Marriage of Inconvenience (16 page)

They climbed the stairs and came to her bedchamber. Leaving her there at the door was going to be one of the hardest things he had ever done. He did not want to leave her ever again. He wanted to let her know how much he had come to love her.

She stopped and faced him, one hand on the ornate doorknob.

He moved closer and lowered his head to her for just a taste of her sweet lips, then he forced himself to pull away. “Good night, my love.”

He could tell she watched him as he strode down the corridor to his own chambers.

* * *

Rebecca fairly danced into her chamber.
John is home! My husband is home!

What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? She had launched herself into her husband’s arms that afternoon, and if that weren’t bold enough, she had most willingly lifted her face to his for a kiss right there on the steps to Dunton Hall!

While that had not been the first time her husband had kissed her, that had been the first time in her eight and twenty years a kiss had affected her so profoundly. Maggie had told her. Verity had told her. But Rebecca never had believed them when they told her she would enjoy being kissed by a husband with whom she was in love.

She stopped in her stride midway between the door and window where she had placed her new desk.
In love?
Frozen to the broadloom carpet, she was completely, utterly, devastatingly dazed.

How could she have been so foolish not to have understood this wondrous transformation that had come over her these past several weeks? She was in love with her husband. That explained why she had been so forlorn during his absence. That explained the gladness that filled her soul when she beheld him standing in front of Dunton that afternoon. That explained why she wanted to be with him, to speak to him, to touch him, every day of her life.

She loved him. She loved every single thing about this noble man she had married. At the dinner table that night she realized she loved to look at him, at that face that was still boyish despite his maturity. She loved that he was possessed of a fine mind and keen sense of intelligence. She loved that he was an honorable man who could never neglect his duties. She loved that he was a good man and a fine father. She could have looked over the entire earth and never found a man so well suited to her.

The revelation that she had fallen in love with her husband lifted a heavy burden from her. Since the day she had spoken her wedding vows, she had felt a fraud. She had been ashamed to have pledged herself only halfheartedly during that somber, religious ceremony.

She had known the Lord had guided her to John. She should have known that the Lord would see her to the natural completion of this most sacred sacrament.

She collapsed onto the sofa in front of the fire. What if John did not feel the same? Her thoughts flitted back over the evening’s proceedings. Hadn’t he said, “I am happy to have found you”? Hadn’t he called her
my love
just minutes ago? Hadn’t he tenderly kissed her?

Perhaps he did not yet realize he was falling in love with her.
Please, God, let him love me, too. Let us fulfill our wedding vows.

What was she to do now? The former Rebecca Peabody was a fish out of water when it came to matters of the heart.

If John did not return her love, she would just die. Such sentiment seemed like something a pretty young thing—not the mature married woman she had become—would think. Even if he could never love her, she would be grateful just to spend her life with him.

She watched the flames until her fire went cold, then she undressed and went to bed, but she could not sleep. Every thought centered upon the wondrous discovery that she was in love with her husband.

Her last thought before finally falling asleep just before dawn was that rain was softly drumming against her windows. Now she wouldn’t be able to ride with him. How would she contrive to be alone with him? How would she be able to tell him her wondrous news?

Chapter Fifteen

N
either the gray skies nor the soft patter of rain against her windows the following morning was going to dampen Rebecca’s spirits. She sat in front of her looking glass, put on her spectacles so she could see, then instructed Pru to make her pretty.

She stared into the glass, profoundly disappointed in what she saw. How could she look so much like Maggie, yet lack her sister’s beauty?

It was the spectacles. Uncle Ethelbert was right. No woman wearing them could ever aspire to true beauty.

Sweet heavens! Why was she—a woman who’d always fancied herself a bluestocking—contemplating her own nonexistent beauty?

Because she did so want John to think her lovely.

“Yer always pretty, milady.”

Rebecca frowned. “Pray, don’t address me in that way.”

Pru brushed out her mistress’s lustrous locks, then began to pin the thick dark hair away from Rebecca’s face. “Yer husband must be the most tolerant man in the kingdom to put up with yer stubborn ways. Any other man would be wounded that his wife did not want to share his title.”

Could John possibly be wounded—or even angry—over her refusal to be known as his countess? He had told her he was proud of his family, proud of being the Earl of Aynsley. Was it possible he found her aversion to titles a slap in his face? The very notion of offending him upset her. She was proud of her husband. She was proud to be married to him. She
was
the Countess of Aynsley, and she should be proud to be known as John’s wife.

The use of his title had been one of those marital compromises they had agreed upon at the start of this marriage. What a different person she had been then than she was now.

“Do you really think it bothers my husband that I don’t wish to be known as his
lady?
”

“I couldn’t say, but I know it bothers the servants that you’re not proud of their master. He’s much beloved.”

Especially by me.
Rebecca had never done a rash thing in her life. She never made a decision without analyzing it for a considerable period of time. But in the past few seconds she had been conversing with her maid, she came to the decision that she had been wrong to eschew her husband’s title as well as her own. “Perhaps I should reconsider my abhorrence of titles.”

