Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife

by Mary Nichols

  Max scrambled to his feet to execute a bow, ‘In the area. Thought I’d pay a call. Didn’t think you would mind.’

  ‘Don’t mind at all, my dear fellow,’ he said, remembering to be the fop Max believed him to be and returning the bow with even more exaggeration than usual. ‘My wife’s brother is always welcome at Bishop’s Court. Staying, are you?’

  ‘If I may? I have a little matter to put to you.’

  ‘After dinner,’ Harry said, taking a cup of freshly brewed tea from Rosamund and smiling at her, as he did so. The hand that offered the cup had been shaking a little and she seemed flustered. He wondered what she and her brother had been talking about to agitate her. He wished he could like the man for her sake, but he found his false joviality irksome. It did not take a genius to guess what he wanted.

  He was proved right later that evening. Dinner was over, Rosamund had gone to Annabelle’s room to see her into bed and tell her a story, leaving the men to smoke and drink in the library.

  ‘I had no idea Bishop’s Court was so large,’ Max said. ‘It must cost a fortune to keep up.’

  ‘Luckily I have a fortune,’ Harry said drily. ‘My forebears managed their wealth wisely.’

  ‘And no doubt you are carrying on the good work.’

  ‘I try.’ He smiled and waited, knowing what was coming.

  ‘It is a pity my forebears were not so clever,’ Max said. ‘Particularly my father. He allowed himself to be cheated.’

  ‘Yes, you have told me this before.’ He did not like to be reminded of how he came to marry Rosamund. It was something of which he was ashamed, but Chalmers seemed to have no shame. ‘How can I help you? I assume that is the reason for your visit.’

  ‘I am being dunned all round. A couple of thousand should see me clear. Let you have it back when I can.’

  Harry got up and went to his desk, where he wrote out an order on his bank for two thousand guineas, which he handed over without a word. It was worth it to try to atone for the wrong he was convinced he had done Rosamund.

  ‘Thank you,’ Max said, folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

  They had so little in common the conversation dwindled to a halt. Max stood up and yawned. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord, I am for bed. I should like to make an early start in the morning, if that is convenient to you.’

  ‘Oh, quite convenient,’ Harry said, hiding a smile. The man had got what he wanted and could not get away fast enough. He wondered how often he would be asked to prop up his debts. For Rosamund’s sake, he would do it.

  Alone again, he poured himself more cognac and sprawled on the sofa with his feet up on its arm, and allowed himself to meditate. Apart from the months immediately after Beth’s death, he had always enjoyed his life. He loved his home and looking after his estate; talking to his tenants and the men who toiled in the fields and their wives, who worked just as hard as their menfolk. He was especially jovial towards the children and made sure that none on his estate was in want of a good meal and a stout pair of boots.

  On the other side of his life was his work for the Piccadilly Gentlemen, which was varied, demanding and often dangerous. It added a spice to his existence and he revelled in it. His busy life had, until he met Rosamund, stopped him from brooding about the past, a past he could not change, however hard he tried. But now there was a third dimension: his wife and daughter. And that was where his unease lay. He wanted to make her his wife in more than name, but the old fear kept returning. He imagined her suffering as Beth had suffered, heard her cries and saw the blood and his desire abated and left him dissatisfied and restless. The only cure was action.

  Rosamund came down for breakfast as she usually did. It was often the only time she and Harry could talk; he was always going off somewhere. He looked up from his plate of ham and eggs when she came in. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ he said, rising to greet her and see her to her chair while noting the pink crepe dress with its crossover bodice, which emphasised the fullness of her breasts and narrow waist. ‘It is another warm day. I think the harvest might be early this year.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed the corn was ripening. A good harvest will be a boon to the farmers after so many years of poor yields.’ She paused. ‘Is Max still abed?’

  ‘No,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘I am told he left very early. Pressing business to attend to, I believe.’

  ‘Paying his debts with your money, I do not doubt,’ she said, looking sideways at him as she helped herself to bread and butter and some of Cook’s damson preserve. His expression was unfathomable.

  ‘Now what makes you think that?’

  ‘I know my brother. Besides, he as good as admitted it to me. You do not have to indulge him, you know. I should not hold it against you.’

  ‘No, but I should not like to see him in a debtors’ prison, if I could prevent it with a small donation. He is my brother-in-law, after all. Families should look after each other.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder if his need of money was not the reason he was so anxious I should marry you.’

  ‘And were you also influenced by that when you agreed?’

  She looked startled. ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I sometimes ask myself what your reasons really were.’

  She managed a laugh. ‘It was the alternatives I found unacceptable, my lord: to live with Max and his unruly children or be a puppy dog to Lady Bonhaven. Besides, I had hoped to find the men who cheated my father, something I would never have been given time for had I chosen either course. I thought the prospect of being the mother of your children would compensate for—’

  ‘Compensate for what?’ he prompted. They had both abandoned their breakfasts.

  ‘Compensate for a lack of…’ She could not say it, could not tell him the word she was searching for was love. He would laugh at her. It was not, had never been, a part of their bargain.

