“Why not serve nuncheon during the Councilors’ meeting?” Jane suggested, taking her attention from the kitten but still dangling the ribbon to keep it distracted. She glanced at the secretary, who had his elbows on the appointment book in his lap and his gaze on the feisty ball of fluff. “Of course it will be more difficult for you to keep minutes of the meeting, Mr. Ellis, what with footmen going to and fro with dishes and their lordships distracted by the food, but I see it as the only way of keeping the majority of the Councilors content. Naturally, I know nothing of such matters, and you will have to seek Lord Salt’s approval for the scheme, but it may just allow his lordship to wind up the meeting in time for him to change for the theatre?”
The housekeeper and under-butler looked at one another as if the idea had not occurred to them but was just the answer they were looking for. What was Mr. Ellis’s opinion?
But Arthur Ellis hadn’t heard a word. He was too enthralled watching the Countess playing with the black and white kitten, a gift from a newfound admirer; one of many gifts, but by far the best received, to have arrived that morning. There were posies, cards of invitation, scented handkerchiefs, a fur muff, a gouache fan, and several trinkets as yet to be unwrapped. The kitten had been delivered in its own velvet-lined basket, with a porcelain dish and a pint of fresh cream. There was a note tied to the basket: Pascoe, Lord Church sends his compliments to Jane, Countess of Salt Hendon. May she prove a good mother to Viscount Fourpaws.
The secretary wasn’t sure what was meant by the note, but he had a very good sense that contained within it was a message for the Earl, and that his employer would not be pleased, however much the Countess might delight in Lord Church’s gift. He had the uncomfortable satisfaction of being proved right when the Earl shocked the assembled company by appearing in the doorway unshaven, undressed and unimpressed.
“Mr. Ellis? What is your opinion of my scheme?” Jane repeated, and smiled when the secretary gave a start, nodded and dropped his gaze to the appointment book.
When Willis repeated the Countess’s idea for the Privy Council nuncheon Arthur Ellis quickly concurred, saying he was only too pleased to take the minutes of the meeting during nuncheon, the food being a welcome diversion for those Councilors who had a tendency to digress from the topic; a circumstance that particularly annoyed Lord Salt.
Dipping his quill in the ink pot of the Standish placed on the chaise longue beside him, he made a note in the margin of the appointment book and was about to move on to the next matter on his agenda when every servant in the room suddenly registered mute astonishment, became as stone then dropped to a curtsy or doubled over in a bow and kept their gaze on their toes. And when the Countess scrambled to her feet with a radiant smile, the secretary knew immediately who was at his back. He shot up off the chaise, open appointment book hugged to his chest and with the sudden depressing realization that he had pressed wet ink to the front of his best brown wool waistcoat.
“Bloody Hell!” Salt exclaimed, bringing himself up short and retreating to stand in the doorway at the unexpected sight of half a dozen of his upper-servants occupying his wife’s sitting room. Despite his embarrassment at being in a state of undress, the kitten intrigued him. “Where did you find such a ferocious animal, my lady?”
“His name is Viscount Fourpaws,” Jane told him, brushing out the creases in her petticoats. She scooped up the mewing kitten and presented him to her husband. “I’m sure he thinks he is very ferocious, which is all that matters.”
Salt held the tiny bundle of white fluff in the palm of one large hand and unconsciously tickled its throat with a long finger. “I see her ladyship has received more than a kitten by this morning’s post,” he commented, not surprised by the array of gifts and flowers piled on the sofa and scattered over the carpet. He had a fair idea who they were from. At the tennis tournament every male present had complimented him on his wife’s beauty and grace. He smiled down at Jane. “And who sent you this brute?”
“Lord Church,” Jane told him simply and retrieved the note that had been tied to the kitten’s basket. “See… Oh! How silly of me, you don’t have your eyeglasses,” she apologized, Salt slipping the card into a pocket without reading it, looking even more uncomfortable, if that was possible given he was unshaven, his hair fell unbrushed about his shoulders and he was naked under a flimsy silk banyan. She took back the kitten when he held it out.
