“He cares for me, certainly.” Emma handed Henry another biscuit. A good bit of the first had found its way onto his clothes and into his hair.
Did Charles love her? She thought so—until she came to London.
It was not as bad as she had feared before her marriage. He did not just come down to Knightsdale to get her with child. He stayed in the country as much as he could, but he had to go to Town to take his seat in the House of Lords. He wanted her to come with him, but she hated London. She much preferred Kent where the air was clean and society was so much more comfortable. And it was better for the boys and for Isabelle and Claire to be in the country.
But Charles was a man with healthy appetites. Had he visited the many London brothels or taken a mistress? She refused to ask. He was as attentive as she could wish when she was with him. What he did when she wasn’t…well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
The women in London were so lovely, and she was so short and ordinary and…somewhat stout might be the most charitable adjective…from bearing her two babies. She sighed.
“I assure you, I cannot compete with the London ladies.”
“You do not need to. You are the marchioness, not they.”
Emma shrugged and watched Henry finish his last crumb of biscuit. The servants had brought a jug of water. She would clean him off with her handkerchief.
Mrs. Parker-Roth touched her knee. “Emma, you must not sell yourself short.”
“How can I not?” She bit her lip. She would not cry.
She had not meant to say it, but she was so weary of pretending to fit in with the haut ton. She did not. No matter how hard she tried, she felt out of place, like a…a pig in a parlor.
Mrs. Parker-Roth frowned at her. “Emma, people take us at our own valuation, you know. If you think yourself unworthy, society—particularly the nasty gabble grinders—will agree with you. But if you act as if you belong—which you most certainly do—they will accept you. You are the Marchioness of Knightsdale, for goodness sake.”
Emma shrugged and dipped her handkerchief in the water jug. “Come here, you messy little creature.” She grabbed Henry, glad her voice hadn’t broken. “I just wish Charles had really chosen me—not just settled for me.”
Lud, where had that come from? She bent her head closer to Henry’s, blinking away sudden tears to concentrate on cleaning the wet paste of biscuit and baby spit from his face.
Mrs. Parker-Roth clicked her tongue. “Emma, the marquis can never prove his love beyond all doubt. No one can. You have to trust him. Has he given you reason to doubt him?”
“No, of course not.” She balled up the messy handkerchief and stuffed it in her reticule. How had this conversation become focused on her anyway? She pinned a smile to her lips and looked at Mrs. Parker-Roth. “You still haven’t told me why you think your son is interested in my sister.”
The older woman frowned, her eyes searching Emma’s face, but Emma would not let herself look away. Finally Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled slightly.
“That’s simple. If he were not, he would not be attending these social events.”
Emma frowned. “But he needs to escort you.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth snorted. “Believe me, Johnny is not that dutiful a son. This is not our first visit to London, remember. I come up every few months for art supplies—and to try to find him a wife. He knows my motives. He has become very adroit at avoiding society gatherings—but this time he is indeed accompanying me, albeit complaining vociferously at every opportunity.” She smiled. “The only reason I can fathom for his change in behavior is the presence of your sister.”
“But he looks as if he is trying to avoid her.”
“If he really wanted to avoid her, he would do so.” Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “It is quite amusing to watch him. After his unfortunate experience with Lady Grace, he convinced himself he would never marry. But now he is attracted to your sister. He is having a terrible struggle with himself.” She grinned broadly. “I am delighted.”
“You are?” How could a mother enjoy watching her son struggle? Emma picked Henry up and hugged him. His warm weight felt so good. She could not imagine him as a grown man, his soft cheeks scratchy with stubble, his plump arms hard and muscled.
Henry squirmed. She put him down and he crawled off toward the edge of the terrace. She caught him when he reached the balustrade. She did not need him getting his head stuck.
The duchess was walking by on the lawn below, talking to her husband, Baron Tynweith. The duke was asleep on the baron’s shoulder, his fingers in his mouth.
Mrs. Parker-Roth joined her by the balustrade.
