Did she feel it was a satisfactory bargain, he wondered, and pushed away a somewhat uncomfortable thought. She had a home, and security, now, but would that, in the years to come, be enough?
'How is Margaret? Did you speak to her?'
'Of course, and she is so relieved, and so grateful to you when I said you had ordered her to have another job. And Sally had a wicked glint in her eyes when I asked her to look after the schoolroom and Miss Busby,' she added, laughing. 'You seem to know your servants.'
*
Better than he knew this wife who was no proper wife, Sir Kenelm thought. He thrust away the doubts and began to point out landmarks, and tell her the names of the villages and farmsteads they passed.
'Henry was left a fortune by his godfather, and built his house on some land I owned, which had been left me by an elderly uncle, but which was detached from the main estate. It is only ten miles away, so we can meet often. His son is a little young for my two, being only seven, but they get on well enough, for young Harry is well-grown, and a venturesome lad who wants to keep up with George all the time.'
'And his wife?'
Did she sound apprehensive?
'Albinia is the daughter of a Lancashire squire, but she has been a semi-invalid since their daughter Caroline was born a year ago, so she does not go about a great deal. However, I am sure she would welcome visits from you, and Potts could always drive you here if you do not wish to ride or drive over yourself.'
'Are there many other families in the area, that you visit?'
'A few, but since Maria died I have become somewhat of a recluse, not wishing to pay visits. Now I have you, my dear, that will change. I must make you known to my neighbours. But here we are.'
They were driving through some imposing gates, set in a dry-stone wall that was characteristic of the district, and along a curving drive bordered by young elm trees. Sir Kenelm pointed to other clumps of trees set in a rolling stretch of parkland.
'Henry is planning for the future. These trees will not mature in his lifetime. But look, there is the house.'
It was smaller than Rock Castle, but situated below a steeply rising hill to the north, and facing a lake which had been made by widening a river that ran to the south. A wide terrace ran in front of the house, where an imposing doorway was situated centrally, half a dozen windows to either side. The coach drew up before the doorway, and Sir Kenelm leapt out and lowered the steps for Joanna. As he took her arm and they turned towards the door it opened, and Henry Childe appeared, followed by two children who ran out and hurled themselves on Sir Kenelm.
'Papa! Papa! You're back!'
'Children, take care, calm yourselves,' he said. 'Good morning, Henry. Let us go inside out of this cold wind.'
Somehow they found themselves in a drawing room furnished in the very latest fashion, where a boy a few years younger than the twins was engrossed in constructing a house of cards on a table near one of the windows. Albinia was reclining on a sopha pulled up close to a roaring fire, swathed in shawls, and clutching a vinaigrette. She and Henry were looking with interest at Joanna, and Sir Kenelm made haste to introduce her.
'I took your advice, Henry, and found myself a wife.'
'A wife!' Albinia exclaimed, and clutched her vinaigrette even more tightly. 'But you were not betrothed! Or if you were you had kept it very secret from your family.'
Sir Kenelm simply smiled at her. 'And,' he added, turning to the twins, 'here is a new Mama for you two. Come and say good morning to her.'
George took a small step forward, then hesitated and looked at his sister.
'What do you mean? How can she be our Mama?' he asked. 'Mama died. When we were born, you said.'
'Your real Mama did, George, but now you have a new one.'
'You're married?' Amelia asked, and looked at Joanna. 'Is that it? To her?'
'Amelia, George!' Albinia said, pushing aside her shawls and starting to rise to her feet. 'Henry! How can you stand there and permit them to be so rude?'
Amelia grabbed at George's arm.
'We don't have a Mama,' she said, beginning to sob gustily. 'We don't want a Mama, do we, George? She's a step-mother, not a real mother, and they are always horrid to children! We were perfectly happy as we were, and now you've spoilt it all! She isn't our Mama, and you can't make us call her that!'
