The Reluctant Marchioness

by Anne Ashley

  ‘I rather think, Rose,’ she said, dragging her thoughts back to the matter of her dresses, ‘that these gowns are no longer suitable for a woman of my advanced years to wear.’ A wry smile touched her lips. ‘Quite apart from the fact that I am somewhat fuller in the figure now, and would find them uncomfortably tight.’ She chose not to add that wearing them would evoke too many painful memories, and that she needed no extra reminders of how very naïve, how very trusting—her eyes automatically strayed to the communicating door—and how very accommodating she had been in her youth.

  Her natural thrifty nature coming to the fore, Rose abandoned the unpacking, and joined her mistress by the wardrobe. ‘But, my lady, I could easily let out a little material about the bodice. Mrs Liddel has always praised my stitchwork. No one will know the gowns have been altered. I’ll take care they will not!’

  ‘I’m sure you would, Rose, but I would never dream of putting you to all that trouble when I have gowns enough.’ She waved a hand in the general direction of the boxes on the floor. ‘Those make up just a small part of my wardrobe. My maid shall be bringing the rest of my things from London in a few days.’

  Jennifer tossed the gown she had been holding down on the bed, but not before she had observed Rose’s suddenly crestfallen expression at mention of the personal maid. No doubt she had been hoping that the absent mistress’s unexpected return to Wroxam Park would offer the opportunity of improving her lot. And perhaps Rose might be granted her wish if she proved to be both diligent and loyal.

  ‘Mary’s apron covers many duties, not just that of abigail, so I do not doubt she would appreciate some help from time to time,’ Jennifer disclosed, thereby instantly restoring the young maid’s hopeful expression. ‘In the meantime, we’ll remove these dresses… No, my mind is made up,’ she went on, when Rose looked about to protest further. ‘They are, however, too good to throw away. Share some amongst those of the household staff who can make use of them, and distribute the rest amongst the estate workers. I’m certain their female relatives will appreciate them.’

  ‘I’m sure they will, my lady,’ Rose reluctantly agreed, looking longingly at the array of beautiful gowns, knowing that she would never be able to squeeze her plump curves into any one of the dresses, no matter how many alterations she made.

  ‘Never mind, Rose,’ Jennifer consoled, easily reading the young servant’s thoughts. ‘If my memory serves me correctly, there is a rather voluminous fur-lined cloak in the other wardrobe. You may have that. By the by,’ she went on, interrupting the young servant’s heartfelt thanks, ‘do you happen to know where my son is now?’

  ‘I believe he’s in the nursery, my lady, happily playing with the toy soldiers his lordship had when he was a boy.’ She gave a sudden start. ‘Oh, I almost forgot…his lordship’s compliments, and would you join him in the dining-parlour at six for dinner?’

  How very cosy! Jennifer thought, but said, betraying her consideration for the servants, ‘I sincerely hope our unexpected arrival has not caused you all too many problems, especially not Mrs Quist.’

  ‘Oh, Cook is still in London, my lady, with Mrs Liddel and Mr Slocombe. I think I overheard one of the footmen mention that his lordship has already sent a message to instruct Mr Slocombe to close the town house, and return here at once.’

  Jennifer paused in the act of helping Rose remove the clothes from the wardrobes. ‘In that case, after we’ve placed these in another chamber, where you can sort through them at your leisure, remind me to pay a visit to the kitchen, just to assure whoever is preparing dinner not to concern herself unduly over the menu,’ she remarked, once again betraying her consideration for others.

  By the time Jennifer descended the impressive wooden staircase early that evening, there wasn’t a servant in the house who didn’t consider her a gracious and considerate mistress. Having had her hair arranged by Rose in a simple yet very becoming style, she looked every inch the mistress of the house, serene and supremely contented. Nothing, however, could have been further from the truth. There was no place in the length and breadth of the land where she would less wish to be. Her thoughts in turmoil, she was dreading the forthcoming meeting with the master of the house, and fearing what might be demanded of her in return for the privilege of remaining under his roof.

