The Bumblebroth

by Patricia Wynn

  "Yes, dearest, what is it?" Her concern aroused, Mattie sprang to alertness.

  "Oh, it's nothing, I suppose . . ."

  Now, Mattie truly was alarmed. Pamela had never been one for reticence. "Darling, you must tell me. I can see that something has overset you."

  "Well . . . ."

  Mattie could feel Pamela's struggle, and the thought of her daughter's mind in turmoil brought out her most protective instincts. "Go on," she said, trying to sound calm.

  "Well, I was in a shop in Milsom Street, and I overheard two ladies talking."

  "Yes . . . ."

  "They were talking about you."

  A pang shot through Mattie's heart. "What were they saying?"

  Pamela squirmed uncomfortably. "It was about Lord Westbury, too."

  Oh, dear Lord. Mattie suddenly realized she had been so intent upon hiding herself that this possibility had never entered her mind. She should have known that eventually some of the gossip would make its way to Pamela's ears.

  "What were they saying, dear?" Mattie tried to act as if nothing anyone could say would ever bother her. "And who were they?" Pamela must not grow up being afraid of her own shadow.

  "It was Lady Repton and one of her friends. They

  said— " Pamela paused, and then went on with her cheeks aflame— "they said that Lord Westbury was in love with you and that you were leading him on a sad dance."

  Mattie gave a false, high laugh. "What an absurd bit of gossip. Is that all they said?"

  "No." Pamela did not offer to repeat the rest. "But they did not sound as if they approved of your behaviour to him."

  "Pamela, dear— " Mattie assumed the firmest tone she had ever used with her daughter— "you must not let other people's approval or disapproval disturb you."

  "Oh, I didn't." The surprise in Pamela's voice rang astonishingly true. "It is just . . . . Don't you like Lord Westbury?" The look accompanying her question turned it into an accusation, which took Mattie aback.

  "Yes, of course. Of course, I like him. Very much. He is one of the— kindest, the most honourable, the most considerate gentlemen of my acquaintance." Her heart nearly melted to acknowledge it.

  "Then, why won't you marry him if he wants."

  "Marry?" Pamela's incomprehension startled her. "Why, because he is younger than I am, dear."

  Pamela's brows rose. "Is he? He doesn't seem like it to me, and I think is fond of you."

  "It is possible that he is," Mattie admitted, shaking inwardly, "but I am afraid that does not necessarily make us suitable partners."

  Pamela's face crumpled in a confusion behind which Mattie could read disappointment in herself. She tried to make Pamela understand.

  "Darling, if I were to marry Lord Westbury, then people would say I had robbed the cradle. Some people might be quite unpleasant about it, indeed."

  "Yes . . . ?" Pamela was looking at her as if to say, what would that matter?

  Mattie started to speak. She hesitated when she found her own words to Pamela coming back at her, those brave words about not letting what people said determine her own happiness. Mattie found that she could not defend her conduct without going against every lesson she wanted Pamela to learn.

  Looking at Pamela now, she felt an instant revelation. This daughter she had raised so far from society had created a happiness all her own. Pamela had not needed the balls and gowns, the admiring friends, or the approval of great ladies to forge her success. She had pursued the things she loved and found a soul-mate in the process.

  A bell sounded deep inside Mattie, a sound which mingled with a dawning indignation over Lady Repton's gossip. How dare that woman criticize her for discouraging William when she would be among the first to be outraged if Mattie accepted him.

  And how dare Lady Westbury accuse her of ensnaring her son when nothing had been farther from Mattie's mind?

  This thought, that there were some people who would talk spitefully about her no matter what she did, no matter how worthy her intentions, hit Mattie soundly in the face. Mattie knew suddenly that she could never please Lady Repton or her ilk. And why should she bother, when she did not particularly care for the woman in the first place?

  She had only been harming herself and hurting William, her dearest love, in an effort to please those filled with spite. A feeling of relief washed through her, a feeling of lightness and giddiness and hope. It was instantly followed by an anxiety so fierce that it gripped her stomach. What would she do in the event she had given William such a disgust of her that he would never propose again?

  * * * *

  William had quickly recovered from his anger, an anger which had stemmed as much from frustration as from anything else. It had been almost more than he could bear to stand so close to Mattie in the baths and not make love to her. Then, to find that, in spite of all his efforts, they were right back where they had started, had overset his normal control. He had wanted nothing more than to shake Mattie until her teeth rattled, to see whether a stronger tactic would show her how foolish she was being.

  By the time he had reached the White Hart, this desire had burned itself out in the grinding of his teeth. A pint of Mr. Woodhouse's best beer soon cooled his temper, and William was able to think about what he should do next.

  He had tried patience and cajolery. Pressure had failed, but he was not reduced to begging, yet. He knew that Mattie loved and wanted him, else she would never have made such an outrageous offer, one that made light of his feelings for her. He wondered if, perhaps, Mattie's problem was that she doubted how strong those feelings were.

