Lord Ravensden's Marriage

by Anne Herries

  in his eyes! It was not to be borne. Gentlemen did not look at respectable single ladies that way.

  She had stepped over the boundaries of proper behaviour, and she had better step back quickly or

  both her reputation and her peace of mind would be lost for ever. She pulled back, and this time

  he released his hold on her.

  'I shall be glad to convey your message, sir. Nan will be pleased that you are feeling better this

  morning.' She frowned at him. 'I realise you are not up to the journey back to London just yet. We

  are unfortunately not used to visitors staying, but we shall do our best to make you comfortable—

  until you can leave.'

  'I see you still wish to be rid of me,' Harry said. His eyes narrowed in thought. His wits must be

  addled! Why had he not realised before? Of course she dare not admit to having tended his

  sickbed; her reputation would be ruined if anyone guessed what she had done for him. And Harry

  was well aware of the extent of her services: he was dying to relieve himself this very moment!

  However, the barriers of convention were in place and he could not mention such an indelicate

  subject to the very proper Miss Roade. 'It is most unkind in you, Miss Roade. I am far too weak to

  even think of leaving for the moment.'

  'No, of course you must not think of leaving,' Nan said, coming in at that moment with a tray. 'Not

  for several days, or however long it takes you to recover your full strength. We should not dream

  of it. Now, sir, I have brought you some good broth. I want you to eat it all and I shall not take no

  for an answer. Beatrice, my love, your papa needs you.'

  'Lord Ravensden has requested that Bellows attend him,' Beatrice said, seizing her chance to

  escape. 'I dare say he will take some soup from your hand, Nan—since you have already done so

  much for him while he was in the fever. As for myself, I have far too much to do to waste time

  here...'

  'Pickled walnuts...' Harry murmured, his eyes narrowed as a fragment of a woman's scolding

  flashed into his mind. 'Yes, I must not detain you further, Miss Roade. And I will gladly take the

  broth from you, Mrs Willow—but I would prefer Bellows to shave me, if you won't think it

  ungrateful of me.'

  Beatrice left them together. She heard Nan laughing at something he had said as she went back to

  her own room to finish dressing. What had she been thinking of to rush to his room in her dressing-

  robe? It was only that on hearing the odd note in Lily's voice she had feared he was ill again.. .but

  what could it matter? Lord Ravensden was nothing but an inconvenience in the house. She had

  done her duty by him, but now he was over the worst and it would be as well for her if she were

  to stay out of his way until he left.

  In the meantime she must send to Farmer Ekins, who, she believed, had killed a pig some days

  ago. The beef must come from Northampton, because she did not care to buy from the market in

  Abbot Quincey, where she believed the quality to be inferior, though they seldom bought such

  luxuries for themselves. Instead, they relied on poultry, mutton and pork bought from neighbouring

  farms.

  Beatrice frowned as she thought of the dwindling supply of her housekeeping. It had taken money

  she could ill afford to pay, first for the new bed for Olivia, and then there were the doctor's visits

  to consider. He had called three times to see their patient; she did not grudge the money this would

  cost, of course, but it meant that she would have to find some other way to economise.

  She did not want to take Olivia's few guineas if she could help it, but her own quarterly allowance

  was almost spent. Perhaps Papa...but there was the wine merchant to be paid, and they needed

  some more sea coals for the kitchen, besides wax candles for the parlour. It was truly vexing the

  way money just seemed to be eaten up by this house. She had often thought they might do better in

  a small cottage, but dear Papa could not bear to leave the home where he had once been so happy

  with his wife, of course.

  Oh well, she would manage somehow. She had been putting a few shillings by to buy material for

  a new gown from Hammonds, the general store and linen draper in Abbot Quincey, but the

  purchase could wait. Her old gowns would do for a little longer.

  She sighed as she looked at herself in the drab grey gown she was wearing that morning. It made

  her look so—so old and staid, and she didn't in the least feel like either of those things, but the

  dress was serviceable, and perhaps she could trim it with a new ribbon.

