An Improper Companion Page 5

  “Yes,” Sir Leslie replied, to my amazement, “Sunday afternoon tables will be set out on the lawn, and food and drink will be served.”

  “Excellent. I shall announce it from the pulpit.”

  So, it would come so soon. My first public appearance. Difficult it might be, I told myself, but far easier than would be my entrance into the ton. I took a bit of wine to fortify myself. I must be careful, I warned myself, I was not accustomed to the substance. Yet its warmth was welcome and I began to relax. “My education? Most recently I was at Mrs. Gilwen’s School for Young Ladies,” I answered.

  “Ah, yes,” Watly said. “An excellent establishment. And Mrs. Gilwen is an excellent woman. My daughter was there several years ago. I was completely satisfied.”

  “I should have been surprised if you felt otherwise,” I said.

  Sir Leslie’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Watly continued, “Of course, for sons the question is rather different.”

  “Quite,” I murmured, stifling the sarcasm.

  “No doubt Sir Leslie will wish to send your sons to the university, as he was.” He waved a finger at me, “You’ll find it a difficult time. Young men need to cut up a bit and that’s when they usually do so. Mothers always worry, but the boys come out right in the end. Consider Sir Leslie.”

  Too late, Watly realised his gaffe. And I could not stop myself from saying, “I would rather not.”

  We three stared at one another in an awful silence. Then Watly spoke hastily. “Well, well, no need to think about such things now. Time enough when...”

  “When and if there are children,” Sir Leslie finished for him. At Watly’s startled gaze, he added, “It is not unknown for a man and wife to have no children. I prefer not to make plans for children I am not certain I shall have. After all, so far as I know, I’ve no side-slips about the countryside.”

  Watly’s knife clattered as it fell. “Sir Leslie!” he exclaimed. “Really! In the presence of your bride!”

  Sir Leslie spoke bitterly, “In view of recent events, I seriously doubt that aught I could say would surprise my wife.”

  “Well, but still ...” he expostulated nervously, “surely common decency ... Perhaps this marriage was a mistake after all...”

  “It seems a little late to think of that,” I said. “Unless there is a way, perhaps, that it might be annulled?”

  “No!” Sir Leslie answered angrily. “The reasons for the marriage have not changed. You seem to have forgotten your position, Heather. An annulment would complete the process of your ruin. And may I point out that you could not request an annulment on the grounds of nonconsummation?”

  I stared down at my plate just as I was sure Watly did. I felt cold and miserable. Watly’s voice did not improve matters as he said, “Quite, quite, Sir Leslie. I had forgotten. Nonetheless, I do think you might make an effort to avoid certain ... er ... matters that would disturb your wife.” His voice calmed as he commenced a speech he had surely given often. “Matrimony is not a state to be entered into lightly. It is like a seed one plants in the ground. Without careful nurturing it withers and dies. Yet even the weakest seed, if one expends sufficient effort, can grow into a sturdy plant that in time blossoms and bears fruit. When there is love, the process is somewhat easier. But no seed is without potential. All that is required is a determination on both sides to bring the seed to fruition: a successful marriage. It is not a process that follows a schedule. Sometimes success is achieved at once. In other cases it requires years or even decades. I knew a man and woman who—”

  “Hated each other for years. Then, after several children, at the age of fifty, discovered contentment with each other,” I supplied wearily.

  Watly gazed at me in surprise. “You know Lord and Lady William?”

  I choked back laughter and stifled that which escaped me with a napkin. Sir Leslie had also covered his mouth with a napkin and appeared to be coughing. My voice was a trifle unsteady as I answered, “No, sir. But I guessed such cases were not unknown.”

  Watly beamed. “So you see, my children, your position is not entirely hopeless. Others have overcome greater obstacles.”

  We nodded gravely, both afraid to answer. Soon after, I eased back my chair. “Well, gentlemen, I shall leave you to your port,” I said.

