Proud Mary

by Lucinda Brant

  “And Mary? Will you take your leave of her?”

  “That would be unwise. But I am not a complete coward. I have written her a letter.” He took a folded parchment from a pocket of his frock coat and placed it on the sidetable. “I could’ve had it delivered but I had to see you for myself, ma chère tante bien aimée; to be satisfied you are well and happy, and content.”

  Antonia smiled down at her infant, who was starting to fuss. “As you see, I have not been this happy or this content in a very long time.”

  Michelle appeared in the doorway then, and behind her was one of the nurserymaids. Seeing a stranger sitting on the edge of the Duchess’s bed, both women bustled forward in alarm. But when Evelyn hopped off the bed and made them a sweeping bow before putting a finger to his lips for them to remain mute, they brought themselves up short and waited. And as the baby continued to fuss, and the Duchess gently rocked and cooed over her daughter, they stood in frozen dread of the stranger’s motives.

  And then the stranger, still with his finger to his lips, and his blue eyes wide and unblinking, tiptoed up to them, then passed them, the two women turning to watch him go, mesmerized. And as they followed him with their eyes, he twirled about, grabbed an edge of the tapestry portière, and with a wink and smile, jerked the curtain across the doorway in their faces.

  The stranger disappeared as he had arrived, with not a word spoken or a sound made, much in the manner of an apparition.

  Both women let out a sigh of relief when he was gone, the nurserymaid daring to take a peek behind the curtain to make sure the stranger had indeed left. She then whispered loudly to Michelle that Mme la Duchesse had been visited by a ghost. To which Michelle, who was trembling inside and had had the same thought, told the girl in an audible hiss that she was being ridiculous and to get on with her tasks.

  At that, Antonia looked up and found only Michelle and the nurserymaid were with her, leaving her to wonder if indeed she had dreamed the entire conversation with her nephew. The letter on the bedside table addressed to the Lady Mary Cavendish was forgotten in the fuss that comes with attending to the demands of a newborn, until many hours later.

  THIRTY-THREE

  TWO DAYS AFTER Christmas Day, on a cold and silent winter’s morning, the servants, masters, children, favored guests, and honored tenants of both households, Treat and Crecy Hall, were up and making ready for the christening and celebrations to mark the birth of an heir to a Scottish dukedom—Elspeth Henrietta Jane Strang Leven: Elspeth, the Scottish form of Elizabeth, after the fourth Duchess of Roxton; Henrietta for Henry, the fourth Duke, both Jonathon and Antonia’s ancestors in common; and Jane for Antonia’s mother, to be formally known by the courtesy title of the Marchioness of Leven, and by her doting parents, half-brothers, and close family simply as Elsie.

  The christening was taking place in the Roxon family chapel, followed by a celebratory dinner hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Kinross at Crecy Hall. And after dinner there would be dancing. Teddy had asked that she be permitted to perform the minuet in honor of her baby cousin. How could Antonia and Jonathon refuse her, particularly when this minuet would be danced with her Uncle Bryce, who she assured them was the best dancer in the whole of England, if not the world.

  Teddy was even prepared to dress for the occasion and suffered to be put into stays and her best winter gown of green velvet, with white clocked stockings and velvet embroidered shoes that had heels and paste diamond buckles. Her waist-length red hair was brushed until it shone and was then braided and tied up with matching green silk ribbons. She then promised her mother she would remain uncrumpled so that when the time came for Christopher to lead her out to the dance floor, he would be dancing with her as a young lady.

  It was as a young lady she descended the stairs with her mother to enter the waiting carriage to take them across the bridge to Treat. Christopher and Kate were already awaiting them in the hall. Seeing Mary and Teddy on the first landing, Christopher led his mother over to greet them, he noticing that Mary wore a velvet gown of the same lavender hue as she had worn at Brycecomb Hall the day of the Duchess of Kinross’s visit. The color complemented Mary’s eyes and the fiery red of her hair. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, but it was to Teddy he directed his admiration and delight, for he could see the girl had gone to a great deal of trouble to look her best. He bowed to her and she grinned and bobbed a curtsy in reply, which had her mother smiling. Kate, too, offered Teddy her compliments and in a deft move that did not go unnoticed by the couple, she took Teddy’s hand and walked away with her to the fireplace, all the while asking questions about her new puppy Nera, and when would she be permitted to take her home; was she weaned yet?

