"Mama, what's the matter?"
Judith realized she was just standing with half the potatoes in the water, and the others turning brown on the chopping board. She quickly threw them in the pot, and turned to the children. "I'm just tired after such a long day, dears. Set the table, Rosie. Bastian, fill the kettle. Supper will not be long."
Like a dam bursting, the questions started. "Will we have rooms of our own?"
"How many horses do you think Papa Leander owns?"
"Will we have servants?"
"Will we have cream cakes every day?"
"Is Temple Knollis bigger than Hartwell?"
"Bigger than Lord Faversham's house?"
"Will we meet the king?"
Judith could answer a definite no to the last one, for the poor king was mad. For the rest she said, "I think we should treat this as a mysterious adventure, dears. We'll discover each new thing as it happens, together. I'm sure, however, that all the discoveries will be wonderful."
When they sat to the meal, Rosie said, "I hope when we go to Temple Knollis, we'll never have to eat cold mutton again."
Judith frowned, but how silly it was of her to be continuing with her frugal housekeeping while preparing for opulence. All the same, it seemed important to go on as they usually did. Perhaps it was a talisman against the bubble bursting.
When the children were in bed she reluctantly unfolded the papers. After reading them she let them fall. And she'd been feeding her poor dears cold mutton!
Her pin money, just for personal expenditures, was to be in the thousands of pounds, and hers to spend as she wished. There was a meticulous note in parentheses that the arrangement was that she be responsible for ensuring that this money did cover her requirements. Beth Arden apparently believed that rights were best guarded by responsibilities.
There was a generous allowance for the children in addition to the provision of their household of servants, which would be Leander's responsibility. The allowance was to be under Judith's direction. There was even a small personal allowance for each child's independent use, with provision for it to increase at each birthday. That was added in a separate hand, and she suspected it to be Leander's work.
She would be hard put to prevent him spoiling her children beyond belief.
Every eventuality was allowed for, including future children, and widowhood. Her widow's jointure would ensure a life of ease.
There was even, to her surprise, a provision for them living apart. If either or both should decide to live apart from the other, Judith was to have custody of Bastian and Rosie and receive two thousand pounds per annum, regardless of the cause of the separation, or any legal actions of any party.
Even though this implied that he would take custody of any children born of their union, it was extraordinary. She could turn around the day after the wedding and never speak to Leander again, and he would be obliged to pay her this money. That he was willing to sign this document was a great act of trust in itself.
For a moment she wondered if he was too sweet-natured, almost to the point of foolishness. But then she remembered that moment in her parents' house and the way he had said, "I am never put upon." She had not doubted him then, and didn't now.
He trusted her. He trusted her to deal honesty with him in financial matters. He trusted her to deal honesty with him in all ways, and she was betraying that trust.
She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands. It was a tortuous situation, but all she could do was trust that she could give what he wanted without, by mischance, giving more.
Chapter 7
One afternoon, Patrick Moore, the local carrier, drew up before the cottage and unloaded a stack of boxes into her front room. Judith knew they contained the clothes. Called by children's natural instinct for treats, Bastian and Rosie came running to help her open them.
Rosie was ecstatic over her pink dress, Bastian a little self-conscious about his suit, which was made in imitation of a grown-up one, but pleased all the same. They couldn't be expected to be thrilled about new underwear, and yet she sensed their satisfaction at yet more tangible signs of the change in their lives.
Rosie absolutely had to try on her lovely dress, and so Judith helped her into it. She combed her daughter's hair out into a gleaming fall of pale gold silk and ran her hand over it. It was lovely hair but she feared that Rosie, like her father, would have to resort to curling papers to be fashionable.
Rosie stood on the kitchen table in an attempt to see herself in the small mirror, then jumped down to set her skirts swirling in a dance. Judith had to capture her before she dirtied her finery.
"Now you, Mama. Show us your dress."
Judith gently took out the peach silk gown, marveling again at the beauty of the fabric. It slithered through her fingers like sin. The gown had only simple ruffles and piping to decorate it.
"Put it on, Mama!"
"Not now..."
"Please!"
In the end she gave in and went up to her small room under the eaves to slip into the gown. In the same box there was an underslip of creamy silk, butter-soft cream kid gloves, sheer silk stockings clocked with peach butterflies, and white lace garters, threaded with peach satin.
Judith looked around at her iron bedstead, the warped planks of the floor, and the damp-stains on the whitewashed walls, and thought the clothes should crumble like fairy gold to be in such surroundings.
In the end, though, she put on every item, wincing slightly as the silk caught on her still-roughened hands. She put the gloves on to save the fabric from damage.
She couldn't fasten the buttons at the back, but looked in the mirror all the same. She could see herself from the waist up, and the gown was utterly beautiful. Even in the dim room it made her skin glow, though the effect would be improved if she didn't have a smudge on her forehead from black-leading the grate.
She made her way carefully downstairs, gathering the skirts up to her knees to be sure they would not be soiled or snagged on the wooden steps.
The children gasped. "You look lovely, Mama," Bastian said with a seriousness that caught her heart.
"Fasten the buttons for me then, dear."
