A Marriage of Inconvenience (17 page)

“James,” he corrected her as he bent to kiss her hand.

“James,” she agreed.

He left her there, alone in the garden, and rode back to Orchard Park. When he reached home, he hurried to the library to gather up the notes and drafts of the marriage settlements he meant to show his solicitor. To his chagrin, Anna was seated at his desk, frowning over some papers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hurried across the room. “My personal papers—”

“I think I have the right to know the terms of my own marriage settlements,” she pointed out.

“Of course you do, and I meant to show them to you the instant they were finished. Besides,” he said, pulling a stack of papers at her left hand out of her reach, “these are
my
marriage settlements.”

“I didn’t read yours,” she said reasonably, “and you can’t blame me for wondering what it was you felt the need to consult your solicitor about.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“I did, and all you said was that you don’t have a solicitor’s training and so you wanted an expert to review them.”

“That’s precisely the truth.”

“I know it is, and I also know you’d consider yourself perfectly competent to draw up settlements with the usual terms. So for you to choose to go all the way to London to consult Dunham, I knew there must be something out of the ordinary there. And there
is.
” She frowned up at him. “I know Sebastian is not the man you would have chosen for me, but must you insult him so?”

“How am I insulting him?” he asked patiently, drawing out a chair.

“You don’t trust him. My entire fortune to be held in trust for my children—not even
our
children, but
my
children from this and any future marriage—with only the income going to us!”

“That’s not so very unusual,” he pointed out.

“Not the trust itself, but to not allow my husband access to
any
of the capital? And the way this is worded, it’s as if you’re saying you hope Sebastian dies.”

“Anna, your income is such that you can live in a good style without ever touching the capital. And I do not hope he dies. I hope I’m wrong about him, and that you live a long and happy life together. But, for God’s sake, you’re marrying a soldier during a war! His odds of dying young are rather higher than the norm for a healthy young man and you know it, or you wouldn’t be in such an unseemly rush to wed him.”

“How can you be so cold?” Her voice was stung, hurt, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

James took a deep breath. He was going about this the wrong way again. “It’s my duty to be cold,” he said quietly. “It’s my duty to think of everything that no one in love can bear to think upon, so you’ll be secure no matter what the future brings.”

“Oh.”

“The person I truly distrust in this situation is your future brother-in-law. If Lieutenant Arrington were to fall, would you want control of your fortune—and, not to put too fine a point on it, control of
you
via the purse strings—to pass to Sir Henry Arrington?”

She blinked. “I suppose not.”

“That’s what frightens me, and that’s why I’m setting up the trust this way. I don’t want you to be a young widow. But if you ever are, I want you to be a
free
young widow, with enough control of your life and fortune to go where you please and marry again, or not, just as you choose, and without the children of your second marriage being impoverished in comparison with those from the first.”

She studied him thoughtfully. “You do think of everything, don’t you?”

“I told you. It’s my duty to think of everything you’re too in love to imagine.”

“Thank you. Truly, I do thank you.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled mischievously. “But who’s to think of everything for your marriage settlements that you’re too in love to imagine?”

He blinked at her. “I, in love?”

“Well, you
were
caught in a compromising situation. It’s hardly to your credit if you’re indifferent to Miss Jones.”

He hadn’t thought of it in that way, and it confused him. “I never said I was indifferent.” He fumbled for the comfort of abstractions and legalities. “But the case is entirely different, when the bridegroom is the richer party.” He meant to elaborate by describing how very different his circumstances would be than Anna’s if he were widowed a few years into marriage, but he found that contemplating Lucy’s death, even in the most abstract of fashions, filled him with a sick horror.

Fortunately, Anna seemed to understand without the elaboration. “Very true. And I hope love comes after marriage for you, if you truly don’t love her yet. I want you to be happy.”

“That’s all I want for you.”

They regarded each other for a moment, then looked away in mutual embarrassment at their excess of fraternal sentiment.

“I hope I’m doing right by Lucy’s brothers,” he said, grasping at the first emotionally neutral topic that suggested itself. In addition to providing for the boys’ education and advancement, he meant to set up annuities to guarantee them an adequate income no matter what happened to them, or to him and Lucy.

“Your arrangements seemed generous to me,” Anna said. “I couldn’t help but glance at them, since they were atop your papers. How old are the boys?”

“The elder is seventeen and the younger thirteen. I don’t know anything about them as yet other than that the elder has been educated for Oxford and eventual ordination, so I mean to invite them here for a visit as soon as possible. I can take their measure—see if the elder is really suited to be a clergyman, get some sense of how the younger’s education ought to proceed.”

“Two new persons for you to manage—three, if you count your wife. You’ll be in heaven.”

“I—what?”

