Marriage of Inconvenience

by Cheryl Bolen

  Fifty guineas was all she had for the entire quarter. “I will go and get it now.”

  “Then I can take the wagon to Birmingham to procure it today.”

  “You’re sure you want to go in this weather?”

  He shrugged. “A little wet never hurt a man. Look at Uncle.”

  Like an idiot, her glance flicked to the window, where she hoped to see John riding home. She was disappointed.

  “I didn’t mean that literally,” he said with a laugh.

  They had returned to where they had started. “Allow me to look at your hands,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wish to determine if your hands look like a gentleman’s.”

  He held them out to her. “I assure you they don’t.”

  As she stood there looking at his outstretched, calloused hand, Emily strode into the chamber but came to an abrupt halt when she saw their hands touching. “Don’t let me disturb anything,” she hissed.

  Rebecca looked up. “You’re not. I was just leaving.”

  Anger flashed across Emily’s face. “As am I!” Then she began to run away, Rebecca on her heels.

  “Pray, Lady Emily, don’t be angry,” Rebecca said.

  Now crying, Emily stopped. “You’ve destroyed my happiness since the day you came here.”

  “I am so sorry if you feel that way. I know I cannot change the way you feel about me, but I assure you no matter how deeply you might dislike me, I still love you. You are the beloved daughter of the man who is beloved by me.”

  “How can you say that when it’s Peter you love?”

  “Peter? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! The only man I could ever love is the wonderful man I married, and I assure you, Peter loves you with all his heart. Pray, go to him now. Ask him if that is not so.”

  Emily shook her head and continued on down the corridor.

  * * *

  That evening Lord and Lady Aynsley, along with Mrs. Cotton and Miss Seton, sat in chairs near the nursery’s stage to view the play. Once the audience was seated, Emily, dressed in fashions like those his mother might have worn when she was a young woman, slipped onto the stage through a narrow opening in the curtains.

  Unlike the current fashions, which rather hugged the feminine body, the dress Em wore had a voluminous skirt that accentuated her tiny waist. She had piles of powdered hair weighing down her head and wore a patch, bringing to mind Marie Antoinette. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “I would like to welcome you to a production of The Prodigal Son, written by Lady Emily Compton and set in England a half century ago.”

  The curtains opened to reveal a set the children had painted to look like a castle. Emily took her place seated in a thronelike armchair with Uncle Ethelbert seated beside her. She once again addressed the audience. “I am Lady Windsor, and the aristocratic man you see beside me is Lord Windsor. We have four sons.” She then proceeded to introduce her three brothers and Peter—using their fictional names.

  As the story transpired, the three youngest sons were most obedient and industrious. The oldest son, played by Peter, however, never wanted to do his share of the work, and he eventually took his share of the family fortune and left.

  There followed a scene in which he gambled away his money and lived in a disreputable manner, drinking wildly.

  During his absence, his brothers worked very hard tilling the soil, with an actual hand plow guided by Spencer, Alex counting sacks of grain, and taking care of the animals, acted out by Chuckie giving food and water to a dog.

  The curtains closed, and Chuckie carried a sign across the stage that read, Time Passed.

  The next scene saw Peter scrubbing floors and wiping away sweat while holding his stomach. “I’m so hungry,” he said. “The servants in my parents’ house eat much better than me.” He got up and tossed away his dirty cloth. “I’m going back to my parents’ house and beg to become one of their servants.” He hung his head. “I don’t deserve anything more the way I have acted.”

  After the passage of many years, Emily’s hair (actually a wig) had become whiter. The family was together one day when the long-lost son returned. Each of his brothers criticized him. Chuckie delighted in saying, “You’ve been very bad!”

  “We will not share our hard-earned money with you,” Alex said.

  Spencer frowned. “Nor do you deserve any of our land.”

