Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (14 page)

Roxanna stared at him, her tears forgotten. "But the house is beautiful now! How can he say that?"

Lord Winn was thumbing through the document. "Look you here. 'The house is in execrable condition, with peeling wallpaper, parts of the roof missing, and the floor entirely gone in the sitting room. The structure is unsound and dangerous for children. By reason of the fact that Mrs. Anthony Drew, relict of Anthony Drew, is obviously of unsound mind, I claim her children as my own to raise.' "

"How can he do this?" she murmured, looking over his arm at the words. "It is not true now about the house."

He sank down in his chair again. "And how is a magistrate in York to know that?" he asked quietly. "And why would a magistrate in York have cause to doubt Lord Whitcomb's testimony to the state of your house? He is a district justice of the peace, and by everyone's acknowledgment, a gentleman." He spit out the word like venom.

She let the words sink in as she read where he pointed, looking up finally. "I have no legal recourse, have I?" she asked.

"None whatsoever, Roxie," he agreed. "None that I can see, at least."

"I have to turn my daughters over to him on Friday," she said, her voice calm. "And myself, too, I suppose. He will have me after all, because he knows I would never let them go without me. And I cannot do a thing about my upcoming ruin."

They were both silent, staring into the fireplace. In a few minutes, Lord Winn put more coal on the grate, then rested his boots against the fender. He reached for her hand. "We can enter a pleading in the middle of January when quarter sessions convenes."

"That will be too late," she said. "He's a strong man, Lord Winn. I do not think I will have much of a chance to resist him." She shuddered. "I am already afraid of him. Excuse my blunt words, but I know he will hurt me," she said frankly. Her voice broke then. "We can't do anything? Oh, God, tell me there is something we can do!" She sobbed into her hands.

"You could grab them and run, but why do I think he will be watching the roads?" he said, handing her his handkerchief.

"Of course he will," she said, her voice muffled in the handkerchief as she blew her nose angrily. "And when I am apprehended, it is only one more indication that I am of unsound mind. Even a January pleading in quarter sessions would not convince a judge that I was a fit mother. I cannot run."

"No," he agreed, "you cannot. And I doubt anyone would take the word of a woman suffering from derangement of grief against Lord Whitcomb's calm testimony. As far as the world knows, all he wants to do is offer you and your daughters a good home with him and his lady, and you have irrationally resisted his good offices by moving into a ruin." He sighed. “I might add, the house is on the estate owned by a notorious divorce of dubious character. Humbugged," he repeated. "Trussed up better than a Christmas goose."

"Oh, don't say that!" she pleaded.

"If I weren't so angry, I could almost admire his cleverness," he said, then sat up, listening. "I believe Tibbie is here. Roxie, light another lamp and go to the kitchen. I think there is a bottle of rum on the table. Bring it back here with some cups."

When she returned, the marquess was sitting on the edge of the desk, telling Tibbie the story. She calmly poured rum for the three of them. Tibbie accepted his absentmindedly, his eyes on the document before him. He looked up finally.

"I think I understand how he could give such a description," he said, and held out his cup for more.

"Say on, sir," Lord Winn declared.

The bailiff looked at Roxanna. "Remember when he and his solicitor came here to talk me out of renting you the house?"

She nodded. "Yes. And I was so afraid you would yield."

"Well, after they left in such a fit, one of the workers came to tell me that they were going through the dower house, room by room. He said the solicitor was taking notes!"

"That explains how he knew so much," Lord Winn said. "Well, Tibbie, any suggestions? We're fresh out of ideas."

The bailiff shook his head. "You need to see a solicitor, my lord."

Lord Winn managed a laugh with no humor in it. "He left yesterday for Edinburgh for the holidays. The only other solicitor in the village is retained by Lord Whitcomb." He rose heavily to his feet and paced in front of the window, his hands behind his back. "I cannot believe how cleverly we have been diddled!"

"Yes, and the sheriff even thought you would be gone today," Roxanna said, joining him at the window. She leaned her forehead against his arm for a brief moment. "I am so grateful Helen had to have her greenery. I could not face this alone."

He put his arm around her. "I can't see that my presence here is making one scintilla of difference, Roxie dear," he admitted frankly.

As they stood at the window, staring out into the snow, Tibbie Winslow began to chuckle. It started as a low rumble in his throat, then welled into such a hearty laugh that they turned around to gape at him. As they watched, he reached for the handkerchief Roxanna had abandoned and dabbed at his eyes.

"Have you lost your mind?" the marquess snapped.

Tibbie looked at Roxanna and then at Lord Winn. He nodded. "It'll do in a pinch," he said to himself. "It'll do."

