by Bianca Bloom
I turned toward him, reveling in the warmth of his kisses. We could hardly have slept for more than a few hours, and I was quite sore from everything that we had done the previous night. But his kisses had the power to transform me, and I giggled as he stroked me and made it clear that his body was more than ready for another go.
“Lucas?” said a voice at the door.
Luke swallowed, and I felt tension of a different sort overtake his body as I continued to hold him in my arms.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you coming to breakfast? Miss Quinton is late, as is her wont, but the rest of us have begun eating.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, mama. I will be down momentarily.”
I wished that the man would have made at least another attempt to stay in bed, but he had gone rather pale. As he put on his clothing, I realized that I had nothing at all to wear besides my best gown of the day before. Standing on my tiptoes to see my reflection in Luke’s mirror, I fiddled with my hair, trying to make it look at least respectable, as I couldn’t very well cover it all up with a bonnet at the breakfast table.
By the time I had finished with it, Luke was in a state, and I squeezed his arm. “Well, then. Chin up a bit. It’s not as if we’re going to our execution. As you said yourself, we are already married, so there’s nothing to be done.”
“Yes, but I fear Miss Courtenay will attempt to do something anyway.”
My eyes gleamed with the thought of my rival’s humiliation. Even if I had tried, which I did not, I doubt I could have banished even an ounce of the schadenfreude that was engulfing my whole being at the thought of besting her.
“Yes, that seems to be a safe assumption.”
20
“My, but you two are late,” said Miss Courtenay, apparently completely failing to take anything from the fact that we were arriving at breakfast within seconds of each other. “Those of us who went out visiting until late in the evening are still at the breakfast table before you are!”
Luke only gave a sickly smile, and I looked down at my plate.
“We had a lovely time,” Miss Courtenay continued. “I am sure that Mrs. Curtis loved my playing. She will be a good friend, and I am sure that she will love coming to Woodshire. She has her own home, of course, but it does not quite have the history.”
New money, then. I might have guessed that Miss Courtenay would look down on a lonely older woman who was only looking for friendship.
“How was your day yesterday, Miss Quinton?” asked Lillian, the only person in the party who was not either ill bred or sick with nerves.
“She’s not,” said Luke, just as I began to speak.
“It was lovely,” I said, and then looked at Luke. He looked as if he no idea of what to say next.
And, of course, neither did I. So I reasoned that I might as well simply say my piece.
“We got married,” I said, and Lillian appeared to be the only person who understood me. Her face bloomed in a smile, while the other ladies at the table only frowned.
“Whom did you marry, then?” Mrs. Barlow asked me. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”
I looked to Luke. He swallowed, and said nothing. So with some annoyance, I took on the duty of informing his family.
“Mr. Barlow and I are married,” I said. “And I am therefore no longer Miss Quinton.”
Miss Courtenay only laughed, but the mother had enough sense to look to her son. “Lucas,” she said, “Is this so?”
“Yes,” he squeaked, and Miss Courtenay darkened.
Mrs. Barlow was apparently without words, but finding something to say was not a problem for one of our breakfast companions.
“I knew that grandfather had taken a certain liking to you,” hissed Miss Courtenay, apparently failing to realize that she was never going to marry into the family and become the old man’s granddaughter-in-law. Therefore, it no longer made sense for her to refer to him as “grandfather,” though it might well take some time for her to realize that. “Grandfather fancied you, even. But for you to exploit that with a marriage!”
Luke, at last, found his voice. “She did not marry grandfather, Miss Courtenay,” he said. “Alice is my wife now.”
It was fortunate that Lillian flew to embrace me, because Miss Courtenay rushed at me and seemed ready to deliver a blow. But with Lillian’s arms around me, and her sweet face smiling into my shoulder, there was no way for the wronged woman to get through.
In fact, Lillian might well have thought of this when she ran to my side. She was more adept than anyone I’d ever seen at protecting visitors to the household.
21
More adept, it turned out, than her brother. Luke only stood by, listening to his mother chastise him, as Miss Courtenay threw down a teacup and ran out of the room.
And my young charge and I were soon far too discomfited not to follow.
“There is a beautiful view from the porch at this hour,” murmured Lillian, “Might we go to see it?”
The little proposal was taxing for her, and I took special care to follow her out to the porch as quickly as I could politely manage. Shy though she was, she did not let the awkwardness of the situation prevent her from expressing her kindness.
“I am so glad that we are sisters,” she told me, and I smiled as I reflected that her grace under fire would serve her well in London society.
“Well, your brother needed to be married to inherit,” I told her, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. “And I needed to marry for protection.”
She gave a half smile as we watched the sun continue to rise over the hills, the long shadows on the dew-covered lawn changing every moment. Though we were still in spring, I felt convinced that the heat of summer would soon be upon us.
And I knew not how I was going to bravely face the season. “I am sorry that we did not tell you before,” I told her. “And I am afraid that I have deprived you of a governess.”
