The Marriage Mart (9 page)

He allowed his eyes to fall meaningfully toward the floor, and in the silence that filled the room they all clearly heard the babble from below stairs. “It is,” he said, his tone having grown weighty, “my sincere belief I should beget nothing but more females. Acres and acres of females. You must all see, then, why I forebear that estate which produces offspring.”

It was Mary who began to laugh first, but she was quickly joined by all the rest.

They poured her a glass of ratafia, queried her as to her journey, and proceeded on to telling tales of the horrors of living or visiting among the “Rothayne Bevy.”

“Harry, Stephen, and Eric--they’re the clever ones. They all found excuses not to come. And of course, there’s Humphrey, who’s away at sea more times than not,” Timothy explained about the other missing brothers-in-law.

“Sofie said she wouldn’t come without me, the roads being unsafe with brigands and all,” Aaron put in, looking glum.

“But escape
is
possible. We ride a bit, don’t we?” John said. At their nods he went on, “At least every morning at eight. Would you care to join us, Mary?”

“Oh yes, I should like that,” she said, her face shining under all the attention being lavished on her, and at their eager looks of invitation.

“Then let’s away to the stable, to find you the proper nag,” Edmund said, setting down his snifter.

A movement at the door halted them in their steps, for it was Lady Rothayne who stood there. “John,” Cornelia said with faint disapproval, “I thought you were seeing Mary to her room, and yet I am told this has not occurred.”

John gave Mary a half-shrug at having to delay choosing a mount, and declared, “We were going there just now, Mama.” He turned to offer Mary his arm. She stepped next to him, slipping her hand onto his sleeve.

“Lead the way,” she said up at him.

As they followed his mother down the long corridor, he said
sotto voce,
“Don’t let them monopolize you. Save me some time. Say you will, I beg of you.”

“It’s why I came, John,” she assured him, unable to suppress the soft smile that came to play around her lips. It was a great, good feeling to be wanted.

When he left her at the door of her room, wherein she was accompanied by his mother, she could not help but notice how cool the room seemed. It was not that it was one jot cooler than the corridor, she knew with a sigh, it was that John was gone from her side.
Oh, I must be careful here,
she thought to herself.
He is the beautiful window but not the life-giving sun,
she reminded herself.

“My dear, is the room not satisfactory?” Cornelia asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Mary turned to face the silver-haired lady, a little flustered at being caught ruminating. “Oh, no, it is a lovely room. I was merely wool-gathering. The length of the trip, I guess,” she made hasty excuses.

“I know quite well how wearying travel can be, but fortunately supper is to be served soon. That is always fortifying, I find, after travel. Although, I could have a tray sent up, if you feel the need for something now, or a bit of privacy…?”

“No, thank you. You are most kind,” Mary said, moving toward the large bed, her two cases tucked underneath, no doubt already emptied into the drawers of the dresser near the bed and the wardrobe, evidence that Mrs. Pennett had preceded her. “I think I’ll just rest until the supper hour is announced.”

“That will be at six, my dear. We dine early in the country,” Cornelia said, moving toward the door.

Mary sat on the bed, testing it for comfort and feeling well pleased with what she felt. The quality of the bed was no surprise in this grand house--nor was the way her heart buoyed and her stomach sank as she considered how very much she liked being in John’s home.

She woke from an only half-planned post-travel nap when a weight settled on the end of the bed. Blinking her eyes, she shifted up onto her elbows, trying to focus through the dim light at the invader. In a moment she saw it was not a servant who had roused her, but John.

“The chambermaid said you were sleeping,” he said quietly, a smile dancing in his eyes.

“Oh, John, never say you let her know you were coming in my room!” she said, wanting to smile back at that perfect mouth even while consternation stirred in her voice.

“Of course I did. I may not come home often, but I have come often enough that the servants are used to my ways. But, look, dearest, I left the door open, so you are safe in person as well as in reputation. You do
want
to be safe, don’t you? I
could
close the door, if--?”

“John,” she cried, exasperated, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Come, you are only two minutes away from making the dinner hour late,” he said, offering her his hand.

She stepped around the hand, moving to her looking-glass. “Oh no! Look at me. I have red creases on my face, my dress is wrinkled, my hair is a nest--”

“Hush, darling. No one will care.”

“Will not care? Because I am no beauty? Why do I need to worry about my appearance?” she said to her reflection, only to feel mortified at realizing that, with a sharp edge in her voice, she’d said it aloud.

In the glass she saw him give a quick shake of his head, denying the statement she’d uttered. “Why do you insist you are some manner of gorgon?”

“You’ve clearly never been a…” she changed the word she’d not uttered aloud for over a decade, not since she’d promised herself that “ugly” was not a whole truth, “…an unhandsome female. The world is not always kind to us.”