  Somehow she managed to smile her thanks to the young footman who opened the door for her, but the curl on her lips swiftly faded when she saw the tall, erect figure standing by the dining-parlour window, staring out across the park.

  Grudgingly she was forced to own that he was always immaculately attired, and this evening was no exception. His impeccably cut jacket of dark blue superfine fitted like a glove, emphasising the breadth of superb shoulders, and the equally well-made breeches did little to conceal the muscular strength of those long, straight legs.

  She was, however, in no mood to appreciate a fine physique and, seemingly, neither was he in a mood to admire the neatness of her appearance, for he turned the instant the footman had closed the door and commented,

  ‘I see you have not chosen to dispense with the mourning attire, Mrs—er—Stapleton.’

  She forced herself to return that sardonic gaze. ‘I have grown accustomed to widowhood, Wroxam. It offers a woman such freedom.’

  His eyes narrowed fractionally, but his voice contained the same amused drawl as he remarked, ‘I could have wished that you had bestowed a higher rank on me than mere major when you chose mentally to dispose of me six feet beneath the earth… A colonel at the very least!’

  One finely arched brow rose. ‘Why aim so low? Why not a general?’

  ‘Oh, no, my dear. All the generals I know are old and infirm, and a mite too fond of their port and brandy if their rosy noses are any indication.’

  Her smile could not have been sweeter. ‘Give it time, Wroxam, and I’m certain you’ll be taken for one of their number.’

  There was a definite twitch at the corner of his mouth, as he moved round the table, but before he could reach her chair, she had seated herself and was shaking out her napkin.

  The entrance of the footman, bearing a large tureen, succeeded in bringing the banter to an abrupt end, but the instant their soup had been served his lordship dismissed the servant with a nod and instructions that he would ring when he wished him to return to serve the second course.

  ‘I thought you would feel more comfortable in here,’ he ventured when Jennifer, appreciating the tasty broth, never offered to speak. ‘The large dining-room is a little impersonal, and I had no intention of making myself hoarse by attempting to hold a conversation down its long length.’

  Reluctantly she raised her eyes from the contents of her bowl. Evidently he was in a talkative mood. She could not recall his being quite so garrulous during meal times. One might be forgiven for supposing that age had mellowed him, made him more amenable, but she wasn’t prepared to delude herself. Wroxam was like a wild animal, dangerous, unpredictable; always alert, just waiting to strike out at the unwary.

  ‘We always ate our meals together in here,’ she reminded him, ‘never in the dining-room.’

  ‘Is that so?’ For a moment he appeared surprised before his gaze noticeably hardened. ‘As your memory is so acute, perhaps you can remember why you quite failed to inform me that you were with child before you chose to disappear off the face of the earth?’

  With that one rapier-like barb he had changed from pleasant dinner companion into ruthless inquisitor. How right she had been not to drop her guard! she mused, returning that hard-eyed gaze with slightly raised brows and a faintly contemptuous smile.

  ‘And would you have believed it was yours, if I had happened to conveniently remember?’

  Beneath the strong cheekbones his face paled, and the muscles along the powerful jaw grew taut. Her counter-thrust had hit its mark, and yet Jennifer gained little satisfaction from the knowledge that his armour was not impenetrable after all, and that he could be wounded just like anyone else.


  Surprisingly enough she found herself experiencing compassion, but quickly suppressed it. Heaven only knew she had no wish to hurt him! None the less, betraying any weakness would not help her cause. If she were to tell him the absolute truth would he understand, might it lead to a cessation of hostilities between them for the short period she might be forced to remain? she wondered, before she recalled that it had availed her nothing almost nine years ago when she had been scrupulously honest in those letters she had written him.

  Sighing, she placed the spoon in her bowl, suddenly finding the soup no longer to her taste. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that I didn’t realise I was with child when I left you?’ she asked hurriedly, before she could change her mind.

  Patently he did not; the swift rise of decidedly mocking brows was proof enough of this, even before he said, ‘Were you so ignorant, then, of the workings of your own body?’

