Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1)

by Rosemary Morris

  Georgianne, tired, overheated, in pain in spite of the laudanum she had taken earlier, rested her head against the squabs instead of looking out of the window to glimpse her new home.

  Her energetic youngest sister knelt on the seat by the window. “Look at the enormous house, Georgianne.”

  Helen gripped the back of Bab’s pelisse. “Please sit down before you fall off the seat.”

  The coach halted. Georgianne looked out at a double flight of wide steps that led to a broad veranda enclosed by a balustrade in matching stone. “How beautiful!” She gazed at the three red brick storeys with windows turned to a shimmer of pink, red, and gold in the rays of the setting sun.

  Bab looked at Tarrant. “I think it is a happy house.”

  He looked down at her, the expression in his eyes tender. “I hope it will be very happy.”

  Georgianne admired her bridegroom’s good looks while appreciating his patience with Bab. “So do I.”

  Helen’s smile revealed her small, evenly spaced teeth. “Cousin Tarrant, I have no doubt you and my sister will make the house happy.”

  Georgianne glanced at Helen. By the light of the sunshine pouring into the coach, her sister’s brown curls gleamed beneath the brim of her hat. Her rosy cheeks added colour to her fair complexion. How quickly her sister was growing up. With only ten months between them, Helen would be seventeen in December.

  “Come, Georgianne.” Her bridegroom handed her down from the coach, while Langley, who had arrived before them, offered Helen his arm.

  Helen blushed before she looked down at him. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Georgianne noticed the viscount’s appreciative smile. She raised an eyebrow. It seemed Langley admired Helen. She shrugged. Perhaps not, why should the dashing viscount be interested in a young lady scarcely out of the schoolroom? On the other hand, maybe Helen, who seemed much older than her years, did interest him.

  * * * *

  Before Tarrant could help Bab, she scrambled out. The child darted away from the coach to run up the steps, and approach the open door.

  Tarrant smiled at Georgianna. “Ah, there is Barnes, my butler. I hope you will find everything to your liking. The furnishings are somewhat unusual. My godfather imported fabrics, furniture, and many curiosities from India.”

  “I am sure we will be comfortable.”

  Bab looked up at Barnes and introduced herself. “Good day, I am Miss Barbara Whitley.”

  Barnes’s white hair and around cheeks gave him the air of a kindly disposed grandfather. He smiled at Bab.

  With his bride at his side, Tarrant walked up the steps to the front door, followed by Langley and Helen.

  “Welcome to Calcutta Place, m’dear.” Tarrant faced Barnes. “This lady is my wife.”

  The butler bowed. Although he must have been surprised by the sudden marriage, he did not reveal it.

  “Mrs. Tarrant’s youngest sister has introduced herself.” Tarrant indicated Bab. “This lady is Miss Whitley, my wife’s younger sister. Have bedrooms prepared for them.”

  Bab ran ahead and then stood still in the hall. Her red curls made a splash of colour against high white walls divided by many alcoves. In each one there stood marble carvings of the Buddha and fanciful ones of Indian gods and goddesses.

  Bab ran back to them. “I wonder if I will like it here.”

  Tarrant patted her head. “Why should you not like it?”

  “It is not snug.” She explained as she handed her pelisse to a footman.

  Tarrant cupped Georgianne’s elbow with a gentle hand. “Come to the small withdrawing room. Barnes, you may serve wine.”

  “Bab is not allowed to drink wine,” Georgianne interjected.

  “Lemonade, Barnes.” Tarrant looked at Bab. “I believe the nursery is snug.”

  The child wrinkled her nose. “I know what nurseries are like: bread and butter, no preserves or jellies, and lots of horrid boiled meat.”

  “You shall have preserves, jellies, cake, and even iced cream,” Tarrant promised, before she could make any further complaint.

  Helen chuckled. “What a vivid imagination you have, Bab. You were never kept on short commons at home, and as children we ate with Mamma when she did not have company.”

  Bab slipped her hand into the major’s free hand. “I might like living here.”

