Marriage of Inconvenience

by Cheryl Bolen

  But back to the governess. All the Deveres adore her. In addition to being possessed of a sweet temperament, she is said to be terribly clever. She is fluent in French and displays a high degree of talent with both music and penmanship and spelling and arithmetic. She is the daughter of a rector, now deceased. Her name is Miss Mary Seton. She’s currently still residing with the Deveres, and you can write her at their home on Half Moon Street.

  I cannot believe my dearest friend in the world has deserted me to live in faraway Shropshire. When, my dear friend, can I expect to see you again in London? I pray that by now you are madly in love with your husband. Lord Aynsley, which I’m sure you’ve learned by now, is a most honorable man. I cannot recommend marriage enthusiastically enough. But, then, I am blessed to have the most wonderful husband God ever created. I do pray you will come to feel the same toward Ld A.

  I eagerly await a nice, long letter from you telling me everything about your new home and family.

  Affectionately,

  V.

  How wonderful! Rebecca reread the letter again. Miss Seton sounded perfect in every way. It was so nice to personally know a person who had actually been educated by the prospective governess. Lady Sophia, a perfect dear, was a high recommendation, indeed, for any governess. She seemed so very well brought up.

  Rebecca raced to her chamber, sat at the gilded desk that she continued to think of as Dorothy’s, then dashed off a letter to Miss Mary Seton, imploring her to come to Dunton Hall at her earliest opportunity. She also described the situation, as well as telling her a little bit about the lads and about Dunton Hall. Rebecca herself still marveled that she was mistress of such a grand house, still marveled over Dunton’s grandeur. She hoped the new governess would enjoy living there half as much as she.

  She was inordinately impatient to see her husband’s reaction to her two pieces of good news.

  After she posted the letter to Miss Seton, she returned to her chamber to write both Maggie and Verity nice, long letters describing her life at Dunton. That her desk was situated in front of a window delighted her. Aynsley had told her the lake was man-made under the direction of the landscape designer. She could almost believe it had been designed to be viewed from the many tall casements in her oversize bedchamber. But, then, she felt exactly the same when viewing it while sitting at the little square table in the morning room, and she would imagine the same gratifying view was available from Aynsley’s bedchamber next to hers.

  Completely unsummoned, she began to wonder if Dorothy and John—now why was she thinking of him as John?—freely went back and forth between each other’s bedchambers. She understood they had often shared a bed, and the very thought of him with Dorothy made her feel...bad. This was an altogether unfamiliar experience for her.

  Oh, my goodness! It was that wretched jealousy again! Never in her eight and twenty years had she experienced jealousy, and now it was consuming her on a daily basis! What in God’s wide, wide world had gotten into her?

  She forced herself to return to her letter writing. After nearly two hours, she had filled several pages that described to Maggie her life at Dunton Hall. When she realized that Verity’s letter would contain the exact same information, she decided to add a little note to Verity on the end of Maggie’s letter and beg that after Maggie read the letter she send it along to Lady Agar.

  Just as she was signing the letter with much love, a knock sounded at her door. She could think of several reasons why it wouldn’t be Aynsley, the most obvious being his anger toward her. He usually came from the interior rather than the corridor, which he felt would indicate a level of formality not appropriate for a married couple. It could not be Pru, either, because she always entered the chamber concurrently with her knock. Rebecca certainly could not expect any visitors since she did not really know anyone within a hundred miles from here. Exchanging names on the church steps did not count! “Yes?” She remained seated in front of her desk.

  “May I come in?” It was Aynsley’s voice. And it no longer sounded angry.

  She threw down her pen and swept toward the door. “Of course, dearest!”

  His face was solemn when he met her in the eye. “You’re not angry with me?”

  She set a hand on his sleeve. “No. I feared you’d be angry with me.”

  “Come, let’s sit at the settee.”

  They sat before the comforting fire, facing one another. “I must apologize—” he began.

  At precisely the same time, she blurted out, “I must apologize—”

  They both began to laugh.

  Thank You, Lord.

  He took both her hands in his. “I’ve been beastly, barking at you simply for expressing your noble opinions.”

  “But I was much too overbearing. Understandably, no man wishes to be dictated to by a woman.”

  “You certainly have the right to express your opinions—even if they are in opposition with mine. A solid marriage must be based on being honest with one another.”

  Being honest with one another. Sweet heavens! Had he learned about P. Corpus? She felt wretchedly guilty for withholding something from him when he was making every effort to make this marriage a true partnership. How she wished she could open up to him about P. Corpus, but what if he forbade her to continue? She would be forced to obey his command. On the day of their wedding she had vowed to obey her husband.

  Now she was withholding two important things from her husband. Why had she not refused Peter’s request to keep silent about his management of her farm? How she would have enjoyed telling Aynsley about it. She thought he would approve.

  “As your wife, I should honor your beliefs.” She had started to add, “even if they’re wrong,” but had, for once, exercised the good judgment to keep her mouth closed.

  “Oh, John, I hope we never again have such a dreadful disagreement. I cannot tell you how wretched it made me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Me, too. As Stanley and I rode the property today, I felt as if a heavy gloom were hanging over my head even though the sun was sparkling.”