  ‘You think I have wronged you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘No, I did not say that. You most certainly have not wronged me. Why, you have been kind and generous to a fault.’

  ‘But is kindness enough?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I think it must be.’

  It was an enigmatic reply that did not address the question. ‘You said you hoped to find the men who cheated your father,’ he said, changing the subject abruptly. ‘How did they cheat him exactly?’

  ‘They sold him worthless shares in a company I feel sure does not exist. I cannot think why he was so gullible. He lost everything.’

  Her version tallied with her brother’s, so he was inclined to believe it was true. ‘What was the name of this company? I might be able to track it down for you.’

  ‘The Barnstaple Mining Company.’

  ‘I have never heard of it. Do you know anything else about it?’

  ‘According to the family lawyer, who says he advised my father against investing, its headquarters was the Nag’s Head, Covent Garden, and the man who sold him the shares was a Mr Michael O’Keefe.’

  Harry managed to turn his exclamation of shock into a grunt. He took a gulp of coffee to gather his wits. ‘Rosamund, the Nag’s Head is a low tavern, hardly the place from which to run a legitimate business.’

  ‘I realised that as soon as I saw it.’

  ‘You went there?’ She continually astonished him. ‘When was this?’

  ‘The week after Papa died. I hoped to meet Mr O’Keefe and persuade him to buy back the shares. I was angry. I am still angry when I think about it. The man should not be allowed to profit by his crime.’

  The conversation was becoming unreal and he had to be careful what he said. If she had met, or even been seen by, O’Keefe, they could all be in trouble. ‘The Nag’s Head is a dreadful place, a den of thieves,’ he said. ‘It is a wonder you were not set upon and robbed.’

  ‘Do you know it?’ she asked. It was hardly the sort of place someone in his position would frequent. There was so much she still
had to learn about him.

  ‘Only by reputation,’ he said guardedly. ‘Did you see this Mr O’Keefe?’

  ‘No, the landlord denied all knowledge of him.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief and put out his hand to cover hers and it had the same effect his touch always had; her heart began to race and she felt the warmth flooding her face. ‘Rosamund, my dear,’ he said, apparently unaware of the tumult he caused in her breast, both by his touch and his endearment. That neither meant anything to him she was well aware. ‘You must never go there again. You are married to me now and you do not need anything from that man and his Barnstaple Mining Company. He would not give it to you anyway. He would undoubtedly say your father invested of his own free will. You have no legal redress at all.’

  ‘Max says neither the man nor the company exists. The names were invented to fool my father.’

  ‘In that I am inclined to agree with your brother,’ he said, patting her hand and pouring more coffee. It had gone cold and he rang for a servant to bring more. ‘Now, what are you planning to do today?’

  As far as he was concerned the subject was closed and she knew better than to persist. ‘Mr Travers has found a quiet little pony for Annabelle,’ she told him. ‘I was planning to teach her to ride, with his help. And I thought we might go for a walk later. Would you like to join us?’

  He hesitated. The more he was in her company, the more he realised he was becoming enmeshed in a life he had never intended. Him, playing the family man! It was laughable. And yet he did not laugh. Instead he said, ‘Why not? Travers has his work to do. I can teach the child to ride.’

  They spent the morning teaching Annabelle to ride the little grey pony. She was an apt pupil and they were soon laughing at her enjoyment. In the afternoon they took a picnic with them on their walk. They found a quiet spot under a tree which hung over a stream and spread the cloth and unpacked the basket while Annabelle discarded shoes and stockings and paddled in the shallows, bunching her skirt up in her hands.

  ‘She has made great strides, thanks to you,’ Harry told Rosamund as they sat side by side on the ground beneath a tree, both fondly watching her.

  ‘She is her father’s daughter. Bright as a button. I only have to tell her something once and she has the measure of it. Have you noticed she is speaking so much better? There is hardly a trace left of the vulgar tongue she learned at the farm.’

  ‘Yes, I had. Has she forgotten her life there?’

  ‘Not entirely. Now and again she says something that makes me realise that her early upbringing is engrained deeply.’

  ‘I am sure, with your help, she will soon put it behind her.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. Already I love her dearly.’ She paused, took a deep breath and went on. ‘But I think she misses the other children. To her they are her brothers and sisters.’

  ‘Ridiculous! I am not having them at Bishop’s Court if that is what you are thinking.’

  She turned to him in shocked surprise. How could he be so obtuse? How much more of a hint did he need? ‘No, my lord, I was not thinking of other people’s children at all.’

  ‘Good.’ He called to Annabelle to come and sit down to eat and Rosamund realised she was getting nowhere at all. From being happy and relaxed, they became tense and distantly polite with each other and the walk home was a silent one and, on her part, miserable. She had done what she had warned herself against: she had fallen hopelessly in love with her husband.

  Chapter Eight

  Harry was nowhere near as obtuse as Rosamund thought he was. He could readily believe she wanted children of her own; he could see she was a born mother. After all, she had agreed to marry him to give him an heir. So why could he not oblige her? What had Ash said to him? Women do have a choice, to marry or not to marry, and most, if you ask them, would certainly say they want to be married and to have children. It is their lot in life and they know it.

