by Cari Hislop
“Forgive my state of undress. I wasn’t expecting company.”
The hood lowered as if mentioning his lack of formal attire had embarrassed her. “My sister, Mrs Philips, sent me to deliver a message.”
“What has sweet Rosamund cooked up this time?”
“She…if you allow Grace and Mr Bowen to wed in a week and a half she’ll…”
“She’ll what?”
“She’ll be your mistress.”
The hood bowed further missing Penryth’s amused smile. “I wasn’t good enough to wed, but I’m good enough to bed. Should I be flattered or insulted?”
The cloak inched closer; her hands outstretched like a beggar. “Please Mr Bowen…won’t you change your mind and allow the two young people to marry? Rosamund is desperate to make Grace happy. She’ll do anything you ask if you’ll only give your consent.”
“And what do you get for arranging this indelicacy?”
“Nothing…Rosamund is still an attractive woman and…and…”
“And you sound like you’re reciting a bad poem.”
“Please…I’m begging you…”
“What has she promised you, a day off? A new hat?”
“No, nothing…please Mr Bowen…”
“Miss Leigh, I wouldn’t bed your sister if it would save me from the hangman. You may tell sweet Rosamund that. Feel free to embellish…” His hooded visitor hobbled into the firelight. She hadn’t hobbled when he watched her leave the dining room three days before. “Have you hurt your leg?”
“It’s nothing…please Mr Bowen, consider Rosamund’s offer…I beg you…”
“Miss Leigh; begging makes me uncomfortable.” The woman’s outstretched arms folded underneath her cloak as she bowed her head in defeat and sobbed. “Miss Leigh, it’s not the end of the world. Your spoilt niece will doubtless jilt my nephew and entrap some other fool. How could that be a bad thing?” Penryth stood there for several minutes waiting for her sobs to ebb. “Come now…tears won’t change my mind any more than begging.” Fearing he’d be standing there all night he reached out a hand to give her a comforting squeeze on the arm. A hiss of pain accompanied the woman cringing away from his hand. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Nothing…” There was too much despair in the word for it to be true.
Penryth jerked off her hood to see her eyes and froze in horror. Her pretty fat face was covered in bruises and fresh scars that looked suspiciously like fingernails etched into the flesh around two wet eyes ringed by purple and yellow bruises. Her lips were swollen and cut. “Hell’s teeth! Who did this to you? Did Mr Philips do this?”
Her battered lips carefully parted as she stared at the floor. “It’s nothing…”
“Will there be more of this nothing if you don’t bring back good tidings?” Her sobs was all he needed to know. “Don’t cry Miss Leigh, I’ve change my mind. Tell sweet Rosamund to meet me in St Martin in the Fields tomorrow at two. Tell her to wait for me as I might be late arranging a suitable place to consummate our rendezvous.” This good news seemed to have an averse affect on the woman who cried harder. “Will you be at home all day tomorrow?”
Brown eyes looked up at him in confusion. “Yes.”
“Good. Now what are you going to tell Rosamund?”
“You’ll meet her at St Martin in the Fields at…at two and to wait because you’re arranging things.”
“That’s close enough. Good night Miss Leigh.”
“Good night Mr Bowen…thank you…”
“It’s nothing.” She pulled her hood back over her face and hobbled out of the room without looking back. As soon as he heard the front door close he emptied his pipe into the fire. “Jones!”
His urgent tone brought the man running into the room. “Yes Master Bowen?”
“Tell your good wife to prepare a special dinner tomorrow for two. I hope to sit down by three. Tell her to use the money she keeps in the cow creamer if she doesn’t have enough and I’ll reimburse her. I wish to have soup and pâté sandwiches with the crusts removed from the bread. Boiled eggs would be good, but no fish, onions, turnips, cabbage or pickles. For dessert a soft cheese, stewed apples and perhaps a sponge…”
“Is Master William celebrating his nuptials?”
“No, I’m dining with a lady.”
“A lady?”
“Don’t look so surprised Jones. Sometimes a man needs a little female company.”
“As you say Sir…shall I inform Mrs Jones to be dressed to help the lady?”
“If the lady needs any help I’m sure I’ll manage. Wake me at seven. I’m going to have a busy morning.”
“Very good Sir…”
“Oh and ask Mrs Jones to send one of the maids first thing in the morning to buy whatever greenery or flowers are on offer. I want a vase put in the room next to mine; something cheerful. And ask Mrs Jones to ensure there’s every convenience a lady might require.”
“Very good Sir.” The servant stared in shock as his master swaggered off to bed humming a haunting tune. Penryth Bowen had sworn on numerous occasions that he’d rather be hanged then bring home one of his lovers. He declared himself a confirmed bachelor who preferred to keep his home free of interfering ladies who thought that because he enjoyed their company he’d welcome their opinion on which pattern to order for his new china or what colour would best refresh his sitting room. Jones rushed to put out the fire and ran to inform his wife that Master Bowen had not only changed his mind, but that he was humming the Welsh song, ‘Shepherding the White Wheat’. That could mean only one thing; the master was in love.