“Does that mean I can call you milady?” Pru stood back and examined Rebecca’s hair.

“I suppose it does.”

“Milady looks very lovely today.”

“I will need a dress with pockets.”

“Why do you need pockets?”

Rebecca shrugged. “I may wish to slip my spectacles in them from time to time.”

“Yer acting like a debutante in love.”

“Just a countess in love.” That was the first time Rebecca had ever referred to herself as a countess, and she suddenly felt as if she were wrapped within her husband’s protective arms. It was also the first time in her eight and twenty years she had admitted to being in love. “What a pity the rain will keep me from riding with my husband this morning.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got a letter for you from his lordship.”

Even before she opened the missive, Rebecca knew that she would not get to spend the morning with John. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

My Dearest Rebecca,

I’m disappointed the rain will prevent us from riding together this morning. I have donned my great coat and oilskins and will meet with my steward, as there are a great many things we need to go over after my long absence. Unless the weather turns much worse than it is this morning, I will likely be with him most of the day. I’m looking forward to seeing the children’s production tonight.

A.

What did it matter now if she contrived to look pretty? John would not see her. She felt worse than a child whose plum pudding had been snatched away.

Peter was in the morning room when she arrived. It was the first morning she had seen him since he had accepted her proposition. “You’re just the lady I wanted to see.”

Rebecca poured herself tea, took a slice of toast and came to sit next to him. “I confess I’ve been anxious to speak privately with you to see how the farm goes, but you’re never here.”

“Farming is arduous work.”

“Indeed it is.”

Emily entered the chamber. “I declare, Peter, this is the first time I’ve seen you in the morning in weeks!”

He shrugged. “The rain forces me to stay indoors.”

Emily’s face brightened. “Perhaps we could all play whist?”

“Alas, your papa could not be dissuaded from meeting with Mr. Stanley,” Rebecca said.

As Emily filled a plate and came to sit across the small table from her, Rebecca offered her the marmalade. “Will there be a dress rehearsal?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, this afternoon.”

“Your father and I are very much looking forward to seeing the production. It seems an awful lot of effort for just the two of us to see. Would you mind if I invited Mrs. Cotton and Miss Seton?”

Emily gave her a rare smile. “That would be a splendid idea. I’m sure the lads will enjoy the opportunity to perform in front of a larger audience.”

Peter and Rebecca finished their toast before Emily. “Pray, Rebecca, there are a few matters I wished to discuss with you,” he said. “Would you be kind enough to stroll with me in the gallery?”

Oh, dear, she hated anything that would exclude—and possibly alienate—Emily, but she knew Peter would want to keep her informed about the farm. “If you can be quick about it. I have other pressing matters.” Not that writing to Maggie was particularly pressing, but she did not want to keep Peter from being with Emily. “What a fine day it is for you and Emily to set up the chessboard in front of the fire.”

Despite her efforts to placate her stepdaughter, Emily glared at Rebecca as she left the room with Peter.

When she reached the doorway, Rebecca turned back to Emily, desperate to say something to cull her favor. “By the way, I have decided I no longer have an aversion to titles, Lady Emily.”

“Does that mean that you dislike me addressing you as Rebecca?” There was malice on Emily’s tongue when her stepmother’s name rolled off it.

“I have no preferences. I should like you to feel free to call me whatever you like.”

In the gallery, she and Peter strolled its one-hundred-foot length to the accompaniment of the pattering of rain upon the chamber’s wall of windows.

“How goes our project?” she asked.

“It’s been very hard work. I’ve been preparing the soil for planting.”

She was remarkably ignorant about farming. “And how does one do that?”

“By tilling and amending the soil.”

“Oh, dear, did you even have any equipment?”

He nodded. “There was some, antiquated though it might be.”

“When will you be ready to plant?”

“That’s why I needed to speak to you. I need to buy seed...”

“And of course you shall need money. How much?”

“Fifty guineas should cover it since the farm’s not that large.”

Fifty guineas was all she had for the entire quarter. “I will go and get it now.”

“Then I can take the wagon to Birmingham to procure it today.”

“You’re sure you want to go in this weather?”

He shrugged. “A little wet never hurt a man. Look at Uncle.”

Like an idiot, her glance flicked to the window, where she hoped to see John riding home. She was disappointed.

“I didn’t mean that literally,” he said with a laugh.

They had returned to where they had started. “Allow me to look at your hands,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I wish to determine if your hands look like a gentleman’s.”

He held them out to her. “I assure you they don’t.”

As she stood there looking at his outstretched, calloused hand, Emily strode into the chamber but came to an abrupt halt when she saw their hands touching. “Don’t let me disturb anything,” she hissed.

Rebecca looked up. “You’re not. I was just leaving.”

Anger flashed across Emily’s face. “As am I!” Then she began to run away, Rebecca on her heels.

“Pray, Lady Emily, don’t be angry,” Rebecca said.

Now crying, Emily stopped. “You’ve destroyed my happiness since the day you came here.”