  Then Emily, as the mother, held up her hand. “Pray, boys! All of you are my children. I love all of you equally.” She held out her arms, and Peter rushed into them. “Welcome home, my much-beloved son.”

  The brothers shouted that he didn’t deserve such a reception, but she said, “Your brother’s return calls for a celebration. My son was lost, but now he is found. Pray, lads, bring him fine clothing.”

  As the curtains closed, Spencer stepped out onto the stage and said, “Jesus used the story of the prodigal son to demonstrate that no matter how far His children stray and how bad they have been, the Heavenly Father will always have it in His heart to forgive them.”

  At the completion of the play, the adults gave them a standing ovation. “Bravo!” said Aynsley as he stood, clapping enthusiastically as his eyes moistened.

  Then he looked down at Rebecca, who also had stood, along with Miss Seton and Mrs. Cotton. “Thank you,” he mouthed before climbing the stage steps to shake the actors’ hands and compliment them on a job well done. When he came to Emily, his eyes watered again, and he held out his arms. “I assure you, tonight’s production is much finer than anything that has ever before been performed in this nursery. I’m so proud of you.”

  Emily’s eyes misted, too. “I must thank her ladyship for suggesting it in the first place. It’s been ever so fun for all of us.”

  He had known his daughter would come around. It wasn’t her nature to be vindictive. “I’m very pleased to hear you say that, love.”

  As Emily approached Rebecca, he hoped she wouldn’t address her as she’d just done. To his chagrin, his wife abhorred being addressed by her title.

  “Oh, Lady Emily! I never dreamed we would be treated to such a totally delightful presentation. Costumes! And sets! And very fine acting, I might add,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know when I’ve had such an entertaining evening.”

  “Thank you, my lady. I am grateful to you for suggesting it.”

  “Pray, may we hope there will be more productions in the future? We all enjoyed it ever so much.”

  By now her brothers had gathered around Emily. “What do you think, lads?” Emily asked.

  “Oh, please!” Alex said.

  “I think it should be a monthly occurrence,” Spencer added.

  “What do you think, Uncle Ethelbert?” Emily asked.

  “What do I think about what?”

  “Would you be willing to come up to the big house and perform again?” Peter shouted.

  “Could I be a swordfighter next time?”

  All eyes turned to Emily.

  “Well, authoress, what do you think?” Peter asked.

  “We shall have to see.”

  They all laughed.

  * * *

  His wife’s hand in his, Aynsley began to walk her to the library. “What is going on with you and Emily lady-ing each other?”

  “I have decided that I’m proud to be your wife, and I will be proud to be addressed as Lady Aynsley.”

  He stopped in the middle of the corridor, facing her. “That makes me very happy.”

  She had not seen such a look of pleasure on his face in a very long time. “Then my previous abhorrence to nobility displeased you?”

  “I was not happy about it, but it was one of those compromises that are part of any successful marriage.” He continued on toward the library.

  Only the fire and a single wall sconce lit the cool chamber when they entered it. “I should like for us to go stand by the fire,” she said.

  Near the fire the temperature was comfortable
, the fire’s warmth welcome. As the two of them stood there in the dark room, he thought of another night the two of them had stood before a fire in a dimly lit library. “Do you know what this reminds me of?” he asked.

  “Of course. That’s why I wanted to walk here straight away, why I didn’t want you to light the lamp.”

  He drew closer to her and spoke in a low, husky voice. “And why would that be, my lady?”

  “I don’t know that I can put it into words. I believe we both discovered that night in Lord Warwick’s library that there was a connection between us which could grow and flourish—under the proper set of circumstances.”

  “Yes, it was the same for me.” He came even closer and gathered her into his arms. He liked the feel of her head nestled into his chest and her arms encircling him. “I want to thank you.”

  “For using your title?”

  “No. Yes.”

  They both laughed.

  “What I meant was, while I am delighted that you’re no longer ashamed of my title, I wish to thank you for everything you’ve done to make tonight one of the best nights of my life. I cannot remember when I’ve enjoyed anything as much as the play.”

