Jo Beverley - [Rogue ]

by Christmas Angel

  When she went into the next room she found Leander had already done the same for Bastian.

  "We can leave the doors open between their rooms," he said softly, "and into yours as well, so if they awake in the night they won't be too frightened."

  She was to have a room of her own? Judith went through the next door and found the maids making up the big bed there. The hangings were of blue Chinese silk, the wood heavy and dark. Again there was the excellent, old-fashioned quality, but the dead-ness of an unused place.

  Leander opened another door. "Your dressing room. My bedchamber is beyond. Come downstairs and we'll have some supper. It will help you rest."

  As they went downstairs Judith said, "I don't think I'll need help to rest." Her voice sounded strange, and she realized it was the first time she'd spoken since she entered the house.

  It was only the lightest of touches on her elbow to steer her back into the room, and yet her very awareness of it illustrated the gulf between them.

  "Still," he said, "I think you should eat."

  There was a hearty vegetable soup, doubtless the servants' fare, some wedges of cold ham pie, and toasted cheese. And tea. Judith drank three cups but only picked at the food. She knew this would be a disastrous time to talk of their problems, and yet it seemed wrong to sit here in silence ignoring them.

  But they weren't ignoring them. The silence spoke eloquently of that.

  She stood. "I must go to bed or you'll end up carrying me up, too."

  His look responded to her words, but he only said, "Good night, then. Sleep well."

  A maid was waiting to help her out of her gown and brush out her hair. Within moments, as it seemed, Judith was in bed, too tired to even worry about the future. Despite a remarkably lumpy, sagging mattress, she fell fast asleep.

  * * *

  Judith was woken the next day by a maid making up the fire. She had accepted this small luxury at the inn without thinking, but now she realized it was part of her new life. If this was to be her new life.

  Rested, however, her more despondent musings of the day before seemed unreasonable. These last few days had been strained and hectic; it was hardly surprising if things had gone awry. Surely the Leander she had come to know in Mayfield could not be the monster of her worst imaginings.

  When the maid had finished her work, she curtsied and made to leave.

  Judith said, "Is it possible to have some tea?"

  The woman looked startled, but said, "Yes, milady."

  With daylight and leisure, Judith studied her bedroom. It was just as she had thought the night before, and not particularly appealing. The furniture was heavy and dark, the hangings faded by time. As neither Leander nor his father had been in England much, she supposed no one had brought this room up to date since the last occupant. Had that been his mother? His grandmother, even? The mattress certainly felt as if it could date back fifty years or so.

  She was surprised to experience a touch of nostalgia for her cramped but cozy cottage. Then she took herself to task. She was a countess now, and this was a fashionable house. Cottage homeliness would be very out of place.

  As if to prove it, the maid from the night before came in, a different creature entirely from the flustered girl faced with unexpected duties. Back ramrod stiff, the starch in her apron rustling, she set a silver tray by the bed and curtsied. "Good morning, milady. I am Emily and I'll be honored to act as your maid for as long as you wish. I have brought your tea. Is there anything else you require?"

  This was said with a challenging edge. Clearly, Judith had disturbed some aspect of servant etiquette by asking the undermaid for tea. On the other hand, the undermaid had been the sort of servant she had been accustomed to at Mayfield House. This high-in-the-instep young woman was very daunting.

  "I will require my clothes, of course," said Judith as firmly as she could. "I have no idea where my trunks were put..."

  "All your clothing has been unpacked and cared for, milady," said Emily crisply.

  Judith flashed a look at the window, but the dimness of the light confirmed her belief that it was still early in the day. This was a tightly run household, alarmingly so. Still, she was determined not to be browbeaten in her own home.

  "How efficient," she congratulated with a mild smile. "Then I will take a bath in half an hour, and will wear my rose wool gown. Has someone been given the task of seeing to the children?"

  The maid already seemed to be thawing, so Judith assumed her manner had met with approval. "Yes, milady. Betty is to look after Miss Rosetta, and George is to look after Master Bastian. The children are not yet awake, however."

  Judith nodded and wondered what else she should say. Ah, yes. "And Lord Charrington? Has he risen yet?"

  "Not as far as I know, milady."

  Further decisions were clearly called for. "I will breakfast downstairs when I am ready. The children may join me when they rise. After breakfast I wish to have a tour of the house, and discuss management with the senior staff." She nodded. "That will be all, thank you."

  When the maid had left Judith sighed and poured tea from a silver pot into a transparently thin china cup. She would be much happier to be friends with the servants here, rather than a distant mistress, but she knew that would be disastrous. The style of management suitable for Mayfield House would not do for here, and particularly not for Temple Knollis.

  She shivered at the thought of the staff of the Temple. They probably thought themselves lords of creation. What would happen if all these proud servants learned of her poverty before her marriage? As Leander had been in Mayfield without his own servants, there was always the chance that word wouldn't spread, but she doubted it. When the Ardens returned to Town, their staff would carry the word.

  Judith cradled her warm cup for comfort. In all her doubts about the marriage she had never considered this, the daily effort to establish her right to her place.

