A Companion for Life (3 page)

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.

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 delivered him to a
lifelong desired destination.

He stared at
the mound of bed clothes with satisfaction. He was pleased with his
morning’s work. His baser nature was pleased that Rosamund’s
schemes to make her daughter the Countess of Carmarthen would be
disappointment, but it was the fact Lily would live the rest of her
life safe under his roof that caused an inexplicably heady
satisfaction. The thought of waking every morning knowing he could
step into the next room and crawl into her bed fuelled the warmth
in his chest that had been ignited by brown adoring eyes that first
visit with William. No one would ever hurt her again; he’d make
sure of it. He scowled as he remembered the doctor’s pronouncement;
if she hadn’t been so fat several of the blows might have killed
her. The large bump on her head gave cause for alarm, but the
doctor could only leave a bottle of laudanum and hope there was no
long term brain damage. The bruised woman refused to name the
perpetrator which either meant she was frightened Mr Philips would
kill her or it wasn’t Mr Philips and Lily was afraid he wouldn’t
believe her. It didn’t really matter; the culprit would feel his
wrath if they touched her again.

He forced his
eyes off his sleeping bride and patted his pockets. Thoughts of
touching his wife’s ample curves were making his cravat feel like a
noose; he needed his pipe and his mistress. Turning towards the
door his thoughts momentarily cleared allowing his ears to hear
strange noises coming from the hall. Forgetting his needs he rushed
out of the room and towards the stairs as a crescendo of rage
echoed off well polished floors and uncluttered walls. Jones was
being mauled by a cloaked female visitor trying to make her way to
the stairs. Mrs Jones appeared with a rolling pin to defend her
husband, but was attacked before her blows could do much damage.
One of the footmen jumped into the fray, grabbing the raging woman
pulling her off the housekeeper, but he was soon on the floor
moaning in pain. “Rosamund?” Penryth’s voice floated calmly down
the stairs capturing his unwanted guest’s attention.

The woman
jerked around and glared up at him. “You lying bastard, I nearly
froze my backside to a pew waiting for you. Was that your idea of
revenge? Tricking me into thinking you’d accepted my offer and then
stealing my sister while I was out of the way? I won’t let you ruin
my family by parading that fat lazy slut as your live in
whore.”

Penryth slowly
descended the stairs and stared at his old fiancé with distaste.
Her eyes were wild with hate, her beauty transformed into a mask of
ugliness. How could he ever have thought he loved her? “Are you
referring to my wife?”

The wild eyes
blinked in shock. “Wife?” The thin lips curled back over yellow
teeth as an odd choking sound escaped from her throat. Was she
laughing or having a fit? Penryth tugged on his cravat and unwound
it from his neck to use as a restraint. “Where is she? I want to
hear that lazy traitorous heifer explain her lies. Lily Leigh! Come
down here you fat slut.”

“My wife is
sedated to ease the pain from wounds, doubtless inflicted by her
dear sister.”

“She deserved
every bruise.”

“Then you’ll be
grateful I’ve taken her off your hands.”

The angry woman
stood there speechless wringing her hands as if she were imagining
his throat at her mercy. “Lily has cost me a fortune, just look at
the size of her. She’s eaten enough for three people over the years
and every time I buy her a dress it takes three times the fabric.
She owes me. I can’t believe you’d bed that ugly lump; annul this
farce and return her to me immediately. I insist she pays every
farthing of her debt.”

“I wouldn’t
return a dog to your care. I can only pity your less attractive
children. Are your daughters with orange hair going to get a dowry
or have you pooled your resources to secure a title for your
precious blonde darling?”

Wild eyes
filled with hatred. “I’m the best of mothers!”

“Are you?”

“You’re doing
this to ruin the wedding, aren’t you? You’re going to punish my
Grace because I chose to marry a better man…”

“If, after he
turns twenty-one, William chooses to chain himself to a spoilt brat
prone to tantrums, that’s his business. A man who can’t support a
wife or offspring has no business tying the knot.”

The wild eyes
filled with horror at the mention of children. “You wouldn’t
actually bed her?”

“Why wouldn’t
I? She’s my wife.”

“She’s
fat!”

“At least she’s
not a trying to relive her wasted youth through her eldest
daughter.” An ear splitting scream pierced Penryth’s ears and then
she was clawing his neck and face trying to draw blood. Wrestling
her face down to the ground he wrenched her arms behind her back
and tied her hands together with his cravat as she sobbed out her
impotent rage. Standing up he sighed with relief as he noticed Mr
and Mrs Jones hugging each other and the footman back on his feet a
few feet away. “How did she come?”

“Her
carriage…it’s outside.”

“Good. Cheer up
Rosamund; you’re going home unmolested unlike my poor servants.”
The woman screamed an unintelligible reply. “Don’t bother inviting
us to dinner; I’ll be keeping country hours so I can spend my
evenings pleasuring my wife.”

“I hate
you!”

“Good. You can
let me help you to your feet and walk to your carriage or we can
carry you outside and heave you inside like a she-devil. There’s
bound to be someone looking out a nearby window after all of your
noise. I highly recommend you use your feet.”

“Untie me!”

“I prefer my
eyes in my head.” He dragged her to her feet and immediately
regretted not tying her legs. He winced in pain as her boot struck
his shin. “Kick me again…” She kicked him harder. Spinning her
around he dragged her backwards out of his house and shoved her
into her carriage and shut the door. “Take her home.” She was still
screaming insults as the carriage rolled away down the street. Back
inside he closed the door. “That was my new sister-in-law.” The
servants stopped dabbing their wounds to stare at him with horror.
“Don’t ever let her in if I’m not here. If she tries to scratch out
your eyes you have my permission to push her into the street and
lock the door. I’m going to call on Lady Gillingham. If William
comes home in a state…tell him I’ll explain later.”