Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “Absolutely not,” he said firmly.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. Like all other virtuous women, you’ll have to marry before you can find out what bed sport is like. At least with me. I am not willing to debauch my future wife, Milla.”

  “But,” she frowned, “I understood that gentlemen are always willing and ready?”

  “Perhaps with loose women, but not with the ladies we plan to marry. I long to make love to you, more than I can express in words, but only after we are wed.”

  She frowned in obvious discontent. “Is this to establish that you would hold the reins if we wed, Barnaby?”

  He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. The wrong one at this critical moment could be fatal to his hopes. “No, I expect we shall disagree and even fight on occasion, and I look forward to that part of marriage. You will not find me either a tyrant, or a henpecked husband. My objection is moral in nature.”

  She bit her rosy lips. In vexation, pique? The sight nearly made him change his mind. “But, Barnaby, what can be immoral about two people who have no other commitments, and think to marry, trying out the pleasures to be had together? I did not take you for a monk. Surely you have done this before, with women you never intended to wed? Or have you sworn celibacy outside of marriage?”

  Barnaby put aside the oars, focusing only on Milla. “It does not matter what I may nor may not have done in the past.” He would not allow himself to be drawn into justifying his amorous experiences. He took a deep breath. “The only thing that matters is how things proceed between us, Milla. I honour and respect you too much to want you as my mistress, even for a short period.”

  She looked unconvinced.

  “You are not sufficiently experienced to consider this, Milla, but to know that you were evaluating my performance, measuring the degree of pleasure I can bring you, would chill and vitiate the whole occasion.” He could picture it all too easily. Of course he could bring her pleasure, but not on such humiliating, conditional terms. If she did not love him enough to risk marriage anyway, it might be better to know it now. “It is all or nothing, Milla – matrimony, or celibacy, at least where we two are concerned.”

  There was a faint crease in her smooth brow, and her eyes were sombre. “I suppose my suggestion has shocked you.”

  Barnaby shook his head. “No, I do see the logic, but marriage is not like trying out a horse you think of buying. If you don’t feel enough respect and affection to take on a little risk, you are not ready for matrimony.”

  His conviction that he was doing the right thing – strategically, as well as morally – grew as he spoke. He wanted their first time to be perfect, not tainted by anxiety or guilt, or having to sneak and hide what they were doing.

  Milla turned her head towards the shore. “I believe the small repast I ordered should be ready. Will you row us to the shore, please?”

  He took up the oars, and set to with greater energy than before, working off a small part of his roaring frustration. At least she had not said no, had indicated that she did want to marry him in principle. He would let her think matters over.

  “What about money?” she asked as they were nearly ashore.

  “What about it?”

  “You believe me to possess the fortune I inherited from Fenton. What if I no longer had it, or if it was out of your reach?”

  That she was still negotiating was a good sign. He relaxed infinitesimally. “I would be glad, actually.” He shifted his grip on the oars. “Consider the source of your fortune, a man who insulted my sister, nearly killed my brother-in-law, and was killed in turn by my own brother. It would not seem right that the Winthrop family benefit from his inheritance in any way.”

  “Don’t worry, your family is not likely to see much of his money.” Milla’s lips formed an ironic smile. “It is most unusual to hear such sentiments. In my experience, rich people could not care less about the origins of their wealth, nor do I feel any such qualms myself.”

  Barnaby grimaced. “Do we have to talk about money at all? I tell you, it is immaterial. I did not waste those years we were apart, and my private fortune has increased greatly. Even if you wasted every last pound you inherited, I should be able to support you in style.”

  She did not reply to that, but her expression was thoughtful. As he tied up the boat she put her hand on his arm. He stopped dead, looking down into her deep blue eyes.

  “Can I at least have a kiss now?” she whispered.

  He firmly clasped her around her waist and obliged, his heart lightening as she willingly opened her mouth to his passionate exploration. Was she really so innocent she did not realise that this was all part of love-making, that if she enjoyed his kissing and embraces, she would also like the rest?

  All would be well. He just needed a little more patience, till his hard-headed love came to accept that they were made for each other.

  Chapter 18

  “Don’t you dare say, I told you so.” Milla was walking along a gravel path of the Rose Garden’s remoter areas with large, agitated steps, uncaring if Veronique had to hurry to keep up with her. “It is too exasperating.” Her blue silk parasol moved above her in quick jerks, at dire risk of catching on a thorny branch.

  “No need for me to say it,” Veronique retorted. “You already acknowledged as much. Men are fairly simple creatures. The lady they marry must be pure in their eyes. Mr. Winthrop respects you, wants to marry you in all honour. Most people would judge your own attitude unreasonable, not to say immoral.”

  Milla stopped walking, and stared at her companion in challenge. “Is it?”

  Veronique shrugged. “I would not say so, but then I am unconventional myself. Nothing much shocks me. Your young man is perfectly suited to you, handsome, of good birth, and healthy. You should snap him up, and be done with it. Stratagems and games are fine when dealing with strangers and opponents. Where the heart is involved, they only cause needless pain and complications.”

