The Earl’s Intended Wife

by Louise Allen

  ‘If I might say what I want?’ she ventured, managing to look meek and sound furious simultaneously. The others turned to look at her as if they had forgotten her existence.

  ‘Yes, of course, my dear,’ her aunt said hastily, her eyes on the Earl. He was proving alarmingly forceful: she did hope Hebe knew what she was about accepting him, whatever Lady Latham had said in his praise.

  ‘I think three weeks would allow me to recover and to purchase my bride clothes—or, at least, my mourning. It would also, my lord,’ she added tartly, ‘allow me to enjoy the company of my aunt and her family, which I am sure you would not wish to deprive me of.’

  Without appearing wholly insensitive and heartless, he had no way of refusing this compromise. With a look that promised he would have something to say about it when they were alone, Alex surrendered gracefully.

  ‘That would be very satisfactory, ma’am, if you are agreeable?’ Aunt Emily nodded, somewhat dazed. She had experienced none of these problems when dealing with Sir Frederick’s entirely proper proposal to Grace! ‘It will allow me time to have Hebe’s rooms made ready for her: the suite of the lady of the house has not been occupied for many years. I will return to Tasborough Hall, then; we can finalise arrangements by letter, I imagine.’

  Aunt Emily was having some difficulty reconciling this cool approach to the violently suppressed passion that she had to assume lay behind the urgency of his proposal. ‘Yes, indeed, I am sure, with such a very quiet affair, it can be organised by letter. We can hold the wedding breakfast here—how many guests would you intend to invite my lord?’

  ‘Just Major Gregory, a friend of mine who fortunately is home on furlough. I will ask him to be my groomsman.’

  He appeared to be making ready to leave without as much as kissing Hebe’s hand. Aunt Emily said hastily, ‘Please, on such a happy occasion, I am sure there is not the slightest objection to you bidding Hebe farewell by…er…’

  Hebe got to her feet, her eyes on Alex’s face as he turned to her. Not to kiss her would cause her aunt to doubt that this really was a love match. She read the question in his eyes and nodded slightly, extending both her hands to him. He took them and she was shocked at how cold his were. He stooped and pressed his lips to her cheek: they were warm, gentle and lingered a moment. How long was it since he had touched her?

  She racked her brains and remembered that formal handshake on the balcony in Gibraltar. Alex freed her hands and stepped back. Hebe looked at him and saw again the tiredness that shadowed his eyes. Without thinking she put up one tentative hand and touched the taut skin over his right cheekbone. His skin was losing its deep tan, and with it one of the ways he could disguise fatigue from her. ‘You will not travel back today, surely?’ she asked softly. ‘You will exhaust yourself.’

  He stepped back abruptly, leaving her with her hand raised. ‘There is much to do, I must go. I will write: take care of yourself, my dear.’ He bowed to Mrs Fulgrave and Anna, and was gone.

  ‘Well!’ Aunt Emily said, dropping back into her chair. ‘What a very determined young man—and so intense. Hebe, my dear, if you are not sure about this, now is the time to say so. He is undoubtedly highly eligible, but are you sure you want to marry a man who is quite so forceful?’ She watched Hebe’s averted face. ‘Do you love him, dear?’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed I do, Aunt.’ The warmth of her niece’s instant response reassured her.

  ‘I suppose you are both very shy of each other: on top of strong feeling that can make anyone act strangely.’ She broke off as both Grace and Joanna put their heads around the door.

  ‘May we come in, Mama?’ Grace rushed over and took Hebe’s hands. ‘I couldn’t bear to go out, so I went up to Joanna’s room. Oh, Hebe, he is so handsome, and he looks so masterful. Why, if I were not in love with dear Frederick, I declare I would be swooning over him myself.’

  ‘He is the most beautiful man in London,’ Joanna declared. At seventeen she was taking a lively interest in young men and her mama had a sinking feeling she would prove to be both a flirt and a handful when she came out.

  ‘Joanna!’ she reproved.

  ‘Well,’ Hebe said with a smile, ‘he was certainly the most handsome man on Malta, although he would not thank you for saying so. My maid told me he looked like a “beautiful, fierce saint” and I made the mistake of repeating it to him.’

