A Simple Lady (7 page)

Kenrick forced his taut lips into the semblance of a smile. “Never mind, Freeman. I won’t be staying. However, I do need to change into my riding clothes. If you will direct me to a chamber where I can clean up a bit, I will then join my wife for the nuncheon Mrs. Freeman mentioned.”

Twenty minutes later Kenrick descended the stairs, feeling cooler and cleaner, if not less famished. He was delighted to find Mr. Freeman waiting to guide him to the dining room where, that gentleman claimed, a veritable feast prepared by the new London cook awaited.

If Mr. Freeman’s notions of a feast were somewhat exaggerated by Kenrick’s standards, the marquess had no complaints. The small dining table was already set for two, while a nearby sideboard was covered with a variety of dishes. The marquess found his mouth watering as he detected the aroma of newly baked bread, a leg of lamb, and fresh strawberries. He licked his lips, wishing his wife would hurry. She had said she was hungry. Surely she would not tarry.

“Hello, my lord. I trust I have not kept you waiting too long.”

Kenrick turned with hunger-induced pleasure to welcome his wife to the dining room. “Not at all,” he lied with a tight smile. His bride, he noted, had changed clothes. Gone was the musty, age-spotted satin. In its place was a modish sprigged muslin with tiny puffed sleeves and a low-cut bodice. In less than half an hour, his wife had transformed herself from pathetic to pretty, from seedy to stylish, and Kenrick very much wanted to know why. But more than that, he wanted to eat.

“May I help you fill a plate?” he asked his wife with forced cordiality.

Her response was frosty. “Thank you, my lord, but I am capable of choosing my own food.”

Kenrick struggled to suppress a flare of temper, even as he bowed and stepped back to allow his wife to precede him to the sideboard where a footman waited patiently to carve their meat or lift lids from chafing dishes containing hot vegetables and bread. Kenrick made a mental note to send Mr. Blanton a note thanking him for installing a cook in Cramdon Cottage.

Fifteen minutes later, Kenrick looked up from his plate and into the fulminating gaze of his wife. Now that his stomach was pacified, he was almost ready to deal with the reality that had been dawning on him for the last hour. His wife, whatever else she might be, was not simpleminded.

“Is the food to your liking?” Kenrick asked, smiling through clenched teeth. He wanted nothing so much as to demand she tell him immediately why he had been tricked into marrying her, but he could hardly do so with servants moving in and out of the room. Perhaps she had had no part in the deception. After all, she had arranged their meeting last night, futile though it had been, and today she appeared more angry than pleased to be his wife.

“Yes, my lord. The food is excellent. May I suggest you try the strawberries? They are very sweet.”

“Thank you. I have already had some.”

“Then perhaps you would be good enough to join me in the drawing room. I assume from your clothing that you will be riding to another destination this afternoon, and I very much wish to talk to you before you leave.”

Kenrick raised his eyebrows. He was not accustomed to being addressed in such imperious tones, and he was not sure he liked it. Still, since he wanted a private audience with his wife before he left anyway, there was no reason to object to her request.

He turned to the footman who still stood near the sideboard. “Would you please show Lady Kenrick and me to a room where we will have privacy?”

* * *

Elizabeth could feel her anger waning as her headache eased and her hunger was assuaged, but she fought to keep it alive and strong. Anger was the one emotion that would help her achieve her objectives in the forthcoming interview with her husband. Her future depended on convincing him that she was not only normal mentally but that she had normal monetary needs—clothing, transportation, perhaps even pin money. Only if she succeeded could she hope for any measure of independence in the years to come.

He had offered his arm to escort her from the dining room, and she laid her fingers on it gingerly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble she couldn’t control. She wished she could banish from her mind the persistent memory of the warmth of his hand lying against her chilled skin in the garden the evening before.

“Remember, Elizabeth,” she told herself over and over, walking beside her husband through the corridor toward a small room near the back of the house. “Remember that if you do not succeed, you will be near-buried here in this remote forest for the rest of your life. Remember!”

