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

by Rosemary Morris

  “Don’t disturb yourself. Your wound proves you did your best to protect Lord Castleton, for which you have earned my gratitude.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady,” Plymouth began, “the doctor did say Nurse should sleep after she took her medicine.”

  “Ah, be good enough to settle Bessie, and then join me.”

  Deep in thought, Harriet sank down onto a chair in the dressing room. She must forge a new life for herself and Arthur with Mister Markham.

  The door opened. Her abigail bobbed a curtsey.

  “Ah, there you are, Plymouth. At the moment, Lord Castleton is with Mister Markham, with whom I have some urgent business. I would be obliged if you would look after Lord Castleton for a little while,” Harriett requested her, aware that conscious of their duties servants resented being asked to do something extra. She gazed at her abigail, with the hope Plymouth was not offended by the request to take care of Arthur.”

  “Well, my lady, I wouldn’t wish to displease you,” Plymouth began, her face impassive until, like clouds parting to permit sunshine, she smiled. “I like his lordship, so I will keep an eye on him. Indeed, I don’t mind obliging you, for you are the most considerate lady whom I have ever served.”

  “Thank you.” Appreciative of Plymouth’s praise she stood. “Please wait here. I shall send Lord Castleton to you.”

  * * *

  When Harriet entered the parlour, Mister Markham stood. “How is the nurse?”

  “She is somewhat dazed so she is sleeping after taking her medicine.”

  Harriet gazed fondly at her son who sat on the carpet playing with toy soldiers. “Arthur, please go to my dressing room where Plymouth will look after you.”

  Immersed in his game, her son ignored her.

  Harriet clicked her teeth together, and looked at Mister Markham. “Sometimes, I could swear he is deaf.”

  Dominic tapped Arthur on the shoulder. The child looked up at him. “Gentlemen should never ignore ladies, and we are gentlemen, are we not?”

  Arthur nodded, a smile spreading across his face. In silence, he left the room, while his mother sank down onto a chair.

  “Mister Markham,” Harriet began, “thank you for all you have done to help me. Were it not for you-” She broke off and shuddered. “I am sorry, I cannot help imagining what might have happened.” Unable to compose herself, after fearing she would never again see Arthur, she began to cry without restraint.

  Dominic hurried forward, knelt before her and took her cold hands in his. “Don’t torment yourself. It is over. Arthur is safe. Bessie has come to her senses, and now we may be married.”

  Her chest heaving, she wiped her eyes with her hands and sniffed. “I am sorry,” she apologised, ashamed of allowing her sensibilities to overcome her. “Oh, Mister Markham,” she commenced, clutching his warm hands, “since Arthur nearly drowned and you rescued him, you have been kinder than any mere words of mine can express. Indeed, I am grateful, but to marry you would be to impose on your good nature.”

  His raised his arched eyebrows. “Such foolishness?” He laughed low and, perhaps, somewhat bitterly. “How could any assistance I have rendered to my future bride be an imposition?”

  Dominic stood, his expression tender, he drew her to her feet and scooped her up in his arms.

  “What must you think of me” she whispered.

  Harriet did not attempt to free herself while he sat down with her on his lap.

  “I think you are courageous. When I think of the years you spent in Portugal and Spain, of the deaths of your husband and your father, after which you endured extreme poverty; and of your treatment by your father-in-law I admire you. I also admire you, not for all your suffering, which includes Pennington’s outrageous treatment of you and Arthur, I also esteem for you dedication to your son’s welfare and your love for him.”

  “Oh, there were other ladies in the Peninsular more brave than I am.” Harriet sniffed, searched for her handkerchief, which tucked into her long cambric sleeve, dried her eyes and blew her nose. Although she did not doubt the sincerity of the rector’s words, whatever the personal sacrifice, she knew what she must do.

  Harriet stood up and faced Mister Markham. “It was gallant of you to claim we were betrothed when my father-in-law saw me in your arms. Since then, my circumstances have changed. I am no longer dependent on the Earl of Pennington, so I release you.”

  “Why? Do you dislike me?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide open. “No, of course not.”

  “So?” he asked, his eyes alert.

  “You need not be concerned for me. I shall buy a house in the country, where I will live with Arthur. I assure you we will do well.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and rose abruptly. “What of me?”

  Harriet frowned. “I don’t understand. What of you?”

  His fists clenched and the expression in his eyes hardened. “You do not lack intelligence. Do you think I will do well without you?”

  Her frown deepened. “I still don’t understand. You cannot wish to marry me under duress.”

  “Why not and who says it is under duress?” he asked, strode around the room, and returned to her face her again.

  Harriet’s cheeks burned. Her hands quivered. “Mister Markham, please don’t consider what I am going to say immodest. I have known what it is to love and be loved, so I cannot condemn you to marry me as the result of a quixotic impulse. You deserve more,” she informed him, managing to speak in a level tone, while two tears traced a path down her cheeks, and more threatened to spill from her eyes. “Confound, it, you will think I am a watering pot.”

