Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3)

by Rosemary Morris

  Although Gwenifer warned him not to enter the parson’s noose with Harriet, Dominic shrugged. It was the proverbial case of the pot calling the kettle black for, despite their parents intense opposition to Gwenifer’s choice of husband, she married him.

  ‘Fool!’ Dominic castigated himself. ‘You know your family will disapprove of the match.’ He frowned. If he took Harriet to his father’s ancestral seat, would she be treated with disdain? After he broke the news of his betrothal to his parents, even if they thawed sufficiently to receive Harriet courteously, no doubt they would be disappointed. He sighed. According to his mother, his father would be more than disheartened. For as she pointed out, he had endured the loss of two sons, and now he must accept the imminent death of his eldest, so Papa pinned his hopes on him.

  Perhaps it would not be advisable to take Harriet to Faucon House.

  What of his betrothed? Did she wish to wed him? Equally important, did he want to marry her? Dominic shook his head in self-reproof. To be honest, from the moment he first saw her she captured his admiration, if not his heart. Even then he had wanted to kiss her. Yet, soon he loved her as much as he wanted her in his bed. Admit it, he admonished himself, she already rules my heart. Moreover, I want her to be both mistress of my house and my lover. The image of Harriet in their marriage bed, compliant in his arms, brought a surge of such strong passion that it hurt.

  Yes, he admitted to himself, I want Harriet at my side for the rest of my life. I cannot imagine a marriage of convenience to any other lady, of whom my family would approve. There are too many such marriages amongst members of the ton, which lead to it being taken for granted it is acceptable for a husband to keep a mistress.

  If he wed Harriet, he would honour his marriage vows. He smiled and admitted regardless of the consequences, more than anything else in the world he wanted Harriet to be his wife.

  If only Robert could rewrite his life, and once more be the elder brother he respected and from whom he sought advice. His eyes moist, he bowed his head. Expectations founded on his brother’s demise were repugnant.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Since the ground floor of the rectory, was almost uninhabitable due to workmen engaged in plastering, painting and hanging wallpaper, Dominic chose to sit in the garden with Gwenifer.

  A crease between her eyebrows, she eyed him suspiciously. “Dominic, to judge by your smile you are uncommonly pleased with yourself.”

  “Yes, I am. Wish me joy. Lady Castleton has accepted my hand in marriage.

  Her fist pounded the marble top of the wrought iron table between them. Her cheeks flared poppy red. “I am sincere when I say I do like her ladyship, though you should not marry her, even if she ‘set her cap at you’. And who could blame her if she did.” Tears filled her eyes.” I am worried about our parents. What will they say when you tell them? Even if they don’t admit it, your betrothal will add to the distress caused by poor dear Robert’s condition, and the deaths of our younger brothers. Oh, how could you, the future Earl of Faucon, stoop to marry a…a female whose birth is far below yours? Does your family’s opinion mean nothing to you?”

  Dominic held up his hand. “Enough. You are mistaken, Lady Castleton did not, as you so vulgarly put it, ‘set her cap at me’. To the contrary, I am grateful because she has stooped to agree to marry me. Moreover, I hope Mamma and Papa, will come to terms with my choice of wife.” Dominic hoped his frigid tone of voice conveyed his displeasure with his sister’s words.

  Yet, he believed his sister when, not for the first time, she assured him she enjoyed Lady Castleton’s company. He also understood she only reacted to the news of his betrothal with such frankness, because their family’s reaction to the betrothal troubled her.

  Gwenifer bent her head and toyed with a rosy apple, which she took from the hand-painted china bowl of fruit on the table. “Oh, Dominic, even if you are cross with me, remember both of us love our parents, so I spoke out of my concern for them.” She sighed. “When you marry, I shall wish you happy, even if you wed Lady Castleton.”

  His sister’s subdued voice implied his words chastened her. “Thank you. My bride-to-be and her son cannot remain at the abbey,” he explained. “The earl cares nothing for Lady Castleton’s welfare, his only concern is his heir. He has threatened to claim custody of her child, even if it means taking the case to court. However, after Mrs Tarrant revealed his past infamy, and threatened to make it public, he realised he could not prevent his daughter-in-law’s departure with his grandson.”