  She refused to allow his decidedly sceptical tone to irritate her. ‘Might I remind you, Wroxam, that I was only sixteen years old. My mother died when I was ten. These are facts. Even you cannot refute them. I had no one to instruct me on what I might expect to happen, or why, once I became a wife.’

  He was looking merely thoughtful now, as though he were silently acknowledging that there was some truth in what she had said, and she didn’t hesitate to thrust home her advantage. ‘If anyone ought to have known that I was with child, then it was you, Wroxam. You are ten years my senior. And, at the time, you were vastly more experienced than I was.’

  In normal circumstances she would never have dreamt of discussing such a topic, especially with a member of the opposite sex. This, however, she silently reminded herself, was no time to be missish or fainthearted. ‘Did it never once cross your mind to wonder why I began to miss my monthly?’

  ‘Touché, madam!’ he exclaimed, gallantly acknowledging this valid point. ‘My only excuse, I suppose, is that I did, if my memory serves me correctly, make several trips to London during the months following our marriage.’

  The slight curl which instantly appeared on her lips was a masterly display of contempt, but in this instance he considered it completely unjustified. ‘Might I remind you, madam, that it was not I who proved to be unfaithful in our short marriage.’

  ‘There is absolutely no need to remind me, Wroxam. It is something I am never likely to forget, even though the reason why I erred will no doubt always remain a mystery to me.’

  He frowned in puzzlement, as he watched her rise from the table and go across to the window, wondering precisely what she had meant, but the shout of bitter laughter which suddenly filled the room thrust the desire for an explanation from his mind.

  ‘It is ironic, is it not, that had my son been blessed with blue eyes and golden locks, neither of us would have been allowed to set one foot across this threshold. No amount of assurances on my part would ever have convinced you that I was already carrying your child when I rode out with Geoffrey Wilburn on that fateful afternoon.’

  ‘Perhaps it is fortunate then that no assurances are necessary,’ he countered, ‘and that I have accepted Charles as my own at face value, as it were.’

  ‘Yes, damn you!’ She swung round, eyes blazing, revealing for the first time in his presence that she had not been blessed with that fiery head for no reason. ‘How could you not? You would have needed to be blind not to have known at once that he’s the fruit of your own loins!’

  She turned back to stare sightlessly out of the window, ashamed now that she had allowed his flippancy to goad her into a rare display of temper. ‘If you suppose for a moment that it gave me any pleasure to see Charles grow yearly more in your image, you delude yourself. And if you imagine I kept his existence a secret from you out of spite, some petty form of revenge, then you could not be more wrong.’

  The fist he brought down hard on the table, sending crockery and glasses clattering, was evidence enough of his own rising ire, as was his voice which cracked through the air like a whip. ‘Damn it woman, then why?’

  Even in her own highly tense state Jennifer could appreciate that his anger was totally excusable. No matter how she tried to explain it, no matter how justified she believed her own actions had been, the fact remained that she had denied her husband the joys of parenthood for eight long years; and, worse, she had tried to deprive her son of his birthright. Yes, she silently conceded, that had been the hardest decision she had been forced to make; and, yes, perhaps she had been wrong. As for the rest…

  She could not prevent a further heartfelt sigh escaping. ‘Because I wanted my son to enjoy a happy childhood.’

  ‘And what made you suppose that he would not have attained just that by living here?’ he countered with lightning speed, his tone intractable, but she refused to be cowed. She may have been wrong, cruel even, to have denied him all knowledge of his son’s existence. Nevertheless, she had believed that she had had no other choice.

  ‘And just what kind of life, Wroxam, could Charles have hoped to have living under this roof? Oh, yes, he would have been cosseted by an army of servants, and given everything money could buy,’ she went on without granting him the opportunity to answer, ‘but he would have been forced to pass his childhood years in an atmosphere charged with animosity and contempt, where his parents could hardly bring themselves to speak to each other and lived quite separate lives.’ Her chin lifted in open defiance. ‘Well, he may have been denied many material things, including his title, but at least he was blessed to live in a house where love and mutual respect abounded. And I can never be sorry that I ensured that at least the first eight years of his life were happy.’

