The Chaperone Bride

by Marina Oliver

  Sir Kenelm was shaking his head. 'But I do! There was quite enough of it when Maria was alive and doing her utmost to make a laughing stock of me. I will never again let the malicious have reason for gossiping about me. Or about you,' he added.

  'Is there no one else you can find? It does not have to be a relative, surely? You can as well advertise for a chaperone as a wife.'

  'I did not advertise for a wife,' he pointed out, and there was a grin on his face she did not understand. 'However, Miss Busby is far better qualified than you are, my dear. I want to employ her for my children's sake. Heaven knows, they need better tuition than they have had so far.'

  Joanna was resentful now, as well as angry. She refused to sit down again when he indicated the chair, and stood facing him.

  'Because she can teach Italian and Latin, and the harp, and I cannot? Is that what you mean? Is that why you prefer her?'

  'Did she tell you so?'

  'No, of course not, we barely exchanged a word while we were waiting, except for her telling me with how many superior families she had been employed, but from your questions I can easily guess what sort of accomplishments you want for your children.'

  'If I found some other chaperone, I will still employ Miss Busby. Then what would you do?'

  'Walk to some other town where they don't know about my father!' she snapped, though the very thought of it was discouraging. It was winter, she knew no one, and was so very much alone.

  'Come, child, you don't want to do that. It may not be as cold as last winter, when even the Thames froze, but even if you could walk so far you'd most likely freeze to death. I offer you marriage, without any conditions apart from your being discreet, and I promise I will make no demands on you. I will make you a substantial allowance. Isn't that a better prospect than dying in a ditch?'

  He mentioned a figure which caused Joanna's eyebrows to lift, but she still resisted. She would be selling herself. She would despise herself. So how was it that half an hour later she was walking towards her lodgings, a roll of bills tucked into her reticule, with the prospect of being married three or four days hence?

  Sir Kenelm had left her when he went into the outer office to offer Miss Busby the position of governess, and inform her there would be a suitable chaperone at Rock Castle by the end of the week, when he would send a carriage to fetch her from her brother's house, where she was staying. Joanna sank back onto the chair, bewildered. What had she done? Was she as crazy as he was?

  'Good, that is settled,' he said when he returned and once more sat opposite her. He picked up a quill from the desk in front of him and twirled it in his fingers. Long, slender, but strong fingers, she thought. Why was he such an attractive man? Was that why she had finally agreed to his astounding suggestion? 'I must obtain a special licence and make arrangements. Then we need to go home before the weather gets too bad. Do you have any preference where you would like to be married?' She had shaken her head, numb with shock at her own capitulation. 'I will organise it all. You should move into an hotel, though. Where you are staying is not a fit location for my wife.'

  'That would cause gossip, would it not?'

  He laughed, and really, he was most attractive when the worried look left his eyes.

  'Touché. As you wish, then. But tell them at your lodgings to send on any letters that come for you to Rock Castle. Leave some money to pay for them if any arrive. Your relatives may still contact you from Aberdeen. You say you make your own clothes?'

  She nodded, bewildered by this sudden change of subject.

  'Then either find a gown more suitable for a wedding, or make one,' he ordered, and as she was about to protest she did not have the means to purchase new gowns, or time to make one, he counted out several bills. 'My home is over ten miles from Leeds, we cannot easily shop here regularly, so purchase whatever you think you will need for the next few months. Do you have to wear black, or would half-mourning be suitable? If that is so I think grey or lavender would suit you much better.'

  'I had to wear black for my father, it was expected by the magistrates here,' she managed to say. 'But I don't feel the least need to retain it, or even half-mourning, once we are away from this horrid, critical town!'

  He hadn't been much of a father to her and she had never felt much affection for him. He had dragged her and her mother with him, following the army, and when her mother died she had just been a nuisance he had soon got rid of. After he sent her home from the Peninsula she had received few letters. She suspected he had taken up with one of the camp followers. It was only when he had ceased paying her fees at the seminary that Miss Benson, taking pity on her, had offered her a teaching position.

