PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses

by Margaret Brazear

  "I was content with my marriage plans before tonight," she said sadly. "I was even happy to be marrying a man who is kind enough to help us. Indeed, I was looking forward to being a good wife to him, then you came here with tales to frighten me. Now I know not what to expect, now I am dreading what tomorrow may hold. I trust that satisfies you."

  She thought to make the Viscount feel shame for his behaviour, but it seemed not to be working. What else did she expect?

  Certainly His Lordship had the reputation of being ruthless, but that could not deter Felice. Her alternative was to marry Thomas with no dowry to support her should he die, and to leave her father to rot in debtor's prison. Lord Christopher was all that stood between her family and ruin and she was only grateful he had noticed her in time to save them. Indeed, a man who would marry a woman about whom he knew nothing and part with so much of his wealth to rescue a complete stranger, had to have goodness and generosity in him, no matter what his reputation may be.

  It was growing dark in the small porch outside the house, and the autumn damp was closing in. She glanced down at the frayed hem of her brocade gown and pulled her fur lined cloak closer about her shoulders; only she knew how worn and thin was the fur inside. This cloak belonged to her mother and she had died ten years ago. Felice had but one wish now, and that was for Thomas to go home and leave her in peace.

  "You know no more of him than I do," she said. "He is powerful and wealthy; that is all either of us know about him. Anything else is mere rumour."

  "His poor wife's grave in the village churchyard is no rumour," he replied. "Go, see for yourself. Her name was Sonia and she should be resting in the family vault with her predecessors, not in a grave no better than that of the poorest peasant. And he is reputed to be a violent man, controlled by his temper."

  She had heard that herself and people hereabouts certainly feared him, but whatever his temperament or his character, she had no choice. If she did not marry him, her father would lose everything and she would not let that happen, not while it was within her power to prevent it.

  "Reputations are not always justified," she remarked hopefully.

  "He is also reputed to keep a peasant woman who has his children. I hope you do not expect him to be faithful."

  She looked sharply at Thomas, not sure whether he was now inventing tales of his own. She had heard nothing of this peasant woman, but the news came as no great surprise and made no difference to her plans. Nothing could make a difference to her plans.

  "I do not expect any man to be faithful, Thomas," she said calmly. "It is not in their nature."

  "I would be faithful to you," he insisted. "I love you. You should not be bartering yourself for your father's sake. Let him sort out his own problems."

  She stared at him with contempt. How could anybody be so ignorant as to make such a stupid remark? Whatever Lord Christopher's character might be, she was rather glad she would not, after all, be marrying Viscount Lindsay.

  "If I thought for one moment you really did love me, I would sympathise with you, I would have compassion for your loss. But you are only annoyed because you have lost a possession, like a small child with his favourite toy. My father's problems are my problems," she said firmly. "Lord Christopher will save him from debtor's prison and by so doing will save the good name of my family. That is well worth bartering myself for, as you so elegantly put it."

  "I will not give up. I have spent my life expecting you to be my bride."

  "And tomorrow I will be Lord Christopher's bride and you must look elsewhere. I am sorry, Thomas, but this is the way it has to be."

  She got to her feet to indicate the meeting was at an end, then turned to face him.

  "Please leave me alone now, Thomas. Tomorrow I will be the Countess of Waterford and I intend to make Lord Christopher a good and faithful wife. I shall be grateful if you will respect that and leave me alone."

  "I never realised how cold you could be, Felice," he persisted. "You do not even know this man, you have never once spoken to him, but you accept that you will be his wife without a qualm. You will spend tomorrow night in his bed. Do you think it is an accident that half the countryside fear him? He must have done something to earn that reputation."

  Felice hardly needed him to tell her that. She knew very well he was a formidable and powerful man who struck terror into the hearts of many, but all she could do was to be as good a wife as she could and hope he was not violent for violence sake. She was not expecting a romantic love story from this marriage, just security for both her father and herself, and hopefully some respect if not affection.

  "If what you say about him is true,” she said thoughtfully, “it would not be safe for you to be seen with me."

  "I am not afraid."

  So typical, thinking of himself as always. She knew nothing about the man she was to wed, not really. All she knew were rumours, mostly spread by his enemies of which he seemed to have many. She should be afraid to marry such a man, but she feared penury more. As she walked to the door of her father's manor house, she knew a little spark of gratitude for His Lordship. He was not only liberating her father, he was rescuing her from marriage with a weak and selfish man who would put her safety at risk to get his own way.

  She turned back to face him as she reached the door, her hand resting loosely on the doorknob.

  "What do you suppose he will do to me if you continue to pursue me?" She said after a few minute’s thought. "Or does that not matter?"

  ***

  Lord Christopher gazed at his reflection and sighed impatiently.

  "Do you not think, Howard," he addressed his personal manservant, "that this outfit is a little flamboyant for my tastes. It is too fancy; makes me look like an idiot."

  "My Lord," Howard replied hesitantly, "it is your wedding day."

  "And that is special, is it?"

  "You know well that it is, My Lord."