*
Chapter 4
Joanna felt her face grow rigid with shock. She had wondered whether her husband's children would accept her, but had not anticipated such blatant hostility, and from such a young child. Albinia collapsed back onto the sopha, gasping and demanding Sir Kenelm control his wretched brats before they gave her spasms and probably killed her. Henry, flushed with anger, berated the twins for discourtesy, ignoring Albinia, and trying, at the same time, to welcome Joanna. Sir Kenelm at first ordered the twins out of the room until they could behave themselves, and then said they had first to apologise to Joanna.
Amelia stared defiantly at him, and then burst into tears, occasional words being distinguished, all of them indicating a refusal to speak to Joanna. George, his eyes wide with fright, started to leave the room, while Harry, his card building collapsing in a heap, began to shout at the twins, blaming them for ruining the best house he had ever managed to build.
With a harassed look at Joanna, Sir Kenelm grabbed his children and dragged them out of the room. Albinia continued to demand hartshorn, her smelling salts and a fan, and plead tearfully with Henry to take everyone away, before she has an attack of the vapours. Henry, looking distractedly at his wife, hovering between her couch and his son's ruined card house, ordered Harry to leave the room until he could control himself. Joanna, feeling the comment might be better addressed to Albinia, retreated to a corner of the room and collapsed into a chair, wondering how she was going to deal with the situation.
She had not expected the twins to greet her with open arms, and all Sir Kenelm's assurances that they would soon come to love her had not convinced her they were just longing for a new Mama. Now what was she to do? What was their father saying to them? Would he thrash them?
As Harry, muttering threats of vengeance on, it seemed, everyone, opened the door to leave, the sound of Sir Kenelm's furious voice and Amelia's loud wails came to them. Henry went swiftly to close the door, glanced at Albinia, who was by now sobbing loudly, hovered for a moment, and then pulled up a chair to sit beside Joanna.
'I am so dreadfully sorry,' he said. 'It was a shock to me, and must have been even more so to the twins. We had no idea, you see, that Kenelm contemplated matrimony. In fact – ' he paused, and glanced across at his wife.
Joanna pulled herself together, rejecting the handkerchief Henry was offering her. From all Sir Kenelm had said, Henry was the brother closest to him, nearest in age, and living nearby so that they met frequently. If he and his wife disliked the marriage, as it appeared they did, how would Sir Kenelm react? Would he, even, feel obliged to have it annulled?
'I know it has been a shock,' she said as calmly as she could. 'We should have sent to inform you, but I'm afraid the past few days have been rather busy.'
What else could she say? How could she say anything that might help? She ought not to tell anyone else the reasons for the marriage, she thought. Nor ought she to mention it was a marriage of convenience only. That was too embarrassing to mention, and for Sir Kenelm to divulge, if he wished others to know the circumstances.
Henry was frowning, and still looked puzzled, but he simply nodded, and as Albinia's moans grew louder, he excused himself to Joanna and went across to his wife.
'My maid! Ring for her! Henry, do something! I must go to bed, or I will collapse.'
Henry assisted her to her feet, and half-carrying her took her from the room. Once more the open door allowed the sounds of weeping to be heard, then they were cut off and Joanna was left alone to wonder how her peculiar marriage would survive this. At all costs, she decided, she must not allow it to cause dissension between Sir Ke
nelm and his children, or between him and his brother.
*
The drive home was accomplished in a silence interrupted only by George's muffled sobs and Amelia's louder, uncontrolled weeping.
Joanna lay back against one corner of the carriage, her face averted. She was still horribly shocked and wondering what best to do. No one had entered the drawing room where she sat alone for what seemed to her to be hours. When he came to take her out to the carriage Sir Kenelm, apart from a brief apology, had not spoken to her. Henry, looking embarrassed, said Albinia sent her apologies, but she was too distraught to come and wish them goodbye. He nonetheless urged them to stay for dinner, as had at first been planned, but Sir Kenelm, patting him on the shoulder, refused.
