His feelings for her had crept up behind him and ambushed him while he’d been distracted by congratulating himself for being clever enough to write that list and pick such a perfect woman.
Why hadn’t he seen that picking the perfect woman would practically ensure he would fall in love with her?
Because he was a fool, that was why.
A fool to think he could marry a girl like Mary, and live with her, and make love to her, and be able to keep his heart intact.
Let alone keep her at his side.
She’d gone and he couldn’t really blame her.
All he could do was hope she’d find the happiness, away from him, that he couldn’t give her himself.
And find some way of coming to terms with it all.
* * *
Gilbey informed Mary that the roads were too bad to make the journey all in one stage, so they stopped at an inn that wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her husband had led her to believe might be the case.
It probably helped that she stalked into the building, still hurt and angry at her husband, and ready to take it out on whoever happened to cross her next. Susan did her part, too, making up the bed in the best chamber with sheets Mrs Brownlow had provided, with such disdain for the hotel’s bedding that all the staff treated Mary as though she was a duchess. But all the bowing and scraping from the landlord and his minions could not quite compensate Mary for the knowledge that when her husband had travelled with her, he’d hired a well-sprung, comfy little post-chaise, rather than put up with the antiquated, lumbering carriage that Gilbey had unearthed from somewhere. When she’d travelled with him, she hadn’t ended up aching all over and feeling so sick and dizzy that she would have cheerfully curled up on the rug in front of the fire, just as long as she could get her head down.
And then, of course, thoughts of spending nights on hearthrugs in front of fires had churned her insides up so much that she could have been offered the finest, softest feather bed, and it would still have felt like an instrument of torture.
* * *
It was past noon by the time Mary reached London the following day. She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally alighted outside one of the largest, most imposing mansions she had ever seen.
Gilbey, and the horrid carriage, disappeared round the side of the house at once. Taking the precious horses to the warmth of their luxurious stables, she supposed. Susan, carrying Mary’s bag, mounted the steps ahead of her and knocked on the glossily painted, black front door.
‘Lady Havelock, you say?’ The butler who opened the door raised one eyebrow in a way that implied he very much doubted it. ‘We received no notice of your intention to take up residence.’
This was a problem Mary hadn’t anticipated, though perhaps she should have done. It was just like her husband to have forgotten to inform the most relevant people involved.
‘Well, I’m not spending another night in a hotel,’ she snapped. One had been more than enough. And she was blowed if she was going to write to him and tell him his servants wouldn’t let her into the house he’d promised she could treat as her own. She’d come to London in part to prove that she could stand on her own two feet. Survive without him. She wasn’t going to crumble, and beg for his help, at the very first sign of trouble.
‘What’s to do, Mr Simmons?’
A stern-looking, grey-haired lady came up behind the butler, who was obstinately barring the way into the house, and peered over his shoulder.
‘There is a person claiming to be Lady Havelock,’ said the butler disapprovingly.
‘Well, the notice was in the Gazette, so I dare say his lordship has married somebody.’
While the butler and the woman she assumed was the housekeeper discussed the likelihood of her being an impostor, Mary’s temper, which had been on a low simmer all the way to London, came rapidly to a boil.
She’d had enough of people talking about her as if she wasn’t there. Of making decisions for her, and about her, and packing her off to London in ramshackle coaches to houses where nobody either expected or welcomed her.
‘It’s all very well thinking it is your duty to guard my husband’s property from impostors,’ she pointed out in accents that were as freezing as the rain that had just started to fall. ‘But if you value your positions at all...’
‘That’s ’er, right enough,’ a third voice piped up, preventing her from saying exactly how she would exact retribution. ‘Leastaways,’ said a small boy, who pushed his way between the butler and the housekeeper, ‘she’s the one wot was wiv ’is lordship when he saved me from the nubbing cheat.’
‘Indeed?’ The butler’s expression underwent a most satisfying change. At about the same moment she recognised the little boy. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been dressed in rags and her husband had been dragging him out of Westminster Abbey by the scruff of his neck.
‘My goodness, but you’ve changed,’ said Mary to the boy. He’d not only filled out, but seemed to have grown taller, too. Of course that might have been an illusion, caused by the fact that he wasn’t cowering. Or wearing filthy, ill-fitting clothes. And the fact that his hair was clean, and neatly brushed.
‘That’s wot plenty of grub and a reg’lar bob ken’ll do fer yer,’ said the former pickpocket, with a grin.
‘He means,’ put in the butler, having swiped the lad round the back of the head, ‘that he is grateful to his lordship for saving him from the threat of the hangman’s noose, taking him in and giving him a clean home where he has regular meals. And though we oblige him to wash regularly, I am sad to say that we are still teaching young Jem to speak the King’s English, rather than the dreadful language he acquired in the gutter that spawned him.’
The hangman’s noose...
Mary’s mind went into a sort of dizzy spin, during which time several apparently random items fell rather more neatly into place. Her husband’s assurance to his sister that he’d made sure she was kind-hearted, her inability to work out how he could have done so, the lad’s pleading for mercy from Mr Morgan and the verger...