“What do you think of our hostess?” The duchess seemed like a safe topic, and Emma was curious. “My husband said she used to be called the Marble Queen—and then the Marble Duchess—but she doesn’t strike me as cold.”
“That’s because she’s changed. This second marriage has been very good for her.”
“She barely waited a year to remarry. People say…” Emma lowered her voice. “People say the baby is Tynweith’s.”
“I imagine that’s true. The man certainly dotes on the child as if he were his own son.”
Emma blinked. The older woman did not seem shocked in the slightest. “Hasn’t the alternate heir complained?”
“Oh, Claxton has been complaining since the old duke married. There isn’t much he can do, however. Hartford died in flagrante delicto nine months before the duchess’s baby was born. Only a fool would try to prove the child isn’t legitimate—and Claxton is not that big a fool.”
Henry chose that moment to make a rude noise with his mouth—a trick Charlie had taught him.
“Shh, Henry.”
He did not listen. Emma sighed. Henry never listened.
“You said the duke died, um, well…” Charles had said the man had more than eighty years in his dish. “Surely you don’t mean…he wasn’t…was he?”
“Indeed he was. As to whether he was coming or going, I can’t say, but it was clear he had been engaged in the proper activity to result in an interesting event nine months hence.”
“Oh.” Emma swallowed. Some things were best left unimagined.
“And it helps that Charlotte is so much pleasanter now. Tynweith, too. He’d turned into a complete recluse—when he wasn’t hosting disreputable parties at his estate, that is.”
Emma flushed. “Meg was at one of Lord Tynweith’s parties—the one where Hartford died. It’s where she met your son.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “That was one of Tynweith’s moderately acceptable gatherings. Lady Dunlee was there with her husband and daughter—and, as you say, Johnny was there as well. He certainly was not looking for scandal.” Mrs. Parker-Roth sighed. “I imagine he went to view the topiary.”
“Oh. Well, but still, if I had known…” Emma ran a hand over Henry’s smooth head. He was sucking on his fist, getting hungry most likely. All he needed was to be fed and washed and hugged. So simple.
“Do not apologize. I’m very happy your sister was there. If she hadn’t been, Johnny might never have met her.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled broadly. “When he got home, I could tell something of interest had occurred.”
“Really? Did he mention Meg?”
“Oh, no. Johnny is very taciturn, especially concerning his feelings. He just seemed less…content. More restless, short tempered…surly, even. And he spent even more time with his plants.”
Henry let himself down, crawled over to Mrs. Parker-Roth, and tried to pull up on her skirts.
“Henry!”
“Oh, it is quite all right. I love babies. I can hardly wait for my daughter to present me with my first grandchild.” Mrs. Parker-Roth offered Henry her fingers. “Here, my lord, let me help you.”
Henry looked up to see who belonged to this strange voice. He wobbled for a second and then sat down with a thump. His lower lip jutted out, and he clearly considered crying, but turned and started crawling away instead. Emma ca
ught him just as she saw Isabelle approaching.
“Isabelle, will you take charge of Henry, please?”
“Of course. Come here, Henry.” Isabelle scooped the baby up and sat him on her hip. “Do you want to go see the ducks?”
Henry grinned and clapped his hands.
“Be sure to keep him away from the water, Isabelle.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Isabelle sounded so confident, but did she have any real understanding of the danger? It took only an instant for tragedy to strike. “Look for Charles, Isabelle. He’s probably down by the pond with Charlie.”
Isabelle just waved.
“They’ll be fine,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said.
“But…” Emma let out a short breath. “I worry.”
“Of course you do. You’re a mother.” Mrs. Parker-Roth laughed. “Let’s go down to see these ducks. That way you can also see what a splendid job Isabelle does—and if something goes wrong, you’ll be on hand to fix it.”
They descended the stairs and started over the lawn.
“Does mothering ever get easier?”