  "Did not work out too well the last time, did it?" Lord Christopher mumbled, wondering just why he allowed himself to speak so intimately to this one particular servant. Perhaps because the man had been with him all his life and was the only one in his employ who was not terrified of him.

  "Pray God this marriage is worthy of you," Howard replied. "I am sure My Lady Felice will be a faithful wife."

  "She had better be," Christopher answered with a note of anger. "If she is not, she will regret it."

  Howard shuddered, knowing his master was not given to making empty threats and knowing His Lordship’s late countess escaped a public flogging for adultery only because she was with child.

  Christopher adjusted his hat, squirming his neck and pulling at the collar to make the thing a little more comfortable. He hated new clothes; they were always so stiff and uncomfortable and he always made Howard try them out before him, to make them looser and easier to wear. But Howard had talked him out of making him wear his wedding suit before him; the man had the damned cheek to say it was the wrong thing to do. As if Christopher followed rules of etiquette, or rules of anything else for that matter.

  He had been half heartedly looking for a suitable wife since his last one died, but he had so far found no one he believed he could trust, not even the one he was to wed this day. Besides that, he was not a popular choice as a prospective husband, despite his wealth and position. He had to marry someone, had to attempt to sire an heir to his title and his estates, as there was no one else and if he died childless the whole lot would go to the crown. Christopher believed the crown had enough money and he was not a great supporter of the present King. It was his fault the country was at war with France and he would likely expect all his earls to follow him into battle. Christopher would go, if needs be, but he would not go willingly. He thought wars were unnecessary and founded on nothing but greed.

  He wanted to help his bride's father for his own reasons; he did not like to see a fellow earl degraded as it did nothing to support his own position. Lord Sutton had little left save his pride a
nd his daughter. The first made him refuse Lord Christopher's initial attempt to pay off his debts; it seemed the man regarded such an offer as charity and would make him feel more degraded than his present circumstances. That was when he decided to sell Willowside, to ward off a further attempt.

  His second offer was another matter. Lady Felice's long standing betrothal to a young viscount had been dishonoured because her father had gambled away her dowry, and despite her beauty and fine heritage, she had received no offers since. It was possible she would be grateful for Christopher's offer of marriage and such an arrangement would satisfy her father, make him feel less of a charity case and more like a nobleman arranging an advantageous marriage for his daughter in the normal way.

  Even so, Christopher was surprised Lord Sutton would not concede without his daughter's agreement. He found that very odd indeed, considering the marriage was his only hope of redemption. Lord Sutton obviously did not want his daughter to marry Christopher, and he held no malice toward him for that. He knew his reputation was one which would make the most indifferent father think twice before allowing a marriage with him and the pauper's grave in which he buried his late wife did nothing to dispel that reputation.

  When Sonia died, people thought it a disgrace that someone of his wealth and standing should bury his countess in such a way. Of course, no one had the courage to tell him so, but he had his spies and he did not miss the scowls which followed him wherever he went. None of it bothered him. He could have made his reasons public, but why should he? It was nobody else's concern and they could think whatever they liked. He knew the truth and that was enough for him.

  Everyone of any importance had been invited to this wedding and not a single one of them had refused. Apart from being too curious to stay away, none of them wanted to offend Lord Christopher.

  Once his offer of marriage was accepted, he watched the house to catch a glimpse of the woman who was to be his bride. He had seen and admired her at Robin Eversley’s wedding but then she was betrothed to another so he had not allowed himself to consider her as a prospective countess. A portrait of her hung in Sutton Hall, a portrait he had studied carefully when he went there to ask for her hand.

  But now he wanted to really study the living woman. He never saw before that the porcelain complexion was not a mere brush stroke by a clever artist, that the cornflower blue of her eyes was not simply an imaginative touch on the part of that artist. She was beautiful, really beautiful, the sort of beauty that made people turn their heads to watch her as she passed them, the sort of beauty that made both men and women catch their breath in awe.

  Her beauty made him stir a little in anticipation of the passion to be had from such a woman, if he could only arouse her desire, make her stir in return. Most of the women he had been with over the years had either shown no resistance to his needs or merely pretended to respond to them. He sighed regretfully; apparently it was not in a woman’s nature to feel the same sort of desires and ardour as a man, but he could hope for such a thing just the same.

  He wanted to present his bride with a fine piece of jewellery to mark the day, and refused to accept her father's word that his daughter would prefer simple flowers. He thought perhaps Lord Sutton felt Christopher had spent enough on them, and wanted to save him the extra expense. But the man was so insistent, he gave way and ordered the roses, while he also made sure he had a precious stone to give her if she should be less than delighted.

  He was marrying this woman for an heir, yes, but more importantly to persuade her father to take his money. Christopher smiled a little in amusement at the irony.

  "My Lord?"

  Howard saw his smile reflected in the mirror and was quite taken aback. His Lordship was not given to smiling.