  “Leave my heart out of it,” Milla snapped, stung at the imputation. “It is a foolish, pitiful organ. I do not listen to it, if I can help it.” To her annoyance, the statement sounded more like bravado than conviction.

  Veronique regarded a pale pink rose, just emerging from the bud, and delicately inhaled its perfume. “Perhaps you can stifle your feelings, unlike most others, but it is not wise. The head and heart need to pull together, like two horses in a well-matched team. To deny one of them will only lead to trouble, if not now, then later.”

  Abandoning the rose, Milla’s friend looked at her with almost motherly concern. Milla averted her face.

  A group of ladies and gentlemen passed them, exchanged polite greetings. At last they were private again, and turned into a path shaded by yellow-bloomed trellises. At the far end, a big carved marble face with a stern expression spat water into a heavy stone basin.

  “Had I listened to my heart, I would have stayed in London for another week or two, and accepted Barnaby Winthrop’s proposal. By now, I might be tired of marriage, of him, of England.” The statement sounded childishly truculent to her own ears.

  “If you truly think so, do not marry him, Milla. He deserves better, and so do you.”

  “I offered him something most men would jump at – that some would kill for – and he had the gall to reject me.” Was it unreasonable to feel angry, offended? “He wants me, but only on his terms. He might deny it now, but he wants to be master in our family, our house.” The parasol jerked again.

  Veronique pursed her lips. “So does every man worth his salt. Louis is not a lapdog to do my bidding, either. A man who will not bore you must have a will as strong as yours. For women like us it is far better to fight, than to have one side meekly give in.”

  “Barnaby would like me to be his obedient wife, I suppose.” She watched a bee circling the rosebushes, looking for the perfect bloom to harvest.

  “If he wanted that, Milla, he would never have considered mar
riage to you in the first place. It takes a courageous or even foolhardy man to offer for you, once he has your measure. And that he is still interested, after you left him in the lurch once before, shows he has a generous, forgiving temperament. I only wonder, how well does he know you? Does he harbour illusions about your character?”

  “No, he is not such a fool as that,” Milla conceded. “Barnaby knows that I am not easily led, that I expect to have a say in what we do, where we live, who we spend time with.” Or did he? He had implied that when he was on the point of offering for her two years earlier, he had expected her to meekly settle down into his routine, live at his estate and in London, go where he went, on his schedule. She scowled.

  “Well, then. That already puts you ahead. Many marriages begin with one or both partners completely deluded as to their spouse’s character. I gather you still mean to marry the young man?”

  “Yes, of course. But on my terms. He must not think he can drag me around with him like some chattel.”

  “I foresee little danger of that. But what will he say, when he discovers how you have disposed of your fortune?”

  “He claims he is not interested in my money, so it really ought to make no difference.”

  “Tell him everything,” Veronique recommended, “and the sooner the better. Cards on the table are best in matters of the heart. Sometimes the game is lost and you have to pick up the pieces, but better to know at once.”

  They had arrived at the fountain. Milla felt tiny, invisible droplets on her face when she approached the rim and peered at the small coins glittering at the bottom of the mossy basin. “You may know men in general, but you don’t know Barnaby Winthrop, his stiff-necked family. The father is an arrogant patriarch, and the older brother, Abigail’s husband, bids fair to follow in his footsteps.”

  “That is normal in noble families. Law and custom give all the power to the head of the family. Some people would wonder why you are even considering a younger son.”

  “Once he is my husband, I don’t want Barnaby to be considered a younger son,” Milla declared. “He is a gentleman of means. If his father or his brother Jeremy should disagree with my opinions or wishes, he should stand by me, rather than behave as an obedient younger brother.”

  “You may bring him to that point eventually, if your marriage is successful. But don’t expect too much in the beginning. The habits of a lifetime, the obedience to the head of the family, are deeply ingrained. You must wean him off little by little.”

  “Jeremy is not a bad sort,” Milla conceded. “I don’t want to interfere with their friendship, only to ensure that Barnaby gets his due. I consider him the more intelligent.”

  “There is a third brother too, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, Theodore Winthrop, the youngest except for Susan. I have never met him. When I stayed in London that time he was in Heidelberg, and did not return in time for Abigail’s wedding. He is supposed to be a scholar.”

  “Don’t worry about your young man’s family; first, you have to attach Barnaby firmly, and negotiate the details of your surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Milla’s brows contracted. “You cannot be serious.”

  Veronique shook her head at Milla. “I see no alternative, if he is firm in his stance, and you want to marry him. It is not so very terrible, Milla, to cede a position that you should never have taken in the first place.”

  They emerged from the Rose Garden into a meadow under tall old trees. Milla closed her parasol and swiped at the top of the tallest grasses. “It is not what I can like.” Yet there was no help for it. She was not willing to let Barnaby depart from Regensbad without a firm commitment.

  But it was not her heart which commanded it; no, certainly not. It was simply time to arrange her life differently, to acquire a permanent friend, escort, and companion, who would stay securely by her side. That Barnaby was the only man she could envisage in that role gave him an uncomfortable degree of power – although he had claimed he could not imagine any other woman sharing his life, either. If true, she too had some measure of power over him.

