The Hired Wife

by Cari Hislop

  “May I be so bold as to enquire which ball they’ll be attending?”

  “Lady St. John’s…” Marshall coughed one more time and then unmasked his face. “I believe it might be best for my sisters to give you the details. They should be finished breaking their fast; if you’ll follow me. Merry, lie down and have a rest.”

  “Rest? But I’m not…”

  “I’ll personally check on you later so don’t think you can sneak off to work in the kitchen. It’ll be a long night; I don’t want you wilting at my ear.” Mary picked up her box of combs and tried to think of an excuse to remain downstairs. Every hour spent sleeping would be lost memories.

  “But I don’t want to sleep, I want to…”

  “Rest! That’s an order.” The words were a gentle bark. Mary respectfully curtseyed to both men and left the room with her head held high.

  “Fine woman your wife, there’s something magical about her. She looks like a Dutch painting come to life…”

  “I can’t hear you! Follow me.”

  Mary shut her bedchamber door and looked at the tidy pile of empty boxes. The maid had put all the new clothes away. She stood by the window and looked at her tortoiseshell combs in the sunshine. They were something a man could give to a loyal female servant without fear of inspiring improper regard; simple, but elegant. That was what she’d have to fight, but it would be an uphill battle with those burning blue eyes smiling at her every day. She set the combs on her dressing table, removed her shoes and crawled onto the bed. Her tired body sighed with pleasure as she closed her eyes. It was vexing to have to admit the man was right, but her heavy eyes assured her that he was.

  …

  Four hours later the door quietly opened and closed as Marshall checked on his sleeping wife. She could sleep a little longer before she’d have to eat an early dinner and start getting ready. He watched her stretch in her sleep and roll over. She looked like a contented stray cat who’d found a merciful hearthrug. He sat on the bed and indulged in poetic thoughts as his eyes wandered over her person. He could easily imagine pulling her into his arms every morning. His heart was starting to lose the battle, but it hadn’t given up. It pinched his chest and dragged him off the bed with several uncomfortable reminders. There was no point lusting after a woman who’d be leaving in a year. His head retorted, she might not love you, but there’s something in her eyes. His heart pinched him again in an attempt to distract him from wondering if she was affected by his touch. So what if she doesn’t love you now, his mind continued, how do you know she won’t love you after a few years? You’re a good man and not unkind. You have to take risks; don’t listen to that mushy organ in your chest. It wants something that doesn’t exist. Fiend, replied his heart. The mind is a cold fiend who thinks it can settle. Listen to me Marshall; never settle for anything less than love. You’ll hate yourself. You’ll be miserable!

  Marshall sighed and tip-toed from the room wondering what sorts of uncomfortable scenes the evening would bring. He hated attending balls and routes, but it was important he escort his sisters and provide a visual reminder that they weren’t unprotected. Their safety was more important than his discomfort.

  Chapter 4

  Mary bit the inside of her cheek as she cringed under intense scrutiny. The ball was filled with curious people important enough to openly stare at the odd addition to their elite circle. Marshall’s ear-splitting introduction of his new wife to his father’s sister captivated the entire company. The rumour mill had been grinding away all evening; the desperate Lord Raynham had advertised for and hired a wife. Raynham’s desperation was further clarified by the fact the thin young woman was plain and common.

  Mary’s nervous curtsey drew a few icy polite words from the white haired Aunt Beatrice, but Marshall and his wife were quickly dismissed in favour of the excited twins. Patting the gloved hand clinging to his arm, Marshall led his wife through the curious throng oblivious to her torment and chose a seat with a good view of the room. “Sit down; I’ll get you a drink.” Feeling adrift, Mary slowly sank onto a padded seat and snapped open her fan. Taking a deep breath she reminded herself the haut ton could stare and smirk to their hearts content; she had three meals a day and a roof over her head. A few uncomfortable moments were hardly comparable with starving to death and as her husband had loudly stated, she was a Viscountess until he declared otherwise. She slowly fanned her cheeks and watched the dancers take their places. She didn’t notice the approaching men until her view was blocked by three elegantly attired bodies.

  “Lady Raynham…we presume?” The snickering man in the middle ogled her through a gold lorgnette.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it true you were hired to be Raynham’s wife?”

  Mary took a deep calming breath to rein in her temper. “Yes.”

  “You must have been desperate to marry Lord Beast. Did he promise not to eat you?”

  “She can’t have been as desperate as Lord Beast. Even whores blush at his ear splitting attempts to negotiate a minute of pleasure. Ma mother was desperate to marry off ma sister to him, but Lydia refused his screaming declaration. Just when she hoped he’d take his leave he pressed his ear to her face and demanded a reason; as if any woman needs a reason to refuse a brute.”

  “Lord Raynham isn’t a brute; he’s hard of hearing.”

