A Simple Lady

by Carolynn Carey

  “The stutter was a nice touch yesterday, my dear,” Kenrick said, his lip curling in contempt. “Unfortunately, it has lost its effectiveness today. You waited a bit too long to revert to that particular tactic. If you must try to explain, may I request that you do so without stuttering?”

  Elizabeth stared at her husband in horror. He could not have gagged her more effectively if he had crammed a rag into her mouth. She could not speak now without stuttering, and to stutter would reinforce his belief that she was trying to manipulate him.

  He was watching her, his eyebrows raised, his eyes mocking, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to try to explain. And she could not do it. There was no way she could defend herself now, so she merely shook her head, her eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears of frustration.

  “A nice touch, my dear,” Kenrick said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “But the game is over. I shall leave you now, but do not worry. The carriage and horses will stay, along with the coachman, if he wishes. I had hired him on a temporary basis for this little expedition of ours. I shall tell him before I leave that if he wants the position permanently, it is his. Your allowance will be sent quarterly through Mr. Blanton in London. Now, was there anything else? No, I believe that was the extent of your demands. In that case, my lady, goodbye.”

  Elizabeth stared for long seconds at the door Kenrick had closed softly behind him on his way out of her life. Tears pooled in her eyes as she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She had made a mistake—a dreadful mistake. She had failed, utterly and completely. Again.

  But no, she decided, lifting her head and compressing her lips. She would not allow herself to feel like a failure. She might be guilty of using poor judgment, but she had done nothing to deserve her husband’s contempt, and she was determined not to allow that caustic emotion to destroy her. She stood and squared her shoulders. She had a life to live. It promised to be lonely and probably unfulfilling, but she would make the best of it she could.

  Chapter Seven

  July came in mild, but by the middle of the month, the weather had turned sultry and thunderstorms were regular afternoon visitors at Cramdon Cottage. Elizabeth was delighted. She loved the harbingers of storms—those dark, cloud-laden skies and the gusty winds that swayed large trees and sent downed leaves flying in abandonment across the ground. To stand facing a wind so strong it threatened to tear the very breath from her throat was an exhilaration Elizabeth had grown to love.

  One afternoon the storm was unusually late, giving Elizabeth ample time to wander down to Cramdon Cottage’s old apple orchard, her favorite spot for awaiting the rising wind. It was a bit fanciful, she admitted privately, but she couldn’t help feeling some kinship with the old and gnarled apple trees. They seemed to symbolize endurance and a certain timelessness, standing firm against the menacing winds, shaking knobby limbs at the approaching storm as though to vow they would not succumb to such outrageous treatment.

  Elizabeth was not alone in the orchard that day, although her escort appeared more interested in attacking a flawed apple than in consorting with her. With laughing eyes, Elizabeth admonished her newest companion, a kitten she had rescued several days earlier from one of the apple trees.

  “Take care, Apollo,” she called to the little yellow ball of fur. “A couple of wasps appear to fancy that apple too, you know.”

  Elizabeth’s attention was diverted from her kitten by a sudden gust of wind that tore at her skirts and plastered the thin muslin against her thighs. Turning quickly, she lifted her face toward the sky and closed her eyes, reveling in the coolness of the damp air that caressed her face and ruffled her hair.

  “Ah, the poor child. The poor, poor child!”

  Elizabeth thought for a split second that the wind had murmured those sorrowful words. But common sense immediately informed her that while the wind might moan, it never talked, and so she spun around looking for the source of those pitying words.

  A strange woman stood alone at the edge of the orchard, firmly gripping her bonnet in one hand and futilely attempting with the other to keep her green traveling dress from being twisted around her slender legs. The rising wind had teased the lady’s soft grey curls into a mass of disarray that very much became her little heart-shaped face, but she seemed totally unconcerned with her own appearance. Instead, she was staring at Elizabeth in consternation, her large blue eyes reflecting both compassion and deep despair.

  Aware of the image she must have projected, standing with her eyes closed and her face lifted toward the sky to catch the breeze, Elizabeth had no difficulty in guessing the reason for the stranger’s concerns.

