When Martha made a sweeping gesture and mashed a cake against the sleeve of his Melton-cloth jacket, doubtless finer than anything that had visited this room before, he passed it off smoothly, somehow giving the impression that a smear of cream and jam was just what the brown fabric had always needed to be complete.
Soon, everyone was gathered around him like doting sheep, even John.
Judith was not entirely sure why she resented this until she realized that her family were not being visited, they were being skillfully handled. They were one of the prices he had to pay in this arrangement.
All her doubts resurfaced. Perhaps he was handling her, and in such a subtle way that she hadn't noticed. Perhaps she would be handled all her life—which brought to mind the events following her betrothal, where he had indeed handled her. And brought to mind Beth Arden's comments about him undressing her, and nakedness...
She could feel her color rising. She was horrified to be sitting here in her parents' parlor with the man who had... who would.... She had never felt this way about Sebastian.
She took a deep drink of tea and choked. John slapped her back so heartily she almost fell off her chair. She stared at Leander who was perfectly straight-faced, but she could see the laughter bubbling behind his eyes.
She resented the fact that he was holding in the laughter, laughter at her family.
Before she said something better left unsaid, Judith concentrated on gossip with Martha. Unfortunately it was interspersed with whispers like, "He's like the hero from a novel, Ju."
"Will you have to wear a coronet?"
"How many servants will you have?"
"If you set up in London, will you have me to visit?"
She didn't know the answers to these questions, and they frightened her. Perhaps Leander should marry Martha instead. But then she realized that Martha, for all she was twenty-five, was just the sort of young widgeon to fall in love with him, and perhaps was already on that road.
Judith made a solemn vow never to embarrass him and herself in such a way.
Concentrating on Martha, Judith only slowly realized that Leander was encouraging her family to speak of their financial situation. The Millsoms were not grasping, but when there is never enough money it soon becomes the focus of existence. Judith knew that all too well.
It was suddenly just too much. She put down her cup and rose. "My lord, a word with you please."
The room fell silent. Somewhat surprised, Leander followed her out into the dim narrow passageway. "Is there some problem?"
Judith faced him and whispered tightly, "You have my family all wrapped around your fingers already, my lord. There is no need to buy them, too."
His chin rose under the attack. "Why do you object? Do you think I'll take the cost out on you?"
She winced at that, which came too close to the mark. "I don't want you to feel any obligation. My family was no part of our agreement."
In the familiar, dim, cluttered passageway he looked as out of place as a diamond in the ashes. He acted it, too, brushing a crumb from his sleeve, and drawling, "You see me as a very feeble fellow, don't you? But I assure you, Judith, I am never put upon. Am I to leave your family in straitened circumstances when funds I would consider loose change could make all the difference? The fifty guineas for your sister and brother-in-law's lease, the hundred for John's articles.... These are nothing to me." He gave one of those expressive Continental shrugs, and it seemed to dismiss her family entirely. "I don't expect, or want, gratitude."
She wanted to hit him. "How absolutely splendid, for you!"
She would have swept by him back into the room, but he grasped her shoulders. "We are to be wed, Judith. With all my worldly goods I will thee endow. Do you not want me to ease your family's lot?"
Anger quivered in the chill air. Alarmed, she stepped back, but in the narrow passage there was nowhere to go. She ended up pressed against a wall between the hook holding his greatcoat, and that holding her mother's old musty cloak. Symbols of their different lives.
He let her go, but put his hands at either side of her head, caging her. "Well?" Bred-in-the-bone authority rang through the word.
Her knees were knocking. She didn't know how to handle this, only wanted to escape. "Yes, I want you to help them," she said thinly. "We should go back."
For a moment he leant closer, as if he would demand more. But then he drew in a deep breath and straightened. "What is this all about?"
The anger, the danger, faded, but her heart still pounded. "I don't know."
He studied her. "I've frightened you. I apologize. I don't know what came over me. Perhaps this is the notorious bridal nerves. Thank heavens there are less than three weeks to go."
Three weeks, thought Judith, until she and her children were in his power forever.
* * *
That evening, Leander found himself alone with Lucien drinking port. At Hartwell, it wasn't the practice for Beth to leave the men for this ritual, but this night she had pleaded a headache and gone early to bed.
Leander was deeply troubled by that moment of anger at the vicarage. It was not part of his nature at all.
"Luce, excuse my probing into personal matters, but it would appear that you and Beth sometimes fight."
Lucien grinned. "It has been known."
"Do you not find it makes your marriage difficult'"
Lucien topped up their glasses. "It makes it lively. It don't bother us, and we enjoy the reconciliations. I suppose the battle lines are well drawn and familiar, and in no danger of getting out of control. You must have experienced the same in war."
"Yes. A large part of it is maneuvering and posturing."
"Well, I wouldn't say Beth and I are precisely doing that. She's protecting her territory, and I'm protecting mine. By good fortune we discovered we have a large amount of middle ground that we are happy to share. Why the interest? I wouldn't have thought Judith Rossiter particularly militant."
