An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  “Miss McKenzie will see you.”

  Surprise and disapproval mingled in the man’s voice and Blackwell kept his expression neutral, although he wanted to grin at the disgruntled look on Fenton’s face. The lady was more independent than he had judged.

  “Thank you.” He strolled through the door behind his reluctant guide, into a small room that appeared to serve as the parlour. A basket of sewing sat on the floor by one of the chairs and a book lay face down on another. Curious, he walked over to look at it. Wordsworth. He preferred Coleridge, but in truth, he was not overly fond of poetry.

  “Mr. Blackwell.”

  Miss McKenzie’s head was bare today and he was surprised to realize he had speculated about the colour of her hair. A light brown, he now saw, streaked with lighter strands and gathered into a knot at the back of her neck. The simple style suited her. The urge to remove those pins and see it tumble free around her slim shoulders was unexpected—and unwelcome. Suppressing the wandering notion, he bowed.

  “Miss McKenzie. I appreciate your granting me a few minutes of your time.”

  “Our arrangement was otherwise, sir, but as you seem to be somewhat insistent.…” She looked resigned. “Besides, I have the feeling you are not one to give up and I prefer a gracious concession when possible.” She motioned toward him and sat in one of the two chairs. “Sit down, sir, and tell me just what it is you want.” A quick smile lit her face. “It does not mean I will supply it, mind, but I will listen.”

  Startled by this glimpse of humour, so opposite her hereto-now solemn expression, Blackwell set aside his hat and gloves and took a seat. The lady appeared almost friendly today, which perversely filled him with misgiving.

  “As I said yesterday, I did travel from England to meet Danielle Durant. I am charged with assuring that she is well placed and needs no assistance.” A reaction at that, if no more than a flicker of disturbance under her intent gaze. Your instinct is sound. There is something wrong about that household. Now if you can persuade her to confide in you….

  “I have been observing Meraux and the children for several days now, as well as making inquiries, and cannot feel all is well there,” he continued. Perhaps something of his true concern for the children showed, for she leaned back, steepled her fingers together beneath her chin, and studied him with careful consideration.

  “If I were to say that was the case, which I am not, but just suppose, what do you think could be done?”

  Blackwell answered after a long pause. “Much depends upon the legal relationship between Meraux and the children. If he has adopted Miss Durant, it is unlikely that she can be removed from his care.” He let out a short huff of exasperation. Truth was, without knowing the actual situation, he had no idea what could be done. “Miss McKenzie, I mean the girl no harm. This is a complicated affair, and I am not free to disclose the entire story, but she has friends in England, powerful friends, whose only desire is to see that she is well and happy.” He leaned forward; his face set in what felt a hard, stern expression. “I do not believe she is either of these things.”

  She blinked several times and drew back a little, seeming startled at his intensity and was silent for so long he began to think he had frightened her speechless. Not smart, Westcott. You need her on your side. Why he felt it of importance, he couldn’t say. He shifted in his chair to widen the space between them and was pleased to see her somewhat suspicious expression change to a look of consideration, as if she found him an exotic puzzle beyond her understanding.

  She leaned her head to one side, and with a slight frown, countered smoothly. “In other words, you have no solution.”

  “No.” Blackwell allowed the stark reply to hang almost visibly in the quiet room. He was aware of the faint sound of someone moving around outside the open door—Mrs. Fenton, he supposed, guarding her chick—and the click-clack and rumble of a passing carriage, but every sense was fixed on this slip of a woman.

  Her smile was slow and sweet and he felt a knot he hadn’t been aware of, loosen in his chest.

  “You are honest, I must say. To your credit, of course.” Amusement lit her eyes, and a corner of her mouth slanted up. “Suppose we agree to an exchange of information. I will tell you what I know of the children and you will tell me who you are and something of your background and involvement with Danielle.”

  As if anticipating his refusal, she held up her hand, palm out. “You will have to trust me.”