  “You have described my very feelings! I haven’t eaten a bite all day.”

  A look of concern swept over his face. “We must remedy that. I propose a picnic at the folly.”

  It was as if the sun had suddenly broken through the darkest day.

  As they neared the folly, she realized this was the closest she’d been to it. Corinthian columns—with no walls—supported its domed copper roof. The interior floors, as well as the bench they came to sit upon, were constructed of the same marble as the elegant columns. Her first thought upon sitting was that if this marble were in London, it would no longer be such a pristine white.

  Like most everything at Dunton, the bench was situated to take advantage of a view of the man-made lake.

  “How long has the folly been here? she asked.

  There was amusement on his face. “What would be your guess?”

  “I feel as if it must have been built by Mr. Capability Brown, which would suggest to me it was constructed during your father’s tenure as earl.”

  “Right you are. Which I knew you would be.”

  She uncovered the picnic offerings, broke off a serving of crusty bread for him and took one for herself. “Oh, my dearest, I forgot to tell you the most wonderful news!”

  “Which is?”

  “First, I got a letter from Maggie, who has managed to secure for us a new housekeeper. She’s been with Lord and Lady Bermondsey for these past five years, and she arrives here tomorrow!”

  “That is, indeed, wonderful news.” He would not have had to say a word, for the happy expression on his face bespoke his pleasure.

  “It gets even better.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to procure a governess, too!”

  She nodded sheepishly. “That is, Lady Agar did.”

  “It’s my good fortune to have married a well-connected woman.”

  That was the first real praise she had war
ranted from him since they had wed. She couldn’t have felt happier had he said he loved her. Loved her? Now why in heaven’s name would she go using the word love, even if it was only an internal thought? The former Miss Rebecca Peabody never thought about love. In fact, she had resigned herself to the reality that she was one of those women who would never experience love, never marry. Not that she was experiencing love, of course. Even if she was married.

  But ever since the night she and...John had stood together before the fire in Lord Warwick’s library, her life had been turned completely upside down from what it was before. She most assuredly was no longer Rebecca Peabody. And she wasn’t precisely P. Corpus, either. She hadn’t managed to write a single word on an essay since John had offered for her hand.

  Now she was a mother, whether the children wanted her or not. She was mistress of a home more palatial than any grand home she’d ever slept in. And she was John’s life partner.

  With the Lord’s help, she prayed they would never be estranged again.

  She proceeded to give him all the details about their two new employees. “Oh, I forgot another piece of good news.”

  “Perhaps I should get angry more often if I can return to such an abundance of welcome announcements.” His eyes flashed mischievously.

  “I pray you don’t.” She reached into the basket and plucked an apple for him, then another for herself.

  “Geoffrey’s coming home?” he guessed, a hopeful expression on his face. At times like this, he did not seem old enough to have a son fighting on the Peninsula.

  She felt wretched that she’d gotten up his hopes. Her face fell. “Unfortunately, my news isn’t that good, though I pray every day the Lord will watch over our soldier son, and that he’ll be coming home soon.”

  His face was utterly somber. “Thank you.”

  “My last piece of good news regards Emily. I’m so proud of her. You will not believe how wonderfully she took to my proposal that she write a play based on a Biblical parable.”

  “You’re talking about my daughter?”

  “Indeed. She actually seemed excited. I expect she’s madly working on it in your library at the moment.”

  “It’s not my library.”

  How sweet of him! She was so unworthy, yet he really was so very good to her. “Emily told me that first day that you did not like to be disturbed when you were in your library, and she has certainly been at Dunton longer than I.”

  He shrugged. “I regret to say I can be a curmudgeon. It appears I shall have to apologize to Em, too. I enjoy sharing the library with my family—provided they’re quiet and don’t disturb my work.”

  “Your work is very important. I am most impressed with the speech you’re working on at present. When will you deliver it?”

  “Probably not until we present Emily.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “She’s complained again about her refusal to be presented?”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Do you think I’m being too domineering because I want my daughter to have a Season as do all other ladies of her class?”

  “I’m not going to take sides in this. I understand each side only too well. Do allow me to say that I hated my Season more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Granted, I was not a beauty, like Emily, nor was I the daughter of an earl. There is no doubt Emily would be a spectacular success.”

  “Thank you.”

  His affection for his children was so touching. “Not all young ladies enjoy such endeavors. The purpose of a Season, after all, is to land a husband.”

  “And Emily believes she has found her husband right here at Dunton.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Peter’s a good fellow. Really. And he does love your daughter very much. Do you know what he told me?”

  “What?”

  “That he wanted to marry Emily more than anything on earth.”

  Aynsley frowned. “You can understand why I wanted something else for my only daughter.”

  “Of course.” Rebecca’s arm swept toward the lake and arched to encompass all the area between them and Dunton Hall. “After all, she’s been raised with such incredible privilege. It would be difficult to step down and marry a mere mister who has no property.”

  “Which is what my sister did, and I believe she came to regret it.”