  Grace giggled. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He professed himself mortified,’ Hebe said. ‘We were in a boat in the Grand Harbour at the time and it literally took the wind out of his sails.’

  ‘It is good that he is not set up in a high opinion of himself,’ Aunt Emily said thoughtfully. ‘He is indeed a handsome man, although, until he smiles, I find him quite severe.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hebe agreed. It was wonderful to be able to talk about Alex like this, to enjoy a little feminine gossip. Indulgent, but wonderful. ‘When I first saw him I took an instant dislike to him, for he looked so severe and priestlike. And when he senses danger he resembles a fierce bird of prey.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Joanna regarded her with saucer eyes. ‘You were shipwrecked with him, were you not? It must have been a wonderful adventure. Did the Earl have to protect you from many dangerous Frenchmen?’

  That was far too near the knuckle for comfort. Anna intervened. ‘Fortunately the Major—I cannot think of Major Alex as my lord yet—was soon able to get Hebe to my village.’

  Grace was far less interested in exotic adventure, and much more concerned with romance. ‘But when did you decide you did not dislike him?’

  ‘When I realised that he was not severe at all, merely exhausted, for he had just returned from a long and dangerous mission. He does not like showing weakness: few men do, I should imagine. However, I saw through his pretence and we soon became friends.’

  ‘Just friends?’ Grace questioned.

  ‘At first. We shared a mutual interest in Greek mythology.’ Hebe ignored Anna, who had cast up her eyes in mingled amusement and disapproval.

  ‘Goodness.’ Grace was obviously finding it difficult to reconcile the Earl’s good looks, his dashing military background and an interest in mythology. ‘So, when will the wedding be announced? And when can we go shopping for your bride clothes? You will not have to wear mourning if it has not been announced, will you?’

  ‘The wedding will be in three weeks’ time,’ her mother told her, managing to conceal her own feelings on the matter. ‘Because of the family bereavement it will not be announced beforehand and will just be a simple ceremony at St George’s. Which means,’ she added with a sigh, ‘we have a great deal of shopping to be done in a very short time. And a considerable amount of mourning-wear to obtain.’

  ‘Hebe will not have to be married in black, surely, Mama?’

  Aunt Emily pondered. ‘No, I do not think so, as it is a private, family affair. Nothing too light, of course—perhaps a dusky rose pink? That would suit you, dear. But immediately after the wedding breakfast you will need to change into blacks: it would not do to arrive at your new home in colours.

  ‘I think you should go back to bed and rest for the remainder of the day, Hebe, while Grace and I make lists. We can consult tomorrow morning and then, if you feel well enough, we will go shopping. We will take the barouche, and Peter, so we will have to do no walking or carrying parcels. Now, up you go, dear.’

  Hebe found herself ruthlessly tucked up in bed by Anna who demanded, ‘Qué pasa?’ the moment she was sure they were alone. ‘The Major cannot surely want to snatch you away from your family so quickly, and in your condition?’

  ‘I think he is afraid I will manage to escape him somehow, and it touches his honour that he has ruined me,’ Hebe said wearily. ‘He has assured me that he would not dream of touching me.’

  ‘Until you are well,’ Anna said.

  ‘Why, yes, I assume so,’ Hebe replied, startled. ‘I mean, I know he is in love with Lady Clarissa, or whatever she is called now, but he is a man, after all. And beside
anything else, he must want heirs.’

  ‘And this you do not mind?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Of course I mind,’ Hebe said sadly. ‘Do you think I like the idea that my husband is in love with another woman and only making love to me because he has to, or because I am…handy?’

  ‘Handy?’ Anna worked the expression out. ‘Oh, I see, you are to hand. But you are in love with him, so you would like him to make love to you? No?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hebe was trying not to blush.

  ‘And you are not afraid of him? After what happened? It cannot have been a pleasant experience.’

  ‘No, I am not afraid of him, and, yes, it was not pleasant. But you know, Anna, because it was Alex, and I love him, there was something…’ She broke off, the blush getting the better of her.