  'You are far too young, but the little ones like you,' she had said, 'and I can't turn you out with nowhere to go.'

  She had not wished to accompany him to the unknown relatives in Aberdeen, but he had insisted, and Miss Benson, though sympathetic, had said it was her duty to obey him. It had soon dawned on her that he wished to use her to attract gullible young men he could fleece at cards or dice.

  She dragged her attention back to what Sir Kenelm was saying.

  'Buy plenty of lengths of material,' he advised, 'colours if you wish, and have them sent to my hotel. You can make up gowns later. Get a thicker cloak, that one is threadbare, and some shawls. It can be cold up on the moors. And don't forget shoes and boots and other fripperies. Do you ride?'

  'I used to.' She was feeling faint and bewildered with this string of questions and instructions.

  'Do you have a habit? If not, I'm sure you will be able to find one. We can arrange to have a better one made later, but I would like you to be able to ride at once. It will please the children if we can all ride out together.'

  She stammered out her thanks, and he promised to let her know the time and place of the marriage ceremony, then ushered her out of the office. She decided it had all been a dream, but the bills in her reticule were real.

  *

  Sir Kenelm strolled back to his hotel, planning what he had to do in the next few days. Most importantly, he had to obtain a special licence. Thank goodness Miss Frazer was of age, so there were no complications in having to find someone to give permission. And at some point he needed to see Selina. Or he could be cowardly and write to her, sending a suitable parting gift. He tried to convince himself it depended on whether he had time, but he knew deep down he dreaded having to endure a display of her often violent temper.

  His thoughts wandered to his brother, and he grinned. Henry would no doubt be astonished to hear he now had a wife. Or would have if Miss Frazer did not change her mind. Had he taken advantage of her situation? It was the only way he could obtain the excellently qualified Miss Busby for his children, and for that he felt no regrets. There were other advantages, he recognised. It would put an end to the attempts of all the marriageable girls in the neighbourhood to win his regard. He would have a wife to accompany him to social events, and one, moreover, who was young and pretty. He could take her to local assemblies – but not in Leeds, he reminded himself – and might even take her to London. Perhaps not this next Season, but maybe in the Little Season later in the following year. To his surprise he found himself looking forward to a social life he had for years shunned, since Maria's death and the rumours surrounding him.

  How would his children respond? They had never known their mother, but he had been scrupulous in keeping her memory alive for them. Her portrait hung in the entrance hall, at the head of the staircase where they could not fail to see it every time they ascended this imposing double sweep. He always lowered his gaze, for the sight of the woman he had once loved, or supposed he had, wounded him deeply when he thought of the way in which she had betrayed him with his own servants.

  Would he really look with complaisance on Miss Frazer, should she accept his permission to engage in amorous liaisons? He had impulsively made her the promise not to object, and he must keep it, he decided. So lovely a damsel would find many admirer
s, especially when she had discarded her deplorable clothing and was dressed appropriately as his wife. He had said she would not be able to keep any children she had, and socially that would be impossible, even if they called the children nephews and nieces, which some families did, but how would she feel if she ever did have children? Could she bear to give them up? Perhaps she would want to leave him. There were plenty of families in the ton where the husbands could not be certain if their wives' children were theirs, but after the promise he had made not to demand his marital rights, he would know. He had been too hasty, perhaps, and he had believed he did not wish for a wife except one in name. Selina satisfied those needs, and he had believed he preferred her expertise to the embraces of a shrinking virgin. Yet he was proposing to end his liaison with Selina. Somehow he could not think of being with her now, but he could not understand why. He had determined to leave her without thinking properly of the consequences. How was it, he wondered, that this decision been made, so unconsciously?

  He gave up the puzzle and turned his thoughts to more practical matters. It was too late today to obtain a special licence, for which he would have to travel to York. Back at the hotel he fell into desultory conversation with the waiter who came to set the table for dinner in his private parlour.

