Salt Bride: A Georgian Historical Romance

by Lucinda Brant

  That the newly married Earl of Salt Hendon was seen about town without his wife was not thought the least odd, except by those romantically minded ladies who considered it a crying shame that such a handsome, virile nobleman had not made a love match; and by a select few male friends who dined occasionally at the Earl’s Grosvenor Square mansion and thus had met the new Countess of Salt Hendon and were of the opinion the Earl was keeping his beautiful bride from the country locked up in his London residence to have her all to himself.

  It did not go unnoticed by close friends and political rivals alike that when the Countess of Salt Hendon did venture from her gilded cage she was mobbed by the admiring masses, eager to catch a glimpse of London’s latest beauty. And it was not the Earl by her side fending off the hordes but the Earl’s best friend. Be it a ride in the Green Park, attendance at a performance at Drury Lane theatre, a shopping excursion up Oxford Street to purchase a half a dozen pairs of gloves and three new fans for her ladyship’s slender wrist, or even a visit to the tombs in Westminster Abbey, Sir Antony Templestowe was Lady Salt’s constant companion and champion.

  Eyebrows were raised, tongues began to wag and the venom to drip about the young Countess and her husband’s cousin the diplomat. Sir Antony did not return to Paris to rejoin Bedford’s entourage, but remained in London paying court to his best friend’s wife. That the Earl was not in the least concerned with this state of affairs and was rarely seen in public with his wife set Polite Society wondering if there was substance to the rumor that the Countess’s outstanding beauty was overshadowed by her dim-wittedness and thus Salt kept her locked away for fear of what she might say or do in public that could embarrass him.

  Diana St. John fanned the flame of this rumor, commenting to all who enquired after the Countess that as there was nothing between her ears but wool, was it any wonder a nobleman of Salt’s intellect and political acumen considered his new wife dull in the extreme? That Jane was self-effacing, kind and always polite but not quite certain what to say when confronted with the verbose compliments of strangers, particularly the fawning attentions of gentlemen, only seemed to confirm Diana St. John’s spiteful précis.

  It did not help the Countess’s cause that when she was not out and about taking sightseeing forays with Sir Antony, now the January frosts and a bracing February had given way to a warmer if blustery March, she liked nothing better than to spend time in her apartments. With Viscount Fourpaws curled up asleep on her lap she embroidered, sketched or read. Sometimes she was content to curl up in the window seat and watch the traffic and pedestrians in the busy square below her sitting room window; the activities of this vast, noisy city a never-ending source of fascination for a girl brought up entirely in a quiet corner of Wiltshire.

  Yet time alone was precious. Willis spent part of his day tutoring the new Countess in the ways of running a great household. He answered the all important questions of which upper servant held the keys to the wine cellar, to the precedence required at the dinner table: Did a Scottish Dowager Duchess outrank an English Baroness? A question easily answered by those brought up from the cradle knowing their place in society, but a complete mystery to the daughter of a country squire. Willis also proved a veritable font of information on important people and places he considered it necessary her ladyship should make it her business to know.

  And if Sir Antony considered it his duty to keep his best friend’s wife entertained while the Earl was taken up with parliamentary matters, Jane’s stepbrother, who had returned to London from Bristol at the end of February, came to afternoon tea every second day, to tell her all about his latest adventures out and about in the metropolis, but in truth to keep a brotherly eye on her. While Arthur Ellis would only hint to his Oxford chum that all was not satisfactory between husband and wife in the Salt household, Billy Church bluntly told Tom that the Countess was neglected by the Earl, was being secretly courted by Billy’s superior in the Foreign Office, Sir Antony Templestowe, and that her beauty had attracted every dapper dog on the town.

  Tom often brought Billy Church with him to afternoon tea and sometimes Arthur Ellis would join them. And when Hilary Wraxton and Pascoe Church made weekly visits on the pretext of enquiring how Viscount Fourpaws was getting along, Jane found herself in her sitting room surrounded by half a dozen young men. This was how Sir Antony discovered her when he poked his powdered head in to share a cup of tea, and quickly joined the group, a wary eye on Pascoe Church. But he was soon caught up in Tom and Billy’s retelling of their experiences in the riots at Covent Garden theatre, and when Hilary Wraxton was invited to share one of his poems with the group, Sir Antony was laughing along with the rest of the assembled company.