"What will do?" she demanded. "Oh, Tibbie, you are driving me distracted!"

He spread his hands out on the table and looked up at them with glittering eyes. "It's simple. Lord Winn, all you have to do is marry Mrs. Drew! Then Lord Whitcomb can't touch her or the girls. It's so simple."

She gasped and released her hold on Lord Winn. "Tibbie, that is out of the question!"

"Why?" he asked simply.

"Well, because it just is," she said, looking at the marquess for confirmation. "Surely Lord Winn will agree. Tibbie, I believe you owe him an apology for such an absurdity."

To her bewilderment, the marquess was looking back and nodding, his expression completely unreadable.

She stared at him. "You can't be considering this seriously!"

"And why not, Mrs. Drew?" he said at last. "Tibbie, you may have hit upon the only thing that will humbug Whitcomb."

Tibbie agreed, his eyes bright. "Just the way you two were standing there, you know, like she fits under your arm, made me think of it." He looked at Roxanna. "He's a good man, Mrs. Drew."

"A hit shopworn," Winn said, his eyes light now with something besides despair. "But I could be the answer to your current dilemma."

Roxanna sank down into the chair. "Surely you don't want to do something that drastic, my lord. I mean, what a crazy notion this is!"

"It's not so crazy," the marquess argued, sitting on the edge of the desk. "If you and your daughters are my chattel, according to law, Whitcomb can't do a thing. That would solve your problem."

"Yes, but—" she began helplessly.

"And if you marry me, then Lettice, Amabel, and even Clarice will be off my back forever," he continued with relish, unable to disguise his growing enthusiasm. "I would count that a blessing!"

He reached out to shake Tibbie's hand. "Sir, you are a genius! I am sure I do not pay you enough!"

Tibbie glanced at Roxanna and allowed himself a little smile. "My lord, I think this will require some convincing on your part." He grinned at Roxanna. "I think something in the stables is needing my attention."

"What?" Roxanna snapped. Everything was happening too fast. She wanted to curl up somewhere and think about matters, even as they were racing toward a conclusion she had no control over.

"Happen I'll find out when I get there," he said quickly as he nodded to Lord Winn and backed out of the room with the speed of someone half his age.

Lord Winn closed the door behind his bailiff and strolled to the window again, his hands clasped behind his back, not looking at her. He waited a long moment to speak, as though choosing his words with impeccable care. "Mrs. Drew, I need hardly remind you that you are at
point mm plus,
if ever anyone was."

"I suppose I am," she agreed, her eyes lowered, the words dragged out of her.

There was another long silence. He finally turned around and looked at her. She couldn't bring herself to meet his glance, so he knelt by her chair and raised up her chin with his fingers until she had no choice.

"Marry me, Mrs. Drew," he said softly. "And let me assure you from the outset that this will be a marriage of convenience."

"That is hardly fair to you, sir," she protested, when she could speak.

He continued to look into her eyes. "Oh, Mrs. Drew, it is entirely fair. I really have no desire to commit any more matrimonial folly. You already know my ideas on children of my own. I will deed Moreland to you upon my death and provide you with an income now. Beyond a few visits a year to make sure that all is well, I'll not trouble you with my presence. It will drive my sisters crazy, but what can they say, really?"

She was still silent, staring at her hands now.

"And Mrs. Drew, should you form a more agreeable attachment in a year or so, I am sure we can arrange a very quiet annulment."

"But this is all so cold-blooded!" she burst out, unable to contain herself. "Fletcher, I cannot do this to you."

He smiled. "Well, at least you acknowledge that I have a first name. That is a step in the right direction. And yes, you are right.

It
is
cold-blooded. We are trying to save your daughters and your virtue," he reminded her.

She nodded, unable to dispute his line of reasoning. "But—"

"Do you like me even a little bit, Roxie Drew?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, of course!" she said. "How could I not like you?"

"Well, you need only ask Cynthia for a whole list of reasons why not," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "My dear, this will solve your problem and mine, too. Marry me."

She looked him in the eyes. I am not even a year through my mourning, she thought. My God, I am still in black! The village will be scandalized. His relatives will be aghast. A sudden smile played around her lips. The girls will be delighted, and we will be safe. The smile left her face. And I have no choice, none at all, but by God's blood, I will play this hand.

"I will marry you, sir," she said.

Such a light came into his eyes that she gazed at him in surprise. When he saw her expression, his own became more sober again. He held out his hand and they shook on it. He sat at the desk again, and leaned back in his chair. "Very well, Mrs. Drew. We certainly haven't three weeks to cry the banns. It will have to be by special license."