  'I heard there was some scandal recently over a suicide,' he remarked, keeping his head hidden in one of the newspapers he had had sent up to his rooms.

  'An army captain. At least, that was what he claimed to be. Yes, he lost everything on some card game. Leeds isn't the sort of place for deep doings, not with the visitors we usually get,' the man said disparagingly.

  'So it made quite a stir?'

  'Indeed it did. No one talked of anything else for weeks. Can I bring you a bottle of Burgundy, sir?'

  Sir Kenelm agreed. He did not think there would be any point in trying to find newspaper reports of the suicide, and just in case anyone recognised Miss Frazer when she was in his company, he did not want to stir up any gossip by seeking more information. His thoughts turned again to his children and his household. How would they respond to the news of his marriage? The twins had until now been subject to the elderly Cousin Georgina, and the ineffective Miss Tucker. He suspected Miss Busby would be an unwelcome shock to them, but it was time they did some serious study. They had run wild for too long. Miss Frazer – he must become accustomed to thinking of her as Joanna – could come as a pleasant surprise. She was young, and if he had read her aright, she could be lively. They would soon come to like her and she would offset Miss Busby's severity.

  The waiter then brought in the dinner he had ordered, and he turned his thoughts onto more immediate concerns. He would ride to York tomorrow, and when he had the licence he would make arrangements for the ceremony. And then he would carry his bride home to Rock Castle.

  *

  When Joanna reached her lodgings and counted the money Sir Kenelm had given her she knew she was still dreaming. With it she could buy a ticket on the Mail to either London or Aberdeen, and still have a great deal left over. Had he considered this? But they had made a bargain, and he trusted her.

  Then the thought of all the new clothes she could buy overwhelmed her. She had never had many, and those she had at school had often been gowns left behind by girls who were leaving, and she had no wish to be reminded of her schooldays. The black gown she wore was one such.

  Where could she start? Half tempted to rush out at once, she forced herself to sit down and make a list of what was most necessary. Her landlady, grumbling, supplied her with a single sheet of paper and a pen which was ragged. Having no knife to trim it she had to make the best of it, using the ink which was thick and made blots whenever she put pen to paper. She persevered, and soon had a list of the necessities. It would be an orgy of shopping, but she must be sensible and make sure she bought the right things. She would start early the following day.

  She knew where all the best modistes were. Most of them had refused to employ her when she enquired about a position as a seamstress, but they would not, she was sure, refuse to accept her money. The modistes looked askance when she walked in and asked to see their gowns, and she swallowed a grin, but when she nonchalantly displayed her money they became suddenly attentive. She caught them exchanging knowing glances when she ordered the purchases to be sent to Sir Kenelm at his hotel. They no doubt assumed she had accepted a carte blanche, and she debated whether to tell them the truth. They were unlikely to believe it, and what, after all, did the opinions of a set of Leeds tradeswomen matter, she thought, metaphorically putting her nose in the air as she expected Lady Childe to behave. Lady Childe! That would soon be her! Indeed, she could scarce believe it herself. If for a while it damaged Sir Kenelm's reputation, until people came to know the truth, that could not be helped. Besides, what would be condemned in a woman was accepted in a man.

  First she must find clothes appropriate for her wedding. The thought that she would soon be married still did not seem real. She would not, she determined, wear black, but she must appear to show respect for her father's memory, or the vicar might refuse to marry her. She found a pale grey gown, trimmed with darker grey flounces at the hem, and dark grey embroidery on the bodice. With a dark grey pelisse and bonnet trimmed with discreet black feathers she looked sufficiently funereal. She could, she decided, enliven the bonnet later, and bought some brightly dyed feathers and ribbons with this in mind.

