An Infamous Marriage (4 page)

Colonel Armstrong stepped aside to let them pass, bowing and lifting his hat. Still clutching it in one hand, he waited opposite her. The sun had at last broken through the clouds, and its light glinted off his dark brown hair. What business had he, had
anyone,
looking so alive and full of color on a day like today?

“Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton, and my condolences.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Won’t you come in?” She stepped back and he followed, shutting the door behind him. She sat on the more rickety of their two old Hepplewhite chairs and indicated that he should take the sturdier one opposite. He even sat like a soldier on alert, perched on the edge of his chair as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Elizabeth had never been one to admire a red coat or dream of marrying a soldier. Tears threatened, but she fought them. If she broke down before Colonel Armstrong, he would feel obliged to comfort her, and she didn’t want such intimacy when she meant to push him away.

“I know this is all difficult,” he said in a gentle voice at odds with his martial demeanor. “It is for me, too. I miss Giles. I thought he’d always be here for me when I’m obliged—when I come back to Selyhaugh. But we must begin to make our plans. I’ve less than a fortnight before I must leave for the south if I’m to make my sailing.”

She studied him. It wasn’t only his martial profession that made him move so briskly and sit as though he could hardly wait to escape the chair’s confinement. Jack Armstrong was restless. He didn’t enjoy his visits home—she hadn’t missed that slip of his tongue. His energy called out to the part of her that had always felt hemmed in by her restricted life as a poor relation. But that didn’t make him the right husband for her. No one could be, not now.

“I don’t expect you to marry me,” she said steadily. “I cannot hold you to a promise made under such circumstances.”

If possible, that made him sit even more forward in his chair. His thick eyebrows drew together and his dark eyes flashed. “You may be able to ignore a deathbed promise, madam. But I cannot.”

His voice was cold with contempt, and Elizabeth could no longer hold back a sob and a torrent of tears.

Thankfully he neither berated her further nor attempted to comfort her. She wasn’t sure which would have been worse. She heard his chair creak as he stood, and a gentleman’s handkerchief, large, clean and plain, entered her blurred field of vision.

She took it, dabbed at her eyes and concentrated on nothing but breathing until she was calm enough to speak. “He shouldn’t have asked it of us,” she said. “He meant it for the best, but it wasn’t right.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it, but he did, and we agreed to it. I consider myself bound by my honor as a gentleman and an officer to keep my word.”

“We don’t even know each other,” Elizabeth protested.

“A great many couples marry on a slight acquaintance. We aren’t so unusual in that.”

“You might not like me, once you know me. You might regret it.”

“Not as much as I’d regret it if I didn’t keep my word.”

She took a deep breath and brought up the argument she expected to convince him, since nothing else had. “You don’t know who I am, or what my family was.”

He sat down and looked at her, his gaze level and devoid of any emotion she could read. “You were born Elizabeth Ellershaw, and you are from York, so I take it you are some relation of the banker there whose bank failed when he...”

His voice trailed off. Brusque and military as he was, apparently he had a little tact. “When he became a thief, and then a suicide,” she finished for him. “Yes, Charles Ellershaw was my father.” Never mind that Father had only dipped into the bank’s funds when a private investment scheme of his had gone wrong, thinking he could replace the money before anyone missed it. Theft was theft. And suicide was suicide, too, though Father’s death had been ruled an accident for Mother’s sake, so he could be buried on hallowed ground. She had joined him there only months later, having wasted away in an excess of grief and shame that had been a subtler form of self-destruction.

“I thought you must be,” Colonel Armstrong said.

“You already knew.”

“I did.”

She rubbed her forehead, which was beginning to ache. “But how? Surely Giles didn’t speak of it.”

“No, he didn’t. Mrs. Purvis mentioned your maiden name, and I recognized it. A friend of mine, George Lang—we were lieutenants together in the Forty-Ninth at the time—lost most of what he’d had saved.”

“Good God. I’m so sorry. I hope—that is to say...” She couldn’t finish the sentence, for it wasn’t as though she could do anything to help this man her father had harmed.

Colonel Armstrong shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself. It may have slowed his promotion to captain a little—he’s a major now—but he exchanged into the Fifty-First, so he’s on the Peninsula with Lord Wellington. Better for an officer to be fighting the French than to be rusticating in Canada, waiting for the Americans to decide whether they’ll try to invade.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure she agreed. At least, it seemed to her
healthier
for an officer to be garrisoning a border with a nation that was peaceable for now and had no Bonaparte to direct its armies should that change. But such concerns were beside the point.

“Knowing all that,” she said. “You would still marry me?”

“I gave my word.”