“Return it,” he ordered and addressed his secretary. “Ellis, I’ll see you in the bookroom in an hour.” Then turned on a bare heel and strode off through Jane’s apartments to his own.
Jane followed, kitten clasped to her silk bodice.
“You can’t be so mean spirited! Just because I made a slip of the tongue about your weak eyes—”
“I’m not that puerile, you silly girl!” he answered gruffly, marching onwards.
“If you want the truth, you are just being stubbornly unreasonable about wearing your eyeglasses in public. Poor eyesight is nothing of which to be ashamed. Not when you are perfect in every other way. Everyone has some physical flaw they do not like and cannot alter.”
“Ha! Thus spake perfection herself!”
Jane frowned. “Now who’s being childish? Just because I have a pleasing countenance does not mean I don’t have flaws. I wish I were taller and plumper, like most females. And my mouth; I don’t like it. I have a perpetual pout. It makes me look the spoiled child. Don’t laugh. It’s true.”
Salt stopped at the door to his rooms and faced her with a smile. “I like you just the way you are, Jane, particularly your lovely mouth. But the kitten must be sent back.”
She blushed at his simple compliment. “And you’re just as handsome wearing eyeglasses,” she said shyly, looking up at him. “The kitten stays.”
“How can you say that when you’ve only ever seen me wearing the damn bloody nuisances once, and that was years ago! The kitten goes.”
“I must be one of the few people to have ever seen you in your eyeglasses. So it’s not something to forget, is it? You’re just being stubborn. I won’t send the kitten back.”
He leaned his wide shoulders against the doorframe with a huff and pulled out Lord Church’s note and held it up to her. “What does it say?”
She read the note aloud.
“Dear Pascoe,” drawled the Earl with a twisted smile. “He is all consideration for your welfare, my lady. He makes my wife a mother when I cannot. The kitten most certainly will be returned.”
He wrenched open the door and kept walking until he reached his closet. To his surprise Jane followed him through to this most private of male bastions. When Andrews saw the Countess he immediately downed shaving blade and leather sharpening strap, covered a bowl of soapy water with a hand towel and with a bow retreated to the dressing room to occupy himself until such time as the Earl was ready to be shaved.
“You believe by sending me the kitten he is having a cruel joke at your expense?” Jane asked calmly, stroking Viscount Fourpaws because he was mewing and probably in need of another bowl of cream after all his exertions with the ribbon. “But if you make me return him, won’t Lord Church know he has gained his object?”
“It doesn’t mean I have to accept his substitute for a child!”
Jane tilted her head in thought. “How does Lord Church know about the physician’s diagnosis?”
“Who doesn’t know?” he retorted flippantly, flinging out an arm. Adding for her benefit when she continued to look up at him expectantly, “Amongst the nobility, news that an earl is incapable of producing an heir is gazetted.” He rubbed his cheek, grimaced at the feel of stubble under his fingers, then ran a hand through his uncombed hair, and was similarly disgusted at this want of grooming. “Now if you would allow me, I’d like to make myself presentable,” he added, much subdued. “I have a full afternoon of appointments and then I have a prior engagement at the theatre.”
“Have you ever wondered if the physicians may have got it wrong?” she ask
ed quietly, ignoring his request for her to leave him to dress. “Perhaps you may have fathered a child or-or children but because a physician says otherwise, you haven’t bothered to even think that these children could be yours?”
Salt smiled uncomfortably and casually flicked her flushed cheek. “God help me, Jane, but your disturbingly frank questions would unnerve a lesser man. First you lecture me on catching a social disease and now you raise the possibility that I may have unintentionally fathered a bastard or two. Is no topic sacred?”
