The Notorious Lady Grantham: A Grantham Girls companion novella

by Amanda Weaver

  Her fear had vanished by the time Archie lowered his body over hers, moving between her thighs. And by the time he entered her, forcing a gasp of pleasure from both of them, she couldn’t think what she’d ever been afraid of in the first place. There was only this, Archie, connected so intimately to her once again. Only his eyes looking into hers as they came together over and over. Only the mounting pleasure, and, finally, only the explosion of bliss that blotted out every other concern.

  Afterward, after Archie got up just long enough to build up the fire, they lay tangled together on the rug as if the ocean had washed them up there. Gen’s head was pillowed on the hard expanse of Archie’s chest as his fingers toyed with her hair.

  “Are we in danger of shocking the life out of your servants like this?”

  “I told you when you came in, they’re all off for the holiday.”

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t hearing much of what you said when I came in tonight. The sight of you, as always, had left me speechless and thoughtless.”

  She had to stifle her laughter against his chest.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re still no poet.”

  He laughed too, his body vibrating pleasantly under hers. “No, I’m not.”

  “But why aren’t you a painter anymore? You so loved it.”

  He inhaled deeply. “It has to do with my brothers. And my father. Perhaps we’d better not be naked for this conversation.”

  Gen pushed herself upright. “That sounds serious. There’s a lap rug in that trunk in the corner.”

  Archie retrieved it, tucking it around her shoulders, before shrugging back into his shirt and rejoining her on the rug.

  “Was it losing your family?” she asked.

  He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, as they stared into the flames together.

  “It dates to before that. My oldest brother, Albert, met his wife, Clara, in New York. She had money. Quite a bit of it.”

  “Ah, I see. And your brother didn’t.”

  “The family fortunes had been drained dry in recent generations.”

  “I understand better than you know.”

  He spared her a wry smile. “Yes, I suppose you would. You’re rather an expert, aren’t you? Well, anyway, Clara’s fortune restored our family’s financial health, and my father thought, if one son marrying an American heiress had done so much good, the other two sons marrying heiresses could only improve things.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something you’d have agreed with as a young man.”

  “Definitely not. He wanted me to accompany my brothers and Clara on a trip to America. Ostensibly, it was so that Clara could visit her family in New York. The real purpose would be to secure wealthy wives for Walter and myself. I refused to go. My father and I fought bitterly, and he threw me out of the house. He said I could take care of myself if I was unwilling to do my duty to the family.”

  “I’m sorry, Archie.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sorry for refusing, but I would come to regret the fight. At any rate, that’s how I ended up in Paris.”

  She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I never knew you came from a titled family.”

  “No one did. Because for all intents and purposes, by the time I reached Paris, I no longer did. My father had disowned me, and I was responsible for myself. I had a very small inheritance from my mother that he had no control over, and that was what I lived on. As you saw from the flat I was living in, it didn’t go far. I’d hoped to make it stretch far enough to pay for the school in Rome, but then…well, everything changed.”

  “Is that when you stopped painting?”

  “Yes. My father survived the attack, and lived for several more years, but his health was always fragile afterward. He was rarely out of bed. Every time I looked at him, I felt guilty…for our fight, for running away to Paris, for not being with him when the news came, for suddenly being all he had left once he’d lost Albert and Walter. I was the overnight heir, elevated to Viscount Tenley, and suddenly responsible for the entire estate and all our dependents. It had never been in the plans for me. I was unprepared and inexperienced, but failure wasn’t an option. Too many people were counting on me. Painting seemed like a selfish indulgence in the face of everything.”

  He fell silent, eyes still fixed on the fire. It explained much about him. He was so much more somber than he’d been in those early days, as if all the joy had been crushed out of his life. In a way, it had.

  She picked up his hand and turned his palm to hers so she could thread their fingers together. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t help, but I am.”

  He turned his head to smile at her, that gentle smile and soft eyes she’d first fallen in love with. “It helps more than you know to have you here, Gen.”

  There was something else in his past she needed explained. Something very big. “Tell me about your wife.”

  His eyes dimmed. “Her name was Margaret. She was a good woman, but I didn’t love her.” He lifted a hand and stroked a finger down Gen’s cheek. “It had been years since I’d seen you, and I’d long since lost hope that you’d ever come back to me. But I think I knew even then that I’d never get over you. If it had been my choice, I’d have never married, not when I knew I’d never love anyone else.”

  “Then why her?”

  “My father was fading. He wanted to see me married, to see me produce an heir. After everything else, I couldn’t find it in me to refuse him what would be his final wish. Margaret was the daughter of a friend of his. We never spoke of it, but she knew I didn’t love her. She didn’t love me either, I’m quite sure. We…” He broke off, looking down as the memory momentarily overtook him. “I thought I’d resigned myself. A dutiful marriage to a good woman. It was harder than I’d expected. I tried to keep it from her, but I’m sure she knew how miserable I was. We were miserable together. Never mean, never unkind. But the coldness, the distance, it eats away at your soul. The children were the only bright spot in either of our lives.”