Her face was so long that I very nearly laughed. “Of course,” she said. “As my brother’s wife, you will have too many duties to continue teaching me.”
I shook my head. “But of course not! I would love to continue. I only meant that we might need to leave Woodshire for a time.”
“Could I not go with you?” she pleaded, then added, “If it would not be too much trouble, that is.”
“Of course!” I told her. “That is, if we are going anywhere. I am afraid neither of us thought very far.”
Lillian gave me a small smile. “Well, it is a surprise. But I confess that I am thankful that Miss Courtenay will be elsewhere.”
I sighed. “It is awkward for all of you, though after the things she said to me, I cannot find it in my heart to pity her. Do you think she will be confined to her room, then?”
Lillian shook her head. “Perhaps you did not hear her screaming at Maryann and Laura to pack up all of her things for her. It seems that she will be leaving as soon as her trunks are loaded.”
“Scandalous, unfortunately,” I said with a sigh.
With a wisdom beyond her years, Lillian smoothed her skirt. “May I be completely honest with you Miss Quint — Barlow? Miss Courtenay would have caused far more scandal had she stayed, and become a resident of this neighborhood, than she could possibly cause by leaving.”
Realizing the truth of her words, I smiled as I looked out over the back garden. “That is certainly true. It seemed that she would have needed to look fairly far to find a vicar willing to help her marry into the Barlow family.”
Lillian nodded. “Did you like our vicar, then?”
Finally, I relaxed, smiling widely. “Oh, he was charming. I do not think I have ever met anyone connected with the Church of England who was so clever, so unconventional. And he was not afraid to take the groom to task, which was rather amusing.”
“You will not be afraid to take my brother to task either, surely,” said Lillian, looking at me slyly.
I burst out laughing. “Why, of course not! I s
hall consider it as one of my chief duties.”
Before I could continue laughing, though, I noted that Lillian had straightened up and stopped smiling herself. The cause was readily apparent when Mrs. Barlow came over, towering over both of us.
“Lillian,” she said, “Go check on your grandfather. I asked Luke to see if he was awake and to tell him of the marriage, but he’s been there too long now.”
My new sister-in-law gave a little curtsy and left us.
There was a long gap then, and I did not know how to fill it. Should I apologize for having married, for bringing a scandal on the family that was likely to last past the end of my mother-in-law’s life?
“I must acknowledge,” she said, “That you have been cleverer than I expected. Only a week since we brought you in, and you have already entrapped my son.”
“Your son,” I told her, “Said his marriage vows, freely, just as I did. He was not trapped.”
I did not look at her, but Luke’s absence spoke for him. I had been disappointed that he did not follow me immediately onto the porch with his sister, and now I was newly sad that he had gone off to check on my tormentor. All that his mother had to do was ask, and he would gladly obey.
“Married or no,” she said, “I will not have you in this house.”
I raised my eyebrows. I would have to leave, then, and I did not know whether my husband would go with me. After all, I had already served my purpose in terms of inheritance law.
“People might question the marriage itself,” I told her, not bothering to look away. “Your father-in-law is ill. How will his grandson inherit with nothing but a marriage certificate, and no wife to confirm his story?”
I could nearly see the wheels turning in the woman’s head. “My son does not have to live here to inherit,” she said. “He has always wanted to travel. At least, that has been his claim. Perhaps he could go traveling now.”
“Perhaps he could,” I said, standing up. “After all, his new wife has always wanted to see more of the countryside.”
I thought that this might well be the last word in the matter, but Lillian burst into the room. For a moment I hoped Luke would be with her, but she came alone.
And she was out of breath, which was unusual. “Mama, come quick! Higgins says that granddad is dying.”
22
I did not attend the funeral, but I was also spared from most consultation with my mother-in-law in the day that followed the old man’s death. Luke offered me the bedroom adjoining his, the one that Miss Courtenay was to have occupied after they were married, and I took it. We did not speak more than a few words together the whole day, and we slept separately. It was as if we had gambled on the inheritance coming through, and were then to be punished for wishing the old man dead.
The only blessing was that I was permitted to sleep alone, rather than with some sort of guard. And I did, fitfully, but without the fear that a monster would try to break down my door.
On the morning of the second day, I was neither enlightened nor repentant. I was simply a young and confused wife, wondering whether she was to be thrown away from the family that was supposed to be hers. My only consolation was that Lillian asked me to resume tutoring her that morning, though I was so abstracted that she could not have been learning much.
“Why did Dante decide to write in Italian, then?” she asked me.
“What is that?” I responded.
“Well, you said it was very important that he wrote in Italian, rather than in Latin. Can you tell me why?”
“Dante,” I said, and for a moment I could remember nothing about the famed poet. Then little fragments of my memory came back. “Yes, he wrote in the language that people spoke on the street. Try doing that in a sonnet, and then we shall discuss his technique.”
I had always believed that one should learn by doing. But I knew that learning about marriage by getting married, before I had been either prepared or forewarned, may not have been the wisest idea.
