The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  “Would that we could stay another week,” he murmured, then sighed and stepped back. “However, we are almost out of supplies. I fear that we must go on to the manor house tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Genevieve’s face fell.

  “ ’Twill not be so bad,” he assured her as he opened the door for her. “You will, I think, like having a maid and your own clothes. The house is not as grand as Cleyre, of course.” His eyes twinkled at her as he went on, “But neither is it so drafty.”

  “I am sure Thorwood Park is lovely.” Genevieve set the plums down on the table.

  “Then what is it, love?” Myles took her hand, leading her over to the chair and sitting down, pulling her down into his lap. Genevieve leaned against him, her head nestling on his shoulder. He had come to realize that it was a most enjoyable sensation.

  Genevieve hesitated, then said softly, “I dread meeting your mother.”

  “My mother?” Myles’s voice vaulted upward in amazement. “Good heavens, why?”

  Genevieve sat up and fixed him with a sardonic gaze. “Because I have ensnared her son in a scandalously hasty marriage, that is why.”

  “There is no need to worry. Lady Julia is the most amiable of women.”

  “I am sure she is. And I am sure you have no need to worry. Mothers do not blame their sons for such things. She will regard it as entirely my fault . . . and the worst of it is that she will be right.”

  “My mother is well used to my fits and starts; she will put any unseemly rush down to my own impulsiveness. She wants me to be happy, and she has been hinting for at least five years now that it is time I marry. She will like you. I promise.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, and his eyes darkened. “Now, I suggest that we make the most of the time which is left to us. . . .” His arms went around her as he pulled her in for a deeper kiss.

  Genevieve knew that Myles believed his assurances that his mother would like Genevieve, but privately she had her doubts. The woman would be bound to resent Genevieve for pulling her beloved only son into this scandal. Throughout the ride to the house, the nerves in her stomach tangled into ever-worse knots. It had been so sweet in their little cottage, but now life would go back to normal.

  There would be no more lazy, intimate evenings sitting about in a shockingly disheveled manner, no rambles through the trees or dips into the pool. They would again have to take their places, both in the household and in society. What had pleased Myles on their secluded honeymoon would not do for his wife and the lady of the manor. Though it was the role for which she had been groomed all her life, Genevieve could not help but feel vaguely downcast at the idea of assuming it.

  They left the sheltered valley and made their way through the fields and meadows, coming at last through a pleasant stand of trees and out onto a wide expanse of grass. Across the wide lawn stood a rambling house in a hodgepodge of styles and materials—Tudor timber-framed plaster, red brick, and even stone, much of it covered in crawling ivy, all jutting off in different directions—all of it, amazingly, somehow fitting together into a warm and welcoming whole. It was a far cry from the looming stone fortifications of Castle Cleyre, and had Genevieve been more at ease, she might well have found it charming. As it was, Genevieve’s chest tightened so that she could only hope that she did not embarrass herself by fainting.

  Myles dismounted and helped Genevieve down, turning their mounts over to the groom who had come running. As they started toward the house, a jumble of people poured out of the front door. Genevieve’s steps faltered for an instant, and Myles gave her hand a comforting squeeze. The crowd at the door resolved itself into a group of children, with a plainly dressed woman hurrying after them, calling out cautions.

  “Uncle Myles! Uncle Myles!” all of them were shouting, interspersed with squeals and whoops of joy. It seemed impossible that only three of them could make so much noise.

  The two smaller children, a girl and a boy, outstripped the older girl, whose sense of dignity (or the stern admonitions of the governess) apparently kept her from racing. The boy launched himself straight at Myles. Genevieve froze, but Myles let go of her hand and stepped forward nimbly, reaching down to catch the child and lift him high in the air.

  “Master Nigel!” Myles cried, as he had with the baby Matthew the other night, and like Matthew, the small boy dissolved into giggles.

  In the meanwhile, the girl, a bit larger than the boy, slammed into Myles’s legs and wrapped her arms around them.

  “April, my little love.” Myles squatted down, setting the boy on the ground beside her and curving an arm around each of them. “Have you been good while I’ve been gone? Obeyed Miss Wilson? Eaten your vegetables?”

