices, it appeared not all aristocrats were as contemptuous and uncaring of the welfare of those of lesser birth as Lady Masters and her husband’s family, nor as venal and selfish as Lord Masters.
Though surely she had a vast amount of wealth available to her, Sarah was a frugal housekeeper who owned only a modest wardrobe of gowns and jewels. She was a kind, doting mother and caring sister, a loving wife, an engaging, considerate friend. By her own observation, Joanna had witnessed Englemere working long hours tending to the business of his estates and tenants, as well as attending meetings of the Lords in Parliament and taking part in the deliberation of affairs essential to England.
No wonder Ned had been able to tell her so much about government policy, obtaining news as he had from the lips of his closely involved, close friend!
She’d spent many hours this last month thinking about that gentleman. Though she’d wished at first to put everything that had occurred at Blenhem Hill out of her mind until she had recovered sufficiently from her shock and chagrin to be able to objectively review the events, somehow she found him always creeping into her thoughts.
Observation of Englemere’s tireless activities reminded her of how hard Ned had worked at Blenhem, leaving the manor early every morning to ride the acreage. He’d not thought himself above rolling up his sleeves and giving the farmers a hand with their ploughing or tending their cattle or repairing thatch. He listened intently to the needs of those who approached him, offering his expertise and assistance to meet them if possible.
By now, despite the remaining hard kernel of hurt and outrage at his deception, honesty and fairness had about forced her to conclude that otherwise he’d told her the truth. On points of honour, compassion, industry, intelligence and concern for those around him, Sir Edward and the Ned she’d known were, as he claimed, the same man.
Indeed, he possessed every trait she admired—save honesty. She might admit he’d had valid reasons for the role he’d played, but she was still uneasy about the means he’d chosen to flush out the radicals at Blenhem, given the dire consequences that might yet come to those he’d deceived. Though she’d quickly dismissed as ridiculous Barksdale’s contention that Sir Edward had come to Blenhem to be a government spy, in presenting himself as a man of the people, he certainly had misled the tenants of Blenhem into confiding information they would never have divulged had they known they were addressing Blenhem Hill’s owner and a man of rank. She worried about what would happen to Sergeant Russell, the innkeeper Kirkbride, Davie and the dissidents who’d met at the Hart and Hare.
Nor had she yet forgiven him for deceiving her into believing him to be a man of her own station, lulling her into uttering sentiments about aristocrats in general and the landed class in particular that still made her cringe with embarrassment and remorse. He’d encouraged her to talk freely and she had, baring he
r soul to this man she’d come to believe her most intimate friend…when in truth, he’d revealed nothing about himself at all.
It was as if they’d played some lover’s game, blindfolding each other and stripping down to play hide-and-seek in the dark and at the end, laughing, she’d pulled off her mask to discover that though she was naked before him, he was still fully clothed.
Neither her resentment nor her embarrassment, however, prevented her from awaking nearly every night, when her brain was too befuddled with sleep to stave them off, filled with the hungry yearnings of the body he’d reawakened to pleasure.
Yearnings that magnified the many other small things she missed about him—his smile, the little wink he had given her when they had shared an opinion or a joke, even the lock of hair she had always been tempted to brush off his forehead. All the visions and memories and needs tumbled together into a churning mass in her gut that frustrated her attempt to find peace while it tempted and cajoled her spirit to forgive him and return to begin anew.
Waiting for news of her brother had given her an excuse to linger here and postpone the decision, wavering between returning to Blenhem and expunging it from her memory for good. Between missing him and wanting him, while at the same time mistrusting the guileful harpy of lust pushing at her to return, she was left teetering in indecisiveness between the past and the future.
Learning yesterday about her brother’s fate and knowing there was nothing further she could accomplish for him here removed the last excuse for her not to make a decision. She was sighing with irritation and remorse over her seeming inability to resolve the argument that circulated continuously through her mind when a knock sounded at the door.
A maid entered with a curtsy. ‘There’s someone here to see you, ma’am. Glendenning showed them to the back salon. From Blenhem Hill, he said they was.’
Her spirits soared and excitement made her momentarily dizzy before she realised the visitor could not be Ned. He would have been conveyed not to the small back salon, but to the grand front drawing room—or more likely, as an intimate of the family, escorted directly to join Englemere in his library or Sarah and Aubrey in the nursery.
From Waif to Gentleman's Wife Page 24