She bent slightly so he could reach the tiny buttons that went all the way up to the high neck. When he'd finished, she glanced in the mirror and saw the frilled collar made her neck look long and slim, and framed her face becomingly.
"You look like a bon-bon in a frilled cup." Rosie giggled with delight.
Judith broke into laughter, too. "I hope someone doesn't decide to eat me up!"
Filled suddenly with excitement as joyous as the children's, she dug through the boxes and pulled out the Russian mantle and flung it around her shoulders. It was lined with soft fleece and wonderfully warm. Apparently one did not have to be plain to be practical. She pulled up the hood with its fox trimming then glanced in the mirror again.
The heart-shaped face peeping out of the rich russet fur did not look like Judith Rossiter at all. It almost looked like a countess.
"Mama," said Bastian excitedly, running to the door. "I hear a horse. It must be—"
"Leander!" shrieked Judith. "He mustn't see me in my wedding gown." She flung off the mantle, picked up the skirts of her dress, and fled up the stairs.
She heard his voice as she reached her room.
"Mama's run upstairs," said Rosie. "She's in her wedding gown."
Judith leant down the stairs to listen.
"And so are you, I think. That is a very pretty gown, Miss Rosetta Rossiter, but it scarcely does justice to the pretty wearer."
"Oh, Papa Leander, you do say lovely things."
"Only to lovely people. And Bastian is going to put me into the shade, I fear."
"What will you be wearing, sir?"
"Do you know, I haven't thought to purchase something special."
"I'm sure you have lots of fine clothes."
"Yes, I'm afraid I do. I'm something of a peacock at heart. I could send to
London for a special suit if I knew what your mother would be wearing."
"Don't you dare!" Judith called. "Don't tell him. It's to be a surprise."
He came to the bottom of the stairs, and so she ducked into her room. "Are you coming down today? I thought we could go for a walk."
"In a minute," said Judith, and tried to unfasten her buttons. It didn't take long for her to realize that it was impossible. She stuck her head around the door again. Leander was still at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall, arms smugly crossed. "You can't undo your fastenings, can you?"
"How did you guess?"
He just smiled, somewhat wickedly.
"Send Bastian up to me, please."
"I'm closer."
"You cannot see my wedding dress before the day."
"Will it disappear in a puff of smoke? Delightful thought."
Judith thought of the children. "Leander!"
"Even in this dim light, I can see you're blushing. Do you realize it's only three days until our wedding? It really wouldn't matter if I came up and helped you out of your gown..."
Judith remembered Beth's comment about him wanting to undress her, and thought her face must be like a scarlet beacon. She saw him put one foot on a stair. "Don't you dare!"
He laughed and said, "Pity," then went to get Bastian.
Judith retreated into her room, shaken.
She'd just been well and truly teased, but the promises for the future were real. Her own vague imaginings alarmed her, but she couldn't deny a tickle of excitement. It was like when she and her sisters had slipped down to the river to swim in their shifts, terrified that some male would chance by to see them, but enjoying that very terror as part of the treat.
She felt like a girl again.
Bastian came in and undid the buttons. "I think this is a silly way to fasten a dress," he said. "What if you were alone? You'd be stuck in it."
"Then I would never have dressed in it in the first place, would I? Anyway, this is a lady's gown, and ladies have maids."
"You don't."
"I will. Go and take off your finery, dear, and be sure to put it away neatly so it doesn't crease."
Judith hung up her dress carefully, draping a sheet over it to protect it from dust then put on her black again and went downstairs. Rosie was just about to go up, her everyday clothes in her hands. Judith gave her the same instructions then joined Leander in the kitchen, feeling somewhat fluttery.
"Do you think I'll need a maid?" she asked.
He kissed her hand and her cheek in that foreign manner to which she was still unaccustomed. "Of course. But there hardly seems any point in hiring one here, when a local girl will be happier at the Temple. Unless, that is, you would prefer a highly skilled dresser from London."
"But I will need one on the journey, as you see."
His smile was wickedly lazy. "Not at all. You'll have me. I don't intend to take my valet."
Judith didn't know what to say. She turned away. "I still am not sure it is wise to take the children. It will be a long journey for them."
"But they will be our family, and they will have to make the journey one day. We are in no hurry, and won't set too hard a pace."
Judith's concern was that he would lose patience with them, confined in a carriage for days. Even her children, good though they were, were bound to complain, and squabble, and whine. She turned back. "It won't be much of a wedding journey for you."
"It will be your wedding journey, too."
"You forget, I've been married before."
"I never forget that." Something dark flashed in his eyes, but then she decided she must have imagined it, for he smiled as he took her hands. "Though I confess, sometimes I wonder..."
He lowered his lips and touched them to hers, something to which she had become accustomed, and which she found quite pleasant. He released her hands and grasped her waist, slowly sliding his hands up until his thumbs brushed her breasts.
A shudder rippled through her. She gasped and stared at him.
The children clattered down the stairs. He sighed and let her go.
As they all left the house he said, "Surely you must have something in one of those boxes that you could wear for this expedition."
"Nothing suitable for tramping the countryside, no."
"Then you haven't ordered enough clothes."
