A Victorian Christmas (34 page)

The baronet eyed Rosalind. She stared back at him, praying that he would walk away.

“I shall leave for London tomorrow,” he said. “My carriage will arrive here at ten sharp to collect you both. I shall arrange for a coach to collect your luggage and transport your lady’s maid.”

“We have a housekeeper,” Rosalind said. “I do not employ a lady’s maid.”

“You do now.” Sir Michael gave her a smile. “Good day, Lord Buxton. Good day, Miss Treadwell.”

CHAPTER TWO

Sir Michael Stafford studied his future wife as she sat across the carriage from him. During the entire journey to London, she had been staring out the window, and to his knowledge, she had not deigned to look at him a single time. Annoying, Stafford thought, for he was generally regarded as a rather good-looking chap. Any number of women batted their eyes at him or dropped their handkerchiefs in his path. Messages hinting at an interest in marriage had even been passed along to his friend, Sir William Cooper, the son of Lord Remington.

Did Miss Treadwell really find him so odious? And if so, why?

Stafford surveyed the turn of the woman’s chin, the tilt of her nose, and the gaze of her large, gray eyes. She was pretty enough. Actually, she could be called lovely. But that did not give her any reason to put on airs. In fact, she had every reason to be humbly grateful to him for his proposal. Giddy with happiness. She was a poor woman with no prospects. He was bringing her wealth, society, family, a future. Yet, for all the regard she gave him, he might as well have gone to that gamekeeper’s cottage with an insult!

“What a fair prospect,” Lord Buxton remarked, looking out at the city through his own window. “London has always pleased me. I especially enjoy the parks. Did you say we would be staying in Grosvenor Square, Sir Michael?”

“Indeed, my lord. You and your daughter have been invited to lodge with Sir William Cooper and his wife during the weeks before the wedding. My own residence is not far.”

“And you tell me Sir William is the son of my dear friend, Lord Remington? This is a happy connection.” He reached over and patted his daughter on the hand. “Artie’s son is Sir Michael’s chum, Rosalind. Now, what do you make of that?”

For the first time since they had set off from Bridgeton Cottage that morning, she turned her focus on Stafford. “How very fortunate for you, sir. I’m sure you have taken full advantage of your association with that family.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said. “I certainly—”

“Now then, Rosalind,” Lord Buxton spoke up. “You are very dispirited today, my dear. Here we are driving into London, and you have not remarked on anything during the whole journey. This is quite unlike you.”

“I have nothing to say, Papa. I think only of Bridgeton and of all that we have left behind us.”

“A little kindness, did you say?”

“No, Papa.
Behind us
.”

“Indeed, you really should be kinder, my dear. Sir Michael has done us a great service with this plan of his. I had something of the sort in mind myself once, but nothing came of it. I have been thinking that a Christmas wedding would be nice. Your mama would approve, I daresay. Such a date would give you time to select your trousseau and to be introduced to your future husband’s acquaintances. But it would not give you so much time that you could change your mind.”

“I believe your daughter’s mind is not at all settled on marriage, Lord Buxton,” Stafford said.

“On the contrary, Sir Michael,” the young woman spoke up. “My mind is perfectly settled on the matter. Marriage is the last thing I desire. I have no wish to wed a stranger and no anticipation of a happy future with a man who plainly states that he does not intend to be known by anyone, including his wife.”

“Greater knowledge of me will not ensure your happiness in marriage, Miss Treadwell.”

“Why is that, sir? Do you keep secrets that would displease me?”

Stafford glanced away. “Every man has secrets, has he not? But, of course, that is not what I meant. A wife’s happiness cannot depend upon her husband himself, but rather upon the things he can provide her. Is that not true?”

When he looked at Rosalind again, he could see that her eyes were filled with distress. “My joy comes from within, Sir Michael. From my Christian faith and the hope that it promises. As for happiness . . . I had wished . . . long ago . . . for a husband, children, a family. I believed that those cherished relationships might bring with them a great measure of happiness. But never have I desired a husband for the things he could provide. Never have I believed that objects could make me happy. And your statement merely illustrates the vast gulf that separates us.”