“I am so sorry if you feel that way. I know I cannot change the way you feel about me, but I assure you no matter how deeply you might dislike me, I still love you. You are the beloved daughter of the man who is beloved by me.”

“How can you say that when it’s Peter you love?”

“Peter? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! The only man I could ever love is the wonderful man I married, and I assure you, Peter loves you with all his heart. Pray, go to him now. Ask him if that is not so.”

Emily shook her head and continued on down the corridor.

* * *

That evening Lord and Lady Aynsley, along with Mrs. Cotton and Miss Seton, sat in chairs near the nursery’s stage to view the play. Once the audience was seated, Emily, dressed in fashions like those his mother might have worn when she was a young woman, slipped onto the stage through a narrow opening in the curtains.

Unlike the current fashions, which rather hugged the feminine body, the dress Em wore had a voluminous skirt that accentuated her tiny waist. She had piles of powdered hair weighing down her head and wore a patch, bringing to mind Marie Antoinette. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “I would like to welcome you to a production of
The Prodigal Son,
written by Lady Emily Compton and set in England a half century ago.”

The curtains opened to reveal a set the children had painted to look like a castle. Emily took her place seated in a thronelike armchair with Uncle Ethelbert seated beside her. She once again addressed the audience. “I am Lady Windsor, and the aristocratic man you see beside me is Lord Windsor. We have four sons.” She then proceeded to introduce her three brothers and Peter—using their fictional names.

As the story transpired, the three youngest sons were most obedient and industrious. The oldest son, played by Peter, however, never wanted to do his share of the work, and he eventually took his share of the family fortune and left.

There followed a scene in which he gambled away his money and lived in a disreputable manner, drinking wildly.

During his absence, his brothers worked very hard tilling the soil, with an actual hand plow guided by Spencer, Alex counting sacks of grain, and taking care of the animals, acted out by Chuckie giving food and water to a dog.

The curtains closed, and Chuckie carried a sign across the stage that read, Time Passed.

The next scene saw Peter scrubbing floors and wiping away sweat while holding his stomach. “I’m so hungry,” he said. “The servants in my parents’ house eat much better than me.” He got up and tossed away his dirty cloth. “I’m going back to my parents’ house and beg to become one of their servants.” He hung his head. “I don’t deserve anything more the way I have acted.”

After the passage of many years, Emily’s hair (actually a wig) had become whiter. The family was together one day when the long-lost son returned. Each of his brothers criticized him. Chuckie delighted in saying, “You’ve been very bad!”

“We will not share our hard-earned money with you,” Alex said.

Spencer frowned. “Nor do you deserve any of our land.”

Then Emily, as the mother, held up her hand. “Pray, boys! All of you are my children. I love all of you equally.” She held out her arms, and Peter rushed into them. “Welcome home, my much-beloved son.”

The brothers shouted that he didn’t deserve such a reception, but she said, “Your brother’s return calls for a celebration. My son was lost, but now he is found. Pray, lads, bring him fine clothing.”

As the curtains closed, Spencer stepped out onto the stage and said, “Jesus used the story of the prodigal son to demonstrate that no matter how far His children stray and how bad they have been, the Heavenly Father will always have it in His heart to forgive them.”

At the completion of the play, the adults gave them a standing ovation. “Bravo!” said Aynsley as he stood, clapping enthusiastically as his eyes moistened.

Then he looked down at Rebecca, who also had stood, along with Miss Seton and Mrs. Cotton. “Thank you,” he mouthed before climbing the stage steps to shake the actors’ hands and compliment them on a job well done. When he came to Emily, his eyes watered again, and he held out his arms. “I assure you, tonight’s production is much finer than anything that has ever before been performed in this nursery. I’m so proud of you.”

Emily’s eyes misted, too. “I must thank her ladyship for suggesting it in the first place. It’s been ever so fun for all of us.”

He had known his daughter would come around. It wasn’t her nature to be vindictive. “I’m very pleased to hear you say that, love.”

As Emily approached Rebecca, he hoped she wouldn’t address her as she’d just done. To his chagrin, his wife abhorred being addressed by her title.

“Oh, Lady Emily! I never dreamed we would be treated to such a totally delightful presentation. Costumes! And sets! And very fine acting, I might add,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know when I’ve had such an entertaining evening.”

“Thank you, my lady. I am grateful to you for suggesting it.”

“Pray, may we hope there will be more productions in the future? We all enjoyed it ever so much.”

By now her brothers had gathered around Emily. “What do you think, lads?” Emily asked.

“Oh, please!” Alex said.

“I think it should be a monthly occurrence,” Spencer added.

“What do you think, Uncle Ethelbert?” Emily asked.

“What do I think about what?”

“Would you be willing to come up to the big house and perform again?” Peter shouted.

“Could I be a swordfighter next time?”

All eyes turned to Emily.

“Well, authoress, what do you think?” Peter asked.

“We shall have to see.”

They all laughed.

* * *

His wife’s hand in his, Aynsley began to walk her to the library. “What is going on with you and Emily lady-ing each other?”

“I have decided that I’m proud to be your wife, and I will be proud to be addressed as Lady Aynsley.”