“Come, James, surely you admit that nothing brings you greater delight than managing people’s lives for them. That’s why you’re so active in Parliament, and half the reason you love this estate—so much scope for giving orders and telling everyone how the world should be. You do your best to manage
me.
It’s wonderful for you that Lucy has younger brothers and no parents living. You won’t have to wait till your own children are of a rational age to have someone to bring up according to your dictates. Though, I suppose you’ll endeavor to manage your offspring’s infancies as well. I’m sure you’ll have opinions on the proper dimensions of a cradle and when a child should have its first taste of pap by the time your firstborn enters the world.”

“Anna!” he protested, but he couldn’t help acknowledging that there was a certain truth in her characterization. “If everyone would just admit my wisdom and listen to me, the world would be much better run.”

She laughed and he joined in. She stood, crossed to his side of the desk and bent to kiss him on the cheek. “Go on to London, James. We’ll manage without you for a few days.”

Once Lord Selsley—James, she must learn to think of him as James—had left for London, Lucy found herself almost ignored by her family. Ostensibly Portia and Aunt Arrington were busy with preparations for the former’s wedding, but Lucy knew that wasn’t the motive for their constant and deliberate avoidance of her presence. She could understand why Sebastian kept away and was glad of it, and she herself did her best to avoid Hal. She found his congratulations, given with many winks and jests, offensive and oppressive.

Lord Almont spoke to her kindly when she happened to cross his path, telling her he was delighted that she would be remaining in the neighborhood and smiling over the romance of three weddings in quick succession. Lucy accepted his congratulations graciously, though she couldn’t help reflecting that the only one of the marriages that could be called romantic was Sebastian’s, and she could hardly take any pleasure in that.

To her surprise, Lucy found herself preferring Lady Marpool’s company to that of anyone else in the household. The countess took it upon herself to instruct Lucy on the history of the neighborhood, everything from the ties of kinship between its great families to her opinions of which merchants were to be trusted and which of the common families Lucy ought to avoid if she wished to hire honest servants.

Lucy took the advice with a grain of salt, guessing that Lady Marpool’s prejudice against the Coopers from Little Alston had no more inherent validity than her prejudice against the Scottish people—a sentiment that Lucy felt all the more inclined to oppose now that she was about to be in some sense a Scot by marriage. Yet it was a relief to have someone willing to speak to her, and somehow it made her feel a trifle less lost to know that Mrs. Cathcart was one of the Gloucester Blackerbys and that the inn in Great Alston was kept by a family named Spearman who had long been famous for the quality of their ale.

As she and Lady Marpool were finishing breakfast the second day after James left, a footman brought in a note and handed it to Lucy. “This was just delivered from Orchard Park, miss,” he said.

“Thank you.” Under Lady Marpool’s perpetually watchful eye, Lucy opened and read it. “Lady Dunmalcolm and Miss Wright-Gordon would like to call this afternoon,” she said, “and they will bring Mrs. Dyer from Great Alston if I made no objection.” Mrs. Dyer was the local dressmaker and someone Lady Marpool had praised as honest and capable. According to the note, Lord Selsley had asked his aunt and sister to help Lucy with her trousseau, though she suspected the wording in the note, “see that you have a wardrobe befitting your new station,” was Lady Dunmalcolm’s.

“Hmm,” Lady Marpool said. “Since you’re to marry so soon, I think it would’ve been better to wait until you’re in your new home to call in Mrs. Dyer, but you’d do well to make a friend of Lady Dunmalcolm, since she’ll be your mother-in-law in all but name.”

“Yes,” Lucy said, daunted at the prospect.

“Of course, she and her husband are only here a month or two of the year. They come after the Season ends, then go home by autumn. You’ll meet them regularly in London, but they have their own town house, so you won’t be in each other’s pocket. But they’re a close-knit family, the Gordons—clannish, Scots that they are.”

“From what I’ve seen of them thus far, they seem to have every admirable family feeling.” It nettled her that Lady Marpool was casting her new family’s mutual affection as an undesirable racial trait. “I look forward to visiting Lord and Lady Dunmalcolm in Scotland.”

Lady Marpool sipped her tea. “Hmph. A rocky, inhospitable wilderness. I wouldn’t visit while I was increasing if I were you—it couldn’t be healthy for you or the child.”

Lucy blinked. “I understand that Lord and Lady Dunmalcolm have seven grown sons. The climate cannot be that insalubrious for mothers and children.”

“I suppose not,” Lady Marpool allowed. Then, with a gleam in her gray eyes she abruptly changed tacks. “How will you like calling Miss Wright-Gordon your sister?”

Lucy looked her directly in the eye and spoke firmly. “Miss Wright-Gordon has been everything that is good and kind since I met her, and I like her very well.” She almost meant it, too. If it weren’t for the awkwardness of Miss Wright-Gordon’s marrying Sebastian, she was sure she
would
like her.

