The Makeshift Marriage

by Sandra Heath

  “I will never love you in the way you seek, Daniel,” she whispered.

  “No? Your kiss tells another tale.”

  She flushed and turned to pick up her reticule.

  “I have a month in which to win you, Laura, and win you I shall.”

  Mrs. Thompson hurried to open the doors for her, noting Laura’s flushed face and hurried departure. As the carriage drew away, Laura glanced out and saw Daniel at the drawing-room window. Their eyes met for a long moment.

  The carriage took her from his sight then and she sat back. The shame still lay over her. How could it have happened? How could she have wanted him to hold her like that? She didn’t love him, she loved Nicholas, but she had returned Daniel Tregarron’s kiss.

  Chapter 30

  Now that Mr. McDonald had departed, there was no reason for Laura to go down to dinner, and so she once again ordered her own meal to be served in the peace and seclusion of the library, where she could afterward do a little more work. But as she dressed for dinner, thinking about her afternoon meeting with Daniel Tregarron, she became more and more aware of how unusually silent Kitty was. The maid’s little face with withdrawn, and if Laura was not mistaken, it was also tearstained. “Kitty?” she asked at last. “What is wrong?”

  Tears sprang immediately to the maid’s eyes. “Oh, my lady, it’s my poor father. He fell down the stairs two days back and broke his leg, and today the Countess of Bawton’s land agent came to say that she no longer wishes to employ him. We live in a King’s Cliff tied cottage, my lady, and I have a little brother and sister. There’s only me working, and we’ll have no roof over our heads—I just don’t know what to do, and my mother’s fair out of her mind with worry.”

  Laura was horrified. “Oh, Kitty, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry, for you know that I will do all I can. First of all I must reassure you that you will not be turned out of your home. Maybe I cannot reassure you about work as well, but I will do all I can. Please tell your parents.”

  The maid smiled through her tears. “Oh, Lady Grenville, I don’t know what to say.”

  Laura went slowly toward the library a little later. Allowing Frank Roberts’s family to remain in their cottage was all very well, but it was work he sought, for only if he worked would he have his pride and self-respect. The memory of Kitty’s tears lingered throughout her solitary meal and she hardly touched her dinner. The plight of Frank Roberts, more than that of the other servants, touched her personally and made her feel sad and responsible.

  She had been working for some time by the light of candles, sifting through the maze of facts and figures concerning various acquisitions during the lifetime of Nicholas’s father when she distinctly heard the gallery door open and the rustle of taffeta. She looked up as Augustine leaned gracefully over the rail. She was splendid in turquoise, diamonds sparkling in her red hair and at her pale throat. A flouncy ostrich feather curled down from the bright comb holding her hair up, and her white, fringed shawl dragged lazily along the floor as she slowly approached the spiral steps to the lower level of the library.

  Laura sat back warily, mindful of the purpose of Augustine’s visit to the Countess of Bawton earlier. “Good evening, Miss Townsend,” she said sweetly.

  “Good evening, my lady.” As always, there was the sarcastic emphasis on Laura’s title. “My, my, are we working hard again? Your complexion will suffer if you labor by candlelight all the time. Indeed, now I come to look more closely at you, I fear my warning is too late. You look positively ill, my lady, and not interestingly so, I fear.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes—really.”

  “Have you some purpose in coming here, Miss Townsend?”

  “Why does one normally frequent a library, unless it is to choose a book—or to labor pathetically upon wifely tasks which will receive no thanks in the long run.”

  Laura ignored the latter part of the statement, getting to her feet and going to a shelf where she had noticed a particular book. She took it down and held it out to Augustine. “This would appear eminently suitable for you, Miss Townsend.”

  “A History of the Borgias? How very droll, to be sure.”

  “Very apt, I think you will agree.”

  Augustine’s eyes flickered and then she too selected a book, handing it to Laura. “This is what I would choose for your nightly reading, my lady. The Life of Catherine of Aragon would appear so pertinent to your own situation.”