His chair came down with a bang and he slammed his fist on the table. "Damn!" he shouted, and she jumped. He touched her arm, his eyes filled with distress. "I'm sorry, my dear. I just remembered. I cannot get a special license. The only way I can remarry is with a writ from Chancery Court and with the approval of the Archbishop of Canterbury himself."

He went to the window to stare out at the snow as her heart sank again. She was beyond tears. And so even this wretched plan will not work, she thought. I am doomed to be Lord Whitcomb's mistress. God help me.

She watched with dull eyes as Lord Winn paced the little room, pausing at last in front of a map of England and Scotland. He stared at it, and as she watched, his shoulders relaxed and his hands came out of his pockets. He picked up the lamp and moved closer to the map.

"Oh, Mrs. Drew, we'll get that bastard another way," he said, the note of triumph undisguised in his voice.

"How?" she said at last, afraid to hope.

"We're about seventy miles from the Scottish border," he informed her, his voice filled with enthusiasm again.

"I know that! I do not think I need a geography lesson right now, my lord," she said. "How will this solve our—"

She stopped, leaped to her feet, and hurried to join him in front of the map. "You are not thinking for one minute ..." she began.

He was nodding as his finger traced the route. "Oh, yes I am, Mrs. Drew, think on. If we can catch the mail coach, we can be in Gretna Green on Boxing Day. My dear, we will have to marry over the anvil."

She blinked her eyes and leaned against the wall, the breath knocked out of her. "Sir, is that legal?" she asked.

"Most assuredly. It's just a bit... well, the word
ill-bred
does come to mind."

She was silent, contemplating the enormity of such a step. What will people think? she asked herself, then shook her head. What did it matter? Her girls would be safe, no matter how scandalous the wedding.

“I will do it, my lord," she said slowly. "I have no choice."

"No, you do not, my dear," he sympathized. He held out his hand again and she extended hers slowly until they were clasping hands. He gave her hand a shake, but did not release it.

"Well, Mrs. Drew. In for a penny, in for ten pounds, in your case. Let's go find Tibbie."

Sleep was out of the question that night. After a lengthy conversation with Meggie, in which they both cried and clung to one another, she filled the girls' stockings and sat in the parlor until even the coals grew dull in the grate. What have I done? she asked herself over and over. Did I have any choice? The answer was always the same. She was as much at the mercy of Lord Winn as Lord Whitcomb.

It distressed her that she knew even less about Fletcher Rand than she did about her brother-in-law, and yet she was ready to join her life to his in the most intimate bond. I could say I was taking him on faith, she thought, but that almost seems like blasphemy. I am doing this because it is the only way I can save my daughters. I must trust my future and my daughters' futures to someone I scarcely know.

She went upstairs to bed finally, knowing that she needed at least part of a night's sleep before the trip tomorrow. The marquess had warned her that it would be a difficult journey. She undressed and brushed her hair, then crawled into bed.

She was still awake when the room began to grow light again, lying there thinking about the night before her wedding to Anthony. She had stayed awake all night then, too, but with a difference—excruciatingly in love with the vicar and wanting him so much that she did not know how she could contain herself until the wedding.

This time was different. Her friends and Anthony's former parishioners would be scandalized at her hurried marriage over the anvil to a divorced peer. Sweet Roxanna Drew, who never spoke a word out of turn or did an improper thing in her life, was eloping to Scotland when their beloved vicar was hardly settled in his grave. Will they think I married Lord Winn for his wealth? she asked the ceiling. Will they conclude that I had to get married to beat the stork? Will they call me deranged? An opportunist?

She knew she could always start a story circulating about Marshall Drew and his infamous offer, but that was even more repugnant to her than what the villagers would be thinking of her marriage to Lord Winn. Suppose Lissy and Helen heard the rumors about their uncle? She sat up in bed and pulled the covers around her. They must never know what an odious man Lord Whitcomb was. She refused to betray Anthony's memory and the Drew name that way. Better that people should wonder about her, and not lose faith in the Drews, and what they meant to the North Riding.

Roxie, you are not being fair to yourself, she thought. You are getting security, but at the price of a warm man in a warm bed. Lord Winn has made it perfectly clear that he does not covet your body. You are going to be taking a lot of long walks for the rest of your life. She knew that once she said her vows over the anvil, there would never be anyone else. She could no more look around for another husband and seek an annulment from Lord Winn than fly. Her word, once given, was given.

I have made an empty bed, and now I must lie in it, she told herself as the sun came up. But did I ever have a choice? Lord, you have dealt me another wretched hand. Is that any way to treat someone?

