Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance

by Arabella Sheraton

  One afternoon, as Roxanne was sorting out piles of linen in the parlour, she heard the sound of a rickety vehicle creaking up the drive. Peeping through the window, she spied a positively ancient carriage drawn by four plodding horses of equal decrepitude. They seemed to manage well enough by maintaining a sedate pace as they drew the antiquated equipage up to the front door. Roxanne saw Gregson almost bounce down the front stairs in his eagerness to welcome the visitor and realised this must be someone significant. She tossed the piles of linen behind a large armchair. Whoever it was, Roxanne was not going to be caught in the throes of domestic labour. Flushed, she patted her hair and cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror. Regretting that she was plainly dressed for receiving visitors, she thought it was too bad and hoped it was not a person of importance. Her hopes were dashed when Gregson flung open the parlour door and bowed very low as he ushered in the guest.

  “The Duchess of Beddingfield, milady!”

  His sonorous tones were markedly respectful and, as Roxanne rose to greet the visitor, she had a sinking feeling this was Aunt Semphronia, the family tyrant. A statuesque lady attired in sables surged into the room like a galleon in full sail. She flung off her furs, revealing a stout frame encased in purple satin, a massive bosom, and several chins that wobbled as she turned piercing blue eyes upon Roxanne. The clusters of dyed feathers attached to her turban by an enormous diadem proclaimed her penchant for fashion. A large sable muff landed on the floor as the lady tossed it carelessly aside.

  “Dear gel!” boomed the matron, much to Roxanne’s surprise.

  Roxanne made a polite curtsey and quavered, “You must be Julian’s Aunt Semphronia. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Aunt Semphronia instantly took to Roxanne.

  “Dear gel!” she bellowed again and sank down onto the sofa, accompanied by loud creakings from both her corset and the sofa springs. “Call me Aunt!”

  She cast a glance backwards and winked at Gregson. Roxanne was positive she winked because Gregson gave a knowing smile and disappeared from the room.

  “Let me look at you!” wheezed the lady. “Come and sit here. Can’t see all that well now I’m just about in my dotage.”

  She fumbled in a large reticule for her lorgnette and proceeded to inspect Roxanne from head to foot, humming and muttering to herself all the while. Roxanne had the opportunity to study her visitor further while undergoing this scrutiny. Julian’s aunt was approaching her sixties and while she may have been termed “handsome” in her youth, had acquired in latter years the appearance of a hatchet-faced matron with extra poundage to spare. But there was a warm twinkle in those sharp blue eyes.

  Once she had thoroughly looked Roxanne up and down, the duchess put away her lorgnette and said, “Hmm, Julian’s done very well for himself, I must say. Very pretty! Very pretty, indeed!”

  Roxanne was at a loss as to how to respond. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Julian will go far. The best of the lot,” announced the lady, digging in her reticule. Her stentorian phrases shot out like bullets.

  “My favourite nephew. The only one with an ounce of bottle. He’ll pull this place right, mark my words.”

  She turned her piercing gaze on Roxanne. “Once he has come into Oswald’s fortune, of course.”

  Before Roxanne could even think of how to answer her comment, the door opened again and Gregson staggered into the room. He was weighed down by a tray laden with teacups, a huge silver teapot, and plates of dainty cakes and delicate little sandwiches.

  “Just the way I like it, eh, Gregson?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Roxanne was so astounded by the butler’s beaming face and the visitor’s familiarity with the tea time routine that she was speechless.

  Gregson leaned over to Roxanne and whispered, “I shall bring in a pot for you directly, milady.”

  “But—” Roxanne indicated the enormous teapot already reposing on the tray. Gregson gave a little shake of his head and slipped out the room.

  He returned moments later with another, smaller teapot for Roxanne. This must be some family eccentricity, Roxanne thought. In the meantime, her visitor ploughed her way through the cakes, drank two cups of tea and started devouring the sandwiches.

  “Delicious!” she bellowed. “Gregson, go and tell that cook of Julian’s I say she has excelled herself again.”

  Gregson bowed and disappeared.

