The Viscount's Unconventional Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘The Countess would like Miss Vail to call on her,’ the big man said. ‘I have brought the carriage.’

  ‘I will fetch her.’ He left Hamish in the yard while he went inside to find Louise.

  She had heard the coach pull up and looked out of the window, expecting it to be Jonathan’s carriage with Joe on the box, ready to start their journey, annoyed with Betty for leaving her to do all the packing. She was so immersed in her conversation with Jonathan, the pleasure at his declaration, followed swiftly by a return to sanity, that she did not consider Joe could not have harnessed the horses so quickly. When she saw who it was her heart began to thump uncomfortably in her breast.

  She ventured out on to the landing. Jonathan was just mounting the stairs. He looked up. ‘The Dowager Countess wishes to see you,’ he said.

  ‘I…I can’t go.’

  ‘Of course you can. It is what you have wanted all along. I will go with you, if you like.’

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly resolute. ‘I will go alone. Oh, but I must change my dress and arrange my hair. I cannot go like this.’ She looked down at the simple muslin.

  ‘Wear the green,’ he said. ‘Shall I fetch Betty to do your hair?’

  ‘No, I can manage it. Will you ask Mr Mackay if he would mind waiting a few minutes?’

  She went back into her room and stood in the middle of the floor, gazing into space, trying to still the shaking of her limbs. Her ladyship had sent for her. That must mean she knew who she was, knew where she was staying. And why. She might be going to find out the truth at last. On the other hand, she might be told to go away and stop probing what did not concern her.

  She moved at last, dragged the green dress from her portmanteau where she had folded it not five minutes before, shook it out and put it on, fumbling with the lacing on her stays. She was struggling with them when there was a light knock at the door and Jonathan entered. He strode across to her, took the laces from her hands and deftly tied them for her, before fastening her bodice and draping a gauze kerchief round her neck, tucking the ends into her décolletage. She shivered as his fingers touched her bare skin, felt the prickling sensation go right down her body where it lodged somewhere in her groin. Seemingly unaware of what he had done, he picked up her hair brush. ‘Sit down,’ he commanded. ‘You will be all day if someone does not take you in hand.’

  She was too bewildered to do anything but obey. He stood behind her and brushed her hair in long steady strokes. ‘I shall do this often when we are married,’ he said calmly.

  She did not answer, but the brush strokes were soothing her, which is what he had intended. He stopped. Taking a handful of hair, he twisted it up on top of her head. ‘How do you hold it there?’

  She laughed suddenly and took over herself, putting pins and combs into the creation and setting a wide-brimmed hat at an angle on top, tying it with green ribbon. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured from behind her. Then he bent and kissed the back of her neck. She stood up and faced him, her neck still feeling the pressure of his lips. She tried and failed to ignore it. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘You will more than do. Now, off you go. I shall be here when you return.’

  He opened the door and ushered her down the stairs and out to the carriage where he handed her in with all the aplomb of a courtier. He shut the door, Hamish sprang up on to the step, the driver flicked the reins and they were away. Jonathan watched the vehicle until it disappeared around a bend in the road, then he went inside to try to contain his impatience for her return by making plans and writing letters.

  So much for his determination to think care fully before venturing into marriage, he told himself wryly. When you fell in love, wholeheartedly and without reservation, all the thinking in the world would not avail you. But it was a wonderful, pleasurable feeling, or it would be if she would only see how right it was. Even when she agreed, and he prayed she would, they would still have obstacles to overcome—she had been right about that—but they would be overcome, on that he was determined

  The carriage turned into the open gates of Moresdale Hall and stopped while Hamish went back to shut them again, then they proceeded up the gloomy tunnel of trees, until they reached the house. Louise sat forwards to catch a first glimpse of it. It had an imposing frontage of stone, probably quarried locally. It had a round tower at each end and a balustrade running along the roof from one to the other. Climbing plants had been allowed to run riot over it walls so that they almost blocked the windows. The paint on these was flaking. A space had been cleared in front of the door for the carriage to be able to turn round, but the rest of the garden was a wilderness of over grown plants, twining round each other, choking each other, the strongest forcing out the weakest. It had once been a lovely house, Louise concluded, and felt sorry that it should be so neglected.