  She shivered as she left that modiste's, so a thick cloak was the next essential, and strong boots and shoes that would not let in the wet as the ones she was wearing did. This time she rejected all the dark colours, and defiantly bought a cloak in bright scarlet wool. The very colour made her feel warm, and she would wear it straight away while she made her next purchases. A riding habit came next, but this she chose in a dark blue. How she longed to feel a horse beneath her once more. They often had to ride in the Peninsula, and frequently she had ridden astride, but here in sober Yorkshire she would have to be more discreet. Shawls were the next essential purchase, for Sir Kenelm had warned her his home might be cold. Big houses often were, if the rooms were large, and some of the girls at school had told her there were never fires in their bedrooms at home. Would two be enough? She was surprised how little of the money she had spent so far but resisted buying more than essentials. What next would she need?

  A second morning gown, a walking dress, and, she supposed, an evening gown, would be sufficient until she could make her own. She must not forget evening pumps. Then she found a shop selling lengths of muslin and cambric and silk and satin, and was bewildered at the choice. But she had plenty of money to indulge herself. She found a workbox, which reminded her to purchase threads and ribbons, lace and beads with which to embellish the gowns. And perhaps she ought to try the sort of embroidery Sir Kenelm would expect his wife to do, so she added plenty of silks, in all the colours she could find, since she had no notion of what she might do, and bearing in mind his warning about how far they would be from towns, suspected she would not be able to match them if she needed more.

  What else might she need? Sir Kenelm would surely have a library, and probably bought volumes of poetry, but he might not have the sort of books she enjoyed, such as novels, or the frivolous Minerva Press romances which had been such a consolation to her at school. Miss Benson had not really approved, but she had turned a blind eye when one of the day pupils had smuggled them in for Joanna and the other boarders. Perhaps she could indulge herself with a few volumes. She had not read Pride and Prejudice, but she had enjoyed that author's previous novel.

  By this time she wondered whether Sir Kenelm, receiving all these parcels at his hotel, would be regretting his generosity. Ought she to present him with a gift? But it did not seem right to use his money for that. However, she could buy gifts for the children. Were they too old for toys or games? Thinking back to when she was ten years old, she decided she had wished most ardently to be grown up. She found a small silver quizzing glass for George, an
d a fan with delicate whalebone ribs and a printed picture of a country scene for Amelia.

  She still had some money left, more than enough to pay for her lodgings. Sir Kenelm had not said what she was to do about that. Perhaps he assumed she had sufficient money of her own, but she had not. She would stop buying, she had everything she could think of, even hats and reticules, gloves and a lambswool muff she had been unable to resist. Now she had time to think about the incredible change in her fortunes. It was still a dream that she was about to be married. Though not, she reminded herself, to be a real wife. It had only been his insistence the marriage was to be one of convenience that had allowed her to accept.

  *

  Sir Kenelm sent Potts, his head groom, and Venner, his valet, off in his curricle, while he hired a post chaise to convey himself and his new wife to Rock Castle. His wife! Had he really married her? He glanced to where she was sitting in the corner of the chaise, looking out of the window. She was looking as dazed as he felt. They had met at the church, and Venner, his valet, who had been his father's valet and had known him all his life, had been one of the witnesses, while the vicar's curate had been the other. Afterwards they had gone to her lodgings to pick up her belongings. All she had was a small valise.

  'Did you send your other baggage to the hotel with your new clothes?' he asked, surprised she had so little.

  Joanna frowned. 'No. This is all I have.' Then she chuckled. 'I threw away that dreadful gown and cloak I wore, since I had these lovely new ones. And my shoes were not fit even for tramping on the moors, so I threw them away as well. You have been so generous to me, I thought you would not object.'

  'Of course I do not. You have to be dressed fittingly as my wife. But you play the guitar, you said. Where is it?'

  She turned away and looked out of the window. Her voice trembled slightly as she replied.

  'Papa sold it. It was when we were in Newark, and he needed money for his stake, and had none left, not even to pay for our rooms at the inn. Fortunately he won that day,' she added, her tone now caustic, 'so we did not have to slip away without paying.'