  Gently, Mister Markham wiped her tears away with his thumbs, before he again held her hands. “Goose, I would not be marrying you under, as you put it under …er…duress, far from it.” He raised her hand to his lips, and pressed a fervent kiss onto her knuckles. “Goose,” he repeated, with laughter in his voice.

  “I beg your pardon, sir!” When Harriet tried to snatch her hands away from him, he held onto them.

  “So you should. Don’t you know I have wanted to wed you since I first saw you? As though you were a fairy from one of the tales my mother told me when I was a child, you cast a spell over me. One which will enslave me until the day I die.”

  “I…I did not know…I thought-”

  He gazed at her, palpably amused by her confusion. “What did you think?”

  She bent her head again. “That you don’t love me.”

  He drew her into his arms. “Well, I do, foolish one, with my whole heart. What of you? Is all your heart still in the grave with your late husband?”

  Harriet peeped up at him. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You must not be jealous because a part of it will always be with Edgar.” She hesitated seeking for the right words. “He loved me very much, too much to want me to dwell in the past. He would want me to be happy, and for Arthur to have a flesh and blood father.”

  Dominic tilted her chin up with his forefinger. “And the part of your heart which is not buried?”

  “Has been with you for a long time.”

  “Harriet, I may call you Harriet, may I not?” Without waiting for her reply, he held her closer. “Please tell me you love me.”

  “I –” she began, and broke off when the door opened.

  “I am sorry my lady, these people insisted on seeing you,” Plymouth mumbled.

  “Indeed we did,” Joshua confirmed.

  Arthur scampered into the parlour, and stared at them before Plymouth could shut the door. “Why have you got your arms around my mamma,” he asked with obvious interest.

  “One day, my boy, you will understand.” Joshua put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and smiled when he looked at Morwenna. “I am overjoyed to tell you our son has found his rose without a thorn.”

  “I assumed, and Gwenifer thought you would-” Morwenna sputtered.

  “Disapprove?” Joshua broke in. “How foolish of you, my love. Lady Cas
tleton will do very well for Dominic.” He clasped Arthur’s hand, and held out his free arm to Morwenna. “Let us hope to be forgiven for our intrusion at such a – shall I say – delicate moment?”

  “But-” his countess spluttered.

  “Shush,” Joshua interjected. “Foolish of you and Gwenifer to have thought I am too high in the instep not to welcome Lady Castleton into our family. I advise you not to say anything else, unless you wish to welcome our future daughter-in-law into our family; and I know how much Gwenifer likes Lady Castleton, so I am sure that, when she knows the marriage pleases me, I am sure she will do the same.”

  “Of course I welcome her.” Morwenna embraced Harriet. “I hope you and Dominic will be as happy together as his father and I are.” She turned to kiss Dominic on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Mamma.”

  “So, all’s well that ends well,” Joshua commented. “Arthur, shall we go back to my house, where you may play with all the toy soldiers?”

  Arthur nodded. “Yes, please sir.”

  “Not, sir. You may call me grandfather.”

  Arthur’s smile spread across his face before he spoke. “Thank you, I think you are nicer than my other grandpapa. He wanted me to shoot my pony.”

  The expression in Joshua’s eyes hardened while he looked gravely at his grandson-to-be. “I promise I shall never ask such a thing of you, and look forward to getting to know you better. Shall we leave with Lady Faucon, whom you may call Grandmamma?”

  Arthur frowned. “Will Mister Markham be my father?”

  “Yes,” the four of them replied simultaneously.

  “Good.” Arthur jumped up and down excitedly, before he led his new grandparents out of the parlour.

  His jaw clenched, Dominic shut the door behind his parents and future stepson, and turned the key in the lock. He turned around and strode back to Harriet. “Where were we when we before the rude interruption?”

  Her smile appeared. “I was in your arms and, if I am not mistaken, I was about to kiss you, or, perhaps, you were about to kiss me, so if you will oblige, perhaps-”

  He should be on his knees thanking God for a happy outcome. Instead, he kissed her. When their lips parted, her eyes soft and misty, Harriet peered into his. “Another kiss,’ she murmured, “only to make sure I do want to marry you.”

  Dominic chuckled, joyously. “Minx, your slightest wish is my command.”

  The End.

  Rosemary Morris books published by Books We Love

  Historical 18th Century

  The Captain and the Countess

  Far Above Rubies

  Regency

  False Pretences

  Sunday’s Child

  Monday’s Child

  About the Author

  Rosemary Morris was born in 1940 in Sidcup Kent. As a child, when she was not making up stories, her head was ‘always in a book.’

  While working in a travel agency, Rosemary met her Indian husband. He encouraged her to continue her education at Westminster College.

  In 1961 Rosemary and her husband, now a barrister, moved to his birthplace, Kenya, where she lived from 1961 until 1982. After an attempted coup d’état, she and four of her children lived in an ashram in France.

  Back in England, Rosemary wrote historical fiction. She is now a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Historical Novel Society and Watford Writers.

  Apart from writing, Rosemary enjoys classical Indian literature, reading, visiting places of historical interest, vegetarian cooking, growing organic fruit, herbs and vegetables and creative crafts.

  Time spent with her five children and their families, most of whom live near her, is precious.

  www.bookswelove.net