"Gads!" said Lucien. "And you were always the one with the winning ways. The one we'd send to turn cook up sweet. Lost your talents, Lee?"
"They certainly seem to have deserted me in my hour of need. What do I do now?"
Lucien frowned. "You mean you want to go through with it? Why?"
There was a distinct withdrawal. "Rather an impertinent question, ain't it?"
"Probably," said Lucien, unmoved. "When have we ever bothered about such things?"
Leander abandoned his momentary hauteur, wondering why he felt so prickly about the matter. "I like the woman. She has spirit, and strength, and good humor. I like her children, too, which is helpful and argues to her advantage. I think she'll be a good mother to mine. And she needs me as much as I need her." He fiddled idly with his signet ring. "I think that is the most attractive feature, to be needed. It all seems to add up to a sound basis for a practical marriage."
Lucien grimaced. "I still don't understand why you need her."
Leander was tired of ducking this very obvious question. "I have come back to England to stay. I decided a few years ago that my parents' rootless life did not appeal, but it was at Waterloo that I made the firm decision." He glanced up at them. "I almost died, you know. I was trapped under my horse, and if I hadn't fallen into a dip I'd have been crushed. My men managed to get me out just before the French swept over that spot. Strange as it may seem, through the years of the war I'd never really thought of my own mortality. Then I did. Life suddenly became very precious. And life, at that moment, came to mean a home. A permanent place. In England."
His hosts looked at him. Lucien said, "You have a home. More than one, in fact."
"I have properties," said Leander. "I want a home. I intend to make Temple Knollis my home, but I don't think I can do that alone."
Lucien shrugged. "I can't see there's much to it. A home is a home."
"Think, Luce," said Leander impatiently. "This isn't your true home. Belcraven is. You've lived there all your life. You know that land with your heart and soul. You know the people. You understand the people. On a larger scale, you know and understand England. I don't." He made a gesture of frustration. "I understand Saint Petersburg and the Vatican, the intricacies of the German states, and the bloody entanglements of the army. I don't understand my own country."
"You think a wife will help?"
"I hope an Englishwoman will help, yes. But I also need a companion. What am I supposed to do? Go down to Temple Knollis and rattle around there alone?"
"You have a large family down there somewhere, don't you?"
Leander's face tightened. "I have a large family living at Temple Knollis. The trouble is that I don't think they will approve of my plans for the place. They'll have to go."
"What plans?" asked Beth. "I understand it's perfect, a jewel of a place."
"Indeed it is. A precious jewel. Too precious by far. As far as I can tell, the building of the Temple drained the land around, and the other estates of the earldom. I intend to correct the balance. I'll sell off the treasures if necessary. We all know the end of the war is bringing hardship. It's our job to help where we can. I can't imagine my Uncle Charles approving, though, after he's spent his life bringing the Temple to such a high shine."
"But does this really necessitate a hasty marriage?" Lucien asked skeptically.
"I think so. How would you feel, walking into am estate in Russia and taking charge?"
"I'd hire good advisers. Mrs. Rossiter can know little of estate management."
Leander sighed. "I knew it wouldn't make sense to you. I find it hard to make it make sense to me. I think it comes of that moment at Waterloo. It created an urgency to put down roots. And as I said, I am more comfortable with marriages of practicality than I am with ones based on fancy. Judith Rossiter understands England, and she will be a helpmeet, a companion, of a sort I could never hire. That she brings a ready-made family is an unexpected bonus."
Lucien slid back in his chair and glanced at Beth. She shrugged. "I like Judith Rossiter very much, and her children are delightful. I think Lee could do a lot worse if he's set on it." She looked at Leander with a smile. "And I do like the fact that you seem to appreciate her important qualities—her strength, and her spirit. A lesser man could have been distracted by a fine figure, and stunning eyes."
"Could he?" Leander drawled. "But the master of the Temple would never be so crass, would he?" All the same, he'd been impressed by those eyes, and hadn't failed to note the figure.