Elizabeth waited only for the drawing room door to close behind the footman before turning to confront her husband. “My lord, by now you will have reached the conclusion that I am not simpleminded, I hope.”

Kenrick’s lips tightened. “I have.”

“In that case, you will understand when I inform you that I cannot be content shut away here in this secluded house. I want a carriage and horses at my disposal so I can visit my friends. I shall also need adequate pin money to provide for my clothing and for occasional entertainment. I am sorry if these are expenses you had not anticipated, but I, on the other hand, had not expected to be housed in such a remote location.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had carefully rehearsed her speech all through their meal, but she had never dreamed it would take so much courage to utter the words. Now she regretted doing so. They had seemed perfectly acceptable in her mind, but said aloud, they sounded grasping, demanding, even greedy. She should have explained her position before making her demands. She opened her eyes and took another deep breath. “What I mean, my lord—”

“I know what you mean,” Kenrick interrupted, fury burning in his eyes. “Yes, madam, I know exactly what you mean. You mean that you wanted a husband with money and a title, and like every woman since Eve, you were willing to lie, cheat, and deceive in order to get what you wanted. That charade last night was a carefully executed plan designed to leave me no option but to marry you, was it not? Did your father fear I would renege on our agreement? He should not have judged me by his own standards. Still and all, he achieved his goal. He got you married off. I regret that you are less than satisfied with the outcome.”

Elizabeth gasped and opened her mouth, hoping somehow to find the words to make him understand, but she was not to have that opportunity. He was already rushing ahead with his denouncement.

“But don’t despair, my lady. I shall meet your demands. You will have your carriage and your horses and a very generous allowance. But never are you to ask any more from me. After all, your father and I had an agreement. I was to provide the physical comforts of life for you, and you were to leave me alone. I shall live up to my part of the bargain, and I expect you to do the same. I expect never to hear from you again. I do not want you to visit any of my estates. I do not want you to visit my London town house. In short, my lady, after today I do not wish to be reminded of your existence.”

“But, my l-l-lord,” Elizabeth began, horrified at the image her words had created. How could she have been so foolish? Why had she not realized the interpretation he would make of her demands? “You do n-n-not understand.”

“The stutter was a nice touch yesterday, my dear,” Kenrick said, his lip curling in contempt. “Unfortunately, it has lost its effectiveness today. You waited a bit too long to revert to that particular tactic. If you must try to explain, may I request that you do so without stuttering?”

Elizabeth stared at her husband in horror. He could not have gagged her more effectively if he had crammed a rag into her mouth. She could not speak now without stuttering, and to stutter would reinforce his belief that she was trying to manipulate him.

He was watching her, his eyebrows raised, his eyes mocking, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to try to explain. And she could not do it. There was no way she could defend herself now, so she merely shook her head, her eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears of frustration.

“A nice touch, my dear,” Kenrick said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “But the game is over. I shall leave you now, but do not worry. The carriage and horses will stay, along with the coachman, if he wishes. I had hired him on a temporary basis for this little expedition of ours. I shall tell him before I leave that if he wants the position permanently, it is his. Your allowance will be sent quarterly through Mr. Blanton in London. Now, was there anything else? No, I believe that was the extent of your demands. In that case, my lady, goodbye.”

Elizabeth stared for long seconds at the door Kenrick had closed softly behind him on his way out of her life. Tears pooled in her eyes as she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She had made a mistake—a dreadful mistake. She had failed, utterly and completely. Again.

But no, she decided, lifting her head and compressing her lips. She would not allow herself to feel like a failure. She might be guilty of using poor judgment, but she had done nothing to deserve her husband’s contempt, and she was determined not to allow that caustic emotion to destroy her. She stood and squared her shoulders. She had a life to live. It promised to be lonely and probably unfulfilling, but she would make the best of it she could.

Chapter Seven

July came in mild, but by the middle of the month, the weather had turned sultry and thunderstorms were regular afternoon visitors at Cramdon Cottage. Elizabeth was delighted. She loved the harbingers of storms—those dark, cloud-laden skies and the gusty winds that swayed large trees and sent downed leaves flying in abandonment across the ground. To stand facing a wind so strong it threatened to tear the very breath from her throat was an exhilaration Elizabeth had grown to love.