  “What did he do?” Gwenifer asked with palpable curiosity.

  Bathed in radiant sunlight, which made dark deeds seem almost impossible, Dominic described Pennington’s reprehensible conduct towards Mrs Tarrant and her sisters. “And,” he concluded, “if that is not sufficient melodrama to suffice for today, there is the question of who loosened the girth on Arthur’s pony.”

  For a few moments, his sister watched bees humming as they gathered nectar from a multitude of pale blue flowers on the rosemary bush, and then shook her head. “Such wickedness,” she murmured. “Poor Harriet, my heart goes out to her.”

  “And,” Dominic added, hard put to restrain his anger, “who is to say another attempt would not be made on the boy’s life if he remained at Clarencieux?”

  His sister’s eyes, glass-green in the strong light, stared into his. “Surely not.”

  “It is possible. Even if they try to hide it, Pennington’s relatives are displeased by the discovery of a hitherto unknown heir. Any of them might harbour murderous intentions towards Arthur. So, I shall collect Lady Castleton and my future step-son to remove him from danger. In the meantime, please arrange for a late nuncheon to be served.”

  Dominic stood and bent to press a kiss onto the top of his sister’s head. “One other matter, while I am away, to avoid possible gossip, I think you should have a chaperone. Do you know of a lady who can keep you company?”

  “Yes, Cousin Margaret might agree. After we eat I shall ride to her brother’s house to invite her to visit me. Mind you, any reference to workmen would dismay her, so I will not mention it to her. I shall say you have been … er … called away so I would welcome her company.”

  Amused, Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Do all females have such devious minds? But what will you do if she refuses your invitation?”

  “Cousin Margaret will not, for she is tired of being an unpaid companion to her sister-in-law, and also of helping to care for her unruly brood of nephews and nieces. She will enjoy being my guest.”

  “What else must I do?” Dominic asked. “Ah, yes, speak to my curate and instruct him to conduct the church services. Don’t be alarmed, I shall threaten him with my displeasure if he speaks so vehemently about hell fires that terrified children cry.”

  * * *

  Bessie’s eyes glowed. “Yes, my lady, I’ll pack Lord Castleton’s duds immediately. And, if you don’t mind my saying so, I’ll be glad to leave here. Wherever it is you’re going, I hope you’ll take me with you.”

  Harriet glanced at her son, who lay on his tummy, absorbed by his toy soldiers, which he arranged in a square to repel an attack by the enemy. She needed Bessie and so did Arthur, who was genuinely fond of his nurse. Well, she had been frugal with the generous allowance Pennington had given her, so, for the time being, she could afford to pay the young woman.

  “Well, Bessie, if you are certain you wish to continue in my service, pack your clothes as well as Lord Castleton’s. Within the hour, I shall send a footman to collect the baggage.”

  “Yes, my lady. Bessie curtsied. “Please may I send word to my mother to let her know where I’m going.”

  “Of course, Mister Markham has invited me and my son to visit his parents at Faucon House.”

  “I’ll let Mother know.” Bessie opened a cupboard and began to pile Arthur’s books and toys on the table.

  Fear snarled through Harriet. If she left Arthur in the nursery with Bessie, her father-in-law might kidnap
him. A wave of mingled apprehension and protectiveness swept through her. “Arthur, get up and come with me.”

  He looked up at her. “Not now, Mamma, I am playing with my soldiers.”

  “Yes, now, we are going to stay with Mister Markham’s parents so, if you want to take your toys with you, Bessie has to pack them.”

  “Not now, later, Mamma.”

  “Arthur!” Harriet exclaimed in the firm tone, which she knew he would obey.

  When she opened the door, she came face-to-face with the earl.

  Arthur trembled and clutched her skirt.

  Did her father-in-law’s eyes reveal a hint of regret as they looked at her?

  “My child,” he began.

  She glared at him. “I am glad I am not your child. If I were, I would be ashamed to have such a father. Please stand aside.”

  When he did not move, she pushed past him with Arthur, who still held tight to the soft folds of her muslin skirt.

  “Castleton, come here.”

  Slowly, Arthur turned around. He stepped slowly towards his grandfather, who stretched out his arm to hold her son’s hand. Almost in tears, Arthur backed away. “Don’t want to talk to you. Don’t want to see you.”