Chapter 3
The news that Mr Bowen had accepted Rosamund’s offer filled the Philips’ house with screams of delight. Grace was happy knowing she’d be married before Helen. Rosamund was relieved to hear Grace proclaim her the best mother in the world while the younger children smiled knowing their mother’s happiness would translate into sweets and toys. Even Mr Philips paused in the middle of his latest bottle to raise a cheer to the Welshman before exclaiming that he hoped his wife had finally found a lover who’d inspire her to run away and leave him in peace. The older children laughed while Lily hobbled away unnoticed.
The next morning, pale autumn light washed plain white walls with an icy chill as Lily lay on her bed staring at the ceiling wishing she’d died. Pain imprinted every part of her body, but was strangely concentrated in her heart. Her face looked so gruesome Rosamund had ordered her to remain in her room for two weeks for fear of causing talk. For two glorious weeks Lily could pretend she was a novice preparing to take the veil. Of course she’d be rescued at the last minute by Mr Bowen, but that was a silly fantasy. She couldn’t be nun because she wasn’t Catholic.
No, in reality she’d lie in her cold room with an empty stomach because the servants would forget to bring her food. Mr Bowen was hardly going to appear at her door with a cake under his arm. The thought made her laugh, which caused a symphony of pain bringing her thoughts back to her sister. It couldn’t be more than fifteen minutes since Rosamund’s carriage had carried her away to St Martin in the Fields. It wouldn’t be long… Lily’s eyes gushed at the thought of her sister lying in Mr Bowen’s arms. Before leaving Rosamund had come to her room and promised to return and relate her sordid adventure in unseemly detail. Lily didn’t have to pretend to be jealous to save herself from another beating.
The thought of Rosamund seeing Mr Bowen in his red dressing gown made Lily feel sick. She didn’t want any other woman to see him looking like he’d just slayed a dragon. The fact he was only bedding Rosamund so Lily wouldn’t be pummelled gave her little comfort. One minute she thanked God that the man’s kindness had spared her more pain. The next minute she blamed God for not letting her die. If she’d died Mr Bowen wouldn’t have changed his mind and her sister’s scheme would have withered. Grace would have jilted William and William would have been saved for a girl with a heart. Because she was alive, countless lives would be ruined. If only she’d
died, but it was too late.
The sound of a muffled conversation outside her door brought her thoughts sharply back to food. Had the servants remembered to bring her a tray? It was a miracle. The knock on the door made her stomach growl in relief as she sat up in bed. “Yes?”
The door opened and a masculine head of brown hair peered into the room. “Ah Miss Leigh, you’re still alive. Good.” She stared wide eyed as Mr Bowen closed the door behind him. “It’s rather cold in here; I can see my breath. I hope you prefer a warmer house. If I had to choose between coal and food I’d be a very thin man.”
The wool bedding had pressed down all night on her numerous injuries like a thick oak door. Lily was so numb she could barely feel the cold as she lay uncovered in her worn flannel gown. “Mr Bowen? What are you doing here?”
The man dropped two empty carpet bags on the end of her bed and looked around. “I’ve come to collect you.” It was a nonchalant statement as if he’d come to collect a borrowed book. She’d heard of mad people seeing things. Had she lost her mind? Was she imagining Mr Bowen in her room? He calmly opened her wardrobe and inspected her meagre belongings. “Do you have any emotional attachment to this hat?” He held up the tired straw bonnet that had seen better days on Rosamund’s head.
“I hate it.”
“So do I.” He flung it into the empty grate and leaned back into the wardrobe. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.” He held up her large black Sunday hat.
“Rosamund found it in the attic. She insists I wear it because it makes me ugly.” She watched the old black hat land in the grate with numb satisfaction.
“You wear this in public?” The black silk dress in his hands was so large it looked like a gathered length of fabric meant to drape a window for mourning.”
“It’s my Sunday best. I wore it last night.”
“Then you won’t want it…bad memories.” The dress was scrunched up and thrown into the grate over the hats. Lily felt her face burn as he paused to stare at her face. “A few dresses in greens, orange and ivory I think.” Had the man lost his mind? Her eyes widened with horror as she watched him shove her remaining dresses, chemises, stays and stockings into one of the bags. Had Mr Bowen just handled her most intimate clothing with his bare fingers? The thought made her mouth fall open in disbelief. What would the man do next? “We need to leave; up, up, up…I’ll help you.”
“Mr Bowen…I’m in my nightgown.”