  Blackwell swallowed his protest. He preferred to remain as anonymous as possible, but her point was valid. Trust was needed on both sides. “Well enough.” Half expecting her to comment on his curt agreement and irritated by the guilty feeling it engendered, he rose. “If we could continue this conversation outside? I find it rather close in here.”

  Miss McKenzie studied him for a moment, and not seeming to be put off by his frown, stood and led the way outside, with no more than a light, “There may be a breeze.”

  Mild as it was, her inflection made it sound as if she was highly doubtful and he bit back a smile. The lady had an appealing way about her.

  The rain had stopped. Blackwell walked toward the rustic wood chairs standing beneath a tree and touched one of the seats. It felt reasonably dry, but he looked a question at his hostess. His buckskins would take no harm, but she may not want to dampen her skirts.

  “If I allowed the wet to affect me, my life here would be rather limited.” She sat, looked past him to smile at Mrs. Fenton, who had settled on the bench outside the door, and sighed. “I am to start, I suppose. Do you know anything about these children, Mr. Blackwell?” she asked with some asperity.

  “Very little,” he allowed. Too restless to sit, he leaned his hands against the back of the vacant chair. “Miss Durant is thirteen years old. She has lost her parents, and she is French.”

  A moment to absorb this and a shake of her head before she answered. “They are remarkably reserved, but what I have gleaned is that Meraux is no real relation to them at all. Their father died several years ago and their mother remarried within a year, thus putting Meraux into the role of stepfather. Then the woman died, leaving the children with him.” She raised her hands in a helpless flutter and let them drop. “She was not long in her grave when Meraux sold the house, packed them up, and brought them here, to a foreign country, where few people speak their language, and they receive no schooling at all.”

  “Have they ever said why he came here?”

  “No, and I am not sure they know.” Miss McKenzie shook her head, a troubled expression on her face. “I am especially concerned about Danielle. She seldom reveals any emotion, but I believe she is afraid. Whether of her stepfather or the situation, I do not know. Guy does not appear to be similarly affected. He has his dog, and Danielle sees the lad is entertained.”

  “Speaking of the dog, it appears the animal lives with you, yet you say it belongs to the boy.” Blackwell gave into his urge to move and began to wander around the courtyard, although never too far from his hostess.

  “One day in the market, I came to the rescue when Bonnie had escaped and Meraux threatened to dispose of her. I agreed to take her with the stipulation that they come every day to care for her. One thing led to another, and they were able to get permission to take music lessons.” She smiled. “Danielle enjoys it more than Guy, but both like the English lessons I started.”

  Blackwell stopped for a moment to stare at her. “Why on earth are you doing all this for strangers?”

  She took a deep breath and a slight smile played on her lips. “I like children and they seemed in need of a friend,” she said simply.

  “Humph.” Blackwell resumed his pacing. She was setting herself up for heartbreak. He could not imagine she planned to remain long in Portugal and the children could disappear at any time. Why was she here, anyway? That information had not been part of their bargain, but he was curious—more than curious. He sauntered over and sat down. Getting that out of her today was not likely, but he woul
d have it before he left the country.

  “Your turn.”

  She leaned a little toward him and gazed at him with wide-eyed interest, reminding him of an inquisitive sparrow. Appealing, far too appealing, and his resolve to keep her at arm’s length hardened.

  “I am not sure what to tell you. As I said, my name is Blackwell, Nicholas Blackwell. I reside in Hampshire, near to Winchester, with my daughter.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  Annoyed at her look of surprise, Blackwell stiffened. “I see nothing unusual in that,” he said with a distinct chill in his voice.

  “Oh, no, it’s lovely! You are fortunate. How old is she?”

  Her rushed reply held genuine interest and Blackwell relaxed, though he had no intention of discussing Sarah. “Sarah is almost nine.”

  As if sensing his unwillingness to speak of his daughter, Miss McKenzie turned the subject to one he was almost as loath to discuss as Sarah.