  ‘And they shall continue to be so,’ Julian assured her after a moment’s silence, and sounding so determined, so wholly sincere, that she almost found herself believing him.

  ‘I’m not totally insensitive, Jennifer, no matter what you may think. Nor am I blind,’ he went on. ‘It took me a short time only to realise that there is a strong loving bond between you and our son. Which is very understandable in the circumstances, and I have no intention of attempting to thrust a wedge between you, now or in the future. Our son’s welfare is my prime concern, and that is precisely why I offered you the opportunity of returning here.’

  If he expected a declaration of gratitude, then he was doomed to disappointment, and when at last she raised her eyes, all that was discernible in their striking green depths was a strong element of suspicion.

  ‘And what, pray, will you expect of me in return for this rare altruistic gesture of yours? What will be my position in this house?’

  ‘Quite naturally you shall resume your role as its mistress.’ He reached for his glass, his gaze becoming noticeably harder as he studied her above its rim. ‘It goes without saying that I shall expect you to behave with the utmost propriety at all times.’ His voice had hardened too. ‘Woe betide you, madam wife, if you should bring disgrace to the name you bear a second time!’

  Her reaction again was not quite what he might have expected, and he detected precious little humour in the sudden burst of laughter which echoed round the room.

  ‘So, I may not discredit the proud Stapleford name, but you, no doubt, will continue to do so with all the masculine verve you have displayed for the past nine years.’ Raw contempt replaced the suspicion in her eyes. ‘Very well, Wroxam, I shall abide by your terms, for they suit me very nicely. I shall manage your house, and run it, I sincerely hope, just as you would wish. But that is all.’

  Receiving no response, she turned once again to contemplate the view beyond the window. ‘I have already taken steps to ensure my—er—privacy. I paid a visit to the kitchens earlier, and took the opportunity whilst there of discovering the whereabouts of the keys to my room. I was successful in my endeavours, and the door connecting our adjoining bedchambers is now locked…and shall remain so for as long as I reside under this roof.’

  She distinctly heard the sound of the glass being placed none too gently back down on the
table, but it was already too late. In three giant strides Julian had covered the distance which had separated them and, before she could take steps to avoid it, had imprisoned her in his arms. She had a momentary glimpse of the determined set of his mouth, before it clamped over hers, hard and bruising at first, and then unexpectedly gentle, parting her lips and winning the response she seemed incapable of denying.

  There was an unmistakable note of triumph in the deep rumble of laughter, after he had raised his head and released his hold, a taunting reminder, had she needed one, that she was not complete mistress of her emotions where her wholly masculine husband was concerned.

  ‘I do not think, madam wife, that you are as indifferent to me as you would have me believe,’ he announced, thereby increasing her mortification at her own weakness. ‘But no matter.’ He lowered his eyes, gazing with a knowledgeable intimacy at the rise and fall of her breasts. ‘A hundred locked doors wouldn’t succeed in keeping me from you if I wished to avail myself of your charms. But you need harbour no fears on that score.’

  He moved swiftly back to the table, as though her nearness was suddenly abhorrent to him. ‘Now that that is clearly understood, let us continue with our meal.’

  Resisting the urge to flee from the room, Jennifer gathered together the shreds of her dignity and joined him at the table. It was one thing to be told that one might rest easy in one’s bed at night, and quite another to discover that one need not have troubled to take precautions to achieve this objective in the first place.

  Chapter Six

  Jennifer paused in the letter she was writing to admire the pleasing aspect from the window. Wroxam had willingly acquiesced to her request to be granted this small room at the back of the house for her own private use, a place where she could write her letters, or just sit quietly and contemplate life. And she had been given plenty to think about during the month she had been back at Wroxam Park, not least of which had been the behaviour of its master.