It was one of his dictatorial statements. Judith raised her chin and marched ahead. "I'm sorry if you feel ashamed to be seen with me, my lord."
He grasped the back of her gown. "Don't be hoity-toity or I'll kiss you here and now, and the vicar's coming down the street."
Judith smiled tightly at Reverend Killigrew, and he beamed back. As soon as the vicar was past she glared at Leander.
He tucked her hand in his arm, but his eyes were cool. "We have an agreement. You are to stop wearing mourning."
"And so I will," she said, "when we are married."
He sighed. "I'm sure your first husband would not begrudge you a pink dress."
He still thought she was attached to her mourning. It seemed ridiculous that Leander could think Sebastian's memory challenged the reality he represented. But then immediately she felt guilt. Sebastian had adored and cherished her in his own way, and given her two wonderful children. How wrong for her to brush his memory aside for this rather facile young man.
"I'm sorry," he said rather bleakly. "I won't pester you about it again."
She looked at him, wishing there was something to be said that would comfort him without being disloyal to Sebastian. If there was such a phrase, she couldn't find it.
They walked across fields in the brisk air, talking of everyday impersonal things. The children gathered colored leaves, and nuts. Bastian ran over with a handful of horse chestnuts.
Leander pulled out a knife and cut off the outer shell. Unlike a hoop, this was apparently a matter he knew about. The two males assessed the glossy conkers like connoisseurs, debating which would prove to be strongest in battle. Bastian would carefully thread string through them, and then swing them against those of his friends, to see which would break first. The winner would have a knot in the string, one knot for each victory.
"Georgie has a grand one," said Bastian. "A tenner. I think this one might beat it, though."
"I think so, too," said Leander. "Do you know, I'd never heard of conkers before I went to school."
"Really? Why not?"
"It's not played in other countries. I had a lot to learn besides Greek. Actually," he added thoughtfully, "my modern Greek was rather good."
Bastian looked up at him with a frown. "Will I like school, Papa Leander?"
"I hope so. It can't all be perfect, though, and enduring the hard times is part of the education. But be assured, Bastian, that if you really find it miserable, you may change your school, or even come home and be taught by a tutor."
Bastian gave him a sideways look. "A tutor who'd teach me to endure the hard times, and I'd be stuck with him all the time? I'm not sure I'd care for that."
Leander grinned. "I see we understand each other."
Judith wasn't sure she understood. It pleased her to see Bastian growing to trust Leander, and yet she felt as if a little male enclave was growing up which might exclude her.
Bastian looked down at the conkers, but said, "Will I be beaten at school?"
"I never knew anyone who avoided it, but you're welcome to try."
Bastian looked up again. "I've never been beaten. Does it hurt?"
"What do you think?"
Bastian was quiet, and Judith seriously thought of announcing then and there that her child would go to school over her dead body. She began to have more sympathy for Leander's mother, who had not perhaps been trying to cling to her son, but trying to save him from this cruel life. But then life was cruel as she well knew, and she had been fortunate. She had never witnessed it, but people were whipped through the streets for crimes, and flogged in the army and navy. As a curate
's daughter she was well aware of the hardship to be found among the poor.
What path would Bastian take in life? The law, the military, the church? Even as a landowner he would be a magistrate. There were few careers that did not expose a man in some way to harshness.
Bastian looked up resolutely. "It's not that I'm a coward, Papa Leander. I'm just afraid I'll cry."
Leander ruffled his hair. "Grit your teeth and stare at something, then run away afterward and find a place to bawl."
"Is that what you did?"
Judith saw that Leander's cheeks had colored. "Probing rather deep, aren't you? Yes, that's what I did."
Bastian ran off, apparently happy.
"Was that the truth?" Judith asked.
"That I bawled? Are you too fascinated by my wickedness? Yes, but not at school. I'd been sufficiently hardened before then, and trained out of most foolishness."
Judith felt chilled, both by what this said about Leander's childhood, and by its implications for the future."I thought you said your father wasn't cruel."
"Nor was he. I was not a particularly easy child."
She swallowed against a lump. "I find that hard to believe. You'll be telling me next you want to whip Bastian daily to toughen him up!"
His glance was hooded by his heavy lids. "Of course not. Instead, when we're in Somerset, I'll take him to visit Nicholas Delaney. Perhaps he can advise Bastian on how to set up a new Company of Rogues. Our punishments were few and far between, and never excessive."
"It is perfectly natural for a mother to be tenderhearted about her children."
"Of course it is," he agreed, and spoiled it by adding, "That's why children have fathers."
Judith glared at him and marched ahead. But despite that, she knew Leander would not be cruel, and she felt he would be able to guide Bastian's steps toward a successful, productive, manly life better than Sebastian ever could.
It made her sad and proud at the same time.
* * *
It was only three days to the wedding, and Judith had almost finished readying the cottage for departure. In consequence it had a rather bleak look. A few larger items had been crated and sent to Temple Knollis by carrier. This included Sebastian's portrait, his books, and various boxes of notes and unpublished verses. It had seemed strange to send them to her new husband's home, but she could hardly throw them away, and one day the children might value them.
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 10