Leander leaned back. "I suspect she could be, particularly in defense of her children... But I found myself angry with her today."
"You can hardly expect to never be angry with her."
"I am not used to losing control."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing terrible. But I laid hands on her. I wanted to shake her. I frightened her."
"I'm no adviser on matters like this, but I'd think while a marriage without love would be tedious, one without some anger would be dead. You are right to be concerned that she fear you, though. We are stronger, so they must be able to trust us."
Leander glanced up, caught by something in Lucien's tone, but his diplomatic instincts told him to let it pass. "It's not in my nature to be brutal, you know that. That is why I'm concerned. Do you think it means Judith and I are unsuited?"
"In a similar situation, Nicholas suggested that my desire to throttle Beth was a sublimation of more earthy needs, and he could well have been right."
"I am not mad with desire for Judith Rossiter. This is a marriage of practicality. I have no cause to lose my temper over trifles."
Lucien laughed out loud. "To me, it sounds as if for once you are being human, Lee. You are finding marriage involves two individuals, and a hell of a lot of compromise." He raised his glass. "Enjoy the fireworks."
* * *
Three weeks, Judith was discovering, was both not long enough and far too long. She could hardly sleep for second and third thoughts. She needed a lot more time to be sure she was making a wise decision, but couldn't have it. Leander wanted this marriage quickly, and that in itself was suspicious. How could she tell what her future would be like when she met him so briefly and generally in company?
On the other hand she wanted it done, for every day brought the danger that she would somehow reveal to him that she was not a grieving widow. That would put an end to the plan. She could not bear that.
Already there were too many changes. The children had their new books and toys, and were beginning to bec
ome accustomed to having things as opposed to doing without. Leander visited the cottage nearly every day, and always had a gift—an orange, a book, a ball.
Often he would carry the children back to Hartwell so that, as he put it, they could become used to their future state. If that was so then their future was to be on horseback, for she saw little evidence they ever progressed up to the house.
Despite Leander's urging, she did not spend her days at Hartwell, for there was far too much to do preparing for the wedding and the move. And perhaps, she admitted to herself, she was avoiding him for fear of making a mistake.
At least the children were getting to know and like him. Lord Charrington says, Lord Charrington does, echoed in her head every evening.
She worried about them. They were fizzing with excitement and at times becoming unruly. Judith would have liked to keep them to a more orderly routine, but that made her the one to say no, and besides, she lacked time to supervise their studies. Leander had insisted on hiring the Hubbles to work for her, but she still had hardly a moment free, and could get more done in a day with the children elsewhere.
One day Bastian begged her to come up to Hartwell and see how well he was doing in his riding. Judith knew nothing of horses, was afraid of them, and secretly thought riding a foolish, dangerous practice when feet and wheels would take you anywhere. She agreed, however, and knew it was a good idea when she saw how pleased Leander was to see her there. Avoiding him might in itself make him suspicious.
He kissed her hand and cheek, then led her over to a place at the paddock rails.
"Is Bastian progressing as well as he thinks?" she asked.
"Yes. Rosie will do well, too, when I can find her a better mount. This one is a lazy dumpling but she seems content."
Rosie rode out from the stables, bouncing happily on a fat little piebald, and waving at her mother. Judith waved back, her anxiety diminished. There was no danger there.
Then Bastian came out, perched on the top of an absolutely enormous chestnut. It scared Judith half to death. Her voice was thin as she said, "He looks so small up there."
Leander leaned against the paddock fence watching the boy put the horse through his paces. He didn't look in the least apprehensive.
"He's a natural rider and Boscabel's a safe mount, trust me. But all the horses here except my stallion and Beth's mare are Lucien's, and you can hardly expect Lucien to ride a pint-size horse. I'll buy Bastian something smaller when we're settled, but there's nothing suitable in this area at the moment." He glanced at her, seeming to notice her feelings for the first time."Believe me, a vicious pony would be much worse than a well-mannered hunter."
But there would be less far to fall. "Is that what that is? A hunter?" Judith knew about hunting. It killed people.
He nodded. "An old one. Lucien's retired him down here." He turned to her. "You don't know much about horses, do you?"
"Is that a crime?"
"Please don't snap at me," he said in that handling voice. "I hear your husband kept a stable."
Judith moderated her tone but was unable to take her eyes off her son, who looked so small and helpless on the huge horse. "A carriage pair and a hack. But he didn't really care to ride unless the roads were too bad for wheels." She too wished she could control this urge to snap over every little thing. It was nerves. It would surely be easier when they were wed. For better or worse it would be done.
"I'd like you to take riding lessons, too."
"Now?" asked Judith in alarm, then could have bit her tongue, since he had clearly intended no such thing.
"Why not?"
"I don't have a habit."
"You have a habit of being difficult. You don't need a special garment to just sit on a horse. Scared?"
Judith looked him in the eye and said, "No."
Satisfaction shone briefly in his eyes. "Good. Stay here."
She knew she'd been handled again.
He was back in an alarmingly short time with a daintier chestnut with white markings. "Beth's mount," he explained. "Come on. Let's get you up."