  His questions were all answered with shouted affirmatives, but the older girl, joining them, told him scornfully, “Nigel never eats his peas. He drops them on the floor for the cat to chase.”

  Myles laughed. “Most inventive, Nigel.” Myles stood up and swept the taller girl into a hug. “Blanche, I swear you have grown since I was last here.”

  “Uncle Myles!” she protested, her smile belying the indignation of her tone. “You’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

  “Is that the lady?” Nigel asked, curiously craning his neck to see past Myles to Genevieve.

  “It is indeed. The Lady Genevieve Thorwood.” Myles turned to Genevieve, his hands on the children’s shoulders. The three children gazed at Genevieve with wide eyes.

  “Ooh,” April breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Are you the Snow Fairy?” Nigel asked reverently.

  “No, you goose,” April told him in disgust. “That’s a picture.”

  “I’m sorry,” the oldest girl said. “Nigel loves that drawing in the nursery.” She smiled shyly. “You do look like her; you’re awfully pretty.”

  “My dear,” Myles said, “these young scamps are my sister Phoebe’s children, Blanche, April, and Nigel. Children, this is my wife, your new aunt Genevieve. Say hello to her.”

  “Hello, Aunt Genevieve,” the three chorused obediently.

  “Now, children, give her a chance to breathe,” a woman’s voice said, and Genevieve looked up to see a middle-aged woman walking toward them. Her hair was dark golden, with wings of white sweeping back from her temples. Her simple dress of muslin was sprigged with tiny blue flowers, and her only jewelry besides a ring was a cameo brooch pinned to her dress. She smiled as she went on, “Miss Wilson, now that they have greeted their aunt and uncle, why don’t you take them back to the nursery. And, children, remember to be quiet so you won’t disturb your mother.”

  The governess met with some resistance from her charges, but a kiss on the cheek and a pat from their grandmother helped to speed them on their way. Lady Thorwood moved on to take her son’s hands and kiss him on the cheek as well.

  “Myles, you naughty child. What am I to do with you? Sweeping this poor young girl off her feet without even giving me a chance to witness the wedding!” Her words were scolding, but her tone held only love. She turned toward Genevieve, a certain watchfulness in her eyes, Genevieve thought, but she said sweetly, “My dear, I am Lady Julia, Myles’s mother. Welcome to your new home.”

  “Thank you, my lady. It is an honor to meet you.” Genevieve bobbed her a little curtsy.

  “None of that,” Lady Julia said, taking Genevieve’s shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. “You are my daughter now.”

  Genevieve blinked in surprise, but managed to murmur a polite response. Lady Julia linked an arm through Genevieve’s and took her son’s arm with the other hand, leading the two of them up the walkway to the front door.

  “I hope you will excuse my daughter Phoebe for not coming to greet you. She is in an interesting condition and is feeling rather tired in the afternoons. But you shall meet her another time. We are all agog to meet Myles’s bride.”

  “Do not frighten her, Mama,” Myles teased. “Genevieve is not used to such a crowd.”

  “Nonsense, Myles,” Genevieve protes
ted. “I am most happy to meet your family. Thank you, ma’am, for welcoming me.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  At that moment a girl came tearing out of the house, skirts lifted to her knees. Her hair was the same light brown as Myles’s, streaked with blond from the summer sun; one of the bows that tied her braids had come unknotted and hung down like streamers. Her heart-shaped face was alive with joy.

  “Myles! Myles!” Like Nigel, she threw herself at him.

  Myles let out an exaggerated “Oof” as he caught her. “Nell, you wild hoyden.” Any criticism in his words was belied by the affection in his voice. “Where have you been? Wading in the stream again or climbing trees?”

  “Neither!” She laughed. “I was up watching for you.”

  “Nell!” Lady Julia’s hand went to her heart. “I have told you—”

  “Never to go out on the roof again,” Nell finished, smiling over at her mother. “But I didn’t. I had Myles’s old spying glass, and I was at the gable window in the attic.”

  “Ah, that explains the state of your clothes,” Myles said, and they both looked down at the torn ruffle and streaks of dirt at the bottom of her dress.