  She pulled herself together. It was merely a challenge, and a lesser one than others she had faced in her life. She had promised Leander that she would be a good wife, and a good countess. Even if all else was falling apart, she could at least fulfill that part of their contract.

  What should a good wife and countess do?

  Manage his households for prosperity and comfort.

  This house, no matter how well run, would not be ready for children, nor could Bastian and Rosie be allowed the freedom they had enjoyed in Mayfield.

  If they were only to be in London for a few days it might not be worth hiring a governess or tutor, and yet someone would have to look after them.

  If this had been a bachelor household, there might be any number of ways in which she could improve it.

  On the other hand, Leander could well be happy with it as it was and resent interference....

  Judith rubbed anxiously at her temples. Just a few days ago she would have discussed these matters with him, but not now. She remembered the way he had said. Do not concern yourself with my personal affairs. Were his houses his personal affair?

  She remembered the Leander who had teased her, the fellow explorer of the marketplace. How had they come to this disastrous state?

  Judith shook her head. Really, this was a great deal of nonsense. She balanced all their days—during which he had appeared honest and kind—against that one hurtful moment, and pushed down the hurt. She was old and wise enough to know that sometimes people said things in a way they did not mean, particularly when they were laboring under strong feelings.

  So, under what strong feelings did her husband labor?

  It was something to do with his home at Temple Knollis, and his representative there, his Uncle Charles. He thought his family were trying to keep him away, even by fabricating stories of disease. He had described them as grasping.

  But why would he not discuss it all with her?

  That, she decided, was what lay between them, what really hurt. That he appeared not to trust her.

  Emily came in to say Judi
th's bath was ready. Judith went into her dressing room to find it warmed by a fire. The tub was steaming and thick towels hung on a rack to warm. Sheer heaven.

  As she washed she considered her situation. Sebastian had never discussed his personal affairs, including his family, with her and she had not objected. Why was she upset now? Because Leander had seemed different.

  Because Leander was important to her in a way that Sebastian had never been. Her hand stilled and her heart missed a beat.

  She mustn't feel that way. It was the cardinal principle of this marriage, that it be untarnished by love. She knew how much he would hate to be put in the unfair position of having to be the object of her devotion, but unable to return it. He had lived with his mother's pain. He didn't want to relive it in his own marriage.

  She had promised. She had promised.

  And it was more than a matter of keeping a promise. She knew Leander needed her. In many ways, he was alone in the world, and a stranger in his own country. He distrusted his natural family. No one should be so alone.

  She would not let him be so alone. She would make a home and family for him, and be his link to his heritage.

  The water was cooling. As Judith hurried to use the washcloth to remove days of traveling, her lofty resolves echoed hollow in her mind. Do not concern yourself with my personal affairs.

  Perhaps all he wanted was a housekeeper and a body in his bed.

  At the thought of bed, Judith cast an anxious glance at the door to his bedchamber and hastily stepped out of the tub and into the huge towel held by the maid. She didn't know when he would decide to complete their marital duties, but she hoped it would not be now, not before they had regained their balance.

  She was soon securely dressed. Emily, too, had no trouble in arranging her hair into a becoming style and when Judith assessed herself in the mirror, she decided her husband would at least have no complaint as to her appearance.

  However, she felt very much the interloper when she ventured down the stairs of her new home. The staircase was wide and uncarpeted, with heavy, bulbous dark oak balusters. It was overhung by darkened landscapes against parchment walls. There was no speck of dust anywhere, but no speck of warmth either. Judith wanted to order in the painters, and carpet the stairs a rich red. She wanted lighter pictures and some bright ornaments.

  The stately butler was in the chilly tiled hall to welcome her again to the house, and direct her to the breakfast parlor. Judith looked around and wondered again if it was because she was unused to grandeur that she found this house so cold and unwelcoming.

  Perhaps it was just nerves.

  In the breakfast room she found Leander reading the paper.

  He put it aside and stood with a careful smile. "Good morning, my dear." It was a handling smile, and there was none of the friendly ease they had once enjoyed.

  "Good morning," Judith replied as she sat.

  She allowed Addison to serve her breakfast. Leander did not return to the protection of his paper.

  "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

  It hardly seemed the moment to complain of the mattress. "Tolerably," she replied. She sought something else to keep back silence."This is an interesting house," she said at last. It sounded inane.

  "It's quite old by Mayfair standards. This block was built by my great-grandfather in the early seventeen hundreds. It's not in the latest style, I'm afraid."

  Judith glanced at him, wondering if that comment implied dissatisfaction, or was just a statement of fact.

  "It must be interesting to have a house with such a long family history."

  Then she winced. What a stupid thing to say to a member of the aristocracy, particularly in front of a servant.

  He poured himself more coffee. "My mother's family is not particularly interesting. A few generations ago they were small craftsmen, then they made money in ironmongery, coal, and, I'm afraid, slaves."

  Judith didn't know what to say to that.

