A Lady Most Lovely

by Jennifer Delamere

  If he would not accept her refusal, then she would simply have to get him to rescind his offer. “Very well, Mr. Poole.”

  Her abrupt change in tactic seemed to take him momentarily by surprise. “Very well?” he repeated with a questioning lilt. “Are you accepting my proposal, then?”

  Margaret allowed herself a crisp nod of her head. “A fortunate choice of words. For it is a proposal, is it not? A business proposal. If I marry you, I gain financial security and some advantage in society. If you marry me, you gain important real estate.”

  “If you wish to discuss marriage as a profit-and-loss statement, allow me to add an item. I would also gain a wife whom I find very appealing. So far, I see only advantages.” He gave her a look filled with admiration and, more unnervingly, desire. Heat consumed her face once again. Before she met Tom Poole she could have counted on one hand the times she had truly blushed. Now that he had awakened this ability in her, her body seemed to be attempting to make up for lost time.

  “Yes, well…,” she stammered. With great effort, she regained her breath. She could not allow emotion to cloud her reason. She could not afford to lose her control. “I should point out that if I were to marry you, there would be an important caveat.”

  He blinked.

  “That means there are conditions,” she clarified.

  “I know what it means,” Tom said brusquely. “You do not have to condescend to me.” He crossed his arms and gave her a wary look. “Suppose you tell me exactly what those conditions would be.”

  “I have been running the affairs of this estate from the time I was eighteen. That was about the time that my grandfather died and my father became too fond of his liquor.”

  There, she thought. Now it is out in the open. He would know that her father was not only a wastrel but also an unrepentant drunkard. Perhaps that would be enough to scare away Tom Poole. Everyone knew alcoholism ran in families, after all. Would he want to risk it? She watched his face for his reaction. His eyebrows lifted, but he did not look at all shocked, which was why she could not resist adding, “I do hope you have not fallen prey to this vice after years of living among convicts.”

  This got a reaction out of him. He lifted his hands, and Margaret took an involuntary step back, wondering if he was going to hit her. Surely he wouldn’t? But his hands froze in midair, then rose again as Tom ran them through his hair as though that had been his intention all along. Or perhaps he was trying to calm his frustration. “You seem to be deliberately trying to goad me,” he said. “Why don’t you just save yourself the trouble and tell me your caveat.”

  Margaret let out a breath, realizing she had been foolish to provoke a man who expressed his feelings in such physical ways. “Very well, then,” she said, trying to speak with businesslike calm. “As I was saying, I have managed my own affairs for many years. I do not intend to relinquish my authority to a husband or to anyone else. If we are to be married, then I must be allowed to continue running the estate as I see fit. To guarantee this, I shall have my solicitor put it in writing.”

  This was exactly the plan she had been about to carry out with Paul. He had been willing to acquiesce, but now she knew why. He’d had no interest in the management of the estate; he’d merely been desperate to get his hands on the money he thought she had. She was sure that Tom would never agree to such a thing. It was the only tack she knew that might get him to change his mind about wanting to marry her.

  Sure enough, Tom was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I think you are unaware of simple marriage law. When a woman marries, everything she owns comes under the control of her husband.”

  “There are ways around that,” Margaret declared. “Money or lands that are set aside and remain under the wife’s power. Dower property, and such. I have very competent lawyers.”

  “You just said if I marry you I gain this land. Now you are saying I’ll have no control over any of it? Which is it?”

  “It is as I have just stated,” Margaret replied.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable. And in any case, you are in no position to dictate terms. You are already heavily in my debt.”

  “Then I shall find a way to pay off that debt—without marrying you.”

  Tom rubbed his chin with the air of a person deep in thought. Behind her, Margaret heard the pop and fizzle of wet firewood as it ignited. The rain hammered down, and the drip in the corner kept up its slow plop, plop. Tom remained silent. Margaret began to grow uncomfortable. Now that she had gotten him to reject the idea of marriage, where did that leave her? She was in the same straits as before. She would have to sell land to the railroad, or find some other way out.

