“I suppose…but I know she expected your brother to marry someone of rank and fortune.”
“What you must know about Aunt Lilias is that she thinks no one is good enough for any of her children at first. It’s strange, since of course she wasn’t born a Gordon, but she has so much family pride.”
“Because you’re descended from kings,” Lucy said, remembering.
“Yes, and it’s really the most absurd thing to grow puffed up about, once you know the full story.” She released Lucy’s hand and leaned back a little in her chair. “It was hardly a dynastic alliance. One of the early Stuart kings fathered a daughter on a lady-in-waiting of no particular importance, and the girl was brought up away from the court and married to my many times great-grandfather when she was grown—because he was of no particular importance, either. Don’t you see?”
“Not exactly.”
“Why, because we’re a Highland family, of course, and Dunmalcolm is very remote, even for the Highlands. We weren’t a power at court, and we were no near kin to any of the royal houses that had come before. So marriage to the laird of Dunmalcolm was a respectable way to be rid of an unwanted daughter. The girl got a title and a castle for the sake of her royal blood, but in a remote place where she wouldn’t embarrass the king her father, nor become a pawn for anyone with pretensions to usurp the throne.” Anna smiled. “Such is the foundation of my aunt’s pride in the Gordons’ royal blood.”
Lucy shook her head. “It’s far more than I have.”
“But so long ago that no one but Aunt Lilias regards it, I assure you. Besides, for all you know you do have royal blood. If I were you, I’d invent some family legend learned at your father’s knee about being descended from some Welsh prince or other. Aunt Lilias will be duly impressed.”
Lucy laughed. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“I suppose that would be going a little too far. But don’t let Aunt Lilias worry you. She didn’t think the ladies my two eldest cousins married were worthy at first, either, but now she can’t sing Mary and Helen’s praises highly enough, because they’ve made her sons happy and given her grandchildren. That’s all she cares for, in the end.”
“I hope you’re right. And—I hope she and the rest of you don’t think I set out to—to trap James into marrying me. I swear I never thought of such a thing.”
“We know you didn’t. For one thing, James is far too clever to allow himself to be trapped. Also, he told us it wasn’t your doing, and we believe him.”
“I’m sure there will be gossip, though.”
“Undoubtedly,” Anna said calmly. “Which is why Aunt Lilias wants you to be married in silk, and why I gave you the jewels—though I would have in any case, because it’s only fair that James’s wife have her share. But my aunt and I discussed it, and agreed that we must make a point of showing that we welcome you, because that will quiet any gossip more quickly than anything else.”
Lucy stared at her hands in embarrassment. She hadn’t expected James’s family to make such an effort for her sake. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me—it’s my pleasure. You’re a Gordon now. We look out for our own.”
“I don’t deserve any of this.”
“Stop saying that sort of thing,” Anna said severely. “Truly, you must, if you truly want to make my brother happy.”
“I do,” Lucy assured her.
“Well, would you be happy married to someone who spent all his life fretting about how unworthy he was of you?”
Lucy had never considered it in that light. “Why, no. No, I wouldn’t.”
“I know it’s a great change, and a great deal to become accustomed to. But you must make the effort, for your own sake as well as his.”
“You’re right. You’re very wise.”
Anna grinned. “Be sure to tell my brother you think so. He never tires of telling me how foolish I am.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy’s wedding day dawned cool and drizzly, breaking the pattern of glorious summer weather that had persisted almost uninterrupted since their arrival in Gloucestershire. She feared it was an omen for her marriage, though she sternly told herself such imaginings were absurd. If everyone who married on a gloomy day were doomed to unhappiness, there would be much more misery in the world than she had observed to be the case.
True to his word, James had gone to London for the special license and returned within a week. They would be married the day before Portia and Lord Almont and three days before Anna and Sebastian.
