A Kiss for Lady Mary (2 page)

“But you won’t have to pretend.” Her aunt beamed. “That is the brilliance of the plan! You can be yourself . . . with a slight change in your last name for the time being.”

This—they were impossible. Mary threw her hands up in frustration. “And what, pray tell, am I to do if the gentleman who owns the property discovers my deception? Anyone could find out, then I would be completely ruined and no one would want to marry me.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Grandmamma raised one brow in the way she always did when she wanted to badger others to her way of thinking.

Mary seriously considered answering in the negative, not that it would help. Grandmamma was a force of her own. Why else would Barham allow her to remain here when she had a perfectly good dower house of her own at Bridgewater?

“Most of the time,” Mary answered, drawing the sentence out.

Though now wasn’t one of them.

“We’ve been very careful,” her grandmother said as calmly as if she were choosing a dinner menu, “to select a remote area where there are no important families.”

There was something very wrong about all of this. “May I ask who the owner is?”

Her grandmother waved her hand as if dismissing her question. “The less you know for time being, the safer you’ll be if Gawain comes sniffing around.”

“Besides”—Eunice’s already wide smile broadened—“I’ll be with you acting as your companion. It will be such a lark.”

Mary stifled a groan. All the cousins had heard about Eunice’s larks. She’d been the youngest and wildest of Grandmamma’s children, and had apparently not outgrown her previous tendencies. Mary had to find a way out of this harebrained scheme. “Won’t your children wonder where you are?”

“Oh, after a while, I suppose.” Eunice shrugged lightly. “But they’ll think I’m with Mama and probably be happy I’m not around to corrupt their children.” She took a sip of wine. “How Roger—the greatest rake in England and on the Continent, before our marriage of course—and I ever managed to produce such dullards, I shall never know.”

Those were also tales Mary and her brothers had grown up hearing, at least the ones mild enough to tell children. She never had understood how her aunt had been allowed to wed Uncle Roger. “I think that type of thing skips a generation.”

“One can only pray it is not gone forever.” Eunice sighed.

“So then.” Grandmamma tapped her cane for at least the fourth time. Mary’s fingers itched to grab the thing away and throw it in the fireplace. “It’s decided. We’ll leave early tomorrow morning.”

“That soon!” Mary had to stall them. Given just a little more time, she might be able to think of a better scheme. “It seems a little precipitous.”

“Better to get it done before you have a chance to change your mind.” Eunice rose, smoothing out her skirts. “I must see to my packing.”

Mary suppressed her frustration. It was as if she were bashing her head against a stone wall. That actually might be more productive than conversing with her aunt and grandmother.

She considered denying she had agreed to anything. Not that it would matter. The problem was they’d want an alternative, and she couldn’t think of another course of action. Yet she wasn’t stupid; certainly something would come to her before she and her aunt actually reached wherever they were going and the deception began. If anything went wrong her life would be ruined. If only Grandmamma would see reason.

M
r. Gawain Tolliver, not even an
honorable
to use in correspondence, stood impatiently in the woods and scowled at the moderate-sized dower house. If life had been fair, his sickly uncle would have succumbed before fathering so many children, including the necessary heir and numerous spares. Who knew he’d had it in him to keep going for so long?

There was certainly no counting on the current Earl of Barham dying young. He’d been blessed with the same rude health as his mother. Not that it mattered. Barham had already fathered two sturdy boys. No, the only way for Gawain to get what he wanted and what was rightfully his, was to somehow wed his cousin Mary. She would be the very devil of a wife, but sixty thousand could make up for an awful lot, and by God, he’d not be cheated out of that. The only other option was to hope she fell in love and married without his father’s permission, but he couldn’t see her family allowing that to happen. Once he got her alone, all it would take was a few minutes to tie her up, keep her alone with him for a day or two, long enough that even her bloody brother would insist she marry him, and her money would be his. Not that he wanted an unwilling wife, but needs must, and at least consummation wasn’t required for the marriage to be legal.

Masking his unhappiness with a smile for Sally Athey, the young maid who’d just arrived from Barham’s dower house, he asked, using a gentle tone, “Do you have news for me, sweetheart?”

She fluttered her pale lashes at him. “I might, but if I tell you I could lose my position here.”

Gawain brushed the backs of his knuckles gently over her rounded cheek. “Don’t you remember my promise, sweet? I told you I’ll set you up as soon as I’m married. You’ll never have to worry about working again.”

At least not on her feet.

“Well in that case . . .”

Thank the devil for gullible women
. “Come now, I cannot stay here for long. Someone may discover me . . . and you.”

She glanced hastily over her shoulder. “Her ladyship and Lady Mary are going to Bath to-morrow.”