And the clincher—this lad’s total lack of fear, even when surrounded by his accusers, threatening him with gaol.
‘No real fear of the noose though, was there, Jem?’ she said acidly. ‘It was just a prank Lord Havelock put you up to, wasn’t it?’
The urchin’s grin widened. ‘No putting anything past you, is there, missus?’
The butler swatted him again. ‘It is your ladyship, not missus,’ he corrected the boy.
It might have been something in Mary’s expression as she realised what a fool her husband had made of her, time after time, or the lad’s vouching for her character, or her own veiled threat—but for whatever reason, the housekeeper was beginning to look rather alarmed.
‘Your ladyship,’ she said, pushing both butler and boy to one side. ‘Please come in out of the rain. We are so sorry you have caught us all unawares.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said the butler, wresting his attention from the boy to his new mistress and permitting Mary to finally step inside Durant House.
The hall was massive. And dark. So dark she couldn’t see to the far end of it. That was due in part to the shoulder-high wainscoting, which seemed to suck up what little light filtered in through the few windows that hadn’t been shuttered. She couldn’t see the ceiling either, no matter how far she craned her neck. But from the echo to the butler’s and housekeeper’s voices, she judged it was very, very high. On either side of the hall was a dark and ornately carved staircase, which ran by several stages, interspersed with half landings, up under a series of grimly glowering portraits until all disappeared into the murk above a gallery landing.
She wasn’t surprised her husband had likened it to a mausoleum.
‘We do not, just at present, even have anywhere for you to sit
and take tea while we make your room ready,’ said the housekeeper nervously. ‘Everything is under holland covers.’
Mary wondered how the housekeeper would react if she simply went down to the kitchens and made herself a pot of tea?
But the poor woman had probably sustained enough shocks for one day.
‘I dare say you have your very own sitting room,’ said Mary. ‘Which I’m sure you keep comfortable enough for my needs, for now.’
‘Oh, yes, well, I do. Of course I do, your ladyship,’ said the housekeeper, torn between relief that her mistress wasn’t going to demand another room be made ready at once and consternation at having her invade her territory. ‘It’s this way,’ she said, pragmatism winning.
When Susan scuttled off somewhere with her portmanteau, Mary did her best to calm down. It wasn’t fair to take her hurt and anger out on servants.
‘Even if we had known you were coming,’ said the housekeeper apologetically as she poured the tea, ‘I wouldn’t have rightly known what room to show you into. The whole place has got that shabby.’
‘I know that there is a lot of work to be done here,’ said Mary, reaching for a slice of cake. ‘It is, in part, why Lord Havelock married me.’ Though the reminder depressed her, it seemed to have the opposite effect on the housekeeper.
‘Well, now,’ she said, perching on the very edge of her chair, ‘I’m that glad to hear it. That agent who acts for his lordship—well, I suppose he thinks he has his lordship’s best interests at heart, but—’
It was like a dam bursting. The housekeeper had clearly been storing up a lot of grievances. As they all came pouring out, Mary helped herself to a second slice of cake and turned her chair so that she could rest her feet on the fender. Her appetite had come roaring back now she was at journey’s end and there was no risk of getting back into that vile coach again. And met a housekeeper who was actually glad she’d come. And had a task to perform that would bring benefit to not only her husband, but to all the souls who lived in Durant House.
‘I think,’ said Mary, once she felt she simply couldn’t cram in any more of the delicious fruit cake, ‘that you should show me all over the place. So that I can get an idea of exactly what will be required.’
* * *
The tour took them right up to suppertime. Mary had known that titled families often owned houses in the town as well as having country estates, but somehow she’d never dreamed her husband would own such an impressive, if sadly neglected one. Neither he, nor his father, the housekeeper informed her, had taken any interest in the maintenance of what had originally been built as something of a showpiece.
Now every room cried out for attention. No wonder he’d moved into a set of cosy apartments and rented this place out. Not only was the amount of work required daunting for a bachelor, it was just too large for one person to live in alone.
Though living here alone was to be her fate, she reflected gloomily.
She felt even more alone when, at suppertime, the housekeeper came to escort her to the hastily tidied dining room and led her to the solitary place at the head of a table that could easily have seated thirty.
As attentive footmen served her course after course, she recalled her bold words about how a lick of paint and rearranging furniture could make any place feel more like home. She almost snorted into her soup. It would take more than that to make this dining room a comfortable place to eat her meals. But since she had no intention of leaving, she would just have to think of something else.
Perhaps there was a smaller, more convenient room in which she could eat her meals. Straight after the last footman had removed the last dish from the table, she went to see if she could find one. And very soon came across a little drawing room off the back of the entrance hall that overlooked the central courtyard around which the house was built. The fountain, which was on the housekeeper’s list of repairs, was just outside the window. It would make a very soothing background noise once she got a plumber in to get it working again.
