The housekeeper was right in one thing. Midland House was lovely, and though clean and in good repair, apparently thanks to the good graces of Christopher, it did lack the feminine touches which would turn it into a family home. She could bring in the winter greens and the Yule log and make sure fresh flowers from the garden graced every room the rest of the year. She could entertain. There would be children – perhaps one nestled in her womb already – riding fat ponies and hosting tea parties on the lawn. The question she now faced was whether or not it was the family home she wanted.
The chair slowed and eventually stopped. Josceline got up. The conversation with Mrs. Belton hadn’t helped her in her decision at all.
If anything, it had made it more difficult.
* * *
Josceline’s little mantel clock struck four, awakening her. She must have dozed off.
This was it, twenty four hours had passed. Almost passed, she corrected herself, she still had an hour but she doubted waiting the extra time would make her decision any clearer.
In actual fact, she was still undecided.
She meandered towards the drawing room, changing her mind with every step.
Yes, she would stay and become Christopher Sharrington’s wife. However it would be a marriage of convenience and not the love match she had yearned for.
No, she would leave and continue as mistress of her own destiny. With possibly a child to care for as well.
Yes, she would marry Christopher and become the lady and chatelaine of Midland House.
No, she would retain her independence and be no man’s chattel. An image of the disgusting Mr. Burrows rose in her mind.
Yes. No. Yes. No.
“Josceline!” Christopher stood as she entered the room. His expression was anxious, his hair loose and mussed as if he had run his hands through it many times.
She stopped in the door and looked at him hard. Perhaps seeing him would push her one way or the other.
“Twenty-four hours has passed,” she stammered, hating herself for her seeming lack of confidence.
He schooled his features as she approached although his eyes darted to and fro across her face and his knuckles were white where they were clenched around the back of his leather chair.
As she walked across the room, she realized she still had no idea whether or not she would accept his proposal.
Chapter Eighteen
Christopher didn’t say a word as Josceline drew near. His obvious dread pierced her conscience and suddenly she knew how to answer.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her stomach flip flopped. She had agreed.
He smiled and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as if to thank the heavens for her answer. When he opened his eyes again, tears pooled in the corners. Visibly overcome with emotion, he nodded, grasping one of her hands gently to lift it to his lips. “You shan’t regret it, Josceline. I promise you,” he said huskily.
She tilted her head to one side. “You needn’t promise.”
“No?” He was clearly astonished at her statement.
“No.” She shook her head. “A promise is not a promise unless it is kept. I should not expect it of you. For now, let us agree this will be a marriage of benefit to us both. Regret need not enter into it.”
“Very well,” he replied. “And now that we have decided, I see no reason to wait. If you have no objections, I shall call on the vicar this evening and arrange for special dispensation to waive the bans. What say you for a wedding Sunday following the regular service?”
“So soon?” she squeaked. At the very least she would like to sew herself a new frock from the copper satin Christopher had given her. She would be pressed to finish it in time but perhaps she could prevail on Mrs. Belton to help her.
“There is no reason to wait. Furthermore, that would allow us to announce it at Lord and Lady Oakland’s dinner.”
“Yes.” She nodded thoughtfully. “The evening at Oakland Grange would serve as the perfect opportunity.”
“Splendid. We are agreed then.”
“We are. I should like to clarify two things, however.”
He cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her bold statement.
“I should like to complete my three month term as governess and continue with the lessons for Philip and Tom.” She may not be pursuing the self-sufficient path she had set out on when she left London but at least she could finish what she started. “With payment of the wage due to me.”
“As you wish.” He steepled his fingers and regarded her closely. “And the second?”
“You offered me the chance to become your partner. To help you, you said, in building your shipping company.” At his nod, she continued. “Then what is it you think I can help you with?”
“We shall need investors and for that, you shall be the key. To grace my table. To entertain.”
“I see.” It wasn’t quite what she had in mind when she thought to make her own way but working with Christopher to build his enterprise was a goal she could take pride in. She nodded. “I can do that.”
“I vow you shall do it very well,” he said gallantly, swooping an elegant bow.
She looked down at him, at his bent head and sinewy body folded over one leg. So she had done it. She had agreed to become Mr. Christopher Sharrington’s wife. By marrying him, not only would her reputation be rescued, but he offered her the chance to help him with his shipping enterprise. An enterprise which, if successful, would foster a feeling of independence in her own right.
Josceline fervently hoped he wasn’t under the mistaken impression her family name and connections would help him. She dreaded his reaction when that truth came to light.
* * *
“You look lovely,” said an admiring Mrs. Belton as Josceline pirouetted in her new dress in front of the mirror in her room Sunday morning.
“Thanks to you.” Josceline dropped an impulsive kiss on the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “I should never have finished it if you hadn’t helped me.”
“It was nothing,” Mrs. Belton said modestly. “I’ve sewed a frock or two in my time.”
“Look, the lace matches perfectly.” Josceline stopped twirling to inspect herself carefully.
