by May Burnett
“It seemed fortuitous, Grandmother, as you said only the other day you wanted us to marry and no longer live on your charity,” Emily added.
The Contessa stared at her coldly. “But why sneak off like this, without saying good-bye as any normal Christian would?”
“I did leave a letter under my pillow. In view of Sir Conrad’s fears we tried to leave discreetly, Grandmother.”
Donato dragged one of Margaret’s bags in front of the Contessa. “I would look into their luggage, to make sure they are not taking any of your possessions, Signora.”
“In my household,” Wetherby said, his voice arctic, “servants are not encouraged to insult their betters, or to interfere when their masters are talking.” His stare at the old lady was challenging and slightly derisive.
“Go away, Donato,” the Contessa said after a long moment, and waited until the fellow had slunk away, with a resentful look over his shoulder. “Still, I would like to see what is in that bag. Open it, Guiseppe.”
Emily was not surprised that her sister had taken only the newest clothes. There were also her pretty combs, a silver bracelet and earrings, and a purse with coins.
“I had no idea you had so much money.” The Contessa frowned at Margaret.
“It is my own, I assure you.”
“Yes, I would have noticed otherwise. So you were willing to leave in the middle of the night with this Englishman of whom we know nothing? What possessed you to be so foolish?”
“Mr Wetherby explained it already.” Margaret shrugged defiantly. “Now that we have had this little chat, it is time that we left, Emily and I. Mother will have to join us when she is recovered.”
The Contessa stared at her. “Are you mad? An unmarried lady cannot travel with a single man. You do not even have a maid. Go back to your room, Margaret. We can decide on your punishment when we have all slept on this.”
“There is also the question whether we should have Wetherby arrested for trespass,” Armando said with an unfriendly look at the Englishman.
“No – Grandmother, I cannot explain, but we absolutely have to leave, and now.” Margaret did not yield an inch.
The Contessa inclined her head to the side. “Wetherby, tell my niece that this is impossible. You cannot take them away without their mother. Consider your own reputation!”
What would he do? Emily watched him in trepidation. Wetherby sent her a reassuring glance before speaking in a firm voice. “I agree with Miss Bellairs. She and her sister need to depart with me as planned.”
“And so do I agree,” Emily added. “Please, Grandmother, just let us go.”
“How can I let you do this if it means you are both ruined?” The old lady sounded exasperated, and just a little weary.
“It would be a different thing, of course, if he were married to Margaret,” Guiseppe said meditatively.
There was an arrested look on the Contessa’s face. After a moment she began to smile, while Emily and Margaret exchanged looks of consternation.
“No, no, I cannot,” Margaret pleaded. “Don’t make me marry him, Grandmother. I won’t, I can’t.”
Wetherby bowed ironically. “I was not aware of having proposed to you, Miss Bellairs.”
“Take it or leave it,” the Contessa said. “You can leave with my granddaughters tonight, if you marry one of them, Mr Wetherby, and promise to take care of the other sister and mother as well. If not, we’ll call for the watch.”
A number of emotions rapidly passed over the young man’s face. Finally it showed only resignation. He turned to her. “Miss Emily, -“
Her heart went out to him. No man should be put in such a position, merely through trying to help others, selflessly. “If you are wondering how I feel about it, I would not object, and would be a loyal wife,” she said, marvelling at her forwardness. “But there really is no need to sacrifice your future like this.”
“I believe it was fate that has brought us to this point,” he said with a slight smile, “and I have learned that fate cannot be disobeyed. If you are willing to marry me, I am very much your servant, and will strive to be a good husband.”
“Are you even rich enough to maintain the three of them?” Armando asked sceptically.
“I believe so.” Wetherby did not sound sure enough for Emily’s peace of mind, but this was not the moment to quibble.
The Contessa looked at her younger son. “Guiseppe, you can perform the wedding right now?”
“Of course, Mother.”
“Then get on with it,” Armando said, throwing himself into a chair and placing the blunderbuss on the floor next to it with the air of a spectator at a particularly nonsensical farce. “This I have to see.”
“Right now?” Mrs Bellairs faltered. “But is that even ...?” She subsided at a searing glare from Margaret.
Emily had never expected to be married in a shabby black travelling cloak, to a man she had only seen a few times in her life. On the other hand, she had not expected to marry before Margaret. As she mechanically repeated the vows in Italian, she wondered if she was mad to be doing this.
The Contessa took a thin ring off her own hand, and handed it to Guiseppe. A minute later it sat securely, tightly, on Emily’s ring finger.
Without the customary mass, the wedding only took minutes.
“So, can we go now? “ Margaret asked as soon as they were done. “It cannot be good for the horses to stand all this time.”
Emily glanced at her grandmother’s gilt table clock. It was only a quarter to two – less than an hour since her mother’s accident.
She kissed her mother good-bye. “It will be all right,” she murmured, “take care and heal quickly, please.”
Her mother’s eyes were full of tears. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Then it was time to go downstairs, the servants carrying their luggage this time. “The rest will be sent along with your mother,” the Contessa said. “Good luck, Emily. You will need it.”