  “How did you come to be here in Portugal, Mr. Blackwell? You admittedly do not know Danielle, yet here you are, far from home. Why you, and not one of these so-called powerful friends of the child who presumably at least know her?”

  Unsure of how much to tell her, Blackwell debated long enough to make her look suspiciously at him. He settled his face into a bland expression. “One of the gentlemen involved is a close friend. He knows I have business here and speak the language. For various reasons, he was unable to come himself and asked that I stand in for him.”

  “I see.” She raised her chin, looked at him with weary patience, and repeated her earlier question. “Why are you here, sir? You have a reason, apparently a sound one, to seek out this child. I would like to know what it is, before I allow her to meet you.”

  Blackwell stood and said easily, “That is something I cannot tell you, Miss McKenzie, without Danielle’s permission. You will have to trust me. I will do her no harm.” He looked down at her with some sympathy, guessing how difficult this was for her. She was truly attached to the girl and again he thought of the pain she would face when they were inevitably separated. But this was a confidence entrusted to him, and he could not break it.

  She rose, studied him for a moment, and then gave him a resigned smile. “Very well, sir, I will arrange for you to meet with Danielle. For some reason, I feel I can trust you. I do hope you don’t prove me mistaken.” She waved a hand toward him and walked away. “Come back at three.”

  She disappeared into the house, and Blackwell once again found himself on the outside of the door. Annoyed at yet another abrupt dismissal, he clapped his hat on his head and strode off. The next time, he was going to decide when to depart.

  Chapter Seven

  “You let him get around you, I suppose.”

  The sharp comment was the opening salvo to one of Maggie’s scolds. Anne laid her fingers against her eyes for a brief moment before she turned to face the older woman.

  “His request to meet Danielle is not unreasonable, and I believe him when he says he means her no harm.” Anne knew Maggie was being protective, but sometimes she felt hedged about by her concern and this was one of those times. Not that she was always a good judge of character—look at how wrong she had been about the Major!—but in this case she felt Mr. Blackwell to be trustworthy.

  “Let it be, Maggie. Perhaps he can do something about Danielle’s situation. We certainly have not.”

  “Nor are we apt to, but I’ll not plague you, since I can see it is worrying you half to death. Go rest a bit. Mr. Fenton and I will fetch the children.” Maggie’s lips tightened in disapproval. “You need to turn your mind to your own affairs, Miss Anne. I was not for telling you, until Mr. Fenton told me he saw someone very like the Major this morning. Gave him a scare.”

  Anne felt the blood drain from her face. “But it was not Reynald,” she whispered.

  “No, but you know it is no more than a matter of time before the man shows up. He had but to check the ships’ passenger lists to obtain our destination. You need to contact the Consul.”

  Sympathy mixed with the exasperated expression on Maggie’s face. Anne forced the fear into a leaden knot deep inside and steadied her voice. “I will write the letter today and Bill can take it tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  Maggie gave Anne’s shoulder a comforting pat before she left the room and Anne dropped into a chair, her knees too shaky to hold her. You are being irrational. The man cannot force you to marry him. But her silent protest was feeble at best. Major Reynald was obsessed, and determined to have her one way or another. His charming manner and persuasive sincerity fooled more people than simple, naïve girls like Anne. If only she had never gone to Gibraltar! You would not have had those years with Father and that was worth tangling with the Major. Get to England. You will have more protection once you apply to Mr. Fordham for assistance.

  Her father’s solicitor was not one to stand for any nonsense or be easily persuaded, and she had recourse to her Scottish relatives if need be. Anne leaned back and closed her eyes. How had it ever come to this? Running and hiding as if she was a criminal, when her sole crime was not seeing through the man’s façade. Admit it. You were flattered at first to be singled out. Quiet Anne, who was more interested in music than socializing. Major Thomas Reynald, officer in His Majesty’s Army, and the bane of her existence. Why he had ever even looked at her, she never understood, but his marked attention and smooth tongue had charmed her into accepting his escort several times. Supportive during her Father’s illness, yes, and she was grateful for it, but the funeral was hardly over when his true nature emerged. His insistence they marry at once—for her protection now that she was alone in the world—was a shock, and no matter what he claimed, Anne had never agreed to marry him. In truth, he had never asked her! Her refusal brought on a furious tirade so astonishing, and frightening, she’d stared at him like some hapless idiot. Her protest that she needed time—to grieve, to put her father’s affairs in order—fell on deaf ears. His subsequent behavior was more than she cared to recall, but she was deeply grateful Bill and Maggie had been there to stop the man before….

