by Cari Hislop
Chapter 3
Juliana stared into the mirror over the mantel and compulsively checked her appearance; copper coloured braids held firmly in place by gold pins, well powdered freckles, and her grandmother’s diamond necklace framed by a gold silk morning gown. The necklace would remind the creature that she could afford a penniless groom laden with debts. Ten paces across her sitting room to the window she peered down the street for some sign of her caller and then paced back to the mirror over the mantel where she fondled one of the dangling earrings that matched the necklace. Hervey de Vere’s reply to her note said he’d happily oblige her every desire; he probably knew what she was going to ask him, but then he had asked her to marry him a thousand times. Chaining herself to the Hervey creature wouldn’t be worse then marrying some other impoverished miscreant. She looked at the clock; it was three minutes to two. If the man didn’t arrive in five minutes she’d find some other idiot to wed. A knock on the door made her jump. “Yes?”
“You have a caller Miss; a Mr Hervey de Vere. He says he has an appointment.”
“Yes he does and there’s no need to look at me like I’m robbing the cradle; he’s not as young as he looks.”
“Very good Miss, I’ll bring him directly.” She spun away from the door and walked towards the fire. He was a whole minute early. She couldn’t change her mind. Her husband would be Hervey de Vere; the orange headed, freckled fortune hunter who’d been following her like a starving dog for three years. People were going to laugh at her, but what did it matter? He’d do his duty and she’d be a married lady; she’d be Mrs Hervey de Vere. The thought made her feel sick, but not as sick as the thought of marrying one of his brothers. “Mr de Vere...”
There was a sudden knot in her stomach. She didn’t want her servant to see her anxiety. “Leave us and close the door!”
“Very good Miss.”
She waited until the door clicked shut before turning to face her destiny. He looked almost too young for a grand tour. “How old are you exactly?”
He smiled and bowed low giving her ample view of his orange hair. “Twenty-four years, three months and several days Madam...how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“An excellent...”
“Do you shave?”
“Every morning Madam; shall I call on you tomorrow sporting a night’s growth? Do you prefer facial hair? I’d be happy to grow a beard...”
“I hate beards. The stinking smelly things are always full of crumbs.”
“That’s a relief. I shall continue...”
“Sit down!”
“As you wish...shall you be seated first?” She glared at his polite hand waving her into her chair behind the waiting tea service. She primly sat down and watched him take his seat with the ease of a life long friend. Aside from the orange hair, the man wasn’t completely unpleasant looking. His velvety brown eyes appeared intelligent and seemed to ground his even well placed features. The golden brown wool coat made his pale cheeks look fresh and healthy. His gold and white striped waistcoat went well with his yellow buff breeches rising out of his shiny black boots. He had to owe his tailor a mountain of debt, but that was to be expected. He was a fortune hunter not a wealthy Lord. “This is a pleasant little room. The greenish-blue colour makes your lovely hair look like polished copper.”
“Save your cant for the deaf. How do you take your tea?”
“However you make it.” Juliana returned his pleasant smile with a scowl and proceeded to put so much sugar in the cup that it spilled over the rim onto the saucer.
“Your tea...”
“Thank you...I was quite chuffed to receive your invitation this morning. It was unexpected. You’ve never shown any sign that you favour my company.”
“I don’t.”
“Pity; you wanted to speak with me; is there anything I can do for you?”
She made him wait while she poured her own cup of tea and added two small lumps of sugar. She held her saucer in front of her chest hoping it would strengthen her resolve. He was a man; there was a chance he’d reject her offer out of pride, stupidity or spite. She sighed and then sipped her tea before meeting his eyes. He was a consummate actor; the man somehow managed to look like he was admiring her. “Do you have much debt?”
“No.”
“How did you pay for your clothes?”
“How do you think?”
“I think you have wealthy lovers who pay your bills; you needn’t pretend you don’t sow your seed in willing fields Mr de Vere. I know all about your reputation.”
“Pardon me Madam, but I have several reputations. To which reputation do you infer?”
She could feel her temper rising as her cup and saucer rattled in time with her discomfort. The man was daring her to say it. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of a few words. “Your reputation as an accomplished lover.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his pale freckled cheeks flush deep red as his rocking cup threatened to spill into his lap.
“Oh?”
“Apparently you’re charming, attentive and discreet.” The man stared at her with horrified disbelief. “Frankly, I can’t imagine how the word charming could ever be applied to you, but I must assume the other two adjectives are at least partially correct. Would you be willing to prove your reputation Mr de Vere?” The man looked like he might faint.
“Miss Browne, I don’t pleasure unmarried ladies and I certainly wouldn’t ruin you.”
“Don’t be an ass Hervey creature. I want a husband not a lover.”
The orange haired creature sighed in relief and relaxed into his chair, the brown eyes gleaming with intense emotion. “May I apply for the position?”
“If you want to marry me purchase a special license today and marry me tonight.” The man looked stunned. “Well? Do you want to marry me or not?”