  The carriage stopped outside the door. Hamish Mackay jumped down to hand her out of the carriage. His expression was immutable, showing no sign of the antagonism he had shown when they met before. Neither was it welcoming. He went before her and opened the heavy door. There was no sign of a footman. ‘Please follow me.’

  He led her down a corridor, past several shut doors, and up a wide carved oak staircase to a galleried upper floor. Louise looked upwards. The well of the stairs went up two more floor to a domed roof, beautifully carved, though hung with cobwebs. Her guide stopped outside a door and knocked gently.

  ‘You may come in.’

  He pushed the door open and ushered Louise before him into a small sitting room where the Dowager sat near the window. The room was at the side of the building facing south and there were no trees close to the house on that side, because it was bathed in sunshine: a light, airy, comfortable room. It was the first thing Louise noticed as she moved forwards and curtsied to the old lady.

  She did not realise the big man was still behind her until her ladyship spoke to him. ‘Ask Jane to bring us some tea and cakes, Hamish.’ Then she turned to Louise and pointed to a stool at her feet. ‘Sit down, child, where I can see you.’

  Louise obeyed and waited, surreptitiously taking in the old lady’s appearance. She wore a purple silk gown with wide panniers, its bodice fastened to a pink quilted stomacher. Its neck and sleeves were trimmed with lace. The voluminous gown somehow made her look even smaller than she was, though she sat regally upright. Her face was lined, but her pale blue eyes were bright and intelligent. Louise guessed they missed nothing of what went on around her.

  ‘So, you are Louise Vail,’ she said at last, looking her up and down, her gaze coming to rest on Louise’s face.

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘I should have known you anywhere. You have that look about you. And the eyes—yes, the eyes give you away. Tell me about yourself. Have you had a happy childhood?’

  Louise was full of questions herself, but endeavoured to answer politely. She told of her contented child hood, her parents and brothers, her schooling and how she helped her mother with parish duties. She paused awkwardly when it came to speaking of the reason for her arrival in Moresdale. She was given a reprieve by the arrival of a maidservant with a tea tray containing a caddy, a teapot, a boiling kettle and two cups on saucers.

  The Dowager sent the maid away and busied herself making the tea. Louise watched her silently, trying to gather her thoughts, wondering if the old lady would ever get around to telling her why she had sent for her. Only when she had poured the tea and handed a cup to Louise, did she speak.

  ‘I knew who you were the minute I set eyes on you when I arrived to open the fair,’ she said. ‘It was as if the young Catherine was back among us. I am old and the shock took my breath away. I could not stay and wander round the stalls as I meant to do. I asked Hamish to bring me home.’

  ‘I did not mean to upset you,’ Louise murmured, taking a sip of tea to calm herself.

  ‘Oh, but I believe you did. I was sure you had come to cause trouble…’

  ‘No, my lady, I protest. That was never my intention.�
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  ‘I wanted you to go away, I did not want to speak to you. I told my man that if you called he was not to admit you.’

  ‘Yes. I could not get past him and the dogs.’

  ‘He is a good and loyal servant and always concerned for my welfare.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I think he has always been a little in love with me and I am afraid I take advantage of that.’

  ‘What made you change your mind—about seeing me, I mean?’

  ‘Why, that pleasant young gentleman who came to see me and persuaded me that you meant no harm, you were simply searching for the truth.’

  ‘Young gentleman?’ Louise queried. ‘Do you mean Viscount Leinster?’

  ‘Yes. He came and requested an interview yesterday afternoon. Oh, I knew he was in the village; someone as consequential as he is could not fail to be noticed. I could hardly turn away a Viscount, especially one whose family is as old as our own.’