"Perhaps she wanted you to write a sonnet to her eyes," Lucien suggested, "and that's why she got in such a tiff."
"I didn't have that impression."
Beth spoke up. "Perhaps she thought you would and that upset her, remembering her husband."
"More likely. Which reminds me," said Leander with a frown, "have you seen that monument, and that epitaph?"
Beth shuddered. "Yes. It would make me feel his ghost was hanging over me, watching my every move. But most people find it touching. I suppose Judith must or she wouldn't have had it put there."
"Consider," warned Lucien, "that if you marry her you'll doubtless have old Sebastian as a third in your marriage bed."
With a slightly wary glance at Beth, Leander said, "Then I'll have to make sure he sees something worth his effort, won't I?"
Lucien burst out laughing. "I must admit, you and Rossiter wouldn't seem to be in the same style in such matters, and she is a fine figure of a woman."
Beth cleared her throat. "Is it my turn to be jealous?"
"But my dear," said Lucien with a glint, "you know I love you for your mind alone."
Diplomatic instincts clamoring, Leander interrupted this. "So how do I mend matters?"
Beth grinned at him. "Afraid of an outbreak of war?"
He grinned back. "Old habits die hard."
"It seems to me," Beth said, "that Mrs. Rossiter decided you were either an impostor, or were playing some kind of trick. After all, if this match comes about it will be a stunning one for her from a worldly point of view, one normally considered out of her reach. She is connected to the aristocracy, but only insofar as her father is the fourth son of a viscount. She must find it most improbable that an earl pop out of the ground with an offer. Tomorrow I'll visit her and explain that you are in earnest Perhaps then she will give you a fair hearing."
Leander smiled. "Thank you, Beth. Plead my case sweetly?"
Beth was again aware of his charms. "I'll pave the way, that's all. You, my lord, are well able to plead for yourself."
* * *
Judith had been in a fury all the way home, but it was a suppressed fury for she was trying to pretend to the children that nothing in particular had happened. It wasn't easy.
"But Lord Charrington said he wanted to marry you, Mama," said Bastian with a frown. "Do you not like him?"
"I don't know him," she said as calmly as she could. "And I very much doubt that he is lord anything."
"Why would he lie?" asked Rosie, tears threatening in her eyes. "I thought he was ever so kind."
Judith rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Sometimes people pretend to be kind, dearest. The gentleman was merely teasing. Put it out of your head for we'll see no more of him."
In the end to distract them, she stopped at the Hubbles' cottage to look at the kittens. They were weaned. In fact, Mrs. Hubble said with a shrug, "It'll be into the river with 'em any day, Mrs. Rossiter."
They were a collection of delightful, roly-poly creatures, and Judith felt an almost overpowering urge to take them all before this dreadful fate occurred. She was certainly happy to let the children pick one. As Rosie had fallen in love with a playful white kitten with a scattering of black patches, that one came home with them.
Magpie, as it was christened, certainly took their minds off the rogue by the riverside.
Not so Judith, but she had to serve supper and get through the evening ritual—some reading, and tonight the construction of a
bed for Magpie—before she was alone and could take her rage out on the raisins.
Now the rage was mostly gone, leaving only bitterness and sadness. For a moment there by the riverbank she had liked the man, and that was why his cruelty had hurt so much. He was a good-looking young man with a distinctive air, and despite her reputation she was not immune to such things. He had seemed troubled in some way, and she had truly wanted to help him if it were in her power. Then he had played that vile trick.
At first she'd thought he was another of the silly poets, and that was bad enough. Though her husband had never made money from his work he had gathered a small following of admirers who wrote, and occasionally visited.
Over the past twelve months a steady trickle of them had come to Mayfield to visit his grave and stare at his Judith, his Angel Bride. Four of them had proposed marriage, three of them in verse.
In truth if any of them had appeared to be in funds she might have been tempted for the children's sake, though to be the subject of endless derivative odes to her eyes would have been torture. But they were all short of money and so she had sent them on their way.