  “He’s a deaf brutish beast. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to correct your betters?”

  “I doubt her mother taught her anything beyond how to sell her wares.”

  Mary clenched her teeth and reminded herself that cruel people inhabited every level of society. “Whatever will your mothers say when they learn you’ve publicly acknowledged a vicar’s daughter?”

  “What are you saying to my wife?” Marshall loomed large, the two elegant china cups in his manly fingers looking absurd. “Go away and find your own woman, if any will put up with your simpering poses and bad breath.” He returned their sneer and bared his teeth. “Mushrooms!” The loud word drew a number of heads. Marshall remained standing until the men minced away. Sitting down, he handed Mary a cup. “They’re not supposed to speak to you unless they’ve been properly introduced. What did they say?” Marshall pointed at his ear.

  “They wanted to know if I’d married you after answering an ad in the paper. I told them I had.”

  “What’s the difference between placing and ad in a paper and having one’s mother whisper on the vine that her son is looking for a beautiful girl with a suitable fortune? Hypocrites! Drink up and try not to spill it, there’s a crush around the refreshments. You’d think they hadn’t eaten all day.”

  Mary put her lips to his ear, “Perhaps they’ve spent all their money on clothes?” She was rewarded with an amused snort.

  “It’s more likely they’ve lost it on a turn of the cards. Speaking of spent fortunes, I think you look rather fetching in that yellow dress; a Dutch painting come to life.” Marshall’s voice dropped to a loud whisper, “I believe I made an excellent acquisition yesterday.” He smiled as Mary blushed and sipped her sickly orgeat with a shaking hand. “Ah yes, milling before us is the great and the good. That’s what we call ourselves. Have you ever heard such a rum description? If we’re so great and good why are there always more skeletons in our attics?”

  “Perhaps it’s because you can afford a large attic to put them in. Ordinary people have to make due with an old chest or a dusty shelf.”

  Marshall eyed his bride with restrained amusement, “You grow more congenial with every ration of sustenance. I may have to keep an eye on how much you eat. If you become irresistible I may find myself…undone.”

  “You’re quite safe my Lord; I’ve never reached the dizzy heights of irresistibility, nor have I ever undone anyone.”

  “You’ll be dizzy from hunger if you keep referring to me as a God.”

  “So what’s in your attic Husband?” Mary’s curious question pushed the humour out of Marshall’s eyes.

  “It’
s bare, filled with ghosts aching for a few bones and a little flesh.”

  Mary looked into hungry eyes and shivered. He was looking at her again like a lover wooing a beautiful girl. “Ah yes, ghostly dreams; I keep mine tied around my throat.”

  “These dreams around your neck; what are they woven of?” It was a soft question made frightening by the intensity of interest in his blue eyes.

  “The usual sorts of materials; motherhood, wanting to be loved, a home…”

  “You have a home!” The words were loud and sharp.

  Mary finished her drink before looking at her temporary husband. “I have very good accommodation. A home is where one feels safe, secure, at peace…loved.”

  “Humph!” Marshall sat back in the delicate chair and crossed his muscular legs as the inner war resumed with fury. Fate was content to silently unfold with a roll of the dice. If he offered her a permanent position would he find some small happiness with his hired wife or was there an exquisite woman waiting on the other side of an annulment? He could see no guiding light. He’d almost decided on his heart and the unknown woman when he felt Mary’s hand on his shoulder. It was an intimate, yet necessary gesture as she balanced herself close enough so he could hear her. His head caught hold of the sensation and tempted him with the promise of intimate caresses. The battle had reached a critical moment; his head could promise definite pleasures deflating his heart which could only surmise the possibility of love; the handle of his cup snapped off from the force of emotion.

  “You’ve come undone.” He glared down into innocent concerned eyes. Did she know what she was saying? Had she any idea how close to being undone he was? “You’ve broken your cup.”

  Marshall looked down at his fallen cup, then the handle in his fingers. Was it a sign? Was his own small cup of happiness never meant to be? His thirst for love might never be quenched, but he could have pleasure and companionship. He could have someone to talk to and laugh with. He could have someone to wake up with. A definite something had to be better than a probable nothing. He bent over and picked up the cup and looked into his wife’s eyes.

  “Drink with me and drink as I:

  Freely welcome to my cup,

  Couldst thou sip and sip it up:

  Make the most of life you may

  Life is short and wears away.”

  Her eyes were wider than usual. Did she understand what he was trying to say?

  “Who wrote that?”

  “William Oldys…Merry, do you believe your dreams will ever be wrapped in flesh?”

  The intensity of his stare gave her gooseflesh, “No.”