While Lillian was trying to puzzle out a sonnet in a vernacular that she did not even speak — for really, what experience had she with the way English people spoke on the street, she who had almost never walked on a street in her short life — we were interrupted.
“Lillian,” said Mrs. Barlow. “If you would take your work elsewhere, please.
“Yes, mama,” said the girl, giving me a nervous glance. She probably knew far more than she ought about the trouble in my marriage. Indeed, she was wise beyond her years in many areas of life, and I was saddened to think that her experiences with her grandfather might make her fearful.
I moved to a little chair by the fire, and Mrs. Barlow sat down and looked at her hands. She wasn’t even taking out her work, which I took to be a bad omen.
Still, generally speaking, I felt a little bit of relief. For since Miss Courtenay had been sent packing, at least I could feel assured that the things she was hearing about me were no longer poison. She was likely far too busy wandering around telling neighbors that she had always known about her son’s upcoming marriage to a girl of little family and no money. It was a ridiculous fiction, but I knew from watching my mother’s employers that the very rich relied on completely unbelievable stories when their lives did not follow a rigid and inhumane script.
“I hope you are well,” she said to me, and in my heart I had to laugh. She probably wished that I had taken poison and died, but I smiled anyway.
“Quite well, thank you. Though Lillian still seems set down. Could I not take her out for some sort of excursion?”
“You say that you are worried for Lillian,” she said, peering at me as though I were speaking Greek.
“Yes,” I told her. “She was thrilled to come out this year, and yet the season will start without her if we are not rather quick about introducing her into society.”
Mrs. Barlow blinked. “Well, that is a worry that I will address alone. You need have no part in it. In fact, I have made arrangements so that you can go back to your own family as expediently as possible.”
Now it was my turn to blink. “Mrs. Barlow, I’m afraid that the law very clearly considers you my family, not my dear mother. I am sure she would love to see me, but when we are all in town I shall visit her.”
Mrs. Barlow shook her head, thrusting a little purse at me. “This is for your travel.”
I noted that she did not address me by name. After all, I had been “Miss Quinton” and was now “Mrs. Barlow,” and I might have even been more entitled to the name than she was.
Except that instead of moving to the dower house and leaving me to take my place at Luke’s side, she apparently thought that banishing me was the more reasonable course.
“And where will I go, to the Tower of London?” I asked her. For in turning me out, she was also telling me that I was losing my new home and any hope of a reference. With no reference, I would not get any employment.
“You are not a prisoner,” she answered, and looked away. It seemed as if she wished to be finished with the conversation.
“No,” I told her, “But, as I mentioned earlier, I am your daughter-in-law.”
These words were the ones that incensed Mrs. Barlow. She removed her hands from their elegant folded position in her lap, clenching her hands into fists. “You could not possibly have acquired that position in a less honorable way. You think that I wish you to stay and become an example for my own daughter?”
I thought of Lillian. “I think that your own daughter has plenty to learn from everyone in this family.”
Mrs. Barlow’s voice, though quiet, was still harsh. “If you do not wish to be escorted from this house, you will leave tomorrow. That is all I have to say on the subject.”
23
I could not let Mrs. Barlow have the final word on the subject. After all, I still had to consult my husband. The travel money would not ever need be mentioned again, if only he would open his mouth and stand up to the woman who clearly thought that I was beneath him.
&nb
sp; We were married, I reminded myself as I sought out Luke. We had taken vows. Surely a little thing like a recalcitrant mother-in-law would not have to come between us, even if he had already gotten the money that he had married for.
“Marry for money,” I heard my mother’s voice saying in my head, “And believe me, my girl, you shall earn every farthing. Some think it is an easy thing, but an unequal match is one of the hardest things in the world.”
As I approached Luke’s chamber, I turned off my memory of my mother’s voice. For in my case, nothing had to be difficult. After all, I had gone from governess to mistress in a week, as dear Mrs. Barlow had so rudely pointed out. Perhaps my luck had changed for good.
When I saw my love, I was heartened by his tousled hair and glowing good looks, though he was staring out the window with sad eyes. He gave me only a faint smile when I entered the study.
“Has mama been troubling you,” he said to me, as if he already knew exactly what the answer would be.
I did not know whether to go right to him or to sit on his bed, so I stood still by the door. “She’s been saying that I am a terrible influence on Lillian. Of course, I myself think the contrary, but I suppose nobody has yet asked your sister.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Quinton,” he said to me, and my heart broke when I heard the words. So he, too, did not consider me a lawful wife. And he was standing by the window, making no move to walk over to me.
“I don’t think either of us expected things to be tidied up so quickly,” I said looking over at him.
“No, I certainly did not.”
It was not much of a response, so I forced the point. “Your mother thinks I ought to leave tomorrow. Are you inclined to agree with her?”
He gazed at his feet. “Well, that would depend.”
“Depend on what, then?” I asked with a sigh.
“On many things. But mostly on you, if you please, Miss Quinton.”