  “That presumably places you in the role of Anne Boleyn—and we all know her fate, don’t we?”

  Augustine casually tossed the books on to the table, but the action was not as casual as it appeared, for the force of the books landing caused several papers to flutter to the floor. A smile touched Augustine’s lips then, an unpleasant, triumphant smile, which made Laura feel cold inside. “How is Dr. Daniel Tregarron?” asked Augustine softly.

  Laura stared at her. “Well, I believe.”

  “Yes, well you would know, wouldn’t you? After all, you did visit him alone this afternoon, didn’t you?”

  Laura said nothing.

  “So handsome and charming, is he not? And so very different from dear Nicholas. Nicholas is a golden god; Daniel Tregarron is dark and interesting. A very intriguing gentleman, I think you will agree.”

  Laura felt the guilt staining her cheeks and was glad that the candlelight would serve to disguise her color.

  But Augustine missed nothing. “Yes,” she murmured, “no doubt you have decided to cut your losses and settle for Daniel when Nicholas casts you off. The world has remarked the good doctor’s obvious partiality for you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No? Oh, come now, don’t be obtuse, my dear, for you surely don’t expect anyone to believe that you have no inkling of the handsome doctor’s feelings.”

  To Laura it was as if Augustine had witnessed everything that had passed between herself and Daniel that afternoon. She recovered swiftly, however, returning to take her place at the escritoire and dipping her quill in the ink. “If you have nothing agreeable to say, Miss Townsend, then I suggest that you leave me to my work.”

  “But, of course, who am I to stand in the path of the lady who has power of attorney in this house? Your word is law, my lady—except when your husband overrules you. As in the matter of taking tea with the ladies of the neighborhood.”

  “Am I to presume that you have something to impart to me, Miss Townsend? Or are you merely wasting both my time and your own?”

  “I waste no one’s time. The necessary invitations have been issued, my lady, and it is set for you to receive the ladies in the red saloon tomorrow morning.”

  “I will endeavor to remember.”

  “You would be advised to be prompt, for Nicholas will not be phased if you let him down, would he? Oh, and do try to dress well, at least try to appear to be a person of quality. Appearances are so important, are they not?”

  Laura toyed with the quill, stroking its shaft very slowly. She could not win this particular skirmish, but she would fire the last salvo. “I trust your presentation to the Duke of Gloucester went excellently,” she purred, knowing full well that it hadn’t. His Grace had remembered Augustine’s unfortunate connection with the Earl of Langford and had therefore virtually snubbed her when she had been presented. Augustine had suffered extreme mortification and her cheeks flamed scarlet now as Laura reminded her, thereby intimating that she knew all about something Augustine would much have preferred to keep secret.

  Augustine leaned her hands on the escritoire and her voice was a snakelike hiss. “I will make you sorry you ever heard Nicholas Grenville’s name!”

  “So you keep promising me, Miss Townsend. I do not believe you have succeeded yet.” They were brave words, uttered in defiance of the truth.

  Augustine’s slippers tapped angrily on the floor as she left the library.

  Laura put the quill down. She was disturbed by Augustine’s hints about Daniel Tregarron, hi
nts which after this afternoon were a little too close to the truth for comfort.

  * * *

  Before retiring to bed, Laura went to see Nicholas. She chose her time carefully, so that the moment Augustine went to take chocolate with her mother, Laura slipped swiftly along to his room. More than anything else at the moment she wanted to avoid meeting the Countess of Bawton and her friends, and maybe Nicholas would relent just a little….

  He was not in his bed, but for the first time was sitting in a chair by the empty fireplace. He wore a rich brocade dressing gown and his hair gleamed very pale in the candlelight. He looked up as she entered and there was no encouragement either in his glance or in his tone when he spoke. “Good evening, Laura.”

  “Good evening.” Hesitantly she went closer. “Nicholas, I have something to ask you, to beg you.”