  "I've always thought this house reflected more money than taste, though if you like it, I'm pleased." His cup stopped partway to his lips, and it was his turn to wince. "That sounded amazingly rude."

  A bubble of laughter burst from Judith. "And you the perfect diplomat."

  He smiled back at her, and the temperature raised a good many degrees. His tone was almost a caress as he said, "You destroy all artifice, my dear."

  Judith looked hastily down at her eggs, not at all sure what to make of that.

  "The house has some advantages," he remarked. "It's large, has adequate stabling, and a spacious garden. It also," he added, "has the best stair rail I've ever encountered for sliding down."

  Judith looked up. "Don't tell Bastian!"

  He laughed. "If he doesn't perceive it immediately, he's not the boy I take him for."

  Judith then caught the sounds he had heard—a smothered giggle and a hushing sound. Then a muted, wheeee. She rested her head on her hand.

  In a moment, Bastian and Rosie presented themselves, looking like perfect angels. "Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa Leander."

  Judith accepted kisses from both of them, and directed them to their chairs. Addison came forward to serve them.

  To Judith's amazement, this august personage thawed in the presence of children and seemed inclined to offer them the entire contents of the pantry. Judith intervened. "Just eggs, toast, and tea, Addison."

  The butler accepted that, but then asked the children if they had any preferences for future meals. Judith shared a glance with Leander, and saw he, too, was amused by this unexpected side to the butler. She saw no harm in allowing Bastian and Rosie to list all their treats, however, for their recent diet had been such plain fare that their treats wore mostly unexceptionable—oranges, Scotch eggs, shrimps, steak pie, and, of course, ices.

  When all these matters were settled, Leander dismissed Addison, then said, "I hope you are all recovered from the journey."

  "I feel a great deal better for a good rest and a bath," Judith said.

  She was rewarded by a smile. "I confess, you were right all along. A long journey straight after our wedding with two excited children along was not the wisest enterprise."

  Rosie's face puckered and she said, "I'm sorry for being sick."

  They had to take time to reassure her.

  Bastian said, "But will we not be going to Temple Knollis soon, sir?"

  He, too, needed to be reassured. "We certainly will, Bastian, but I have to check first that there is no sickness. It would be no fun to get there only to be sick."

  He amiably answered a stream of questions about the Temple, and about London, but then rose from the table. He turned to Judith. "I am going to arrange for someone to check on the state of affairs at the Temple. We should know what's toward within the week."

  She wanted an opportunity to talk to him, but this clearly was not a good time or place. He was on his way to the door. There was one subject that must be raised, however.

  "Leander," she said, "we have to consider what arrangements to make for the children, what sort of attendants to provide for them. Also," she added tentatively, "it may be necessary to make changes in the house for our comfort." There, that should be subtle enough.

  He shrugged in a manner expressive only of mild surprise. "You must do as you wish. This is your home."

  Men. That was little help at all."Will we entertain?" she asked.

  "I hadn't considered the matter. Do you wish to?"

  He seemed genuinely unconcerned and so Judith gratefully said no. She had enough novelties and tangles to handle without trying to take her place in society as the Countess of Charrington.

  "In that case," he said, "we'll leave the knocker off the door, and neglect to give any notice of our arrival. I suspect we will be here only for a couple weeks at the most." He came back to the table and placed a conventional kiss on her cheek. "Do just as you like, my dear. The place has been neglected for years. Even the staff was hired only months ago. There w
as only a caretaker before that."

  With that he was gone and Judith was left exasperated. He said, do just as you like, but if she did so he could object to some change. Moreover, it was not clear whether by change he meant moving a sofa, or having a wall knocked out. Not that she was contemplating anything that drastic, but still...

  "May we go to the Tower, Mama?"

  Judith turned her attention to Bastian's question. She knew her frustration was less about household matters than about her problems with her husband, but he seemed to have put his coldness aside, and there would surely be time at a later date to talk to him.

  When the children had finished their breakfast, she let them come along on the tour of the house. Mrs. Addison was the housekeeper, and just as portly as her husband but less awe-inspiring. She bustled them cheerfully over four floors and the basement.

  It was all the same—solid, clean, decorated in expensive, old-fashioned style, but lacking any personality at all. Many rooms looked as if they had hardly been used.

  In Judith's opinion, it was also distinctly ugly.

  There was a nursery area, but it had clearly not been used for a generation. Judith decided it would be pointless to try to refurbish it for Bastian and Rosie, especially for what promised to be a short stay. There were some boxes of books and toys there, however, and a rocking horse. After making sure that the latter was sound, she left the children to play.

  The basement was in many ways the most comfortable part of the house, being the most thoroughly lived in. Judith admired the new closed stove.

  "Just about the first thing the earl bought," said Mrs. Addison approvingly. "You wouldn't believe this kitchen, my lady, so old fashioned as it was. He hired Addison and me, and told us to do the rest, but I told him straight out, there'd be no chance at all of getting a cook worth her salt with such a kitchen. He asked what was needed and ordered it, just like that."

  "And what of the rest of the house?" Judith asked. "It would appear that no changes have been made there."