Marriage of Inconvenience

by Cheryl Bolen

“What a beauty you’ll be in those gowns,” Peter said.

  For once, Aynsley was not out of charity with Peter’s remark. “Lady Warwick assures me dresses of such fabric will be all the rage during your come out.”

  Emily stopped and glared at her father. “I don’t want a come out. I prefer to stay at Dunton.”

  Aynsley’s face was grim. “And I prefer that you go to London.”

  Without a word, she neatly folded the fabric and returned to the pianoforte where she began pounding at the keys in a most agitated manner. In her own way, his daughter was every bit as obstinate as Chuckie.

  Rebecca had gone to sit on the sofa near the boys. “What are you reading, Alex?”

  He looked up from the tome he’d brought. “Homer.”

  She smiled. “There are some very exciting stories there, if I recall.”

  “I like it very much,” he said. “Of course, I’m reading an English translation. I have not yet sufficient command of Greek.”

  “I know Greek,” Spencer boasted.

  “You do not!” Alex shouted.

  “I do, too!” Spencer’s fist balled and he slugged his brother.

  Alex kicked him.

  “Boys!” Aynsley frowned.

  Like two soldiers at review, they straightened up and directed remorseful looks at their father.

  “But Spencer lied,” Alex said. “He can’t read Greek, except for infantile words.”

  “Infantile. Imbecile. Why can’t you use normal words?” Spencer demanded.

  Alex glared at his brother. “You’re such a baby.”

  “I’m two years older than you are!”

  If his sons kept up at this rebellious state, Rebecca would be sure to take the next post chaise back to London. “I beg that you boys show your new mother that you can comport yourselves as gentlemen,” Aynsley implored.

  The door banged open, and Chuckie, waving a crudely fashioned wooden sword, burst into the room. His father was relieved that he’d restored his breeches.

  “Papa says you have to sheathe your sword when you’re in the drawing room,” Alex told his younger brother.

  Slashing the stick in the direction of his brothers, Chuckie ignored the admonishment.

  “A pity you could not commission a small-size helmet for him,” Emily lamented. “One grows tired of seeing that ridiculous bucket stuffed over his head.”

  “It’s not a bucket,” Chuckie protested.

  “It is, too,” Alex said.

  His brows lowered, Aynsley effectively silenced Alex with The Glare. “You don’t always have to have the last word, Alex.”

  Alex’s lips puckered into a pout. “Yes, my lord.”

  Whether to make peace or to make mischief, his daughter directed her attention to Rebecca. “Tomorrow I’ll guide you around Dunton. I’m sure you’re anxious to change the guard, so to speak.”

  “How very kind of you to offer,” said Rebecca, dispelling his uneasiness. “I look forward to learning all about Dunton Hall, but my work is cut out for me if I’m ever to manage as capably as your father tells me you do.”

  * * *

  When Aynsley walked with his bride upstairs an hour later, he felt as if he’d come from an Iberian battlefield. He was exhausted and irritable and excessively disappointed in his boys’ behavior. “You must see how badly my children need discipline. I only hope that you won’t change your mind about staying at Dunton.”

  “I assure you I will not. Not ever. I told those boys the Heavenly Father had sent me.”

  “But you haven’t met Ethelbert yet.”

  She stopped on the tread and whirled to face him. “I knew everything when I agreed to marry you. Do you think I’m a flighty girl prone to changing her mind?”

  He touched her chin. “There’s nothing flighty or girlish about you.”

  She resumed the climb. “I’m gratified that you understand that.”

  They reached the second floor and strolled toward their bedchambers. “May I come sit with you for a few moments? There are a few matters I’d like to discuss.”

  “Of course.”

  They went to sit in front of the fire on a silk brocade settee. “I wished to discuss my children,” he began.

  “Our children now.”

  Her simple declaration was a balm for his perpetual loneliness. The thing he had missed most with Dorothy’s death was losing the one person who loved their children as he did. Though the marriage had never been a love match, love for their children abounded. Could the potency of those feelings transfer to his new wife?