His word meant a great deal to him. Elizabeth supposed that was a good sign. He kept his word, and he was pleasing to look upon. And, as little as she wanted to force him into this marriage, what else could she do, really? She had no money of her own and few skills to earn her bread. Even if she’d been the most accomplished musician and painter of watercolors in the world, no one would want a thief’s daughter living in their house and instructing their children as a governess. If she had any other options, she couldn’t see them.

“Very well,” she said with a heavy heart. “We gave our words.”

He nodded once. “It isn’t as though the benefit is all on your side, you know. Have you met my mother yet?”

“I have.”

“Then you know her condition. As my wife, you will be in charge of her care while I am away. While the Forty-Ninth is abroad, you’ll be on your own. When we’re in Upper Canada, it can take four months or more for even a letter to arrive from England.”

“I understand,” she said. “I have some experience of that sort of thing. Before Giles and I—” her voice shook a little, “before we married I lived with my great-uncle. His mind was sound, but I took care of him for several years as his health failed.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Dr. Adams said it’s impossible to know how long a woman in my mother’s condition may yet live. You may have a long watch of it. You wouldn’t credit it to look at her, but she’s just sixty-six.”

“I don’t mind the responsibility. But is there no one else, no one who could spare you having to marry a stranger to secure her care? No brothers or sisters?”

“I’m not marrying you to secure her care. I’m marrying you because I gave my word to my oldest friend. That you have experience nursing the aged and infirm is only a fortunate coincidence.”

That wasn’t quite true, Elizabeth thought, or Giles wouldn’t have used it as an argument to persuade his friend to agree to so mad a scheme. “Nevertheless,” she said.

“I have no brother or sister still living. No matter what becomes of me, you’ll be mistress of Westerby Grange. Mama was the last of the Westerbys, and I suppose I’m the last of
her.
Not that it’s much—more a farm than an estate.”

“It’s more than I ever expected to have.”

“Perhaps, but we’re nothing grand, I assure you.”

“But I’ve already heard Westerby Grange horses are the finest in the county.” Elizabeth knew little about horses, but if the splendid gray outside was a sample, they must be. “And Giles told me something about a high-and-mighty uncle of yours.”

Colonel Armstrong smiled. He quickly sobered, but not before Elizabeth noticed his face was even more handsome and lively when he looked happy. “That would be my Uncle Richard. Major-General Armstrong, who last saw service in the American war. I owe him a great deal for establishing me in my profession and assisting in my advancement, but if my mother were herself, she would tell you he’s chiefly high and mighty in his own estimation.”

Elizabeth hid a smile of her own, appalled she could even be tempted to it with Giles dead less than a day. “I see.”

“So it’s just Mama and Westerby Grange. Do you think you can manage that much?”

Did he think her a child or a simpleton, or utterly unfit by birth to be mistress of his estates? “I believe I can,” she said. “At least, once all Selyhaugh gets over the shock of seeing me so suddenly established there.”

“There’s no helping that, unfortunately. If I wasn’t obliged to leave so soon, we could wait a decent interval, but...” He huffed out a breath, managing to sound both thoughtful and impatient. “I don’t suppose... Do you know yet if you might be with child?” He looked out the window now, rather than straight at her.

“I am not.” Much to her sorrow, her courses had begun on the third day after Giles fell ill.

“That’s—I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

He turned to face her again, and now there was an uncertainty and vulnerability in his expression that made his dark brown eyes look like something gentler than coal or obsidian.

“I don’t know either.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. It would have been wonderful to have Giles’s child, something left of him in the world after he was gone, but bearing such a child eight months and more after marrying another man would’ve been...complicated. Elizabeth was glad she knew for certain, one way or the other. How horrible would it have been, if she hadn’t expected her courses for another week or two, to wed Colonel Armstrong, consummate the marriage—oh, God, she’d have to go to bed with him before the week was out and she hardly knew him and it was
too soon
—only to find herself pregnant with no idea which husband was the father?

“How shall we manage this?” he asked at last. “There is no time for the banns, and Scotland would be quicker than a special license, unless you’re greatly opposed to anything that smells of an elopement.”

“Scotland it is, then.” Far be it for her to be missish about how they entered this hasty and scandalous union. She and Giles had married by the banns even though the Scottish border was alluringly close, because he had believed a minister ought to set an example for his people of public marriage in his own congregation. If only he hadn’t had such scruples, they could’ve had three more precious weeks together. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell upon that, lest she break down into sobs again.

So she made her voice just as cool and practical as his was, while they settled that in three days’ time he would bring his curricle and they would go to Coldstream, the nearest town in Scotland where they could be wed.