Lily suddenly realised it wasn’t possible to die of embarrassment as he stopped and surveyed her abundant curves with interest. “You’ll have to wear your cloak. Sit up…on the edge of the bed.” She mindlessly obeyed, her large bouncing breasts providing another reason to wish she’d already died as he eyed them with approval. “We need to hurry. I want to be away from here. This house gives me gooseflesh.” Kneeling down in front of her, he held up one of her slippers. “Allow me…” Her fat feet were gently shoved into a pair of slippers and then his arm was around her waist prodding her off the bed. He shook out her cloak, draped it around her shoulders, buttoned it and pulled up her hood as if she were a child. She stood there feeling stupid as the man ransacked her dressing table and dumped the contents into his other bag. “Do you own anything else?”
“No, where are you taking me?”
“Home, to be my companion.”
“Why?”
“There’s only one question you need ask yourself Miss Leigh; do you wish to remain here or come live with me?”
“I’d rather live with you…you won’t even have to pay me and I’ll only eat one meal a day. I’ll be whatever kind of companion you need…” Lily’s mind swirled with thoughts of being held in the handsome man’s arms, their lips entwined in an eternal kiss. She was being stupid again. Why would Mr Bowen want to kiss her? As Rosamund enjoyed pointing out, he had a beautiful mistress; but as his servant she’d be living under his roof. There was always the hope that one night he’d drink too much and make advances. She might get with child. He’d feel honour bound to care for it; she’d always be a part of his life. Lily dismissed the dream with regret. Even a drunkard wouldn’t mistake her for a slender beauty. “This can’t be happening. Even you can’t be this kind. I wish I was dead.”
“You’ve been living too long in this hell mouth. I prescribe a dose of cheerful thoughts. Think how irritated your sister will be to find her dogs’body has been snatched away. You’ll wake every morning knowing you’ll be safe from harm. You’ll be free to do as you please. And just imagine your sister’s face as you’re announced at a ball as Lady Carmarthen. She’ll gnash her untitled teeth in envy.”
The words slowly filtered through Lily’s cold brain. “Lady Carmarthen?”
“My uncle, The Earl of Carmarthen is in his seventies. The unpleasant old goat is bound to put his fiddle in the roof sooner or later.”
“But I can only be Lady Carmarthen if you marry me.”
“Did you think I was going to carry you off to a dank mouldy castle to be my scullery maid? If you’ve been reading Gothic novels I want to make it clear I have no deep dark secrets. There are no bodies that I know of under my floorboards. I don’t mix blood with my wine and there are no swooning ladies hidden behind veils in my bedchamber. My Vicar is expecting us; I bought a special license this morning.”
Lily’s swollen lips fell open. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry or scream in hysterics. “You’re not going to meet Rosamund?”
“No.” Lily’s swollen lips tried to make a smile as she groaned from the pain caused by silent laughter. Rosamund was going to be furious. “My horses are waiting. This way…” A firm masculine hand on the small of her back propelled her down the stairs, out the front door past staring servants and then gentle hands were pushing her large backside into the waiting coach. Wrapping her cloak tightly over her nightgown she listened to the pleasant commanding voice say, “Drive slowly, Miss Leigh is poorly; I don’t want her thrown about the carriage.” The words brought tears to her eyes. Was she having one of those dreams that were so real they fooled the dreamer? Was she going to wake up back in hell to find Rosamund crowing over her conquest? Lily swayed as the man climbed inside and sat next to her with a smile. “The wedding shouldn’t take long. You’ll be able to have a short rest before an early dinner. I’ve asked my physician to come around four-thirty to examine you for broken bones.” It had to be a dream. How could anyone be so kind? Her eyes filled with tears as she silently looked away out the window as the man sitting next to her hummed an unknown song in a deep baritone. If this was real, Rosamund was going to be half mad with rage. Lily felt her throat constrict with fear. Her sister would blame her for ruining Grace’s dream. She glanced at her cheerful companion. Someone would feel Rosamund’s wrath. Lily could only pray it wouldn’t be Mr Bowen.
Chapter 4
Penryth stood with his arms crossed as he studied his sleeping bride. Lying on her side, a thick braid of orange hair snaked across a bruised cheek half hidden under a light blanket that curved over an ample shoulder down to her natural waist and then gracefully arched over a broad hip. He’d never made love to a woman quite so large, but she had lovely breasts and a remarkably small waist that he was looking forward to exploring under more pleasant circumstances. She’d be one of those quiet biddable wives who’d fade into the background of his life. He’d live like a bachelor and have the added bonus of a possible legal heir. His new bride might even prove a pleasant companion if she could overcome the tendency to cry at the slightest provocation. The amount of water pouring from her eyes made him wonder if she was fat or storing water on her hips. She’d cried all the way to the church, cried through the ceremony, cried into his London town house, through luncheon and was still crying as he left her with Mrs Jones to help her settle into her new room. Crying women made him feel uncomfortably helpless, but the effusive gratitude in her wet eyes caused a warmth in his chest that overflowed into humming. He felt supremely content as if his impulsive act had somehow deliv
ered him to a lifelong desired destination.