  He looked at her with obvious amusement. “I am glad.”

  Tarrant ushered them past a pair of waist-high elephants—carved in dark wood—into the small withdrawing room. It was furnished with jewel bright colours and hung with paintings on silk which featured scenes of Indian court life.

  “Lovely.” Bab sighed.

  “I am glad you approve of my house,” Tarrant replied. He repressed his laughter. When he had set out for London from his father’s house—with the intention of calling on Sarah on his way—he could not have imagined this situation. While they waited for wine and lemonade to be served, for bedchambers to be readied, and a meal prepared, he hoped Georgianne felt at ease.

  “Dinner is served,” Barnes announced. “But Cook apologises. She says that with advance notice she would have prepared something more suitable.”

  * * * *

  Although Georgianne ate little, she noticed both her bridegroom and Langley eating heartily. “Barnes,” Tarrant said, “please tell Cook she is a treasure. Accustomed to meals prepared round campfires, his lordship and I agree this is a feast fit for the gods.”

  “I will tell her, Major. By the way, sir, if I may be so bold, when will the ladies’ baggage arrive?”

  Baggage? Tomorrow, she must send to Whitley Manor for it.

  Tarrant turned to face her. “Er, it will arrive soon, Barnes. In the meantime, I hope my housekeeper can provide whatever is necessary.”

  Well before the time for the tea tray to be brought in, Bab began to yawn. Georgianne and Helen took her to the bedchamber the younger sisters would share.

  Tears rolled down Bab’s cheeks.

  “What’s wrong, dearest, do you not like this beautiful room?” Georgianne asked, looking at the rose-pink, heavy silk curtains drawn across the windows, the fire burning a cheerful welcome in the grate, and flames reflected in the gleaming brass fender and fire irons.

  Bab sniffed again. “I want to go home.”

  “I wish you could, but at the moment you cannot,” Georgianne replied, her heart aching for her little sister.

  A rotund lady, followed by two maidservants, bustled into the bedchamber. “Mrs. Moorton, your housekeeper, at your service, madam.” Two maids, who carried an assortment of garments, followed Mrs. Moorton into the bedchamber. “There’s a trunk full of clothes in the attic. They belonged to my late master’s sister, God rest her soul. I’ve chosen some for you and your sisters, madam. Now, you’ve only to ask for whatever you want.”

  Georgianne sank onto a fireside chair. “You are kind. I would like some hot milk infused with honey and camomile for Miss Barbara.”

  “Is there anything else you require, madam?”

  “No thank you.”

  Mrs. Moorton bobbed a curtsy. “In case the young ladies are hungry or thirsty later on, one of the maidservants will bring a jar of biscuits and a jug of lemonade.”

  At the mention of biscuits, Bab grinned. She allowed Georgianne to help her undress, pop a large nightshift over her head, and then help her into bed after she said her prayers.

  Supervised by Mrs. Moorton, maids brought a blue and white jar of ginger biscuits, a pitcher of lemonade, and a jug of hot milk.

  Bab burst into tears. “I want to say goodnight to Cousin Tarrant.”

  Astonished because Bab rarely cried, Georgianne sat on the edge of the bed and held her sister’s hand. “You have already bidden him goodnight.”

  Bab’s tears increased. Georgianne turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Moorton, please be good enough to summon Major Tarrant.”

  “Very well, madam.”

  Helen’s green eyes flashed. She opened her mouth
to speak.

  Georgianne waved a hand at her. “No, Helen, please do not scold Bab and tell her she is spoiled. She is merely overwrought and overtired.” She hugged Helen, holding her close. “So much has happened. I have not even had a chance to ask you if you are content to live with us.”

  “Oh, yes, it is a relief to escape from poor Mamma.” Helen withdrew from her arms. “I daresay the three of us will do well enough.” She embraced Georgianne. “Although I feel guilty because I suspect you married as much for my sake and Bab’s, as for your own. I hope you will be happy.”