  “And I have something to demand of you, madam—an explanation for your visit to Daniel Tregarron this afternoon.”

  “A—an explanation?” Augustine’s words rang in her ears.

  “You know full well that I have severed all relations with him, and yet you flout my wishes by going to visit him. I wish to know why.”

  “I went about the sale of part of Langford Woods.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dodswell came to me today and told me that he had discovered there to be an agreement between your father and Daniel Tregarron, whereby if a particular portion of Langford Woods, that adjoining Daniel’s property, was ever to be sold, then Daniel was to have first claim.”

  “It was hardly your place to attend to such a matter,” he said coldly. “It was Charles Dodswell’s place; he is my land agent.”

  Her anger stirred a little then. “Maybe it wasn’t my place, but I am mindful that but for Daniel Tregarron’s care, you might not be alive now, Nicholas. I don’t pretend to know why you and he now hold such bitter feelings for each other, but I do know that I haven’t quarreled with him. He has proved a good friend to me, probably my only friend since I came here.” You aren’t my friend, Nicholas, you whom I love more than anyone….

  He ignored what she said, choosing instead to revert to the matter of Langford Woods. “And what does he wish to do about the land?”

  “He is no longer interested, as he intends leaving England shortly.”

  The gray eyes searched her face. Would Daniel Tregarron be leaving alone? He looked away from her then. When his cousin had insulted her that morning, his own rage and confused emotions concerning her had driven him to defend her, but since then she had been with Daniel Tregarron again. What had taken place in Daniel’s house Nicholas could only surmise, but when taken with the rumors which were so rife, it could only point to one thing—a lover’s tryst. Jealousy and hurt urged Nicholas on now, making him cold and distant when he wished to win her, making him wish to deal to her the hurt he felt she had dealt to him.

  His silence prompted her to think again of her purpose in coming to see him. “Nicholas, I wish to ask something of you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Allow me the right to stay away from this so-called reception tomorrow.”

  “It is your duty to attend.”

  “I do not entirely agree, not given the circumstances pertaining here. They do not come to greet me as friends, they come to—”

  “You will meet them.”

  She looked into his cold eyes. “It was hard now to even remember how different it had been in Venice, how different it had been at first even here at King’s Cliff, for now there was no trace of the man she had fallen in love with. And yet he was still Nicholas, and try as she would, she could not conquer the feelings of love he always aroused in her.

  “Very well,” she said, her chill matching his, “I will do your bidding, sir.”

  Chapter 31

  For over an hour now the fashionable carriages had been arriving, and there was a long string of them drawn up along the drive in front of King’s Cliff. Laura had delayed as long as possible, but now she walked slowly toward the red saloon. An icy calm settled over her, even though her anger and resentment had not lessened overnight. She did not feel at all nervous, as Augustine no doubt hoped she would; instead she felt defiant, and more than prepared to give as good as she got.

  The footmen at the doors of the saloon waited for her signal as she paused, rearranging her shawl, and then she nodded to them and they flung the doors open to admit her. The room was loud with female chattering, which was immediately silenced by her appearance. Many pairs of critical eyes swept over her, scrutinizing the quality of her sprigged muslin gown, gauging the cost of the delicate lace in her day-cap, and noting the degree of fashion in her coiffure. Not one small detail of her appearance missed their eyes, from the black ribbon at her throat to the neat satin slippers peeping from beneath her hem. Teacups clinked and some throats were cleared expectantly as she crossed the floor to where Augustine stood.

  Augustine’s eyes shone. “Good morning, Laura.”

  “Good morning, Miss Townsend.” Gasps greeted this, for Laura quite deliberately denied Augustine the intimacy that had apparently been expected.

  Augustine’s smile went out, like an extinguished candle flame.

  “Will you not introduce me?” asked Laura, the epitome of calm politeness.

  A succession of limp hands were extended to her, and an impressive succession of names succeeded them. They were stiff and formal; she was unreadable as she gave a small smile to each one, but then at last the moment they had been anticipating came, and she found herself face-to-face with the Countess of Bawton, the lady who had so pointedly snubbed her at Langford church.