One afternoon the storm was unusually late, giving Elizabeth ample time to wander down to Cramdon Cottage’s old apple orchard, her favorite spot for awaiting the rising wind. It was a bit fanciful, she admitted privately, but she couldn’t help feeling some kinship with the old and gnarled apple trees. They seemed to symbolize endurance and a certain timelessness, standing firm against the menacing winds, shaking knobby limbs at the approaching storm as though to vow they would not succumb to such outrageous treatment.

Elizabeth was not alone in the orchard that day, although her escort appeared more interested in attacking a flawed apple than in consorting with her. With laughing eyes, Elizabeth admonished her newest companion, a kitten she had rescued several days earlier from one of the apple trees.

“Take care, Apollo,” she called to the little yellow ball of fur. “A couple of wasps appear to fancy that apple too, you know.”

Elizabeth’s attention was diverted from her kitten by a sudden gust of wind that tore at her skirts and plastered the thin muslin against her thighs. Turning quickly, she lifted her face toward the sky and closed her eyes, reveling in the coolness of the damp air that caressed her face and ruffled her hair.

“Ah, the poor child. The poor, poor child!”

Elizabeth thought for a split second that the wind had murmured those sorrowful words. But common sense immediately informed her that while the wind might moan, it never talked, and so she spun around looking for the source of those pitying words.

A strange woman stood alone at the edge of the orchard, firmly gripping her bonnet in one hand and futilely attempting with the other to keep her green traveling dress from being twisted around her slender legs. The rising wind had teased the lady’s soft grey curls into a mass of disarray that very much became her little heart-shaped face, but she seemed totally unconcerned with her own appearance. Instead, she was staring at Elizabeth in consternation, her large blue eyes reflecting both compassion and deep despair.

Aware of the image she must have projected, standing with her eyes closed and her face lifted toward the sky to catch the breeze, Elizabeth had no difficulty in guessing the reason for the stranger’s concerns.

“My dear lady,” Elizabeth said, hurrying to the woman’s side. “I see that my silly behavior has upset you. Never fear. I am quite sane. ’Tis merely that I enjoy the smell of the coming rain and a brisk breeze on my face. May I be of service to you?”

The woman frowned, her expression of despair quickly changing to one of confusion and then of embarrassment. “Forgive me,” she said, biting her lip as her face flushed a deep rose. “I thought you were someone else. I beg your pardon for intruding upon you.”

Elizabeth’s concern deepened. The poor woman must be a misdirected traveler, although it was difficult to imagine anyone stumbling upon Cramdon Cottage, even by accident.

“There’s no need for apologies, ma’am,” Elizabeth assured her quickly. “I was ready to go inside anyway. I fear the rain will arrive shortly. Will you take a cup of tea with me?”

“Oh my, that sounds lovely,” the woman said, smiling for the first time. That she had once been a beauty was obvious. Her face, although lined, showed evidence of the exquisite bone structure that had surely defined her as a diamond of the first water when she was a girl.

“Having a guest for tea will be lovely for me, too,” Elizabeth assured the stranger, placing her hand on the lady’s elbow to steer her toward the house. “Cramdon Cottage is often lonely. But what am I thinking? I cannot return without Apollo.”

The stranger jerked her arm from Elizabeth’s gentle grasp and whirled to stare at her with horrified eyes. “Cramdon Cottage?” she repeated, her voice shaky. “Apollo?”

Elizabeth stared too, amazed that the lady seemed so overset for so little reason. “Why yes,” she said, striving to sound calm. The poor little stranger’s intellect was a bit disordered, she feared. “Cramdon Cottage is the house you can see through those large oaks, and Apollo is my kitten. Do you dislike cats? Some people do, I know. My own mother is terrified of them. I’ve seen her practically faint when a cat merely brushed up against her leg.”

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, continuing to stare at Elizabeth with wide and leery eyes.