  “Let me point out something about marriage,” Tom said, breaking the silence at last. “It is a sacred bond. And yes, it is a contract. But every marriage is unique. Every husband and wife must decide between themselves which arrangements are right and proper for their lives. No one else can determine these things for them.”

  “Both of them decide? But you just said that according to law and custom, the husband has all the power. Don’t you know that is a heretical statement?”

  “Is it? I got it from Geoffrey, and since he is a minister, I figure he ought to know.”

  Margaret could not believe the turn this conversation was taking. She had tried to push him away from marriage with her demands, and yet here he was still talking about it. “And what sort of ‘arrangement’ would you consider ‘right and proper’?” she asked warily.

  “You and I will take joint responsibility for the estate. As you pointed out, you have been running your own affairs for a long time. Considering the circumstances and the heavy burdens placed upon you, you have done a laudable job. But I would argue that you have not always pursued the best possible path.”

  She bristled. “How easy it is to judge another person’s mistakes.”

  “I am not your judge. But I am willing to be your partner. Two are better than one, Maggie. If you are truly the capable woman that you claim to be, you will listen to any sound and reasonable suggestions.” His mouth tilted into a hint of a smile. “Even if they happen to come from your husband. That, by the way, is how it should work in any true marriage.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Once again, it sounded too good to be true.

  He took hold of both her hands. “I do.” He gently traced her ring finger—the place where her wedding band would be, if she carried out this bizarre plan.

  Think this through logically, she told herself. Emotions cannot enter into it.

  She cleared her throat. “I am amenable to the idea of the two of us managing the estate together. However, there is more to consider than simply the financial matters.”

  This statement actually seemed to amuse him. “Is there?” he said. “I am surprised to hear you say it. And what, pray tell, might those other matters be?”

  “Well… there is our place in society to consider. We must spend the season in London, of course, and hold house parties at Moreton Hall at other times of the year, as appropriate. Doing these things properly requires a certain amount of decorum and finesse.”

  “Are you afraid I am too uncouth for these endeavors?”

  “Well, it certainly means no fisticuffs at formal gatherings, or at gatherings of any kind, for that matter. You must learn to control those behaviors, to learn proper deportment. I cannot have a savage for a husband.”

  She had been too sure of herself, gone too far. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her roughly to him. “I shoved a man at a party,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Trust me, the irritating bastard deserved far worse.”

  “Mr. Poole, your language—”

  “In fact, I believe I was behaving quite honorably. But we will leave that for now. Suffice it to say that you will have nothing to fear about my deportment.” He said the word as though it were as distasteful as she found his swearing to be. “These public trappings are all very well; however, in private I w
ant you to act as my wife.”

  She swallowed. “Of course I know there are certain things you wish of me. You are a man, after all.” She wished her voice did not sound so raspy. Frightened, almost. She took a deep breath and tried to inject more certainty, more assuredness into her voice. “I shall not shirk my duties in that regard.”

  He pulled her closer, so close that she fancied she could feel the beat of his heart. “Your duties may involve more than you think.”

  She tried to find her calm, not to allow wild fears to grow about what he meant by more. She had heard of men whose appetites ran in strange directions, requiring things of their wives that were unnatural. She’d once found a book of pornography among her father’s possessions that had made this fact quite clear to her.

  Tom placed his cheek next to hers, so close they were within a fraction of touching. “Oh, Maggie,” he whispered into her ear. “There is so much you have to learn.”

  Dear heavens, she thought wildly. He was talking about those things, those unnatural acts. Her heart began hammering wildly as she considered all the things a man could do to a woman—and that he could force a woman to do to him—things that had been described in graphic detail in her father’s book. “When I said duties, I meant only that which is normal and customary. We have a duty after all to produce children—”

  “Oh my God,” he said with genuine surprise. “You are speaking of sex, aren’t you?”