  Still, having to give in was a bitter pill to swallow. Would marriage bring such moments frequently? Perhaps she ought to re-think the whole issue.

  “Do you want him, or not?” Veronique asked. “It’s as simple as that. You can still have other battles over anything and everything, later, but at this moment you need to cut to the chase.”

  Milla grimaced. Sometimes a voice of reason could be highly annoying.

  Chapter 19

  That evening, Barnaby attended a dinner party given by the Countess von Schliessenburg, who regularly extended her hospitality to the more notable patients of the spa. There were about thirty guests present that night, including Milla and her companion, who had arrived earlier and were surrounded by gentlemen of all ages. Barnaby was pleased to see that few of them were under fifty. He did not think her taste ran to elderly Germans, even though she was looking with unusual attention at the retired General to whom she was just then talking. Milla was perfectly at home in this international crowd, used to the role of a travelling socialite. She had come a long way since those penurious days when she had fished for subsistence on the Cornwall shores.

  There was no chance to talk to her privately, and no need either, since they had agreed on another riding excursion the next morning. She would show him a forest spring with mystical powers, about an hour from the spa. But all he could think of was their skirmish over the terms of their relationship. Would they come to an agreement, and finally announce their engagement? When she sent him a warm smile from the other table, his hopes rose. Milla would not smile in that way, like a wordless promise, if she were still reluctant to accept him.

  The torment of hope and doubt made it almost impossible for Barnaby to concentrate on the conversation with the white-haired lady at his side. They were conversing in French, since she was Italian and neither of them knew much German. Unfortunately, the lady was also hard of hearing on the left side, closest to him. Only the manners his mother had drummed into him from early childhood made him persevere.

  Major Kepler, curse him, was also present, and seated at the same table as Milla, though at least there were several others between. Barnaby no longer worried over the Prussian’s pretensions. If Milla were at all interested in Kepler she would have said so openly. Still, he could not like the fellow, or the complacent, almost smug expression with which the Major glanced at him once or twice, as though he knew something that Barnaby didn’t. Why had Milla not sent the officer about his business yet? Earlier, Kepler had been positively rude to Madame Rallien. Judging from her rigid expression, that lady detested him in turn. At least, in this instance, the former spy showed excellent taste. And in matters of fashion, too, he had to admit. While her dark green gown was appropriate for a matron or widow, and comparatively simple in cut and decoration, it vied with Milla’s lilac silk for being the most elegant dress in the room.

  “How do you like Regensbad so far?” the lady on his left side asked Barnaby in strongly accented but understandable French. “It is a pleasant spa, is it not?”

  “Very pleasant.” From her accent, she was German, possibly local, and he would never be so gauche as to criticise her home, or contradict a lady on a social occasion. She was perhaps in her mid- to late thirties, and had honey-coloured hair arranged in a simple bun.

  “We were not introduced earlier,” she said. “I am Mrs. Rainer. I heard your name from friends, that you are Mr. Winthrop, distantly related to Lady Fenton?”

  “That is so,” he confirmed, “though our connection is by marriage only. Her brother is married to my sister.”

  “Ah, that is not all that distant. She is very beautiful, isn’t she? My daughter and I could not agree on her age. She looks to be hardly more than twenty, but she talks and moves with the assurance of a lady my own age. She must have married very young.”

  “I believe she did, and was widowed soon after,” Barnaby said.
“But it is not my story to tell.” He was not sure how much of her history Milla confided to her acquaintances on the Continent, and would not want to be indiscreet. “As to her age, she is not quite twenty-two.”

  She sighed. “To be so young again! This Lord Fenton, was he also related to you?”

  “Certainly not.” Though perhaps, if you went back far enough on the family tree, some kind of connection could be discovered. Most of the titled old families in England were related, at least by marriage.

  “Would you say that Lady Fenton deliberately courts danger?” Mrs. Rainer asked pensively, studying her fork.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I should hope not, dear lady. Do you have any reason to think so? She is intrepid on horseback, or when sailing, I believe, but I don’t suppose that is what you meant?”

  “Intrepid,” she said, “yes, I think that describes her well. I hope she takes care, especially over the next few days.”

  Mystified, he tried to probe what she could mean, but Mrs. Rainer resolutely changed the subject and would not be drawn. Presently, Barnaby had to attend to his other neighbour again, and put Mrs. Rainer’s cryptic warning out of his mind.

  The stilted conversation with the Italian lady went on for a while longer, but eventually they gave up by unspoken, mutual accord and focused on the food, which was quite palatable in a foreign way. Barnaby took small first helpings, and only added more to his plate once he had sampled the various dishes. The wine was a pleasant light Moselle, followed by a dark, full-bodied burgundy.

  After the meal, they were regaled with a short succession of musical performances. Kepler, curse him, had garnered the chair at Milla’s right side, and sat there with a blatantly possessive air, though Milla only exchanged a few words with him before the music began. Barnaby could not wait for the morning, for the moment when at last she gave him the right to claim her in the eyes of the world, and get rid of the officious Prussian.