  ‘Ah ha! I thought so,’ the older woman said with a smile. ‘It will be all right, querida, you let him make love to you as soon as possible, and he will soon forget that other silly woman.’ She added something crisply in her own language.

  Hebe smiled. ‘You are very Spanish this afternoon, Anna.’

  ‘That is because we are planning a wedding. It brings out the duenna in me.’

  Hebe suddenly thought of something that she had not considered. ‘Anna, you will come to Tasborough Hall with me, will you not?’

  ‘But surely, Hebe, you do not want me there? You will just be married…what will the Major say?’

  ‘I am to be a Countess,’ Hebe said firmly, ignoring an hysterical desire to laugh at such a ridiculous thought. ‘And I imagine no one would think it odd that I have a lady companion. I must find a maid, and I expect Aunt will say I should have a dresser as well, but I don’t think I want to deal with one of those very superior servants just yet.’

  ‘I will remind Señora Fulgrave, then. Are there places in London where one can find maids?’

  ‘Yes, Registry Offices. Would you be very kind and remind Aunt Emily that we need to put that on the list?’

  Anna went out and Hebe fell into a doze, too worn out to lie awake worrying about what was happening to her.

  Dusk had fallen before she woke to find her aunt sitting beside the bed, a chamber candle lit, waiting for her to wake.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, Aunt Emily, have you been there long?’

  ‘Twenty minutes or so, dear. I just wanted to make sure you were all right after all the excitements of the day.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Hebe sat up against the pillows. She did, indeed, feel much better: less tired, with no discomfort and even the sharp attacks of misery that had kept piercing her when she least expected it had settled into a quiet melancholy regret at the back of her thoughts. The events since she had landed at Portsmouth were beginning to take on the aspect of a dream.

  She realised that her aunt was looking uncomfortable and said, ‘Is anything wrong, Aunt Emily?’

  ‘No, dearest. It is just that with your mother not being here—’ She broke off, then said more firmly, ‘Is there anything you would like to ask me, dear? About men and…er…marriage?’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ Hebe smiled reassuringly at her aunt. ‘Thank you, but I…I mean, before I left Gibraltar…’

  Her aunt leapt immediately to the conclusion she had hoped. ‘Of course, your mama took the opportunity to have a little talk. Well, if there is anything else you would like to ask me, you must not hesitate.’

  She left a short while afterwards, reassured. Hebe closed her eyes and wondered what her aunt’s reaction would be to the news that her well-brought-up niece needed no instruction at all as to what happened between a man and a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The ladies set out the next day with a list that filled an entire book of tablets, a resigned-looking footman sitting up beside the coachman and a warning to Mr Fulgrave that he must expect to eat his luncheon in company with his two younger children or at his club, whichever he pleased. He was left in no doubt that his wife intended to devote herself entirely to his niece’s needs for as long as it took to achieve a creditable, although sombre, trousseau.

  An amiable man with a strong sense of family, he raised no objection to this desertion, instead pressing a roll of banknotes into his wife’s hand with a whispered injunction to ‘buy something special for little Hebe’. It was not every day that a connection of the Fulgraves allied herself to an Earl. His dear Grace had done very well for herself, but what might Joanna achieve with her cousin’s new influence when she came out next year?

  ‘Where are we going first, Mama?’ Grace enquired, conning the lists, which were long enough to give even such a dedicated shopper as herself a faint feeling of exhaustion.

  ‘Madame de Montaigne,’ her mother declared. ‘We have no time to spare in having Hebe’s wedding dress and one good evening gown made. Perhaps a walking dress, as well. I would not normally think of a riding habit as you will be in mourning, but, in the country, it may be necessary. She has such a good figure that we may be able to get away with other things made up by Miss Bennett if we obtain fabrics and patterns today.’

  She turned to Hebe, who was dividing her attention between the bustling street and her aunt. ‘Miss Bennett makes all our day-to-day things my dear—such a clever seamstress, why, show her a fashion plate and she will contrive excellent results. Her sisters work with her, so I have every confidence she will be able to produce, let me see, four day dresses, two afternoon gowns…’ She began to rattle off a list that appeared to Hebe, who had grown up believing that three new dresses in a year was wanton extravagance, to be outside all possibility of need.