  He studied her as a painter would his subject. Only the most extraordinarily gifted artist would be able to capture the juxtaposition of brandy highlights in her coffee-colored hair or the rosy hue tingeing her cheeks from the fire’s blaze. He wondered how a painter could do justice to the sweep of long, thick lashes that framed her eyes like an ebony garland. “I had hoped the children would be on their best behavior for you,” he said. “Unfortunately, they were not.”

  “You’re too demanding. They’re good children. Really.”

  “And Emily? What is her excuse for her abominable conduct toward you?”

  “Her conduct certainly was not abominable. It’s natural that she might resent that I’m here to displace her—and worse yet, I might be trying to displace the mother she dearly loved.”

  His wife made a good point. Two, actually. “Doesn’t she know it’s for her own good? I want her to marry and have a home and children of her own.”

  “I imagine she thinks she could marry Peter and never have to leave Dunton.”

  “And when I die? When Johnny’s wife—when he takes one—usurps Emily’s authority here?”

  Rebecca held up her hand and winced. “I beg you not to speak of that!”

  Her aversion to thinking of his death gave him a measure of pleasure. He shrugged. “I must apologize for my daughter. I shall have to speak to her.”

  “Please don’t. It needs but time. She doesn’t know me. No doubt she sees me as a fortune-hunting woman who’s going to be a wicked stepmother.”

  The notion was so far removed from the truth he had to laugh.

  “And I want to talk to you about your unnecessary sternness with the boys,” she said.

  “I thought you and I agreed—back in London—that discipline was what was needed.”

  “That was before I met the little darlings.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going soft?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s just say I think you’re excessively stern. You don’t want the boys to fear you—or to hate you. Banishing poor Alex from the dinner table was terribly harsh. All he did was speak his mind.”

  “He called his brothers names!”

  “Hardly a mortal sin. You must remember he’s a middle child. He’s likely jealous of Spencer because he’s older and has had more experiences, and he cannot compete with Chuckie for cuteness and lovability. He has to draw attention to himself by being superior at something.”

  “So he’s superior by using big words to ridicule his brothers?”

  She nodded. “And by reading. Reading is his vehicle to amassing more knowledge than Spencer.”

  He could not argue with her. She made too much sense. He settled back against the settee and sighed. “If I hadn’t stopped them, their fisticuffs would have broken the furniture and everything else in the drawing room. Surely you don’t think I should have allowed them to go at each other.”

  She put hands to hips. “Of course not! Physical outbursts should never be tolerated. Besides,” she added, her voice softening, “they might have hurt one another.”

  He had to laugh. In fact, he was filled with happiness over his bride’s brimming affection for his children. He could not remember the last time he had felt happy. “Well, at least we’re in agreement over something concerning my offspring.”

  “I don’t object to you correcting Alex when he disparages one of his brothers, but I think your excessive anger was unwarra
nted.”

  Could she be right? Was he being too stern a disciplinarian?

  “If you want them to love and respect you, you must be less severe,” she said.

  He could see the wisdom in what she was saying. “I shall try, but how will I ever get them to behave in a more gentlemanly manner?”

  “Let me work on that. You, sir, have other important matters to dwell on.”

  “Like parliamentary reform?”

  “Yes.”

  “The most pressing thing on my agenda is showing Lady Aynsley over the grounds of her new home. Do you ride?”

  “I’ve had very little opportunity to do so in London, but I practically lived on horseback in Virginia.”

  “Good. Are you an early riser?”

  “I am.”

  “Then it will be my pleasure to take you riding tomorrow morning.”

  “And afterward, when I’m counting linen or some such thrilling task, what will you be doing?”

  “I have many papers that demand my attention.” He stood and gazed down at her. “In fact, my library beckons. I’ll start tonight.”

  She stood and walked with him to the door. “Good night, dearest,” she murmured.

