What was it going to be like, being married to a girl who, through her child, would be for ever linked to the Kimbers? One thing was certain. He was going to make it as straightforward for her as he could.
He strode through the gate at Jackson’s House, head held high. He was going to tell the girl he loved how he felt.
When Edith let him in, he was about to head for the morning room when Mary’s voice called him back.
‘I’m in here.’
She was standing in the doorway to the old study, one hand on the door frame. He couldn’t restrain a smile, didn’t try to. Her lilac gown suited her fairness, the elbow-length sleeves ending in a froth of lace that stopped three or four inches above slender wrists, a pretty style, but also a practical one for a girl who was adept at using a typewriting machine.
She went into the room, using the careful walk of advanced pregnancy. How slender her back was. Please don’t let her require forceps. His heart did a little flip. The child she carried was his stepchild. His. Being part of its life from its first cry would make it more than a stepchild. In every sense that mattered, it would be his own.
He entered the room. Judge Rawley would be appalled if he could see it without his precious legal tomes and the acres of oak he called a desk. Even the dark curtains had been banished, replaced by pale stripes with a shimmer of silver.
Mary sat in a chintzy armchair. How much better if she had sat on the sofa, so he could sit beside her and take her hand at the crucial moment.
‘Mary—’
‘Let me speak first. I have something to say.’
He felt a frisson of unease. Had she patched things up with Kimber?
‘First of all, I should say how grateful I am for your offer of marriage—’
‘Don’t tell me Kimber has changed his mind about the annulment.’
‘Heavens, no.’
‘Has he talked you out of marrying me?’
‘He doesn’t know about our … arrangement. If you’ll let me explain. I’ve realised that our marrying would be a mistake—’
‘Mr Porter said marriage would go in your favour.’
‘Believe me, all I want is to keep my baby safe, but I can’t do it this way—don’t interrupt.’ She drew a ragged breath, but then straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ve already had one husband ride to the rescue and I refuse to let it happen again.’
Was that all she intended to say? And was he supposed to accept it – without question? He waited to let the clatter in his chest settle down. It didn’t. But maybe his silence was a good thing, because she continued.
‘Charlie proposed on a wave of gallantry, because things were bad for me, and I accepted on a wave of gratitude, because … because things were bad for me. And now here I am again in the same situation, and I won’t have it.’
‘Not even to protect your child?’
‘Don’t you dare say that! I’d do anything for my child. But I will not sacrifice my self-respect. I’ll stand on my own two feet, and one day I’ll explain the importance of that to my child. And yes, I know this puts me in a more vulnerable position, but that doesn’t stop it being the right thing.’
‘Oh, Mary.’ He was across the room before he knew it, kneeling in front of her. He caught her hands in his, rubbing the pads of his thumbs into her palms. ‘Don’t pull away. Please don’t pull away. Listen. It may have been gallantry and gratitude with you and Kimber, but it isn’t like that for us. I wasn’t gallant. As a matter of fact, I was idiotic. I was a fool to propose the way I did, but I didn’t dare tell you the truth for fear of making your situation more complicated. But I’m telling you now. I love you, Mary; I want you to be my wife. That isn’t gallantry, it’s plain love. Please don’t pull away.’
‘I need to.’ Her hands fluttered and a hanky appeared. She dabbed her eyes. ‘I can’t help it.’
Damn and blast. His love wasn’t a reason for her to change her mind, not if she valued her independence so highly. He had to see it from her side.
‘It isn’t gratitude on your part. Have you forgotten giving me your trust? With my love and your trust, don’t you think we could do well together? You’ve already done me the honour of allowing me to be your child’s stepfather. Will you also do me the honour of accepting the offer of marriage I make to you out of love?’
A tear clung to her lashes, but there were no tears in her sparkling eyes. Her mouth sighed into a smile and his heart turned over.
‘I can do better than that. I can accept – oh, Nathaniel, I accept out of love.’ Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his. ‘I love you too.’
He made little nudging movements with his forehead, with his nose, until he captured her lips and could kiss her, a short, full, breathless kiss that they broke away from to look at one another.
‘I had no idea,’ he said.
When he moved to kiss her, she withdrew a fraction. ‘I have to make sure.’
‘Of what?’
‘I’m not like Imogen. Your sister told me how she devoted her life to your care. I won’t be like that. I’ll be a good wife and mother, but I’m other things as well. I have my writing, as well as wanting to take an active interest in social reform.’
‘Nothing was more important to Imogen than caring for her husband and her home. At the time, that suited me, but it isn’t what I want now. I want you to be my friend and work partner as well as my wife. And I definitely want you to continue writing. In fact …’
Taking the box from his pocket, he glanced at her expression, catching the anticipation in her eyes, the way her top teeth grazed her lip. He held the box towards her but didn’t open it.
‘I feel now I should have had the courage to buy you a ring, but I saw this and thought you might like it.’
He tilted the lid.
‘A quill pen brooch.’ She laughed. ‘It’s perfect. Better than an engagement band. Let me put it on and then we’ll go and tell Aunt Helen.’
‘I don’t need a new hat,’ said Mary.