The room grew lighter. There was no wind outside, and she could not see any snow falling, which was a relief. At least we will not be frozen in a blizzard in the Pennines, she thought as she lay back and listened for the girls. I am making such a sacrifice for them, and they must never know. Anthony, I trust this is what you would have me do. I can think of nothing else, and as God can witness, I have thought all night.

Her eyes closed then in weariness. She slept for a few minutes before she heard the door open, and Helen and Lissy threw themselves on her.

"Happy Christmas, Mama!" Lissy shouted as she pried open Roxie's eye to make sure she was in there.

"Felicity, have a few manners," Helen scolded, and then crawled into bed with her mother.

Roxanna held her close, and pulled Lissy up beside her. "Happy Christmas to you, too, my darlings."

"Can we go downstairs now, Mama?" Lissy begged.

Roxanna took a deep breath and cuddled her daughters on either side of her. "First I must tell you something. I do not know if you will understand, but you must know." She paused, then plunged ahead. "Lord Winn and I are going to Scotland this afternoon to be married."

"Oh, Mama, how famous!" Lissy exclaimed as she clapped her hands. "Can we come, too?"

Roxanna shook her head. "I am sorry, my dear, but it's too cold, and we have to hurry." She looked at Helen, who lay still, staring at the ceiling, even as she had earlier. "My dear?" she asked.

Helen was silent a long moment before she spoke. "Mama, why do you want to forget Papa so soon?"

Roxie felt her heart break as she gathered Helen closer. "Oh, never even think that, my dear! I could never forget Papa."

"Then why are you doing this so soon?"

Why indeed? she thought. It is for your protection, Helen, but I cannot tell you that. "Let us say, it is for our benefit."

Lissy sat up and looked across Roxie to her sister. "Helen, you know you like Lord Winn!"

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But I do not understand."

Roxie could only kiss the top of her head, hold her close, and say, "You'll have to trust me, Helen, that I am doing what is best for all of us. Please believe me."

Helen nodded finally. "I trust you, Mama," she said at last, but her voice was wistful. "But, Mama, do you ever wish things were different? Why is life so strange?"

Roxie could not speak as she held her daughter. Is this what we do now? Do we take life an hour at a time? Do we wish for what once was, or do we move ahead on this new path? She held her daughter off from her so she could look into her eyes. "My dearest child, we move forward," she said firmly. "The less we look back, the better."

It felt like betrayal, like a corkscrew spiraling into her heart, each turn more painful than the one before. She calmly stared down the hurt in Helen's eyes, even as she wanted to run around the room screaming and pulling at her hair.

"Forget Papa?" Helen whispered, and Roxie felt another turn of the corkscrew.

She shook her daughter gently. "Never! But, my dears, we must put him in a special place now and turn a page in our book."

Helen sighed and leaned against her mother again. "I wish could understand," she sighed.

So do I, Roxie thought as she forced a smile in Felicity's direction. I am glad you are too young for this, Lissy.

"I do not have to call him Papa, do I?" Helen asked.

"No, my dear. I expect he will want you to call him Winn, though."

Felicity tugged at her mother's nightgown, then rested her head in Roxie's lap. "What will you call him?"

Roxie fingered Lissy's dark hair. "I really don't know. He has always been 'my lord,' or Lord Winn."

"His name is Fletcher," Lissy offered.

"It seems a little strange."

Lissy brightened and sat up. "Mama, you can name him like you did Ney!"

Roxie laughed. "I do not think he would take kindly to that!" She kissed her daughters. "Come, my dears. Let's go see if Father Christmas found us here in the dower house."

The house was smelling wonderfully of cooking goose when Lord Winn knocked on the door. Felicity let him in, wearing all four of the barrettes he had left in her stocking. She twirled around so he could admire the dress Roxanna had made. He smiled and covered his eyes. "Such beauty if positively blinding, Felicity." He handed her another package. "Open this now, and remember, you have to share."

Roxanna knew she should have come forward when she heard his knock on the door, but she felt suddenly shy. You are a goose, Roxanna, she thought as she stayed in the sitting room and watched Lissy and the marquess. He was dressed more elegantly than usual, his boots polished and his neckcloth arranged with more thought than was typical. She watched as he knelt beside her daughter to talk. Lord Winn, for all the things you say about children, you have the good instinct to speak on their level.

Lissy ran into the room, holding out the box she had opened. "Mama, it is chocolate! Oh, please, may I have one?"

"Of course you may. Did you tell Lord Winn thank you?"