  They stood as I left the room. I hurried to the drawing room where, behind closed doors, I loosed my laughter. Did Mr. Watly truly exist? Surely he was the creation of some satirist. Or perhaps God simply had a sense of humour. I was I still smiling when Sir Leslie joined me. “Mr. Watly has left,” he said gravely, “I paid your respects to him and explained you had ... er ... retired early. He understood perfectly. He wished me a ... er ... successful night! He was also kind enough to offer me advice on the duties of a husband.”

  He could contain himself no longer, and together we laughed heartily. Then, shaking his head, he said, “Oh, do you know Lord and Lady William?”

  We laughed afresh and it felt good. I was young and tired of unhappiness and tears. Sir Leslie must have sensed this and felt much the same, for he said quietly, “Heather, must we hate each other? Can’t we learn to rub along together? I do not suggest more than companionship, but surely that would be more pleasant than...”

  The laughter died in me. With dignity I drew myself to my feet and answered, “Impossible. What has happened cannot be erased. In public we shall assuredly be cordial with one another. But in private, there can be nothing to say.”

  Trembling slightly, I walked out of the room without a backward glance and did not halt until I had reached my chamber. On the bed lay a nightdress Ellen had chosen for me. It was embroidered and of a fine lawn. At the sight of it, I began to cry. Was there ever a bride with a more unhappy wedding day? Reluctant to face Ellen, I thrust away the dress and drew out another, more demure one myself. I bolted both doors, then, with trembling hands, undid my gown and tossed it with my other garments on the chair. I pulled pins from my hair, but did not brush or plait it. Then I climbed into my , bed, that hateful bed! And blowing out the candle, I cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Thus began my marriage. Our days soon fell into a pattern. Though Leslie and I rose at the same hour, I would be served tea in my chamber, and he would eat in the dining hall. I would then spend the morning with Mrs. Morgan making inventories and seeing to other household duties. Sir Leslie had neglected to introduce me to the servants and so, on the morning after my marriage, I asked Mrs. Morgan to assemble them briefly. She presented me and I said a few words to the effect that I looked forward to knowing them and that I soon hoped to learn all their names. I praised the efficiency and discretion of the staff and said that I did not intend to overset their routines.

  And so I came to cuffs with Sir Leslie. We would ordinarily see each other only for the midday and evening meals. How Leslie spent his days I neither knew nor cared. But that first day, he knocked at my door shortly after tea in the afternoon. Ellen opened the door immediately, assuming it was one of the servants. Sir Leslie dismissed her peremptorily, saying, “You may leave your mistress with me.”

  I turned to face him. There was anger in his voice and I wondered at the cause. “So you have already begun meddling with my servants!” he said.

  At this I took courage, knowing I had the right of it. “It was your notion, sir, that we must be married. And your notion that to outward appearances ours must be an ordinary marriage. Very well, sir. In ordinary circumstances I would clearly be the new mistress of the household, and as such would be presented to the servants by you. Since you did not choose to do so, I preserved appearances as best I could. It would seem very strange, sir, if your wife did not interest herself in household affairs!”

  He bit his lower lip. “I see. Perhaps you have a point. Very well, do as you please, only pray, do not institute any changes without consulting me.”

  I curtsied and smiled sweetly. “I assure you, sir, I have no intention of acting otherwise.”

>   He frowned, but only replied, “Very well, madam. I shall see you in the drawing room this evening.” He paused, halfway out of my door. “My valet, Peter, informs me the servants were favourably impressed.” And then he was gone.

  The incident was not referred to again. When I was not occupied with household matters, I often took long walks or read in the library, curled up in a chair. I also began the process of mending linen and garments (Sir Leslie’s) that hitherto had been ignored due to lack of someone with time to see to the task. They had merely been allowed to gather in a pile, with some being given to servants.

  My first social appearance as Lady Kinwell came that Sunday. I dressed in a new gown, pelisse, and poke bonnet. Leslie also took care and wore a new coat of Bath superfine with pale pantaloons and a satin waistcoat. We set out in the tilbury. At the church everyone turned to stare. I overheard someone refer to us as a “handsome couple.” Startled, I looked at Sir Leslie. Yes, I suppose some might call him handsome. A bitter smile played about my lips. What would they say if they knew the truth? As he had promised, Mr. Watly invoked a special blessing for us and announced the reception for the afternoon. Of course, this came as no surprise to the congregation, for everyone knew the castle servants had begun laying in provisions three days past. The service over, we stood in the doorway to be congratulated. Though all must have suspected there was something havey-cavey about the event, none spoke as though it were other than the most ordinary of marriages. I was relieved when Sir Leslie finally said we might return to the castle.