  “It scarcely matters,” Lady Julia said with a sigh. “There’s no more hem to be let down. She has outgrown all her clothes.”

  “We are being rude,” Myles said, turning toward Genevieve. “I have not introduced you to my bride. Genevieve, this example of perpetual mischief is my youngest sister, Nell. Nell, please welcome my wife, Lady Genevieve.”

  Nell turned to Genevieve and gave her a creditable curtsy, saying politely, “I beg pardon, ma’am. Welcome to Thorwood Park.” She grinned, her formal demeanor vanishing in an instant. “Xerxes will be so happy to see you!”

  “Xerxes?” Genevieve repeated blankly. At that moment a large, fluffy white cat strolled out the front door and stopped, surveying the scene before him with an icy blue gaze. Genevieve stared. “Xerxes!”

  The animal padded toward them in a supremely indifferent way, but as Genevieve leaned forward, reaching for him, he leapt into her arms. His head butted her jaw and he began to mew in a long series of what were clearly complaints and recriminations.

  “How did you get here?” Genevieve laughed, rubbing her face against the cat’s. She turned toward her husband, who was regarding her with a smile. “Myles? How did you—”

  He shrugged. “I suggested to Damaris that they might wish to rid themselves of that devil by sending him with your maid when she brought the rest of your clothes here.”

  “Oh, Myles!” Genevieve’s throat was suddenly clogged with tears, and she bent to hide her face against Xerxes’s soft hair. “Thank you.” She raised her head to smile at Myles.

  “ ’Twas nothing. You should probably thank my mother and Nell, who have doubtless been the subjects of Xerxes’s attacks.”

  “Oh, you!” Nell gave her brother’s arm a push and turned to Genevieve. “Myles never had a way with cats. He is a dog person, and cats sense it.”

  “More like Xerxes senses my deep and abject terror whenever he’s around.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Myles’s mother told him, smiling. “He has been quite good. He and Nell took to one another right away.”

  “Really?” Genevieve regarded Lady Julia, then Nell, in astonishment.

  “Oh, yes.” Nell nodded. “Although he has rather startled the upstairs maids once or twice.”

  Myles muffled a snort of laughter. “There were bound to be a few skirmishes before Xerxes established his supremacy over the household.”

  Nell turned to Myles. “You must come see what I have done to my dollhouse.”

  “Indeed, I should like to, but Genevieve has only just arrived.” Myles looked toward Genevieve a trifle questioningly.

  “Oh.” The lively girl looked abashed. “Indeed, I am sorry, Lady Genevieve. I did not think.”

  “Oh, no, pray, do go with Nell. I am sure Lady Julia will take good care of me,” Genevieve assured Myles. She liked the girl, and she knew well how it felt to have a much-loved older brother return.

  “Of course,” Lady Julia agreed. “I should enjoy having a few minutes getting to know my new daughter-in-law.”

  Genevieve smiled at the woman with more confidence than she felt. However pleasant Myles’s mother had seemed, Genevieve suspected Lady Julia would present a less welcoming demeanor once away from Myles’s company. But Genevieve could hardly keep Myles with her always to deflect his mother’s criticism. It was usually best to simply get an unpleasant task done.

  Genevieve was rewarded with a grateful smile from Nell as she turned and bounded up the stairs. Xerxes watched her leave with great interest, but when he jumped down, he made no move to follow her, instead circling Genevieve’s ankles.

  “Such a sweet boy.” Lady Julia smiled after her son. “But then, I am sure I need not tell you that.”

  “No, ma’am. I am very conscious of Sir Myles’s kindness.”

  “Please, call me Julia. I hope we shall be friends.”

  “Of course. I hope so as well.” Genevieve waited somewhat warily for what else the woman had to say.

  They started up the stairs, and Xerxes darted up the steps in front of them. Genevieve cast about for something to say.

  “Nell seems very proud of her dollhouse,” she began, then realized that perhaps that sounded disapproving. Myles had told her the girl was fifteen, which seemed a mite old to still be playing with dolls. Genevieve was relieved when Julia smiled with pride.

