“My family,” he intoned rather formally, “I should like for you to meet my very dearest friend, Lady Mary Wagnall.”
A chorus of ‘how-do-you-dos’ filled the room, followed by another echoing silence.
“And this is her companion, Mrs. Pennett,” John said, stepping into the room with Mary at his side, enough to let Mrs. Pennett step forward and make her curtsy.
Another chorus of murmured greetings filled the room, but not one pair of eyes wandered from John, as they all sat and awaited further enlightenment.
“Mary,” John said as he stepped farther into the room, his hand over hers where it lay on his arm. Mrs. Pennett followed in their wake. He led them toward the eldest female in the room. “This is my mother, Lady Rothayne.”
“My dear, how pleasant to meet you. John has told us of his new friend. We are so glad you could join us.”
“I pray it is no bother--”
“Not at all. You can see for yourself we are quite used to company,” the dowager Lady Rothayne said, indicating the crowded room with a movement of her hand. “Nor do we stand on ceremony here in the country. Truly, we cannot. There are too many of us to bother with titles. It becomes overwhelming. So I beg you to be so kind as to use our Christian names. I am Cornelia. May I call you Mary?”
“Please do, my lady--um, Cornelia.”
“We have a pair of rooms ready for you and for Mrs. Pennett.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. Mrs. Pennett, looking a trifle awed, made another acknowledging curtsy.
“Now, if you would all be so good as to allow me to point,” John said by way of apology for the crudity, and proceeded to do just that. “This lady here is Hortense. She is our eldest, and would not thank me for telling you how much so.” He received a disdainful look down that lady’s nose, upon which perched a set of spectacles, for his trouble.
He proceeded, “In age order, then, there is Eugenia, Angela, Marian, Penelope, Sofie--that is short for Sophronia--Daphne, and the lovely lady in pink is my closest-in-age sibling, Georgette, the new mother. I, alas, am the younger brother of all eight of them.” He paused to take a breath, then went on. “My nieces then. Hortenses’s four: Ann, Margaret, Lorraine, and Elizabeth. Eugenia’s three: Karen, Marcia, and Stephanie. Here we have Angela’s two darlings: Katherine and Suzanne. Marian and Penelope each have the one daughter, respectively Alice and Rosina. Sofie is our newlywed, and has had the bad manners to have not yet seen to her duty by way of producing any offspring for our already oversized family.”
This comment caused that lady to fluster a little, but John, as usual, went blithely on. “And of course you see our newest, Jessica, there in her mother’s arms. That, as your math will tell you, makes me the slave of twenty-three females. Twenty-four with Mama.”
“How do you do?” Mary said to the room at large, already quite lost as to who was who, except for Sofie, who was the only other sibling to have the true auburn hair of her brother. They were all handsome people, a revelation which made Mary feel the tiniest bit plainer than usual.
“Are you two going to be married?” the eldest niece, Ann, asked abruptly.
“Good heavens, no!” John replied, aghast. “I tell you, Mary is my friend. I could not do that to a friend.”
“Quite right,” someone said.
“We despair of him, Mary,” Sofie, the one with hair like John’s, explained. “We wish for him to marry. It is his duty. He is the marquess. But none of us is willing to sacrifice a friend to such a state of being, and equally none of us wishes to see someone for whom we do not care become the mistress of the house. It is a dilemma, I declare.”
“And I, of course, do not care to marry at all, but they do not listen to me,” John said in mock weariness.
“But you must marry someday,” one cried.
“Of course he must,” cried another of his sisters. “He will. He just likes to tease us so.”
“Well, I for one pity the girl.”
“Yes, it would be a hard life having to make a go of it with one such as John.”
“To say nothing of having to deal with all of you,” he jumped in with a rather sour look about his mouth.
“Pish.”
“How he does go on.”