  “I’m not one for eating between meals,” the duchess confided to Roxanne in a shower of crumbs. “But at my age, I need to keep my strength up.”

  She settled herself more comfortably on the sofa and turned her gimlet gaze upon Roxanne.

  “Tell me everything about your romance with Julian.”

  Her stare was compelling and the emphasis pointed.

  Roxanne stumbled through the prepared story. It had all begun a year ago when Julian attended a lecture given by her father and bought a copy of Horace’s book. At this information, Aunt Semphronia’s eyebrows lifted so high that they almost disappeared under the edge of her turban.

  “I can assure you, it’s true,” Roxanne stuttered.

  She jumped up and fetched the book from the library, mentally thanking her lucky stars that Julian had shown it to her.

  “And then what happened?” commanded the duchess, shovelling another cake into her mouth.

  From then on the story seemed easier to relate. They had corresponded. Julian’s aunt expressed her doubts as to Julian’s writing skills. Roxanne, warming to her role as a secret amour, assured her that Julian had a very good hand and wrote the most eloquent letters. The story, embellished as a clandestine romance, unfolded just as the two conspirators had planned. Aunt Semphronia seemed to mellow as she consumed another two cups of tea because she burst into cackles of laughter at the conditions of Great-Uncle Oswald’s will. Between mopping her eyes and snorting into her handkerchief, she announced that Oswald was a crafty fellow after all and knew how to bring Julian to submission in marriage.

  “So it was just as well you were on hand, as it were, to marry Julian according to Oswald’s fanciful notion?”

  Her gaze was searching. Roxanne had decided within their first few minutes of meeting that Aunt Semphronia was no fool. Despising herself for perpetuating what was becoming a farrago of lies, Roxanne expressed the meek opinion that Fate sometimes took strange turns.

  “Humph!” was the old lady’s response. Her opinion of Fate did not seem to be very high.

  Roxanne was saved from further interrogation by Rufus’ arrival. He bounded into the room, caught sight of first the sables, reposing like a large furry animal over the arm of a chair and then of the sizeable muff, lying forgotten on the floor. With a sound best described as a mixture of a joyous bark and a vicious growl, he leaped for what he perceived to be the weaker of the intruders.

  “Heel, I say!” The duchess trumpeted a warning.

  Rufus, recognizing a force greater than him, stopped in his tracks. He slunk over to his mistress who surreptitiously fed him a remaining sandwich as Julian entered the room. Roxanne’s heart rose. Rescued at last.

  Despite his initial start of surprise, Julian gave a passable imitation of delight as he kissed his aunt’s cheek and asked after her health.

  “My health is as excellent as ever! It’s you I’m worried about.”

  Julian shot a glance at Roxanne before replying, “Why ever should you worry about me, Aunt? I see you were so moved by the news of my nuptials you came over here to see for yourself.”

  He looked at her with amusement. “You needn’t have, and certainly not in that old rattletrap which you should have replaced ages ago. I’m surprised those nags of yours haven’t given up the ghost yet.”

  “I’m not wasting good money on a new carriage. That one was good enough for Beddingfield’s mother and it’s good enough for me!” she snapped. “And there’s nothing wrong with the horses. Granted, they are getting on a little, but then so am I. Not tha
t I need to race about the countryside at top speed like some of these young scoundrels, scaring honest folk with their antics on the roads. Trying to shave inches off passing vehicles, I ask you.”

  She clucked her disapproval and returned to the subject.

  “Now, Julian, do not prevaricate. When I received your letter telling me about Oswald’s ridiculous will and your sudden marriage, I was afraid you had been coerced into offering for some unsuitable creature just to get your hands on the money. Heaven knows what kind of trouble that would have led to. Marriages of convenience for financial gain inevitably end badly.”

  The silence was profound. Roxanne felt sure the thud of her heart must be heard like a drum beat in the room. The duchess subjected the couple to another piercing stare that seemed to bore right into Roxanne, uncovering the lies.

  Then she pursed her lips and said, “But I can see this is not the case.”

  “Oh?” Julian’s expression was guarded, his shoulders tensed. Roxanne held her breath.

  “No, of course not.”