When they saw the vicar’s wife making her way up the path, Colonel Armstrong stood and shook Elizabeth’s hand in leave-taking. It was a cool, impersonal clasp, as if he’d agreed to rent rooms or buy a horse from her. She could hardly believe she’d agreed to be his partner in life, to share his bed and bear his children.

Somehow Elizabeth got through the worthy old lady’s kindly meant call. But as soon as she had the house to herself again, she drew the draperies closed so no one could see and sobbed until she had no tears left in her. She had been so happy in her one good week with Giles before he’d fallen ill. But she should’ve known it couldn’t last. Dreams come true were for other people. Since that day when her father had been caught in his crimes, when the scandal had made all the hopes she’d held as a girl of sixteen impossible, she had been marked for drudgery interspersed with the occasional nightmare.

Chapter Three

After the funeral the next morning, Elizabeth watched from her window as the pallbearers, her future husband among them, carried Giles’s plain wooden casket to the churchyard to bury him beside his parents.

Again several women had come to sit with her, all worthy ladies, two or three decades her senior. This time Elizabeth was grateful for their support. At least at first.

When the solemn procession had disappeared behind the church, Lady Dryden cleared her throat. “I heard the strangest rumor this morning, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Here it came. Her other visitors were eyeing Lady Dryden with some shock—what was she doing, gossiping in a house of mourning? But Elizabeth knew she’d be the wonder of every dinner table in the village that day. Naturally Lady Dryden, an elegant, richly dressed woman who wore her rank as a baronet’s lady as if it were a queen’s crown, felt herself qualified to sit in judgment. Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows and prayed she appeared as steady and calm as she intended. “Yes?”

“The housemaid from the Grange told one of my footmen that Jack Armstrong is to marry you in two days’ time.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “It is true.” Off the stunned looks of her guests, her resolve to be cool and distant fled. “I know it seems dreadful, but Giles asked it of us—made us promise—and we cannot delay as we both would wish because Colonel Armstrong must return to Canada straightaway.”

Sweet Miss Rafferty—surely as motherly an old maid as ever lived—was the first to recover. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Hamilton! Why, you
must
fulfill your word to your dear Giles. No one will think less of you for it.”

Judging by the faces of the other ladies, Elizabeth doubted that was the case. Mrs. Young wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Lady Dryden glared at her with outright hostility. Even before this, Lady Dryden had never been precisely warm to her. Elizabeth suspected she’d recognized the Ellershaw name as surely as Colonel Armstrong had. But even warm-hearted, talkative Mrs. Ilderton, whom Elizabeth had considered her best friend in Selyhaugh, frowned and stared at her hands, folded in her lap.

“You’ll step into a pretty property at the Grange,” Lady Dryden commented acidly, “even if your new mother-in-law isn’t all she should be.”

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. Proud though she was, Lady Dryden had never been other than polite before today, and Elizabeth would not have expected her to speak sneeringly of another’s illness. “I shall do my best to be a good mistress of the Grange,” she said, “and as for Mrs. Armstrong, surely most of us develop infirmities of one form or another, should we live to grow old.”

Lady Dryden sniffed. “Anne Armstrong is only a few years older than I am. I cannot help but wonder if this senility is a judgment upon her for her early life.”

What on earth? Elizabeth abruptly wondered if Jack was willing to wed her because he knew from personal experience what it meant to have a scandalous parent.

“Lady Dryden,” Mrs. Ilderton said quietly. “Surely such matters should not be talked of in a house of grief.”

“Not for long, it isn’t.”

Elizabeth felt her face heat.

Lady Dryden stood. “I bid you good day,
Mrs. Hamilton.
For as short a time as you will bear that name, you may as well have never had it.” She stalked out of the house, head held high.

Despite Elizabeth’s most valiant efforts not to cry, a few tears leaked out.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Rafferty said. “What may I do for you? Would you like more tea?”

She blinked hard and swallowed down her grief and shame. “I don’t want any tea. I’ve already had enough for a week. I—I’m sorry. This is all so dreadful.”

Mrs. Ilderton pressed her hand. “You must understand, the Drydens and the Westerbys have never been friends, and Lady Dryden and your mother-in-law-to-be took the family quarrel to new heights.”

“But what does she mean about Mrs. Armstrong’s early life?”

“Nothing but tired old gossip. All from long before Jack was born, so it’s nothing to do with him.”

“I didn’t think it was, but—” She still wanted to know. He knew her scandal, after all.

“Ask Jack. It isn’t my tale to tell, and there are enough gossips in Selyhaugh without my setting up to join their company.”

“I will, though perhaps it won’t be pleasant for him to tell me.”

“Yes, but you may as well grow accustomed to honest speaking between you, if you’re to be husband and wife.”