  “My dear lady,” Elizabeth said, hurrying to the woman’s side. “I see that my silly behavior has upset you. Never fear. I am quite sane. ’Tis merely that I enjoy the smell of the coming rain and a brisk breeze on my face. May I be of service to you?”

  The woman frowned, her expression of despair quickly changing to one of confusion and then of embarrassment. “Forgive me,” she said, biting her lip as her face flushed a deep rose. “I thought you were someone else. I beg your pardon for intruding upon you.”

  Elizabeth’s concern deepened. The poor woman must be a misdirected traveler, although it was difficult to imagine anyone stumbling upon Cramdon Cottage, even by accident.

  “There’s no need for apologies, ma’am,” Elizabeth assured her quickly. “I was ready to go inside anyway. I fear the rain will arrive shortly. Will you take a cup of tea with me?”

  “Oh my, that sounds lovely,” the woman said, smiling for the first time. That she had once been a beauty was obvious. Her face, although lined, showed evidence of the exquisite bone structure that had surely defined her as a diamond of the first water when she was a girl.

  “Having a guest for tea will be lovely for me, too,” Elizabeth assured the stranger, placing her hand on the lady’s elbow to steer her toward the house. “Cramdon Cottage is often lonely. But what am I thinking? I cannot return without Apollo.”

  The stranger jerked her arm from Elizabeth’s gentle grasp and whirled to stare at her with horrified eyes. “Cramdon Cottage?” she repeated, her voice shaky. “Apollo?”

  Elizabeth stared too, amazed that the lady seemed so overset for so little reason. “Why yes,” she said, striving to sound calm. The poor little stranger’s intellect was a bit disordered, she feared. “Cramdon Cottage is the house you can see through those large oaks, and Apollo is my kitten. Do you dislike cats? Some people do, I know. My own mother is terrified of them. I’ve seen her practically faint when a cat merely brushed up against her leg.”

  “Who are you?” the woman demanded, continuing to stare at Elizabeth with wide and leery eyes.

  Elizabeth stifled a sigh and smiled gently. “Forgive me for not having introduced myself immediately, ma’am. My name is Elizabeth, and I am Lady Kenrick.”

  “Impossible,” the woman replied immediately, tilting her head as though to view Elizabeth from a different angle. “You cannot be Lady Kenrick because you obviously are not simpleminded.”

  Suddenly very curious about this stranger, Elizabeth was nonetheless aware that the storm clouds were almost upon them. “You are correct, ma’am,” she agreed quickly. “I am not simpleminded, but both of us are going to get very wet if we don’t go inside immediately. Now where can that silly Apollo be? I have no desire to climb a dripping apple tree to retrieve him a second time.”

  “Is that perhaps the kitten you seek?” the lady asked, pointing toward the gravel path leading to a side door of the cottage.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes. He is waiting for me, probably wondering why I haven’t opened the door for him. He is even less enthusiastic about getting wet than I am. Come, ma’am, will be join me now for that cup of tea?”

  “I certainly will, my dear,” the lady answered, smiling as she slipped her hand into the crook of Elizabeth’s arm and allowed herself to be led into the house.

  Fifteen minutes later E
lizabeth was pouring her guest a cup of tea while threatening Apollo with dire consequences should he approach the cream pitcher one more time.

  “Silly kitten,” Elizabeth scolded. “I am sure you’ve already had your dish of milk in the kitchen. Shall I put him out, ma’am? Does he bother you?”

  “Not at all, my dear. I am very fond of cats. I have five of my own and am used to the antics of kittens. Have you given him a ball of yarn to play with?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “I always do. I recall how much Jeremy used to laugh at my kittens. Of course, they are too old now to be interested in frivolous games. Unfortunately, time changes us all. It has been many a day since I have heard Jeremy laugh.” The lady’s thoughts had obviously saddened her. She sat silently, holding her teacup and staring toward the drawing room window where rain poured in great sheets down the panes.

  “May I freshen your tea, ma’am?” Elizabeth asked, hoping to pull the lady back from her sad memories.

