An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  Westcott’s eyes narrowed. “You are an unusual woman, Lady Westcott. Most women wouldn’t give these old instruments a passing glance.”

  “I am not most women,” Anne said with soft laugh.

  “I am beginning to see that,” he said after a minute, and for the life of her Anne couldn’t decide if he meant it for good or ill.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Westcott was just as uncertain. No doubt that the presence of a woman, not to mention two additional children, had disrupted the quiet tenor of his household. Laughter bubbled out here and there, music floated through the corridors, and Anne’s subtle changes had lightened the somber atmosphere that had enveloped Westhorp after Camille’s death. His staff appeared to welcome every suggestion made by their new mistress with cheerful enthusiasm, without so much as a word from him—the fact he had given her carte blanche did not mean he needn’t be consulted.

  He stared at the attractive display of glossy leaves and branches gracing the refectory table that had appeared in the entrance hall one day. Anne’s doing, of course. The table was not the sole piece of furniture to show up lately. Small stands holding flowering plants—plants he hadn’t even known grew in his greenhouse—splashed colour in unexpected corners throughout the house.

  Westcott handed his gloves and hat to Martin and removed his cape. “Where is Lady Westcott?”

  Martin folded the cape over his arm. “I believe she is in the potting room with Miss Sarah and Miss Durant. Giving a lesson in flower arrangement, sir,” the butler added at his inquiring look.

  Westcott gave a grunt of acknowledgement and went into his study, where another of the damnably cheery plants sat on one side of his desk. Knowing he was being ridiculous, he moved it to a shelf behind his chair, where he did not have to look at the blasted thing and be reminded of the changes in his life. Not that he was apt to forget the dinners that now included the new governess, Miss Caxton, and his secretary, and took place in the much smaller dining room Anne had appropriated. Westcott suspected that Anne had coerced Thomas into joining them, but any initial discomfort Atkinson had felt in dining en famille was soon forgotten as he was skillfully drawn into conversation. As you have been, and you must admit that it is better than a stilted exchange between two people seated at each end of a very long table.

  Too many people intruding on his hard-won isolation. Too much Anne. A shawl tossed over the back of a chair, gloves here and there; a sewing box with yarn spilling over the side. Bathing room still steamy and scented with her flowery soap, putting pictures of her rising naked from the tub, creamy skin flushed from the heat…. and he with his hands on her, his tongue teasing her lips.

  “Bloody hell.” The nib of the pen in his hand snapped, splashing ink over the blotter and he threw the offending instrument down in disgust. You’ve been without a woman for too long, Westcott. A man had needs, didn’t he? Yes, and coupling with your wife would be the height of folly. Anne wouldn’t see it as scratching an itch. She’d attach too many strings to it. Love, promises, commitment—things he could not give her.

  Could not, or would not, Nick? Not a question he chose to address, but either way, Anne would end up being hurt.

  Making a resolution to visit a discreet widow in Winchester, and soon, he pulled a clean blotter from a drawer, laid it over the ink spots, and began working on the plans for spring planting.

  Engrossed in the task, he only gradually became aware of the sound of voices. Singing? He concentrated on the faint noise. Yes, singing. Curious, and suddenly aware several hours had passed, Westcott stood, stretched his cramped limbs and placed his pen in the inkstand.

  The music room seemed the most logical place. The sound was coming from that direction, but he’d thought it an inhospitable place when he and the St. Clairs had first discovered Anne in there. Westcott paced along the passageway and up to the next floor, the melody becoming clearer as he went. Not something he recognized, but then, as he had told Anne, he had little knowledge of music.

  The door was ajar. He paused unseen to study the group ranged near the fire and survey the room, which looked far different today. The harpsichord had been pushed against the back wall, leaving ample room for several sofas and chairs. Low tables were scattered throughout, holding more of those blasted plants, or piled with sheet music. A number of candles blazed, bathing the room in light and dappling the deep brown guitar in Anne’s arms with glossy streaks of gold.

  Sarah’s chair was pushed close to Anne’s; Danielle sat on the floor at her feet. Miss Caxton and Guy were on one sofa, Thomas Atkinson and Nurse Timmons on another. They were singing, all of them, as Anne played, her clear voice leading them in some lively song about a dog. Reluctant to interrupt and feeling oddly unwelcome, Westcott turned to leave.

