Venner was waiting for him, but he dismissed the valet after he had donned a brocade dressing gown, saying he meant to sit beside the fire in his bedroom for a while. Venner gave him a sharp look, but spent little time in the dressing room and soon went away.
How was Joanna? She had been calm during dinner, but he had seen the hurt in her eyes. She had been distressed, naturally, but had done her best to conceal it and behave as normal. He felt a sudden surge of affection for her. She, unlike Albinia, had behaved like a true lady. Was she all right? He had never ventured into her bedroom, but perhaps he ought just to make sure she was not still distressed.
He picked up a candle and went softly through the connecting dressing rooms, but the light it shed was not needed. Joanna's curtains were not drawn, and the moonlight lit up the room. He could see her curled up in the big bed, its curtains also not closed. She had told him once that life in Portugal, when they often had to sleep in tents, or the simple cottages of peasants, made her dislike being shut in by curtains, either round a bed or at a window.
She did not stir as he walked across to the bed. She was fast asleep, but there were traces of tears on her cheeks. So she had been more hurt than she had shown. He had a crazy desire to gather her into his arms and promise her he would make sure she was never hurt again. That, though, would be against the bargain they had made, and he knew such intimate contact would lead to yet more intimate actions, while he had promised her it would be a marriage only in name. He must not take advantage of her vulnerability, after what had happened.
He stole back to his own room, and climbed into bed. This was when he most missed the comfort his mistress in Leeds had been able to give him for the past five years, the solace of having a warm, living body beside him, of not feeling quite so alone.
*
'I will take the children and introduce them to Miss Busby,' Sir Kenelm said as they ate breakfast the following morning.
Joanna felt a wave of relief. She had not been looking forward to the next meetings with either the children or Miss Busby. She helped herself to more coffee and bent her face over the cup. She was certain she was blushing. It had taken all her courage to behave as normal before Betsy, to dress and come down to the breakfast room, greet Sir Kenelm cheerfully, smile at Firbank and let him help her to food she was certain she could not eat, and then permit herself to wonder what was going to happen.
'If you think that is best. Then it is time I began to make some more gowns from the material I bought. Mrs Aston showed me a room which has in the past been used as a sewing room.'
She wondered rather bleakly if she would remain here for long enough to finish any of them. Sir Kenelm might consider it best for his children if they parted.
'Make sure there is a fire. It's bitterly cold today.'
'Not as cold as it was last winter,' Joanna said, trying to be cheerful.
'Thank goodness. I have to ride out later, business on one of the farms, but I expect to be back in time to have a nuncheon with you.' He nodded dismissal to Firbank and waited until he had left the room. 'Do you wish me to make the children join us?'
Joanna swiftly shook her head. 'Perhaps it would be best to let them become familiar with the idea I am here, before they have to face me,' she said. 'Unless you wish it, that is.'
'No, I agree with you. Don't look so worried,' he added, and gripped her shoulder for a moment. 'I'm not going to disown you just because my children are unmannerly little beasts! Well, I must be off.'
Joanna felt her heart lift. She was to stay. Well, she would do her utmost to come to a better understanding with the twins.
'Oh, there is one matter I need to ask you about. I bought presents for the children. Should I give them now or wait until Christmas?'
He looked at her in silence for a moment.
'You still wish to reward them for their appalling behaviour yesterday?'
Joanna shrugged. 'I bought the presents before I knew how much they would resent me. Perhaps, if they like them, it will soften their attitudes towards me.'
He nodded as he moved towards the door.
'Christmas is only two weeks away. I hope that by then they will have come to accept you. Make then Yuletide gifts.'
He departed, and Joanna felt she had been feeble in avoiding meeting the children. Or Miss Busby, she added to herself. The woman clearly disliked her, but Joanna felt more confident now, and knew she could use her own position to defeat the governess if it became a battle of wills. After all, Sir Kenelm would surely be willing to dismiss her if necessary, if Joanna asked him to. She now felt secure in his regard, her marriage was not apparently to be annulled, and she knew such a man would support his wife.