  With that matter-of-fact statement, Aunt Semphronia popped the last dainty sandwich into her mouth.

  Roxanne hoped the duchess could not see the relief she felt inside. Julian relaxed visibly. He let out a sigh as his aunt waved a dismissive hand.

  “I can see how much Roxanne cares for Penrose. With such a daunting task ahead, any other woman would have turned tail and run away. Obviously this wife of yours has your interests at heart. Look what she has already achieved. The place looks much better than when I last saw it, although it’s always been my opinion the house is a mouldering old heap that should have been pulled down and rebuilt years ago.”

  Julian’s face began to redden, but before he could open his mouth to expostulate, she continued, “Now don’t give me that look, Julian, the one you always put on when someone’s opinion differs from your own.”

  Roxanne pressed her lips together to stifle her amusement. Julian did have the tendency to ride roughshod over opinions that contradicted his.

  “Now, when do you get the money?” she demanded.

  Julian recovered his composure. “In six months time.”

  Aunt Semphronia nodded. “Well, if you need an advance on that, let me know. Now don’t be too proud.”

  She wagged an admonishing finger at the flush of temper rising in his cheeks.

  “Pride is good, my boy, but false pride is foolish. I mean if there’s a pressing expense that relates to the estate, then say so. I’ve got plenty of money, as you know. More than I can spend before I die. Beddingfield, bless him, left me very comfortably off.”

  Julian swallowed. “Thank you, Aunt. It’s kind of you to offer, and I shall bear it in mind.”

  “Tush!” His aunt waved a nonchalant hand. “When are you going to London to introduce Roxanne to Sophia?”

  Julian seized the moment.

  “Aunt Semphronia.” His voice sounded humble and appealing, and he put on a melting gaze that did not fool his aunt.

  “I know that look.” She sniffed. “What do you want?”

  With remarkable delicacy, Julian outlined the necessity for secrecy regarding their marriage. Aunt Semphronia raised her eyebrows.

  “Hmm,” she mused, “I see your point. It’s not the done thing at all to marry so soon after a death. Very unconventional and people might not understand. But if that silly Oswald hadn’t tried to rule from the grave, you and your fiancée would not have been pushed to this.”

  Roxanne and Julian both nodded.

  “I agree you’d better keep this quiet. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll say you are only betrothed, not married, to anyone in London. But—”

  The word sounded like a cannon shot in the small room and both Julian and Roxanne jumped in their seats.

  “What about down here, in the village? Can you conceal the marriage?”

  “No, Aunt,” Julian replied. “Mr. Lobb married us because there was no time to arrange anything more discreet. And besides, if we tried to put it about we were merely betrothed, Roxanne could not stay here without chaperonage and that would involve even more people.”

  Aunt Semphronia pursed her lips. “You’re not likely to have many visitors anyway, if you’re an ounce as reclusive as your father was.”

  Julian’s face hardened and his aunt waved him away before he could argue.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she hooted. “I’m under no illusions about Edward, so why should you be. Weak! That’s right. A weak man who should have had more backbone. Now off you go, Julian, before we come to blows. And take that hound with you. You have plenty to do, I’m sure, and I want Roxanne to show me round the garden.”

  Still speaking, she heaved herself to her feet and Julian was forced to bow over her hand, peck her cheek and exit the room with a chastened Rufus trotting at his heels.

  “Come, my dear,” the duchess chuckled, beckoning to Roxanne. “Show me what you’ve done outside. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of weeds and brambles. What an improvement. The place was beginning to look like a byre. But you can’t tell Julian anything. Oh no, not a word against his beloved Penrose.”

  She nodded briskly. “That’s what I like about the boy.” She thumped her huge bosom. “He has heart!”

  With that, she tossed the sables over her shoulder and strode from the room. Roxanne meekly followed in her wake, making a mental note to ask Gregson what was so special about Aunt Semphronia’s tea.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day Julian walked into the breakfast parlour, waving a letter.

  “Sophia has written.” He sat down at the table and opened the envelope. A few moments of scanning his sister’s cramped hand soon had him squinting at the lines that were crossed several times. “I don’t know why Sophia has to fill her pages like this. Silverton’s got enough money to afford the franking.”