‘Yes, you do, because if you don’t, I can’t. I want the full works – a hat the size of a cartwheel, smothered in flowers, like your friend Miss Lever favours. I’ve never had a new hat.’
‘What, never?’
‘My brother wouldn’t have shelled out for one, not with all those trunks in the attic. I’ve always worn my mother’s things. The hours I’ve spent hacking away at those flared sleeves with the false undersleeves, and I never did succeed in turning one of those frightful old cloaky-coaty things into a proper coat.’
Mary hesitated, then ventured, ‘But you wear such beautiful things underneath.’
‘Robert never gave me money of my own, but asking him to foot the bill for undergarments was one of the joys of my life. The mere whisper of unmentionables practically gave him palpitations. He never questioned what I spent – too embarrassing – so I started splashing out.’
Mary laughed. ‘You’re a wicked old woman.’
‘A wicked old woman who has never had a new hat, and I know where I want to get it too.’
It was surprising how much fun it was to go to town. The cabby dropped them on Market Street outside Ingleby’s and Helen headed straight for the millinery, where an assistant seated them before gleaming mirrors.
‘I’d like to see the biggest hats you’ve got, with the most flowers on them,’ said Helen.
‘That fashion is on the wane, madam.’
‘Then I’d best nab one while I can.’
‘I don’t want a gigantic hat,’ said Mary, when the assistant left them. ‘I’ve already got a gigantic belly.’
‘Nonsense. A trim little thing like you could never be gigantic.’
The assistant reappeared with a couple of hats. ‘Is it for a special occasion?’
‘A wedding,’ said Helen. ‘I’m bridesmaid.’
The woman scuttled away in confusion.
‘Don’t you dare tell her I’m the bride,’ Mary warned, ‘or she’ll faint clean away.’
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She helped Helen select her cartwheel, then for herself chose a blue hat with an asymmetric brim, which was rather dashing.
Helen insisted on new gloves, choosing a lacy pair for her.
‘Far too fancy,’ Mary condemned them.
‘Fancy is good for the bride. Your ring will show through. And the cream leather for me. A frightful indulgence, but never mind. I have all those years of not being a bridesmaid to make up for. What else do we need?’
‘I don’t need anything.’
‘I included you merely for form’s sake. What I meant was, what else does the bridesmaid need?’
‘Bridesmaids don’t need anything else, especially the incorrigible ones, but the bride needs to sit down.’ She stretched her spine as discreetly as she could.
‘There are chairs inside the front door. We’ll take the weight off our feet while the doorman finds us a cab.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want them to deliver everything?’
‘I’m going to take my hat straight home and wear it round the house.’
Soon they were in a cab, their purchases in a pile beside Helen.
‘My dear, tell me to mind my own business—’
‘Would it do any good?’
‘Very amusing. I’m more touched than I can say at your generosity in including me in your wedding plans, honoured as well. But I can’t help thinking about your mother.’
Mary had been thinking about her, too. ‘Is it cowardly to want to present everyone with a fait accompli? Possibly. Probably. But my father would tell the Kimbers, and I can’t have that.’
‘Are you sure he’d tell? I’ve met him only once, of course, but he and your mother were so concerned about you. It’s obvious how much they love you.’
‘And I love them, but I still don’t want Dadda to tell the Kimbers. And I’m sure he would, because of the way he came to Jackson’s House with Sir Edward to give me a wigging. If he hadn’t done that … but he did. I know how mean I sound, but this wedding is so important. I couldn’t bear anything to spoil it.’
Mary woke early. Her wedding day, less than a year after that other wedding day. Who would have thought? She breathed in sharply, like an animal sniffing the air, but in her case it was happiness she sensed.
There was a knock and Helen popped her head in.
‘Slip on your dressing gown and come with me. We’ll breakfast in my room. We don’t want to face Greg over our boiled egg and soldiers.’ The breath she huffed was less a sigh than an expression of annoyance. ‘Of all the times for him to make one of his unwelcome appearances. But we won’t let it spoil today. With luck and a prevailing wind, we won’t even see him.’
When Edith came to clear away, Helen enquired as to his movements.
‘Mr Rawley had a letter,’ said Edith. ‘Well, it was in an envelope, but it didn’t feel like a letter. It was something small and harder than paper – like a calling-card.’
Helen and Mary helped one another to dress.
‘Those new buttons we put on your jacket make all the difference,’ said Mary.
‘You’ve taken more trouble over my appearance than your own.’
‘Well, if you will insist on being bridesmaid.’ She gave the old lady a kiss. ‘Time to go.’
Mrs Burley and Edith presented them with matching posies. Nathaniel had offered to collect them, but Helen insisted he mustn’t see the bride, so they were taking a cab. Edith held the flowers while they climbed in.
Nathaniel and Alistair were outside the registry office, ready to help them descend. As she gave her hand to Nathaniel, a feeling of rightness, of completeness, enveloped Mary. They were ushered into a room that looked more like an office than a place to celebrate a special occasion, but she didn’t care. Being here with Nathaniel and her beloved Aunt Helen made this place special.