  Pennington’s face twisted – his wrinkles deepened, and he sucked in his cheeks. “Castleton, you are dear to me and I-” he began, clearly finding it almost impossible to either admit to or fully express his warped affection.

  Arthur pressed his hands over his ears. “Won’t listen.”

  Harriet ignored both Arthur’s rudeness and the earl’s attempt to placate her child. “Bessie, come with us,” she ordered, reluctant to leave the nurse alone with Pennington.

  A hand on her boy’s shoulder, Harriet guided him to her dressing room, where she indicated a pair of comfortable chairs. “Arthur, Bessie, sit down, while I speak to Plymouth.

  * * *

  An hour later, footmen added Harriet and Bessie’s luggage to the piles in the hall, which belonged both to members of Pennington’s family and the Tarrants, who were ready to depart.

  Beneath the lofty ceiling, Harriet waited for Mister Markham with, Bessie and Arthur, as well as Plymouth, who had declared her undying devotion, besides insisting on continuing in her service.

  Georgianne kissed Harriet on the cheek. “I wish you well and hope that when I see you again you will a happy bride.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet responded.

  Escorted by her husband, Georgianne stepped outside to take her seat in their carriage.

  Jack who, who entered the hall with his mother, ruffled Arthur’s hair. “Good bye, Cousin, goodbye Aunt Castleton, I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “Thank you, I hope to see you soon,” Harriet replied sincerely, for she could not imagine he was responsible for the attack on Arthur’s life.

  Languid, his mother offered the tips of her fingers to Harriet for her hand to be shaken.

  The Stantons arrived and fussed over their son, while the nurse held him in her arms, her face stoical. “Is Frederick too hot or will he be too cold?” Sarah Stanton asked the woman, in a flurry of anxiety.

  After husband and wife nodded farewell to Harriet, they departed to the sound of Mrs Stanton’s voice clucking like a fond hen over her only chick.

  Relieved to be free of them, Harriet surveyed the stone walls swathed with banners and hung with shields and armaments, and at the stained glass in the lancet windows. Harriet caught her breath. Sometimes she imagined the shades of long dead monks. From time-to-time their former abode seemed sinister. She would be glad to leave.

  “Lady Castleton, a moment of your time, if you please.”

  Pennington’s voice startled her.

  “Yes?” she queried, her voice frigid.

  “You returned the jewellery I gave you. Other than family heirlooms, which are part of the entail, there was no need to do so. My gifts are yours to keep. It would reflect adversely on me if my daughter-in-law, the mother of my heir, appears impoverished.” He gestured to a footman. “Give the box you are carrying to Plymouth.” Her father-in-law returned his attention to her. “I am not your enemy. Lady Castleton, you have chosen to leave my protection. You shall not leave as a beggar.”

  Pride! He cares nothing for me. His only concern is that society will not have cause to think he has treated his heir’s mother shabbily.

  The butler answered an impatient tattoo on the front door. Mister Markham strode inside. At the sight of Pennington, he raised his eyebrows. “My lord,” he acknowledged him in a glacial tone. He inclined his head toward Harriet. “Lady Castleton, I assume you are ready to leave Clarencieux.”

  “Yes,” she answered, with a sense of indescribable relief. “Come, Arthur.” In a few minutes, she would leave the shadows, which blighted her life under her father-in-law’s roof, and step out into pure sunshine.

  Footmen loaded the luggage onto the roof of the carriage. Mister Markham handed Harriet into it. After she sat, he helped Arthur up the steps.

  Harriet poked her head out of the door. “Bessie, there is no room for you in the carriage. Before you come to the Rectory, I suggest you walk to your mother’s cottage to tell her we have left Clarencieux Abbey. Plymouth, get into the carriage. Sit opposite us.”

  Before the coachmen could crack his whip, Lady Katherine, dressed in a fashionable, primrose-yellow carriage dress worn beneath a matching pelisse trimmed with spring-green braid and tassels, emerged from the abbey with her husband. Her ladyship did not deign to step up to the carriage; her lord did.