  A rush of tender emotions washed over him as he looked down at her and—without intending to—bent to kiss her.

  She did not push him away. She put her hands flat against his chest and kissed him in return. When he pulled away, he gently pushed up the spectacles that had slid down her nose. “Good night, dear one.”

  Instead of departing her room into the corridor—and thus announcing that Lord and Lady Aynsley did not sleep together—he left through their connecting dressing rooms.

  Any doubts he may have had about hurrying into his marriage had been soundly dispelled this first day back at Dunton. How very good it felt to have a partner with whom to share his life—and his children.

  Were it not for Emily’s hostility, his happiness would have been nearly overpowering.

  Chapter Seven

  Rebecca stood like a statue and watched Aynsley go. Their kiss had left her stunned. Kissing had never been something that appealed to her. But when Lord Aynsley’s head had bent toward hers it seemed perfectly natural that their lips should come together. What was not natural was her response to the action. She had not been repulsed, and she had actually participated in it!

  When he pulled back, she was embarrassed. Would he think her a loose woman? But when he’d called her dear one, she realized their bond was sanctified by their wedding ceremony, a bond that would meld their lives together until death separated them. Together they would raise the children. She was astonished over how quickly the lads had won her complete affection, how powerful was her sense of protectiveness toward them.

  Emily, however, would be a challenge.

  Later—after she’d donned her nightclothes and lay in her bed in the darkened chamber—she prayed. Please, Lord, help me be a good mother. Please guide my husband back to You. And please help me to love Emily as if she were my own daughter.

  * * *

  After breakfast, she and Aynsley walked hand in hand across Dunton’s verdant park toward the stables. A single gravel path cut in identical halves the broad lawn surrounding Dunton Hall. Tall, classical statues stood as if they were sentries every twenty feet along the path. “These statues are Roman antiquities my father brought back from his grand tour,” Aynsley explained.

  Next, they strolled along one side of the picturesque lake. “It’s purely ornamental,” he told her.

  “You mean the lake is man-made?”

  He nodded.

  “I must say, the English certainly know how to landscape.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she glimpsed a rather formidable-looking two-story structure built of the same gray stone as the house. “What building is that?”

  “The mews.”

  “Dear heavens! How many horses have you?” She did not know stables could be that large.

  “We, my dear.”

  No one could be more unworthy than she. “You’re much too generous, dearest.” She felt more self-conscious than ever to be using such an endearment to this man, especially since the kiss of the previous night. “You did not answer my question.” They entered the stable.

  “Because I’ve never thought about it. Stanley, my steward, keeps up with such matters. I suppose there must be around thirty—but not all of them suitable for mounting. Today, you’ll ride Emily’s.” He paused at a stall occupied by a white-footed chestnut.

  “She’s a beauty,” Rebecca said.

  “For today, she’s yours. I’ll select you a mount of your own someday soon.”

  Within a few minutes a groom had saddled the horses, and Lord and Lady Aynsley began to canter to the western portion of the property. From a distance, he showed her the acres farmed by tenants, and from a hilltop they looked down on the humble village of Wey. They raced through an apple orchard, galloped along the perimeter of the rolling sheep pasture and finished the tour of Aynsley lands by leading their horses to drink at the serpentine lake, which was spanned by a humpback stone bridge. “I’ve always wished to walk on one of those bridges,” she said.

  He dropped the reins and offered his hand. “Then let’s.”

  At the bridge’s crest they stopped and propped their elbows on the stone baluster while they gazed over the sparkling blue lake. Directly in front of them on the other side of the lake a domed folly was flanked by two clusters of evergreens.

  When he tossed a pebble, she was mesmerized by the ripple. “I cannot believe the sun has favored us today.” She smiled as she looked up into his pensive face.

  “I was hoping it would be a fair day for your first impression of Dunton.”