  Archie’s entire demeanor changed when he mentioned his children. “They’re lovely, both of them.”

  “Margaret was a good mother. To Hugo, at any rate. She never got a chance to mother poor Charlotte.”

  “She died in childbirth?”

  He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yet more guilt to carry. I wish I could have given her a happy marriage, but it had been impossible from the very start. Perhaps if she’d lived, with the children to focus on, we’d have settled into some passable semblance of contentment, but she didn’t. She died in an unhappy marriage to a miserable man. And now Hugo doesn’t even remember her.”

  “It’s not your fault, Archie.”

  He smiled at her again. “Perhaps in time I’ll feel that way.”

  “Look at the two of us,” she blurted out without thinking.

  Archie’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  She turned away, staring into the fire. “Both of us, carrying around these immense weights from our pasts, trying to make up wrongs to people long dead. Maybe…”

  “What?” he prompted when she didn’t continue. “Tell me.”

  “Perhaps,” she murmured, her throat constricting around the words. “Perhaps we’re both just too damaged, after all this time. What good can we possibly do for each other?”

  Archie took her face in his large palm, turning her to look at him. “Listen to me, Gen. Yes, I am a broken product of the things that have happened to me. Choices I’ve made and terrible twists of fate. So are you. You’re right, we’re no longer hopeful young people coming to each other with futures full of wide-open possibilities. It was easy then. All we needed was love. It would be a lot harder now.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to try. And I don’t intend to give up on you, not ever again. One thing all this loss and misery have taught me is that love
is a rare thing, and I don’t intend to let it get away from me twice.”

  Her heart nearly burst with love for him, so sharp it was painful. “Archie, I’m not the girl you knew in Paris.”

  “And I’m not that man anymore. That doesn’t mean we don’t still belong together.”

  She shook her head, still afraid to reach out for what he seemed to be offering her. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’m not. Nothing about the future is guaranteed. All I know is that without you, I’ll be miserable for the rest of my days.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make you just as miserable. You said yourself that we’re both damaged. Perhaps that’s more than love can overcome.”

  “Gen, do you truly wish for me to leave? To go back to Northumberland and my life, while you continue on with yours as it was before?”

  “My life was going to change, no matter what. I can’t keep on as I’ve been. What a terrible legacy I’ve got to show for my life thus far…nothing but a string of unhappy marriages like yours.”

  Archie lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “Then perhaps,” he said quietly. “You might consider devoting the rest of your life to building just one happy one. Whatever difficulties we might face knitting our lives together now, surely it’s worth trying? You, me, and my children. Can’t we try to put these broken pieces back together to form a family? Wouldn’t it be worth it in the end?”

  It really wasn’t fair, his bringing his children into this. Did he know how she’d cherished that secret, futile hope for years—that life might someday see fit to make her a mother? And here he was, the man she’d never stopped loving, father to two motherless children. It seemed so easy, even though she knew it would be anything but. There would always be thorny paths to navigate, and sometimes they’d probably get stuck on those thorns. But…perhaps…they could help each other through?

  It was the bravest, most terrifying thing she’d ever done, reaching up to touch his face, to speak the words that would open her heart and her life to him, hoping for happiness, but knowing she risked more pain. But he was right. Going on alone was no longer an option. She wanted him, whatever difficulties they had to overcome. The happiness, she felt sure, would be worth it.

  “I don’t want you to leave, Archie. The thought of living the rest of my life without you is unbearable.”

  “So you’ll live it with me?”

  “Yes,” she finally said. “Together.”

  Archie drew a huge breath, his relief evident in every inch of his face. “Forever,” he said.

  Gen nodded. Yes. Tonight, tomorrow, and every day after. She’d already endured seventeen years of days without Archie in them. She never wanted to face another one, even if those days proved difficult in ways she couldn’t yet foresee. “Forever,” she promised him.

  Archie’s face split with a broad grin as he lowered his head to hers. “I think it’s time to put Lady Grantham out of business.”

  “It’s been time for quite a while.”

  “I promise you, Gen, you won’t be sorry to trade it for Lady Wrexham.”

  His kiss was full of his promise, his pledge. And for the first time in many years, Gen fully believed in this promise of happiness. In the coming years, she suspected she might feel a great many things, but sorry would never be one of them, not when his was the face she would wake up to for the rest of her days, when his life and hers would be one.

  Together, they’d be strong enough to wrest a happy ending from the jaws of fate, which had, once upon a time, had very different plans for both of them. Because Gen was beginning to think she’d been mistaken about happy endings. Perhaps they did exist, but they weren’t a gift from fate. A happy ending was something you built with your own two hands, with faith, hard work, and love. She and Archie were more than tough enough to fight for their happy ending.

  Epilogue

  Rome, 1898

  “Mama, can we live in Rome forever?”

  Genevieve laughed at Charlotte’s earnest plea. “But what about everyone at Midhurst Castle? If you stayed in Rome forever, they would miss you terribly.”

  Charlotte considered that for a moment as she walked beside Gen through the streets of the Trastevere neighborhood, making their way back to their rented villa.