She rang for the housekeeper at once.
When Mrs Romsey arrived, Mary told her that from now on, she wanted to have all her meals served there. And between them, they decided how best to rearrange what furniture there was, to make such a change of use possible.
And then, having started to put her own stamp on the place, Mary suddenly felt bone-weary.
Though she went upstairs, she wasn’t yet ready to climb into the bed where she was going to be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future.
Instead, she went into the sitting room that adjoined her bedroom, where she’d earlier seen a writing desk. Mrs Romsey had told her that the desk contained a supply of paper, should she wish to write any letters. Now that she’d calmed down, she couldn’t believe she’d left that note for Lord Havelock to find. By letting him know exactly how upset she was, she’d sacrificed what little pride she might have held on to. She’d hoped to leave Mayfield with her dignity intact. Instead, she’d made herself look utterly ridiculous. Emotional and attention-seeking. Why, she’d always despised women who created scenes in futile attempts to get bored husbands to notice them. And wasn’t that more or less what she’d done, staking her list of complaints to his pillow in that melodramtic fashion? Oh, if only she’d ripped it up and thrown it on the fire before she left.
A cold chill slithered down her spine and took root in her stomach as she saw that there were far worse things than being secretly in love with a man who didn’t handle sentiment well. Forfeiting his respect, to start with. At least before she’d written her stupid list of complaints, she’d had that much.
But there was no undoing it. She’d written it. He’d no doubt found it and read it by now.
And probably despised her for getting all emotional about what was supposed to have been a practical arrangement.
With feet like lead, Mary went to the writing desk and sank on to the chair. She’d known she’d be alone in London, but now she’d made her husband despise her, she felt it twice as keenly.
She’d write to her aunt Pargetter, that’s what she’d do. She needn’t admit she’d made a total mess of her marriage. She could focus on all the jobs that needed doing at Durant House and ask her for practical advice on that score. She was, after all, the very person to know where she could find everything and everyone she might need.
She carefully refrained from saying anything about her state of mind, but couldn’t help ending with just one sentence stressing how very glad she would be to see her aunt and that she would be at home whenever her aunt wished to call round.
Then she rang for Susan, who said she would give the letter to one of the footmen to take round immediately. It was on the tip of her tongue to say there was no need for the man to turn out at this time of night, when it occurred to her that it might be better to have the servants falling over themselves to impress her. Better than having them virtually ignore her, the way they’d done at Mayfield, in any event.
She’d regretted uttering that veiled threat about dismissing staff, upon arrival, because in truth she didn’t have the heart to turn a single one of them out, not when she knew only too well what it felt like to get evicted. Particularly not after Mrs Romsey had told her the peculiar nature of their contracts. When there were no tenants her husband’s agent had let them all stay on, for bed and board, rather than go to the inconvenience of laying them all off, only to have to hire a fresh set all over again when the next tenants were due, making each of them regard Durant House as their home.
Eventually they’d realise there was plenty of work for them all, since she meant to restore Durant House to its former glory. They’d probably even realise she was too soft-hearted to carry through on her vague threat of dismissals. But for now, at least, they’d treat her with respect.
So it was with a cool smile that she handed the letter to Susan, then wearily succu
mbed to the maid’s suggestion she help her get ready for bed.
She was exhausted. The past couple of days had completely drained her. And yet, once Susan had left, Mary lay wide awake in her magnificent bed. The harder she strove to relax, the more her mind ran hither and thither, the same way the shadows flickered over the network of cracks in what had once been ornately decorated plaster. What was he doing, right now? Chatting away happily with his sister, no doubt. Talking about horses and people she didn’t know. He wouldn’t be aching to feel her in his arms, the way she was aching for him. Wishing she could curl into his big warm body. She’d got used to him rolling her into his side and keeping her plastered to him right through the night. As though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting so much as an inch creep between them. It had been bad enough sleeping alone when he’d been just along the corridor.
But it was far worse thinking of him in a different building altogether.
For a moment or two she couldn’t even recall why it had seemed so important to leave him. So what if he did prefer his sister? Couldn’t she have learned to live with that? Couldn’t she have put up with him only visiting her in bed from time to time? At least it would have been preferable to this...this distance she’d created. This vast gulf. A gulf he might never deign to cross, now she’d made such a fool of herself.
The thought that the only person she’d hurt, by writing that list and flouncing off to London, had been herself, was so painful that she curled into a ball and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
She’d always hated the months between Christmas and spring, but this year those months were going to be almost unbearable.
Each day she’d have to drag herself out of bed to face yet another seemingly endless day.
But drag herself out of bed she did. By the time Susan came in with her breakfast next morning, Mary was up and almost dressed. No matter how low she’d felt during the night, she was not going to lay about in bed all day wallowing in misery. She had a home, she had the security she’d always craved, more money than she’d ever dreamed of. And a title, to boot.
Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's ListSaved by the Viking WarriorThe Pirate Hunter Page 21