  To provide her reassurance, he would need to show her the depth of his passion. He would need to talk to her, and not just in snatches like the one they had shared today, but in long, leisurely talks, more like the ones they used to have in the country.

  With one important difference.

  William knew that as a last resort, he could always use pity to trap Mattie's tender heart, but there was still one last weapon he had not used, and that was one he infinitely preferred.

  He had learned early in his manhood that to engage a lady's sentiments too deeply, when he had no serious intention of returning them, was not only cruel, it was a mistake. Since discovering this danger, he had been careful that his attentions were never particular enough to be misconstrued, his ardour never fervent enough to lure anyone's heart to self-destruction.

  But this case was different. If he wanted to win Mattie, he would have to put off his cool exterior and show her what their lives could be in each other's arms.

  And to show her that, William realized as he sought his sheets that night, he just might have to resort to a little trickery.

  His pulse raced with the anticipated pleasure of executing his plan. By hook or by crook, he would get Mattie into his arms, and when he was finished with her, he'd be damned if she refused him again.

  * * * *

  The next morning, her knees shaking with her own daring, Mattie was preparing to take a chair to the Pump-room to find William, when Penworth announced a visitor. Her impulse to curse at the interruption was quickly stifled by the information that it was William who awaited her in the parlour.

  Her breath caught in her throat. A wild hammering started deep in the centre of her chest. Mattie put one hand to a chair back to still her dizziness.

  "You may tell Lord Westbury," she said breathlessly, "that I shall be down in one moment."

  "Yes, Your Grace." Penworth bowed in his impeccable fashion. "Should I ask Cook to prepare anything to serve?"

  "No!" Mattie had a horrifying vision of how embarrassing it would be if Penworth walked into the room just after William proposed again. If William did— and Mattie was determined to do what she could to induce him — she planned to throw herself directly in his arms. And then . . . .

  But she was getting ahead of herself. And Penworth was staring at her as if some explanation was warranted for such a negative order.

  "We— that is,
Lord Westbury's business may not take very long. And if it does . . . then we shall simply ring for something later."

  Penworth bowed. "As you say, Your Grace." His features were composed, and Mattie was relieved to see not a trace of curiosity upon them.

  He descended the stairs, and Mattie gave a quick glance in the mirror to see how she looked.

  She was dressed in a light muslin gown, covered in pale pink bouquets bound with blue ribbons, precisely the colours William had told her she should wear. Since her purpose had been to look as young as possible this morning, she had put her hair up simply. Now that she did not mean to go out, she removed her straw bonnet and tucked the loose strands back in place. Examining her head for grey hairs, Mattie was pleased to see none. She lifted her chin and tested the firm skin underneath, then sucked in her stomach.

  Finding it difficult to breathe this way, especially as nervous as she was, Mattie let her stomach back out and hoped that William could love her with a bulge as much as without. Finally, she girded herself and made her way downstairs.

  William was standing by the window when she came into the room. He turned when he heard her, but stood away and regarded her soberly.

  "Mattie— " As soon as the door was closed behind her, he started to speak. "I am glad you agreed to see me."

  "But, of course, I would." Mattie tried to keep her voice from trembling, though her knees shook. How did one tell a man one was ready to accept him?

  William's features softened slightly. He took one step closer. "I have thought and thought about your offer . . ." he began.

  Mattie started to interrupt him with a protest, but he finished too quickly ". . . and I have decided that perhaps you are right."

  "You have?" Mattie's heart sank. "You mean . . .?"

  "Yes." William took several steps closer now. "I do want you for my mistress. I have to have you, Mattie."

  "Ohhhh . . . ." Disappointment seized her like a vise, but she did not dare show it. If William took her that way, she had only herself to blame. The dreams she had indulged in all night: going to the theatre and the opera in London with William, seeing him at all hours of the day, riding in his carriage and openly holding hands all faded into mist. The pleasure that she was sure they would have in William's bed, or wherever their affaire would take place, though wondrous, would make a pale second to the far more lasting joy of being his wife.

  Mattie swallowed and allowed William close enough to take her into his arms. The warmth of his embrace made tears rise to her eyes.

  "What do you say, Mattie?" he asked, whispering softly in her ear. "Will you become mine?"

  Mattie could not answer. His voice so low and gentle was making music in her veins, but such a sad music. Like the voices of sirens on the shore, it lured her to her doom.

  To see William like this. Hiding. Always hiding behind closed doors . . . .

  He raised her chin slowly with one finger and kissed her. Mattie felt her lips melting from the heat of his, her pulse racing to meet the beat of his heart, so closely pressed to hers.

  But what if someone were to discover them? She nearly jumped in his arms. What could she tell Pamela?