  He looked up. Roxanne had an anxious air about her.

  “Oh, don’t fret,” he said. “This is the best news in the world for Sophia, I’ll wager you. She writes, ‘My dear Julian, you are quite the wickedest of brothers. I don’t know if I can ever bring myself to speak to you again.’” He laughed to himself. “Isn’t she—” He caught sight of Roxanne’s stricken face. “Don’t worry, my dear. The more abusive my sister is towards me in her epistles, the more she indicates her affection for me.”

  “Pray go on,” Roxanne murmured. To her it sounded as if Sophia was irate at the news.

  Julian continued reading, interspersing a chuckle here and there. “Where was I? Oh, here. ‘I am astonished you saw fit to get married without me there to share the festivities. A marriage at midnight? It sounds so romantic and exotic that I almost wish I had done something similar myself. However, you know how stuffy Silverton can be about things that are done or not done, so it’s just as well we had the full ceremony that made his mama so happy. I could not imagine her tottering along to the church late at night. And since you have explained the conditions of Great-Uncle’s extremely strange will, I can only hope that it was a perfect wedding and that Roxanne looked dangerous.’”

  He peered at the letter again. “That doesn’t sound right. It could be ‘delicious.’ Delicious?” Julian looked puzzled. “Strange kind of compliment. She makes you sound like a pastry! I suppose she hopes you looked beautiful, which you certainly did.”

  He beamed at Roxanne who smiled back, albeit rather shakily. Sophia sounded like a very expressive young woman. Roxanne reminded herself that London people were far more sophisticated than country folk. She would have to learn how to read between the lines.

  “Your sister sounds charming.”

  Julian pulled a face. “Only when she’s getting her own way. Let me read on. ‘I hope you will bring Roxanne to meet us as soon as possible since Philip is always away on government business and I hate being alone and lonely.’”

  Julian scoffed as he set the letter to one side and buttered himself a slice of toast. “Here we have a woman
who has more friends than anyone I know and who is a complete gadabout and never at home.”

  He crunched his toast and continued to read with his mouth full. “‘I have made rooms ready for you both and expect you to reside with me. Since Pennington House has been shut up for ages, I’m sure it will be more appropriate to bring Roxanne here. It will be wonderful if you could arrive by Thursday. I am having a little party two weeks after that and you must be there. Yours ever, etc., etc.’”

  He laid the letter down and finished his toast with a thoughtful expression. “Well, we can visit Pennington House,” he said, “but Sophia’s right, it wouldn’t be suitable to stay there. It has been shut up for years. My father never used it after my mother died and I haven’t been able to afford to keep servants there in my absence.”

  Roxanne felt awkward. It was inevitable they would have to make the trip to London, but she did not feel quite ready to enter into more deception, especially with Julian’s sister. Somehow, the longer the trip was delayed, the easier it was to deal with the implications of the false marriage. But that was only pushing the problem aside, not dealing with it.

  “I suppose we could leave on Wednesday?” He looked questioningly at Roxanne.

  “I…er…whatever pleases you,” she stammered.

  “No, Roxanne, whatever pleases us.” He reproved her gently. “This arrangement may only be for six months, but while it lasts we are a family unit. We must stand together and present a united front; otherwise, our agreement will not work.”

  Roxanne looked at him. She did not understand his reasoning. It would be that much more difficult for her to leave if they drew closer together. However, Julian could be stubborn when he chose, so she merely nodded. “It suits me.”

  “Good!” Julian patted his lips with his napkin and pushed his chair back from the table. “Will you make the preparations?”

  Roxanne nodded. Her heart was filled with trepidation. London! The place held nothing but horror for her. Her common sense told her the cheap inn they had stayed at was not in a very salubrious part of London. Sophia, married to a wealthy and important man, no doubt lived on the more elegant side of town. If Edgar had survived the blow and was still in London, he would hardly cross her path, would he? The question hung unanswered in the back of her mind. Thrusting aside her fears, she rose and went to consult with Mrs. Dawson.