“Of course, ma'am.”
The draperies had been opened and sunlight streamed into the room, mellowing the soft colors of the carpet and sofa. Vanessa wandered about the room, restlessly moving the fire screen and rearranging the ornaments on the mantel. It was her room, her private sanctuary, symbolic of her independence . . . and her loneliness. Having it proclaimed her position as mistress of Cutsdean, her right to direct her own affairs and those of the household over which she presided. If she married James, things would never be the same again.
But they would be different than they had been with Frederick. Vanessa couldn’t imagine Alvescot’s taking off and leaving her for long stretches of time. He didn’t have Frederick’s wanderlust, or his craving for adventure. James was a considerate, tender man who would share his life with her and offer her the love she would find it difficult to live without, now she had come to love him. She could, of course, continue to live as she had, carrying out her responsibilities and continually plumbing her resources for the courage to act as forcefully as she needed to run Cutsdean properly. But it would be much more comfortable if she had someone’s approval, someone’s love to help replenish those resources.
And what did she have to offer him? Her love. Little enough beside the negative qualities which might disrupt his life: her insistence on being treated as an equal; her determination to maintain her control over Cutsdean; her two fatherless children. Really, she wasn’t much of a bargain. More of a liability.
She was standing beside the sofa when he rapped on the door. He had been at breakfast while she was there, but she hadn’t had a chance to speak with him, as William had been there, too, pontificating on how he would handle Mabel if she objected to his marrying Louisa. Vanessa had excused herself, apologetically smiling at James for leaving him to such boredom. Now he regarded her with an amused half-smile, saying, “Unfair to leave me with that fellow. Did you really have accounts to do?”
“They may not have been pressing, but I went directly to the Library and worked on them.” She waved him to a seat on the sofa as she sat down. “Edward found me there—to say good-bye.”
“He’s left? Excellent!” He reached for her hand, pressed it, and maintained his hold.
“He did have something else to say. It seems to have occurred to him to damage your reputation before he left. You have to credit him with never letting an opportunity slip by.”
“What did he say?” Alvescot was perfectly relaxed, since there was no episode in his life that could be considered particularly damaging, if one didn’t count a few youthful escapades that were long forgotten. But he felt annoyed that he hadn’t considered the possibility of Edward’s getting a little revenge as he left.
“It was a story of your ravaging a well-born young lady in Spain. Maria, he said her name was.”
Alvescot sat perfectly still for a moment, his gaze steadily on her. “You didn’t believe him, did you?”
“No, but I did think there might be . . . some truth to ‘Maria’s’ existence. Edward isn’t clever enough to have thought of the setting. He’d have invented some connection here in England, no doubt, if he’d been pressed. Apparently, he overheard your groom talking to your coachman some time ago.”
Absently he began to stroke her hand, gazing now at the fire screen a few feet away. “There was a young woman named Maria. When I was on the Peninsula, I fell desperately in love with her.”
Vanessa could feel an ache grow inside her, but she said nothing.
“She was from a prominent family, but one which needed to ally itself with wealth and influence. Spanish influence, you understand. They considered my English influence of less than no use to them, though the wealth they wouldn’t have minded. So they let me court her for a while, until someone more promising came along. Then they refused my offer for her, though I believed her to be as much in love with me as I was with her. She was only twenty at the time and a rather shy, biddable girl. Stunningly beautiful.”
He turned to smile at her, moving his hand to touch her cheek. “I tell you that to explain my infatuation, Vanessa, not to compare you with her. To me you are the more beautiful because your beauty is underlaid with a strength of character I don’t think she could ever possess. Maria wasn’t strong enough to oppose her parents, and I don’t think she really wanted to. It’s more customary there for an arranged marriage than it is in England now. She was young enough to see something romantic about unrequited love. Lord, I shouldn’t blame her. I’ve moped around for years cursing my fate that I couldn’t marry her.”
“Do you still?” Vanessa asked gently.
“I did when I came to Cutsdean,” he admitted. “I can remember thinking of her the first day I was here. And being astonished at myself on the last day that all thought of her had vanished.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“What was there to say?” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I didn’t know, until I met you, that my longing for her was slightly ridiculous. You loved Frederick when you married him, but you came to terms with his death, and here I was mourning a pretty young woman who has probably grown to love her husband and produced a parcel of children for him. Our different religions, our different countries, could have made a marriage between us uneasy at best. When I first met you, and you told me you allowed all Frederick’s relatives to stay here because your parents thought you should, I was tempted to compare you with her. A dutiful daughter. It didn’t take long to see quite a difference between the two of you.”
The ache had eased somewhat in her chest, but she had to know just a little more. “And when you left here to go to your brother?”
“I didn’t trust my new emotions, Vanessa. For years I've been accustomed to considering Maria the ideal of womanhood.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I don’t think I actually thought what it would be like married to her, a fragile, almost helpless woman. When I spoke of her to my mother and sister, after Waterloo, telling them about my grave disappointment, they exchanged glances that I took at the time to be sorrow for me.”
He laughed and twisted a lock of her hair about his fingers. “Do you know what they told me when I was at St. Aldwyns this time? They told me they had thought then that it was a great blessing she hadn’t married me. Not because she was Spanish, but because, according to my mother, I kept describing her as ‘a delicate, innocent flower.’ They had a great laugh about it.”
“I don’t wonder,” Vanessa said, her eyes sparkling. “What did you tell them about me?”
“I told them you were a little obstinate, but capable. That you were used to doing things your own way. That you were a handsome woman, but not fashionable. That you weren’t likely to bow and scrape to anyone. And that I loved you dearly.”
Vanessa swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Do they mind that I’m a bit strong-willed, James?”
“Mind? Lord, no. My mother sighed and said, ‘Thank God you found the right one this time, James. Bring her here as soon as Charles is well.’ Mother’s not particularly used to bowing and scraping herself, Vanessa.”
“No, I don’t suppose she is. But do you think they’ll like me?”
“Only if you agree to marry me, my love. Otherwise, they’re likely to be quite put out with you.”
His smile was so warmly loving she felt a momentary, and absurd, pricking of tears at her eyes. She blinked them back, saying, “I thought there was something you weren’t telling me, James. I thought perhaps you weren’t sure you wanted me, with all my determination and my stubbornness, even though you loved me.”
“I’m sure I want you, with all your determination and stubbornness, my dear,” he laughed. “I didn’t tell you about Maria because I didn’t want you to think I was an absolute fool.”
“We all make mistakes about the type of person we’re best suited to,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes. “Different things are important to you when you’re younger, and they’re not always the qualities that strength
en a marriage in the long run. I think sometimes that people shouldn’t marry until they’re older.”
James bent to kiss her, his arms enfolding her in a snug embrace. “I see,” he said, pressing for no details. He could feel her shiver and snuggle closer to him, her warm body trusting against his. “And do you think you’re old enough to marry me?”
“Yes,” she admitted, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I’m quite sure I want to marry you, James. You don’t think I’m a bit loose after last night, do you?”
“Not at all, my love. I think you’re exactly the sort of woman I want to marry. A very sensuous, almost proper, and exceedingly lovely lady.”
Copyright © 1982 by Laura Matthews
Originally published by Signet
Electronically published in 2004 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Table of Contents
A VERY PROPER WIDOW
Laura Matthews
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Laura Matthews Page 23