  “Of c-c-course,” she stammered. “Aren’t you?”

  He brought one hand up to stroke her cheek, a whisper-soft caress. “I have never forced myself on a woman,” he said gently. “When we come together, it will be because you want it. Because we both want it.”

  She blinked. “Then what did you mean about me acting as your wife?”

  “The Bible says that a man is to love his wife, and that a wife is to reverence her husband. I don’t know why the Lord states it that way, but I hope in time to find out. Until then, I plan simply to believe it, and live it.”

  “So my duty is to ‘worship’ you?” Margaret was now more confused than ever. This biblical talk only seemed to complicate matters. Why could they not simply keep this a straight contract between two parties, the way everyone knew marriages were supposed to be?

  He shook his head. “Not ‘worship.’ It says ‘reverence.’ That means respect. You must respect me. To my mind this means, for example, that you are not to disparage me in public, or even in private among your friends. If you take issue with anything I do or say, you must tell me so privately. I am willing to do many things for you, Maggie, but in return I expect a few things from you. Surely this is not asking too much. I will not back down on it in any case.”

  “So I am to ‘reverence’ you,” she said cautiously. “And you will ‘love’ me in return?”

  He laughed. “Yes, although I can’t help but wonder just how difficult you will make that task for me. So how about it, Maggie? Are we engaged?”

  “Yes,” she said, hardly believing she was saying it. “I suppose we are.”

  Chapter 15

  The rain had ended, leaving a steamy mist in the clearing. To Tom’s mind the mist only added to the feeling of unreality, that he had entered some strange new world. And he was being led into it by the woman now walking beside him. Her cool reticence had returned, but Tom had hope. He cherished the memory of those moments when she had returned his kisses without reservation.

  Castor was calm now that the storm had passed. “He really is beautiful,” Margaret said wistfully as she watched Tom lead him from the little makeshift stall.

  Tom’s heart was squeezed by the pinch of sadness he saw in Margaret’s eyes as she reached out to pat the stallion’s neck. He remembered how, during their ride in Hyde Park, she had described her gelding Dante with such pride and love. “We shall find you another,” Tom promised. “We will build a new stable and fill it with fine horses. Just as soon as we return from our honeymoon.”

  Her hand jerked away from the horse. “Honeymoon!”

  Tom was tempted to laugh at the way she looked at him, aghast. “Isn’t that normal for a newlywed couple?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  He motioned to the tiny cottage. “Perhaps you would like to honeymoon here? It is rather a cozy spot.”

  She made a wry face. “We’d have to fix that leak first.”

  Tom pretended to think it over. “Too much trouble,” he said. “I have a better idea. Let’s go up to Scotland. I read in the paper that the queen and Prince Albert spend a lot of time there. It must be spectacular. We’ll go in the fall, after the harvest is over. The weather will be lovely and cool, and we can ride to our heart’s content.”

  A tiny smile broke through her chilly reserve. “That would be wonderful.”

  Tom mounted the horse and reached his hand down to Margaret, just as he’d done earlier. Once more she found the stirrup with her foot and took his hand. In a moment she was on the horse, landing smoothly as though they’d been doing this for years. As he settled his arm around her waist to steady her, he thought again how right this felt. He wanted nothing more than to hold her like this always, and now that she had agreed to be his wife he would be able to do just that. He took a deep breath. It seemed to him that the air had never smelled so fresh, nor the rain-kissed leaves looked so green.

  They left the woods and crossed the open fields at a leisurely pace. Tom kept the horse at a walk to avoid the risk of it stumbling on the soft, wet ground. This also provided a wonderful excuse to make this ride last as long as possible, allowing Tom to savor the glorious feeling of Margaret’s body against his own.