Elizabeth’s hand me down watered blue silk had been carefully picked apart to serve as the pattern for the new dress. Josceline hated to lose the blue silk when she had so few frocks to begin with, however she consoled herself with the thought it had always been too tight. Too, she could use the pieces elsewhere so it would not go to waste.
She’d also painstakingly removed the lace trim from the hem of the blue silk and dyed it in a basin of tea so it turned from white to a lovely ivory shade.
Her new dress had a snug, high-waisted bodice, long fitted sleeves with ruffles around the wrists, and a scooped neckline trimmed with the dyed lace. She half turned to see the pert bow tied at the back, its long ends almost reaching her hem. The beautiful copper satin flowed over her hips to drape elegantly to the floor.
With the leftover bits of fabric, she’d had enough for a matching hair ribbon, now looped stylishly through her curls, and she’d fashioned two satin roses to be tacked to her slippers.
“I’ve just the thing, Lady Josceline. Wait for me.” Mrs. Belton hurried off to return a few moments later, huffing and puffing and holding aloft triumphantly a tortoise shell comb. She tucked it high into Josceline’s hair and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“I vow you are as fine as any of the London ladies during the Season.” The housekeeper wiped away a few tears. “The master will be speechless when he sees how beautiful you look.”
Suddenly shy, Josceline looked away. She hoped so. She hoped admiration would fill Christopher’s eyes. What if he thought her plain? Angrily she pushed the misgiving away. Why should she care what he thought? Today was her wedding day and all brides were beautiful, even brides of convenience.
How surprised Elizabeth would be when Josceline wrote her the news of her nuptials. A pang of guilt
passed through her at the thought her dear friend wouldn’t be there to share her special day but there just hadn’t been time to invite her. Moreover, the day wasn’t that special for she entered into a contract with Christopher, nothing else.
She turned back to the housekeeper, flashing what she hoped was a gay smile. “Shall we? I do believe the carriage is ready for us.”
“Oh dear, yes of course, it won’t do to keep the master waiting. Such an honor it is, for Tedham and I to be standing up for you.”
The remainder of the day passed in a collage of images, one swimming into the next: The ride in the shiny ebony carriage and the feeble spring sunshine which barely took the winter chill from the air; the church, ivy clambering over its mellow golden stone walls; the few villagers still lingering after the morning service giving her inquiring glances as she alit from the carriage; Mrs. Belton handing her a small nosegay of daffodils; Christopher in his finest black wearing an inscrutable expression as he slid a ring on her finger; the vicar, absentminded and with kind grey eyes beneath a shock of unkempt white hair droning on and on until at last all she heard was:
“By the power vested within me, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Christopher leaned over to peck her cheek. They signed the register, and as they left the church, she tossed the nosegay to a little girl playing on the front steps.
Just like that, it was over. She was now Christopher’s wife.
For better.
Or for worse.
* * *
It already was worse, fumed Josceline later that afternoon. Without her knowledge or permission, her things had been moved into the room adjoining Christopher’s. Entirely reasonable, of course, for it was intended for the mistress of the house but that meant her bedroom now adjoined his directly.
She glared at the door separating them - only the thickness of it kept him from her – then inspected the rest of the room. As was the case with the rest of Midland House, it was spotless, and ready for her.
An enormous brick fireplace filled one wall, its marble mantel bare save for two heavy silver candlesticks. The lovely, carved oak wardrobe, waxed to a warm golden glow, had a matching carved dresser. The sleigh style bed beckoned, overflowing with pretty lace cushions and a lovely lace counterpane. A glass hurricane lamp sat guard on the lace draped bed stand.
But Josceline loved most the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the garden and framed by royal blue velvet drapes. Through them, sunlight suffused the room including the single wingback armchair, cheerfully upholstered in blue and yellow checkered fabric. The chair, positioned perfectly, sat close enough to the fire for warmth yet still close enough to the windows to look out. Someone, Mrs. Belton no doubt, had placed a small crystal bowl filled with violets on the little strapped chest beside it and her nose filled with the sweet fragrance.
Her anger dissipated.
This was a room she could spend time in, a room she could write letters in, and read, and do her needlework. A room providing a peaceful refuge and a room she could love.
She glanced again to the adjoining door. Even now, she could hear Christopher moving about.
She tensed, waiting for him to knock or try turning the doorknob, but he didn’t. A few moments later, she heard his footsteps again then the snap of the latch as the door closed.
A frisson of relief surged through her and she made her way to the chair to sit down, inspecting closely for the first time the emerald ring he had given her. Circled by diamonds, the gently worn, gold band had a series of hearts linked together. It had been his mother’s, he told her in the carriage on the way home.
She leaned back her head to rest. Only her mind wouldn’t obey her and thoughts tumbled one after the other. When could she expect Christopher to call on her in her room? Or would he respect her privacy until they settled more firmly in their role as husband and wife? When did he want to start the search for investors? Did he need her help in obtaining the “Bessie” from Lord Oliver Candel as well? Would Christopher be happy if she found herself with child? Or happier if she did not?