Vast gulf, indeed! Stafford picked up his hat as the carriage turned onto Grosvenor Square and began to slow near the home of the Cooper family. This wife he had chosen was proving herself to be more than a little difficult, he realized. He had expected the woman to be quiet and grateful and obedient. Instead she seemed to have an opinion on everything he said or did—and none of her opinions were favorable.

His thoughts flashed back in time to the sight of his mother lying on her bed, a thankful smile on her face as she cradled some object her husband had brought. A silver teapot always made his mother happy. Even a saltcellar or a small silver box brought her great joy. She never complained at a lack of “cherished relationships.” What utter nonsense this Rosalind Treadwell spoke.

As the carriage came to a stop, Stafford suddenly saw through to the heart of the problem. Clearly, Miss Treadwell had spent her life too far from good society. She had never known the pleasures of a fine silk gown, servants ready at the tip of a head, or a jewelry box filled with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. Instead she took happiness in doting upon her aged father and reading the myriad books she had insisted on bringing with them to London. She believed her Christian faith could bring her joy. What—trudging to church at Christmas and Easter so that one could be seen doing the appropriate thing? What joy could that bring?

No, Rosalind Treadwell did not understand what her future husband had promised her, and therefore she could not possibly appreciate him. So, it would be up to Stafford to teach her the true delights the world had to offer.

“Sir Michael Stafford,” the footman intoned as he opened the carriage door. “Welcome to London, sir.”

“Yes, indeed. London.” Stafford climbed down from the carriage and turned to offer Miss Treadwell his hand. “I trust this will be the beginning of a pleasant new life for you, one in which the two of us will find common ground for amiability and contentment.”

She set one gloved hand in his and lifted her skirt with the other as she stepped down onto the street. As she drew her hand away, she met his eyes. “I am determined, sir, to obey my father. I am, therefore, resigned to do my best at making you a good wife. In the coming weeks, I shall try to learn to like you. Failing that, I shall tolerate the situation as duty requires.”

As she walked past him toward the grand house, Stafford could feel his jaw drop open. Try to learn to like him? Tolerate the situation? By all that was right, he should pack her into the carriage and send her back to her beloved cottage. How could anyone in her right mind take pleasure in such misery? And how could she find only misery in the great pleasures he had promised her through marriage?

“Stafford!” Sir William Cooper stepped out of a clarence that had stopped just behind the carriage. “What a pleasant surprise. We did not expect you until tomorrow. Lady Cooper and I have just been calling on my father.”

Stafford’s closest friend fairly bounded down the street toward the party that had just arrived from the country. His petite wife hurried along behind him, her cheeks pink with excitement.

“Sir Michael, you have accomplished your mission in record time!” she cried. “And what did I tell you? Did I not assure you the young lady would be delighted to accept your offer? Where is she? We must meet her at once!”

“Come, my good man, where is your blushing bride?” Lord Cooper and his wife peered into the depths of the carriage, as if in anticipation of discovering Cinderella herself.

“She is . . . over there.” Stafford tapped his friend on the shoulder and gestured toward the young woman who waited with her father near the door. “Lord Buxton, Miss Treadwell, may I present Lord and Lady Cooper?”

“Pleasure, my good man!” Lord Buxton beamed at the pair. “And am I to understand that you are the son of my dear friend Lord Remington?”

“Indeed, sir. My father speaks very highly of you.”

“And how is Arthur these days?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. Gout has all but incapacitated him.”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Lord Buxton clapped the man on the back. “I shall go and call on him as soon as possible. Good old Artie. What times we had together at Eton!”

“My father does not hear well,” Miss Treadwell said softly. “I beg you to excuse him.”

“But of course!” Lady Cooper took her visitor by the arm and led her into the marbled foyer. “We shall all speak up when addressing him, shall we not, William? My husband adores his father, and I know he will do anything to assure the comfort and ease of Lord Buxton. Do permit the valet to see him to his room, where he might rest after such an arduous journey.” She waved at a liveried man standing at the ready. “Jones, please see Lord Buxton to his rooms.”

As her father was led away, Miss Treadwell gave the woman a smile. “Thank you so much, Lady Cooper.”