“Not really.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled. “When children are small, you try to keep them safe from all the dangers around them—like duck ponds. If they stumble into one, you can rush and pull them out. But when they are older, you have to stand back and watch them wade into life’s duck ponds if they want. You can’t do a thing to prevent them—except advise them not to do it, but most times they won’t listen.”
“Why won’t they listen?”
Mrs. Parker-Roth laughed. “Because they are young and they think they know everything.” She smiled. “I wager you wouldn’t have followed your mother’s counsel either, had she lived to provide it.”
“No, how can you say so?” Emma stopped and frowned at the older woman.
“Because that’s the way of all children, Emma.” Mrs. Parker-Roth linked arms with her, putting her head close to hers and resuming their walk. “But if we are discreet—and a little bit cunning—we can influence them very nicely.” She grinned. “Now, how shall we influence my stubborn son and your charming sister to see reason and make a match of it?”
Chapter 13
Viscount Manders let out a hearty belch, quite impressive for such a small person. He grinned as a trail of milk dribbled down his chin.
“Good boy,” Lizzie said, wiping him off and kissing him before offering him her other breast. He made little grunting, snuffling sounds and then was quiet, the tiny fingers of one hand spread out against Lizzie’s celestial blue gown.
Could she ask Lizzie about the odd scene with Bennington and Felicity? Meg shifted in her chair. She and Lizzie—and Lord Manders—were seated under an oak tree quite a distance from the rowdy group playing bowls.
Would Lizzie know the answer? She was a married woman—but what did the activity in the garden have to do with marriage, besides the fact that the viscount was now engaged to Lady Felicity? Surely Robbie hadn’t—no, she could not contemplate the thought.
She was not a complete innocent. In her many hours spent outside observing plants, she’d happened on a few animals engaged in the act of procreation. She had a general idea of the mechanics of the deed—or at least, she’d thought she had. A hot flush heated her cheeks.
None of the creatures she’d seen in the fields and farms of Kent had engaged in any of the activities Mr. Parker-Roth had initiated. The animals had not even faced each other during the encounter. Really, the whole thing had looked rather embarrassing and uncomfortable—not that she had looked carefully, of course. Once she’d ascertained what they were about, she’d averted her gaze. She knew the rules of proper behavior, even if she chose to break them on occasion.
Frankly, the only reason she’d been able to discern for enduring such indignities was to have a baby—and even that was a mixed blessing. Emma had been terribly uncomfortable when she’d been in the family way. She’d been tired and ill in the beginning, and tired and cranky at the end. She hadn’t been able to eat or breathe or see her feet. Lizzie had managed a little better, but she and Robbie had been frantic when her pains began, afraid she’d die in childbed like her mother.
And then, of course, there was all the work and worry of actually tending an infant.
No, after hearing Emma and Lizzie discuss their ordeals—suitably edited for her poor, unwed ears—and watching them go days without sleep with fussy babies, she wasn’t terribly eager to take her turn. But if she wanted her own home, she’d have to marry, and men wanted children—or at least they wanted to engage in the activity that resulted in children. Not that they had to do the work of bearing and birthing their progeny. Of course not. If they did, well, she’d wager there’d be significantly fewer children in the world.
Still, the things Parks had done to her had certainly been…intriguing. She fanned herself with her hand. Perhaps there was something pleasant about procreation.
Lizzie coaxed another burp from Lord Manders.
What had Lord Bennington been doing with Lady Felicity? Parks seemed to know all about it, but he’d never ventured under her skirts, though his attentions had caused a very odd reaction in—
She fanned herself harder. Surely Bennington hadn’t been investigating that part of Felicity’s anatomy?
“Why are you so flushed, Meg?”
“I’m not flushed.”
Lizzie snorted and returned her attention to Lord Manders.
Lady Felicity must have been so embarrassed. She hadn’t looked embarrassed, though. She’d looked almost triumphant once Lord Bennington had finally emerged from whatever activity had occupied him under her skirts.