'Another time, Henry. When Albinia feels more the thing. We will be driving in the dark even if we leave now,' he said.
'It's a full moon, and you'd have been driving home in the dark anyway, so why not stay?' Henry protested, but unconvincingly.
Sir Kenelm climbed into the carriage after Joanna.
'But cloudy. Thanks, Henry, but I feel it best if I take my wretched twins home as soon as possible.'
He now sat in the corner opposite Joanna, while the twins and their Nanny occupied the forward seat.
Nanny was a middle aged, plump woman who had been a nursery maid when Sir Kenelm himself was in the nursery. She had been in charge of the twins since their birth, and had, Sir Kenelm had told Joanna, much regretted their elevation to the schoolroom, so that she saw less of them. Joanna wondered how much she knew about the scene in the drawing room, but as she said nothing, even to the weeping twins, there was no indication of her attitude. She had bobbed a brief curtsey when introduced to Joanna before they all entered the carriage, but kept her hands loosely clasped in her lap and her eyes discreetly lowered so that her feelings were not shown.
The carriage eventually arrived at Rock Castle, driving straight into the stable yard. Joanna was exhausted. She felt she had never endured so long a journey. Even a full day in a badly sprung stage coach seemed easy by comparison.
'Take then straight to bed, Nanny,' Sir Kenelm said as the footman let down the steps. 'They can meet their new governess and begin lessons with her in the morning.'
'Aren't we to have supper?' George asked through his sobs.
'I don't want any!' Amelia declared. 'I shall starve to death, and that will serve you right!'
'Come,' Nanny said, and the twins, with a final glare at their father, followed her out of the carriage and into the house.
Sir Kenelm sighed. 'I'll ask them to find us some dinner. Shall we say six o'clock?'
They normally had dinner at five, but Joanna was not in the least hungry. She would not, however, behave like a spoilt child and refuse to eat. At least, the servants not expecting to have to provide dinner, there would be fewer dishes than usual. She let him take her hand as he helped her from the carriage, but pulled it away at once and followed the children into the house.
Betsy was waiting for her in her dressing room, and Joanna sank onto the stool before her dressing table with a deep sigh.
'It's going to snow later,' Betsy said. 'I was worried you might be stranded with Mr Henry.'
Joanna shuddered. That would have been unendurable. Henry had, after the first shock, at least tried to appear friendly, but his wife had shown as clearly as the twins how much she deplored Sir Kenelm's marriage. It was almost six, though, and she had no time for reflection. Swiftly she removed her walking dress and allowed Betsy to help her into her only evening dress. There had not been a great deal of choice, for she had determined to buy a gown in half mourning lavender. It was plain, with only a small flounce at the hem, but the neckline was far lower than she was used to. She looked at the plain gold band Sir Kenelm had procured for the wedding ceremony, wondering how much longer she might be wearing it, then clasped her only other piece of jewellery, a locket with pictures of her mother and a very young and handsome father, round her neck. It was the first time she had worn it since her father's death, but she felt the need of something from her former life to sustain her.
The cook had provided soup and cold beef and ham, which had been destined, Joanna thought, suppressing an hysterical giggle, for breakfast. There was also a game pie and some apple tarts which she suspected had been meant for the servants' supper. Two bottles of the best Burgundy were on the table, and Joanna suspected the butler had deliberately selected them when the family had returned so unexpectedly early and he had seen the weeping children being hustled up to their rooms by Nanny.
Sir Kenelm, who had maintained a rather discursive commentary on the weather and his expectation of a snowfall that night, dismissed Firbank and John, the footman, as they cleared away the soup bowls, saying they would serve themselves to the rest. As soon as they left the room he breathed a deep sigh, refilled their wine glasses and handed one to Joanna.
'You need something stronger than ratafia,' he said. 'How can I express my regrets and apologies for that deplorable display from my children? It just shows how their former governess and Cousin Georgina indulged them. But that will change now!'
