by Diane Gaston
His mother looked up from reading her magazine. ‘Is your wife quite comfortable in Cessy’s room?’
‘My…wife is due any room I wish to rent for her,’ he snapped.
‘Then perhaps she will take over all these rooms, and we shall be on the street.’ His mother’s voice caught on a strangled sob. ‘How could you do this, Guy? Marry into such a family and court such scandal? The Dupreys are not good ton at all. He’s a gamester, you know, and she is said to drink.’
‘The daughter had pretty manners, though,’ murmured Lady Pipham.
Guy walked over to his frail great-aunt and placed a kiss on the cap covering her thinning white hair. ‘Thank you, Aunt Pip.’
He stood next to Aunt Pip’s chair, regarding Aunt Dorrie and his mother. These three ladies had always doted upon him and his sister Cessy. His mother had never made any secret of her hope for a fantastic match for him, teasing him to offer for young ladies whose papas would never have given him the time of day. The sad state of the family finances could easily be guessed by anyone who had encountered the perennially unlucky and now deceased Lord Keating and his elder son.
Emily Duprey had been a godsend, though he doubted God would approve of his methods of snaring her any more than his mother and great-aunts would. Or he himself.
‘Emily is a respectable girl, Mother,’ Guy said. ‘No scandal attaches to her, and I’ll wager you will not complain when her money pays your bills.’
‘Money? Hmmph!’ His mother glared at him. ‘The family is headed for River Tick.’
‘The family may be done up, but Emily has an inheritance,’ he continued. ‘If anything, our marriage prevents her father from throwing away her fortune on his gaming.’
Aunt Dorrie stared at him with a horrified expression. ‘Can you mean you eloped with that girl for her money? It is the outside of enough.’
The dignified, but impoverished and impractical Miss Nuthall was indeed correct to a fault about his motive for marrying Emily Duprey. By God, the ladies knew their finances were in a sad way, even if they did not know the true extent of their difficulties. Why would they fault him for marrying his way out of it? Was this not preferable to his father and brother’s empty promises of fortune at some faro bank?
His grip tightened on the arm of Aunt Pip’s chair. ‘My reasons for marrying Emily Duprey are none of your concern, and I will thank you to accord her every courtesy in this house.’
Aunt Pip bent her head. Aunt Dorrie and his mother glared at him.
‘We have no choice, do we?’ his mother whispered.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You do not. I must also tell you that I took the liberty of asking Kirby to attend to Emily.’
His mother straightened in her chair. ‘You gave my maid to that girl?’
Guy gritted his teeth before speaking. ‘I borrowed her. And you would have done better by offering my wife her services yourself. You have been sadly remiss in hospitality, Mother.’
His mother did not even have the grace to look ashamed.
Guy forced himself to take a breath and to regain some composure lest he say more to his mother than was prudent. He knew she had always been unrealistic in her aspirations for her children. He could forgive her wishing he’d made a better match.
Still, she ought to have been kinder to Emily. There was no excuse for her rudeness. Her open disapproval made the whole business worse.
If his mother insisted upon keeping her head in the clouds as she had done during her marriage and the succession of her eldest son, it was none of Guy’s problem. Rupert had been as big a wastrel as their father, but their mother thought the sun rose and set upon his sallow complexion and bloodshot eyes. To be fair, she could never think ill of any of her children, nor begrudge them any of their heart’s desires. Why, she’d insisted upon sending Cessy to that dashed expensive school. Until his marriage, Guy had been racking his brains as to how to pay the fees.
Emily walked back in to the parlour, where there remained a tense silence. Guy’s stomach clenched as it always did when he saw her. Would his guilt over marrying her ever dissipate?
She addressed his mother. ‘Lady Keating, thank you so much for the services of your maid. She was most helpful.’
His mother barely looked up. ‘You are welcome, I am sure.’
Emily turned to Guy. ‘I wonder if I might speak to you a moment, sir?’ She looked as if the tension in this household had indeed taken a toll.