“Don’t mention it! We are delighted to have you with us, Miss Treadwell. I can promise you that William and Mick spent hours poring over the prospects—but your name was never dislodged from the top of the list, almost as if God himself had placed it there.”

“Mick?” Miss Treadwell asked.

“Sir Michael, of course. Didn’t he tell you? That’s what his closest acquaintances call him.”

The women entered the morning parlor and began divesting themselves of hats and shawls. Stafford handed his hat and greatcoat to a servant, though he felt he would like nothing more than to abandon the company and take his horse out into the countryside for a long ride. His life had been a carefully calculated series of moves along the road toward wealth and distinction. Had he now taken a wrong turn that could not be rectified?

“First we shall take tea with the men,” Lady Cooper was saying as she seated herself near Miss Treadwell. “And after you’ve had a bit of a rest, we shall set out for town to visit my favorite milliner’s shop. I am planning to host an engagement party for you and Mick within the fortnight, and you must have a new hat and gown for the occasion. You will not believe the hats at this shop! They are magnificent, Miss Treadwell. Oh, may I call you Rosalind? I feel as if we are dear friends already!”

“Of course.”

“And you must call me Caroline. William, is she not the most beautiful creature?”

“Indeed, my dear. And that makes two of you gracing our home.”

A peal of delighted giggles greeted the servants as they brought in trays of tea, cakes, steaming scones, clotted cream, strawberry jam, and tiny ham sandwiches. Stafford tried to concentrate on all of the company rather than on the silent young lady who sat across from him.

“Come now, Mick,” Lady Cooper said when everyone had been served. “You must tell us all about your journey. Was Rosalind not surprised? Was she not utterly shocked to be made such an offer? And to such mutual advantage!”

Stafford sat back and gave his tea a stir. “
Shocked
might be the correct word to describe her reaction. Though I believe the arrangement has been agreed to without her acknowledgment of its mutual advantage.”

“Whatever can you mean?” Lady Cooper turned to Miss Treadwell. “Are you not pleased, Rosalind, my dear? Is Mick not the most charming and handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon?”

Miss Treadwell gave him an inscrutable glance. “I would prefer to know his heart.”

“His heart!” She laughed. “But women fairly swoon at his feet.”

“Miss Treadwell is not enamored with the notion of an arranged marriage,” Stafford explained. “She feels she cannot be happy, because she does not
know
me.”

“But surely you have informed her of your merits,” William said. “Brought up in India, left the legacy of a small fortune by your late uncle, educated at Cambridge. You have told her about your businesses, have you not? My dear Miss Treadwell, your future husband owns factories in Manchester and Nottingham, and he is connected with the highest—”

“Yes, he told me.” She gave him a small smile. “Indeed, I am well aware of his excellent reputation. My father wishes his familial line to continue, of course, and Sir Michael’s kind offer provides the means for that. As I have told them, I am willing to do my duty in this matter.”

“Your duty?” Lady Cooper frowned for the first time. “But dear Rosalind, you will be so happy in this match. Did Mick not tell you about his London house—more than twice as large as this one? And he has leased a grand estate in the country where we enjoy the most marvelous parties.”

“Miss Treadwell does not care for fine houses and parties,” Stafford said. “She takes her joy from religion alone.”

“And my happiness from many quarters, Sir Michael. I assure you, it is not the prospect of living well that dismays me. Rather it is the thought of a future without the joy of true familial companionship. To know and to be known . . . I believe this forms the foundation of a blessed and fulfilling marriage. I cannot welcome the thought of living with a man I am forbidden to know.”

“Know?” Lady Cooper stood. “But what is there about him that you do not know already?”

“I do not know anything about him other than that he owns seven dogs and two fine houses, and he believes that joy derives from the accumulation of objects and from one’s place in society. I do not know his passions—what makes him weep or laugh, what brings him nightmares, what gives his heart wings, what secrets he hides, or what dreams he cherishes. I do not know to what he has given himself heart and soul. How am I to be a wife—bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh—when he is but a stranger to me and has made it clear that he wishes to remain such for the duration of our marriage?”