“Well!” John cried with that over-bright manner of one who wishes to make an escape. “I must see to getting Mary settled in her room. Good host duties and all that. In fact, then I think I’ll show her about the place. We’ll see you all at suppertime.” Abruptly he turned, his hand still tightly over Mary’s, forcing her to throw her thanks over her shoulder as he marched her from the room. Mrs. Pennett followed, ignoring any speaking looks from Rothayne.
He did not stop until they had flown up the wide sloping staircase. There on the landing he paused long enough to take a deep, relieving breath--but then was overcome by a bevy of young girls accompanied by their flustered-looking nanny.
Free of parental influence, they all squealed for hugs from “Uncle John! Uncle John!”, after which the six young girls were introduced to Mary, who offered them smiles and a curtsy. While all six spoke at once, eventually Mary made out that the group was in pursuit of dolls for a tea party they were planning in the nursery. Apparently a supply had been left in their bedchambers. Then they were gone as quickly as they’d appeared, little Alice toddling behind as best she may on her two year old legs.
Rothayne pulled down his waistcoat, reorganizing the order the girls had disrupted.
“And that is but a third of your nieces,” Mary noted, a bit dazed but still smiling.
“Yes, some of the younger,” John agreed.
He turned to Mrs. Pennett. “You will see that your mistress’s bags are safely ensconced?” he asked pleasantly, though it was no less than a command.
Mrs. Pennett at last gave in gracefully, simply inclining her head before she slipped back down the stairs.
Now it was John’s turn to smile as he gave his attention to Mary wholly. “Are you ready to meet still more of my relations?”
She nodded somewhat bemusedly, wondering if he meant the remaining nieces, or a grandmother or great-aunt who was confined to her room. He led Mary down a long corridor filled with a variety of paintings and marble busts in small alcoves, past a number of doors, some open, some closed, and through the closed one at the end of the long corridor. “Gentlemen,” John said by way of a greeting, as four men of differing ages turned toward him.
Mary’s eyes flew to John’s face. “You did not quite write me all the truth, John. How silly of me not to figure it out for myself!” she cried, for of course these must be his sister’s husbands. Although it was true he was surrounded by females, here then were also some males with whom he could take refuge.
“Would you have come if you’d known I had some relief?” he said quietly near her ear.
The eldest of the four, his hair streaked with gray at the temples and in his beard, stepped forward as he transferred a brandy glass from his right hand to the other. “So this must be Lady Mary,” he said in a soft, well-modulated voice.
“She is. Gentlemen, may I make known to you my very good friend, Lady Mary Wagnall, who has given us all permission to call her by her given name. Mary, this is Sir Edmund Billings, Hortense’s fellow.”
“How do you do?” Edmund asked politely as they exchanged bow and curtsy.
The other three men stepped forward as she gave her polite answer, each repeating the bows, and Mary her curtsy, as John introduced them. “This scalawag is Lord Gateway, shackled to Angela, and whom you must call Timothy. This is Mr. Aaron Seffixhenny, the new bridegroom among us. That makes him Sofie’s lucky fellow. And here is little Jessica’s papa, Lord Withal, called Kevin.”
“Felicitations are in order, my…Kevin,” Mary said in his direction, tripping over the casual use of his name.
“Thank you, Mary. I must say, we were just discussing our lack of surprise the newest babe was yet another female to come among us.”
“We Rothay
nes are stubborn, even in the matter of procreation,” John quipped.
Edmund lifted his eyebrows, followed by a glance toward Mary at the mildly scandalous comment. When she did not blush, nor in any wise seem discomfited, he chose to voice no offense.
As she was invited to take a seat, Edmund moved to John’s side, close enough to say in a low voice, “I must say, I think I shall like this Mary of yours, even though we have but met.”
“And I will tell you what you have met is what she is, sir, a paragon.”
“A virtuous one?” Edmund asked.
John turned to throw him a dark look, but then he saw at once that Edmund had not meant to be unkind; he was merely prying. That kind of behavior was surely reprehensible, but one grew used to its like here. John put on a pained face, sighed heavily, and replied, “I fear so.”