“Very good, Miss Jones. Keep saying it in exactly that fashion until you believe it.”

Reluctantly, Lucy laughed. “I suppose I should send a note to Orchard Park to tell them I’d be happy to receive them. I bid you good morning, ma’am.”

“Run along, child.”

Lady Dunmalcolm and Miss Wright-Gordon arrived shortly after midday. Since they had the dressmaker in tow, rather than sitting in the parlor and drinking tea, all of them went to Lucy’s room, where Mrs. Dyer could measure Lucy in privacy. Molly attended them, and Lucy realized she had yet to fulfill her promise to the girl.

When the maid left to fetch refreshments, Lucy spoke up as Mrs. Dyer measured her. “I forgot to ask James—Lord Selsley, that is—”

“Oh, do call him James,” Miss Wright-Gordon said. “We always do.”

“Indeed, there is no need for formality among family,” Lady Dunmalcolm said, formally.

“And you must call me Anna. After all, soon we’ll be doubly connected.”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed, hoping her smile seemed genuine enough.

“What did you forget to ask my nephew?” Lady Dunmalcolm asked.

“The maid, Molly, who was just here—she’s been attending me since I arrived. I don’t have an abigail at home, so I’d like to bring Molly with me to Orchard Park.”

“James won’t object,” Lady Dunmalcolm said. “Why should he? You’ll need an abigail, and it should be one of your own choosing.”

“I’ll tell her the position is hers, then,” Lucy said. “She’ll be glad of it.”

“Of course she will,” the countess agreed. “It’s quite a step up for a housemaid, as you must know.”

“I do know that.” Lucy had an idea for how she might win over the countess. “But there is much I don’t know about running a household the size of Orchard Park, ma’am,” she said tentatively. “I helped my aunt at Swallowfield, but I never imagined myself the mistress of a great estate. I would be honored by any guidance and assistance you could offer.”

Lady Dunmalcolm smiled with sudden warmth and graciousness. “I’d be happy to, my dear child, but I’m sure if you helped your aunt, you shall do very well. The differences are only in scale, after all. And—to tell you the truth—Orchard Park is rather larger than Dunmalcolm Castle.”

Lucy blinked at how readily her scheme had worked, and she caught Miss Wright-Gordon winking at her.

Mrs. Dyer finished her measurements and helped Lucy back into the simple cotton print dress she had been wearing before.

“She’ll need an entirely new wardrobe, of course,” Lady Dunmalcolm said, “and as quickly as you can make it, though I know she isn’t your only customer.”

“It will be an honor to clothe the new Lady Selsley,” the dressmaker said with a smile, inclining her head toward Lucy.

She smiled back tentatively. She wondered how long it would take to grow accustomed to being first, to having others’ business brushed aside for the sake of her wealthy, noble custom.

“It’s less than a week away, but I should like to see her in a new dress for her wedding,” the countess continued.

Assuming James encountered no delay in securing the special license, he planned to marry Lucy quietly in the Orchard Park parlor, with just his family for witnesses, the day before Portia’s wedding to Lord Almont. It was odd timing, but Lucy was grateful for his thoughtfulness in selecting it—it smoothed over her own family’s lack of interest in her nuptials.

“I’m sure such haste won’t be necessary,” she said. “I already have a new dress that my aunt gave me for Portia’s wedding.”

“Show it to me, if you please,” Lady Dunmalcolm commanded.

Lucy opened her wardrobe and drew out the finest day dress she had ever owned, a rose-sprigged white muslin trimmed with a narrow band of lace at the wrists and neck.

“Very pretty,” Miss Wright-Gordon said.

Her ladyship frowned. “It will do for paying calls or for attending Sunday services, but you must have something finer for your wedding.”

“Surely that won’t be necessary,” Lucy repeated. “It’s to be such a small, family ceremony.”

“Nonsense! You have a position to uphold now, and I won’t have it said that Lady Selsley was married in muslin. Mrs. Dyer, do you have anything suitable in your shop?”

“I’ve a yellow shot silk that should be just the thing, my lady.”

“Good. You might model it on the muslin—the cut is well enough.”

Lucy sighed and relented. To her relief, she was allowed more of a voice in choosing the rest of her wardrobe. Lady Dunmalcolm and Miss Wright-Gordon offered guidance and expressed their opinions freely enough, but they always deferred to her for the final decisions on cut and color. On the whole, she preferred shopping with them to her earlier experience choosing dresses with Aunt Arrington, who had been much less interested in what Lucy might want.