‘Of course,’ he said, conscious that her discomfort ultimately lay at his door.
He stepped out into the hall with her. ‘What is it, my dear?’
She winced a little. ‘I…I think I should call upon my parents. It is not yet the dinner hour, and I might still find them at home. I feel it my duty to inform them of…of my marriage.’
He nodded. ‘I will go with you.’ Another unpleasantness to endure this day. Might as well get it done with.
She looked faintly surprised. ‘Do you wish to come with me?’
He tried to smile at her. ‘It would be shabby indeed if I allowed you to go alone.’
A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. ‘I thank you. I need only don my coat and hat.’
She fled back to her room and Guy found his own coat and beaver hat.
Minutes later they were on the street. Her parents’ rooms were close by, but in a more fashionable building. As they walked in the fine autumn afternoon, Guy could think of nothing to say to her, except to warn her of cracks in the pavement or bid her take care as they crossed the street.
When they reached the door of the house, Emily hesitated. He squeezed her arm, and she gave him a grateful look.
Guy sounded the knocker and a footman opened the door. From a doorway, a stately butler appeared.
‘Miss Duprey,’ the butler said in a monotone.
‘Sutton,’ she returned. ‘Are my parents in?’
‘Indeed,’ intoned Sutton with barely a glance towards Guy. ‘Your mother is in the back parlour.’
‘Would you ask my father to join us there?’
Sutton flicked his fingers at the footman, who had been more open in his curiosity. The footman bowed and rushed off as the butler disappeared into another room.
Emily took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ she said. She cleared her throat and led him to the back parlour.
She knocked on the door before entering. Lady Duprey reclined upon a sofa. She looked up and adjusted the fine shawl that had slipped from her shoulders. ‘Oh, Emily, it is you. I thought perhaps I had a caller.’ She noticed Guy and sat up, patting her curls, still untouched by grey. She remained a very handsome woman, though she must be well near her fiftieth year.
‘I see we do have a caller.’ Lady Duprey’s eyes kindled with interest as she extended her hand to Guy.
‘Mama, may I present to you Viscount Keating,’ Emily said.
Guy took the lady’s hand, returning her limpid grasp and smelling sherry on the lady’s breath. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Lady Duprey.’ What kind of mother was this, that she greeted a stranger with more interest than a daughter who had been absent for several days?
‘Mama, I have been away, you know.’
Lady Duprey’s gaze reluctantly wandered from Guy to her daughter. ‘Yes…’ She appeared lost in thought for a spell. ‘Did you leave us a note? I cannot recall what it said.’
‘I did,’ Emily answered, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. ‘I told you I would be away for a while. Now I am back.’
Lady Duprey appeared to lose interest in this conversation. She turned her attention back to Guy. ‘Won’t you sit down, Lord Keating?’ She patted the space next to her.
The door opened and Lord Duprey rushed in. ‘What the deuce is so important, I ask you, that I must be interrupted? I have better things to occupy my time.’ He saw Guy. ‘Oh, Keating. What the devil are you doing here?’
‘Papa…’ Emily spoke in a wavering voice.
By God, perhaps this m
arriage had been right after all, Guy thought. Anything would be better than living with these unnatural parents who had not even heeded that their daughter had been gone almost a fortnight.
Guy interrupted Emily. ‘Lord Duprey, Lady Duprey, we have come to announce our marriage. Your daughter and I were wed not more than five days ago.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Lady Duprey.
Lord Duprey gave a bark of a laugh.
‘Yes, Mama, I am married,’ Emily said. ‘To…to Lord Keating. We will place an announcement in the papers in due time. I came to tell you of this and to arrange for my possessions to be sent to Thomas Street.’
‘Well, we must drink to this, mustn’t we?’ said Lady Duprey eagerly. ‘Pull the bell and desire Sutton to bring something fitting.’
Emily meekly did her bidding, but Guy fumed that his wife was made to arrange her own family celebration.