  Augustine’s voice was sweet. “Allow me to present you to the Countess of Bawton. Lady Elizabeth, this is Laura, Lady Grenville.”

  “How do you do, Lady Grenville.” The crowlike voice was cold, the tone calculated to distance the recipient.

  “How do you do, Lady Elizabeth.” Laura sensed the room closing in, the faces eager to savor the confrontation between their senior member and the upstart mistress of King’s Cliff.

  The countess’s smile was cool. “Do tell us how long you have known Sir Nicholas, my dear; we’re all simply dying to know all about it.”

  “I met him on the first of March this year, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Indeed? So short a time. How very intriguing. One does not often encounter such—er, haste, does one?”

  “Doesn’t one?”

  “Why no, surely it is more usual for both parties to be acquainted over a number of years before taking their vows.”

  “How very dull a picture you paint, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “I paint a proper picture, my lady.”

  “It is still very dull.”

  Glances were exchanged now, and Laura knew that they did not like her impertinent attitude.

  “You are entitled to your opinion, of course,” murmured the countess, her fan tapping her lips for a moment as she pondered her next move, “as I am entitled to mine. The circumstances of your nuptials are of course very unusual—very romantic, but also unworthy.”

  “Unworthy?”

  “What else is it but unworthy to the name of love to rush so precipitously into wedlock? You know the saying—marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

  “Do you speak from experience, Lady Elizabeth?”

  The room was very quiet now. The countess’s lips were pursed into a rosebud, albeit a withered one. “My dear Lady Grenville,” she said at last, “you simply must show us your wedding gown. That is one of the delights of meeting a new bride, inspecting her wedding toggery. Do show us yours, my dear.”

  “I am wearing it.”

  The countess’s nose positively twitched with disdain as she surveyed the sprigged muslin. “That is your wedding gown?” she asked faintly.

  “Oh, come now, you know as well as I do, Lady Elizabeth, that precipitous haste such as was involved in my marriage would of necessity preclude the acquisition of elegant attire. None of the d
ressmakers I have ever frequented had such garments immediately to hand, but then maybe out here in the wilds of Somerset things are different. Oh, how quaint, how very provincial that you should believe I would be able to instantly acquire a dazzling creation from some Venetian couturiere.” Laura gave a short, vaguely amused laugh. “I declare I am tolerably diverted. And now, if you will excuse me, I will leave you all to scratch my character to your hearts content.”

  The numbed silence was broken by the sound of Laura’s footsteps as she swept regally from the scene of battle.

  The countess was very pale, weakly putting out a hand to a neighbor for support. “What a very—disagreeable woman,” she muttered faintly, reaching for her sal volatile.

  Augustine trembled from head to toe. This had not gone at all as she had planned, for the biters were themselves bitten! Nicholas, should hear of this; he would hear every detail of his wife’s disgraceful conduct! But for the moment Augustine must consolidate opinion to her side. “You see what I must endure?” she asked them all. “She is quite beyond all polite society!”

  “My dear,” said the countess, recovering a little, “she is too low to be commented upon.”

  * * *

  Laura did not return to her room, but sent Hawkins hurrying to the stables to see that a horse was saddled for her immediately. She felt choked with emotion now that she had faced the ladies, and the icy calm left her, the resultant void being filled with a fierce desire to escape from the house, to hide herself away somewhere and weep in private. There was no privacy here….

  She waited impatiently in the vestibule, and the moment she heard the horse being brought around, she hurried out and down the steps. The footmen, postilions, and coachmen waiting by the line of carriages that had conveyed the ladies to the house, watched in amazement as the new Lady Grenville hitched up her muslin skirts to mount the horse. With an inordinate display of dainty ankles and petticoats, she turned the horse toward the park, urging it faster and faster until its hooves drummed as it galloped to Langford Woods.