  “Papa!”

  The music broke off, raggedly. Westcott halted, and then stepped inside. “I don’t want to disturb you,” he began.

  Sarah smiled. “Silly Papa. You are not disturbing us at all, is he, Mother Anne? Come sing with us.”

  “I’m not much on singing.” He hadn’t sung a note since he was a schoolboy and then off-key more often than not.

  “Then just listen,” Anne said softly, rising and coming to take his arm. “Or hum along if you like. We are not the most melodious of singers, but we make up for it with enthusiasm.” His secretary drew another chair into the half-circle, and Westcott found himself ensconced in a comfortable seat before he could make an excuse to beg off. Besides, Sarah looked so pleased to have him there. They all did, in fact, even Anne, who smiled shyly at him before repositioning her guitar.

  “You might try this one, sir. It is quite easy to learn. We are going to sing it as a round. Sarah, you and Danielle take the first part, Miss Caxton and Nurse will take the second, and Mr. Atkinson and Guy the third. On my signal. Ready?”

  She launched into the first verse of Alouette, which even he knew, the others following at the correct intervals. They had clearly done this before, and while uneven at times, gave a credible rendition of the French round. Sarah’s hand crept into his as they sang, such happiness in her expression that his throat closed for a moment.

  For once you got something right, Westcott, bringing Anne here, however much her presence torments you. For Sarah’s sake, make the best of it. The problem was in convincing himself it was all for Sarah.

  ~* * *~

  Anne looked up from her correspondence at the discreet tap, recognizing the knock particular to one of the senior footmen, and waited for him to open the door. “What is it, Clarke?”

  “Lady Lynton is calling, Madam. Are you to home?”

  Anne swallowed a sharp retort. In the past weeks she had become accustomed to more than a few changes but this formality was not one of them. “I am always at home to Lady Lynton, Clarke. If you could remember that in the future, please?”

  “Yes, Madam.”

  Juliette swept in behind him with her usual verve and Anne smiled as she rose to greet her. Being with child did not appear to have slowed the Countess down one whit; indeed, Anne thought her new friend more vigorous than ever.

  “I believe pregnancy agrees with you.” Anne came around her desk to clasp Juliette’s hands and studied her. “You look radiant.” With her glossy black curls clustered around her face and her blue eyes as clear as a child’s, she looked hardly more than a girl herself.

  “My dear Anne. I cannot tell you how splendid it is to be over that horrible morning sickness. Such a trial, and how nice to feel well again.” She gave Anne’s hands a squeeze, tossed her hat and gloves on a nearby chair, and took off her pelisse. “I hope you are more fortunate when your time comes. I am told not everyone suffers so.”

  Anne flinched and turned away but not before Juliette caught the set expression on her face.

  “I am so sorry. My wretched tongue! Do forgive me.” She sank down on a settee and pulled Anne down beside her. “I take it circumstances have not changed? What an idiot the man is.”


  “There is nothing to forgive! Our friendship is such by now that you should feel free to say anything you like. Indeed, I depend upon it. I would be quite undone without you to confide in.” Anne sighed, and produced a small smile. “I usually do not allow the circumstances to bother me, nor should they, since I have no expectations. Westcott made the terms of our marriage very clear right from the beginning. There would be no intimacy, and that surely precludes procreation!”

  “Westcott talks a great deal of nonsense,” Juliette retorted. “You’ve given him far more leeway than he deserves. You need to seduce him.”

  Anne choked and gaped at her companion. “I don’t know the least thing about seduction and even if I did, Westcott would not take kindly to having his hand forced.”

  Juliette narrowed her eyes and looked sternly at Anne. “The way he looks at you sometimes, I think he might be glad of a little push.”

  She smiled suddenly and waved her hands in one of the graceful gestures that so fascinated Anne. “But I see you are distressed and I will cease plaguing you. I had an entirely different reason for my visit today.” She pursed her lips and gave Anne a sly look.