  Salt never visited his wife’s public rooms during the day but most evenings he dined at home. Yet he and Jane never dined alone. Sir Antony, despite residing at the Arlington Street Townhouse, had most of his dinners at Salt’s Grosvenor Square mansion. Some nights Arthur Ellis joined them, usually to go over Salt’s appointments of the next day, and once a week Diana St. John deigned to come to dinner with her two children. On other days, she made a point of arriving in company when Salt had open house dinners and at least ten of his colleagues and friends sat down at his table.

  On these occasions, Lady St. John sat herself on Salt’s left hand and was content to leave Ron and Merry to the Countess. She would then spend the entire meal monopolizing the conversation with witty anecdotes about politics and people unknown to Jane. She was determined to outshine the new Countess, but Jane never rose to her bait, showed not the slightest annoyance that her husband’s cousin dominated the assembled company or that the Earl, Sir Antony and Lady St. John frequently indulged in a politically charged argument for the sake of it.

  Instead, Jane quietly listened to the conversations around the table, gave her opinion if asked, and spent most of the meal listening to Ron and Merry prattle on about their days. She took a keen interest in their activities and had become such a favorite of theirs since the hide ‘n’ seek incident under the dining room table that when they visited their uncle on Tuesdays, they would asked to be excused from the bookroom so that they might visit the Countess’s sitting room where, as they told the Earl, they were permitted to play with Viscount Fourpaws and listen to sickly poetry delivered by a fop in an iron wig.

  Diana St. John was all for her children annoying the Countess. It meant she could monopolize the Earl’s time. It was on one such open Tuesday, with the cold anteroom full of hopeful men patiently waiting the Earl’s pleasure and Ron and Merry gone upstairs, that Diana half-reclined amongst the cushions on the chaise longue by the warmth from the fireplace closest to the Earl, who sat writing at his mahogany desk, his secretary standing silent at his left shoulder.

  Her richly embroidered velvet petticoats of silver thread fell in a sweep to the floor and she had kicked off her matching mules, bare stockinged toes pointed to the flames. Her careful coiffure rested against a closed fist, a fat auburn ringlet falling across her low-cut décolletage, while she languidly fluttered a filigreed ivory fan and prattled on about the latest on-dits swirling about drawing rooms concerning the Princess Augusta’s affair with Lord Bute.

  This was how Sir Antony discovered the occupants of the bookroom when he put a diamond shoe buckle across the warm threshold. That his sister was holding court did not surprise him; that his cousin continued to indulge her did. He raised an eyebrow at the low cut to her bodice that revealed the dark pink tinge of her nipples, and the manner in which she reclined on the chaise was a clear invitation to seduce. That his friend continued to write without once looking up, and was providing monosyllabic replies to her questions was evidence enough of his level of interest. It never ceased to amaze Sir Antony that for an intelligent woman his sister was a complete dunce when it came to the feelings of their cousin the Earl.

  “Good God! It’s a Tuesday and you’re wearing your eyeglasses,” Sir Antony exclaimed in awe, making his presence known with an outbur
st that was far from the measured question he had had in mind to ask.

  “Oh! So you are,” Diana commented with surprise, a glance at her brother who had sat uninvited opposite her.

  Salt peered over his gold rims then returned to reading the final paragraph before putting his signature to the document. He then stood to allow his secretary to take his place to set the ink with a wash of sand, and came around to sit on a corner of his desk, eyeglasses still perched on the end of his long boney nose. “It appears that I was being stubbornly unreasonable about wearing my eyeglasses in public—”

  “You were,” agreed Sir Antony.

  “Thank you, Tony —and that, so I am informed, poor eyesight is nothing of which to be ashamed—”

  “It isn’t. Sensible advice.”