  "Mattie . . . ." the passion in William's voice reverberated through her, turning her knees to jelly.

  When he held her this way, when he showed her the depth of his passion, she knew he might do with her what he willed and she would not care if the whole world were watching.

  But— But what about breakfasting with William, and dining with William, and all those other things she wanted?

  With a start, Mattie opened her eyes and shoved him away.

  "What— " William's brows snapped together. "What is it, Mattie? I thought this was what you wanted?"

  "I did. At least, I thought I did, but— " A new courage filled her. William could have her, but only if he took her the right way. "I thought I did, so it is not your fault," she said justly, though she wanted to cry at her mistake. Why had she not accepted him before?

  "But I've changed my mind," she continued. "I find that I cannot be your mistress. If you want me, you will have to take me to wife."

  "I— " William's brows lifted in surprise. His lips gave a twitch. "I shall have to do what?"

  "You will have to marry me, I'm afraid. I have discovered that I am not that sort of woman."

  He was struggling not to laugh now. She could see it in his face before he folded her back in his arms.

  "Now, what sort of woman is that?" he asked teasingly. "The sort that would run from a gentleman's proposals? The kind that would torture me for days by hiding from me? Or maybe the kind that would insist that I conceal my feelings for her?"

  Mattie blushed at the chronicle of her sins. "No, I admit that I was all those things, but I needed time to— "

  "Time to what?" William grew more sober. "Time to believe how deeply I love you, and how I will never let anyone hurt you again?"

  "No, not that." William's hands were drawing swirls on her back that made her quiver. "More that I needed to realize how very much I love you, which is far more than I could love any other person— except Pamela, of course— and that I should try to make you happy rather than all those others."

  "But, you would, Mattie. I am certain that, as my mistress, you would make me more than happy." William gave her a leer that almost made her shriek.

  "No, I wouldn't. For I would not be happy except as your wife, so you needn't tease me any longer, William, or I shall ask you to remove your hands from where they are!"

  "My, my, but we are becoming forceful! Have I been deceived in my bride? Quite the bully you've become lately, insisting upon this and that, marriage and whatnot . . . ."

  In spite of his still-teasing note, Mattie faltered momentarily. "You do not mean that, do you, William? I know you had changed your mind, but I now know that such an arrangement would be a grave mistake. Why, think of what people would say if they ever found out! Think of what it would do to Pamela!

  "And that's another thing! You may not have noticed, dearest, but Pamela and Gerald have become quite . . . well, let us say that they have become chums. So close, in fact, that I've even wondered whether they might not— "

  "No!" William's astonishment sounded a trifle false.

  "Yes, indeed they have. And if such a thing were to come to pass, then how evil it would sound if anyone were to hear that his brother and her mother . . . . "

  William's shoulders shook. He lowered his head to one side of hers, and Mattie felt an instant thrill down her spine.

  "William, what are you doing!"

  "I am nibbling on your ear because you are so adorable. Do you mind?"

  "Um . . . no."

  "Good. Then, I suggest we stop talking about Pamela and Gerald unless you mean to tell me that considerations of their respectability were the only reasons you decided to marry me."

  "Oh, but they weren't!" Mattie held on to his lapels, while his nuzzlings brought irresistible giggles to her throat. "I am very much marrying you for what I want."

  "Which is . . . ?"

  "I want to go to the theatre in London."

  "All the way to London? Well. . . I shall have to see what I can do . . . ."

  "And I think I want to travel, but not too far at first, in case I do not like it."

  "Oh, you will like it. I shall make certain that you do. Anything else?"

  "William . . . " Mattie tried to sober him for a few minutes, but the task was hard . . . "You do still want to marry me, don't you? I did not use coercion?"

  "If you mean, did you tempt me beyond reason and then withhold what I wanted, then I should think seduction would be the more appropriate term. But, no— " he held her away so that she could see the seriousness behind his smile— "you did not force me, my darling. I had no intention of taking you to bed without a wedding license, signed and sealed by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself."

  The depth of his gaze told her that he meant what he had said. "Then, earlier . . .
you were lying?"

  "Yes, indeed. But before you take me to task, remember what a pretty dance you have led me, and tell me then I had no right to resort to trickery."

  "When were you going to tell me the truth?"

  "As soon as I heard you gasp my name aloud."

  "William! What a shocking thing to say!"

  He laughed with his head thrown back. Mattie had never seen him so happy, and to think that she was responsible for his happiness raised bubbles of joy inside her and brought fresh tears to her eyes.

  "Do you think it shocking? Well, I assure you, Duchess, that it will become so commonplace about our house that you will soon think nothing of it at all."

  "Truly?" Mattie traced William's lips with her fingertips and wonder filled her voice. "Do you know, I think I shall enjoy being married to a younger man very much."

  Copyright © 1995 by Patricia Wynn Ricks

  Electronically published in 2000 by Belgrave House

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.