  “It’s more than time you were introduced formally to the neighborhood. I am planning a dinner with you and Westcott as guests of honour. Two weeks from today and yes, that will give you time to have a gown made up.” She raised a hand and went on before Anne could protest. “People are starting to talk. I know you have had callers, and made a few calls, but whatever is between you and Nicholas, the outside world must see this marriage as unexceptional, if only for Sarah’s sake.” Juliette laughed, touched Anne’s shoulder lightly and gave her a little shake. “Don’t look so horrified. It is not as bad as that.”

  Anne’s rigid posture eased. She was overreacting. It was not as if she had never been in company before, although she suspected an event of this kind to be much grander than her father’s military affairs. More that Westcott would not be pleased being forced to spend an entire evening in her company. Saying as much, she was heartened by Juliette’s instant denial.

  “Fustian! A pleasant evening with an attractive woman, amongst his friends, is exactly what he needs. It is more than time for him to go about in the world again and stop brooding over the past.”

  That struck a nerve, and Anne kept her voice even with an effort. “He is still grieving for his wife.”

  Juliette leaned her head to one side, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “That, I believe is not true. I never met Camille, but St. Clair has told me of her, a little. She was not a comfortable wife, I understand, and while Westcott no doubt loved her to distraction at one time—they married very young. I think he feels excessive guilt about her death and Sarah’s injury.

  “Surely it was not his doing. I understood he was not even to home at the time.” Anne felt her cheeks grow warm. “I try not to listen to the servant’s gossip, but admit to being curious.”

  “Perfectly understandable, my dear.” Juliette smiled and stood. “Unfortunately, St. Clair did not tell me much. But you are right. Westcott was in London.” She collected her belongings. “Gracious, look at the time. St. Clair will be beating on your door any moment.”

  “Before he does, I must thank you for sending Mary Caxton to us. She is a delightful person and the children adore her already,” Anne said. She rose and walked out with her guest.

  “Mother Lynton thought she would suit, as did I, and we are both pleased to have her in a suitable position. Her father is a vicar, the family is large, and she is determined not to be a charge on her parents.”

  “Commendable, and our good fortune,” Anne said lightly, then asked, “Did St. Clair accompany you?” She laughed, and continued on before Juliette could reply. “A foolish question! I know by now your husband goes everywhere with you, and no doubt Westcott carried him off to the stables first thing.”

  “He scarcely allows me out of his sight these days. All my efforts to persuade him that pregnancy is a normal condition are still for naught,” Juliette said with a mocking smile, putting on her gloves. “And I do believe something was said about a new horse.”

  “A pony,” St. Clair said as he appeared in the passageway and moved toward them. “For Guy, I understand. Nick tells me you have talked him into teaching the boy and his sister to ride, Anne.” He smiled at the two women, tugged Juliette’s hat from her grasp and placed it on her head. “Something with which I heartily concur.”

  The earl tied the ribbons under his wife’s chin with such a loving expression, fully returned, that Anne looked away. She felt like an intruder, with an envy that made her heart ache. Jealousy does not become you, Anne. You should be glad your friends have so loving a marriage. They are few and far between and many much worse than yours.

  “Anne can be quite persuasive,” Westcott said as he joined them.

  Unsure from the bland voice whether he meant that in a good way, Anne glanced sideways at him. He wore a faint smile, but was that due to their guests? From the sharp look St. Clair gave him, she was not the only one to question it, but a footman appeared to announce that the Lynton carriage was at the door, and the moment passed.

  A flurry of farewells and they were gone. Anne started to return to her sitting room, wanting a few minutes alone before she joined the children. While she liked the new governess very much—Miss Caxton was a cheerful and competent young woman—Anne still spent much of her time with them.

  “Anne? Have you a few minutes?”

  She halted and turned to face him. “Certainly.”

  He nodded and indicated that she should precede him. “My study or your sitting room?”

  “The sitting room,” Anne said, hiding her surprise at being given the choice. Most of their private conversations—those few of them!—were held in what she considered his sanctum, a large intimidating room not unlike its owner.