  The servants had already set out the tables and food, and guests were arriving. There was no time to rest before we must again stand side by side to receive congratulations. A keg of ale was tapped and soon toasts were being drunk to our health and happiness. The hypocrisy of my position upset me, but there was nought I could do. So I smiled and danced with Sir Leslie the first dance. He had engaged musicians for the occasion, and I was grateful to Mrs. Gilwen for her insistence that air the young ladies under her care learn to dance. Though I was by no means an expert, I did not disgrace myself.

  I danced not only with my husband, but as was the custom, with many men from the estate nearby. By the time I retired to join Leslie at the table, my feet were sore; as much from being stepped upon as from the actual dancing.

  The celebration continued well past nightfall, and of course, Sir Leslie and I could not retire before the last guest left. The departing men shot back lewd jests which I bore as best I might. How I longed to tell them that never would Sir Leslie share my bed, and that short of an immaculate conception the estate would never see me with child! Sir Leslie must have felt as I did, for as we returned to the castle he said wearily, “At last the farce is over!”

  I paused on the steps long enough to say, “Oh? I was of the opinion it had just begun.”

  He turned away, headed, no doubt, for the liquor cabinet. I smiled and ascended to my chamber where Ellen waited to prepare me for bed. As she chattered about how nice I had looked and all the compliments paid me, I was tempted to offer to trade places with her. I wondered how she would answer. But that was absurd. I knew full well she considered me fortunate. How could she feel otherwise when she had no notion of what had passed between Sir Leslie and myself? But perhaps she did know. At the very least, Margaret and Mrs. Morgan had seen the evidence of the sheets. I was foolish to assume that neither had told any of the other servants. And who had washed the bed linen? No, in truth, Ellen might well know or have guessed what had taken place. And yet she still believed me fortunate. Truly the world was a strange place when people could view my position in such a way! With a sigh, I dismissed Ellen and began to brush my hair.

  I had just checked the door to Sir Leslie’s chamber to be sure it was bolted when there came a brief pounding at my door. I pulled my dressing gown closer about me and was prepared to answer when the door opened. Sir Leslie stood there cursing. In fear I backed away, wondering if there were ought at hand with which to defend myself. “Prepare yourself, madam,” he thundered, “my sister arrives tomorrow and you must entertain her!” Pacing angrily, he said, “And if I know my sister, she’ll bring that brat, her son! And I’ll be expected to keep him occupied!”

  Relief swept over me, and at the image of Sir Leslie playing with a small boy I began to laugh. He was not amused. “You will not find it so humourous after you have met her. She will pry until she learns the truth. I have told her nothing save the bare fact of our marriage. Tomorrow, before she arrives, we must settle on a suitable story.”

  I faced him, sobered now. “Is her husband coming as well?” Leslie shook his head. “Then, sir, I think you must chance the truth. You are a sapskull if you believe she will not ferret it out of the servants. It would be wisest, perhaps, to admit all to her and ask her aid in the matter. Unless, of course, she dislikes you and would use the knowledge dangerously.”

  “No, she is fond of me. Too fond. She will want to meddle.” He sighed with exasperation. “In truth, she would ferret out what had happened. With anyone else I’d trust my servants, but not with Mary! Very well, I shall tell her myself. Later, you may tell her your version, if you wish.” With that, he turned and strode from my room, the door slamming behind him. I could not refrain from laughing. Sir Leslie had looked too much like a small boy who awaited a scolding. Nevertheless, I carefully bolted the door.

  I rose earlier than was my habit, the next morning. I wished to be certain all would be in readiness for Sir Leslie’s sister, Mary. Fortunately, Mrs. Morgan had given orders for the airing of the family rooms.