  Dressed, her hair confined in a strict coil at the nape of her neck, only a few rogue curls allowed

  to escape about her face, Beatrice smoothed the skirt of her dress and went downstairs in search

  of her father.

  He was in his study, working, in not the slightest need of her services. He did, however, look up at

  her entry, to enquire how their guest went on.

  'How is Ravensden, m'dear? Better, I dare say, or you would not be here.'

  'He is over the worst now, Papa, but he cannot leave us yet.'

  'No, no, that would be unthinkable,' Mr Roade said. 'Besides, I like the fellow, Beatrice. Excellent

  mind. I think I shall go up and see him later, take some of my drawings to show him.'

  'I am sure he will enjoy that, Papa,' Beatrice said, and smiled, at this marked measure of her

  father's approval. 'But you must not tire him. I believe he still feels a little weak.'

  'Almost certainly,' her father replied. 'Foolish to travel in such inclement weather. Mist is very

  dangerous to the constitution, you know—damp and cold, the worst combination.'

  'Yes...' Beatrice felt the guilt strike her. If it were not for her unkindness, Lord Ravensden might

  never have been taken ill.

  'Very fortunate it happened here,' Mr Roade said. 'If he had been staying at an inn he might not

  have been so well looked after. You were exceptionally good to him, m'dear.'

  'I did very little,' she said, her cheeks warm. 'If you do not need me, Papa, I have things to do.'

  'Of course, of course...' He waved her away, but did not immediately return to the contemplation

  of his drawings when the door closed behind her. Mr Roade might be absent-minded, but he was

  not a fool. He knew well enough what kind of a life his daughter had been leading these past few

  years. 'Truly, a fine mind...very like your own, Beatrice...'

  Chapter Five

  ' Where is Bellows?' Beatrice asked her aunt as she went into the kitchen the following morning.

  'He is needed to bring in more logs for the parlour fire. Olivia is mending a sheet—and it is a

  little chilly in there. We do not want her going down with a fever.'

  Nan glanced up from her work. 'Bellows was with his lordship earlier, then he went off on an

  errand— I believe he took Lord Ravensden's horse.'

  'Goodness!' Beatrice said, looking startled. 'I hope he had permission.'

  'I imagine his lordship wanted him to do something for him,' Nan said. 'They have been getting on

  like a house on fire. Bellows says it is quite like the old days. Apparently, he has shaved

  gentlemen before. It is only since Bertram lost most of his money that he began to do the outside

  work.'

  'Yes, I suppose it is,' Beatrice said, frowning. There had been a time when things were not so very

  bad, before Sarah Roade died, her income from her family dying with her, and before Mr Roade


  had made so many unwise investments. 'Can Lord Ravensden not shave himself yet? Is he still

  feeling weak? Really, it is such a nuisance, but I dare say he does not realise how much we rely

  on Bellows. So thoughtless of him to send Bellows off on an errand. But what can you expect of

  such a man? It is all of a piece!'

  'I dare say he is accustomed to being shaved by his man, and to having servants on hand to run his

  errands,' Nan said, looking at her thoughtfully. It was unusual for Beatrice to be so out of humour.

  'I will ask Ida to bring in the logs. She is perfectly capable of doing it.'

  'Yes, of course.' Beatrice sighed. 'I was just wondering.'

  'Why do you not go up and speak to his lordship for a few minutes?' Nan asked. 'He enquired for

  you earlier, my dear.'

  'I am far too busy,' Beatrice replied. 'We have guests for dinner on Thursday evening, Nan. Had

  you forgotten? I must do some cooking in preparation.'

  'That is tomorrow,' Nan replied with a lift of her brows. 'Is there really anything you need to

  prepare today, my love?'

  'I suppose not—but I ought not to visit Ravensden in his bedchamber,' Beatrice said, not quite

  meeting her searching gaze. 'I wonder that you should suggest it.'