  The Earl’s lips twitched. “—when I am perfect in every other way.”

  Sir Antony grinned. “Ah! Well, I’ll leave that subjective estimation to your fair and frank admirer.”

  Salt gave a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Yes, she is bruisingly frank.”

  Diana St. John glanced from one male face to the other with no idea they were referring to the Countess. She sat up with a frisson of expectation, completely misreading the mood. “How unfair of you not to tell me Salt’s latest interest!” she pouted at her brother then looked at the Earl. “So who is it? Jenny? Frances? Margaret?”

  Salt removed his eyeglasses and pocketed them, a glance over his shoulder at Ellis. “Leave the rest. I believe you are wanted elsewhere. We can deal with the Rockingham papers later this afternoon.”

  Sir Antony took the opportunity to glare at his sister and shake his powdered head, but Diana St. John was oblivious to the warning and leapt right in. “Oh, Salt, please don’t tell me you’ve made that Morton creature your latest interest! I couldn’t bear it. She’ll positively gloat when I next see her in the Mall.”

  “I wasn’t about to tell you anything of the sort, my dear,” the Earl said flatly, all humor gone. He addressed Sir Antony. “I presumed you, also, are wanted elsewhere?”

  “Oh! So you hadn’t forgotten your engagement this afternoon?”

  “Not at all. Were you sent to fetch me?”

  “No.”

  “You perhaps presumed I had forgotten? For shame, Tony!”

  Sir Antony smiled. Inwardly he was jumping for joy. It was something the Countess had let slip on one of their many excursions beyond the Grosvenor Square mansion that alerted him to the favourable turn of events within the Earl’s household. He had become very fond of Jane and he genuinely enjoyed her company for its own sake. That she loved the Earl, he was in no doubts. Being a romantically minded young man he hoped that one day her feelings for his cousin would be reciprocated.

  A sennight ago she had inadvertently revealed that she and the Earl had begun spending their evenings after dinner in the bookroom, where her husband was teaching her to play at chess. A small domestic detail in itself, but knowing the Earl as he did, Sir Antony saw this gesture as a huge hurdle for the matrimonial harmony within the Salt Hendon household. Which would mean he was a step closer to fulfilling his own matrimonial plans, his motives being not entirely altruistic. And just then he heard the name of the very object of his desire and dreams and shook his mind free of romantic ruminations to hear his sister say in all seriousness as she slipped on her mules,

  “But surely you cannot have any objections to George Rutherford as a suitable match for your sister? He is worth fifteen thousand a year, not a penny less, and has an estate in Ireland that’s the size of Surrey! Caroline could do worse.”

  “Much worse. But she can do better.”

  “Got anyone in mind?” Sir Antony asked, and inwardly cursed himself for he heard the edge to his own voice.

  Salt regarded him steadily. “No. But when I do, you will be the first to know, Tony.

  Diana shut her fan with a snap. “At almost eighteen, Caroline is practically on the shelf—”

  “—where she will remain until her twenty-first birthday and not a day before.”

  Sir Antony made his cousin a small bow of understanding. “Three years is not such a stretch when she has the rest of her life to be married.” And abruptly changed the subject. “We had best not keep her ladyship waiting. I believe the entertainments are due to begin on the hour in the nursery.”

  Diana St. John could barely say the word but curiosity got the better of her. “N-Nursery? What entertainments?”

  “Surely Ron and Merry told you all about it, Di?”

  She shrugged a bare shoulder at her brother. “Possibly. They are always prattling on about inconsequentialities that it gives one the headache. None of it bears remembering.”

  Salt paused, a liveried footman holding wide the door, and regarded her steadily. “It is the anniversary of their father’s birth. Had he lived, St. John would have turned four and thirty today.”

  Such was the cacophony of noise coming from behind the double doors that led into the rooms designated as the nursery, that it brought Salt up short, Sir Antony and Diana St. John at his wide back. But it was not the noise it was this section of the house that made him hesitate. He had not set foot in the third floor since inspecting the house just before purchase some four years ago. He could not even remember the configuration of the rooms, how many there were or how they had been furnished, if indeed they contained any furniture at all. He seemed to recall the selling agent telling him that with a good coat of fresh paint, pretty wall paper with matching curtains, and a good fire in the grates, the rooms would do very well indeed for a brood of growing noble children.