  “Indeed. She started building it when she was ten. Of course, that first version has long since been consigned to the scrap heap.”

  “She is building it?” Genevieve asked in astonishment. “You mean with hammer and saw?”

  Julia nodded. “Old Godfrey helps her with the finer carpentry. I think what she enjoys most is the planning of it, but she puts it together, as well. She is creating a veritable village up in the nursery. Of course, since Phoebe arrived, her children have enjoyed it tremendously.”

  “I can imagine. I should like to see it myself.”

  “Nothing would make her happier. Amelia tells me I spoil her, and perhaps I do. But she will have to be a lady soon enough; I prefer to let her enjoy what remains of her childhood.”

  “Indeed.” Genevieve thought she did not have to look far to understand Myles’s easygoing personality. She tried to imagine what her own grandmother would have said if Genevieve had decided to construct a dollhouse.

  “Myles tells me that you are Alec’s sister,” Lady Julia went on as she led Genevieve down the hall on the next floor.

  “Yes. You know Alec?”

  “Dear me, yes, the boy has been here many times. The man, I should say. They are all still boys to me. But now they are all married, even Myles. It seems so odd to think of it. I believe I would have guessed who you were, just from seeing you. Your hair and eyes are very like Lord Rawdon’s.”

  “Yes, we have the family coloring.”

  “And the height, as well.” Lady Julia gave a little sigh. “I always yearned to be tall. I am the shortest in my family; it was always a trial to me. Thank heavens Myles turned out like his dear father.” She stopped in front of a door. “Here we are.”

  Genevieve turned to face her mother-in-law, determined to swallow her medicine and get it over with. “Ma’am . . . Julia . . . I must apologize to you for the haste of our wedding. I am sure you must wonder, and you have every right to.”

  “My dear, there is no need to apologize.” Myles’s mother smiled. “I am quite used to Myles’s impetuous ways. I am sorry I missed his wedding, but I was not surprised that Myles should tumble head over heels and want to marry without a moment to waste. The only thing that is important is that Myles is happy. I have hoped for years he would find a woman whom he could love the way his father and I loved each other. And now he has. If you are the woman Myles wants, how can I be upset?”

  “Oh, but Myles—” Genevieve started to protest th
at Myles did not love her any more than she loved him, but she caught her tongue before she could blurt it out.

  Myles must have presented it as a love match in his note to his mother. Perhaps he had thought the idea would make his mother more accepting of their haste. Or maybe it was simply that he knew it would please the romantically inclined Lady Julia to think her son had found real happiness and love. In either case, it would be wrong of Genevieve to spoil this woman’s pleasant delusion.

  “Myles and I should have waited long enough for you to join us,” Genevieve amended her statement.

  “That is very sweet of you, dear, but I understand young love.” Lady Julia linked her arm through Genevieve’s and led her into a large, pleasant chamber overlooking the gardens. “I hope you will find this room to your liking.”

  “It is lovely,” Genevieve answered honestly, glancing about at the mahogany furniture and blue-patterned brocade curtains and bed hangings.

  “Much better, I thought, than Myles’s old room, which is too small, of course, and still too much the same as it was when he was a boy. Not the sort of room for a married couple. But, of course, if you should prefer the master bedchamber, I would be happy to move. I offered it to him after his father’s death, but he would not take it. But now that he is married—”

  It took Genevieve a moment to realize what Myles’s mother was saying. Lady Julia expected Genevieve to share a bedroom with Myles. Genevieve had never known a married couple who did not each have his or her own chamber—at least, not people of their class. Admittedly, she was not privy to the sleeping arrangements of all her acquaintances, but she was certain that her mother had slept in the bedroom adjoining the earl’s. And if her grandmother had, by some odd circumstance, occupied the earl’s chamber, she would not have dreamed of remaining there when Alec succeeded to the title, no matter what Alec wanted. Things were simply done a certain way.

  However, Genevieve could hardly be so rude to Myles’s sweet and accommodating mother as to protest the arrangements. “Oh, no, you must not consider moving. This is a beautiful room, and I shall be quite happy here.”