If that had been it, if today's encounter had been poetic nonsense, she would have been disappointed, but nothing more.
But it had been worse. It had been some kind of cruel joke. Had it been a wager? The Marquess of Arden appeared to be a typical London buck, and there had certainly been some wild goings-on at Hartwell before his marriage, but would even he sink so low as to make such a cruel wager with a guest?
Could they seriously have expected her to believe such an offer? Or to accept, no matter how poor she was? Her rage was returning. She threw the last of the raisins into a bowl and paced the tiny room, thinking up a great many unpleasant things she'd like to do to a certain gentleman with a charming smile, mesmerizing eyes, and no conscience at all.
Then she stopped her pacing and laughed. She had to confess she was enjoying this brief spurt of honest fury. Sebastian had not liked to have strong emotions about him, especially anger, but there were times when it was cathartic.
She went over to the dresser and opened the last bottle of the previous year's rich elderberry wine. She had been saving this one for Christmas, but the indulgence of an early glass wouldn't hurt. She raised the glass high. "Thank you, Mister Whoever-you-were for an excellent reason to let fly."
* * *
The next day Judith was in the kitchen with Rosie, grinding the suet for the mincemeat, when there was a knock at the front door. "Bastian! See who that is, please." She helped Rosie stir the fat into the fruit.
Rosie sighed with satisfaction. "We have a cake, and a pudding, and now mincemeat. It's going to be a lovely Christmas, Mama."
"Yes, it is, dear..."
Bastian dashed in and hissed, "It's Lady Arden, Mama! I've put her in the front room."
Judith let the spoon fall. What now? She encountered the marchioness now and then, mostly after Sunday service, and liked her well enough. There was no question, however, of intimacy with one in such different circumstances. She had thought sadly that if Lady Arden had come among them while Sebastian was alive it might have been possible to be friends.
"Mama!" prompted Bastian. "You can't just leave her there."
"I suppose not." Judith rose and took off her work apron. She washed her sticky hands in the bowl in the sink. "Boil the kettle for tea, please, children, but don't pour it on the leaves unless I say." They couldn't afford to waste tea. "Lady Arden probably won't stay above a minute."
The cottage only had two rooms downstairs and so they called the front room exactly that, though some might call it a parlor. It boasted two upholstered chairs, and three hard ones at a table. That was about all it could hold.
As Judith entered, her visitor rose and smiled. "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, Mrs. Rossiter, but I felt we had need to talk."
Judith knew then that it was something to do with yesterday's adventure. Had the marchioness come to apologize on her husband's behalf, or to complain? Her tormentor had said he was a guest at Hartwell. Perhaps he was deranged.
"We had better have tea, then," Judith said, and called to the children to complete their work. She waved Lady Arden to one chair and took the other.
"Mrs. Rossiter," said the marchioness. "Yesterday I understand you had an encounter with a guest of ours."
Judith kept her face blank, still unsure what was to come. "He did say he was staying at Hartwell, my lady."
"Indeed he is. We are talking, of course, of the Earl of Charrington. He's an old school friend of my husband's. He fought at Waterloo, and has not been back in England very long."
Judith let go of some of her tension. So that was it. The poor man was suffering from battle-madness. She had sensed some terrible need. "I'm very sorry," she said.
Lady Arden wrinkled her brow at this. "I don't think he particularly minded being abroad."
"I meant about his... sickness, my lady."
"Sickness?" Beth stared at her then laughed. "Do you think him mad? Poor Lee, though I fear he deserves it, rushing his fences like that."
The conversation halted as Bastian came in, carefully bearing the tea tray, followed by Rosie with a plate of biscuits. Judith was glad of an opportunity to review the situation. It was clear she still had no idea what it was about.
Lady Arden smiled at the children and asked to be introduced. After chatting she said, "I quite forgot. I brought a cake. It's in the carriage. Perhaps you could bring it in for me, my dears. I shouldn't think your Mama and I particularly want cake at this time of day, but you may have a small slice if you are allowed."