  “It was wonderful, but Emily deserves all the credit. She has such amazing vision and tenacity.”

  “I was proud of her.” He dropped soft kisses into her hair, which smelled of rose water.

  “Weren’t the lads adorable?”

  “Yes, and despite the costumes I had no difficulty recognizing them.”

  She pulled away and looked into his face, grinning.

  “Where are your spectacles? I know you were wearing them during the play.”

  “They’re in my pocket.”

  “And what, may I ask, are they doing in your pocket?”

  “I hardly need them to stand here with you in this darkened chamber.”

  “Why did you remove them?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come now, Rebecca. I know you don’t do anything unless you have a good reason.”

  “If you must know, I wished to look pretty.”

  His pulse accelerated. She wished to look pretty for him. She had circled her arms around him. She must be falling in love with him, but he would not press her. She would reveal her feelings in her own time. He lifted her chin and kissed the top of her nose. “You’re always pretty to me. With or without your spectacles. Now, pray love, put on your spectacles. I’ve become accustomed to seeing you in them, and I find the image much to my liking.”

  She shook her head. “Not tonight. There’s something magical about tonight, and I want to believe...”

  “That you’re beautiful,” he murmured, “because you are.” His head lowered to brush his lips across hers for a sweet kiss. “In fact, my lady, I find you are much to my liking.”

  It was one of the disappointments in his life that he’d never told a woman he loved her. Neither he nor Dorothy ever pretended that theirs was a love match. After four decades of life, he’d come to believe there would never be a love match for him. Dorothy had told him he was a bore, yet Rebecca truly enjoyed being with him. She did not seem to find him dull. Why could he not bring himself to utter the words I love you?

  “I did not realize how much I liked you until that morning you told me you had to leave. I felt as if I were losing my best friend.”

  “That’s because we have become best friends.” Why, then, would she not share with him her P. Corpus identity? Now that she had no aversion to his title, her concealment was the only obstacle to this becoming a blissful marriage.

  But it was a formidable obstacle. He had learned with Dorothy that if truth wasn’t the cornerstone of a marriage, its very foundation would crumble. His chest tightened. He didn’t want this marriage to crumble.

  “Yes, I discovered that when you left.”

  He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Me, too.”

  “I am very happy to hear that. When you did not even ask if I wished to join you in London, I thought perhaps that...you might be tired of me.”

  He broke out laughing.

  “I fail to see what’s so funny.”

  “You, my dearest. How can one get tired of one who shares one’s thoughts?”

  The door to the library banged open, and Chuckie came strolling in, rubbing his eyes.

  “Why are you not helping your brothers take down the sets?” Aynsley asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized something was wrong.

  Rebecca moved to the child. “What’s the matter, love?”

  “My ear hurts.”

  She glanced from Chuckie to him. “Has he had this problem before?”

  He frowned. “He gets beastly sick when it happens.”

  Tears began to roll down Chuckie’s chubby cheeks. “Mawk said when he was little one time when he was sick he got to sleep in the big bed in the countess’s room with our other mother.”

  Her voice softened. “Did you want to come sleep with me tonight?”

  Nodding, he burst into sobs and fell into her arms.

  Aynsley’s heart swelled as he watched them together.

  And he knew he loved his wife deeply.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The gusty winds whistling relentlessly outside her bedchamber that night reinforced her deep sense of contentment as she lay warmly snuggled in the darkness with Chuckie beside her and the velvet curtains enclosing their bed. He had gone to sleep soon after his head hit the pillow. She prayed her thanks to God for sending her to John and his family.

  As she did every night, she continued to pray the Bible verse from Matthew that had guided her relations with Emily during these past several weeks. Bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you. Not that Emily hated her. Rebecca knew there was much good in her stepdaughter. She could well understand how difficult it must be for Emily not only to have a complete stranger supplant her as mistress at Dunton but also to steal away some of her father’s affections. In time, Emily would come to understand Rebecca would be her champion, never her enemy. Please let it be so.