Edmund smiled mildly, and made no attempt to hide the fact this conversation would be related to his wife. “I do not know if Hortense will be happy to know that or not.”
“She will say she is, as only vows before a preacher would satisfy that one, but inside she will be regretting that Mary does not have that avenue by which to ensnare me. A marriage by compromise is still a marriage, that would be Hortense’s thought.”
“Why don’t you settle down? It’s not so bad.”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Mary asked, looking up from her seat. Her eyes were as lively as her ears were sharp. The three other husbands followed her example, all eyes fixing upon John.
“It is impolite to eavesdrop,” John responded lightly.
“It is impolite to share whispers while in a group,” Mary countered.
He allowed his eyes to fall meaningfully toward the floor, and in the silence that filled the room they all clearly heard the babble from below stairs. “It is,” he said, his tone having grown weighty, “my sincere belief I should beget nothing but more females. Acres and acres of females. You must all see, then, why I forebear that estate which produces offspring.”
It was Mary who began to laugh first, but she was quickly joined by all the rest.
They poured her a glass of ratafia, queried her as to her journey, and proceeded on to telling tales of the horrors of living or visiting among the “Rothayne Bevy.”
“Harry, Stephen, and Eric--they’re the clever ones. They all found excuses not to come. And of course, there’s Humphrey, who’s away at sea more times than not,” Timothy explained about the other missing brothers-in-law.
“Sofie said she wouldn’t come without me, the roads being unsafe with brigands and all,” Aaron put in, looking glum.
“But escape is possible. We ride a bit, don’t we?” John said. At their nods he went on, “At least every morning at eight. Would you care to join us, Mary?”
“Oh yes, I should like that,” she said, her face shining under all the attention being lavished on her, and at their eager looks of invitation.
“Then let’s away to the stable, to find you the proper nag,” Edmund said, setting down his snifter.
A movement at the door halted them in their steps, for it was Lady Rothayne who stood there. “John,” Cornelia said with faint disapproval, “I thought you were seeing Mary to her room, and yet I am told this has not occurred.”
John gave Mary a half-shrug at having to delay choosing a mount, and declared, “We were going there just now, Mama.” He turned to offer Mary his arm. She stepped next to him, slipping her hand onto his sleeve.
“Lead the way,” she said up at him.
As they followed his mother down the long corridor, he said sotto voce, “Don’t let them monopolize you. Save me some time. Say you will, I beg of you.”
“It’s why I came, John,” she assured him, unable to suppress the soft smile that came to play around her lips. It was a great, good feeling to be wanted.
When he left her at the door of her room, wherein she was accompanied by his mother, she could not help but notice how cool the room seemed. It was not that it was one jot cooler than the corridor, she knew with a sigh, it was that John was gone from her side. Oh, I must be careful here, she thought to herself. He is the beautiful window but not the life-giving sun, she reminded herself.
“My dear, is the room not satisfactory?” Cornelia asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Mary turned to face the silver-haired lady, a little flustered at being caught ruminating. “Oh, no, it is a lovely room. I was merely wool-gathering. The length of the trip, I guess,” she made hasty excuses.
“I know quite well how wearying travel can be, but fortunately supper is to be served soon. That is always fortifying, I find, after travel. Although, I could have a tray sent up, if you feel the need for something now, or a bit of privacy…?”
“No, thank you. You are most kind,” Mary said, moving toward the large bed, her two cases tucked underneath, no doubt already emptied into the drawers of the dresser near the bed and the wardrobe, evidence that Mrs. Pennett had preceded her. “I think I’ll just rest until the supper hour is announced.”
“That will be at six, my dear. We dine early in the country,” Cornelia said, moving toward the door.
Mary sat on the bed, testing it for comfort and feeling well pleased with what she felt. The quality of the bed was no surprise in this grand house--nor was the way her heart buoyed and her stomach sank as she considered how very much she liked being in John’s home.
