by Mary Nichols
‘And that pleased you, I do not doubt.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. There was only one thing that worried her about that. If she never had a child by him, never gave him the heir he wanted so badly, then he might send her away and annul the marriage and she would not see Annabelle again. Or him. But how did he expect her to fulfil her undertaking if he did nothing to bring it about? He had given no indication that he was repulsed by her; on the contrary, he was careful of her, frequently complimentary, and often took her hand or reached out to push a stray curl from her cheek. His touch always made her breath catch in her throat, as if it might be a prelude to something more intimate, but then that strange haunted look would come over his face and it was a minute or so before he had himself under control and was smiling again.
‘Mrs Rivers has been singing your praises,’ he said. ‘And that is no mean achievement on your part. She is very particular.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Rosamund, I wish you would not address me so formally when we are alone. You know my name, pray use it.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ They both laughed aloud when she realised what she had said. ‘Habits are hard to break, aren’t they?’ she added.
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And the longer you have had the habit, the harder it becomes.’ He paused, wondering whether to go on and try to explain himself. ‘I have perhaps become too used to my own ways to change easily. I fear I am poor company.’ Which was not what he meant to say at all.
‘You are not ill company, my…Harry, quite the contrary. When you are at home, you are always ready to accommodate me and fall in with whatever I am doing. I like having you at home.’ Which was not what she meant to say either.
‘Thank you, my dear. When you come to Portman House with me, we shall be more in each other’s company. Besides the coronation, there will be any number of social occasions to which we shall be invited. We could perhaps hold our own entertainment. What do you think?’
‘If you wish, but I have had no practice at being a society hostess, although when my mother was alive she entertained a great deal and I often helped her.’
‘I am persuaded you will do splendidly. Shall we hold a Coronation Ball?’
A ball was rather grander than she had bargained for, but she wanted to please him. If she pleased him enough, he might remember why he had married her and make her truly his wife. ‘That would be splendid.’
As always when Harry was at home, he spent some time in the library going over accounts and investments, some time with his steward and Travers, keeping up to date with events on the estate and discussing future plans, but more with Rosamund and Annabelle. The child had lost her fear of him and would chatter away about things she had seen and what she was learning, not only from her stepmama but from Miss Gunstock. The governess was the daughter of a baronet fallen on hard times, which was one of the reasons Rosamund had hired her; she was only too aware that she had only just escaped a similar fate herself. Miss Gunstock could not have been more inaptly named; she was thin and pale and softly spoken, but she was a good teacher and Annabelle had taken to her.
Rosamund saved telling the child she was going away until bedtime when she was tucked up with a favourite rag doll, waiting to hear the nightly story Rosamund always told her, often one invented especially for her. When it was finished, Rosamund tucked her up. ‘Tomorrow, sweetheart, I am going to London with your papa and you must be a good girl while I am gone and do as Miss Gunstock bids you.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Three weeks, I think.’
‘Three weeks is for ever.’
‘No, it is only twenty-one days. Miss Gunstock will help you to count them. I am going to King George’s coronation, so I will have wonderful stories to tell you when I come back.’
‘What’s a coronation?’
Rosamund was in the middle of explaining this when Harry crept into the room and joined in. By the time they had finished Annabelle was reconciled to their absence and was drifting off to sleep. They crept from the room and returned downstairs.
‘I have to do some paperwork,’ he said, as they reached the library door. ‘I doubt I shall finish before midnight so I will say goodnight now.’ He took her shoulders in his hands, looked down into her upturned face as if studying her features, then bent and kissed her on the mouth. She felt herself responding to the pressure of his lips with delighted surprise. It was not a duty kiss of a man dismissing a wife for whom he had little affection; it was real and gently demanding and aroused them both to undeniable passion.