“Not between husband and wife,” Jane answered with a bashful smile, but her smile faded thinking how best to explain the rest of her thoughts. She was utterly convinced he had never received the locket with her note telling him of her pregnancy. But how to broach this topic without blurting out the truth and revealing the whole heartbreaking story and the very real possibility of not being believed? He might even think her demented! Perhaps it was best if she just plunged in at another point that might help convince him that he was every bit as fertile as the next man. It was only half way through her disjointed speech that she realized she had taken the wrong approach altogether, but by then the damage was done.
“From the little I overheard yesterday at the tennis tournament, there is a great deal about the activities of the nobility I do not understand,” she said conversationally, taking a turn about her husband’s expansive closet, the kitten now asleep in the crook of her folded arms. “It seems that as long as a married woman is discreet she can have an affair with, say for argument’s sake, her husband’s best friend if she so wishes and no one bats an eyelid. Surely, if this is the case, and the woman becomes pregnant, how does she know who is the father of her baby; her husband or her lover?”
Salt loosely folded his arms across his chest, brown eyes fixed to Jane’s slightly flushed face. There was an edge to his voice. “I would know.”
“But that’s just it. If the physicians have got it wrong and you are fertile, then you wouldn’t know. You could very well be Ron and Merry’s father and how would you know? Only if their mother confessed the truth to you, and she’s unlikely to do that because her husband was your best friend.” She was rattling on now because Salt was staring at her, face devoid of natural color. “Ron does have a great look of you, and that could easily be explained because his father and you were first cousins. Of course I never met St. John so I don’t know if you and he were much alike and he may very well be their father, but I’m not the only one it seems who has asked the question. So you see, you could be able to father a child but because you believe the physicians you haven’t suspected that you are just as virile as the next man.”
“When you accused me of breach of promise I thought I could stoop no lower in your eyes. I see that I was wrong,” he enunciated very quietly, and in a voice that froze Jane’s marrow as he came towards her, “Now you accuse me of cuckolding my best friend and closest cousin. Not only that, but impregnating his wife with my offspring. If it was not so despicable it would be laughable.”
“But if you and Lady St. John were lovers and you can father a child—”
“It is immaterial to this argument whether I can father a child or not!” he spat out, grabbing her shoulders hard and jolting the sleeping kitten awake. “I may be blind but it’s you who needs spectacles of comprehension! What you fail to see, what has failed to penetrate beyond your beautiful façade to your brain, is that St. John was my best friend.”
“That does not stop Diana St. John being ears over toes in love with you!”
“Regardless of his wife’s infatuation for me, I would never cuckold St. John, even in death,” Salt stated flatly, backing her towards the door. “St. John knew this. To his bitter disappointment he also knew he could trust me better than he could his own wife! So, Madam, your argument about my fertility falls flat.”
Jane stared up into his brown eyes. “Ron and Merry are two lovely children and if not St. John’s then I wish they were yours.”
“They are not,” he stated emphatically. “That statement of fact should snuff any flame of hope you may have held that I could give you a child.” He let her go, a sudden dryness in his throat, and jerked opened the door that led back to her apartments. “You’ll have to content yourself with mothering that little brute in your arms. He’s mewing for milk. You’d best do your duty by him. Now, please, be good enough to leave me in peace with my deficiencies.”
Jane did not move. She did not take her gaze from her husband. Absently, she stroked the kitten, hoping to distract it from its hunger pains a little longer.
“Do you not sometimes harbor doubts about the physician’s opinion?” she persisted, adding in a halting voice, “That perhaps—if two people love one another deeply enough—their prayer for a child will be answered?”
At that Salt dropped his gaze from staring over her head to look directly into her eyes, big, blue eyes swimming with tears. She was utterly wretched and hopeful at one and the same time. He didn’t doubt her misery was genuine. It caused him to experience a stab of inadequacy so acute that it hurt his chest. How ironic that he’d had the same wishful thought as she’d just voiced after making love to her in the summerhouse. He had asked her to marry him, aware that he could not give her children and yet recklessly believing that perhaps, if they loved one another enough their union would be blessed.
What romantic claptrap!