Bath! Who goes to Bath this time of year?
“Is Lady Eunice going as well?” If he could get rid of Mary’s meddling aunt, he’d be half-way there. As old as the dowager was, she couldn’t possibly accompany his cousin everywhere.

“I heard her lady’s maid say she was going to visit one of her sons in Suffolk.”

He took Sally’s hand, raising it to his lips. “You’ve done well, my lovely.”

A pretty blush rose in her face. Perhaps he’d keep her as his mistress longer than he’d originally planned. A man needed someone to keep him warm, and it wouldn’t be his hellcat of a cousin.

Sally snatched her hand away. “I must go. The housekeeper will miss me.” She hiked her skirts and dashed hurriedly toward the house.

Gawain stared after her until she was out of sight, then mounted his horse and rode to the small lane not far from the dower house where his groom waited. “Whitely, let’s go back to the tavern. The old lady and my cousin are departing for Bath.”

“When do ye want to leave?”

“In the morning after breakfast. We’re paid up with board until then.” When they arrived at the inn, Gawain handed his reins to a stable boy, went into the common room and ordered an ale.

It wouldn’t be hard to find his cousin in Bath. They were bound to register at the assembly rooms. He’d bide his time until Mary and the dowager arrived. After all, he still had almost a year to secure her as his wife. When he did, he’d never have to worry about money again.

 

Sally slowed as she reached a side door leading from the small formal garden into the back hall.

Mrs. Collard, the housekeeper, motioned her inside. “Well, Athey, was he there?”

Being called Athey, just as if she were someone important, was only one of the reasons Sally liked working at the dower house. “Yes, ma’am. I pretended to be interested in him, just like the other times, and told him her ladyship was going to Bath, just like you asked me to do.”

“You didn’t give him the tale too easily?”

She shook her head. “No, ma’am. I made him repeat all the promises.” She wiped her hand on her pinafore. “He kissed my hand and got it wet.”

Mrs. Collard harrumphed. “You’re lucky he didn’t try to kiss anything else.” She narrowed her eyes. “He didn’t, did he?”

“No, ma’am. I would never have allowed that. Not to mention his lips look flabby. It’s no wonder Lady Mary don’t wish to marry him.”

“Bad business this is,” Mrs. Collard said in a fierce tone. “Come along now. You must pack. Her ladyship said you could go to Bath with her and begin your training.”

Sally almost couldn’t speak.
Bath!
She’d never in her life been more than five miles from Market Harborough. Now she was to be taught how to be a lady’s maid too, and all for helping poor Lady Mary escape that nasty Mr. Tolliver, which Sally would have done for nothing. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready!”

 

After dinner, Mary, her grandmother, and her aunt repaired to the drawing room for tea.

“There you are,” Eunice proclaimed, handing Mary a cup.

It was time to beard the lion, take the bull by its horns, and any number of other things.

“Just how is it you know about this house you wish me to go to?” Mary asked.

Grandmamma sipped her drink, which look suspiciously like brandy. “The current steward of the estate is cousin to the”—she paused for a moment—“Bridgewater steward. I had a discussion with him during my twice yearly visit.”

Mary had the distinct impression that her grandmother wasn’t being truthful. “Go on.”

“It seems the man’s cousin has been in poor health and could use some help.”

“I am to act as the estate manager then?”

“No.” Grandmamma pounded that infernal cane on the floor. “You are to act as its mistress. This is the perfect solution to all of your troubles.”

Her scheme had all the makings of a disaster.

 

After a restless night planning and rejecting ideas to stop her grandmother, Mary awoke to blackbirds bickering outside her window. Sitting up, she watched as the lady bird threw out the bit of moss her husband tried to place in the nest. It did not appear as if he was having any more luck in his task than she was having in hers. She hoped the poor male bird would win at least one argument. Before too long, the sounds of Mathers in the dressing room reminded Mary she must rise.

A few minutes later, slowly drinking the tea that had been placed on her night table, as if she could delay the inevitable, she continued to cast around for an alternative arrangement to the one proposed by her grandmother and aunt. Yet nothing came to her. If only she had some other place or person to go to where she’d be safe. Unfortunately all her friends were in Town for the Season, and it wasn’t fair to burden them with her presence for a year, not to mention placing them in possible danger as well.

Mathers walked in from the dressing room. “I’ll send for your wash water. I have just been informed that Her Grace wishes to depart within the hour. We will travel with her until she thinks it’s safe for us to go north.”

Flopping back against her pillows, Mary groaned. “Bring me some toast and an egg as well, please. Once she starts a trip, she doesn’t like to stop.”

“I’ll ask Cook to make a basket.” The maid turned to go, then stopped. “For all of us.”