'Then they will blame me even more if you punish them,' Joanna said calmly. 'Perhaps it would be best if I went away for a time, until they became used to the notion of your marriage. Unless, that is, you would find it easier to obtain an annulment? That should not be difficult.'
He stared at her, then sighed.
'Is it what you wish?' he asked, helping her to slices of beef and ham. 'I rushed you, almost forced you, knowing how destitute you were, into accepting my proposal. Are you having regrets now you have met my children?'
Joanna looked steadily at him. 'I don't know,' she said slowly and honestly. 'I am grateful to you, you have given me so much, but it seems as though I cannot give you anything, and I may cause your children to hate you. I could not have that on my conscience. But please do not blame your children. They have received a shock, and are too young to disguise it.'
'Albinia and Henry could have disguised their shock rather more temperately,' he said curtly. 'I should have realised and notified them at once. But I did not expect Henry to show his disapproval so plainly.'
'Does he disapprove? Or was he just shocked?'
'He cannot possibly disapprove. He will come round when he has had an opportunity to think properly, without Albinia to distract him by her tantrums. Really, I cannot think what made him marry her. Yet, she was not always so, only the past year or two.'
'I trust you are right.'
She was fingering the locket, for it gave her some small comfort, and Sir Kenelm asked her about it, apparently deciding to change the subject.
'My mother gave it to me when she knew she was dying. It is all I have left of her.'
She opened the locket and he came to stand beside her, holding her hand as she began to unhook the locket to show him.
'No, I can see. Your parents were both very handsome,' he said. 'No wonder you are so beautiful yourself.'
So he still thought her beautiful, she realised, and a small shred of hope crept into her heart. She might not need to go away, and she knew beyond doubt she wanted to stay, not for the luxury he surrounded her with, but to be with him, for he was kind and considerate. He would look after her, unlike her father, who had cared only for using her to attract other men with whom he might play cards.
'How can we deal with it?' she asked, suppressing a sigh. 'The children, I mean. What can I do?'
'We'll talk about it later, tomorrow,' he said, going back to his place and pouring more wine for them both. 'So you will stay, and help me?'
*
Joanna, saying the heavy, unaccustomed wine had made her sleepy, excused herself and went up to bed soon after they had finished dinner. Sir Kenelm took what wine remained and went into the library, but he could not forget that dreadful scene in Henry's drawing room. He chastised himself for not having managed it better, preparing Henry and the twins for his ma
rriage. It had been crass and insensitive, but at least it seemed he had not alienated Joanna, she did not immediately wish to leave him. But he could see she was deeply shocked, and further reflections might persuade her she would be better away from him and his children. At least she had not reminded him he would still need a chaperone if he were to keep his new governess. That was a problem he would face if and when she left.
What could he do? Ought he to talk to the twins, try to convince them Joanna was no threat to them? Their behaviour had been atrocious, and he blamed himself for not realising it could happen that way. He had permitted them to become so unruly and uncontrolled. He was to blame, not the lax rule of Cousin Georgina and the ineffective training of Miss Tucker. Would Miss Busby be able to inculcate better behaviour, or might her strictness, as Joanna feared, make life even worse for Joanna if the twins blamed her? That must be avoided at all costs, but surely he would not have to dismiss Miss Busby so soon? He hoped not. She had all the qualifications he wanted for his children, and if he did have to dismiss her, what reason could he give? She would, justifiably, feel she had been very badly treated.
He finished the wine, and considered having some brandy. After one glass he had come to no satisfactory conclusions, and decided he might as well go to bed before he drank himself into insensibility. He told Firbank he would not have any supper, and made his way upstairs. He did not feel in any way affected by the amount he had drunk, but it had been far more than he usually took, for he had never been one of the hard-drinking fraternity. His interests, until his marriage, had been sport, and he still followed the regime he had then, keeping fit and practising his skills whenever opportunity offered.
The Chaperone Bride Page 6
