April Kihlstrom

by The Dutiful Wife

  Was that a snort from their cart driver? What the devil kind of impertinence was that? But perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps the man had merely sneezed. Certainly Miss Trowley was doing her best to smile as the cart rattled along the rutted track. All would be well. Of course it would. It had to be, Rothwood reassured himself and tried very hard to believe it.

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Trowley and Mrs. Trowley had just begun to worry about their daughter Beatrix when the cart rattled to a stop in front of the house. They went out on the front steps, along with all their offspring, and were just in time to see a finely dressed gentleman hand her out of the cart.

  “Could that be—?” Mrs. Trowley started to ask.

  “Absurd! He couldn’t have come from London in that,” her husband replied with a snort. “Look. It’s Jem driving the cart. Whoever it is, they’ve come from the village. But who is the gentleman and why is he with Beatrix?”

  “Perhaps he’s staying in the village and didn’t want to bring his carriage here?”

  This last question was said hopefully by Mrs. Trowley, who was not as oblivious to their financial straits as Beatrix was inclined to assume. Already she was thinking of what Cook must be preparing for supper and knowing it could in no way be up to the standards of a gentleman dressed in such elegant attire. He would despise the food and thus despise them, even if he didn’t notice the shingles falling off the roof, and then where would their poor Beatrix be? If, of course, he was the Viscount who was supposed to be coming to court her. But it couldn’t be, could it? Perhaps it was just some chance encounter with some stranger passing through the village who knew Mr. Trowley, someone who had nothing to do with the matter of Beatrix’s future. Mrs. Trowley could only hope it was so, for she had planned to go to the village herself and beg the butcher for his forbearance and some good meat while the Viscount was here. If this was he, there was no time to do so.

  Mind you, Mrs. Trowley was not depending entirely upon the mercy and good nature of the butcher. She knew the man too well for that. No, she planned to use a small bit of her tightly hoarded cache of coins to pay a portion of the money owed the man. She could not tell Mr. Trowley this, for he would immediately insist upon doing so himself and what that meant, of course, was that he would take the money and gamble with it, telling himself that he meant to double it so that he could pay even more of the bill. But Mr. Trowley would surely lose every penny and while Mrs. Trowley adored her husband, she was not so blind to their situation as to allow him to gamble away her small store of coins meant for emergencies. If this was not an emergency—the chance to see her dearest Beatrix well wed—then Mrs. Trowley didn’t know what would count as one!

  But she would have to do so tomorrow, for right now there was a guest to be greeted and entertained, and if he was the Viscount, then he must be so well entertained that he doesn’t notice the shabbiness of their home or the poor quality of the food to be set upon the table. He must be persuaded somehow to focus all his attention upon Beatrix. Mind you, judging from the way he helped her down from the cart and held onto her hand afterward, it would seem she had already begun to fix his interest. If this really was the longed-for Viscount, that was a very good thing.

  * * *

  Oh, heavens, Beatrix thought, seeing her entire family lined up to greet Lord Rothwood, the man could not be blamed if he turned tail and ran at the sight of so many excited faces. Why were they all so eager? Usually her siblings would be running around, pushing and shoving each other and making a great deal of noise, not in the least concerned with the arrival of a guest, no matter how handsome. Why were they instead regarding him with a look of intense expectancy? Surely they could not have known the man was coming. But wait, he had said something about his aunt writing to her mother so perhaps they did.

  Well, no matter. She must be practical. She took the basket of fruit from the Viscount, blushing to think he had condescended to such kindness as to carry it for her. “I must take this straightaway to Cook,” she said, “or there will be no time for her to make the tarts for dessert.”

  He inclined his head and let her go, and why that should make her feel bereft made no sense to Beatrix. She swept past her family, pausing only long enough to introduce the man to her parents, and left it to her parents to introduce her brothers and sisters to the Viscount.

  In the kitchen, she found Cook all abustle with the news there was company and that likely the company would be sitting down to eat with the family. “What am I to do? There is barely enough to stretch as it is, and plain as can be. Nothing to suit as fine a gentleman as I’m told stands on the front steps right this minute. At least with this fruit the dessert won’t be a disgrace and I thank you kindly for that,” she told Beatrix as she took the basket of fruit.

  Beatrix bit her lip. “You know I would help you if I could.”

  “No, no, that will be quite all right. We’ll manage somehow,” Cook said hastily, shivering at the memory of the last time Beatrix had tried to help in the kitchen. “You,” she said to the one scullery maid, “go and fetch me some eggs. I know there must be some left in the hen house, for you didn’t spend near enough time to find them all this morning.”

