"Of course not. I suppose I'm a little envious really."
"Then at the mattress maker, you play the tyrant."
"I wouldn't know how, and we don't expect to get mattresses today."
"See what you can do."
It was a challenge. Judith found she responded to challenges. At the mattress makers they were shown miniature samples stuffed with hair, felt, feather, and down. She had always wanted a down mattress. The expense was terrible, but she was a countess now. "The down, I think," she said with a casual air. She turned to Leander. "Unless you prefer a firm mattress, my lord?"
He was smiling at her in a way that made her think of the coming night. "We should probably have one of each, and then sleep how the fancy takes us...."
She hastily looked away. "I intend to have the down."
"Then I will have the best hair. I certainly don't mind a firm bed."
Judith turned to the clerk and made the orders. "We would like them immediately," she said, trying for a haughty manner.
"Immediately!" the man said, almost dropping his pencil.
Judith found haughty did not come naturally, and she turned to appeal. "Is that impossible?" she asked sweetly. "You see, my husband and I have just moved into a house with the most terrible beds. I have not had a wink of sleep...."
The young man blushed and fidgeted. "Well, milady, I'm not sure... Please wait a minute."
He disappeared into the workroom. Leander bent over to whisper in her ear, "I must remember to be on my guard if you ever decide to wheedle me, my dear."
Before Judith could reply, the clerk came back, bashfully pleased with himself. "We... er... have a couple of mattresses just completed, my lady, and the customers not expecting them yet. They'll be delivered today."
Judith was hard-pressed not to laugh, but she managed to give the young man a beaming smile along with her gushing thanks.
When they were in the carriage, Leander touched her nose, "Beginning to appreciate your charms?"
Judith did not know what to think. "I suspect it is the title rather than any attribute of mine."
"Do you think so?" He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "So, my Lady Charrington, which do you prefer tonight? Hard or soft?"
She couldn't think of anything to say, but he appeared to be very content to have rendered her speechless. He progressed from thoroughly kissing her fingers to kissing her lips. Judith found any tendency to object to this outrageous behavior was swamped by the sweet pleasure of his lips.
He gently disengaged. "If we are to wait until tonight, as a proper married couple should, I must now recollect that I have a number of matters to attend to hereabouts. Would you mind returning home alone?"
Judith felt decidedly reluctant to see him go, but she knew he was right. "A coachman and footman is hardly alone. Of course not."
He pulled the cord, and the coach stopped to let him off.
Judith watched him go, still tingling from his kisses, and more nervy than ever about the night. She knew, from their interrupted wedding night something of what to expect, but whenever she thought of marital duties her experiences with Sebastian always came to mind. She could neither separate the two entirely, nor mesh them to make sense....
It was only after a few minutes that she realized that this was an opportunity to get the matter of the wretched bill over and done with. She had the roll of money Leander had given her, and there was over two hundred pounds. He'd told her to indulge herself. To be rid of this burden would be the greatest indulgence possible. She pulled the cord.
When the coachman opened the trap, she directed him to the establishment of Mr. Algernon Browne, Printer.
Chapter 13
She half expected somewhere shady, but when the coach drew up, it was outside a handsome stone building, with a shiny brass plaque announcing the proprietor. The footman let down the steps and handed her out, then accompanied her into the building.
It was doubtless the coach and footman who conjured up such gratifyingly warm attention. Soon she was closeted with Mr. Browne, the footman awaiting her outside the office.
"Some wine, my lady," the man gushed. "I had not heard of your happy nuptials. Please accept my warmest felicitations."
Judith took a glass of wine. Mr. Browne was in no way shady either. He was a handsome, rotund gentleman in his forties, giving every evidence of prosperity. And why shouldn't he, she thought waspishly, with idiots willing to pay a hundred and three guineas to have twenty volumes of their poetry bound in cordovan leather, heavily gilded?
She smiled sweetly, however, as he praised her late husband's art and sensitivity, and reiterated how much Mr. Rossiter was missed by his devoted readers.
"I have wondered, dear lady," the man said at last, not quite able to hide the hungry gleam in his eyes, "whether Mister Rossiter left any unpublished works...? I did ask Mister Timothy Rossiter, but he denied the possibility. Even if the poems were in an unpolished state, we would be willing to publish them."
"No," Judith lied firmly. "I'm afraid not." For all his apparent respectability, the man had the instincts of a shark. He scented money now she had married well, and hoped to gain a commission for another extravagant edition."I have merely come to pay what was owed for the last edition." She pulled out the money, which she had already counted in the coach.
He took it, flicked through it with apparent casualness, and wrote a receipt. "How sad," he said, with a good assumption of sincerity. "I was sure that he had been working on something, and even his brother—"
"I cannot imagine how his brother should be expected to know," said Judith. "My husband had little contact with his family."
"But Mrs. Rossiter... I mean, Lady Charrington... Mister Timothy Rossiter was executor of your husband's will, and he acted as your husband's agent in the matter of his poetry. It was always he who delivered the manuscripts, and handled any moneys."