  “What? Oh! Forgive me, my dear. I was woolgathering, I fear. Poor Jeremy. He has been sad for so long. But no doubt you have noticed that.”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Her guest had not introduced herself, and Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to appear rude by asking her for identification. Now, recalling Mrs. Freeman’s whispered insistence that the lady’s fine traveling coach sported a crest upon its door, Elizabeth realized that the circumstances surrounding this lady’s arrival were beginning to suggest a conclusion she had no desire to reach. Still, she had never subscribed to the precept that ignorance is bliss. Best to find out immediately if her suspicions were correct. She took a deep breath. “Forgive me, ma’am, if I appear rude, but may I assume that you are my new mother-in-law?”

  The lady’s eyes widened, surprise reflected prominently in their deep blue depths. “Yes, of course, my dear. Didn’t the fact that I’m the Dowager Marchioness of Kenrick not suggest as much to you?”

  Elizabeth bit her lip, suppressing the desire to point out that the lady had mentioned neither her name nor her title. She could not help wondering if her mother-in-law had always been so absentminded or if the failing resulted from advancing age. In either case, Elizabeth realized, pointing out the lady’s omission of vital information would not be kind. Instead she said, “I am very honored by this visit, my lady.”

  The Dowager Lady Kenrick smiled. “Such a sweet child,” she murmured, apparently to herself. She looked then into Elizabeth’s eyes. “But I am very confused, my dear. Gerald told me that you are simpleminded.”

  “Gerald?” Elizabeth frowned, trying to recall whether Gerald was one of her husband’s names. She’d heard all of them only once on the day they were married, and the vicar had run through the names so quickly, none of them had really registered with Elizabeth. Her confusion deepened. “I’m sorry to appear so obtuse, ma’am, but did you say that someone named Gerald told you that I’m simpleminded?”

  “Forgive me,” the dowager said with a grimace. “I should have realized that you wouldn’t have met Gerald. He is Jeremy’s cousin and heir, a dear boy, although he and Jeremy have never gotten along. Gerald was kind enough to ride to Aston Arbor to inform me of Jeremy’s marriage. As you can imagine, I was horrified to learn that my son would marry a simpleminded girl, merely to keep Aston Arbor out of Gerald’s hands. There was no need for Jeremy to take such drastic actions. It’s not as though Gerald would have tossed me out on my ear!”

  Elizabeth, torn between sighing and smiling, reached for another biscuit while mulling over her mother-in-law’s words. “Am I correct in concluding, my lady, that your son married me so your home, Aston Arbor, would not pass into his cousin’s hands?”

  The dowager looked at Elizabeth with awed approval clear in her eyes. “Why, yes. You are really very clever. Why did Gerald tell me you are simple, I wonder?”

  Elizabeth decided she was not brave enough to attempt an answer to that question. Instead she asked, “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, my lady?” She was surprised to see a sudden flash of anger in her guest’s eyes.

  “I fail to understand why my desire to meet my new daughter-in-law should amaze everyone. I realize I have not ventured beyond Aston Arbor’s boundaries for over twenty years, but that hardly signifies. After all, I never had sufficient reason to leave my home before. But naturally, when I learned that my son, my very foolish and unhappy son, had done such a dastardly thing—to marry a simple girl for his own selfish reasons even though he thought he was doing it for me—well, I could hardly sit by and not ascertain for myself if you were being properly cared for. Could I?” Then, with an abrupt change of subject, “Perhaps you would not want me to mention this, but the kitten is in the cream pot.”

  “Apollo,” Elizabeth cried, leaping up to gently grasp the purring kitten beneath his taut belly and cuddle him on her shoulder, secretly pleased that the little scamp had provided her with an excuse not to respond to her guest’s outburst. She had no wish to disillusion this kind lady by explaining that her beloved son had not only been willing to marry for selfish reasons, but that he had also been furious when he learned his wife was not simpleminded after all.

  “You will think me a very poor hostess, my lady,” Elizabeth said, eager to change the subject. “If you will excuse me, I shall ask the housekeeper to prepare a chamber for you immediately.” She then hurried from the room.