A truer word had never been spoken in this old house, Emily feared.
Chapter 12
Many a friendship is forged by travelling together; you learn what the other is made of.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
The coach rumbled over the cobblestones in tense silence. Emily looked questioningly at the slight young man in the corner. His eyes proclaimed his Oriental origin.
"This is Tsien," Mr Wetherby explained.
He had given his name as Anthony Roderick Magnus Wetherby during their wedding ceremony. Should she call him Anthony now? Some wives called their husband by their last names, but they sounded stiff and affected to Emily's ears. On the other hand, she hardly knew him yet…
"Honoured to make your acquaintance," the Chinese man said to both Margaret and her, bowing slightly from his sitting position, as though he were a gentleman. His English had an unfamiliar accent. Emily smiled at him uncertainly.
"Tsien is your valet?" Margaret asked. "Did you bring him from the East?"
"People generally assume so, and I have grown tired of explaining, but Tsien is more than a servant. His father is a Portuguese trader in Macau, and his mother comes from a rich Chinese family. He plans to trade on his own behalf but agreed to come to Europe with me, more as bodyguard than servant. He also teaches me ways of combat unknown in Europe; without weapons, but highly useful in dangerous situations.”
Emily regarded the young man with increased respect. "Yet he looks to be scarcely out of his teens."
"I am twenty, Ma'am." Tsien flashed a lazy smile. "Old enough."
"I agree, for I am only nineteen, and here I find myself on this adventure, a married lady. Or – am I really?” She hesitated. "Mother looked doubtful about the legality of the wedding, but it hardly seemed the right time to debate it then.”
"We needed to get away first," Margaret agreed. "I wonder if you were aware that the marriage might be invalid, Mr Wetherby, when you agreed to it with such suspicious speed? Maybe yo
u already have a wife at home?"
Emily started. Surely Wetherby would have mentioned the existence of a wife at some point - the ball, if nowhere else?
Wetherby frowned at Margaret. "I am not such a scoundrel as that, Miss Bellairs. If I were married or even betrothed I would not have gone through with the wedding, not even to save your lovely neck. I keep any vows or promises I make, irrespective of legal loopholes."
"That is how I feel too," Emily said firmly. "Though we need to make sure the wedding will be legal in England. After all, both of us are Protestants, I take it?"
Wetherby nodded. "We could have another wedding in Geneva. There is a large Protestant community. We must certainly ensure that nobody can question our union. In my family, we want such things entirely clear and above-board. "
"Tell us more of your family,” Emily invited. She might as well learn the worst right away. Forewarned was forearmed.
“Our family now.” He smiled at her. “It is not as numerous as I could wish. I had already been planning to marry soon. Now I don’t have to look any further, and I am grateful to you, Emily, for taking on the role despite knowing so little about me.”
“That can be remedied,” she returned with an answering smile. “What of your parents, will they object to our marriage? If they live in England they may have heard of our father’s bankruptcy, which must infallibly prejudice them against me.”
“My parents are no longer alive, unfortunately,” Wetherby replied. Emily suppressed a momentary flash of relief that there would be no disapproving in-laws to deal with. “I am the head of the family. Nobody can gainsay my choice of bride.”
“To your face, at least,” Margaret commented sotto voce.
“A certain amount of gossip is inevitable,” he allowed, “but I shall do my best to shield you from it. My sister Marianne, my closest relative, is an amiable creature who will welcome you with open arms.”
“Does she live in London?” Margaret asked with interest.
“Part of the year. She is married to the Earl Amberley and spends the summer months at his seat in the Lake country, but in autumn and winter she can usually be found in town. Marianne is a notable hostess, or was when I departed over two years ago. She has two daughters.”
“Your sister is a Countess!” Margaret’s eyes were big. “I had no idea you had such aristocratic connections.”
“On my travels I have found it advisable not to advertise my noble connections or background.”
Emily shifted uneasily on the padded bench. Being taken in hand by a Countess sounded rather forbidding. She would not think of it now. “Your nieces will have grown considerably during such a long absence.”
“Yes, and I regret to have missed part of their childhood. Amelia was only a baby when I left, but Verena is a dear scamp. I only hope they have not managed to tame her.”
His affectionate tone reassured Emily that Wetherby would be a good father to her children when the time came. What a strange thought – until tonight, children of her own had been at best a distant hope; now they were almost a foregone conclusion.
“No matter how amiable your sister the Countess may be, she cannot welcome a sister-in-law without dowry, with such a scandalous background,” Margaret challenged Wetherby. “I fear you are being overly optimistic.”
“We shall see,” he said, not sounding at all concerned. “And it is not as though we had to share her home, we shall live in our own house, or rather, houses. I have several.”
“In London and the countryside?” Emily guessed.
“Indeed. What is your preference, Emily? How do you envisage your life as a young married lady?”
“All I want is one house that is my home, that nobody can come and take away,” she said, memories tightening her throat. “No duns coming to importune us, no unpaid bills, no gambling debts. Tell me, do you gamble?” Anxiety rang in her voice.