Four days after bidding a tearful adieu to her grandmother and sneaking out of the inn they’d stayed in the previous night, Mary sat next to Aunt Eunice in her well-sprung yet nondescript traveling coach as they entered the bustling market town of Rosebury, Northumberland.

“See how lovely it is,” Eunice enthused as they passed well kept buildings adorned with window boxes of summer flowers.

“Charming.” Two days ago, Mary had given up arguing. The only thing she wanted now was to get out of this coach and go for a walk. She had never traveled so quickly in all her life.

Eunice, having learned the art of rapid travel from her mother, had stopped only to change horses, for which they never seemed to have to wait. Every day they had been in the coach until almost dark and rose with the dawn. Only the mail journeyed faster. “How much farther is Rose Hill?”

“Only a mile or so beyond the town to the east. Oh, look”—Eunice pointed as they traveled over a stone bridge—“there is the River Coquet.”

Perhaps Mary could still get out of this ridiculous charade. Pretend they were stranded due to a lame horse. Beg shelter for the night and leave early in the morning. Even if she could persuade Aunt Eunice to agree, where would she go?

“Now remember, my dear, walk in with your head held high as if you belong there.”

“I don’t suppose Grandmamma could have merely leased a house for a year.”

Eunice turned from the view out the window and peered closely at Mary. “Leasing might have left a trail. The fewer people who know about this the better. Trust Mama and me. This will all work out for the best.”

Much too soon the coach turned off the lane leading from Rosebury onto a rutted gravel drive. They bounced and jolted so hard that it was amazing their teeth didn’t chip. After being almost tossed off the seat, Mary grabbed hold of the carriage strap and held fast for at least ten minutes before they came to a stop before a lovely early Georgian manor. The house was built of sandstone. Columns and a portico graced the entrance. Roses scurried up the walls, almost obscuring some of the windows. The house was definitely in need of a mistress. A stately older man in a black suit stepped out, followed by two footmen who looked suspiciously familiar.

“Was this place fully staffed before?” Mary asked.

For the first time her aunt fidgeted, twisting the fringe on her shawl around her fingers. “Er, I’m not
quite
sure what arrangements were in place.”

Mary pressed her lips together. “I could swear I’ve seen those footmen before.”

“Well you see,” Eunice made a fluttering motion with her hand as if to send the question away, “Mama handled the specifics.”

Naturally
. “I hope she remembered to hire some of the locals, or they will not be happy.”

“There, you see, Mary?” Her aunt gave a sunny smile. “That is just what Mama meant when she said you would know how to go on.
I
would never have thought of hiring the local people.” She patted Mary’s hand. “You will do very well here.”

Mary heaved a resigned sigh.

The coach door opened. One of the footmen lowered the steps then assisted her and her aunt to the ground.

The older man stepped forward and bowed. “My lady. Welcome home. Your lady’s maid has already arrived, and Rose Hill awaits your inspection. I am your butler, Simons.”

The rest of the staff lined up by rank. She scrutinized them, but they gave no indication they knew her. How in the world had Grandmamma arranged all of this in such a short time? Simons escorted her down the row of servants, making the introductions as Mary memorized each name and asked a question or two about their lives.

Finally the housekeeper, Mrs. Enderson, a short plump woman with a ready smile whom Mary guessed to be in her early fifties, showed Mary to her rooms. “You’ll find a small parlor through the door to the left. The dressing room is on the right. Attached to that is a bathing chamber. I’ll send tea up while your bath is being made ready.” The woman’s smile grew larger. “My lady, may I say how happy we are to have you here? It is a shame Mr. Featherton has been held up in Town.”

Featherton?
The only Feathertons she knew were . . . No, surely not. Grandmamma had said the person was of no consequence. England must be littered with Feathertons who were no relation to
those
Feathertons. And who had written the senior staff? It might behoove her to discover exactly what had been said. The difficulty was that in asking she might give herself away.

Mary gave herself an inner shake, smiled politely and pitched her voice in a manner that would suppress any more questions about Mr. Featherton, whoever he was. “Yes, a pity.”

Mrs. Enderson bobbed a curtsey and left.

Mary removed her bonnet and placed it on the dressing table. She’d hated using that tone with the housekeeper, who only meant well. Yet it would not do to have any of them questioning her so-called marriage. She would make it up to the woman later.

Much better to let them think she’d had a falling-out with the man whom she was pretending to have wed.

 

Mary shielded her eyes against the sun’s reflection as she gazed up at the front of the manor house. The days were already shortening, and they’d had their first frost. Not surprising as they had barely had a summer at all. Soon the Harvest Festival would be upon them.

When she’d arrived at Rose Hill, her first tasks had been to order every single window washed and the climbing roses cut back. After that, she and the steward, Mr. Stuttart, had gone over the accounts, debating various ways to raise the estate’s income. She had also hired more servants. Locals this time.