The sound of footsteps impinged on his ears before she heard them, and he pulled away from her with a wry smile. She felt so weak, she had trouble keeping upright and put a hand on the back of a chair that stood against the wall to steady herself. The night-duty footman emerged from the back regions of the house to take up his position at the door. He walked past them, looking straight ahead, trying to pretend he had not seen them. It broke the tension and they both laughed.
‘Goodnight, my dear,’ Harry said and disappeared into the library, shutting the door after him.
She wondered whether to follow, but decided against it. If she tried to push him too soon, she would defeat her own purpose. ‘One step at a time,’ she murmured to herself and made her way to the drawing room where she sat on a sofa and tried to read a book. She was still trembling, still in a cloud of pure euphoria and the words danced on the page. Giving up, she went up to her room where Janet was doing the last of the packing.
She could not believe she would need all those clothes for a three-week stay, but the maid insisted she did. ‘You will need to buy more when you arrive, my lady,’ she said, trying to fold a quilted petticoat into a small enough parcel to go into a trunk that was already overflowing. ‘You must be a credit to his lordship when he takes you to all the grand occasions. Mr Sylvester says he always sends his lordship out in the pink and it is important to send out your mistress befitting her lord and if I need any advice to go to him.’
Rosamund laughed. ‘I think Mr Sylvester has an exaggerated idea of his own importance, Janet. Lord Portman is perfectly able to make up his own mind what to wear.’
‘So he may be, Miss Rosie, but I often wonder why he puts himself about as a coxcomb when he is nothing like that when he is at Bishop’s Court.’
‘Country wear is not the same as town wear, Janet.’
‘That,’ said Janet in triumph. ‘is what I have been trying to tell you. You will need to go shopping.’
The packing finished, Janet helped Rosamund undress and then retired to her own room. Left alone, Rosamund lay in bed, wondering if Harry would come to her that night. But he did not. Still in a dreamlike state brought on by that kiss, she was disappointed, but not downhearted. Perhaps when they were in London…
Harry sat at his desk looking at the report he was compiling for the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but his mind was elsewhere. He had been foolish enough to kiss his wife! He felt again the pressure of her lips as she responded and he knew something he had not been sure of before: she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The knowledge did nothing to ease his torment; it exacerbated it. He could still feel his arousal and it was damned uncomfortable and needed relieving. He was tempted to go to her and take her to bed. He had every right to do so. It was his duty to do so. It was his desire to do so. Only his tormenting ghost prevented it.
If only Rosamund had been plain instead of lovely, foolish instead of intelligent, if only he had been able to keep her at arm’s length and not come to enjoy her company so much, he could have been business-like about their bargain, like bedding a lightskirt, here today and forgotten tomorrow. Now it was impossible. She was his wife in every way except one. He groaned and went to the cupboard beside the fireplace and extracted a fat brown bottle and a large glass and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.
They arrived at Portman House in Berkeley Square soon after noon the following day and
almost immediately Harry went out again. ‘Business, I am afraid,’ he told Rosamund, handing her a pile of invitations. ‘Go through these while I am gone and decide which you would like to attend. When I come back we will answer them together and talk about our own ball.’
There were so many invitations, routs, balls, picnics, concerts, all with a coronation theme, that Rosamund had no idea which they ought to attend. She knew hardly any of the senders, most of whom were aristocrats from the upper echelons of society and until her marriage would have been way above her touch. She decided to leave them until Harry came back and instead went to explore the house, which she had never been in before.
It was a solidly built house in the middle of a row on the western side of the Square, with a kitchen below ground level and steps up to the front door with a lamp above the middle and extinguishers for the linkmen’s torches at shoulder height on each side. Inside on the ground floor there was an anteroom and two large drawing rooms, which could be opened up into one large room for entertaining. On the floor above was a dining room and a library and a small parlour and above these the bedrooms and dressing rooms. All the servants except Mrs Crossley, the cook-housekeeper, slept in the attics from where a separate staircase took them down to the kitchens. Mrs Crossley had her own room on the same floor as the kitchen, as did James, the butler.