  The girl hastened out of the kitchen. Cook turned back to Beatrix. “You’d best go upstairs and change into your nicest dress,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “B-because your parents have a visitor,” Cook sputtered. “It’s your duty to make him feel welcome. Putting on your best dress is a sign of respect. And besides, you’ve got mud on the hem of this one and you don’t want to be tracking that all over the house.”

  Beatrix hesitated. Cook was acting very odd, almost as if she knew something about their visitor. Well, perhaps she did. The servants always seemed to know everything going on in the house, even when the family themselves didn’t. Besides, it made sense what she’d said, so Beatrix took the back stairs up to the room she shared with her sisters. It was crowded, but not as crowded as the room her four brothers shared.

  It took but a few minutes to change. Even so, Beatrix was surprised neither of her sisters popped in to ask her about the Viscount. Normally that was what they would do. But not today. Today, she discovered when she went back downstairs that her sisters were sitting in the parlor with Mama and Papa just staring at Lord Rothwood. Her brothers were also sitting still, eyes on the Viscount, and the entire family was unnaturally subdued and polite. It made Beatrix wonder if some strange illness had come over them that they were all behaving so oddly.

  There was no time to wonder further, however, for at that moment the Viscount looked up and his eyes met hers. He smiled a smile that made her heart feel as if it would burst, for he looked as if seeing her lit up the room for him and filled him with utter happiness. But that was foolish. He could not possibly care so much about seeing her, even if her gown was a prettier and fit her far better than the one she had been wearing before.

  Still, apparently Lord Rothwood had been making himself agreeable because Mama and Papa were also smiling. Beatrix couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her parents smile so broadly or look at a guest with such obvious approval. Well, he was the nephew of Mama’s bosom bow so perhaps that was it. And the Viscount had excellent manners so of course they were pleased. It was probably no more than that and yet it was enough to allow Beatrix to smile as she stepped into the room, because it meant he was not sneering at their ramshackle home or her family. She could relax, this once, for a little bit at least.

  Lord Rothwood was standing now and he bowed as he said, “You look lovely, Miss Trowley. I have been telling your parents what a godsend you were, showing up when my carriage landed in the ditch and able to take me to the village to find help. I have been apologizing for taking up so much of your time today when your own family must have wished to have you with them.”

  Well, that was a very pretty speech, even if he was saying those things to please her parents, Beatrix thought, with a sniff. She could be just a
s gracious in return.

  “You are most welcome for the help, sir. And most kind.”

  Why that should make her siblings giggle and nudge one another was beyond understanding. Beatrix resolutely ignored them. She would not allow their silliness to distract her. Not when there was a guest to entertain. She did not want this elegant gentleman to return to London and tell tales of how eccentric her family was, as apparently other guests had done in the past. Conscious of the pain that gossip had caused her parents, for Lady Kenrick had felt it her duty to tell them about it, Beatrix was determined the Viscount should have nothing to cavil at during his visit.

  With that goal in mind, she moved forward and took the seat next to him, for it was the only seat available in the entire room. She smiled again and said, “I hope we have not overwhelmed you. I told you it is a large family.”

  “I am quite enjoying myself,” he answered. “Your brothers have promised to show me the best hunting and fishing spots hereabouts. And your sisters are delightful. As are your parents.”

  Hunting and fishing? Beatrix let out a tiny sigh of relief. Not only would that provide entertainment for the Viscount, but it would be a means to put food on the table for him. She looked at her brothers approvingly and they grinned right back. Most disconcerting was the fact that not one of them stuck his tongue out at her, as they were wont to do in such situations. Not that she objected, she thought hastily. Indeed she was grateful for their forbearance. It was just . . . odd.

  “Perhaps you could show Lord Rothwood the garden,” her mother positively trilled.

  Mama never trilled. Something very strange was going on. Still, she had been trained to be a dutiful daughter. “Er, of course. If, that is, you are interested,” Beatrix told the Viscount doubtfully.

  “I should be delighted to see the garden,” he responded promptly, and with all the appearance of intensely wishing to do so. Indeed, he immediately rose to his feet and held out a hand to her, disconcerting Beatrix even more.

  Had everyone gone mad? With a tiny shake of her head, Beatrix rose to her feet as well and led the way through the French doors to what passed for a garden at the Trowley residence. It was not a particularly pretty garden. Not wanting in wits, the Viscount was quick to notice how it differed from most gardens of the gentry.