Chapter 8
She woke from an only half-planned post-travel nap when a weight settled on the end of the bed. Blinking her eyes, she shifted up onto her elbows, trying to focus through the dim light at the invader. In a moment she saw it was not a servant who had roused her, but John.
“The chambermaid said you were sleeping,” he said quietly, a smile dancing in his eyes.
“Oh, John, never say you let her know you were coming in my room!” she said, wanting to smile back at that perfect mouth even while consternation stirred in her voice.
“Of course I did. I may not come home often, but I have come often enough that the servants are used to my ways. But, look, dearest, I left the door open, so you are safe in person as well as in reputation. You do want to be safe, don’t you? I could close the door, if--?”
“John,” she cried, exasperated, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Come, you are only two minutes away from making the dinner hour late,” he said, offering her his hand.
She stepped around the hand, moving to her looking-glass. “Oh no! Look at me. I have red creases on my face, my dress is wrinkled, my hair is a nest--”
“Hush, darling. No one will care.”
“Will not care? Because I am no beauty? Why do I need to worry about my appearance?” she said to her reflection, only to feel mortified at realizing that, with a sharp edge in her voice, she’d said it aloud.
In the glass she saw him give a quick shake of his head, denying the statement she’d uttered. “Why do you insist you are some manner of gorgon?”
“You’ve clearly never been a…” she changed the word she’d not uttered aloud for over a decade, not since she’d promised herself that “ugly” was not a whole truth, “…an unhandsome female. The world is not always kind to us.”
He looked at her, not up and down, but only at her face. Perhaps he was reading the distress there--but at least he did her the favor of not again speaking to it. “Come, I’ll help you,” he said, his deep voice so low as to almost go unheard. He reached for the back of her dress and began undoing buttons.
“John, no!”
“Hush, it’s only buttons. Quickly now, before the chambermaid returns.”
His warning worked, for with a quick, worried glance at the open door, she stood still and let his nimble fingers finish their work.
“Now, change quickly, and I’ll do up the new buttons for you.” He moved to the door, and closed it behind himself.
***
In the corridor, he allowed one hand to shape into a fist, and a fierce scowl crossed his fea
tures for a moment before he was able to smother the anger that flared within. It was just that she had startled him, for he was only used to play and lightness in their acquaintance. Of course, she was as human as he, and it was not to be wondered at that she had received her share of unkindnesses. It was, alas, the way of the world, as he had learned himself not so very many years ago. And he, unlike many, had at least this cursedly handsome face to hide behind, he told himself, though a tiny voice also whispered that same face had in fact been the foundation from which had sprung his own woes.
Truth was, Mary’s face was a plain one. She had good bones, a small nose, a fine mouth--it was just the sum did not add up to beauty. He’d never been blind to her looks--but what was beauty with a vacuous mind behind it? Or cruelty? Or selfishness?
Of course she felt the sting of such injustice. That didn’t mean he had to like it, or add to it.
No, he reminded himself, what he would do was be sure she found a man worthy of her, a man who saw Mary’s perfectly acceptable face was the vehicle through which to win her fine mind and her great heart.
No man would have her who did not understand he was to forever cherish her.
***
Inside the room, she slid out of the dress even as she moved toward the wardrobe. None of the dresses she had brought had, of course, yet been pressed back into a premium condition, but the light blue sarcenet was not too wrinkled from travel, so she took that one down quickly. She was dressed in it in a moment, and she struggled for a vigorous five minutes more, trying to do most of the buttons herself, but finally she had to move to the door and whisper, “John?”
He came back in at once, almost striking her with the door in his haste. “Mama will be sending someone for you any minute,” he warned even as he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, his fingers going at once to the buttons left unfastened. He was swiftly done, his hands shifting up to her hair to begin pulling pins. “Now, as to your hair, can you do it yourself?”
The Marriage Mart Page 8