  And so Christopher and Mary were able to have a few minutes together before the Duke and Duchess with their infant daughter, Gabrielle de Crespigny, Michelle, and Nurse finally came downstairs and joined them to set off for the chapel.

  It was the first chance the couple had to be alone in a sennight, if by alone they ignored Kate and Teddy by the fireplace and the clutch of servants lined up by the entrance doors, ready and waiting to help shrug them into fur-lined cloaks, gloves, muffs, and hats. They had seen little of each other since Elsie’s birth, not even at meal times, because Mary spent her time in the Duchess’s apartment. The few hours she had to herself she shared with Teddy, or with family from the big house come across to visit.

  Christopher, too, was rarely alone. His time was taken up at the big house with Kate, who was invited by the Duchess to reacquaint herself with the house. He would leave her chatting with the old Duke of Roxton’s former valet and the present Duke’s godfather, Martin Ellicott. The old man was only too happy to sit with Kate over tea and cake and talk over the glory days of Monseigneur, the lives of mutual acquaintances, and most importantly to trade anecdotes about M’sieur le Duc d’Roxton and his many scathing aphorisms, which had them both chuckling and shaking their heads.

  And while Kate was kept entertained by the spritely old gentleman, who had the cadence and mannerisms of an ancient aristocrat, Christopher joined the Duke for a ride about the parklands, played at billiards with him and spent several hours shut up in his library. Here, surrounded by thousands of leather-bound volumes, seated in comfortable chairs by one of two fireplaces, they discussed the surprising unmasking of Philip Audley as a traitor, both in accord that if the secretary was indeed guilty of treason, it was for purely pecuniary gain; the man did not have an idealistic bone in his body. An inner voice warned Christopher that it would be imprudent to mention Evelyn Ffolkes’s involvement in Shrewsbury’s spy network, or that the man had returned from the dead; that revelation he would leave to others. But he was keen to press upon the Duke the sincerity of his wish to marry the Lady Mary. Her future and that of her daughter, marriage settlements, Christopher’s financial situation, and the future of Abbeywood Farm were all discussed, and such was the accord between them that they were left with the feeling they had known each other for years, not days.

  Christopher had the Duke’s blessing to the match, though Roxton felt duty-bound to warn him that such an unequal marriage would not suit the sticklers of Polite Society, who would forever shun one of their own marrying beneath her. But, and this was more important to him than anything else, he wanted Mary to be happy, and if her happiness was dependent on marrying Christopher, then so be it. The couple would always be welcome at Treat. And then the Duke gave him the startling news that the Archbishop had been applied to for a Special Marriage License.

  Roxton suggested the marriage take place as soon after the christening as could be arranged. All the family were gathered, so why delay? Not even confirmation of the death of Mary’s father, the Earl of Strathsay, was reason enough for a postponement until a suitable period of mourning had elapsed. As far as the Duke was concerned, and he admitted to be a stickler for protocol, the Earl had forfeited an appropriate period of mourning, given he had abandoned his wife and children, and there was the fac
t that he had died almost six months ago now. Dair, Mary’s brother and earl presumptive, would agree. And with good fortune and good winds, Major Lord Fitzstuart would be back in England in time to give his blessing and to attend the ceremony.

  Thus Christopher came away from the library in a buoyant mood, knowing he had the Duke’s blessing to his marriage with Mary, and the ceremony was practically arranged. All that was required was for the prospective bride to agree to sharing her future with him. It was this future that was uppermost in his mind as he and Mary stood by the base of the hall stairs and faced one another. And while his head reminded him that she had told him on numerous occasions in that week spent in the cottage that she loved him, and not only while they were a tangle of naked limbs amongst the bedcovers, and that he was confident she would say yes, his heart, which was beating inordinately fast and hard at that very moment, still wanted to hear her say it, here, now, out loud, that yes, she would be his wife.