Betsy helped her take the lengths of material she had purchased to the sewing room, where she was able to stack the rolls on shelves to one side of the room. They used old sheets to protect them, for the wood of the shelves was sometimes rough. A large table was below the window, and Betsy showed her where items such as pins and scissors were stored.
'May I stay and help, my lady?' she asked rather wistfully.
'I'd be glad of your help, Betsy.'
Betsy grinned at her. 'It's always difficult spreading out the fabric. I can help with that.'
Joanna nodded. 'I would be grateful. But first, I think this table needs a thorough clean. When was the room used last?'
'Not for years, Mrs Aston says. Even before her late ladyship came to the Castle. Any mending has always been done in a room next to the laundry, and Nanny makes dresses for Miss Amelia, and shirts for Master George, in her own room.'
'Then can you fetch some warm water, soda and a scrubbing brush, please? I won't be able to cut out until the table is dry, but I can be sorting out all the ribbons and silks I bought. And then I suppose I ought to decide what to embroider. That, I think, must go downstairs to the drawing room, to be on show. Isn't it what ladies are supposed to do?'
Betsy giggled, but went to fetch what was needed, and insisted on scrubbing the table herself.
'You'll wet your gown, my lady, and I know you have only two, this and the grey. I've borrowed a big apron from Cook.'
Joanna laughed and agreed. 'If you wish. But soon I will have more. Betsy, can you sew?'
'Yes, Miss, I mean my lady. I used to help my Ma, but only with the simple parts, the straight seams. I never got the ruffles even enough for her, so she always did the fancy bits herself.'
'Then you can help with the straight seams and we will have more dresses in no time.'
They were busy sorting and storing the ribbons and other trimmings Joanna had bought when one of the footmen came to tell Joanna Mr Henry Childe had called. She paled, but nodded to him.
'Thank you, John. Please tell him I will be with him in a few minutes.'
Betsy whipped off the apron she had been using to protect her own gown.
'You'll need to change that gown, my lady, the grey makes you look pale, and your hair needs tidying. It won't take more than a couple of minutes.'
*
Joanna found Henry Childe in one of the smaller saloons. He was standing before the fire, but came across the room to meet her as she entered.
'I came to apologise for what happened yesterday,' he said. 'My lady, I was so ashamed that the twins, who had been in my charge, should have shown such ill manners.'
Joanna smiled faintly. 'I don't think you can be held responsible,' she said. 'Please, come and sit down, and as you are my brother now, do call me Joanna. I feel so ancient to be called my lady.'
He sat facing her. 'I could see you were shocked and hurt by what happened. I have to say, though, the twins were shocked as well. I'm not trying to excuse them, believe me. What Amelia said was unpardonable. There has been no hint of a possible remarriage. Indeed, I was under the impression Kenelm was quite adamant he would never marry again. He never even hinted at the possibility. Indeed, he ... that is ... I have forgotten what I meant to say.'
Joanna wondered for a mo
ment whether to confess to Henry the real state of her marriage, but she soon decided it would serve no purpose. Why had Sir Kenelm been so set against marriage in the past? She longed to know, but did not dare ask Henry. He was too stern, and would probably be shocked if she began to question him. Perhaps, when she came to know him better, she might ask. Then the thought struck her, why could she not ask Kenelm himself? Yet, it might offend him. That his first marriage had been unhappy she knew, for he had told her, but surely that was not sufficient to make him abjure it for ever, until the need to provide a chaperone had forced his hand?
'How is your wife?' she said instead. 'I hope she has now recovered from the shock.'
He shrugged. 'Albinia has been in poor health ever since Harry's birth, and it grew worse with the new baby. The slightest thing can upset her. I think she had found it a strain having the twins with us, even though she hardly saw them. However, you and Kenelm must come over one day and we will endeavour to make it a more pleasant visit.'