  When they reached the house, the front door opened and the butler came out, followed by a maid. Margaret slipped down easily off the horse, and the maid ran to her, offering her a towel. “Oh, Miss Vaughn, we knew you must be caught out in the rain, and we were ever so worried.”

  “Shall I get someone to attend to your horse, sir?” the butler asked Tom deferentially.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Tom answered. “In fact, I would like to leave him over there.” Tom pointed to the side of the house, where the grass, although well manicured, was tall enough for a horse to graze. “Could you call for one of the servants to bring out a tub of water for him?”

  The butler looked over to Margaret, seeking confirmation for this strange request.

  “Do as Mr. Poole requests, Mitchell,” Margaret directed. “He does not want to risk putting his horse in our stable.”

  “I assure you there is no cause for concern,” said a voice behind them. “The area has been thoroughly cleaned, and none of our hands show any signs of illness.”

  Tom turned to see who had contradicted the orders of the lady of the house. He found himself looking at a tall man with receding hair and a prominent nose, whose long neck rose above two stiffly starched collar points and a neatly tied black cravat. “And you are…?” Tom asked pointedly.

  Margaret said, “Mr. Poole, this is Mr. Williams, my land steward.”

  The land steward. That would explain a lot, Tom thought. A land steward was akin to a lawyer or some other professional man. He would not be Margaret’s equal on the social scale, but neither would he have any qualms about stating his opinions.

  Williams was sizing up Tom, too. After a ride through the rain and the mud, Tom doubted he was making a good first impression. He wondered if Williams would accept Tom’s new authority at Moreton Hall. Judging from the man’s expression, Tom guessed it might take some doing. “The place ought to be quarantined for several weeks, at least,” Tom said. “Just to be certain.”

  Williams waved a dismissive hand. “That’s nonsense. The barn has been thoroughly cleaned and the danger is past.”

  “The issue is not under discussion,” Margaret said crisply. “Mr. Poole has made a request, and we will honor it.”

  Williams’s eyebrows rose a fraction, but he gave an acquiescent nod. “As you wish, Miss Vaughn.”

 
“Mitchell,” Margaret said to the butler, “while you are seeing to the water for the horse, please tell Cook there will be a guest for dinner.”

  “Right away, Miss Vaughn,” the butler said, and hurried away. Tom thought he looked relieved to be sent on these errands and escape the little battle of wills between his mistress and the land steward. Perhaps he had been caught in their cross fire before.

  Margaret turned her attention back to her land steward. “Mr. Williams, will you take a few moments to acquaint Mr. Poole with the house? I must go and change.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Williams replied. His words were polite, but the chill of irritation was impossible to miss.

  Tom watched as Margaret went up the broad stone steps and into the house. When next he saw her, she’d be once more in prim and proper clothes. He wanted to remember her as she appeared now, with her damp dress clinging to her body, her bonnet hanging from its ribbons, and stray locks of hair falling from the loosened bun at her neck. Then he realized, with even greater pleasure, that he would soon have plenty of opportunities to see her in such a casual state. A picture burst onto his mind’s eye of the two of them alone, and Tom pulling the pins from her hair and running his fingers through her long tresses…

  Williams cleared his throat to regain Tom’s attention. “Is this your first visit to Moreton Hall, Mr. Poole?”

  With an effort, Tom turned his eyes from the house. “It is.” But he did not add the happy news that this visit was just the beginning. Margaret wanted to inform the staff herself, and Tom would honor her request.

  When they reached the spot that Tom deemed adequate for his horse, he took a stake from a small pouch attached to the saddle. He plunged it into the ground, which was still soft from the rain, and secured Castor’s reins to it.

  “I see you come prepared,” Williams remarked.

  Tom nodded. “Never know when it will come in handy.”

  A young kitchen maid came from the back of the house. She was carrying a large wooden tub, struggling under its weight as water sloshed over the sides. Tom hastily crossed the lawn to meet her. “Thank you,” he said, relieving her of her burden. “You’re very kind.”