  Anne shuddered and slammed the door on the memory of those horrible moments. She had more important things to think about now. That part of her life was over, and she would not be forced into marriage if she had to run to the ends of the earth. England will do for now, Anne. No need for any flights of fancy. Smiling a little at this mental scold, she sat up, pushed her hair away from her face, and stood. Grimacing at her wrinkled skirt, she smoothed out the creases as much as possible and brushed her hair before gathering it in a loose knot at the back of her neck. Then hunger drove her into the kitchen for a bite to eat before her guests, wanted and unwanted, arrived.

  ~* * *~

  Something was wrong. Something more than the underlying wariness and worry that passed for normal with Danielle. Anne knew it the instant she saw the girl’s face, although Guy appeared much as usual. Knowing from past experience that any confidences had to be at the child’s discretion, Anne greeted them with her usual calm acceptance. Bidding Guy to take Bonnie out to play in the courtyard, she handed Danielle her favourite flute and began a lesson. This first, then she would bring up Mr. Blackwell and his request.

  Setting her pupil at some simple melodies, Anne went to tell Bill to keep Guy occupied once the play had palled, asked Maggie to listen for the Englishman, and then returned to Danielle. The music today was desultory at best, and faltered entirely as she closed the door. Danielle placed the instrument in its case with a slow precision that hurt to watch. Her resolutions thrown to the wind, Anne sat in the chair beside the girl and took one of her hands in hers.

  “My dear child. What has happened? Can you not tell me?” Anne leaned forward and touched Danielle’s cheek. “Perhaps I can help.”

  “No one can help, Miss McKenzie. Tomorrow is the last day we can see you. I am to marry Monsieur Meraux next month, after my birthday, and it will not be fitting that I come here
.”

  “Marry your stepfather!” Anne gaped in amazement. “Why, that is outrageous! You are not old enough to marry at all, and certainly not to someone who stands as your father. I am not sure such a thing is even legal.”

  Danielle turned her face away. “I will be fourteen, and old enough if I give my consent.”

  “You must refuse! He cannot force you. I will go to the authorities if need be,” Anne said in the firmest voice she could muster, although she quailed at the difficulties of finding aid in a country foreign to both of them. She knew what it was to be helpless in a man’s world but she had the Fentons to stand with her, and as the daughter of an officer and granddaughter of an earl, a position in society. This girl had no one and was little more than a child.

  “He will send me to a convent and make sure I never see Guy again.”

  The bleak words were followed by a choked sob. Anne wrapped her arms around her and held her close until the storm of tears had passed. That it was the one time Danielle had allowed any outburst made it even more distressing. She was far too young to carry all this on her slight shoulders. Anne silently consigned the wretched Meraux to a place in hell. She took her handkerchief from her pocket, raised Danielle’s face, and wiped her eyes and cheeks.

  “I am sorry….” Danielle began.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” Anne interrupted. “I am glad you told me, for how else could I help you?”

  “But there is nothing you can do!” Danielle’s cry of despair threatened to bring on more tears and Anne shook her head.

  “Perhaps not, but there may be someone else who can.” Alarm flared in the girl’s eyes and Anne hurried on. “I will tell no one of this without your permission, Danielle, but listen to what I have to say before you make any decisions. Yesterday, an Englishman called on me with the express desire that I arrange a meeting with you.” Omitting any reference to the man’s spying activities of the past few days, Anne relayed what Blackwell had told her.