  He spoke of Dunton with the same pride that infused his voice when he discussed his children. She could well understand how such a lovely piece of property could instill such powerful feelings. Just knowing it was her new home gave her a wondrous sensation. “You love Dunton very much, do you not?”

  “I do. I’m always happiest here.”

  “Then your work in Parliament is even more commendable.” She took the opportunity to stare at his profile—the perfectly straight nose, the tiny cleft in his chin, the firm set of his jaw. She realized he was quite handsome.

  “It’s an obligation I feel strongly, even though I loathe having to leave Dunton to go to London.”

  “I understand—even more now that I’m here. I wish we never had to leave.”

  His brows lowered as he turned to her. “Surely you cannot be so attached to Dunton so soon?”

  “Anyone would be. It’s so...so peaceful and comforting and solid. It quite gives one a feeling of utter contentment.”

  “That’s exactly how it affects me.”

  “Then we have much in common. In fact, if it weren’t for your odious support of children laboring, we would be completely compatible. I do intend to do everything I can to change your tolerance of that beastly practice.”

  “I am not going to be a puppet for you or any woman, Rebecca.”

  She could tell she’d angered him. “It’s not being a puppet. It’s seeing the light.”

  “Seeing the light sounds suspiciously religious to me. If you think to change me in that regard, too, you’d best think again.” He stalked away and took up the reins.

  “Do I come with you?” she asked, feeling like a child who’d just been punished.

  “Yes. It’s time you meet Ethelbert.”

  They rode in silence. She felt guilty for angering him, but if she had it to do over again, she would do the same. That was her problem. She could never compromise her convictions. Or her faith.

  The dowager house was closer to the main road than Dunton Hall and was set several hundred yards away from the main house. It was neither grand like Dunton Hall was nor was it constructed of stone. It was a typical wattle-and-daub cottage with thatched roof and trellis over the doorway. She fleetingly thought of how cozy and com
forting it would be to raise a cherished family within its walls. Goodness gracious! What was getting into her? The former Miss Rebecca Peabody never thought about such things. Always, her mind whirled with political theory and the wisdom of Greek and Roman scholars.

  Her husband assisted her from Emily’s horse. “You are prepared for my uncle’s peculiar practice?”

  She nodded. But how did one really prepare for being accosted by an elderly lecher? Her heart began to beat unaccountably rapidly as they walked down the path to the cottage’s front door.

  A manservant let them in, bowing profusely at his employer. “So good to have you home, my lord.”

  “It’s good to be back, Davis. Where’s my uncle?”

  “He’s in front of the fire, your lordship.”

  They went to the drawing room, and she waited in the doorway while Aynsley strolled up to his kinsman. “Hello, Uncle, I’ve brought my new wife to meet you.”

  The white-haired Ethelbert, his eyes wide, spun around in his bath chair and began to roll across the chamber with prodigious speed. A smile fixed on his well-lined face, he raced toward her, his eyes dancing with every churn of his wheels.

  She braced herself for his assault.

  “Uncle! You must behave yourself!” Aynsley called as he made an attempt to intercept Ethelbert.

  But he wasn’t as quick as Ethelbert’s well-honed skill with the invalid chair. The old man was not so much an invalid that he could not leap from the chair as soon as he reached the object of his attentions. “I must welcome the new lady with a kiss,” he announced as he flung his frail body at Rebecca, his lips puckered as he clasped his arms around her.

  She twisted her face away from his onslaught while patting him on the back. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ethelbert,” she said in her most authoritarian voice, “but I must insist that you return to your seat at once.”

  To her astonishment, he complied with her request.

  Meeting her husband’s eye, she shook her head ever so slightly, then turned a bright smile upon Ethelbert. “Should you like us to take you for a stroll outdoors?”

  “Indeed, I would.”

  She saw the thin blanket on the sofa and fetched it. “Let’s just put this over your lap so you don’t catch a cold.” She tucked it around him. Because he was so thin, she feared he would be sensitive to the day’s chill. “There now. Comfy?”