“I’d be honoured to marry you Miss Browne.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Who else would be stupid enough to marry a penniless de Vere? I’ve had my solicitor draw up a legal document this morning. You’ll sign away your rights to my inheritance and I’ll give you a clothing allowance and monthly spending money. Gamble a farthing and I’ll poison you.”
His eyes lit up with amusement, “Clothing allowance and spending money? How much?”
“I don’t know...five hundred pounds a year for clothing and fifty pounds a month for spending sounds very generous to me.”
“Assuming the rumours of your fortune are correct, most men in my situation would demand five thousand pounds for clothing and at least a thousand pounds a month spending.”
“I’m not paying you seventeen thousand pounds a year to warm my bed. I’ve never heard anything so outrageous...so stupid.”
“The warming of your bed Madam I’ll cheerfully provide free of charge, but a gentleman has needs. Once I marry you I won’t be, as you put it, sowing my seed in other willing fields. Do you want other people to laugh at you because your husband spent his clothing allowance and can’t afford a new pair of boots? Fifty pounds... How would I buy you a decent Christmas gift?”
“Well how much would you need?”
“Five thousand a year in a lump sum would be acceptable.”
“You’re not worth five thousand pounds. I could buy a decent property with five thousand pounds.”
“You wound me Madam, but most men would refuse to sign away their right to be the financial head of their own household. You may find if you marry some scoundrel that such a document is unlikely to hold up in a court of law. The Law Lords are well known for their ill opinions of independent women, but if you endow me with five thousand pounds a year I’ll give you my word of honour that I’ll accept the situation we’ve agreed upon. If you honour your part of the bargain, I’ll honour mine. You may have heard I have a reputation for being a man of my word.”
“Well you had better be a charming attentive lover for that sort of money.”
“I’m not selling my affections Madam I’m merely negotiati
ng terms of support. You’re a beautiful woman; it’ll be my pleasure to pleasure you. If I was wealthy and you were penniless I’d still want to marry you and I wouldn’t expect your father’s attempt to negotiate a settlement to be payment for your body. I’d merely see it has my duty to provide for you in the event of my death.”
“How morbid, are you hoping I’ll die and leave you wealthy Mr de Vere?”
“Actually I hope you’ll outlive me.”
“Why would you want to marry me if I was penniless?”
“Why do you think?”
Juliana’s eyes narrowed in irritation, “I have no idea why you think anything Mr de Vere, but I pray my children don’t inherit your awful hair or your predilection for stupid questions.”
“I like my hair...”
“I hate it. You look like you have carrots sprouting out of your head.”
“At least you won’t lose me in a crowded ballroom, unless my brothers are in attendance.”
Her lips parted showing her teeth, “I can’t abide your brothers. Why did your parents have so many awful sons? That Avery creature insulted me in the most disgusting manner yesterday and because of him, London is calling me Medusa.”
“I was very upset to hear he made you cry. It won’t happen again. My brothers have promised to be polite to you in future.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked them to...may I invite them for a wedding dinner here this evening? It’s wash day, the kitchen is full of wet clothes. We were going to eat cold ham sandwiches, but I’ve always hoped my wedding feast would be a little more formal.”
“I don’t want those hideous creatures in my house.”
“As you wish, but forbidding my family your house will justify their ill opinion of you. We’re a close family; they’ll think you very hard.”
“Fine, you may invite them for a wedding dinner and then they can sleep in a gutter, I refuse to house them.”
“They’d refuse your kind offer.”
“Do you have five pounds?”
“Why?”
“For the special license; I’m not going to charge you for the tea.”
“I’d find five hundred if it meant I could marry you. I hope the Archbishop will sell me a license if I apply in person. I understand it’s polite to request it in writing. I’ll return later and inform you if I’ve been successful.”
“Send a note. I don’t want to look at you until I join you at the altar.”
The Hervey creature took out his watch and pursed his lips, “I have an appointment at three, but afterwards I’ll go straight to the Archbishop. I think I know how to persuade him.”
“What sort of appointment?”
“Discretion is a godly virtue my dear.”
“You’re not going to see a lover minutes after agreeing to marry me are you?”
“Is that a jealous tone my dear?”
“No, it’s a disgusted tone and I am not dear to you so don’t call me dear.”
“How do you know you’re not dear?”
“How do I know you’re not mad? Do you have an appointment with a lady?”
“Yes, but there are many kinds of appointments. Most of them require one to remain fully clothed. I shall take my leave...do you have a ring or shall I buy one?”
“I’m not wasting money on a stupid ring to marry you.”
Hervey stood up as he put down his cup and sauce. “Let me look at your hand.”
“Why?”
“Because I may find a cheap ring in a pawnshop, but I need to look at your hand to see your fingers.”
“I don’t want some dead woman’s ring on my finger.”
“Your hand...” Juliana sighed in irritation and thrust out the desired limb nearly poking him in the eye. She forgot she was angry as he took hold of it. The warmth of his gentle touch sent strange shivers down her spine causing her heart to race. She was suddenly aware of a pleasant smell wafting up her nose; a masculine green with a hint of lemons, then he was kissing her hand making her feel dizzy. “You’ve made me the happiest of men.”