Judith gave a nod, and the children were off in search of their treat As soon as they were gone, however, all good humor fled for she could not see a pleasant interpretation to put on the affair. She poured the tea with a steady hand. "I can't imagine what part you have in all this, my lady."
Beth took the cup. "An honorable one, I assure you, Mrs. Rossiter." Her tone compelled Judith to meet her eyes. "I would never be part of anything designed to injure another woman."
Judith was tempted to believe her. "What's going on, then? The man was clearly wicked or mad."
Beth shook her head. "You have every reason to doubt Lord Charrington's sanity, but he is not mad, or wicked. I cannot speak for him, but he has reasons for wishing to marry. He wishes to marry a woman who will accept the arrangement in a practical rather than a romantical way. When he heard about you, he thought you would suit his requirements. As for your requirements, I can only tell you that he is wealthy and willing to support you and your children in generous style. I think you have seen for yourself that he is not an unpleasing man."
Judith stared, her tea untouched. "But half the women in England would be willing to marry him if that's what he wants! Why me?"
"To be honest, I don't really know. I can assure you, Mrs. Rossiter, you will do yourself no harm by at least discussing this matter with Lord Charrington. He is in earnest and his plan offers you many advantages. Let us be frank. You are poor, and poverty is unpleasant. It will make life very difficult for your children. Marriage to the earl would change that dramatically."
"Too dramatically. I'm no fool, Lady Arden, and there must be a price to pay."
Beth shrugged. "I would feel exactly as you do, but I think you should at least let him speak. Perhaps he can make the price clear. Perhaps it will not be too high to pay."
Thus Judith Rossiter found herself within the hour anxiously awaiting the Earl of Charrington in the library of Hartwell.
It was a small room, for Hartwell was a small house, though many times larger than her cottage, and had a pleasant, lived-in feel to it. The carpet was even worn in places, and the leather chairs had the shine of long use. Many of the shelves were slightly disarranged and missing a volume. Three books lay on a mahogany table looking as if they had recently been opened and enjoyed.
A fire burned in the hearth. Judith went over and held her hands out to
the heat, more for comfort than for warmth. She didn't know what to do.
She had allowed Lady Arden to persuade her to this appointment. The marchioness had brought her back in the carriage, insisting that the children come, too. Bastian and Rosie were now being entertained by the marquess and marchioness in the stables, and Judith wasn't at all sure this wasn't a subtle form of pressure.
Bastian's eyes had shone at the mere thought of being around horses again, for his pony had been sold on Sebastian's death. Judith couldn't ignore the fact that as Bastian's stepfather the earl would surely provide him with another one. For that, almost any sacrifice seemed worthwhile.
But she wouldn't allow herself to forget that there was always a price to pay, and it might not just be herself who paid it. If she married Lord Charrington she would be putting herself and her children in his power, and he was undoubtedly powerful. If things went wrong they could end up in an even worse situation than at present, and perhaps with more children to be hurt....
The door clicked open and she whirled around.
He halted, hand still on the knob, expression very serious. "My dear lady, I cannot have frightened you so badly, can I?"
Judith pulled herself together. "Of course not, my lord. You just startled me."
He closed the door and came over to join her. "That was only too obvious."
She knew he referred to the day before, not the present, and felt color in her cheeks. Her reaction had been entirely reasonable, but she feared she had ranted like a fishwife. She had no intention of apologizing. She glanced at him, trying to study him without being ill-mannered.
"Please," he said, extending his hands gracefully. "Look your fill. It is only natural."
That hardly helped her compose herself, but she raised her chin and did exactly that.
He was only a little taller than she. His build was slim, but his shoulders were wide, his legs strong, and she had noticed that he moved with lithe ease. His face had a fine-boned elegance, but no remarkable feature except his eyes, which were of a bronzish color and caught the light. Set a little deep under elegantly curving brows they had the power to capture the attention.
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 4