"Oh." Judith thought it strange that she had not known this, but Sebastian had told her little of his affairs. As he always received the post, and only gave her any items addressed to her after opening them, he could have maintained extensive contact with his family and her none the wiser.
"Well, I can assure you, Mister Browne, that there are no further poems available," Judith said. "If Sebastian was dissatisfied, he burned his work." This was untrue but she had no intention of using Leander's money to have Sebastian's remaining works published.
Mr. Browne sighed lugubriously. "Tragic. Tragic."
Hypocrite, thought Judith. She put down her glass and rose. "I'm afraid our professional association is at an end, Mister Browne." She couldn't quite keep the satisfaction out of her voice. "Good day."
When she emerged, she took a deep breath. Something about that interview had been disquieting, and she feared Mr. Browne must be a rogue after all, but at least she was done with it. Though she felt badly that she had not told Leander all about the shipment of books, it was tidied up now, and she could put it out of her mind.
The only remaining deception in her marriage was the little matter of her overly warm feelings for her husband, but she could keep them under control.
* * *
The children ate with them at dinner, but Leander warned them that there would be many occasions when this would not be the case. Judith thought she saw some discontent on Bastian's face at this, but he said nothing. She suspected he was afraid tomorrow's riding would be called off if he misbehaved.
She sighed a little. There would be constant small irritations, caused as much by the remarkable change in rank as by the marriage, and there was nothing to be done but struggle through them all.
She had to confess that she couldn't concentrate on the children's feelings when a good part of her mind was upon the coming night. How would it be managed? She hoped she would be able to retire as usual, and have Emery prepare her for bed, then be waiting properly in the dark when Leander came to her.
How soon should she retire? Earlier than usual? Or wou
ld that appear shamelessly eager? If she delayed, would she appear reluctant?
Leander seemed to be in no hurry to be rid of the children. After the meal, he shepherded them into the library. Once there, however, he didn't seem quite sure what to do with his family, and yet he clearly wished them to spend some time together.
Judith felt lovingly tender. "Perhaps we should play a game of cards," she suggested.
"Whist?" he asked with surprise.
"I'm afraid not...."
"Matrimony!" yelled Rosie excitedly.
Leander's brows shot up, and Judith knew she was blushing. "It is a perfectly unexceptionable game," she assured him. "Bastian, do we have some cards?"
Before he could reply, Leander went to the desk. "We have some here somewhere." He returned with a pack.
"And I will need some sheets of paper," said Judith, already doubting the wisdom of this suggestion. The simple gambling game was a favorite with the children but always generated excitement and noise, and this was such a dignified house. "And something to serve as counters. We generally use beans."
"I can do better than that," he said and produced a black enameled box. He unlocked it to spill beautiful painted ivory counters onto the table. Judith almost felt she should object, but there was no damage the children could do to them, and they were already enthralled.
"Is this Chinese writing?" Bastian asked.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me what it says?"
"No, though I understand they are mostly numbers."
"Then would these two lines be two?"
"I think so."
Judith smiled and left them to their exploration as she made up the five sheets: Matrimony, Intrigue, Confederacy, Pair, and Best. When the children had been persuaded to divide the counters evenly, she laid the papers on the table and told Leander, "We all put some of our counters on each."
"Ah, I've played games of this type, but generally for high stakes."
"Really?" she said. "How foolish to risk money on something entirely dependent on chance."
"That's the basis of most gambling, my dear. And do you mean you are not backing these counters with gold?"
"Assuredly not."
He turned to the children. "What about you, young 'uns? Do you have any money to lose, or am I wasting my time?"
They saw he was teasing, but still looked worried. "I have three ha'pence," offered Bastian.
Leander shook his head. "I see that as your father I'll have to frank you. I'll back you to a penny a counter."
Rosie stared at her pile of discs. "I've over two shillings!" she declared.
"Aye," said Leander with a menacing smile. "But only until I win it from you, my little pigeon."
Rosie's face assumed the determination worthy of a hardened gamester.
"So," said Leander. "Explain the rules to me."
Both children complied, in an excited babble, so it was a wonder he understood anything. But in the end he said, "Marriage is any king and queen. Correct? Intrigue is any queen and jack." He glanced at Judith with a wicked glint in his eyes. "I thought you said it was perfectly unexceptionable? Smacks of wickedness to me."
Judith wondered how she could not have realized this before. And it was played in the vicarage!
"Confederacy is any king and jack," he continued, then paused meaningfully. "I really must decline to comment on that."
Judith wanted to sink through the floor.
"Any pair wins pair, and the ace of diamonds wins Best. Have I that right?"
When the children noisily assented, he began to deal with a slick action which invested the nursery game with hellish overtones. Perhaps that was why they all became enthralled in the winning and losing. Or perhaps it was his promise to back the counters with money. Pennies were still riches to the children, even though they would soon be receiving their generous allowance.
That did not explain why Judith herself found she was watching the piles of counters on the different sheets with all the avidity of a gamester. She called herself to order.