  “And the nursery?” I enquired.

  “Whatever for?” she replied.

  “Sir Leslie seemed to think his nephew would be coming also,” I said.

  Mrs. Morgan smiled. “Oh, he’ll come, but he’s not a child anymore. Why, he’s older than yerself! Ye see, Sir Leslie was the youngest. Almost an afterthought, and certainly unexpected. Mary was the second youngest and he’s always been close to her, but not the two elder sisters. Ye might have thought the late baronet would have been happy to have a son after three girls, but it seems he’d made up his mind he’d never have one, and when the master was born he looked upon the boy simply as a nuisance. Then there was the fact that the laying in was difficult for Lady Kinwell and she never fully recovered her health. I think the late baronet blamed Leslie for that. The poor lad, he—”

  “Must you stand there gossiping?” an angry voice snapped. “I’ve just been to the kitchen and there’s a crisis brewing!”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Morgan exclaimed, “I’d best see to it at once.”

  “I shall accompany you,” I said, anxious to be away from Sir Leslie’s condemning gaze.

  “No, you will not,” he said. “If I know Mary, she’ll arrive before noon. Mrs. Morgan is quite capable of coping with crises. You will return to your chamber and dress to receive my sister. Ellen is waiting. Thank God Mademoiselle Suzette is efficient! You’ll find a suitable dress laid out for you.”

  I complied. I was becoming extremely curious to see this woman who could make Sir Leslie so sharp set. Somehow it made him seem less terrifying, knowing that someone existed who could do so.

  Leslie had judged his sister well. I had scarcely changed and arranged my hair when her post-chaise and four halted outside the castle. I hurriedly descended to greet my new belle-soeur. I was in time to see her embrace Sir Leslie. She was almost as tall as he, and quite plump. “Where is your bride?” I heard her demand.

  “Here I am,” I answered and advanced with a smile. I sincerely hoped Mary would prove an ally. “How shocking of me not to be downstairs to greet you.”

  We embraced and then she began to chatter, “How pretty you are, my dear. And such a surprise. Leslie gave no hint he was dangling after anyone. How did you meet? Where were you married? How ever did your family react? Will you be going anywhere for your—”

  “My dear Mary,” Sir Leslie interrupted her, “you may ask Heather all thos
e questions later. At the moment, I should like to speak with you in the library. I need your advice on one or two small matters.”

  “Why certainly, Leslie. Though it seems to me that you never heed the advice I give you...”

  She followed him down the hallway and as I turned to look for Mrs. Morgan a voice stopped me. “Hallo. Could you tell me what happened to my mother?”

  The speaker was a tall young man of about twenty years. He was well dressed and handsome, in a boyish sort of way. His shirt points were high, his shoulders padded, and his neckcloth tied in an ambitious but not altogether successful manner. He had, moreover, Sir Leslie’s dark eyes, but in this young man they seemed friendly and gentle. “She is in the library with Sir Leslie, I believe,” I answered.

  “Oh. Well I shan’t disturb them. My uncle ain’t overly fond of me,” he confided. “But you’re new here, ain’t you?” I signified I was. “M’mother says Uncle Leslie has gotten himself leg-shackled. Tenant-for-life! Has he?” I nodded and the boy went on, “Is she pretty?”

  I suppressed a smile. “I believe some consider her to be.”

  “Is she like him? You know, rather prosy and forbidding?”

  “I should hardly call Sir Leslie prosy though I agree he is forbidding at times.” I grinned. “As for his wife, I believe neither is true.”

  “Then why did he marry her?” the young man persisted. “Is she an heiress? No, that’s silly, he’s rich as Croesus, though a bit of a nip-farthing.”

  “It was ... one of those things,” I said in a voice that sounded unsteady even to me. “Perhaps I ought to tell you, I am Sir Leslie’s new wife. My name is Heather.”

  “You’re roasting me!” he exclaimed. “He’s old enough to be your father!”

  I laughed, “Not unless he entered fatherhood at the age of twelve.”

  “Well, I suppose not. But look here, this is the outside of enough! You can not really be married to him.”