“You’re such a lovey boy, aren’t you, Bobby-wobby?” Lizzie was nuzzling Lord Manders’ neck. The viscount giggled. “Such a smart widdle baby.”
Meg kept herself from rolling her eyes…barely. What was it about babies that turned sensible adults into idiots?
“So, when are you going to marry Parks?”
“What?” Her jaw dropped. She snapped it shut. Where had that come from? “I told you I’d declined his offer.”
“I know you did. Robbie and I couldn’t believe it.” Lizzie settled Viscount Manders in her lap. He sucked his thumb and stared at Meg. “Surely you’ve changed your mind?”
“I have not. Mr. Parker-Roth no more wants to marry me than he wants to marry Lady Beatrice.”
Lizzie laughed. “Oh, I’m certain he wants to marry you more than Lady Bea.”
Meg suddenly understood the expression “gnashing one’s teeth.” “You know what I mean.”
“Do I? Tell me why Parks was in Easthaven’s garden with you, then.”
“How do you know he was?”
Lizzie gave her an expressive look. “Emma told me, of course. And if she hadn’t, I would have heard it from Robbie—Charles told him.”
Meg wished her friends and relatives were a great deal less busy about her business. “We were not discussing matrimony.”
“No? What were you discussing?”
Meg flushed. “We weren’t discussing anything.”
Lizzie merely looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Meg felt her face burn even redder. Botheration.
“The fact remains that Mr. Parker-Roth came to my aid when Lord Bennington was accosting me. He should not be punished for doing a good deed.”
Lizzie rubbed Lord Manders’s head. “Well, of course not. There’s no punishment involved. He’s obviously madly in love with you.”
Parks in love with her? “You’re the one who’s mad. Mr. Parker-Roth views me as a source of aggravation and annoyance, nothing more.”
“Right. That’s why he was sitting in Lady Palmerson’s hideous red chair with you half naked on his lap.”
“Uhh.” Put that way, it did sound…odd. “Mr. Parker-Roth was merely…he was just…that is…” Lizzie looked highly skeptical. Meg addressed Lord Manders instead. “I’d just had an upsetting experience with Lord Bennington. Mr. Parker-Roth wa
s comforting me.”
Lizzie snorted. “With your gown down around your waist and your br—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—breasts completely exposed?”
“Ohh.” She was going to die of mortification here at the Duke of Hartford’s estate. Meg dropped her face into her hands.
“I don’t know what you are so upset about,” Lizzie said. “You were quite taken with Parks at Tynweith’s house party last year.”
Meg raised her head. Why deny it? “That was last year. The man didn’t make the slightest effort to seek my company again until he found me with Bennington. I obviously failed to make much of an impression on him.”
“I don’t know about that. He looked rather impressed in Lady Palmerson’s parlor.”
“Urgh.” Meg dropped her head back into her hands.
“Didn’t you tell me when I was in a similar position that some men are afraid of matrimony, but settle down nicely once the knot is tied—like a horse being broken to bridle?”
“I am certain I was wrong. Mr. Parker-Roth is nothing like a horse. He is more like a mule—stubborn, headstrong, completely infuriating.”
“Ah, I see. Then he is a simple creature merrily eating, sleeping, and fornicating?”
“Must you throw my words back at me?”
Lizzie laughed. “It is amusing.”
Lord Manders grunted and squirmed.
“Oh, dear. I think Bobby is going to need a change in a moment.”
“I see.” There were some things Meg did not care to see if she could avoid them. She stood quickly. “I believe I’ll go watch the bowlers.”
“Coward.” Lizzie grew serious. “Just don’t be a coward about the important things, Meg. I think Parks is perfect for you.”
Meg shook her head. “Oh, really? Tell him that.”
Lizzie didn’t smile in reply. “I don’t think I need to tell him. Remember, Meg, Robbie didn’t want to offer for me, either. If Lord Andrew hadn’t attacked me and forced the issue, I might still be unwed—and Bobby would not be here.”
The Naked Gentleman Page 17