He remembered Maryann’s words to her father; she had not wanted to marry Jonathan either, and had tried to talk her father out of it entirely. She’d been thrown into this every bit as harshly as he had. And he had not considered how miserable and even frightened she must be. She seemed very young after all. Lud, he did not know his own wife’s age. He hadn’t even thought to ask why her sister did not come to the wedding. Hadn’t Maryann said Jane was her dearest friend?
As he approached the townhouse, he was grateful the storm seemed to be letting up. He slowed the horse’s pace, feeling a bit of nervousness at what awaited him.
He halted the horse in front of the house, his apprehension increasing. But along with it was another feeling that was every bit as unexpected. Maryann’s wide eyes and teasing smile had appeared in his thoughts more than once over the last few weeks. Remembering Lady Bromley’s description of their visit and the kind way Maryann had treated Olivia, Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be happy to see him, but did not entertain the hope for long. Feeling uncertainty as he approached his own home was a new sensation.
His heart rate increased as he dismounted, handing the reins to a stable hand, and stood on the walkway, studying the mourning wreath on the door. His father had been a good husband who had utterly adored Jonathan’s mother. Could Jonathan find happiness in his marriage, too?
Dixon opened the door when he approached. “Welcome home, my lord.” His well-trained butler did not act the least bit surprised to see him alone and soaked. “My condolences on the passing of your father.”
“Thank you.”
The young maid, Bessie, he thought her name was, hurried to take his wet cloak, hat, and gloves.
Mrs. Linville, the housekeeper, entered the hall and dipped in a curtsy. “Welcome home, my lord.” She glanced at the puddles he’d made on the marble floor. “Perhaps a hot bath and dry clothing.” She started up the stairway. “Your things have been moved into the master’s chambers.”
Jonathan felt a jolt at the reminder of his father’s death and his new responsibilities. How strange it would feel to call the master’s chambers his own.
“And how did Lady Spencer fare while I was gone?” Jonathan asked as he climbed the stairs. Though it was daytime, the sconces were lit, casting flickering lights on the walls. Another burst of thunder sounded.
“Very well, sir. A delightful mistress, my lord. We are all quite taken with her.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Linville had managed the London house since before Jonathan had been born. He’d known her to be a woman of few words, giving simple, efficient answers. He wondered what had brought about the change. Perhaps it was the fact that he was now the marquess.
When they reached the doors to the master’s rooms, Jonathan glanced down the hallway toward the adjoining chambers, nervous to ask the question on his mind, but Mrs. Linville somehow anticipated it. “The marchioness asked that we leave her things in the guest room.”
Heat flamed up Jonathan’s neck, but he did not want his insecurities to show in front of the staff, and so kept a neutral expression. His wife’s reluctance to sleep in the mistress’s chambers connected to his own did not show him in the best light as a husband.
“Archie—I mean, Lord Symons will arrive with my mother within a few hours. Please make up a room for him.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Jonathan bathed and changed into dry clothes. When he emerged from his room, he heard voices in the hallway below.
“Thank you, Bessie.” The sound of Maryann’s voice made Jonathan’s heart jump. He moved to the top of the staircase and saw her removing her wrap and bonnet. She set a book-shaped parcel on the side table. Had she been out in this storm? Where?
“You’ll be wanting to dry off, my lady,” the maid said. “I’ve lit a fire in the drawing room, and I’ll make some tea.”
She looked elegant in a black gown, the dark color contrasting with her creamy complexion. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold.
Maryann opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, she lifted her gaze to Jonathan’s and took a quick step backward. “Oh, my lord. You are home!” Her brows pulled together the smallest bit, and he tried to read her expression as he descended to join her. Was she pleased or nervous?
Jonathan took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. He figured it was the proper greeting for a wife.
Her cheeks turned a darker pink, and he thought he quite liked making her blush. “I was so very sorry to hear about your father.”
He bent forward his head in acknowledgement of her condolences. “You look lovely, Maryann.”
Her eyes widened the slightest bit at his use of her Christian name.
“But a bride is not required to dress in mourning attire.”
“I-I know, but I . . . we are family now. I thought I should—I hope it is not too improper.” She glanced up at him, and then down, brushing her hand over her skirt. “I bought dresses on your credit. I am sorry. I did not want my outmoded clothing to reflect poorly on you when I entertained visitors.” Her voice grew softer. “I should have asked, but you were gone. I didn’t mean to presume . . .”
Jonathan grimaced. “I should have settled some pin money on you before I left. Everything happened so quickly . . . I did not think.”
She snapped up her head. “No, I did not mean to suggest—” Her shoulders sagged. “I am sorry, my lord. I’m afraid I don’t know how to be a wife.”
He smiled at the honesty in her confession. “And I have no experience being a husband. So far, I have been quite horrendous at it, but I do think you are managing it quite well.” He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her up the stairs to the drawing room. If mourning clothing made her feel more a part of his family, then by all means she should wear it. The gesture touched him.
A tray with a steaming teapot waited on a low table. Maryann poured the tea and handed him a cup, then sat on a sofa across from him. “You have not been horrendous. The circumstances of our, ah, relationship have been . . .”