  'Ah...' Nan smiled as she saw the frustration in her niece's eyes. 'No, of course not. It would be

  immodest in you, and is not to be expected, since you scarcely went near his lordship the whole

  time he was so ill...'

  'Pray do not tease me.' Beatrice gave a reluctant laugh. 'I had to tell him that, Nan. Only imagine

  what he would think if he knew it was I who had... well, I think it best that I do not go up. Papa

  said he was in high spirits when he saw him.'

  'Just as you wish, dearest. Lord Ravensden did say that he might get up later today and come

  down...'

  'The foolish man! He is not yet well enough.'

  'I did tell him that he ought to stay where he was for another day at least, but he said...' Nan shook

  her head. Better not to repeat the exact words Lord Ravensden had uttered. He was here to

  persuade her youngest niece to marry him, not to seduce the elder. 'He said he did not care for

  lying abed, and that he was feeling very much better.'

  'Well, I shall go and tidy our bedrooms,' Beatrice said. 'Lily can do Lord Ravensden's room

  later...'

  She picked up her dusters and the lavender-scented polish, which had been made with beeswax

  from their own hives and lavender she had ground herself to extract the oil.

  It really was most frustrating, Beatrice thought as she polished the chest of drawers in her father's

  room. Conventions were so foolish. Just because she was not married, she was barred from

  dropping into Lord Ravensden's bedchamber as her father did whenever he felt like it. As though

  she was in any danger of being seduced! Why, she did not even like him...if she did not think he

  would be a good catch for her sister, she would not have bothered for one moment whether he was

  ill or not.

  He had come to them on Friday the first of November, it was now the sixth, only five days since

  he had been found ill. Only five days? Why did she care that he was foolish enough to be thinking

  of leaving his bed so soon?

  To be sure, it did not matter! Why should she care what the tiresome creature did? Yet he had

  been so very ill the first three days, and she could not help wondering if he really was better now.

  No doubt the stubborn man would rise from his bed too soon, then take ill again on purpose!

  Leaving her father's bedroom, she paused to dust a table in the hall. She was frowning, her

  thoughts far from comforting as she worked, and did not notice the man walking towards her along

  the landing, his boots making no noise on the old, worn carpet, until he was almost upon her.

  'You really are busy, aren't you?' Harry said, making her jump and look round. 'I thought Mrs

  Willow was not telling me the truth when I asked her why you would not visit me—but it seems I

  was mistaken.'

  'Lord Ravensden!' Beatrice cried, her heart leaping unaccountably. From fright, of course, nothing

  else. The wretched man had sneaked up on her! 'What are you doing up so soon? Surely you are

  not fit to come down yet? You would do much better to rest, sir.'

  'If you will not come to me, I must come to you,' Harry said. 'I am much recovered, besides, I

  could not lie there another moment, knowing that I must be causing so much trouble to your

  household.'

  'Indeed, you are not, you foolish creature,' Beatrice said. 'I did not nurse you to have you risk

  yourself so heedlessly...' She stopped, furious with herself for having been caught out. 'I meant my

  aunt, of course. It was Nan who nursed you.'

  'Of course...' Harry's eyes gleamed. 'It would have been quite improper for you to have nursed me,

  Miss Roade. And, since you will not come near me now, I see that you are indeed a very proper

  young woman.'

  'Not so young, sir. I am three-and-twenty, not a green girl to be doing anything so foolish as to—

  to...'

  '...bathe a naked man?' Harry's grin was despicable. 'Massage his back when it was aching so very

  much?'

  'Indeed, I should not dream of it,' Beatrice lied, her cheeks flaming. 'You must have dreamt it in

  your fever, sir.'

  'Indeed, I must,' Harry agreed, his eyes warm and admiring. 'Forgive me, mistress, I fear I have a

  shocking sense of the ridiculous. It is very bad in me. Mama has always told me so, and Merry is

  forever scolding me for my wicked levity.'