  Before she dropped off into sleep, she decided that the next day she would find a way to tell John she had fallen in love with him. She was quite certain she was smiling when the blanket of sleep rolled over her.

  Her sleep, though, was short-lived. Chuckie awakened, crying from the pain of his earache. How she wished it could have been she and not this sweet child who had to endure the pain, and how she wished she had an inkling of what could be done to relieve his pain. It was times like this she felt totally inadequate to be a mother.

  She fleetingly thought of how miraculously laudanum relieved pain, but she remembered a horror story back in Virginia of a two-year-old girl who died after her mother gave her laudanum when she was sick. Though the mother had blamed her child’s death on the sickness, Rebecca’s papa insisted that no child should ever take laudanum, that it was too potent. The very notion of losing Chuckie caused Rebecca’s heartbeat to quicken, her stomach to clench.

  Why did he have to get sick late at night? Were it daytime, she could have sent for a physician. Was there even a physician near Wey? She would find out first thing in the morning. If there wasn’t, she would send someone to an apothecary in Birmingham.

  But what to do now? She drew him into her arms and was terrified to discover he had fever.

  While Rebecca was only too aware of her own limitations, she realized the nurse had more experience than she at such matters. “Come, my love, we’ll go see what Beaver thinks. She’ll know how to make you feel better.” Carrying him in her arms, she went to his bedchamber and tapped at the door. A moment later, Beaver opened the door. She stood there in her nightcap while tying a wrapper around her ample waist.

  “I’m beastly sorry for disturbing you,” Rebecca began, “but I thought you might know some way of relieving Chuckie’s ear pain.”

  The old woman nodded. “Indeed I do. Al
l the Compton children ’ave suffered with ear complaints. Just you wait ’ere. Beaver will be right back with some warm mint oil to put in me laddie’s ear.”

  Rebecca went to the rocking chair and began to rock the whimpering child. “I’m so sorry, my love. We’ll help make you feel better.”

  “Then can I come back to the big bed with you?”

  She held him a bit closer while thanking the Lord for the gift of this child. She thought at a time like this Chuckie would naturally prefer the nurse who had been with him all his life over the stepmother he had known but for a few weeks. How very blessed she was to have earned his affection. “Of course you can, my little love, if that’s what you want.”

  Minutes later Beaver returned and administered the drops into his sore ear. When she finished she asked if he wanted warm milk.

  He shook his head, tears trickling down his cheek. “Me hot.”

  Rebecca gave the old nurse an imploring look. “Any advice for combating fever?”

  “I hates for your ladyship to have to worry with this. It’s me job to take care of me laddie.”

  “No matter which of us he’s with, I would still worry about our lad. I rather fancy looking after him when he’s sick, but I will need guidance from you, my dear Beaver.” She truly did not want to offend the poor nurse, whose feelings were already bound to be bruised because Chuckie had chosen Rebecca over her.

  “Mostly what I know about fevers is they always just have to run their course. They say the fever’s what gets the bad stuff out of the body. The pity of it is, they always seem to come at night.”

  “Is it best to cover him—or not to cover him?” Rebecca asked.

  “Let him be your guide, milady. When the chills come, pile on the blankets. When the heat sends the vapors flowing from the body, allow the coverings to come off.”

  Rebecca stood, with a limp Chuckie still in her arms. “Thank you. I sincerely hope I won’t have to awaken you again.”

  “Don’t you worry none about that.”

  The mint oil did seem to relieve his suffering, and not long after they returned to the big bed he went back to sleep—as did she.

  When she awakened and parted the bed curtains, she was surprised that Chuckie had slept through the night. Surprised and thankful. Curious to determine if his fever had passed, she set a gentle hand to his forehead and was relieved to discover it felt normal.