“Not in the way you mean. It is the custom to play at cards or place bets on horses, especially if they are your own or your close friends’. But I have never gambled what I could not afford to lose, and I have not been dunned in my life, that I can remember.”
That did not sound as reassuring as she had hoped. Emily gnawed her lips in worry.
“If it means so much to you, I shall settle one house on you personally, that cannot be taken away, whatever becomes of me,” her new husband offered, as though speaking of a new petticoat or small bracelet.
“Are you that rich?” Margaret eyed him sceptically.
“Rich enough.” He grinned at her. “Are you regretting now that you rejected me so summarily?”
“We-ell,-“
“Remember what caused this irregular midnight flight in the first place. There was never the slightest chance that I would have agreed to marry you, Miss Bellairs, whatever your grandmother might have suggested.” He turned to Emily. “I already felt a partiality for you, even before our waltz at the City Hall.”
“I liked you too,” she shyly admitted.
“Then I do believe we shall be able to rub together tolerably well. All I want in a wife is friendship, respect, and to know that her children are mine also.”
“Please!” Emily was glad the dimness of the coach hid her blush from the others. “You must move in very odd circles, if that last is a consideration. With me, you will never have cause to doubt.”
“And what do you expect from your spouse, Mrs Wetherby?”
“Much the same: respect, consideration, and he must not flout mistresses in my face or bring shame on the family name. Above all, I want security.”
“That is little enough to ask. It should not be hard to fulfil your wishes, Emily.”
“You are both so cold-blooded about your match, that I cannot but think you well suited to each other,” Margaret commented. “If you are determined to be Emily’s husband, you might start by getting her a new cloak, Wetherby. Nobody who sees that frightful faded thing she wears would possibly think her your wife.”
“It shall be seen to.”
“In fact, during our stops en route, it might be more convincing if I played the role of your wife, and Emily pretended to be my maid. I have a veil somewhere in my bags that would hide my face in case we run into any acquaintances.”
“But my face would be exposed, as servants do not wear veils,” Emily pointed out. “I think not, Margaret.”
“No indeed, no wife of mine is going to masquerade as a servant. But thank you for drawing this problem to my attention. We have to look the parts we play, whether real or not.”
Tsien, who had pretended to be asleep, opened his dark eyes. “Your wife can use my blue cloak until you buy something better, Anthony. We are about the same height.”
Emily was surprised that Tsien would address Wetherby so familiarly. “Thanks, Tsien.” She turned to her husband. “That reminds me, how do you want me to address you?”
“Anthony will do,” he said. “Since I call you Emily, and not my lady.”
She laughed. “It would be very odd indeed to be called my lady. That is an honour I have never aspired to.”
“No? You do not want to be a noblewoman, presiding over hundreds of servants and several houses as big as castles?”
She shook her head decisively. “That sounds far more trouble than it is worth. Mrs Wetherby is good enough for me. As long as we have enough to get by, free of debt, I shall be more than content.”
“I would love being called my lady,” Margaret said wistfully. “I have always felt that this was my destiny. To be exiled to Italy was a setback, to be sure, but I am still determined to achieve my ambition.”
“Maybe you will,” Emily said. “Sir Conrad was very taken with you, but I doubt he will still court you once he discovers why he was arrested. Will he find out, do you think?” She looked at Anthony.
“Sooner or later, almost certainly, though I was careful in the note I left with the lawyer. I wrote that I had received a warning his cousins might also be denounced by wh
atever enemy was maligning him – if the letter is confiscated, it maintains the fiction that you are the innocent targets of some third party. Although the warning sounded like nonsense, to be on the safe side I would take you out of the country instantly. I did not even mention Geneva in writing; that information will be supplied by the good Dottore.” He hesitated. “Mind you, when I penned that note, I expected to travel with your mother as well. I do not know - will Conrad call at the Casa Mardiglio before he leaves Verona, and find out more? What will your mother tell him? Will there be a hue and cry after us, by the time he is freed?”
“Are you sure he is going to be freed?” Margaret asked. “They might keep him out of spite, for want of another culprit.”
“My informant was positive Conrad would soon be released, but of course he might be mistaken. If your cousin does not arrive in Geneva within three weeks, we shall just have to travel on without him, and mobilize the Foreign Office on his behalf. I also want to have a word with that officer who lured you into such dangerous waters, Miss Bellairs. It was quite unconscionable of him.”
“Indeed,” Emily said. Margaret no longer seemed cowed, but almost giddy – she had always been prone to quick mood swings. Her sister was not stupid, but could be incredibly foolish and reckless.
It was only thanks to Anthony – her husband, or husband-to-be – that they were safely speeding away from Verona, surely no longer in danger now, a good hour from the city.
What would the morrow bring?
Chapter 13
If you cannot change your circumstances, try to make the best of them.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
Anthony caught his new almost-wife yawning into her hand. He was a brute to keep her up talking when it was so late - she probably had not had an easy day, even before the disastrous departure and unexpected wedding.