A bottle of French champagne was produced and poured. After the butler left the room, Lord Duprey lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to another daughter launched without me spending a groat. I must say, I thought this one too plain to catch a man without exerting myself. My luck has been running capital well lately.’
Emily turned bright red, and it was only with effort Guy managed not to plant his new father-in-law a facer. Baron Duprey tossed down the contents of his glass, while his wife poured herself another.
‘I must be off,’ Duprey said. ‘Pressing engagement, you know.’
Guy stepped into his path to the door. ‘One moment, sir. When may I call upon you to discuss business?’
Lord Duprey laughed. ‘Business, you say? What the devil. You may call tomorrow, if you have a mind to. Not too early.’
Guy watched in stunned silence as Baron Duprey rushed out of the room without having said one word of a personal nature to his daughter.
Emily was certain her cheeks must be beet red. She was so mortified at her parents’ behaviour, she could not bear to look up from the Aubusson carpet for fear of what expression she might see on Keating’s face. What must he think of them? It was humiliating.
‘If you will excuse me,’ she said to her mother and Keating, who still gaped at the doorway through which her father had fled. ‘I believe I shall attend to the removal of my things.’
She hurried to the room she’d occupied while her parents were in Bath, it seeming as foreign to her as the room in Thomas Street. Neither felt like home.
Once, perhaps, Malvern had felt like home, with its sunlit bedchambers and cheerful nursery. The family estate had seen many carefree childhood days, but even its walls seemed tainted now.
Besides, Malvern was rented for the time being and given that she could not expect her father to cease his gaming, it would probably remain rented, the revenue used to keep her family afloat.
She stood in the middle of the room, not sure what to do first.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ Lady Duprey’s maid hovered at her door, her young niece with her. ‘Is it true, miss?’ Shelty asked. ‘Is it true you are married to that gentleman?’
News travelled very fast among servants.
‘Yes, it is true, Shelty.’ Emily replied. ‘He is Lord Keating. And I am afraid I must beg your assistance in packing up my possessions.’
‘Hester, do whatever Miss Duprey—oh, I mean, her ladyship requests.’ The older woman pushed her niece into the room. The girl, about sixteen years of age, had come to Bath from Chelsea where her father, a cobbler, owned a small shop and had been blessed with five daughters. Two of the others had gone into service. Hester was the last to be placed.
‘My lady, would you be needing a maid in your gentleman’s house?’ Shelty looked at her hopefully. ‘I would be beholden if you would take Hester here. It has become a mite difficult for her here.’
‘Difficult?’
Shelty looked abashed. ‘Well, you know, she is a pretty thing, and I’m afraid your father has taken notice of her.’
How much worse could her family get? Emily closed her eyes, remembering her sister Madeleine. Much worse.
‘Of course she can come.’ Emily smiled at the girl. ‘Can we find a portmanteau to pack up some clothes for a day or two? And a trunk for the rest?’
Emily opened the drawer of her bureau and unrolled one of her spare corsets. Out fell a cloth purse. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d no doubt her father had searched her room for her grandmother’s pearls and emerald ring, but her guess had been right that he would not disturb her undergarments. She put the purse into the portmanteau. She rooted around in the drawer until she found the envelope containing the money she’d hidden from him.
Half an hour later she returned to the parlour. When she told Keating she would be bringing her maid with her, he’d looked rather grim, but perhaps that was due to being forced into her mother’s company for such a spell.
When they made to leave, Lady Duprey extended her hand to Keating again. ‘Do come to call any time, dear boy,’ she purred. ‘Welcome to the family.’
Keating mumbled something Emily could not make out. He turned to her. ‘I’ll give the butler the direction to deliver your trunk.’
After he’d left the room, Emily planted a dutiful kiss upon her mother’s cheek. ‘Goodbye, Mama,’ she said, but her mother had poured herself the last of the champagne and had returned to perusing the magazine on the table beside her.