Firbank then came in with wine and small cakes, and Joanna was reduced to asking about the weather while he stayed to pour wine for Henry and ratafia for her. She suppressed a grin, recalling the Burgundy of the previous day. Would this staid brother of Sir Kenelm's be shocked if he knew? The cakes were handed to Henry, and then the butler withdrew, but before Joanna could think of another topic of conversation Sir Kenelm walked into the room. Henry repeated his apologies, which Sir Kenelm waved aside.
'My fault, I should have been more sensitive to their feelings and prepared them more. Has Albinia recovered?'
'You know Albinia,' Henry said, drawing out his snuff box and taking a pinch.
Sir Kenelm laughed. 'Well, stay and have a nuncheon with us, it's almost noon.'
'Thank you, I will.'
'How did the children get on with Miss Busby?' Joanna asked. She had been wondering all morning. 'She is the new governess,' she explained to Henry, but thought it better not to add that it was to provide a chaperone for the woman that Sir Kenelm had married her.
Sir Kenelm frowned. 'They were subdued. I think Nanny had been berating them, for she knew all that had passed. They were polite, and I soon left them to her care. I hope they have been so shocked by what happened they will behave for a while.'
Joanna left the brothers together immediately they had eaten some cheese and fruit, saying she hoped to see Henry again soon. They would no doubt have much to say to one another. She retreated to the sewing room, where she cut out some squares of the finest cotton. She intended making Sir Kenelm handkerchiefs as a Christmas gift, and she sat busily hemming them until it was time for dinner.
*
It was two days before the twins were brought down to the drawing room after dinner. Sir Kenelm had considered it wise that they did not encounter Joanna for a while, as he explained to her when she asked how they were going on with Miss Busby. Joanna had been playing softly on the piano, but she stopped the moment the door opened and Miss Busby ushered the twins into the room.
They immediately went to Sir Kenelm and Amelia kissed him while George, trying to look grown up, solemnly shook his hand.
Miss Busby took a chair just inside the door and folded her hands. She was trying to look meek, but however hard she tried she could not conceal her air of superiority when she glanced at Joanna.
The twins ignored Joanna until Miss Busby spoke.
'Well, children, greet your step-mama properly.'
Sir Kenelm frowned. He did not wish Joanna to be associated with all the fairy tales featuring evil step-mothers, but he judged it would be worse to intervene and insist she be called Mama. The twins had a point, he accepted. She was not only not their mother, she was a mere ten years older than they were.
The twins did not move from his side. Amelia sketched a small curtsey while George bowed his head.
'Good day to you, step-mama,' they said in unison.
Miss Busby nodded her head, smiling, and Sir Kenelm clenched his hands into fists. It was clear she had orchestrated this. He would insist she taught them to say, if not Mama, my lady.
'Well, what have you been learning?' he asked.
It was all he could think to say, and he knew he sounded stiff and too formal. He could not recall ever having asked them such a question when they had been with Miss Tucker. Hasn't he cared, or did he wish to demonstrate to Miss Busby that he would be keeping a close watch over their education?
'I'm having to study Latin,' George said, heaving a big sigh. 'I don't see why I must learn that, no one speaks it these days. It's a dead language, like our Mama is dead.'
'You are making good progress, George, and with proper application can do very well,' Miss Busby intervened, and George scowled at her.
'And I am having to sew a sampler, with Bible texts,' Amelia said. 'I hate sewing. Samplers are useless. If I have to learn to sew I'd rather sew something I could use, like a gown.'
'You must do as you are told, Amelia.'
'I know, Papa,' she replied, but she too sighed gustily.
Miss Busby frowned. 'I fear there is a great deal to be done to bring the children up to the standard I expect of their age,' she said. 'However, I do not despair. By the time George goes to school next year he will be able to keep up with the other boys his age. He is not unintelligent. And perhaps my lady will encourage Amelia in her embroidery. I am sure your step-mama sewed beautiful samplers when she was your age, Amelia.'
'I don't want to have to learn to do embroidery,' Amelia muttered, and said something under her breath which Sir Kenelm thought was 'and not by her.'