“You sound like you’ve practiced the statement a thousand times in a mirror.”
“I have, but my mental image of you was never this vivid. I look forward to kissing you all over...Juliana.” Her name was spoken with reverence as if it meant something to him; the man was born to tread the boards.
“Who said you could kiss me all over? I never said I wanted your kisses.”
“If I’m to be your husband you’ll have to let me kiss you. I can’t be your husband and not kiss you, it’s unthinkable. No kisses, no wedding.”
“Fine...just get a special license before I find a cheaper man.”
“As you wish...” She blushed as he kissed her hand again before she could think to rip it from his grasp. “Until the altar, I bid you a pleasant day Juliana.”
“Good riddance!” His low bow engulfed her in another a wave of masculine scent and he was gone without looking back. She sat staring in to space feeling like she’d run up a flight of stairs. If having her hand kissed was that pleasant, the evening promised untold delights. She shivered again as her skin echoed the feel of his lips on her skin. There was a faint possibility the Hervey creature would prove to be a bargain.
Chapter 4
Mrs Juliana de Vere sat at the end of her dining table feeling overwhelmed by the charming medieval ring on her finger and the presence of seven orange haired men. The smiling boy sitting opposite was her husband and the abominations gulping down her inheritance were now her brothers. It was too awful to be true. Catching the eye of the Avery creature her soup spoon froze as she scowled. The man had been glancing at her with a disapproving expression since her arrival at the church. He clearly didn’t think her good enough for his penniless brother. Her spoon shook as her heart felt the wound. All six of her unwanted guests appeared unimpressed with their brother’s good fortune. She gripped her spoon as she held the Avery creature’s eye, “Whatever happened to that bottle of poison you were praising to the skies? If you’re out of pocket, do let me buy one for you. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you Madam; your thoughtfulness is heart-stopping. Please don’t extend yourself on my account.” He glanced towards his youngest brother and sighed, “I apologise for being rude yesterday. It was ungentlemanly of me and I fear I may have injured your opinion of Hervey.”
“You needn’t fear Mr de Vere; your brother is only mildly less repulsive than your awful self. I certainly didn’t marry him for the joy of having a flock of orange haired leeches looking down their noses at me because my family name isn’t as illustrious or impoverished.”
“Is that why you married him, for his name? Poor Hervey...”
“Your brother knows why I’ve married him and if he ever divulges the reason I’ll kill him.”
Six orange heads turned to look at their baby brother with concern. “Juliana isn’t going to kill me. Sweetheart, beware my brothers will take you at your word.”
“Good and don’t call me Sweetheart unless you want to die.” Juliana scowled at her smiling husband. He’d been looking at her with that theatrical adoring expression since she reached the altar. The horrid man had at least five thousand reasons to smile while she couldn’t think of one. The prospect of sharing her bed with the smiling stranger was suddenly real and terrifying and it was all her mother’s fault. The horrid woman had suggested the nightmare and then couldn’t bother to dress for supper let alone attend the wedding of her only child.
As if the orange haired man sitting to her left could read her thoughts, he turned towards her and said, “I’m sorry your mother couldn’t attend the wedding. She must be very ill. Our mother was ill for years before she died.”
“That’s not surprising considering she gave birth to nine surviving miscreants in almost as many years. The poor woman probably died of exhaustion. Which de Vere creature are you anyway?”
“Belvedere Madam, I’m the second eldest present.”
“Are you? If you were all wearing the same clothes I couldn’t tell you apart.”
“It’s true. Just last week the lovely Lady Wessex whispered in my ear, ‘Mr de Vere...may I call you Hervey?’ I said, ‘Madam, a woman as beautiful as your good self may call me whatever you like.’ Then she said, ‘I understand you have a certain reputation.’ I said, ‘Madam you put me to the blush. A reputation is nothing if not proved.’” Juliana scowled as six laughing orange men tapped their spoons on the table in approval. “She then invited me to tea...and afterwards said, ‘Oh Hervey...you will come again won’t you?’ I said, ‘Madam I’ll come as often as you desire.’”
“I’ve got one better.” Virgil de Vere raised his spoon and his brothers stopped tapping to listen. “One of Hervey’s peddlers, Lady St John came up to me at a ball last month and said, ‘Hervey my dear I must see you...urgently.’ I obliged the lady twenty minutes later in a private corner and left her singing Hervey’s praises.”
The tapping was short lived as Hervey’s amusement faded in response to his wife’s livid expression. “I’ve never had any dealings with Lady St John.”
Raven de Vere raised his spoon with a smile, “I have...she wanted to sell you some ugly paste jewellery for a fortune. I politely declined on your behalf and left her a satisfied customer.”
Hervey didn’t join his brothers in tapping his spoon on the table in appreciation. “I think perhaps it might be best if you rude lot finish dinner at a hotel. Juliana looks...tired.”
Raven de Vere raised his eyebrows, “Tired? She looks like Queen Boudicea ready to attack the Romans.”
“Vaughn de Vere forced a smile at his enraged sister-in-law, “Well, good luck, horse shoes and all that eh what?”