  “I daresay your sister did not marry a man who had loved her almost since the cradle, though.”

  “True.”

  “Whether she has a Season is entirely up to you. You are, after all,” she added with a smile, “the lord and master of all of us at Dunton.”

  “The Dunton curmudgeon is more like it.” He did not look happy.

  “It’s difficult to achieve a delicate balance between affection and guidance. You, understandably, don’t want to come across as a complete milksop.”

  “I have an aversion to being a milksop in any way.”

  “Yes, I learned that most painfully last night.”

  He offered her a smile. “This impromptu picnic was just what we needed.”

  “Indeed it was,” she said, her voice soft. Being with him, sharing with him, seeing his anger dissipate, uncoiled the tightness and gloom that had been inside of her.

  * * *

  Rebecca’s good humor carried over to the start of the dinner hour. As John escorted her to the dining room, she felt like a fairy princess. She wore the Aynsley emeralds, and they looked spectacular with her green velvet gown.

  Not long after they sat at the dining table, her husband made the announcement about the procurement of a new housekeeper and governess, and Rebecca filled in with what she knew of their backgrounds.

  “I daresay I’ve met the governess before,” Peter said as he was cutting his grouse. “I was at Eton with one of the Devere sons and spent some time at their home.” He shrugged. “Pity is, I can’t remember a thing about the poor creature.”

  “I pray that you’re not calling her a poor creature because our boys will be rough on her,” Rebecca said.

  Peter set down his fork and eyed her. “Surely you’re aware of the fact those little angels have run off many, many governesses?”

  “Unfortunately,” Emily added, eyeing Rebecca, “what he says is true. It all started with Fordyce and Geoff, and now all the brothers feel they have a family tradition to uphold.”

  “Well, this father intends to put an immediate stop to such an unacceptable practice!” Aynsley said in his sternest voice.

  After a considerable period of silence, Peter spoke. “And let’s hope we can keep the housekeeper, Mrs. Cotton.”

  “You say this grouse is rotten?” Ethelbert shouted, pushing away his plate. “I just won’t eat rotten grouse.”

  “Uncle,” Aynsley said, “the grouse is not rotten!” He raised his voice. “The new housekeeper’s named Mrs. Cotton.” Aynsley pushed the plate back.

  Rebecca was happy to see that Emily was becoming more compassionate toward her great uncle. Emily smiled at him and began to speak in an elevated voice. “I’m writing a play in which I want you to act.”

  “Will I get to kiss the heroine?” he asked, a broad smile on his aged face.

  As they all began discussing the play, Rebecca’s attention strayed. For her, the dining room was dominated by Dorothy’s portrait. She could not take a bite of food without staring at the blonde’s elegant countenance. Rebecca wondered if the Aynsley jewels would look half so good on her own bony neck—not that she even wished to wear them now that she associated them with Dorothy.

  She kept peering at the portrait, then at Emily. There was a strong resemblance between mother and daughter, but where Emily appeared delicate, Dorothy was formidable.

  Rebecca had become more aware of the portrait with each successive meal. The first night she’d not known for sure that was Dorothy staring down at her—though from the fairly recent style of hair and dress she was almost certain the attractive woman in pale blue silk and lace had to be Dorothy. That first night R
ebecca had too many other things on her mind to give the portrait much notice. Each night thereafter, though, she seemed more aware of it and was made more uncomfortable by it. And now she felt almost as if Dorothy were a silent guest at the meal, a silent guest even more hostile than Emily.

  As John spoke to the others, Rebecca obsessed over her predecessor. Had John loved her deeply? Had she been madly in love with him? Did he still grieve for the woman who’d given birth to his beloved children, the woman whose traits must remain in her progeny long after she had gone from this earth?

  The more Rebecca dwelled on Dorothy, the more morose she became. If John were attracted to blue-eyed blondes, he must be very disappointed with Rebecca of the dark hair and almost-black eyes.

  To sink her even lower, she had learned that Dorothy was the daughter of a duke. How exceedingly disappointed John must be in Rebecca. She’d brought nothing to the marriage except the ability to catalog a library! No wonder he’d gotten so upset with her didactic ways the previous night.

  She tried to tell herself it was her lack of sleep that made her so melancholy, but then she’d feel compelled to stare at Dorothy, and the painting seemed to say, “You’re not worthy to take my place. He’ll never love you.”

  Love? Why did she keep thinking of love? The former Rebecca Peabody never thought about love. And love had never been part of this marriage. So, why in God’s wide, wide world had John stooped to marry her?

  “Why so quiet, Rebecca?” Peter asked.

  Her glance flicked from him to Emily, who sat across the table from him and glared at Rebecca. “I daresay I’m just worn out. I was unable to sleep last night and haven’t felt quite right all day.”

  “I didn’t sleep well, either.” John sent her a warm look. “I think we’ll be early to bed.”

  Even though she was incredibly tired, she did not like the prospect of going to bed shortly after dinner and not enjoying private time with her husband. The evenings with him had become like a sumptuous dessert after a modest dinner, something she greatly looked forward to all day.