“Unconventional?”
She winced. “Yes, that is putting it mildly.”
“That is one reason I hurried home ahead of the rest of my party.”
She tipped her head, and the small wrinkle appeared above her nose. Instead of focusing on it or on her enormous eyes that waited for his explanation, he took a sip of tea, then took his time, leaning forward to set the cup into the saucer on the table as he gathered his thoughts. “My mother and my friend, Archie, Lord Symons will arrive in a few hours. But before they do, I should like for us to have some time to get our story straight.”
The crease deepened as her brows pulled together. “Our story, my lord?”
“Yes. The circumstances of our marriage arrangement and the manner in which it was carried out are unusual and could . . . reflect badly upon both of us and upon our relationship if they were known.”
Her face turned scarlet, and she lowered her eyes.
He moved to sit beside her and tapped beneath her chin to lift her gaze. “Maryann, we are in this together, and I will not have people speaking of our marriage as if it were something either of us should be ashamed of. It is done. As you said, we are a family now. And I would like us to move forward.”
“I would like that, too, my lord.” Her voice was very soft—nearly a whisper.
She moved to lower her gaze, but he tapped beneath her chin again, keeping her eyes lifted to his. “And another thing, I’ll not have my wife refer to me so formally. Please call me Jonathan.”
She gave him a shy smile. “I should like that.”
They sat quietly for a moment and sipped their tea. But it was not an uncomfortable sort of silence.
“You said your friend who is coming is Lord Symons?” Maryann turned around the nearly empty cup in her saucer.
“Yes. His mother and sister told me they paid you a visit.”
She smiled. “They are very l
ovely people, aren’t they?”
“And quite impressed with you. Thank you, especially for drawing Olivia out. She is such a shy young lady.”
“Usually, it is just a matter of finding something of interest to the person to get them to open up. Olivia loves watercolors, did you know?”
“I did not.”
“A pleasant family.” She set down her teacup onto the table and clasped her hands. “They are from Surrey, too, you know. His estate is only a few miles from my father’s home in Ashford. Lord Symons is very cheerful, isn’t he?”
“That is the perfect word to describe him.”
She looked toward the door. “If they will be here in time for supper, I shall speak to the cook. She will know just the thing after a long journey. Please excuse me.”
He stood and watched her leave the room, noticing how her hips swayed as she walked. A thought entered his mind, and he called her back.
“Mrs. Linville told me you did not wish to move your things into the mistress’s chambers.” He felt his own face heating and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t meet his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, my lor—Jonathan. My thoughts were for your mother. She has just lost her husband, and it has been her room for so long, and full of memories. If she had come to London, to find a new person had moved into her space . . .” She twisted her fingers as she spoke. “I thought the transition would be easier if it were gradual. There must be things in there that are sentimental to her.” She glanced up at him. “I will wait for her to be comfortable with the change, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded, surprised by the consideration in her answer. He imagined most women would not have waited to take possession of their new title and every benefit that accompanied it. But instead of dressing in fine gowns—as was her right as a bride and the new marchioness—she wore black out of respect for a man she had never met. And apologized for making the purchases. She was kind to the staff and spoke highly of people, instead of finding fault with them as did his half sisters—and most women he knew, now that he thought of it.
He left the drawing room and entered the library, selecting a book and settling into the deep leather sofa. A smile lifted his mouth. Though he’d done it completely by accident, he thought he may have found a very agreeable wife.
Chapter Six
Four days later, Maryann looked up from the piles of fabric spread over the small table in the mistress of the house’s chambers to see the length of material Jonathan’s mother held toward her.
“Is this not absolutely exquisite? And with this lavender silk covering the walls, the cream-colored bedding you chose for yourself will look splendid.”
“I love it.” Maryann smiled. The morning sunlight shone unhindered through the windows. She glanced around the chamber, and a thrill went over her skin as she pictured the walls covered in lavender silk, new, beautiful window coverings, and realized this grand chamber was to be her own.
The suggestion that Mother Kathleen—as Archie, and now Maryann, called her—should arrange and furnish one of the guest rooms to her liking had so pleased the dowager that she had set about immediately, finding wall papers, curtain fabrics, and paint colors. Issues of Ackerman’s Repository were spread about, opened to pages with designs she was particularly fond of.
The project of decorating one bedchamber grew, gaining momentum with each passing day. Jonathan had suggested that Maryann might also like to redecorate the mistress’s chambers to her own liking, and Mother Kathleen insisted that the master’s rooms could use a fresh coat of paint and updated window treatments as well. Within a week, every room in the upper floors was in disarray as furniture was moved, paint colors chosen, and old curtains taken down.
And Maryann found she loved the time spent with her husband’s mother. The woman was nothing like she had expected.
She’d seen Jonathan’s mother twice during her London Season. Once at Lady Mattingly’s ball, and another time at Covent Garden. On both occasions, she’d been impressed by the woman’s beauty and a bit intimidated by her elegant manner. The woman was tall and slender, her blonde hair showing a bit of white at her temples.