  “You’re right. I would miss them too. Except for Mrs. Fawcett, since she’s always cross with us. I wouldn’t miss her. But can we come back to visit Rome again? Please?”

  Gen tipped her head back, letting the sun hit her full in the face. “Oh, yes. We shall definitely come back to Rome.”

  These weeks in Rome with Archie and the children had been the happiest of her life, and in truth, she wasn’t in a great hurry to see them draw to a close either. But summer was ending, and Archie wanted to be back at his estate, Midhurst Castle in Northumberland, before the autumn harvests began. And part of her wanted to be back home in Midhurst too. Funny, how quickly it had come to feel like home to her as well.

  “I wouldn’t miss Midhurst Castle,” Hugo said, mostly to be contrary. He often took an opposite stand from Charlotte on any issue, simply to provoke her.

  “No? You wouldn’t miss your pony, Sampson?” Gen teased him. “Or Jeffers, or Wilson? I’ve had it in a letter from Mrs. Winters that one of the tenant’s dogs has just had a litter of puppies. Your father and I had thought perhaps you might have one, Hugo, but if you really mean never to return—”

  “I didn’t say that,” he quickly amended himself. “Midhurst isn’t so bad, I suppose.”

  Gen smiled, tousling his hair. “Your father will be very glad to hear you say so.”

  Another turn down a narrow, cobbled alley brought them to their villa, painted a soft, terracotta color, with climbing vines obscuring most of the wall facing the street.

  “Archie?” she called out as she opened the door and ushered the children inside. “We’re back.”

  “Finally!” Hugo groaned. “Picking out dresses takes forever!”

  Archie strolled into the entrance hall from the inner courtyard, cleaning his paintbrush on a cloth. The bright summer sun behind him cast him in shadows. He’d shed his coat and waistcoat, and the collar of his white shirt was unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. Gen’s entire body flushed with awareness at the sight of him. Really. One wasn’t supposed to have such…visceral…reactions to one’s own husband, was she? But after eight months of marriage, Archie’s effect on her hadn’t lessened one ounce.

  “Now, Hugo,” he chided gently. “I promised you that if you escorted your mother and sister on their shopping trip this morning, then I’d take you to the Colosseum this afternoon.”

  Gen set her hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “And he was the very best escort two ladies could ask for. Every bit the gentleman.”

  “Well done, Hugo.” Archie turned to Charlotte. “And what about you, Charlotte? Did you fulfill your task as well?”

  Charlotte threw a sly smile at Genevieve. “Yes, Mama ordered three new dresses today and not one was black!”

  Archie feigned shock. “No black? How can this be?”

  “One is pink!” Charlotte declared.

  “Pink?” Archie winked at Gen. “I’m not sure I will recognize your mama in pink.”

  Neither Charlotte nor Hugo had any memories of their mother, but Gen had still been surprised at how quickly they’d fallen into calling her “Mama.” She’d worried that perhaps Archie would be upset by it, but when she’d told him, he’d confessed nothing could make him happier. He had a wife he loved, and his children had accepted her as their new mother without question. His approval left Gen free to acknowledge how very happy it made her, too. Hugo and Charlotte filled a hole in her heart she’d been protecting for years. She was a mother at last.

  “My new dress will match the one we ordered for Charlotte,” she told him. “So you’ll know me that way.”

  Archie slid his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  G
en had left her wardrobe of black behind her forever on a cold morning in January, when she walked down the aisle of a tiny church in Mayfair to marry Archie wearing a suit of cream wool. But she had to confess, it had been difficult to set aside the armor she’d been wearing for so many years. Having Charlotte there encouraging her to make more lighthearted choices helped enormously. Children really did change everything about your life, in so many ways.

  “Now may we go to the Colosseum?” Hugo turned his pleading eyes up to his father.

  “Me too!” Charlotte cried. “I want to see where the lions ate the Christians!”

  In recent months, Charlotte had largely lost her obsession with funerals and death, but she still had a passion for grim stories of any kind—the bloodier, the better. Gen mentally braced herself for the upcoming months, when Charlotte’s artwork would inevitably be filled with depictions of Christians being devoured by lions. It couldn’t be worse than the pictures she produced after their visit to the Tower of London.

  “I believe Signora Gianna has prepared lunch for you in the kitchen,” Archie told them. “Eat first, Colosseum after.”

  Charlotte and Hugo sprinted out of the entryway and down the stairs to the kitchen, their happy chatter bouncing off the white-washed walls and tiled floors.

  “I’m afraid I’ve promised Hugo a puppy,” Gen said, when the children were gone.

  Archie chuckled. “Was he that much of a trial?”

  “Not at all. It just slipped out.”

  “Well, we did discuss it. I suppose we’re committed now.”

  “How was your morning? Did you get some painting done?” Gen asked him, slipping her arm around his waist and fitting herself up against his side.

  “Come and see for yourself.” They walked arm in arm into the courtyard where Archie had set up his easel. He’d made good progress on a scene of their courtyard, with its mosaic floor and overflowing planters of bright flowers.