Helen held her flowers during the ceremony. She repeated what she was required to say, the blood whooshing in her ears. She unintentionally held up proceedings by not having her left hand bared. She met Nathaniel’s eyes, his gaze steady and reassuring. As he took her hand and gently pushed the ring onto her finger, she experienced again that sense of completeness.
‘If you’ll sign here,’ said the registrar.
Mary Margaret Kimber, née Maitland. Previous marriage annulled.
‘Congratulations, Mrs Brewer.’
Mary Brewer. Yes.
‘I think you’re meant to kiss the bride,’ Alistair told Nathaniel.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he bent his head to hers. He dropped a kiss on her mouth. It was unbearably sweet, a promise for the future.
‘My turn,’ said Helen. ‘Everyone has to kiss the bridesmaid.’
They all laughed. Amidst good wishes, they left the building.
Alistair had booked a table at the Claremont Hotel. As they went up the steps, Mary looked round, admiring the gracious surroundings.
The first person she saw was Lady Kimber.
‘Christ,’ Greg muttered. ‘What’s she doing here?’
He halted, just managing to avoid slamming into Helen’s little group. Double-quick, he stepped behind a pillar. He recognised the companion-help and that bloody Brewer johnny who was supposed to be Robert’s voice of reason from beyond the grave. As they headed upstairs to the dining room, Greg dismissed them. He had an appointment. By the morning post, he had received a Claremont Hotel card with a time written on the reverse. Should he announce his arrival at the desk?
Tom Varney materialised. ‘Mr Jonas is expecting you.’
Varney led him upstairs. The landing at the top was all plush carpet and dark wood. Palms stood in vast pots either side of the double doors to the dining room. Greg followed him in.
Mr Jonas welcomed him as if they were dear friends. Greg’s missing finger twitched and flexed. There was a coat stand close by. He hung up his hat and threw his outer gloves on the table.
A waiter hovered.
‘Your best single malt.’
‘And another glass of this delicious cordial,’ said Mr Jonas. ‘It’s a little early for me. I like to keep a clear head.’
Greg glanced into the ballroom. Their table was right beside the drop. There was a gaggle of females down there. He was about to look away when he saw Christina and Eleanor. God, Christina was beautiful; she outshone every woman in the place. And Eleanor was enchanting, with a smile to take your breath away. He wrenched his gaze from them. He mustn’t let Jonas catch him looking, couldn’t have their beauty and immeasurable importance sullied by being looked at by bloody Jonas.
‘Here we are in September. Such a delightful time of the year. I wonder what your dear aunt thinks of it.’
‘She seems to be enjoying it.’ He nodded towards Helen’s table.
‘So that’s the famous Miss Helen Rawley. How sad to think her life is near its end. When the tragedy happens, will her companions look back on this outing and wonder at it? That’s what people do, I believe. They say, “We had no idea when we enjoyed our roast duck with cider sauce … or our pork-and-rabbit pudding … that we would never see her again.” So sad.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I suppose for you it will be cause for rejoicing.’
‘And for you.’
‘I never rejoice at receiving what is my due.’
The waiter approached. Greg hadn’t even glanced at the menu.
‘Will you permit me to order for us both?’ Mr Jonas enquired.
While he did so, Greg looked over the balcony, ensuring his gaze was elsewhere when the waiter disappeared.
‘She is lovely, is she not?’ said Mr Jonas. ‘Please don’t feel you have to look away on my account.’
‘Who?’ It was worth a try.
‘Now, now, no games, if you please.’
‘Who is lovely?’
‘I might ask you the same question. The mother or the daughter?’
‘I’d prefer not to talk about them – either of them.’
‘But of course. I
wouldn’t dream of taking a lady’s name in vain, especially not in front of a gentleman with such a close interest.’
‘You sent for me. I’ve come. Now what?’
‘My dear Mr Rawley, so brusque, so abrupt. I’d hoped you would take pleasure in the surroundings.’
‘Very swish. Now what?’
‘Now we share a meal and discuss your plans for the autumn and winter. Such a dismal time to be in this country, don’t you agree?’
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’
‘But surely your immediate plans are in place, which should leave you free to decide what to do, where to go, when you’ve fulfilled your commitments. I take it you have plans in place, Mr Rawley? It would go deeply against your interests to let me down a second time.’
‘What will you do? Help yourself to another finger? I’ve plenty left.’
Mr Jonas looked down into the ballroom. ‘The dear ladies, so busy organising their grand charity ball.’ He feigned surprise. ‘Didn’t you know? Your friend and cousin, Lady Kimber herself, she didn’t confide in you when you visited her the other day?’
‘You bastard, you’ve been following me.’
‘No unparliamentary language, if you please, and I’ve done nothing of the kind. I have people to do these things on my behalf.’
The curried apple soup arrived. Greg ignored it, but Mr Jonas took a sip, closing his eyes.
‘Do try yours, Mr Rawley.’
‘No appetite.’
‘Perhaps you’re distracted by the ladies. So fortunate for them, having a rich sponsor to fund their use of the ballroom and dining gallery for their charity ball.’
‘You?’
‘Modesty forbids me to say another word. Are you sure you won’t try the soup?’
‘No, I ruddy well won’t.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘You’ll get your money.’
The Poor Relation Page 34