  How sharp-witted her sister was. Did Helen know she promised their late father to look after her and Bab? Did he mention it to Helen before he died? Georgianne caught her lower lip between her teeth. Despite Mamma’s shocking behaviour, guilt consumed her. How would Mamma fare without any of her daughters? She sighed and hoped her grandparents would help her mother to foreswear strong drink. She prayed Grandmamma and Grandpapa would help Mamma to accept the deaths of her husband and sons.

  * * * *

  Tarrant rapped on the door before entering the bedchamber. He looked at Bab, who sat in bed swamped by her nightshift. Tears poured down her cheeks. Sobs shook her plump little body.

  His heart contracted with pity. “I am sorry to see you cry. I thought you decided this is a happy house.”

  “It is.” Bab wept. “But I want my mamma to come here. I do not want her to be locked up with crazy people in an asylum.”

  Tarrant sat on a chair by her bed. He leaned forward to clasp her chubby hand in his. “Listen to me.” His sharp tone quelled her hysterical tears. “For now, my Aunt Whitley is safe with your cousins, and you are safe with me.”

  “Dearest, why do you think Mamma is in an asylum?”

  “After the earl came, he ordered Helen to let Mamma out of her bedchamber. Cook said, ‘That wicked woman belongs in an asylum. The sooner they send her to one, the better.’”

  Tarrant took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped Bab’s tears, and then held it to her nose. “Blow.” She did so with sufficient vigour to make him recoil for a moment. “Bab, your mamma misses your papa and your brothers so much that she is miserable. Because she is unhappy, she drinks too much wine, and brandy. Do you understand?” The child nodded. “When she drinks too much she is angry. That is why she struck Georgianne. Your grandparents, with whom your mamma is going to stay, will help her while we take care of you.”

  When Bab lay back against the pillows she smiled at him.

  “She should be horsewhipped,” Tarrant said too low for Bab to hear him.

  Georgianne’s eyes widened. “Who should be horsewhipped?”

  “The cook, who fed Bab’s head such nonsense.”

  “No need to look so ferocious. You are not with the army at this moment.”

  He stared at Georgianne, shocked by her implication. His mention of a horsewhip had merely expressed his disgust. “If it could be avoided, I never gave orders for a man to be flogged. What is more, I would never whip a female.”

  Tarrant smoothed Bab’s bright curls back from her forehead. “Sleep soundly.”

  Bab yawned. When she closed her eyes, Georgianne looked up at him. “You are so kind.” She pressed her hand over her heart as though it beat too fast.

  Tarrant regarded his bride. He appreciated her fortitude as much as her beauty. “Georgianne, Helen, will you partake of tea in the parlour?”

  “Yes,” Georgianne replied.

  Helen shook her head. “No thank you, Cousin Tarrant, I am too tired.”

  He waited while Georgianne kissed her sisters goodnight, before they went to the parlour.

  * * * *

  After Georgianne looked around the room, she sat to preside over the tea tray. “Where is Langley?”

  “I expect he has gone for a stroll before he retires for the night.”

  “Oh. I like your friend. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with him.”

  A slight frown formed between Tarrant’s eyebrows. “What the deuce do you mean?”

  “Like you, he is kind. Langley told me he regards you not only as his friend but also as a brother. He even said he thinks of me like a sister. Indeed, he gave me permission to call him Adrian, however, I know better than to address him thus.”

  “Good. By the way, Langley is not only one of the nicest men I know, he is the best friend any man could ask for.”

  Georgianne smiled back at him. “Tea?”

  “Yes please.”

  She winced when she lifted the heavy silver teapot.

  “Georgianne, should I summon a doctor?”

  “No, thank you. A colonel’s daughter should be able to bear pain.”

  “I daresay, however you are unnaturally pale. Is your back very painful?”

  “Salves coupled with laudanum have numbed the worst of it.”

  She stared at her husband with the sudden knowledge that when she was younger, nothing more than his good looks and reputation had attracted her. What did she really know about him? Her papa had esteemed him. He was quixotic. Judging by the way he dealt with Bab, he was soft-hearted. Yet his dealings with Pennington proved him very much the decisive officer accustomed to being in command. Her hands shook while she passed a cup of tea to him.