He let it go. Chastising her would not make her feel more friendly towards Joanna.
'You will both appreciate what you are learning now, when you are older, and not lagging behind other boys and girls.'
'Miss Busby says I ought to go to school when George does,' Amelia said. 'I don't wish to be with other girls, and I don't ever want to be sent away from my own home.'
She glared at Joanna as though the suggestion had come from her, and Sir Kenelm frowned. He had never contemplated sending Amelia to school, but if she did not behave more politely towards Joanna he might be forced to do so. Then, he thought, he would not need to employ a governess, and he would not need a chaperone. Why could Cousin Georgina not have lasted a few more months? The thought shocked him. He had, in such a short time, become used to having Joanna with him. Already, she seemed to have made the house more welcoming, but he could not understand why, unless it was by her very presence.
*
Joanna had no opportunity to discuss what had happened with Sir Kenelm that evening, as he said he had letters to write and shut himself into the library. The presence of the servants prevented any private conversation at supper and breakfast the following day, and he rode out immediately afterwards. She occupied herself, with Betsy's help, cutting out two morning dresses, deciding they were the most urgent of her new clothes. She would not need walking or carriage dresses yet, and her one evening gown was adequate for the time being, as she only needed it for evenings at home.
Home, she thought. How soon she had come to think of it as her home, despite the hostility of Miss Busby and the children. The servants, she knew, liked her and supported her, but she felt this was mainly because they liked Sir Kenelm and were predisposed to accept anyone he chose to be his wife. From the little she had seen he was a fair but exacting master. The only time she had heard him raise his voice was at Henry's, when he had shouted at the twins.
She did not expect callers, for Sir Kenelm had explained there were few families of note near enough to make morning visits practicable, and in any case, they would probably decide to leave the newly weds to themselves for a few weeks, until the weather improved and was less cold. She was thankful for the respite. She needed to become accustomed to her own situation before she could play hostess to people who had probably known Sir Kenelm all his life.
Therefore she was disconcerted when a footman came to say a lady had c
alled to see Sir Kenelm, but as he was out and it was not known when he would return, he had shown her into the drawing room. Joanna was puzzled. Ladies did not normally call on gentlemen. She knew that much of polite society customs. If she had heard of the marriage, and the news of it had no doubt spread all over the district, surely she would have asked for her, not Sir Kenelm?
Joanna went downstairs and walked into the drawing room, to find a tall woman standing staring out of the window. She was dressed in a tight-fitting pelisse in emerald green, which showed off her voluptuous figure, and had a frivolous hat quite unsuited to the wintry weather perched on improbably gold curls. A fur-lined cloak was flung carelessly over one of the chairs.
The woman turned, and stared at Joanna without any expression other than a slight narrowing of the eyes. She was, Joanna guessed, in her mid-thirties, but her hair, so obviously coloured, and the red in her lips and cheeks which spoke of lavishly applied cosmetics, made her seem older.
'I am Lady Childe,' Joanna said calmly, moving across the room and holding out her hand. 'I am afraid Sir Kenelm is out and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But won't you please sit down and have some refreshment. Have you come far?'
'Far enough, my lady,' the woman sneered, ignoring Joanna's hand and throwing herself into one of the chairs. 'I suppose you will claim you don't know who I am?'
Firbank then came into the room carrying a tray with a decanter and small macaroons, but the woman continued to speak, ignoring him. He glanced from her, and then to Joanna, eyebrows raised.
'I am Selina Kirk, Mrs Selina Kirk, from Leeds. Has your husband dared to mention me?' she asked, stressing the word 'husband' in a peculiar fashion.
Joanna waited until Firbank, having handed both of them glasses of ratafia, withdrew. The woman sipped the drink, then, making a grimace of distaste, put the glass carefully down on a small table beside her. Joanna had the feeling she would have preferred to fling it into the fireplace, and stifled a giggle. Who on earth was this unmannerly woman?
The Chaperone Bride Page 7