  ‘So you know why I came to Moresdale?’ Louise said, vowing to have words with Jonathan when she saw him. He had no business to go behind her back, especially when she had told him she had to deal with her problem herself. She discounted the fact that she had signally failed to do so.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ The Countess paused. ‘But I am not at all sure good will come of satisfying your curiosity.’

  ‘It is not just curiosity,’ Louise pro tested, refusing to be cowed. ‘It is wanting to know who I am, who gave me birth, why I was given away. That is something I cannot understand.’

  ‘And what do you hope to gain by having such in formation?’

  ‘Gain?’ she queried, mystified. ‘Knowledge, I suppose.’

  ‘Knowledge is power.’

  ‘Oh, no, my lady, you misunderstand me. I am not seeking power, not asking for anything. I do not want money or consequence. I simply need to know…’ She stopped. She could not bring herself to mention her fear that she was illegitimate.

  ‘What have you been told? I gather from Viscount Leinster that you have only recently been made aware that you were adopted.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It must have come as a shock.’ She picked up a plate of little cakes. ‘Do have one. Jane is a very good cook and rarely has the opportunity to display her talent.’

  Louise shook her head. ‘They look delicious, my lady, but I am not at all hungry.’

  ‘Naturally you want to know the story,’ the old lady went on, putting the plate down again.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You cannot see Catherine. She is not here. And I do not think I could allow it, if she were. She is not well, you see.’

  ‘But she is my mother?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘I heard a rumour…’

  ‘That she committed suicide? Yes, I have heard it. There is nothing that goes on in the village that I do not hear about. The vicar and Hamish between them keep me well informed. She is in a sanatorium. And do not look so shocked, she is not mad, not in the sense that some would have us believe. Her illness is entirely due to what happened to Thomas.’

  ‘I am very sorry. I have a memory of seeing the little boy once, in church, when my father was the incumbent. I must have been about five years old, the same age as he was.’

  ‘To the day,’ the old lady added, her eyes taking on a faraway look as if she was back in that time and place.

  ‘We were twins?’

  ‘Bless you, no.’ She paused and drained the tea from her cup before going on. ‘I see I shall have to tell you the whole story.’

  Louise, who was more confused than ever, simply nodded.

  ‘I was not living here at the time,’ she said. ‘Or I would never have allowed it to happen. I learned it later, much later, when Thomas died so tragically. I came to the funeral and stayed to help Catherine because she did not seem able to pull herself together. And Augustus, that’s my son, the Earl, was even more affected and he took himself off to London, unable to bear his loss.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Louise murmured. ‘It must have been a dreadful time for everyone.’

  ‘Yes, everyone. The vicar and his wife and the whole village were brought down by it. Thomas was a popular little boy. Now, do not interrupt me again, or I shall never get it done.’

  Louise sat obediently and listened, the rapidly cooling tea forgotten.

  ‘Catherine had been trying for a baby ever since she married. She desperately wanted to be a mother and of course Augustus was anxious for a son and heir. She had miscarriage after miscarriage, but no live babies. Every time she lost one, and there were boys among them, she wept uncontrollably for days. I am afraid my son blamed her; he said she must be doing something wrong, it was obviously not his fault because she had managed to conceive. Each time he called in the best doctors who kept close watch on what she was doing. They made her rest, did not allow her to pick up so much as a teapot. But still the babies died, sometimes very early in the pregnancy, but twice she carried to full term, only for the infant to be born dead.

  ‘Their marriage, begun so happily, was falling apart. Augustus spent more and more time away from home, and when he did return, he was so frustrated, their relationship became one of duty, no more. He felt it was his duty to continue to try for an heir and it was her duty to succumb, but she was becoming frail with the constant pregnancies that came to nothing.’ She held up her hand, when it seemed that Louise was about to interrupt. ‘You can understand my son. It is important for a man of his rank to have an heir. He talked of divorcing her and marrying someone who could give him the son he so badly wanted. And that was breaking Catherine’s heart.