  “How would you feel…?”Absorbed in his wife’s face, Marshall didn’t see the fashionable couple stop nearby. Seeing Mary look away from him he followed her eyes and found his elegant cousin, Lord Brooke, and his beautiful wife looking at him with amused contempt. “Good evening Cousin, have you come to pay your respects to my new wife?” Marshall’s irritation subsided as Mary put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to repeat the reply.

  “You’ve made the family a laughingstock. If you were so desperate Marshall, you could have had my sister. She’d marry a three legged dog to escape spinsterhood.”

  “If I wanted to wake up looking at fish eyes every morning I’d put a dead cod on my pillow. My wife has a pleasing manner and a pleasant voice which is more than I can say for you or your sister.”

  “She looks like a half starved guttersnipe.”

  Marshall’s shoulders tensed as his temper flared. “I didn’t know you were so well acquainted with the gutter Brooke. I pray God I have a son. I don’t like the idea of you or your spurious offspring living in my father’s house.” Lady Camilla Brooke gasped in horror as the loud words rolled into the company behind her.

  “Are you going to let him insult me like that? He’s just called your children bastards.”

  “Do you expect me to call him out for being a bore? Everyone knows he’s a brute. The next time we see his ‘wife’ she’ll be black and blue.” Mary repeated the first sentence and then fell silent as she blinked away angry tears.

  “What did he say Woman? Well?”

  “He thinks you’re a brute and that you’ll beat me.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re a cynic Brooke, what with a drunken father who practised fisticuffs on you every time he found you wearing your sisters dresses.” Looking even more horrified, Lady Camilla dragged her husband away before any more skeletons could be exposed. Marshall returned his attention to Mary. “I don’t want any sweetened versions in future. Repeat exactly what you hear.” Marshall watched bewildered as Mary’s face fell. “What have I done now? Don’t mope, tell me. I hate people who mope.”

  “Repeating hurtful things makes me feel like I’m hurting you for someone else. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Marshall’s eyes lit up with pleasure, “That’s why I have you blowing in my ear; your soft delivery removes the sting.”

  “That sounds romantic…” Mary’s eyes were pulled away from smiling sapphires to a well preserved middle aged gentleman standing in front of them with his hands behind his back.

  Marshall jumped up from his seat and affectionately thumped the man on the shoulder. “What are you doing at this cursed event?” The man leaned over and whispered something Mary couldn’t hear. “You’re at the right market. Have you seen my sisters…? Yes they mentioned they’d seen you. I’m glad you were able to help them. If you can stomach it, ask them to dance just in case they’re short. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to the wedding; didn’t think to ask you to be a witness. Mary?” Marshall held out his hand and waited till she stood up. “My Lady, may I present my good friend Lord Henry Fitzalan, the Marquis of Morley?” Mary curtseyed as he bowed low over her hand and held it to his lips for several long seconds.

  “Enchanted…”

  “That’s enough kissing!”

  “Ah jealousy, a sure sign of happiness; do you dance my Lady?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Are you free for the next dance?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Excellent, I pray you’ll allow me the honour of partnering you for the next dance.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “She’s not here to dance; she’s sitting with me.”

  “You can’t take a woman to a ball and force her to sit on the sidelines all night Marshall. That is the height of boorish cruelty.”

  “I’m not forcing her…”

  “Well then, your good lady will not want to disappoint me.”

  “Do you wish to dance?” Marshall watched Mary’s face contort with mixed emotions.

  “He’s very kind, but…”

  “Very well, you may dance.”

  “Really Marshall, you sound like a benevolent dictator. I hope she doesn’t have to ask your permission to receive callers?”

  “Who’d call on her?”

  “Forgive Marshall, he only sounds insensitive.”

  “I’m not insensitive.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” Morley bowed towards Mary and fiddled with his coat sleeves. “I believe the next dance is starting. If you’ll allow me to offer my arm I’ll lead you away.”

  “What kind of dance is it? I don’t know if I know…”

  “I believe it’s a country dance. I’ll talk you through it.” Marshall resigned himself to losing his companion for twenty minutes and sat back down. With his arms folded and legs tightly crossed he watched the yellow dress float away. He wanted to rush across the room and snatch her back. He watched the dancers take their places, and then they were all moving in time.

  He watched her watch the other dancers and then smile at her partner as she completed her turn gracefully. It seemed almost unbelievable that at the end of the evening the woman holding his eye would climb into his carriage and return home with him. She might even spend the night in his bed. His cravat tightened as he gulped down a sigh. His heart slumped in despair as its precious dreams burs
t like soap bubbles. He didn’t want to continue the unhappy search for happiness or go through the hell of procuring an annulment. He wanted tranquillity and peace. He threw a mental coin into the air for one last toss; heads or hearts? The coin landed heads up with a painful thump into his soul. He sighed with relief and relaxed. It was over, settled, and decided; he was keeping his wife.