  Tarrant took it from her. “Thank you. Why are you trembling?”

  “From fatigue,” she said, overwhelmed by her decision to marry him. Nevertheless, in spite of the rapid succession of events she had improved both her own, and her sisters’ situation.

  “What are you thinking of, Georgianne?”

  “Pennington. I thought he was a lamb, but he is a lion.”

  “May I suggest you do not insult so noble a beast? Swine is the name which springs into my mind.” She giggled. “That is better.” Tarrant drank all his tea.

  “Some more?”

  “No thank you.” He put his empty cup next to the tray on a low table placed before Georgianne.

  Her eyebrows almost met across her forehead. How often did Mamma tell her not to frown for fear of wrinkles? She lowered her eyebrows. “Do you think there will be repercussions from Pennington?”

  Her husband rose from his chair and sat beside her on the sofa. He held her hand. As soon as he touched her, something strange, yet not unpleasant, stirred deep within her.

  “Georgianne, I do not want to frighten you. On the other hand, I am not going to soothe you with a falsehood. In my opinion, Pennington is an arrogant man. He believes his birth entitles him to whatever he wants. I think he is touched in his attic.” Tarrant raised her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss onto the back of it before looking deep into her eyes. It seemed as if his lips almost burned her skin. A thrill ran through Georgianne. Her cheeks warmed.

  “Georgianne, do not be frightened. Not only will I protect you, I shall engage a companion to guide you through your first London season. I shall also employ some stout footmen to guard you.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I am not frightened. I can shoot as straight as any man. Also, thanks to my brothers, I even know a little about the art of fencing.”

  The major’s eyes widened. “How many more surprises do you have for me?”

  She laughed. “Do you disapprove? Papa did not. In fact, he taught me to shoot.”

  He toyed with her fingers for a moment. Her stomach contracted. She wanted him to kiss her. What was he doing to her? Repulsed when the drippy-nosed curate held her hand, she had snatched it away. She could not imagine snatching it away from Tarrant.

  “If your papa approved of you handling a firearm, who am I, a mere husband, to disapprove?” He drew breath sharply. “Georgianne, you must never venture out on your own. Even when you are accompanied, please leave a message to tell me where you are going, and at what time you expect to return.”

  “I am sorry to be such an inconvenience to you,” Georgianne said with the hope he would deny it.

  He released her hand, and then stood. “It cannot be helped.”

&
nbsp; Tarrant had disappointed her. Surely a bride should be entitled to a hint of romance even if she made a marriage of convenience. After all, her tall broad-shouldered bridegroom looked sufficiently handsome to be Prince Charming. She gathered her wits. “Will we stay in the country for the fox hunting?”

  “No, we shall go to London where we will remain. You may look to your wardrobe before the season begins. I would also like you to help me put my late godfather’s London house to rights. Besides, I must sell out, and consult with my attorney to discuss your settlements and jointure.”

  “I have so little,” she said, conscious of the blush stealing across her cheeks.

  “It doesn’t signify. I have more than enough for both of us. I will arrange for your pin money, and make sure you will be provided for if—”

  Georgianne twisted around to put a hand over his mouth. “Do not say it,” she begged, superstitious enough to believe a soldier’s mention of his death might cause it.

  “Georgianne, do not agitate yourself.”

  Had she annoyed him? Was he superstitious?

  Tarrant ended a brief silence. “It is an excellent idea to send my Aunt Whitley to your grandparents.”

  “I am glad you agree. Grandpapa is the right person to deal with her. I think if he knew about the depths of despondency she fell into after Papa’s death, he would have helped. I should have written to him.” Embarrassed, she turned her face away from him.

  “My dear, may I suggest you retire for the night? You must be exhausted. Do not fret, it is natural for you to be upset about Aunt Whitley.”

  “I am not upset, a least not much, however I realise I should not have married you.”