  Until today he had not thought Rosamund minded that he had done nothing to bring it about, might even have been relieved. But it seemed he had been wrong. His whole being was doing battle with itself. Duty fought compassion, desire fought fear, his newfound love for his daughter fought the image of a dead face. If only he could talk to Rosamund about it, tell her how Beth’s dying curses haunted him, ask her if she knew what was involved; not just the sexual act, but the giving birth, the pain and the risk. But whenever he came close to it, he shied away. For a man who took risks as a matter of course, who could hold his own in a fight, both physical and verbal, who prided himself on his sang-froid, he was behaving like an untried boy.

  He went back to town the next day. There was a meeting of the Piccadilly Gentlemen to attend and he wanted to go to the Nag’s Head. If O’Keefe was there, he would try to persuade him to initiate him into the gang, not only to bring about the arrest of some of the most daring and blatant coiners, but to find out what he could about the Barnstaple Mining Company. Like Max, he did not think it existed, but O’Keefe had managed to convince Sir Joshua that it did. And Sir Joshua had conveniently died, leaving O’Keefe with his ill-gotten gains. If he did nothing else for Rosamund, he could try to obtain redress for her and prevent the man from gulling others in the same way. But nabbing the coiners had to come first.

  The members of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals were all in attendance and the main item on the agenda was the security of George III, both at his wedding, now only a few days away and, more importantly, at the coronation, which would follow two weeks later. The wedding would be a private affair, but the coronation was for the populace who loved a grand pageant. London was crowded with sightseers coming to see the king and queen in their magnificent robes being conveyed to Westminster Abbey. Even those who had retired to their country estates for the summer were coming back. Entertainments were being arranged, balls, routs and fireworks, almost as if it were a second Season.

  ‘And in any crowd there are bound to be pickpockets,’ Jonathan added.

  ‘And people passing counterfeit money,’ Harry put in. ‘The coiners haven’t had such a golden opportunity for years, if you will forgive the pun.’

  ‘I have spoken to Sir John Fielding,’ James went on, smiling at Harry’s little joke. ‘He is recruiting more Bow Street Runners to mingle with the crowds. I have said we will all be available to give assistance. I hope I may have your co-operation.’

  They murmured agreement.

  ‘I have had an invitation to the coronation,’ Jonathan said. ‘Louise can think of nothing but what she will wear.’

  ‘You are not the only one of us invited,’ James said. ‘I think we all are, in recognition of the work we do.’ He gave them each an envelope inscribed with the royal coat of arms, though Sam Roker, not being a man of rank, was omitted. He took no offence, knowing he would feel like a fish out of water in that company.

  ‘With all of us in attendance, who would dare raise his hand against the king and queen?’ Harry said, with a laugh.

  They went on to discuss the role each would play on the days leading up to the ceremony. When the meeting was concluded, Harry and Ash left together as was their wont. ‘Have you heard any more of your coiners?’ Ash asked.

  ‘No, I have a feeling O’Keefe is avoiding me. I went to the Nag’s Head earlier today, but I was told he had not been in the tavern for weeks. He knows I want to be admitted to the gang and he is reluctant to share the profits any further than his existing cohorts, but I shall persist. With the festivities drawing near, he might emerge on the streets. The opportunities for passing bad coins will be too tempting to ignore.’ He could not say anything about the Barnstaple Mining Company without implicating Rosamund and that he would not do.

  ‘Will you bring Lady Portman to London for the celebrations?’

  ‘Naturally I will.’

  Rosamund was not sure she wanted to go. It meant leaving Annabelle and as the child was settling into her new home and taking lessons with a governess, she felt it mi
ght put her back to be left.

  ‘What about Annabelle?’ she asked, when Harry showed her the elaborately decorated invitation that evening, having returned from town only an hour before.

  ‘What about her? She will be perfectly happy with Miss Gunstock and Mrs Rivers. And we will only be gone three weeks.’

  ‘But do you really need me?’

  ‘Of course I need you. What would it look like among the ton if I turned up without my wife on such a formal occasion? The gabble grinders would have a field day.’ It was said rather impatiently, but he was well aware that his need of her went much deeper than his reluctance to invite gossip. It was at the core of his being and nothing could shift it.

  ‘Very well,’ she agreed, admitting to herself that she would enjoy going to town as Lady Portman and taking her place in Westminster Abbey alongside her husband. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Do you think you can be ready?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I will give Janet her instructions when I go up.’

  ‘Did you have a good day today?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Annabelle rode her pony round the yard. She is keen to ride out, but I told her it was too soon, she must become more proficient before she goes on the road, on account of other traffic. We walked into the village and took comforts to the sick and stopped to watch the harvesters. This afternoon we read a book together and Miss Gunstock gave her some arithmetic problems to do.’

  ‘A busy day by the sound of it. You will perhaps be glad of a change of scenery.’

  ‘But I love it here. The air is so clear and fresh, not like the dirt and fog of London. The villagers are so friendly. And I love being with Annabelle. You know, she called me Mama for the first time today.’