  “Is that cabbage?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, and peas and beans and carrots and potatoes,” Beatrix said, almost daring him to laugh.

  “M-most practical,” he finally managed to say after staring at the plants before him.

  “Yes, well, with such a large family, one needs to be,” she muttered.

  That brought his attention sharply back to her, which had not been her intention but now could not be avoided. “I am impressed,” he said.

  Those words alone might have earned him her undying gratitude, but then he took her hand and kissed it, looked deep into her eyes and said, “I think it a far more beautiful garden than any other I have seen. I know that ladies like flowers, but I should far rather see something useful when I look out my window.”

  Whatever there was in his words that made her want to cry, Beatrix could not have said. She only knew they did. She pulled her hand free and turned her back on him, surveying instead the garden plot before her. “I—I rather like flowers,” she sniffed, “but there is no denying we need the vegetables.”

  She felt rather than saw him come up close behind and put his hands on her shoulders. Was it only her imagination that he leaned forward and kissed the top of her hair? It must be her imagination, for no gentleman, particularly a stranger, would behave in such a way!

  But she did not imagine the soft throaty voice that said, “Then you should always have flowers, armfuls of them.”

  And why should his kindness make her want to cry even more? She managed a watery chuckle as she said, “You are kind to say so but then you have always been kind.”

  She could feel him go very still behind her. “You remember my visit?” he asked.

  Beatrix turned to face him. Suddenly he was no longer the stranger, but rather the kind boy who had not minded her tagging along with him almost ten years earlier. “How could I forget someone who was so kind to me?” she asked.

  It was his turn to color up and shift uncomfortably. But then he took a breath and met her eyes as he said, “You were the one who was kind. You listened to my foolish prattling of hopes and dreams and did not tell me they were all folly.”

  “Have you followed those dreams? Traveled to those places you wanted to go, done those things you wanted to do?” she asked.

  He shook his head. Now his voice was curt as he answered, “No, I grew up instead.”

  “I am so sorry,” she said softly.

  “Sorry?” he said, clearly taken aback.

  “No one should have to give up their hopes and dreams. No one should have to grow up, as you put it, if it means abandoning what makes them who they are.”

  He stared at her as if she had two heads and Beatrix could feel herself coloring up. Now she had done it. She had spoken without thinking and he thought her daft. But what could she say? It was how she felt. Her heart ached for the boy he had been, the one forced to abandon his dreams in order to grow up.

  Time seemed to stretch on forever before he finally spoke. “You are still kind,” he said, though his voice and manner were stiff. “It is what I remember best about you. That and your own dreams. You talked back then of wanting to someday marry and have children. Do you still wish for that?”

  Something in his eyes alarmed her and Beatrix took a step back. “W—why are you here?” she asked.

  He took a breath and made a sound that might have been exasperation. “Do we need to talk about that now?”

  “W—why should we not?”

  He looked away and Beatrix thought he was going to refuse to answer, but he didn’t. With the same gesture he had used as a boy, all those years ago, he straightened, threw back his shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Very well, I had not meant to rush my fences. Time enough after a few days, after I spoke first with your father.” He paused and smiled the same sweet smile she remembered before he said, “You asked questions no one else would have asked even back then, didn’t you?”

  “I was a child,” she reminded him.

  “So you were, but you are not a child now.” There was nothing to say to that, and so she waited. After a moment he went on, “You will think me foolish. Perhaps I am. Perhaps you will tell me to go to the devil and you might be right to do so!”

  This time when he paused, she smiled and even managed to jest a bit. “Somehow I cannot imagine telling such an august person as yourself to go to the devil.”

  He looked as though nothing she could have said would have pleased him more. He took a step toward her and took her hand in his. If he noticed how it trembled, he did not say so. “Perhaps you will think me mad,” he repeated, “but I must marry soon and I came to visit to see if perhaps you and I would suit.”

  Instinctively she tried to pull her hand free, but he would not let it go.

  “I am not asking you today. That would be mad indeed. Today I am only asking that you give us a chance to know each other as we are now and then decide. Perhaps I shall be the one to say we won’t suit.”

  Beatrix looked up at him, searching his face for something she could not even name. “Why?” she asked. “Why me?”

  He took a deep breath, determined, it seemed, upon honesty. “Because you were kind to me. Because I remember you as such a taking thing. Because you did not laugh at my dreams. Because you come from a fertile family, so producing an heir should be easy. Because you love the countryside. