Marriage of Inconvenience

by Cheryl Bolen

  He set his hand at Rebecca’s waist and beamed up at Emily. The sight of her fair loveliness always filled him with pride. “Here comes my daughter.”

  “Oh, how I wish I had my spectacles,” Rebecca lamented.

  Emily’s eyes narrowed as she reached the bottom step and faced Rebecca. “Pray, if you need spectacles, do wear them.”

  Anger surged within him. How dare his daughter speak so rudely to his bride. But as much as he wanted to rebuke her, he did not want to add fuel to the flames. He did not want to do anything that would make poor Rebecca more uncomfortable than she already was. “Charles Allen Compton!” he thundered. “Come at once with my lady’s spectacles.”

  A flurry of footsteps thumped above them, and Chuckie—spectacles slipping from his nose—pounded down the stairs, both brothers at his heels. Thank goodness Spencer and Alex were dressed as the gentlemen they were. Lamentably, nothing could be done about Chuckie.

  “Here, Mother,” Chuckie said to the new Lady Aynsley, placing the spectacles in her hand.

  Her lovely face contorted with fury, Emily snapped, “She is not your mother!”

  He could no longer ignore his daughter’s hostility. “That will be enough, Emily. You are not to dictate how your brothers will address my new wife.”

  Rebecca, still managing to smile despite her chilly reception, donned her spectacles, whisked her gaze over Emily and said, “Oh, Emily is beautiful. I knew she would be.”

  “How very kind of you, my lady,” Emily replied stiffly.

  “I beg that you be less formal with my wife. She prefers not to be addressed as my lady.”

  Emily rolled her pale blue eyes. “I can hardly call her mother.”

  “Of course, you can’t,” Rebecca said, “but I’d be ever so much more comfortable if you would call me Rebecca.”

  “As you wish, Rebecca.”

  “And these, my love,” Aynsley said, peering at the boys, “are my middle sons.”

  Rebecca eyed them. “Don’t tell me. The one with the blond hair is Spencer, and the handsome lad with red hair is Alex.”

  Both of them bestowed smiles on their stepmother—for which Aynsley was exceedingly grateful.

  “I’ve been waiting in rotund anticipation for this elucidating meeting, my fair lady,” Alex said.

  “He means profound anticipation,” Emily corrected, her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “As have I,” Rebecca replied. “I’m so very fortunate to have a ready-made family for I’m exceedingly fond of lads.”

  Emily gave her an icy glare, went to say something, then clamped her mouth shut.

  He had never been more uncomfortable in his own home.

  The door burst open and Peter came striding in, dirt from his dusty boots leaving a trail across the white marble floor. “Uncle! You’re here.” His glance flicked to Rebecca. “This must be the new Lady Aynsley. Welcome to Dunton. I hope you will be very happy here.”

  Rebecca nodded as she bestowed a smile upon him. “Thank you. You must be Peter Wallace.”

  Aynsley stepped forward. “Dearest, may I present to you my nephew, Peter Wallace.”

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “Now,” Aynsley said, “I beg to take leave of all of you. I wish to show Lady Aynsley our chambers.”

  He did not even want to think of how outraged Emily would be to have another woman move into her mother’s former bedchamber. As angry as he was over his daughter’s blatant ill manners, his heart softened toward her. She had lost her mother; now she must feel she was losing her father, too. He had to assure her she would always be his cherished daughter.

  “Will all the children dine with us?” Rebecca asked.

  It had never occurred to him to allow children at the dining table. “I suppose they could this once. It is, after all, a special occasion.” He drilled Chuckie with a stern stare. “But you, Master Charles, must be on your best behavior. No accidents.”

  Chuckie hung his head, nodding. “Did you bwing pwessents?”

  “You will have your presents after dinner.”

  At the mention of receiving a present from her father, Emily’s mouth curved into a smile. Her first. His presents had never disappointed. He hoped that success would continue.

  * * *

  “There wasn’t time to redecorate the countess’s chambers,” Aynsley said as he swung open the door to the most beautiful bedchamber Rebecca had ever beheld. Gold silken draperies had been opened, and a wall of tall windows filled the creamy room with light. Everything was gilt and ivory and gold silk. Much too sedate for Rebecca’s taste, but lovely nonetheless. “You must feel free to redecorate in a manner consistent with your taste. It can be your first function as lady, er, mistress of the manor.”

  She stood frozen in the room’s doorway, her gaze slowly fanning across the utterly feminine chamber with its French dressing table, ornate looking glass and a magnificent bed draped in more gold silk. “It’s so beautiful.” Then she turned to him. “I declare, I feel such a fish out of water. I never thought that marrying you would bring...all of this. I just wanted a home of my own—and many children to nurture.”

  He frowned. “But not a husband.”

  Without being aware of what she was doing, she reached out and stroked his arm. “I’m coming to learn that having a husband such as you could be the best part of being married.” Good heavens, what could have made her say such a thing? She moved into the chamber, going straight to one of the windows.

  He came to stand behind her.

  There was even more to appreciate outdoors. In the distance a verdant walking trail circled a serpentine lake, beyond which was a thicket. “I shall never want to go back to London,” she said. “This is wonderful.” She turned to him. “As lovely as the countess’s chamber is, I shall redecorate it to suit my own taste—that is, if you can afford it.” She didn’t give a fig about decorating, but she suddenly found herself possessed of a strong desire to eradicate any signs of her predecessor from this room.

  “I assure you we can afford it.” He strode toward a door on an interior wall. “This is your dressing chamber. It connects with mine.”

  It seemed so peculiar that she and this man would live together as man and wife. Almost.

  It was also difficult to credit that the man with whom she’d been so comfortable for the past three days owned a hefty portion of Shropshire and commanded his children with stern authority. This powerful man seemed a stranger now.

  Then he gave her that rakish smile, and he was once more the man who had shared her carriage, the man who had won her deep admiration. “You, my dear, will need to rest and change out of your traveling clothes for dinner. We eat at five.”

  When he escorted her into the dining room, she once again felt like a fish out of water. The size and grandeur of the chamber only served to remind her of the disparity of their backgrounds. She had brought nothing to this marriage. What did she really even know about being a mother? Indulging Maggie’s sons was nothing like being responsible for Lord Aynsley’s. And she was well aware of Lady Emily’s resentment. Quite naturally, the girl would not want a stranger replacing her mother, nor would she welcome that stranger who would supplant her as mistress of her home. Rebecca could see that Emily’s authority for running Dunton Hall could only be relinquished in the tiniest of increments.

  When Chuckie had called her Mother, she had positively melted. It affected her even more profoundly to realize this was the first time in his short life he’d had someone to call Mother. She had made a vow to herself on the spot to be the kindest of mothers to the adorable little boy.

  The children, all of them dressed impeccably, were already seated at the long dinner table beneath three multitiered crystal chandeliers that lit up the chamber almost as brightly as daylight.

  With effort, she refrained from laughing when she saw Chuckie seated there. He was so small his head barely protruded above the table’s surface. As she drew nearer she saw that
he was perfectly dressed with a freshly starched cravat around his little neck. “I declare,” she said, “I believe Master Chuckie needs a very large book to sit upon if he’s going to sup at the big persons’ table.”

  “That’s what we told him,” Spencer said, “but he was not obliging.”

  “My name’s not Chuckie!” the child protested loudly.

  “It is, too,” Alex argued.

  Chuckie’s face clouded. “Is not.”

  “Yes, it is!” Alex yelled.

  Aynsley leveled a stern gaze at Alex. “Enough.”

  The boy clamped shut his lips.

  “I beg that you procure a tall book to elevate Master Chuckie,” Rebecca said to the footman.

  “Grandpapa’s Plutarch’s Lives!” Emily said, rising. “I’ll fetch it.”

  Rebecca favored the lady with a smile. Did Emily fear the footman could not read? More likely, he would have no idea where to look for one particular title among the many hundred in her husband’s library. Rebecca turned back to Chuckie. “How very handsome you look tonight, Mr. Hock.”

  Chuckie beamed. “Thank you, Mother.”

  “She’s not your mother,” Spencer said.

  Alex glared at his elder brother. “There, my brother, you’re wrong. She actually is our mother, our stepmother.”

  “See,” Chuckie said. “She is my mother.” He looked up at Rebecca with his enormous blue eyes.

  “Our Heavenly Father has sent me to be your mother because He needed your other mother with Him,” she explained. She quickly glanced at Lady Emily, who was lugging a voluminous tome and placed it beneath her youngest brother.

  When Rebecca took her seat at the foot of the table she realized that for the past three years Emily had undoubtedly occupied it. She turned and addressed her stepdaughter. “How kind of you to save this chair for me. I cannot tell you how honored I am to take it.” Her gaze leaped to Aynsley at the table’s other end, though her view of him was partially obstructed by a large silver epergne laden with fruit. “And how honored I am to be your countess, my lord.” It was important to her that Emily not think her a scheming fortune hunter, that she realize Rebecca’s true sense of humility.

  Halfway through the soup, Rebecca addressed Emily. “Pray, Emily, do we have you to thank for Master Chuckie’s most agreeable appearance?”

  Emily sighed. “It was no easy task, I assure you.”

  “The lad is, I’m told, particularly fond of his Guards uniform.”

  “See, Alex, I told you people can tell I’m in the Gawds,” Chuckie said.

  Alex shook his red head vigorously. “Our new mother is just being nice to you, imbecile.”

  “You are not to call your brother an imbecile,” Aynsley scolded. “Apologize.”

  “Pray, forgive me Mister Hock.” Alex’s eyes narrowed.

  Sitting on his linen-covered book, Chuckie glared at his sibling like an overbearing monarch. “I don’t even know what an abacile is.”

  “It’s imbecile, you idiot!” Alex said, then sheepishly peered at his father from beneath lowered brows.

  His father uttered but three words. “To your room.”

  “Yes, my lord.” A now-remorseful Alex scooted from his chair and cowered from the room.

  It took every ounce of restraint Rebecca could muster not to protest, not to beg that Alex be allowed to stay at the table during their first meal together. But she could not undermine her husband’s authority. Especially in front of the children.

  After he was gone, she said, “I beg that you allow the children to dine with us again tomorrow night, my lord, for I’m determined that all of us will enjoy a meal together.”

  “I shall take that under consideration.” He looked at the sons who remained. “It will depend now on the conduct of Spencer and Chuckie.”

  “I don’t know who Chuckie is,” the tiny lad said.

  Rebecca and Emily exchanged exasperated glances. “My youngest brother most decidedly has a mind of his own.”

  “I daresay I was a far more trying child than Chuckie because I went for a very long time refusing to answer to Rebecca. I wished to be Robin. In fact,” she said with a laugh, “I wished to be Robin Hood. I was excessively enamored of him.”

  Everyone at the table laughed. “That’s Alex’s favorite book. He says he’s read it thirty-eight times,” Emily said.

  Rebecca and her husband peered at one another. “You told me before you met him,” Aynsley said, “that you thought Alex had a great deal in common with you when you were a child.”

  “But she’s not a carrottop like Alex,” Spencer added.

  “You’re not to call your brother a carrottop,” Aynsley said. “You know how he dislikes that.”

  Spencer frowned. “Yes, Papa.”

  “Papa?” Chuckie said.

  “Yes?”

  “Can Alex have his pwesent after dinner?”

  Rebecca threw her husband a pleading look.

  “What do you think, Lady Aynsley?” her husband asked.

  “I beg that you allow him to. You must realize the lads are not accustomed to dining with adults.”

  “Very well.”

  “And,” Rebecca met Aynsley’s gaze, “oblige me by addressing me by my Christian name when it’s just family.”

  A look of distaste on his face, Aynsley said, “Very well, madam.”

  Peter broke the long silence that followed. “Tell me, my lady, were you also in the habit of reading every waking hour as Alex does?”

  “I still am. My sister marvels at how I can climb stairs while reading.”

  More laughter. Except from Emily, who glared.

  * * *

  After dinner they retired to the drawing room—another opulent room with some half a dozen silken sofas beneath full-length Gainsborough portraits and Italian masters. Aynsley’s glance darted to Alex as he strode into the room, a contrite look on his face and a very thick book in his hand.

  “Do you play the pianoforte, my love?” Aynsley asked Rebecca.

  “Very poorly.”

  “One who reads incessantly, I daresay, has little time to develop other talents,” Emily said.

  Rebecca smiled. “How right you are. My ladylike accomplishments are most inferior.”

  “But,” Aynsley defended, coming to place a firm hand on her shoulder, “her ladyship is possessed of other accomplishments. I am told her organizational skills are remarkable, and I believe her more than a competent writer.” Dash it all! He wasn’t supposed to know of her writing talent.

  “You could tell that from the single letter I wrote you?” his wife asked.

  Thank goodness she had penned that one note to him back in London. Though its purpose had been to inform him she was accepting his invitation to the opera, it had cleverly been put to verse. “My dear, one cannot hide so great a talent.”

  Rebecca shrugged, then eyed her stepdaughter. “I beg that you play for us, Lady Emily. Your father has told me how much pleasure he derives from your musical talent.”

  “Very well.” Lady Emily moved to the pianoforte with grace and elegance.

  While she was playing, he reached into his large sack and began to distribute the children’s gifts. Alex was inordinately happy to receive four new books, and Spencer delighted in the gargoyle statue for his bedchamber. Chuckie waited patiently—well, actually not so patiently if one considered that he could not resist the urge to jump up and down—while his brothers got their presents.

  “And for you, Chuckie...” His father paused.

  Leap. Leap. “What? What?”

  “I’ve brought you a new uniform.” He pulled from the bag a little red coat with shiny brass buttons, epaulets and crossed white sashes.

  Chuckie squealed and rushed to try it on. Amidst protests from his siblings, he peeled off all his clothes.

  Emily turned scarlet.

  Alex and Spencer—along with their elder cousin—laughed hysterically.

  Aynsley himself had to force back th
e propensity to smile. “You could have put it on over your shirt,” he said in a stern voice. “It’s not proper to remove your clothing when you’re in the drawing room. Especially in front of ladies.”

  Chuckie was not listening. He was too intent upon buttoning up the jacket over his bare chest. “I got to get my swowd.” He went to dash off.

  “Not until you put your breeches on!” his father scolded. “Come here at once.”

  Chuckie stopped, pivoted and scooped up his breeches but could not take time out to put them on.

  His brothers continued to wail with laughter.

  It was all Aynsley could do not to join them.

  He finally allowed himself to meet his wife’s gaze. Her cheeks dimpled with a deep smile, and her eyes flashed with humor. “I believe Chuckie likes his present,” she said.

  Aynsley shrugged and shook his head.

  “As you can see, my lady,” Peter said, “the lads will need some motherly instruction on proper behavior.”

  Emily glared at her cousin, but he was still looking at Rebecca. “I don’t suppose you’ve had the opportunity to meet Uncle Ethelbert yet?”

  “Does she know?” Emily asked her father.

  All eyes leaped to Rebecca.

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ve been told of your uncle’s exceedingly peculiar habit.”

  Aynsley picked up the bag and strode to the pianoforte where Emily sat. “For you, dear love, I’ve brought some lengths of lace and silk. Rebecca’s sister, Lady Warwick, assisted me in making the selections.”

  “Unlike my wretched self, my sister is cognizant of what is fashionable,” Rebecca said.

  He handed the bag to Emily.

  Her mouth gaped open as she removed the fabric from the sack. “Oh, my goodness, I’ve never seen such lovely fabric.” Her glance flicked from her father to Rebecca, to whom she spoke. “I am greatly indebted to Lady Warwick for this is the very kind of silk and lace for which I’ve been so desirous. I cannot wait until Mrs. Egerton fashions these into gowns.”

  She stood and draped the fabric over her rose-hued dress and began to waltz around the room.