He looked at her, not up and down, but only at her face. Perhaps he was reading the distress there--but at least he did her the favor of not again speaking to it. “Come, I’ll help you,” he said, his deep voice so low as to almost go unheard. He reached for the back of her dress and began undoing buttons.

“John, no!”

“Hush, it’s only buttons. Quickly now, before the chambermaid returns.”

His warning worked, for with a quick, worried glance at the open door, she stood still and let his nimble fingers finish their work.

“Now, change quickly, and I’ll do up the new buttons for you.” He moved to the door, and closed it behind himself.

***

In the corridor, he allowed one hand to shape into a fist, and a fierce scowl crossed his features for a moment before he was able to smother the anger that flared within. It was just that she had startled him, for he was only used to play and lightness in their acquaintance. Of course, she was as human as he, and it was not to be wondered at that she had received her share of unkindnesses. It was, alas, the way of the world, as he had learned himself not so very many years ago. And he, unlike many, had at least this cursedly handsome face to hide behind, he told himself, though a tiny voice also whispered that same face had in fact been the foundation from which had sprung his own woes.

Truth was, Mary’s face was a plain one. She had good bones, a small nose, a fine mouth--it was just the sum did not add up to beauty. He’d never been blind to her looks--but what was beauty with a vacuous mind behind it? Or cruelty? Or selfishness?

Of course she felt the sting of such injustice. That didn’t mean he had to like it, or add to it.

No, he reminded himself, what he would do was be sure she found a man worthy of her, a man who saw Mary’s perfectly acceptable face was the vehicle through which to win her fine mind and her great heart.

No man would have her who did not understand he was to forever cherish her.

***

Inside the room, she slid out of the dress even as she moved toward the wardrobe. None of the dresses she had brought had, of course, yet been pressed back into a premium condition, but the light blue sarcenet was not too wrinkled from travel, so she took that one down quickly. She was dressed in it in a moment, and she struggled for a vigorous five minutes more, trying to do most of the buttons herself, but finally she had to move to the door and whisper, “John?”

He came back in at once, almost striking her with the door in his haste. “Mama will be sending someone for you any minute,” he warned even as he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, his fingers going at once to the buttons left unfastened. He was swiftly done, his hands shifting up to her hair to begin pulling pins. “Now, as to your hair, can you do it yourself?”

She nodded, making his fingers dance accidentally across the back of her head, tingling her scalp so that she shivered. “It won’t be grand, but I can get it up in a tidy knot,” she said in a voice not quite steady.

“Looser than a knot, love, please. It is at best advantage with a few wisps about your cheeks.”

She nodded again, to cover the fact that she shivered yet again, and he slipped from the room. She snatched up her brush, which she applied with hurried vigor to her hair, and it was not until she was fastening an inexpert chignon, complete with wisps, that she realized her fingers were trembling.

When she cracked open the door to her bedroom, she gave a little sigh of relief, for John was not there. His absence gave her that much longer to compose herself. It was, she told herself, only natural she should be flustered at the kind of personal attentions he had given her. She should have insisted he ring for the chamber maid, that the girl could serve her well enough. Why hadn’t she done that? Yes, it would have taken longer and made her especially late, but that was the way of things. Oh, he had overridden her, as usual! It was his way. Yes, it was his way, she told herself as she clenched her hands into her skirts, trying to steady them there.

Her color was a little high when she joined the others in the dining room, lending her a certain dramatic presence, if only she had known it.

The decorous way she moved, the way her head was held high, they were all the marks of a true lady, Edmund thought to himself, underscoring yet again his decision to like this female.

Timothy had no thought as to why he was pleased to be seated on Lady Mary’s right, but he was, and Aaron was quick to get a lively conversation started with the lady concerning the use of tigers versus ostlers.

After a few moments of quiet, refined conversation, the veneer of polite society fell away, and the usual hubbub of the Rothayne household resumed. The two eldest nieces, Ann and Karen, sixteen and fifteen years of age respectively, had been invited to the table. They looked charming in their white, ruffled dresses, pleased to find they were not to be counted among all the remaining cousins who were confined to the nursery to partake of their suppers there. That meant there were fifteen people seated at table, with Georgette and her husband, Kevin, not attending as she was still taking her meals in their room following the birth.

“Vulgar lot, aren’t they?” John said loudly toward Mary, who was five chairs away from where he sat at the head of the long mahogany table.

“Homey, I should say,” Mary responded with a warm smile for everyone’s benefit.

“You are too kind,” John said with emphasis. No one bothered to be the slightest bit quieter, though it was clear they listened with relish to whatever conversation they could when they themselves were not speaking. “I swear I shall never be seen in public with the lot of them.”

Mary, quite unused to a meal being such an unstructured occasion, began to smile, having to hide the act behind her napkin. Finally she was able to recover her poise, although a grin lingered in her eyes.