Mrs. Dyer had delivered Lucy’s new silk dress the day before, so she would go to her wedding suitably attired, according to Lady Dunmalcolm’s exacting standards. Aunt Arrington and Portia would not attend the ceremony, being too busy with last-minute preparations for the latter’s wedding, but Hal and Sebastian would represent the Arringtons. As head of the family, Hal would give her away—and, Lucy suspected, do his best to curry favor with her rich new husband.
She wished her brothers could be there, but it was impossible on such short notice. She had of course written them to inform them of her impending marriage and the accompanying change in their fortunes. Just that morning she had received a congratulatory letter with messages from both. Owen had seemed surprised, almost shocked, but prepared to accept Lucy’s assertions that James was a good man, a true gentleman, and that her marriage was to be looked forward to as a blessing for all three of them.
Rhys, being younger and more naturally lighthearted, had seemed to regard it as only fitting that Lucy should marry a rich lord and had seen nothing unusual in so hasty a wedding. He merely asked that Lucy pass along his compliments to his new brother-in-law, and might she point out to Lord Selsley that if he, Rhys, were to embark upon a naval career, there was no time to waste? After all, he would be fourteen in six months, and many a midshipman began his life at sea as a boy of eight or ten. But if Lord Selsley were unwilling to send him to sea, he would be just as happy with an officer’s commission, only it was too bad of the army to insist that its officers be at least eighteen. In any case, school was a dead bore. Perhaps he could sail to India? Surely Lord Selsley must know someone in the Company, given who his father had been.
Lucy had no intentions of passing any part of that artless message on to James. James had invited both boys to stay with them for a month before the beginning of the Michaelmas term, and she was sure he would take Rhys’s measure then.
She had nearly broken down and wept upon seeing what generous provision James meant to make for her brothers. James had ridden over from Orchard Park late the previous afternoon, not long after he arrived home from London, to make arrangements for their wedding, and to show her their marriage settlements and get Aunt Arrington’s signature as her guardian. He had urged her to read them carefully, and she had done so.
“But this is too much!” she had exclaimed at the amount allocated for her pin money, as well as her jointure should James predecease her. Normally the jointure came from the property the woman brought to her marriage, so it was unbelievable generosity that she who had brought nothing would be guaranteed an income of two thousand a year for her lifetime, even if she married again.
“Nonsense,” James had said brusquely.
“But if I were to remarry…”
“If I die young, you should remarry. Why should you live alone? I’d hate to think of you forced to choose between celibacy and poverty simply because of tradition.”
Lucy had blinked at him. She’d wondered if she was marrying a radical, though she supposed the usual reasons for forcing a widow to forfeit her jointure upon remarriage did not apply to a man as wealthy as James. Even so large an income settled on her—and therefore available to her second husband and their children—would not greatly impoverish James’s heirs.
“Go on, read what I’ve done for your brothers. Do let me know if you don’t think it’s adequate.”
Obediently she had read on. “It’s more than adequate. You must know that.” He
had set up annuities that would give her brothers income enough to live comfortable, gentlemanly lives even if Owen never obtained a clergyman’s living or Rhys never became an officer.
“I was trying to strike a rather delicate balance,” he’d explained. “I didn’t want to—well, I didn’t want to spoil them. To give a man riches, with none of the responsibilities of a title or property to care for? I think it dangerous.”
“I quite agree.” She’d hate to think of either of her brothers becoming an idle young man about town, given to drink and gambling—a man like Hal, only perhaps not as culpable, for Hal had responsibilities but neglected them.
“So I want your brothers to have some sort of profession,” James had continued, “whatever best suits them—and yet I didn’t wish to be mean and miserly, and I wanted them to have income enough to move gracefully in the sort of circles they’re now likely to be a part of. Also, what if both of us were to die, and one of your brothers somehow became too ill or injured to work? I wanted to be sure they’d never be impoverished, no matter what happens.”
Such a tragically unlikely eventuality would never have occurred to Lucy. “You think of everything,” she’d said in amazement.