Lissy put her hand to her mouth in dismay, turned, and curtsied. "Thank you, Lord Winn," she said breathlessly as she popped a chocolate in her mouth, then dashed into the kitchen calling for Helen.

"I had no idea the effect of chocolate on that one," Lord Winn mused as he watched her go and rose gracefully to his feet. "Is there anything she doesn't like?"

His tone was light, and she knew it was her duty to match it. "She is not overly fond of aubergine in any form. I cannot disguise it enough."

"Then she and I are at one on that issue," Lord Winn agreed as he sat beside her on the sofa. "You don't ever need to serve it, except in times of famine." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a narrow package. "Happy Christmas, Roxanna," he said.

She took the package after a moment's hesitation. "I do not have anything for you, my lord," she said.

"Next Christmas will be soon enough," he replied somewhat enigmatically. "I would be happy enough now if you would call me Winn."

"Very well, Winn," she replied as she opened the package. She held her breath as she opened the box, dreading something expensive. She stared, then took out a tin-stamped medal on the end of a leather string. "What is it, my—Winn?"

He grinned and took it from her. "It's a good luck charm I got from a Portuguese fisherman when he fished me from the water three parts drowned after our ship sank off Cabo San Vicente. You've earned it."

Her eyes lively, she held still as he draped it around her neck. He kissed her on the forehead with a loud smack that made her giggle, despite her discomfort at his nearness.

"I didn't think you'd accept anything else, and by God, it got me through eight dreary years without a fatal injury."

She fingered the medal then looked at him. "Thank you," she said simply as she tucked it inside her dress. "I don't know that there's anything I need more right now than a little good luck."

"That's what I thought. You're welcome," he replied, then stood up and held out his hand for her. "Let's hurry up that goose in the kitchen. We want to catch the mail coach."

Tibbie and Emma Winslow arrived just as Lord Winn began to carve the goose. Roxanna showed them to their seats, apologizing for this shocking intrusion on their holiday.

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Drew," Tibbie said as he tucked a napkin under his chin. "Emma and I will be delighted to keep an eye on things while you're gone." He tilted his head toward Meggie Watson. "I think between the three of us that you can count on it."

Roxanna nodded, her eyes serious, then looked down at her plate. This is all a dream, she thought. In a moment I will wake up, and Anthony will be carving the turkey. Then she touched the leather thong around her neck and sighed.

"White meat or dark, Roxanna?" Lord Winn was asking. He swallowed as he watched her, and she realized he was keeping a check rein on his emotions, even as she was. The thought comforted her as nothing else could. In for a penny, in for a pound, indeed, she thought as she held up her plate and asked for white meat, please.

Tibbie turned to Helen and Lissy. "My dears, go into the kitchen a moment. You'll find a pudding that Mrs. Winslow brought along. Can the two of you bring it in here?"

Helen and Lissy both jumped up from the table. "Mind you take it out of the bowl and find a plate," Tibbie called, then turned back to Lord Winn when they left the room, his eyes serious. "Lord Whitcomb has his people watching the inn where the mail coach stops, my lord. He doesn't mean for Mrs. Drew to even try to get through to York."

"Damn!" Lord Winn exclaimed. "That means we have to catch the coach in Richmond."

"I'm not even so sure the road north is open," Tibbie continued. "I heard something about a road crew at work."

"We'll manage either way," Winn said, his expression grim. "Damn that man. With someone watching, we can't go south or north on the highway, at least until Penrith, on the other side of the Pennines."

The girls returned with the pudding and he smiled at them, joking with Lissy that the pudding was bigger than she was. You're a cool one. Lord Winn, Roxanna thought as she forced herself to smile, too. No wonder Soult and Ney lost Spain for Napoleon, if the other soldiers they fought against were anything like you.

After the dinner, Lord Winn and Tibbie returned to Moreland, their heads together, engaged in earnest conversation. Her heart pounding, her thoughts on the journey ahead, Roxanna read to Felicity and tucked her in bed for a nap. Helen and Mrs. Winslow were busy in the kitchen with dishes. She listened to the comforting domestic sounds as the clock struck one.

She pulled on her warmest dress, a woolen petticoat, several pairs of stockings, and her riding boots that she had not worn since well before Helen's birth. Something old, she thought, looking down at her boots, and something new to me, as she fingered her necklace. She went into the dressing room and found Anthony's woolen muffler, wrapping it around her neck. "Borrowed and blue," she whispered as she leaned against the wall until she had the strength to stand upright.

She looked in at Felicity one more time. The barrettes caught the fire's glow and twinkled back at her. I would die for you, she thought. Is that what I am doing? She closed the door quietly.