  Yet such was their nervous expectation that neither spoke, waiting for the other to do so first. Finally, Mary turned her back on the room and moved closer. She tilted her chin up and said with a tremulous smile, a gloved hand lightly to the front of his embroidered wool waistcoat,

  “I hardly know where to begin… I have so much I want and need to tell you… And I will tell you now because I’ve kept you waiting my response to your proposal for far too long already, though events—the early arrival of baby Elsie—did conspire against me. You have been so patient and—”

  “Mary, I have waited eight years to finally arrive here—at this moment—with you, that a few more days, or even weeks, are of little importance. What is important and of the greatest interest is your response. And I will admit there is little else I think about—”

  “But surely you know what it is!?”

  “I can surmise and I can wish, but you must tell me for me to know.” He smiled when she looked confused, and leaned in to say gently, “Yes, I am being pedantic, but for good reason. You did tell your mother you were in expectation of an offer of marriage from an earl—”

  “Oh that! I shouldn’t have allowed foolish misplaced pride to get the better of me and made such an announcement,” she interrupted with a pout and a guilty blush. “But my mother has a way of getting under my skin, like a pebble in my shoe. One walks on, trying to ignore the irritation, but then it becomes too annoying to bear and I just have to rip off my shoe and shake it to get rid of it. Or in the case of my mother, to blurt out a response I hope will at least give her pause.” She sighed. “It rarely works…”

  “Do not be so hard on yourself. I suspect she has that effect on most people. I’m ashamed to admit that I used the same tactic on her myself and made public a topic that is not discussed openly in polite circles, and should only ever be mentioned upon two occasions: When discussing marriage settlements, and at the reading of a will. I had the ill manners to announce my annual income. That was a vulgar display, and my only excuse is that it was also an attempt to give your mother pause as to her prejudices about the gentry. We do not mix in the first circles, but there are many of us with incomes that match and often exceed those of noblemen.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that I had no idea as to your wealth, nor have I ever wondered?”

  Christopher grinned. “No. How could you? Your first visit over the ridge into my little corner of the world was the picnic at my cloth mill. Though Brycecomb Hall must’ve given you an indication that I was a man of some means.”

  “It did,” she replied truthfully. “But my first thought upon seeing your lovely house was not a vulgar one. I was puzzled as to why a man with your wealth, who has manufacturing concerns as well as an estate—with all the necessary time and energy that is required for such enterprises—would agree to take on the stewardship of Abbeywood Farm. Why do you spend two days out of every fortnight away from your own interests, your own home—and your mother?”

  “Surely you know why? I agreed to be steward, not because Sir Gerald asked it of me—though that put me under an obligation and I was sincere in wanting Jack to have an estate worth inheriting—but so I could be near you.”

  “Oh, you darling man!”

  “It gave me a legitimate excuse to be at Abbeywood. It mattered not to me if I spent them locked away with Mr. Deed, tearing at my curls over the deplorable state of the account books, or dealing with a household overrun with unnecessary ill-tempered and resentful servants. What did was that you were there somewhere in the house, and just knowing that was enough. I was there, and so were you, and I dared to dream that one day we would live under the same roof, but in a different way, in the only way that mattered to me, as husband and wife.”

  Mary was so overcome she looked away, a shaking gloved hand to her mouth, and swallowed down a sob. She did not know whether she wanted to cry or laugh or do both, she was filled with such joy. It was the same sort of extraordinary happiness she had felt at the cottage. But joy such as this did not stem from an occasion or a place, or even the wondrous experience of making love with this man, but came from deep within her because she loved him to her core, and most importantly for her, she knew his love for her was just as deep and abiding. She had never experienced anything like it, and she wanted to hold onto it for dear life; it was the most precious thing in the world to her. She had to tell him, to let him know, but she was so overcome by such profound emotion that she did not know how to begin or where to start.