“Mary!” Aaron shouted at her. “Just wanted you to know it’s not this way at our home,” he cried, pointing from himself to his wife, Sofie. “Just seems to happen here. No one tries to fight against it. Lost cause, and all that!”

“I see!” she called back.

Just then John raised a silver fork and rapped his water goblet with ringing effect. The table fell silent as all eyes turned his way. He looked down both lengths of the table, and toward his mother at the far end, and said with a look of satisfaction, “Just wanted to see if it still worked.”

“Oh, John,” his mother scolded mildly, and then the din rose swiftly again to its previous level.

Mary found herself partaking of the most amusing meal she had ever had. The food itself was delicious, the conversation fascinating, and the experience of dining
ala Rothayne
(as John put it) uniquely charming. There was no pretense, and the laughter was genuine, not polite. It was deemed appropriate to tease lightly, including even, quite apparently, guests. After several shocked blushes, Mary found herself giving as good as she got. At one point all the gentlemen engaged in a lengthy discourse on how inappropriate the name ‘Mary’--which means ‘bitterness’--was for their guest. This led to a spirited discussion of which of the local bitters was to be preferred, and hence to Aaron’s tale of a misspent night in a pub, cleverly told until John was shaking so hard with laughter that he actually laid his head on his arm on the table, thumping the surface with his other hand in time to his gales of laughter. Mary laughed with him, and the whole table, until she had to hold her side and her mouth actually hurt from being so long upturned. Oh, it was so vulgar, so unrefined, this raucous gathering, and she adored every minute of it. She did not want to leave the table, even after the last possible crumb of marzipan had been tucked within the last willing pair of lips, even after the last sip of wine had been drained from the last cup. She could have sat there the whole night through, soaking up the goodwill and companionship these people so freely offered her, an outsider. It was enough for them that John had named her “friend”. It was enough for her that they found her worthy of the title.

Finally, though, as is the way of the world, the gaiety fell away, replaced by the more normal conversational bits about who needed to go where the next day, and who was to make their departures soon; did the grey mare need to be shoed again; how was that new footman working out, and the like. The hubbub died down to a moderate level, and people began to trade chairs, so that the women gravitated down to one end of the table, and the men to the other. Mary lifted a quiet eyebrow at this, accustomed as she was to the removal of the gentlemen to their port, usually in a room far removed from their womenfolk. She herself made no move, but she turned in the direction of the men, trying to catch snatches of their conversations without looking too forward, while at the same time having one ear pointed toward the sometimes intriguing comments of the women.

She heard tell of a rodent problem at the mill that had increased with the floodings, and she heard Lady Rothayne--Cornelia--discussing when Georgette might again attend church services. She heard the war department was rebuilding their ranks, and she learned Eugenia had detested the daughter of the near neighbors ever since her fifth birthday party. When John spoke of revisiting the vicar to have his opinion on how the poorer lot were getting on and what might be done for them, she nodded approvingly to herself, and when she heard Cornelia say the same thing, she ventured to speak up and point out that plans were being laid at both ends of the table on the matter.

“Would you call upon Father Manning, John? I daresay he appreciates your concern,” Cornelia nodded approvingly at her son.

“We must do something for those families, for I very much fear there will be no local harvesting this fall, no employment for them,” he responded soberly.

Mary gazed upon her friend, unused to seeing him in the role of landowner and therefore without the light of amusement dancing in his eyes. The somber expression on his face took not one whit away from his beauty, and in fact only served to point up his similarity to the carved angels that one admired so in the cathedrals, their faces beautiful with the gravity of their love for God and what could only be their disappointment with erring man. She gathered her hands together in her lap, for of a sudden she wished nothing so much as to cross to his side and soothe the solemnity from his brow with her hands. She wished to whisper something in his ear to make him smile, to somehow, even for the space of a few minutes, spare him the worries of the world, this world, his home and income, his people and his family.

But then that impulse faded, gone as swiftly as it had been born, and she wanted nothing so much as to weep, for she found her heart was swelling with joy, the joy of finding something of precious value in a deep, dark well. It was not that it was unexpected, not at all, for she had liked him from the moment they had met, and she knew she could never like a total scoundrel. No, it was not unexpected, but still it took her breath away, and filled her with pride, to see so clearly written upon his extraordinary face that he cared. He cared for these women of his family--even if they nearly drove him mad--and he cared for the people who relied on him for their income, even for the roofs over their heads. He was concerned people might go hungry. He cared that he had yet another niece to claim as family. He worried that the soil held under his titled name be worked properly and made productive. The
ennui,
the blatant disregard of societal rules, the ways and means of the town man were not the total of the whole man. He had more than one side to him, and as amusing as the town man was, it was this farm fellow who would stand steady when the need arose. Yes, he was still the sleek, pleasure-seeking cat, but like the cat he would defend what was his, would prowl his territory relentlessly, staving off whatever dangers might stalk him and his.