Maryann, of course, never had cause to make the acquaintance of such a high-ranking member of society, and in the time before the woman’s arrival, her stomach had jittered with nerves as she thought about what sort of impression she’d make.
As she watched the dowager walk around the edges of the room, tapping a long finger to her lips, Maryann could not believe she had only known her for four days or that she’d ever worried about meeting her approval. Kathleen and Archie had been warm and friendly from the first moment they’d arrived, and the four of them made a pleasant, easy party when they gathered for the evening meal. Maryann was a bit disappointed that she did not see Jonathan more than a few hours per day, but as the family was in mourning, the women were expected to remain home, and both Archie and Jonathan had meetings and other obligations.
A noise sounded in the next room, and Kathleen glanced at the doorway that led to the master’s chambers. “Shall we see how the painters are getting on?”
Maryann nodded, blushing as she did each time they entered the adjoining rooms. Stepping into Jonathan’s private space felt like intruding, but she supposed the fact that he was not actually using the rooms during the redecorating made her a little less hesitant. The chambers that had belonged to Jonathan’s father were filled with heavy, dark furniture covered in sheets. The walls were separated into sections by carved wooden panels. The first time she’d entered, Maryann had thought the room to be the epitome of masculinity, even down to the scent—a woodsy-spicy smell—although, now it smelled like paint.
Men worked around the edges of the room, some using brushes to spread paint on the walls, others moving furniture to the center of the space. A pair lifted a large night table, and an object made a thump as it fell to the floor. One of the men picked up the book and, looking around as though unsure of what to do with it, finally handed it to the dowager.
Maryann continued to watch the workers as they carried on efficiently with their tasks. When she glanced back at the dowager, she saw her face had gone pale. Her gaze was fixed on the book, her fingers gently tracing the imprint design on the cover. “Mother Kathleen, are you all right?” Maryann asked.
“This is my husband’s journal from last summer.” Kathleen whispered the words. “I’d forgotten about it.” She glanced up, and tears shone in her eyes.
Maryann slid an arm around her waist as they walked through the doorway into the other chamber and sat upon a small sofa. She wasn’t certain whether the dowager would prefer to be left alone, and so sat quietly to offer comfort if it was needed, or if not, she hoped not to be a bother.
Kathleen opened the book’s cover, revealing pages of tidy handwriting. “Harold was such a good man. I wish you had known him.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “And he so adored Jonathan. A prouder father you’d never find.” She turned the pages slowly, her fingers tracing words. “Look here, he was so pleased at Jonathan’s appointment to the Parliamentary Committee on Grazing and Water Rights.” She turned the book for Maryann to read.
“The youngest member of the committee. I was not aware.” Maryann’s stomach heated in embarrassment. What must his mother think when she did not know such an important element of his life?
“Jonathan isn’t one to boast,” Kathleen said. Her soft gaze remained on the book. “In that way, he is very much like his father. Keeping his feelings close.”
Maryann's stomach was heavy as she watched the other woman’s expression. Her feelings for her late husband were evident, and the pain in her face felt like a pinch on Maryann’s own heart.
Kathleen pulled a lace handkerchief from inside her sleeve. “I am sorry, my dear. But discovering this journal today is a bit of a shock. Excuse my sentimentality.”
“Of course. And do not apologize. It is a tribute to the man that you care so deeply.” Maryann sta
rted to say more, but was interrupted by a soft knock.
Mrs. Linville pushed open the door. “Pardon me, my lady.” She extended a tray bearing calling cards.
Maryann started as she realized the cards were offered to her instead of Kathleen. “We are not at home to callers, Mrs. Linville.” She took the cards and set them on her lap.
“Yes, my lady. But . . .” She motioned with her head. “I was not certain, in the case of family . . .”
Maryann studied the cards, feeling a wave of nervous excitement. Lady Constancia, Lady Randall, and Lady Lamotte—Jonathan’s sisters. “Oh, certainly we will receive his lordship’s sisters. Please show them to the upstairs drawing room. And send tea. Thank you, Mrs. Linville.” She rose and turned to Kathleen. “Oh, I have wanted to meet the rest of Jonathan’s family.”
Kathleen’s eyes tightened for an instant. “Indeed.”
The slight wince disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and Maryann wondered if she may have misinterpreted it.
An hour later, Maryann walked through the hallway with Mother Kathleen. She had not misinterpreted Mother Kathleen’s expression that preceded the call. The visit had lasted longer than she considered proper, and Jonathan’s half sisters were, in a word, rude. Their backhanded insults to their stepmother, as well as Maryann herself, were not subtle, and it seemed they took every possible opportunity to bring up their noble birth and “accidentally” bring into the conversation how Mother Kathleen and Maryann were commonly born.
Lady Constancia even went so far as to point out, in a casual way—as if it were simply a typical conversation topic—how easily a pretty face distracted some men from their duty of making an advantageous marriage that would bring honor to their family name. It was quite obvious by her sisters’ reactions that they’d discussed this topic before.
Although Maryann had tried to fulfill her duty as hostess: setting them at ease and maintaining polite conversation, in the end, she was relieved when they took their leave.
Spring in Hyde Park Page 4