  Christopher saw her distress in her inability to articulate herself and purposely grounded her with the statement,

  “I know about your cousin’s impending offer of marriage.”

  This brought Mary out of her breathless awe to look up at him wonderingly. “You do?”

  “Apart from the fact I would have to possess less intelligence than a chicken not to realize the earl you spoke of to your mother was your cousin, there is the small detail that he told me.”

  “Evelyn told you? Why did he do that?”

  “Only he can answer with any certainty, but if I were to hazard a guess I would offer a two-fold reason. He has a competitive streak, and he can be mischievous for its own sake. Yet I suspect him of the best of intentions. But I don’t care that he means to make you an offer. I only care about your answer—to him, and to me.”

  “He sent me a letter, and I have written him a reply. I think he always knew what my answer would be. Despite his self-absorbed distracted temperament, he is a keen observer of human nature.” She smiled up at him. “He would have married me, too. Had his intuition failed him upon this occasion. But it didn’t, did it? I love you with all my heart and—”

  “—I love you with all my heart.” He caught up her gloved hand and after pressing it to his chest, kissed it, saying in a rush, “God knows I want you to say yes, you will marry me, but I would be failing in my duty if I did not remind you that you will be marrying a man with a tainted pedigree, who is so far removed from the beau monde that there will be places you will no longer be welcome, events you can no longer attend, and people who will no longer speak to you. I gave my word to the Duke that I would remind you what he told me—that in marrying me, a farmer of bastard birth, you retain your title but you forfeit your social status amongst your peers. And that in marrying you, the daughter of an earl, I will forevermore be branded as a toady who has dared to reach too high up into their world for a wife. In so doing, I’ve pulled you down with me into mine—not unlike Persephone’s abduction by Hades. But even she was permitted to return from the underworld for part of the year; you will not be given such latitude. There is no climbing back up to join them, Mary.”

  “And my family? What did Roxton say about them? Will he turn his back on us? Will they?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Not at all. He and they will support you—us.” He smiled shyly and blushed. “It seems the Duchess has taken a liking to having a brother, regardless our connection is through base means. But despite the support of Their Graces and the Du
ke’s power and influence over his peers, we cannot expect him to do anything that would compromise his position and authority.”

  “I do not expect it. I welcome his support because my family do mean the world to me, and I would be very sad to give them up. But I would—I would give them up, to spend my life with you.”

  Christopher pressed her hand. “My darling, I would never ask or expect you to make such a sacrifice—ever.”

  “I know you would not. But you forget I have already done so before, and not because I wanted to. Living in exile with Sir Gerald was tedious, but not because of where I was living but because of whom I was living it with. Dare I say, since being widowed, I came to the realization that social events of the season, cards of invitation, and the latest gossip and London hairstyle are rather trivial ways to fill my days. You know how much I enjoy the day-to-day running of a household and its myriad of tasks, and how much I love living in our corner of England. I could think of no better way to live a fulfilled life than to be of help to you in realizing your dreams for your cloth mills and your estate. You are creating something worthwhile and wonderful for the people of the vale, and I am so very proud of you. Life in the Cotswolds suits me—suits us—very well indeed, and I cannot wait to return.”

  “As my wife?”

  Mary leaned into him, went on tiptoe and kissed him. “As your wife.”

  “Then your answer is yes,” he asked rhetorically, hands going about her waist and drawing her against him, “you will marry me.”

  “We must not forget those whose blessings are important to our future happiness.”

  “If you’re referring to Kate—my mother—the truth is she had almost despaired of me ever asking you. She’ll be over the moon with happiness. As for Teddy…” Christopher frowned. “I’ve wondered how she would feel about having me for a stepfather. It is one thing to be her Uncle Bryce, but in marrying her mother I become something else entirely.”