He’d shrugged. “I try to be thorough.”
James had left soon after, and Lucy had passed a restless night worrying over the same fears that had plagued her since their abrupt betrothal. Then she had awakened to this gray, rainy morning.
She, Hal and Sebastian were to leave for Orchard Park around noon. When Molly came to dress her, the maid was cheerful, humming to herself as she laced Lucy’s corset and fastened the long row of hooks at the back of the shot silk dress.
Lucy couldn’t wonder at her maid’s good cheer. The Orchard Park dogcart was already waiting to collect Molly and her few belongings. When Lucy was ready to dress for her first dinner as Viscountess Selsley, Molly would be there waiting for her, no longer one of a multitude of housemaids but raised to the dignity of abigail to a lady.
“I’ll be very glad to have you at Orchard Park, Molly,” she said. “It will be good to see a familiar face.”
“I’ll be glad to be there, miss,” Molly replied as she began dressing Lucy’s hair. “I must remember to call you ‘my lady’ when next I see you.”
“I must remember to answer to it. I’m sure I’ll look around to see if my aunt or Lady Dunmalcolm is in the room.”
“You’ll grow used to it soon enough, I daresay.”
“I wish it weren’t raining,” Lucy said, a little plaintively, then instantly regretted her words.
“Don’t fret,” Molly said briskly. “For one thing, in that dress, you look like sunshine yourself. Such a pretty color.” It was indeed a lovely, bright hue, yellow silk shot with orange. “For another,” Molly continued, “my mother always said that it’s good luck to marry in the rain—it means you’ll be rich and will have many children.”
Well, James already had the rich half of the equation. Lucy smiled at Molly’s reflection in the mirror. “I suspect someone invented that story for the express purpose of consoling brides on this sort of day.”
Molly grinned back. “Could be so, miss. But there’s nothing bad about this rain—it’ll be good for the crops and for grazing the sheep. It’s been too dry this summer, if anything.”
At this practical, country-bred summation, Lucy resolved to give over fretting about the weather. Molly finished arranging her hair, leaving rather more curls than usual dangling loose, and clasped a topaz pendant around her neck. It was one of the simpler pieces Anna had given her, but Lucy thought its tawny hues complemented the vibrant color of the dress.
She, Hal and Sebastian completed the fifteen-minute carriage ride to Orchard Park in near silence. Before Lucy could quite believe it was happening, she was entering the parlor on Hal’s arm.
The ceremony sped by in a blur, and soon she was kneeling hand in hand with James before the mantel in the Orchard Park parlor and listening to the vicar pronounce them man and wife. All she felt was a kind of numb amazement. The ceremony couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. How could ten minutes, a few words and a ring have made her into a wife, James’s wife and a peeress of the realm?
When she had daydreamed of marriage, she had always imagined her wedding as a moment of spiritual exaltation. She’d expected that the ceremony would transform her, that when she spoke her vows and felt her bridegroom slip his ring onto her finger she would feel herself become a new creature. Instead, she felt so very ordinary. She was fully aware of the import of the words they spoke, of course. One could not lightly promise to obey, serve, love and honor another person for as long as they both lived. But she said her vows just as she might speak on any serious matter, and she was exactly the same person at the end of the ten minutes that she had been at the beginning.
It had been silly of her to expect it to be otherwise. Only children believed in magic. Yet it hardly seemed possible that words alone had turned Lucy Jones into Lady Selsley.
After a brief wedding breakfast, Sebastian and Hal returned to Almont Castle, and Anna and Lord and Lady Dunmalcolm announced their intention to spend a quiet afternoon reading and writing letters in the parlor. James then offered Lucy his arm and led her out to the entrance hall, where all the servants had assembled in two long lines to meet their new mistress. He introduced them to her one by one, while Lucy tried desperately to look as if she was prepared to be their mistress, and to remember as many names as possible, especially of the upper servants. All of them bowed or bobbed and addressed her as “my lady.” Lucy did not look around for her aunt or some other lady as she had expected that morning, but she was hard put not to gape and blink.