  ‘Her pregnancies became fewer and further apart, but just when it seemed that her fertility was coming to an end and she was resigned to being childless and divorced, she became enceinte again. Everyone prayed she would take it to term and that it would be a boy. Augustus did not hold out much hope of it, but Catherine grew and was surprisingly well. The child kicked within her and suddenly she started to hope again. It was calculated that it was due to be born in the second week of January. Augustus stayed at home, intending to be in the house when the baby was born. Late in November, he had an urgent summons to London to do with his East India stocks and shares. He said he had to go, but he would be back in time for the birth and he trusted that this time she would be delivered of a live son. The consequences of not doing so, Catherine knew full well.

  ‘That winter of 1739 to 40 was bitterly cold,’ the Countess went on, after taking a sip of tea. ‘The temperature did not rise above freezing the whole way through from December to February. The night of the twenty-ninth of December was particularly bad. There was a hard frost and a violent easterly gale, and then heavy snow, which drifted into great piles wherever it came against a solid object. The hills became blanketed in white, the roads were impassable. We knew Augustus could not get back, nor could the doctors he had engaged get through from York when Catherine went into early labour on the last day of the year. They could not even get a message to a wet nurse. The servants had to clear a path down to the village and fetch Mrs Hurst, the village handywoman

  ‘The child, a healthy girl, was born on the first of January 1740. When Catherine realised she had borne a live child, heard it cry quite lustily, she was beside herself with joy. But then she was told it was a girl and she did not want to believe it, would not believe it, until Mrs Hurst put the infant in her arms. Then she pushed it away and wept so much she made herself ill. She knew that when her husband returned, he would be angry, and she had come to fear his anger. Mrs Hurst could not pacify her.

  ‘In the middle of all this, a message arrived from the village that the midwife was needed at the vicarage. Mrs Vail, the vicar’s wife, was about to give birth. Mrs Hurst left Catherine in the care of a maidservant and hurried back to the village.

  ‘Catherine told me afterwards how miserable she had been, all her joy at giving birth to a live baby blown away and how resentful she felt of Mrs Vail who had three sons already and was longing for
a little girl. She said as much to Mrs Hurst.’ The old lady, thirsty from talking so much, sipped cold tea before going on. ‘Mrs Vail had another boy, her fourth—’

  ‘What?’ Louise interrupted her.

  ‘Yes.’ There was a long pause. ‘If I had been there I would never have allowed it,’ she said again, almost to herself this time. ‘If Augustus had got back in time, it would not have happened. If the doctors had arrived from York, they would have noted the circumstances of the birth and it could not have been done. As it was, Mrs Hurst persuaded Mrs Vail to exchange the babies. How she did it, I do not know, except that Mrs Vail so wanted a little girl. It was done with the best of intentions. The vicar himself was not at home at the time; he was attending the deathbed of a parishioner in an outlying part of the village and could not get back because of the snow. No one need ever know.

  ‘Mrs Hurst bundled the baby boy up in warm blankets and brought him here to the Hall and then took the little girl to Mrs Vail. No one knew anything of this except the two mothers, the midwife and the maid servant.’

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ Louise said, as the implication of what the Countess had said sank into her brain. ‘Are you telling me…?’

  ‘That you were that baby girl? Yes, I am.’

  It was shocking, truly dreadful. Louise could not credit it. But why would her ladyship lie? She had not wanted to tell her at all. It was some time before she could speak. ‘You mean I am the lawful daughter of the Earl of Moresdale and his wife?’

  ‘Yes.’ The old lady gave a twisted smile. ‘You might have difficulty proving it. Mrs Hurst is long dead and the maid was paid a fortune to keep her mouth shut. I believe she left and went to serve a family going to live on the Continent. And it would mean denouncing the dear lady who has brought you up. Do you want to do that to her?’

  ‘No, of course I do not. I never would.’ She was beginning to regret telling Jonathan not to accompany her. She would have given anything at that moment to be able to reach out for his hand and derive comfort from it. ‘But that is not the end of the story, is it?’