And later, when she sat across from him at dinner, only one thought rolled repeatedly through her mind – if he expected to exert his marital rights this night.
But no, after a delicious supper of lamb, duck comfit, spring greens, potatoes and fruit custard, he merely walked her, silent and brooding, to her door.
He bowed low over her hand and breathed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. “I bid you good night.” He straightened and his teeth gleamed in the dim light of the hallway as he flashed a smile. “In the morning we shall talk about your role in our enterprise.”
Our enterprise.
His choice of words delighted her, as did his reassuring smile. It made her feel truly his partner.
Strangely, his dream had now become hers. And just as strange, she too, wanted to see its success.
* * *
Christopher put aside the morning paper when Josceline walked into the breakfast room the next morning.
“I trust you slept well?”
An inane question yet it pleased Josceline immensely. It was just the sort of thing a husband would ask of a wife.
“I did, thank you.” She helped herself to scrambled eggs, ham, a wedge of cheese and a slice of bread from the sideboard and sat down. She had only taken a mouthful before Christopher spoke.
“I look forward to announcing our marriage at Oakland Grange. I also intend to announce the establishment of our business venture.”
“Indeed?” Josceline paused, a fork of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth.
“Yes. It makes us a force to be reckoned with. You, with your background and breeding and me with my sea faring experience. What better occasion to look for investors.” He patted his mouth with his napkin.
“No.” Josceline put down her fork and clasped her hands beneath her bosom. “If you wish to be accepted into proper society, you must realize some things are not discussed during genteel gatherings. Men of the upper classes do not work in commerce and business discussions are better left for occasions where women are not present.”
“I see.” Christopher scowled and gestured to the footman to pour him another cup of tea. “What do you propose, then?”
“We inform Lady Oakland of our marriage when we arrive. As hostess, she can make the formal announcement. That is more than enough for one evening. Although we’ve been invited, we’re not well known here and we must cultivate acquaintances.”
“It seems a waste of an opportunity,” he growled.
“You shall still take advantage of the opportunity. Wait until after dinner when the men retire to their port and cigars. Don’t jump into the conversation, take your cue from the others and see if you can steer the conversation towards shipping. Gauge the general mood. Ask questions. Who are the prominent merchants in Bristol? Where does one meet them? That sort of thing.”
He looked at her and she felt her cheeks heat up at the approval in his eyes. Flustered, she looked down to her lap and toyed with her napkin.
“Nicely put,” he praised. “What you suggest makes perfect sense.” He buttered a piece of bread before slathering it with berry jam. He cut it in two and placed one half on her plate. “The compote is delicious. Last year’s berries, I expect.”
A surprised Josceline looked down at the jam covered bread then raised her gaze to catch his.
“Do you suppose Lord Candel shall be present at the festivities at Oakland House?” Thoughtfully Christopher took a bite of the bread and jam. “Because it would be an ideal time to remind him he reneged on his gambling debt.”
Josceline shook her head emphatically. “Only if you catch him in a discreet situation. The “Bessie” is a matter pertaining only to the two of you. Your grievance with him shouldn’t be aired in public.”
“I hate to think the rogue believes he has bested me.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“All in due time,” reassured Josceline. “Let us first m
ake the acquaintance of our neighbors.”
“I have an idea. Once we have a few acquaintances, we shall hold a house party of our own. I surmise you have friends in London who could join us here in the country.”
It was as she feared. Christopher thought she had a wide circle of friends from whom she could draw. How disappointed he would be when he discovered her only friends and allies were Elizabeth and her mother.
“Ah, of course,” she stammered.
Twenty-four hours had not yet passed and already she was doomed to disappoint Christopher.
Best to deal with the evening at the Oakland’s first. Then she would worry about pulling together guests for the house party Christopher wanted.
* * *
Christopher couldn’t believe the lovely creature sitting across from him this morning at the breakfast table was his wife. Her hair was neatly pulled back although a few small curls wisped about her neck. Her eyes matched perfectly the emerald on her finger and the stone caught the sun’s rays as she moved her hands about.
His mother’s ring. How surprised he had been to discover it fit Josceline’s finger perfectly when he slipped it on her finger during the ceremony. The stone flashed green again as Josceline lifted her cup and it made him think of his mother.
Proud until the bitter end, she refused to sell the ring keeping it on her finger though poverty knocked continually at her door.
After he went to sea, he regularly sent her his monthly wage but even so, her life had been meager. She could easily have sold it at any time, yet she didn’t. When one day he finally asked her why, she had just smiled at him with sad eyes and said, “Love does not always allow one to think or act rationally.”
At the end, dropsy took her but she had hung on until she could give him the ring in person.
“For you and the wife you shall have one day,” she murmured. And just like that, she slipped away.
Her Proper Scoundrel Page 15