  He had not given the rooms another thought, until now. He had even dismissed as farcical Diana’s refusal to mention the rooms by their designation as a theatrical means of protecting any feelings of inadequacy he had at being unable to father a child. Yet, now faced with crossing the threshold he had a twinge that Diana’s affected display of refusal was not so melodramatic after all for it seemed laughable to be holding a birthday memoriam for a dead father in a nursery that would remain for him as silent as the grave.

  Still, he could not disappoint Ron and Merry.

  He had two fingers to the door handle when Diana pushed past him in a crush of petticoats to fling wide the doors. She misinterpreted his hesitation for embarrassment at being forced to enter a wasted nursery. Her own smoldering anger that the Countess had somehow deliberately set out to taunt her by using the very rooms she so despised was enough to make her drop her guard and speak without thought to her words or her audience.

  The door banging hard against the wallpapered wall did not stop the chatter and movement. Those that heard Lady St. John’s outburst above the din dropped their jaws and a few little faces crumpled with fright at the sight of the angry lady. In one sweep Diana took in the assembled company, adults taking tea and seedy cake while children played skittles or statues under the guidance of their nannies and tutors at one end of the long room. All were happy and content and enjoying themselves. The warmth and color, the freshly painted walls and upholstered furniture, the Turkey rugs covering the floorboards where small children took their first steps and chubby babies crawled, all made her seethe with resentment. Then she recognized the young woman standing beside Jane and her hazel eyes widened with new knowledge then narrowed to slits of mischief.

  She saw the Countess before Jane saw her.

  “Well! How like you to unsettle his lordship’s household with a pathetic display of domestic felicity!” and with a hand to her throat and a look of shocked disbelief that would have done any actress proud, she turned to the Earl with a swish of her petticoats to say in a loud whisper, “There’s Lady Elisabeth Bute that was. The silly creature has invited the Bute sisters!”

  Sir Antony had seen the married daughters of the Earl’s political rival almost upon entering the room and though it raised his eyebrows in surprise he was not so dismissive or so accusatory. How was Jane to know the connection? Both young ladies were married
women and thus used their husband’s moniker. Their presence in the house of their father’s political nemesis was indication enough that they looked upon Jane with great favor and were prepared to weather the displeasure of their statesmen father by visiting her home, than it did about the Countess of Salt Hendon’s lack of political acumen. Sir Antony was surprised his sister could be so blind to the gesture. Yet, he thought with a depressed sigh of resignation, where Salt was concerned it was his sister who was the simpleton.

  Jane did not catch the content of Diana St. John’s outburst, only her derisory tone, because she had been in conversation with Lady Elisabeth Bute Sedley, whose much-admired newborn son she was cradling in her arms, and because Lady Elisabeth’s two-year-old daughter was intent on seeking her mother’s undivided attention with as much chattering as possible, a grubby fist clutched tight to Jane’s petticoats, while a nurse tried to untangle the chubby fingers free from the delicate silk. So when Jane swiveled on a silk-slippered foot, baby cradled in her arms, it was not in answer to Diana St. John’s spiteful remark but in expectation of seeing her husband.

  Her blue eyes lit up and her smile widened, but fell away when Salt merely blinked at her as if she was a stranger. When she saw him sway, face blanched as white as the elaborately tied cravat about his throat, she carefully placed the sleeping infant into the waiting arms of its wet-nurse, scooped up the two-year-old who was taken away by her nurse, and scurried across the crowded room to his side.

  Sir Antony had Salt by the elbow. “It’s all right, dear fellow. I have you.”

  “It’s… I’ll be fine directly,” the Earl muttered, mortified to be so weak-minded as to be affected by such a trifle as the sight of Jane with a baby in her arms and another tugging at her skirts.