It was all tastefully decorated and furnished in the French style, but it was perhaps too perfect and, unlike the comfortable untidiness of Bishop’s Court, did not feel lived in, which told her Harry only used it as a place to sleep when he was in town.
Her tour finished, she went to talk to Mrs Crossley about holding a ball. The cook was enormously fat, due perhaps to too frequent sampling of the fruits of her labour. She wore a vast grey cotton gown and an even vaster apron. On her greying hair was a frilly white cap tied under her chin with a ribbon. She received the news that there was to be a ball with enthusiasm and was soon amusing Rosamund with tales of the entertainments Lord Portman’s mother used to arrange.
‘What about his lordship’s first wife?’ Rosamund asked, when at last the woman drew breath. ‘Did she entertain?’
‘No, my lady. They were no sooner married than she began increasing. Not that you would have known in the beginning. She was such a little slip of a thing, not yet seventeen when they married, and it did not show at first. She was so well, no one could have foretold the trouble she would have giving birth. That was terrible. Her screams filled the whole house. They lived here then, his lordship not having succeeded to Bishop’s Court. She shrieked on and on for her mother and cursed her husband, yelling that God would punish him for what he had done to her. The handywoman and the doctor both tried to quieten her, but she was past listening to them.’
‘How dreadful,’ Rosamund murmured.
‘I don’t know how they got the infant out of her, but she was dead soon afterwards. His lordship was distraught. He would not look at the child, let alone touch her, and did not speak to anyone for days.’ She paused. ‘Mayhap I should not have told you.’
It was one more item to be added to those she had already learned about her complex and enigmatic husband and it explained a great deal. He had loved his first wife and she had died cursing him. There was a mountain to climb if she were going to help him overcome that. ‘I am glad you did, Mrs Crossley,’ she said. ‘But I will not tell his lordship you told me.’
They were interrupted by a footman who came to tell Rosamund that Mrs Bullivant had called. Wondering how her aunt knew she was in town, she made herself put the cook’s revelations to one side, gave orders for the tea tray to be prepared and hurried to the front drawing room, where the lady was busy inspecting the pictures and ornaments.
‘Aunt Jessica, how are you?’ She went forwards and kissed the old lady’s rouged cheek. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Word gets about. Servants talk to each other, you know. Your cook told my cook and she told Miss Davies, who told me.’ She stepped back to look her niece up and down. The petticoat she was wearing under her blue silk open gown was only lightly padded and her figure was as slim as ever. ‘Not increasing, Rosamund?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing that I know of.’
‘Well, it can’t be his lordship.’ She sat on the sofa, her wide skirts billowing round her. ‘He already has a daughter.’
‘There is time.’ She remembered saying the same thing to Max and wondered how many other people would be blunt enough to ask.
‘Have you met the child?’ her aunt went on. ‘I am told Portman will not have her to live with him. Is there something wrong with her?’
‘There is nothing at all wrong with Annabelle,’ she said firmly. ‘She is living with us at Bishop’s Court now. She is a delightful child and already I love her dearly.’
‘Hmph,’ the old lady said. ‘Not the same as having your own, though is it?’
She was saved answering by the arrival of a maid with the tea things and a plate of cakes. Rosamund busied herself with these and there was silence between them for perhaps a minute, then her aunt took up the conversation again.
‘Well, I am glad you have come to town. It is about time the haut monde saw you as Lady Portman.’
‘Of course I am Lady Portman. Whatever do you mean?’
‘Francis Portman has been putting it about that all is not well between you and his lordship. He says his lordship cannot stand the sight of you, which is why he is so often in town alone. According to Portman, he belongs to some drinking and gaming club called The Piccadilly Gentlemen. They are up to all manner of rigs, so I am told.’
Rosamund was shocked, but endeavoured to treat the gossip lightly. ‘Oh, Aunt, I cannot believe that.’
‘It is true. He told Maximilian and Maximilian told me.’