The horse was relatively small, but still looked enormous.
"Why isn't Bastian riding this one?"
"It's a lady's mount, trained to the sidesaddle. Put your foot in my hands."
Judith stood beside the horse and looked up at the sidesaddle. A stable boy was holding the bridle and the horse was quiet, but she had no desire at all to be up there.
"No," she said. "I don't want to ride."
He looked at her a moment, then nodded to the boy to take the horse back to the stables. At the look in his eye, Judith beat a strategic retreat back to the paddock rails.
He came up beside her. "Why lie?"
"Lie?" she queried ingenuously.
"You're terrified of horses."
"Nonsense. I just don't care to be on one."
"Look at me!"
A shiver ran down her spine, but she obeyed, meeting his still, watchful eyes. They appeared almost yellow at this moment.
"If you are frightened of riding, Judith, I won't press you to ride, but I object, most strongly, to you lying to me about it."
It was said quietly but firmly. Judith felt like a naughty child, and knew she deserved to. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to admit it."
He looked at her soberly. "I feel as if you're trying to be something other than yourself, Judith Rossiter. You never relax your guard."
Judith felt the clutch of fear. Would he poke and probe, and dig out her secret? "It's just nerves. It was you who insisted that our marriage be so speedy."
"Do you want to delay it, then?"
"No," she said sharply.
He looked as if he would pursue the point, but Bastian called for their attention and set his horse at the tiny obstacle, a plank on two small barrels.
The horse hopped over it with a bored air. Bastian, however, was paying more attention to his audience than to his riding, and didn't stop when the horse did. He slid forward and off Boscabel's neck.
Judith gave a scream and dashed out to him. Leander shook his head, and ran over to take charge of the surprised horse before it decided to create a fuss over all these alarums, and absentmindedly trampled the unharmed boy.
He then insisted that Bastian remount, over Judith's desperate opposition. It might have been the make or break battle of their relationship if Bastian hadn't been even more determined than Leander that he get back on the horse and do the jump properly.
Judith stood there, white as a sheet, as her son took the jump three times.
Leander was seriously wondering whether this marriage was going to work at all when she turned to him and summoned a gallant smile. "I must apologize. That was a great piece of foolishness, wasn't it?" Her color was now high with embarrassment, and she was staring fixedly at a point somewhere around his ear. "It is just that I am unaccustomed to horses."
She tentatively, and then with more confidence, met his eyes. "As I seem to have given birth to two little equestrians, perhaps I had better take up the practice myself. But not, I think, until after we are more settled. One can only ask so much of one's nerves at once."
She offered a tentative smile, and he knew with relief that it would be all right after all. There are few things more difficult than admitting one has made a mistake.
However, later that day when Leander found himself alone with Lucien over a game of billiards, he raised a question. "Do you think Judith's hiding something from me?"
Lucien looked up from his shot. "Everyone's hiding something. You can't expect her to be an open book on such short acquaintance." He leant down again and potted a red.
"What would you feel like if Beth died and you were forced by circumstances to marry another?"
Lucien straightened. "I don't care to even contemplate it. But it's hardly the same. I suspect if the widow has qualms, it's not just because of remarriage, but because of the power you will have over her."
"Power?"
"It's a matt
er Beth and I have discussed at length," said Lucien dryly, "both before and after our marriage. She has somewhat strong opinions about it, being a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft. She can wax fiery about male domination."
"I have no intention of dominating anyone."
"I don't think I had either, but when it came down to it I expected my word to be law. And, of course, we have the law on our side. The legal ruling is, I believe, 'In law, husband and wife are one person, and the husband is that person.' We control the property and the money. Even if our wife should earn money we can take it for our own purposes. We have the right to her body, and even the right to beat her, though we might get into trouble if we did her serious harm. We can dictate where she may and may not live, and if she should choose to flee from us, we can keep her from her children forever. I'm not sure whether in your case the courts would give you control over your stepchildren, but I fear it is very likely. If Judith Rossiter has qualms, it merely proves that she is a rational woman."
"Put like that, it's astonishing women marry at all."
"They mostly have very little choice." Lucien leant on his cue. "This has nicely raised a touchy subject. Judith appears to be unadvised. Beth wishes me to have marriage contracts drawn up to safeguard her. They would chiefly be financial, and as she brings nothing to the marriage that would mean that you would be paying for your own shackles."
"Of course I intend to provide for her—pin money, a jointure..."
"Beth, being of a suspicious nature, would like it in writing."
"I have no objection as long as the terms are reasonable." But Leander could hear the stiffness in his own voice.
Lucien grinned sympathetically. "You'll get used to it. And at least you're not marrying someone who was raised on this stuff instead of mother's milk. On the whole, I think you're wise to have a speedy wedding. Less time for Beth to infect Judith with her philosophy."
"How on earth did you two come to be married?"
Lucien raised a brow. "That, I'm afraid, is as undisclosable as your real reason for this marriage." He moved around the table to line up a shot and continued smoothly, "By the way, if I'm representing the lady's interests, don't you think you should buy Judith a ring?"
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 8