  ***

  When the servants brought the rose scented bathwater into Felice's bedchamber that morning, she realised this would be the last time she would awake within these walls, in these familiar surroundings. This bedchamber had been hers since she was a small child and she had never slept anywhere else. Tonight she would sleep in Waterford Castle, the home of Lord Christopher; she would be his Countess and she could only hope he would treat her fairly.

  Thomas' tale about his peasant mistress and her children made her shiver, but she could ill afford to believe it. She tried hard to banish the Viscount and his tales from her mind and she was still angry with him for coming to her with his idiotic schemes and for what? To save him the inconvenience of seeking a new bride, that was all. He had no love for her, not really; he had proved that last night with his stories to unsettle her.

  Being married to Lord Christopher was a frightening idea without Thomas’ yarns. She had never spoken to the man, only seen him from across the great hall at Lord Eversley’s wedding and for a few minutes when he came to arrange the marriage with her father. She had no real idea what manner of man he was, but tonight she was expected to share his bed and what else she did not know. She was fairly sure babies were not made simply by sharing a man’s bed, but she could not imagine what else one had to do.

  Of course he would want babies, sons. Why else would a man like him marry at all? She still had no idea why he chose her, but perhaps it was some perverse need to control her father. She hoped that was not his reason for paying out such a large amount, all in return for the hand in marriage of his daughter.

  Lord Christopher could have any of the fine ladies who were available; he was an important man who would have the choice of many, so why he had chosen Felice she could not imagine.

  She never even considered refusing the marriage. She agreed willingly, even eagerly, when her father told her of the offer and she agreed with a sigh of relief that they would not be turned out in the street after all. Her father was reluctant, though; she could tell by his demeanour that, although he desperately needed the marriage to go ahead, he half hoped she might refuse.

  Felice was a proud woman, young though she was. She knew her place in life should be privileged and she could not avoid a certain disappointment in her father for degrading them both in the eyes of the world, as well as in her own eyes. She was a person who would always be true to herself, no matter what the world threw at her, and she made a pledge to herself she would do her best to make Lord Christopher a good wife. She would endure anything to do so, if the need arose, but she would prefer to win him over, to elicit some affection from him, if that were possible.

  This day her blonde hair shone and she smelled of roses, her favourite perfume. There was a time when her father would send for the flowers from Europe when they were out of season here in England, but no more. Now he could not afford such luxuries and she had not seen a fresh rose since the summer. Scenting the bathwater this morning had taken the last of the pressed flowers she had saved from then. She so wanted a bouquet of roses for her wedding, but that was an extravagance too far.

  Once she was dry, her hair was brushed and dried before the fire and the servants proceeded to dress her in the embroidered Chemise and blue satin kirtle Lord Christopher had provided for her to wear. She tried to resist the need to feel the cloth, to run her fingers over the fine fabric, smell its newness after all this time of wearing patched up, tattered cloth, but the temptation was too great. The satin was smooth and soft to her touch, the chemise embroidered with delicate little blue flowers especially for her.

  Over the kirtle was a surcoat of cloth of gold which shimmered in the sunlight from the window. Her father could not even afford to provide her wedding clothes and for that she was ashamed. But she bore him no malice. He had always done his best for her, even after her mother's death when he failed to tell her of the mess he was getting himself into. He educated her, taught her to read, which was not something most people could do, especially females.

  If anything, on closer scrutiny of Viscount Lindsay last night, she was grateful to have the opportunity to wed another man, even though all she knew of him was his fearsome reputation. What she did know for certain was that men
did not acquire reputations like that of Lord Christopher by being weak and cowardly.

  "You look beautiful, My Lady," said the one maidservant they still kept.

  Lord Sutton freed all his serfs and servants or sent them off to work for other lords when his plight became so dire he could no longer afford to keep them, could not afford to feed his livestock nor plant new crops. Lisa had no wages, only her bed and board, and she stayed out of loyalty to Felice and her father. Without her there would have been no one. The servants who brought her bath and helped with her hair and dress had been sent by Lord Christopher, another shameful gift.

  "Thank you Lisa," she said softly. "You know I would really like you to come with me. I shall ask Lord Christopher at the first opportunity."

  Lisa shivered as though feeling a sudden chill.

  "It is very good of you, My Lady, but your father needs me."

  "And?" Felice asked. "There is more. Come; you can tell me."

  Lisa let out a deep sigh and flushed slightly.

  "I wish you every happiness with Lord Christopher, My Lady," she replied pertly, "but I am glad it is you who will share his bed tonight and not me."

  Felice laughed. So the rumours had found their way into the servants' ears. It mattered not. She was grateful, tremendously grateful. She loved her father too much to be anything else and she was only pleased she could do something to help him. She would never show him anything but joy over this marriage, no matter what it may hold in store for her.

  Felice had known about Lord Christopher for most of her life, ever since his own father died when he was a very young man and he had succeeded to the title. She had seen him once across a market place and thought him handsome, just the sort of man to whom she was attracted, although he was quite a few years older than her. She heard tales of his ruthlessness but never thought long about them. After all, he was nothing to her, just a local earl, but one with more land and power than most.