The young maid stood waiting with a portmanteau, looking much more eager to embrace her new life than Emily felt.
‘I am forever beholden to you, my lady,’ the girl said in a shy voice. ‘I will do anything you wish, I promise.’
Emily gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Thank you for your willingness to change houses, Hester. I am in need of a maid.’
She glanced around the place. At least there was nothing to regret in leaving behind this old, so very empty part of her life.
As she and Keating strolled down the pavement towards Thomas Street, the maid trailing them, he threaded her arm through his.
Emily thought she might weep for the kindness of the gesture.
Chapter Three
Nothing imaginable could have put Guy so much in charity with his wife than this visit to her parents had done. Why, he could almost conceive himself a champion for whisking her away from that bleak atmosphere. The behaviour of his mother and great-aunts paled in comparison to Baron and Baroness Duprey, and surely, his mother, Aunt Pip and Aunt Dorrie would warm up to Emily in time. There was nothing to dislike in her.
Guy’s heart actually felt buoyant. He managed to exert enough diplomacy to make their dinner go on comfortably. Aunt Pip, bless her heart, even ventured to ask Emily a few polite questions. And Emily, as ever, behaved in a perfectly proper fashion, saying nothing incorrect. He could not precisely remember anything she’d said, but he was certain of its faultlessness.
It had been an exhausting day, and Emily could not be blamed for retiring to her room early. His mother and aunts shortly thereafter bid their goodnights.
Guy remained in the parlour, pouring his third glass of brandy by the light of the fireplace. He’d extinguished the candles out of a habit of economy. Soon such miserly ways would be unnecessary, however.
He experienced only a twinge of guilt for being glad Emily’s fortune was nearly in his hands. He would pay her back every penny, he vowed he would, once the estate became profitable again. In the meantime, she would never again suffer the slights of attention he’d witnessed at her parents’ house. He might have no affection for her, but he would care for her, as was his duty.
Guy drained his glass of its contents and rose to his feet. His wife might be asleep by now, warm between her blankets, smelling as only a woman could.
Perhaps he ought to contemplate performing his husbandly duty. He’d not attempted a repeat of that first night, knowing he’d hurt her.
Come to think of it, though, she’d not complained. She’d not acted as if the marriage act was abhorrent to her. Perhaps he could be very gentle with her.<
br />
All concerns about his ability to perform on his marriage night had disappeared after he’d forced himself to go through the motions. Ultimately he’d experienced all the pleasure a man could expect. Perhaps he had been too long absent from a woman’s bed, but that was not it. He’d remained celibate for longer periods. Perhaps it had been his wife’s rather sweet response to him, so frightened, yet compliant, even willing.
Still, it seemed devilish shabby of him to enjoy himself with a woman he’d tricked into marriage in order to plunder her fortune. Reprehensible.
Such thoughts had prevented him from approaching her again in those uncomfortable inns. Tonight, however, he felt a decided tenderness towards her. He had rescued her from that dismal family. That had been good of him, and he owed it to her to give her what all women coveted. A child.
He lit one small candle from the dwindling fire and, keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself, walked down the hallway to his bedchamber. Once inside, he placed the candle on a side table and pulled off his boots. He untied his neckcloth and flung it aside. Shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat, he stared at the door connecting his room with his wife’s.
It was his duty, he repeated to himself, though the stirrings of arousal suggested baser motivations. With a light knock of warning, he opened the door. The bed linens rustled and she sat up, a blur of white muslin in the dim light of his little candle shining through the doorway.
‘My lord?’ she said. The sound of her voice, husky from sleep, and the thought of her dressed only in a night-dress further stirred his senses.
How did a husband ask his wife if he might bed her? He smiled reassuringly, though she could not possibly see the expression on his face. ‘Do you wish my company?’
She remained still, like a ghost about to dissolve into the air. ‘If it pleases you,’ she finally said.
The blood already coursed through his veins. ‘It pleases me.’