  The expression in his eyes compassionate, he spoke. “I wish you well, Lady Castleton and hope Arthur will thrive.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet replied. Perhaps, amongst her relatives by marriage, she only trusted him and young Jack. Nevertheless, she warned herself, favourable impressions might be false.

  Dominic shut the door of the carriage and mounted his mare. The coachman cracked his whip, the matched pair of chestnuts trotted forward.

  With overwhelming relief, Harriet imagined she could breathe properly for the first time since she arrived at Clarencieux. In her mind, the once peaceful monastery, from which the monks had been turned out during Henry VIII’s reign, seemed to have acquired a dark personality. One which brooded while it waited for a tragic event to occur.

  No, such thoughts too fanciful. It is my father-in-law, not an inanimate pile of stone and mortar, who impresses a sinister personality on the building.

  * * *

  Aware of the guarded expression in Lady Gwenifer’s eyes when she smiled, embraced and congratulated her, Harriet thanked her, and added. “I shall endeavour to make Mister Markham happy.”

  Arthur hopped up and down. “May I go to the stables to see my pony?”

  “After nuncheon,” Dominic suggested.

  Gwenifer gave instructions to a maidservant for the meal to be served in the garden, and for Plymouth to be fed in the kitchen.

  “And Bessie Cooper, Arthur’s nurse, who will arrive soon, may join Lady Castleton’s abigail,” Dominic instructed the girl.

  Unlike her son, who devoured ham sandwiches and apple pie with a healthy appetite, so much had occurred during the last few days, not the least of which was her agreement to marry Mister Markham, that Harriet could eat little.

  Arthur swallowed his last mouthful. “Prince! May I see him now?”

  Dominic looked at his sister. “Gwenifer, if you have finished your meal, perhaps you would be kind enough to take Lord Castleton to the stable. I don’t want to entrust him to a servant.”

  Gwenifer stood. “Yes, of course. I daresay you and Harriet have much to discuss.” She smiled at Arthur. “Come with me, Child.

  Alone with Mister Markham, Harriet studied the crumbs on her plate as if nothing in the world interested her more.

  “My lady,” Dominic began, “if you agree, instead of taking you to Faucon House, I shall take you to London where you may meet the attorney, who wrote to you on behalf of your cousin, hi
s client.”

  Harriet peeped up at him through her eyelashes. “If I may be honest-” she began, then broke off reluctant to risk offending him.

  “Of course you may. I hope you will always be. We should have no secrets from each other, either now or when we are married.”

  “Oh,” she began, aware of warm colour creeping across her cheeks, “it is not a secret. I am merely aware Lady Gwenifer disapproves of our … agreement to marry.” Harriet considered her words before she continued. “I assume you have decided not to take us to Faucon House because our betrothal will dismay your parents.” She hesitated while gathering her courage and studying his lustrous green eyes. “If you regret your quixotic proposal of marriage, I shall understand if you wish to cry off.”

  Dominic’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

  By now my cheeks must be red as a boiled lobster’s. Which lady in her right mind would not want to become this compassionate, handsome, intelligent man’s bride? “Yes, I do want to be your wife, but I don’t want to take advantage of you. “She put her finger to her lips. “No, please allow me to finish what I want to say. When I was seen in your arms, it was good of you to say we are betrothed. The question is, do you want to marry me?”

  Dominic’s tender gaze warmed her. “I do. Shall we go to London?”

  “Yes. Where will we put up?”

  “For propriety’s sake, I shall stay at my parents’ London house in Grosvenor Square. You may put up at Mivart’s Hotel in Brook Street.”

  “Brook Street?”

  “Ah, I forgot, you are not familiar with London. The street is in Mayfair.”

  “I thought it is improper for a lady to stay at a hotel.”

  “Not, I think, for a lady to put up at Mivart’s, where accommodation for wealthy visitors to London is rented, by the month not by the night. I shall reserve a comfortable suite for you.”

  “I cannot afford-”

  “I can. Don’t look so worried. You need not fear the embarrassment of taking your meals in the public rooms among strangers. You shall be served in your suite.” A slight frown formed on his forehead. “Of course, it would cause gossip if I visited you in your apartment, so I shall call at the hotel to take you out in my carriage. When we reach London, I shall write to my parents to inform them of our betrothal, and also announce it in the broad sheets.”