  ‘But, Aunt—’ she began, but was silenced with a wave of her aunt’s hand.

  ‘You are about to become a Countess, dear, that changes everything.’

  ‘But the money,’ Hebe interjected. ‘I am not a Countess yet!’

  ‘Your uncle has given me a little present for you, which will pay for your evening gown, and while he was with your uncle, Lord Tasborough arranged for funds for you, quite appreciating the position you might find yourself in.’ She smiled complacently, as happy for her niece as she would have been for one of her own daughters. ‘We need not stint on the smallest item.’

  Madame de Montaigne, who might, or then again, might not, have been the aristocratic émigrée she purported to be, threw herself into the task confronting her with enthusiasm. She knew that to betray by so much as a whisper the news that there was about to be a new Countess upon the social scene would be to lose her every hope of ever dressing this prestigious new client again. But once the announcement was made and smart ladies learned that the charming Lady Tasborough was dressed at de Montaigne’s, she would be able to pick and chose her clientele.

  ‘But, of course, Madame Fulgrave! A dusky rose would be of the most charming for mademoiselle: so pretty, yet so suitable under the circumstances. It so happens that I have a gown of just that colour—not a suitable style, but if mademoiselle cares to try it on to see the shade…’

  Hebe found herself dressed in an evening gown of great elegance and far lower cut than she had ever worn. She hardly dared breathe lest what felt like an entirely inadequate bodice allowed her breasts to escape. There were puff sleeves attached to the slimmest possible shoulders and the skirts fell from immediately below her bosom to her ankle bone.

  The colour was exquisite, Hebe thought, looking down: the shade of raspberries mixed with cream. Then Madame turned her around and she found herself confronting a stranger in the long pier glass. The shiny brown hair was hers, but her face was suddenly finer, her eyes bigger, her mouth fuller in contrast to the high cheek bones. It was as if every vestige of youthful plumpness had gone, leaving a young lady of haunting and unusual looks.

  ‘Enchanting!’ Madame sighed.

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Emily agreed, looking at her niece as though for the first time. ‘Enchanting is exactly the word.’

  ‘Now, this colour is exactly right for the wedding gown, and this style, but in black of course, for the
evening gown.’

  ‘But, Aunt Emily, this is much too low,’ Hebe gasped.

  ‘Not for a married lady of fashion,’ Madame assured her. ‘Now, what do you think of this silk, with a gauze overskirt of embroidered net? I have a net here with the work all concentrated at the bottom—wreaths of leaves, which would be most appropriate.’

  The evening gown settled, they turned their attention to a design for the wedding dress. To Hebe’s huge relief the neckline was more modest, trimmed with satin ribbons in an unusual twisting edging that was reflected in the hem and in undulating bands of trim which circled the skirt.

  ‘With roses in the hair and at the bosom and pearls, do you not think, Madame?’ Aunt Emily enquired.

  By the time they emerged with a gratifyingly large number of garments crossed off Mrs Fulgrave’s list, Hebe was feeling decidedly light-headed and made no resistance at all to being steered into Gunther’s. A cup of hot chocolate and a delicious ice with almond biscuits had a reviving effect and she was able to contemplate an afternoon at the silk warehouses with some enthusiasm.

  ‘Millard’s East India Warehouse might have the best prices,’ Aunt Emily mused while the coachman sat stolidly ignoring the curses of carters until she had made up her mind where to send him. ‘But do we really want to go as far as Cheapside? No, I think Shears. Henrietta Street, Grimes!’

  Shears’s of Bedford House certainly had the most staggering display of mourning fabrics one might hope to view. Hebe allowed herself to be seated by the counter while assistants brought bombazines, crepes, Italian nets, silks, gauzes and Gros de Naples for her approval. She was overwhelmed and simply said, ‘Whatever you think, Aunt,’ at regular intervals as pelisses and gloves, trimmings and beadings followed the fabrics.

  ‘Stagg and Mantle’s for linens,’ was the next decree, once Peter, sweating freely from trying to fit the numerous parcels into the carriage, had finally climbed back on to the box, mopping his brow.