“I dread it so,” Elizabeth said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “I don’t want this. I want to mourn Giles properly. And in York, such a hasty marriage would be a nine days’ wonder, until some other scandal eclipsed it. Here, that could take nine
years.
” Especially if Lady Dryden, the richest and highest-ranking lady of the village, chose to cut her.

“Oh, it won’t be so bad, you’ll see,” Mrs. Young said with false cheer. “Everyone will understand what happened. It isn’t as though anyone could suppose he seduced you.”

“No. But still...” Elizabeth gazed out the window toward the church again.

“I shall call on you as soon as you are settled at the Grange, if I may,” Mrs. Ilderton said, and the other two ladies murmured concurrence.

“I’d be delighted,” Elizabeth assured them. At least she was not entirely friendless.

* * *

Jack had never spent time dreaming of his wedding day, as he’d heard young ladies were wont to do. He’d merely supposed that when he married, the ceremony would take place in a church, after a courtship of weeks and perhaps months, and that he and his bride would be at least tolerably happy at the prospect of their union.

Instead it was the dreariest day of his life. Even the weather complied with a cold, misty drizzle that never quite let up on their drive to Coldstream and back. In the little inn where they were wed, he endured the embarrassment of overhearing the innkeeper’s wife ask Mrs. Hamilton—Elizabeth—if she was being forced into this marriage. When Elizabeth assured her she was not, the woman said, “Are you certain, dearie? You look so sad. You needn’t say ‘I will’ if you don’t wish it. My Geordie and I will look after you until your friends come for you.”

Elizabeth handled the situation creditably from there. She said firmly that she did wish to be married and was only sad because her dear Colonel Armstrong must go back to Canada so soon and she couldn’t go with him.

Still, Jack seethed with humiliation over the very idea anyone would look at him and think he’d forced his bride to the altar—either that he would or would
need
to. Though he knew better, it made him feel seventeen again—small for his age, awkward and spotty.

He understood that Elizabeth grieved for Giles, and would for a long time to come. That was natural and fitting. He grieved, too. Yet surely it was possible, for appearances’ sake, to not go to her wedding looking as though it were a second funeral.

They spoke little on the long drive home. Jack studied his bride out of the corner of his eye as they approached the curve in the road just before Westerby Grange came into view and the horses picked up their trot without urging. He had married a mouse. Oh, she wasn’t ill-favored, exactly. She was just so ordinary as to fade from memory almost as soon as she was gone from sight, especially when he imagined her beside Marie-Rose back in Montreal or Bella Liddicott from his earliest years with the Forty-Ninth.

Elizabeth was of medium height and rather thin, but not with a delicate, ethereal slenderness. She was simply bony, lacking any lush curves to tempt a man to caress them. Her hair was straight and brown—and a plain ash brown, not rich and dark, nor burnished with golden or bronze strands. Her features were regular but undistinguished, her skin unblemished but far too pale. Her eyes were her best feature, a light hazel brown flecked with green, but even they simply looked muddy in many lights.

“Here we are,” he said as they rounded the bend in the road. His voice sounded strange and awkward to his own ears.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“The servants are expecting you. I asked them to prepare the yellow bedroom for you. It’s the best of the guest rooms. Ordinarily the master and mistress have the blue room, but it seemed a cruelty to move Mama from what she’s known for the past forty years.”

“The last thing I would want to do is cast her out,” Elizabeth said warmly.

His wife was compassionate. Jack added it to “calm” and “not prone to complaining” on his short list of her good qualities. Naturally she had the sort of Christian virtues that suited a vicar’s wife, or Giles would never have wed her. However, Giles had also praised her as a beauty, penning effusions on Elizabeth’s eyes and Elizabeth’s smile and Elizabeth’s wondrous laugh, and Jack saw nothing of that in her. Of course, he’d yet to hear her laugh, and why should she?

“Where do you sleep?” she asked him, and he thought he detected a hint of nervousness around the edges of her calm.

He supposed he might as well be open about his intentions. “In the same room I’ve had since I was twelve,” he said carelessly. “Don’t worry. I’ve no intentions of consummating this...business—” he almost said farce, “—before I go. Aside from every other consideration, you’ll have cares enough in my absence without the chance of adding a child to the list.” If he wanted an heir of his blood for the Grange, he’d have to lie with her someday, but not yet. He wasn’t ready for this, and neither was she. Far better that they have time, and distance, to mourn Giles and grow accustomed to each other and the idea of their marriage.

She went perfectly still, then let out a long breath—of relief, Jack assumed. She couldn’t want him in her bed, not when she’d argued so strenuously against going through with the marriage at all. “Oh. Very well.”

They didn’t speak again until he led her into the Grange to introduce the servants to their new mistress.