  By that evening, Elizabeth felt as though she had spent the day trapped in the center of a gentle but persistent whirlwind. Her mother-in-law was tenacious when seeking information. She had wormed from Elizabeth almost every detail of her life to date, along with most facts pertaining to her marriage. Only Elizabeth’s tendency to stutter remained unmentioned. Elizabeth had learned long ago that to speak of her impediment often precipitated it, and she had no desire to add stuttering to the confusion that seemed inherent in conversations with her mother-in-law.

  “That ridiculous boy,” the Dowager Lady Kenrick exclaimed when she and Elizabeth had finished dinner and retired to the drawing room. “Would you be kind enough to hand me that bag, my dear? I always carry my needlework with me and, if memory serves me correctly, I have a ball of yarn buried beneath a handkerchief I am hemming. Where is Apollo?”

  Apollo, who had been sleeping beside the empty hearth, was delighted to interrupt his nap to pounce on the ball of yarn the dowager marchioness tossed toward him.

  “He is sometimes very silly, you know,” the dowager said. She had pulled a half-hemmed handkerchief from her bag and was examining her stitches with a critical eye.

  Unsure whether the dowager referred to her son or to Apollo, Elizabeth said nothing.

  “He thought he was protecting me, of course,” that lady continued, frowning and stuffing the handkerchief back into her bag. She sighed then and looked at Elizabeth. “Jeremy has always been very protective of me. You see, his father was not especially kind to me. He was not kind to anyone, as a matter of fact. But I was only seventeen when we were introduced during my first Season, and I thought him the most handsome and gallant man I had ever met. I was thrilled when he asked Papa for my hand. How could I have guessed that his declarations of undying love were directed toward my dowry rather than toward me?”

  Elizabeth, hoping the question was rhetorical, breathed a silent sigh of relief when her mother-in-law continued.

  “After Jeremy was born, my husband began to flaunt his affairs. I was still in love with him and was devastated that he could so blithely humiliate me in front of my friends. After Jeremy was born, I told his father that I wanted to retire to Aston Arbor with the baby. He agreed quickly. He was glad to be rid of me, you see.”

  So much hurt was still evident in the dowager’s voice that Elizabeth found herself blinking back tears of sympathy. “I am very sorry, my lady,” she said softly.

  “Call me Mary, please, my dear. You are, after all, my daughter now. I have always wanted a daughter, but… Never mind. At least I have one now.”


  Elizabeth could not help recalling that the dowager had possessed a daughter-in-law once before, but because she had also heard that Kenrick’s first marriage was not a happy one, she quickly lowered her gaze, hoping her mother-in-law had not read her thoughts in her eyes. Her hopes were in vain.

  “Ah, you are thinking, perhaps, of Jeremy’s first marriage. A sad—I might almost say a fatal—mistake. Few people know this my dear, but Paulina was enceinte when Jeremy married her. He was not aware of her pregnancy, of course. He married the girl, who was from a good family, because his father urged him to, and at that time, Jeremy still strove to please his father. Jeremy was young and naive, and Paulina soon had him enraptured with her. She convinced him that she had conceived on their wedding night and that the child she carried was his. He did not learn until Paulina was dying, while giving birth to a stillborn babe, that had her son lived, he would have been Jeremy’s half brother.”

  Elizabeth could not suppress her gasp of horror. “My lady, surely you are mistaken!”

  “Oh, no. She told Jeremy on her deathbed, begging him to send for his father so she could say goodbye to her illicit lover. I feared for Jeremy’s sanity for weeks after they buried Paulina. He retreated to Aston Arbor, the only place he knew where he could find true peace. He vowed never to marry again. I thought he never would. My poor dear! I have upset you. Shall I ring for brandy?”

  Elizabeth sat, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. “No,” she said quietly. “I am all right.” She looked up then, anger clear in her compressed lips. “I perhaps should not say so, my lady, but your husband sounds like a veritable monster.”

  The dowager smiled wanly. “He had very few good characteristics, that is true. Of course, he never intended for Jeremy to know whose baby Paulina carried. Perhaps he saw his solution to her pregnancy as ideal. He no doubt thought himself very clever, ensuring that his illegitimate baby, if a boy, would be the legitimate heir to the title.”