  Would he think the cozy little room she had claimed horribly shabby? Messy, certainly, she judged silently, looking around as she paused on the threshold. Her gaze swept over the books lying about, her guitar on a table in one corner, and the partially cleaned lute propped beside it. Music stands leaned against the wall and a stack of sheet music was piled on a chair. She did not believe he had been inside since giving his permission “to use any room in the house as you wish”. In fact, other than the evening meals, she saw little of him. She waited for his comment, but it appeared to meet with his approval, for his sudden smile was genuine. She relaxed and sat in one of the chairs facing the fireplace, unlit at this time of day, but laid and ready.

  “It is rather untidy,” she began.

  “Not at all. More that it is comfortable,” he said easily. “I can see why the children like coming in here, although I know the music is the primary draw. I have been meaning to tell you for some time how much I appreciate your teaching Sarah to play.”

  Anne felt herself flush at the look of regard in his eyes. “Sarah is an excellent student and a pleasure to teach, as is Danielle. They are becoming friends, I believe.”

  Anne hesitated, uncertain as to how much to say, but the expression of interest on his face encouraged her to continue. “Sarah is wonderously even-tempered, and is good for Danielle, who is often too serious. The reciprocal language lessons lead to much laughter.”

  She leaned back, raised her hands, and steepled her fingers under her chin. “Guy, however, is not musically inclined. He is much happier outdoors.”

  “Most boys are,” Westcott said.

  That ingenuous statement was followed by laughter, much to Anne’s gratification. She had seldom seen him in so amiable a mood and while appreciated, could not be at ease with so unusual a manner. Which is not entirely fair, Anne. He has several times in the past few weeks been moderately friendly, enough for you to feel he no longer actually dislikes you. Amused at the absurd thought, she returned her attention to Westcott.

  “I certainly preferred the stable to the schoolroom.” Westcott shook his head, a quizzical expres
sion on his face. “Where Sarah gets her musical aptitude, I’ve no idea.”

  Anne’s hands dropped into her lap and she leaned forward. “Sometimes it is simply a gift.” She studied him thoughtfully for a moment and added, “Thank you for buying the pony and offering to teach Guy to ride. He admires you tremendously and has talked of nothing else for days.”

  Westcott’s brows rose. “I don’t know why, as I have had very little to do with him until recently.” He gave her a crooked smile. “And Guy must speak of other subjects, as he is seldom silent.”

  Anne had to laugh. Guy was a talkative boy, partially, she believed, due to months of repression, but mostly because he was so interested in everything around him.

  “He can be irrepressible at times,” she agreed, “but entertaining for all that.”

  Westcott’s expression held more than a little skepticism and Anne lowered her gaze to hide her amusement. For all his brusque manner, the viscount was surprisingly tolerant of the orphaned children he had taken into his care.

  “So you say.” Westcott changed the subject. “My intent in seeking you out was to ask if you rode. I have acquired a lady’s mount in hopes Danielle will change her mind about riding lessons and felt you might like to make use of the mare until she is ready.”

  His tone was again cool and indifferent, and Anne keenly felt the loss of their brief camaraderie. Whatever Juliette thought she saw, Anne knew only that Westcott was determined to keep her out of his life. Suddenly discouraged, she stood and summoned a smile. “Yes, I do ride and would enjoy the opportunity for an outing. Perhaps it will encourage Danielle. If it should do so, we will need another horse.” That comment was thrown out as casually as possible to avoid any chance of appearing demanding. An unnecessary effort, it appeared, given the short “Naturally” as he stood, and with no more than a quick glance at her, he left the room.

  Anne stared at the door, her hands fisted in annoyance, and not a little pain. Every time they so much as approached anything near friendship, Westcott slid behind the cool barricade he’d erected. His marriage to Camille had not been entirely happy. That much Anne had gleaned from the occasional comment dropped by Mrs. Lawson or Nurse Timmons. But she was nothing like his first wife, not in appearance or in manner. The portrait in the long gallery portrayed a beautiful, delicate and probably exceedingly graceful young woman who had no doubt charmed everyone she met. While you are a…a married spinster! Dispirited, Anne sank into her chair and brushed irritably at the tendrils of hair tickling her cheek. The braid always loosened as the day progressed, no matter how tightly it was bound. Why do you arrange it thus, Anne? An unbecoming style and a nuisance as well. Do you want to appear a dowd?