Aurora (31 page)

The Berrigans decided against Brighton as a honeymoon spot when they considered whom they might be apt to encounter there. They went to the Isle of Wight instead, and Malone and Rorie stayed on at the Dower House to mind Mimi till they returned. Lord Raiker was very happy with his trio of a harem, pointing out to a delighted Malone that he had girls of all ages, just as he liked. Rather than have the Falkners make two trips to Kent, they stayed visiting with Raiker till the three weeks that saw Marnie and John back home.

The interval was a busy one, with a second wedding in preparation and many visits back and forth between the two houses and into the village to be made. There was as well a quiet inquest held into the death of a horse dealer, with Mr. Horace Rutley the only witness. Lord Dougall was not at all difficult in the matter, and Mr. Rutley was allowed out on suspension under the guardianship of his half brother and friend, Lord Raiker. He took to the fishing business very well, and his mother came all the way from Hampshire to visit him when she learned he was alive. As she disliked the journey so much, she never returned, nor intends to. She says philosophically that her husband knows where to find her if he wants her, but there has been no intimation that he does, and she goes on very happily tending her chickens and flowers.

Malone has her capable hands full finding a bride for Rutley, which she declares is all he needs to turn into a halfway respectable fellow. “Millie is the one ought to nab him, for she don’t much care who she associates with, a gypsy or a murderer, it’s all one and the same to her.”

“Now take care, Malaprop,” Kenelm says sternly. “You’re foraging in my harem there.
I
had first bid on Millie.”

“I’ll have you know I’m as well propped up as anyone, and if you don’t believe me I’ll lift my skirts and give you a view of my ankles. Beef to the heels, like a Muenster heifer.”

To keep him in line she threatens to go over to the Berrigan household, “for there’ll be a babe in the basket there before the year’s out, or I’ll know why not. Her well past thirty, and never a son produced yet.”

“In that case, I shall have to bring an ayah in from India for
our
children,” he replies, ever inventive.

“There’ll be no Hindustani servants in
my
house!” she decrees firmly, revealing unconsciously that she has already claimed Raiker Hall as her own.

Kenelm tries hard to restore some dignity to the family name. He maintains that as his father had no wits, his stepmama no morals and Marnie no propriety in remarrying thirteen months after her widowhood, he must establish a regime of decorum. It is to this end that he goes in a sedate dark jacket to the village and bows formally to everyone. Till he gets to the sweet shop, he does quite well. But a bag of sugarplums detracts greatly from his reserve, particularly as he cannot keep his hands from them till he gets home. His lips become unsteady as he views the sugar bowls on the heads of Beckstead’s customers, and to tell the whole dreadful truth, his eyes misbehave as well when a pretty young girl strolls by. But as Malone says, “He was derived of English girls entirely in India, and the Angel Gabriel hisself might be forgiven for
looking.”

She suspects his bride has a little more than looking to forgive him, and so keeps busy running to the door ten times a minute to see that the Hindustani doesn’t get out of hand before the wedding. It plays havoc with his lovemaking and his patience.

“Well, dearest heart,” he says with a wary eye to the door and an arm creeping about her shoulders, “I think I just heard Malaprop dash upstairs. Don’t you think we should take advantage of the next five minutes?”

“Yes, Kenelm, I want to ask if you managed to get Marnie’s engagement ring back from Clare. I have been meaning to do it.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says, moving closer to her and tightening his hold.

“She will be disappointed,” she says, eying her own diamond contentedly.

“We’ll buy her one.” He kisses her ear, her chin.

“John won’t like it.”

“To hell with John.” Kisses are bestowed on her cheek, the edge of her lips.

“Gentlemen don’t swear in front of ladies.”

He kisses her on the lips, ignoring his instructions. “I love you. I don’t think I can wait three whole days for our wedding. Couldn’t we get hold of the reverend tonight?”

“No, you’ll have to wait till Marnie and John get home. And I doubt very much if gentlemen spend every spare moment alone with their brides trying to make love to them.”

“Indians do,” he says, undismayed, and proceeds to kiss her again, with his ears cocked and his eyes frequently flying to the door for fear of Malaprop, who already rules his roost.

* * * *

Dedication:  For my son, Robin-Joe

Copyright © 1980 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Coventry in February, 1981

Electronically published in 2004 by Belgrave House

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.