Most of the introductions were brief, but they lingered for a few moments with Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, a tall, bespectacled woman with thick gray hair and a grave, dignified mien. Lucy couldn’t imagine herself giving this woman orders and directing her work, though she knew it would be expected of her.
When she had met all the servants, James dismissed them to their duties and took her hand. “Mrs. Ellis will show you the kitchen and the still-room and all the linen closets tomorrow,” he said, “but I’ll show you the house now, if you’re agreeable.”
“Of course,” she said. “It would be a dreadful thing, to be lost in my own home.” She shook her head, hardly able to believe that this palace was to be her home from now on.
“I doubt it will seem so strange after a few days,” he said reassuringly. “You did very well just then, by the by. I think they’re all pleased with their new mistress.”
“I hope they remain so. I feel so very…young and inexperienced to be mistress of such a household.”
He chuckled. “I know exactly how you feel. I came into the title at fifteen, and into a seat in the Lords and full control of my fortune at twenty-one. I felt like a boy whose toy soldiers had suddenly come to life and expected him to command them.”
She smiled at him, enjoying the warmth of his deep blue eyes. “You do understand.”
“Sometimes I do,” he agreed. “Well. You’ve seen most of the ground floor already, and the gallery—and I’m sure you’ll be spending a great deal of time there. Why don’t we begin upstairs? I’ll show you your rooms and mine, and all the ones we keep for guests. There’s a pretty sitting room that I think will do well for a studio of sorts for you. I’m no artist myself, but I think the light is good. Then we’ll come back down, and I’ll show you the library and the breakfast parlor. That should be enough to give you your bearings, but to leave Mrs. Ellis much to show you.”
“I gather she likes having a great deal to do.”
“See, you begin to understand her already.”
Together they ascended the great staircase and walked down the corridor past the gallery, and Lucy marveled afresh that she was now mistress of all this.
When they reached the southwest corner of the house, James flung open a door. “This is your room.”
Lucy st
ood in the doorway and stared. “It’s beautiful.” It was a sunny, peaceful chamber, all in white and varying shades of blue. In the center along the far wall stood a canopied bed, its hangings and coverlet the pale blue of the sky.
“You can have it redone any way you like,” he said, walking to a south-facing window and opening the draperies. “It’s the viscountess’s room, so it was originally fitted to my mother’s taste, and there hasn’t been any reason to change it since.”
“I think your mother’s taste was excellent,” Lucy said. Slowly and shyly she entered the room—her room. The blue-and-white carpeting was soft under her feet. There was no dressing-table or wardrobe; those she supposed would be in her dressing room next door. But she had a little table with two chairs on either side and a washstand. A few paintings and sketches hung on the walls, not the masterpieces of the gallery, but watercolors and drawings Lucy supposed to be the first Lady Selsley’s own work. On the mantel rested several curious objects of eastern origin, and Lucy was drawn to a stone idol with an elephant’s head.
“That’s the same figure from your father’s portrait,” she said, “only that one is in gold.”
James came and stood beside her, and she startled at his nearness. “Yes,” he said, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Ganesha, the Hindu god of good fortune. My father didn’t worship him, precisely—he was a good Church of England man—but he did consider him something of a lucky charm, since he’d had such very good fortune in India, and so he collected idols and images.”
“It’s so very strange.”
“I suppose it is. I never think of it, having grown up surrounded by such things, but I believe Mrs. Ellis thinks them dreadfully heathenish, and we’ve even had one or two housemaids who are frightened of dusting them.”
Lucy laughed, though she could sympathize with the maids’ plight to some degree. Such an odd, ugly figure the idol was, with the animal head on a human figure misshapen by the addition of an extra pair of arms.
A Marriage of Inconvenience Page 19