Once she regained her wits, she saw that Leander was cheating.
When he shuffled the deck, he turned the pack so he could see the cards. When he dealt them, he sometimes slid one from the bottom. The net result was that the children neither won nor lost excessively.
She really should object, but in fact her heart swelled at this kindness.
The children were laughing and shouting with excitement, and she wondered whether to admonish them, but Leander didn't seem to mind.
In fact, he seemed as excited by each small win, as disappointed by each loss. A good part of it was acting, but he was having fun. He still had the capacity to enjoy simple things even though they had rarely been part of his life.
Judith resolved to bring these simple things into his life, and lay them before him as gifts of love.
Love... She really mustn't... But she admitted it was already far too late.
She went through the motions of the game distractedly, over-sensitized to his every movement. The children were delighted with her confusion, and proud to show off their expertise by prompting her when she had a winning combination.
When Leander pushed some winnings to her and brushed against her hand, it was like fire. She pulled her hand away.
This was a disastrous situation, especially when he had shown an eerie ability to read her feelings. She struggled desperately not to betray herself by any gesture. How was she to behave in bed so as to be a warm and willing wife, but not allow a trace of this deep and frightening longing to show?
If she could have thought of an excuse to avoid the planned consummation, she would have used it, but nothing came to mind that would not be obviously specious. And it wasn't just one night she had to face, but the rest of her life.
At last Leander announced the game over, and counted the winnings. He gave the children a penny for each counter. Bastian received one and four-pence, Rosie a whole two shillings.
"You have to give Mama her winnings, too," said an ecstatic Rosie.
"So I do," said Leander, "but your mama's mind was clearly not on the game. She is left with only sixpence." He placed the pennies in her hand, closing her fingers gently over them. Judith besottedly thought she would treasure the coins forever.
She shook off her silly thoughts long enough to send the children to their rooms, promising to look in and read to them. She looked nervously at her husband, wondering if he would object. "I think it important to try to keep to their usual ways."
"I'm sure it is," he said, apparently unconcerned. He was putting away the cards and counters. "Now, are you content with your chairs and desk, not to mention the mattresses?"
"They all seem excellent."
"And are you sure there is nothing else you need for your comfort?"
"I can think of nothing at the moment."
It seemed ridiculous to be having this prosaic conversation when her nerves were all on edge. "Do you know how long we will be fixed here?" she asked.
"No, but not for long, I hope. I spoke to Cosgrove, my solicitor today, and told him to put more clerks onto going over the Knollis books. There should be some sense out of it soon. I certainly don't recommend that you unpack anything but essentials." He leaned over to tend the fire, then rose. "By the way, among our belongings, there is apparently a case of wine of some kind."
"Oh yes, my elderberry."
"Elderberry," he said blankly. "What are we supposed to do with that?"
"Drink it, I expect." She wasn't sure how to explain the impulse that had caused her to bring it.
He shrugged. "We can give it to the staff."
Judith stared at him. "Are you saying it's not good enough for your noble lips?"
His face went blank. "Of course not. We'll have it with dinner tomorrow."
"It's not ready for drinking yet," she pointed out, "besides doubtless being shaken by the journey."
"Then we'll drink it when it is ready."
He was desperately handling an embarrassment. Judith had been hurt for a moment, but now she loved him even more. "Yes, we will," she said sweetly, trying not to laugh. "You'll like it. Truly you will."
She almost saw the wince. "I'm sure I will."
At that moment, Judith resolved to blend a mixture of fig juice and vinegar for his first taste, just to test his diplomatic abilities. "One bottle will be ready by Christmas," she said.
"Then we'll toast the season with it at the Temple," he said bravely.
"Or perhaps we should save it for some special guest," she mused. "After all, elderberry wine is so much less common than grape. Perhaps if the Regent comes to visit."
He actually gaped, and shut his mouth with a snap. "Er..."
Judith burst out laughing.
His eyes lit in response. "You—"
But before he could retaliate, Betty came in to curtsy and say the children were in their beds. Judith was glad of an excuse to escape. "I will go up, then." She looked to him for some hint, but then bit the bullet. "I... er... I think I will retire when the children are settled, if that is all right."
"Will it disturb them if I, too, stop by to wish them good night?"
"I am sure they'll like it."
He smiled. "And will it disturb you if I stop by to wish you a good night...?"
Judith swallowed. "No. No, not at all."
* * *
When she had heard the children say their prayers, she read them more of the story of Little Peter, who was stolen by Gypsies, but was well on his way to making his fortune in the navy. Then she checked that both animals were safely in their boxes, and went through to her own room, carefully closing the adjoining door.
It felt like crossing the Rubicon.
She smiled, though, at the sight of her thick down mattress. That had been a success. It showed, surely, that she could cope with this new life. Once she had this next step over with, and was truly his wife, everything would be perfect, and the new bed seemed an auspicious sign.
She rang for Emily, and prepared for bed. She put on one of her silk nightgowns, shivering slightly at the thought that he might want to take it off again.
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 19