  'Who is Merry?' Beatrice's curiosity overcame her. 'You called for her so often...'

  'Did I? I wonder why?' Harry frowned. 'She is the wife of Lord Dawlish, Percy Dawlish. He is

  my closest friend, and Merry has always made me welcome in her house. I believe I must have

  thought it was she who tended me so kindly.'

  'Yes, I see.' Beatrice smiled, oddly content with his explanation. 'My aunt said you mentioned

  Merry by name several times.'

  'Yes, of course, your aunt. A remarkable woman, Mrs Willow—in many ways.' Harry frowned as

  he saw her pick up her dusters. 'Do you always work so hard, Miss Roade? Or is it because I have

  upset your routine?'

  'I do not mind a little polishing,' Beatrice said. 'Lily has taken on some of Bellows's duties for the

  moment, so I am doing her work this morning.'

  'I see. It was thoughtless of me. I sent him into Northampton this morning, to run some errands for

  me. Forgive me, I should have asked if it was convenient before commandeering your servant.'

  'You are used to a house filled with servants,' Beatrice said, a faint blush in her cheeks. 'This must

  seem a very odd establishment to you, Lord Ravensden. I apologise that we cannot offer you more

  in the way of comfort.'

  'You have no need to apologise for anything,' Harry said. He took her hand. She was wearing a

  pair of old cotton gloves. 'So that is how you protect your skin. You have soft hands, Miss Roade.

  I am glad you take care of them. It would be a pity if they should be spoiled doing work more

  fitted to others.'

  'I have become used to it,' she said, withdrawing her hand from his swiftly. 'Though I am more

  often baking than polishing. I enjoy baking and preserving...making my own healing balms and

  simples. Most countrywomen do, my lord.'

  'Yes, I see.' Harry smi
led at her, taking her breath away. 'And what else do you do when you are

  not thus employed?'

  'I read...play Mama's pianoforte when I have the chance, and sew,' she replied. 'When the weather

  is better, I walk a lot.'

  He nodded, his eyes intent on her face. 'You do not ride?'

  'I used to before...' She stopped, dropping her gaze for fear he should see too much. 'It is

  expensive to keep a riding horse, Lord Ravensden. Papa borrows a mount from Mr Hartwell's

  stable now and then, and I suppose I might too—had I a decent habit that would fit me.'

  'Ah...yes, I understand. Mr Roade told me that some of his experiments had proved costly in the

  past.'

  'Yes...' Beatrice would not look at him. 'You must not pity us, my lord. We are content, Papa and

  I...it is poor Olivia that you should be thinking of.' Her eyes swept up to meet his, full of

  condemnation. 'It is she who has lost everything.'

  'Yes, I realise that.' Harry's face assumed a serious expression. 'The problem is—what can be

  done about it?'

  'You must persuade her it is in her best interests to marry you, of course.'

  'Must I?' Harry's brows arched. 'Yes, I suspect that would be the correct and proper course of

  action. Where may I find Miss Olivia at this moment?'

  'She is in the parlour, mending a sheet.'

  'Is she indeed? Poor Miss Olivia. I should go to her at once.'

  'Yes, please do.'

  Beatrice turned back to her polishing cloths as he inclined his head and walked past, but a muffled

  oath made her look round almost immediately, and she saw that he had halted, his hand clutching

  the banister rail as if he had needed support. She dropped her cloths and went to him at once,

  looking at him in concern.

  'You, foolish, foolish creature,' she scolded. 'I might have known this would happen. I dare say

  you imagine that if you fall and half kill yourself, it will gain you a bed here for yet more days.

  Well, let me tell you, your stratagem will not work. Take my arm, sir, and we shall walk down the

  stairs together. I shall not have you ill again.'

  'No, that would be very bad of me, wouldn't it? Since you have given up your room for my sake.'

  Harry's eyes danced with laughter. 'Unless you mean to send me back to that disgusting bed in your

  guest room now that I have recovered enough to be moved?'