He was well aware of the ten year joke whispered amongst society that the lusty Earl of Salt Hendon couldn’t even get a whore with child. The odds entered in White’s betting book was a hundred to one that he would father a son; fifty to one he could get a mistress with child; two to one he would remain childless.
Yet, he couldn’t help a twinge of wanting the impossible. What he wouldn’t give to make Jane pregnant, to see her grow plump and round with their child. But that possibility didn’t bear thinking about because that meant growing plump and round with another man’s child. And that, for him, would be hell on earth.
He felt as wretched as she looked. With inadequacy came bitterness and anger.
“But you do not love me, Madam. You married me for Tom’s sake and I obliged your father’s dying wish and made you a countess. There is the sum total of our union. That we enjoy physical pleasure as husband and wife is mere serendipity. Content yourself with that. It’s a rare commodity amongst our kind and more than most husbands and wives of noble marriages have in common.”
Jane bowed her head to quickly wipe away tears then resolutely lifted her chin.
“You know that’s not enough—for either of us.”
“Don’t. Don’t goad me,” he said through his teeth. “I cannot father a child. I will never have a son. You will stay barren. Our marriage is destined to remain childless. How many ways do you want me to say it?” he added, gripping her upper arm, unintentionally twisting the silk of the tight sleeve under his long fingers and making her wince with pain. He jerked her closer. “Don’t ever play me for a fool. Understand? You belong to me, and only me. The males in my family have ever been uxorious, but I don’t believe in miracles. Find yourself pregnant and I won’t hesitate to kill the father of such ill-begotten offspring. Hold to that thought. It will keep you a faithful wife better than any chastity belt.” And with that he put her out into the connecting room and slammed the door.
Jane didn’t see her husband for the rest of the day. She hadn’t really expected to receive a visit from him that night, he had been so angry with her. But he came to her bedchamber in the early hours of the morning and slipped under the covers. When she drowsily asked after his day he apologized for waking her, said he had read Jacob Allenby’s will and that Tom was very fortunate to have her as a sister, then told her to go back to sleep. Of course neither of them could, and they lay awake in the dark, each acutely aware of the other yet unsure if physical contact was wanted after their acrimonious parting earlier that day. Still, Jane was reassured by the fact he had chosen to seek her out and not gone to h
is own bed, or worse, to another’s.
She wasn’t sure who made the first move. All she remembered was that as she drifted off to sleep she was wrapped in the warmth of Salt’s body. And later, in the dawn light, she was woken by his caresses and soon they were making love. Both craved touch, as if pleasuring one another was the only way of communicating forgiveness for the harsh words spoken earlier. Yet, nothing was said and when they finally drifted back off to sleep in each other’s arms, satisfied and satiated, it was with a bittersweet contentment; despite forgiveness, matters remained unresolved between them.
And so they settled into a pattern of sorts in their first months as husband and wife.
The Earl spent his days caught up in the political machinations of Whig and Tory factions and the negotiated Peace Settlement with France; carrying out parliamentary obligations to committees and to those who owed their sinecures to his patronage; and the endless round of social engagements that did not require the presence of his wife.
He confined himself to attending the male-only card parties and dinners of his friends, most of whom were unmarried or if married had been leg-shackled into arranged marriages where it was customary for husband and wife to lead separate lives, only coming together for a ball or a rout where social etiquette required that both parties of the union attend. Even Salt’s good friend the Earl Waldegrave, who was madly in love with his wife Maria, spent his social hours with his male friends at the Club, or at Strawberry Hill, the home of Waldegrave’s uncle-in-law Horace Walpole; he encouraged Salt to do likewise.
That the newly married Earl of Salt Hendon was seen about town without his wife was not thought the least odd, except by those romantically minded ladies who considered it a crying shame that such a handsome, virile nobleman had not made a love match; and by a select few male friends who dined occasionally at the Earl’s Grosvenor Square mansion and thus had met the new Countess of Salt Hendon and were of the opinion the Earl was keeping his beautiful bride from the country locked up in his London residence to have her all to himself.
Salt Bride Page 18