‘Francis Portman is a troublemaker and Max is not much better,’ she said firmly. ‘They both sponge on Harry’s generosity and then disparage him behind his back. I do not believe a word of it and I am surprised at you repeating it.’
‘I am only telling you what is being said. You must get Portman to escort you out more. Oh, I know it is not often done for husbands and wives to live in each other’s pockets, but if you want to survive as Portman’s wife, you must assert yourself and bring him to heel.’
‘Aunt, you need have no fears on that score and you will oblige me by informing anyone else who has nothing better to do than gossip that there is nothing amiss with our marriage.’
‘Then why are you not increasing?’
‘Give us time, Aunt. We are neither of us in the first bloom of youth.’
‘I am only thinking of your good.’
‘I know.’ She put on a brave smile and handed her aunt a cup of tea. ‘If it makes you feel better, I can tell you we are going to hold a coronation ball here at Portman House. That should silence the critics.’
‘Oh, wonderful!’ The old lady clapped her hands. ‘Tell me all about it.’
It was at this point Harry returned. He bowed to Mrs Bullivant and asked her how she did, then turned to Rosamund. ‘I see you have the tea tray there, my love. Shall I ring for another cup?’
‘Please do. I was telling Aunt Jessica that we are planning a ball.’
He rang the bell and sat down opposite the two ladies. ‘Yes, the house hasn’t been used for entertaining for goodness knows how long and what better opportunity than the coronation?’
‘When is the ball to be?’ Jessica asked. ‘There is the Royal wedding tomorrow and with the coronation only two weeks away, everyone’s diaries are full.’
Harry looked at Rosamund, his eyebrow raised in a question. She nodded and he turned to the old lady. ‘Then we will leave our entertainment until the 25th. That will give everyone three days to recover and be a fitting end to the celebrations.’
‘Oh, yes,’ the old lady agreed. ‘And you must make it outshine them all, something to be remembered long af
terwards. If you need any help…’
‘I think we can manage,’ Rosamund said. ‘Mrs Crossley is very competent, But I thank you for the offer.’
There was a moment’s silence while Jessica debated whether to insist on helping, but decided she could do without the bother. ‘Have you met the bride, my lord?’ she asked. ‘I am told she is not at all comely and the King is not enamoured of her. Her nose and mouth are too wide and they do say her forebears came from Africa.’
‘Gossip,’ Harry said. ‘I deplore gossip. The poor child is only seventeen and must be frightened almost to death, especially after that terrible crossing.’ The future queen had been collected from Cuxhaven by a squadron of British yachts and warships, but the westerly gales had been so bad they had taken ten days to reach Harwich. ‘I think we should all make her welcome.’
‘Why, of course,’ she said, backtracking quickly. ‘I am sure everyone will come to love her.’ Having absorbed the put-down, she rose to leave, bringing Harry to his feet. ‘I must be going. I expect I shall see you out and about while you are in town.’
He executed an elaborate bow. ‘Indeed, yes, Rosamund and I have every intention of making the most of our stay before we return to our daughter. We are engaged at Viscount Leinster’s soirée tomorrow evening.’
‘Then I shall see you there.’ She turned and made her stately way to the door, where a footman waited to conduct her to her carriage.
As soon as she had gone, Harry turned back to Rosamund, grinning. ‘That should give her something to think about.’ And they both laughed, though Rosamund’s was a trifle hollow.
They were so much in accord, so well matched, laughing at the same things, sharing the same tastes in almost everything, loving Annabelle, it was difficult to believe they were still not truly man and wife. Mrs Crossley’s revelations went some way to explaining that, but it was difficult to believe a man like Harry Portman could not overcome his reluctance. His desire for her had been evident when he kissed her outside the library at Bishop’s Court and, if the footman had not come along when he had, who knew if he might have succumbed? How soon would it be before another opportunity arrived? she wondered. And the awful thought came to her that if he did, he might regret it. There was more to the problem than the physical act of copulation.