When they agreed that Lucy had ordered a wardrobe adequate for summer and autumn in the country, Lady Dunmalcolm rose, but Miss Wright-Gordon kept her seat. “Might I have a word with you alone, Miss Jones?” She twitched aside the light shawl she had been wearing, and for the first time, Lucy noticed that she was holding a fair-sized ornamented jewelry case in her lap.

Though Lucy dreaded the possibility of discussing Sebastian, she nodded. “Of course.”

Lady Dunmalcolm and Mrs. Dyer left them alone, and Miss Wright-Gordon crossed to the table and sat opposite Lucy.

Miss Wright-Gordon turned a catch and opened the case. “My mother’s jewels,” she said. “I wanted you to have your choice of them, as a wedding gift—well, almost your choice. I confess I left the emeralds at home, for I could never bear to part with them. But it seemed only right that James’s wife should have her share.”

Lucy gaped at the glittering array as Miss Wright-Gordon unpacked necklaces, rings, bracelets and earrings, a small fortune in gold and precious stones of all colors but emerald-green, and laid them out on the table for her inspection.

“But I can’t possibly take any of this,” she protested. “They were your mother’s.”

“I’m sure she would’ve wanted James’s wife to have a share, too.” She nudged a ruby necklace closer to Lucy. “At least, I suppose she would have. I wish I could have known her.”

Miss Wright-Gordon looked wistful, and Lucy felt a surprising urge to comfort her. “Your uncle told me that you were like your mother,” she said. “So if
you
want me to have a share of them, then it must be that
she
would’ve wanted it, too. Though I still feel strange accepting them. All I have is one amber cross, and now this!”

Their eyes met in mutual sympathy, and Lucy thought how very much she would’ve liked Miss Wright-Gordon—Anna—for a sister-in-law, had she been marrying anyone other than Sebastian.

“You mustn’t refine upon it,” Anna said slowly. “Anyone can see that you are a lady, and I think you’ll make my brother a very good wife. He needs someone to rein him in upon occasion.”

“But I wouldn’t begin to know how to do that,” Lucy said in dismay.

“I don’t think it’s about knowing. It’s who you are. You’re calm—steady. James is neither.”

“I—I hope I don’t make him unhappy.” She couldn’t imagine herself as a satisfying wife to someone with his intelligence, wit and power.

Anna chuckled. “You needn’t worry greatly on that score. James is difficult to make unhappy, because he’s always so very satisfied with himself. Which makes him sound horridly vain, and in some ways he is. But he’s very good-natured, and I’ve never seen him stay angry at anyone for long.”

Lucy smiled. “I’m sure you’re right—but I just cannot feel myself his
equal.
”

“Well,” Anna said briskly, “James wouldn’t want a subservient wife, so you must learn, and that is why you must take some of this. With the right jewels, a woman feels equal to anything. Trust me.”

Lucy smiled and began considering her choices. The sapphire ring was lovely, as was a long strand of pearls, but a matching set of garnets—necklace, bracelet and earrings—drew her eye the most.

“Thank you for what you said about my mother,” Anna said, tracing a fingertip over the pearls. “My aunt has been very good to me, and I love her dearly, but I still wish I could’ve known my mother. I’ve been thinking of her often, now that I’m to be married.”

Lucy decided that whatever she chose, it would not be the pearls. “I’m sure that’s very natural,” she said, realizing that she hadn’t thought of her own mother since agreeing to marry James. Mother—poor, tired, bitter Mother—would have been amazed and, Lucy supposed, gratified to have her daughter become a viscountess. But her childhood and her parents, and their tiny, cold rented rooms on a squalid London street seemed so far away from the life she lived now. Not that she could ever escape the past, not truly. A particular spot on her lower back itched, and she fought the urge to scratch it.

“Are you afraid of childbearing?” Anna asked, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I am—not that I don’t want children, because I do, above all things. But I’m afraid.”

Lucy considered the matter. “A little, I suppose. I know it can be dangerous, after all. But truly, I hadn’t given it much thought.” She frowned. “There’s so much I haven’t thought about. I—I never took it for granted that I would even have the opportunity to marry, and now…” She spread her hands helplessly.

“Now we’re all to be married next week,” Anna said. “It’s terribly sudden, it truly is. James and Aunt Lilias both wish I would wait until the campaign is over or Sebastian gets leave, but with him about to sail for Portugal, I couldn’t bear it.” She sighed. “I suppose I only worry so about childbearing because of what happened to my mother.”

“I’m sure I would worry too, under the circumstances.” Lucy had no idea how to offer reassurance on such a topic, but Anna appeared to want it, so she made an attempt. “But I suppose it’s like many other things—the anticipation is more frightening than the event itself. It’s not as though one can avoid it. The child will be born when its time comes whether you’re afraid or not. I think that if one must face something, one finds that one can.”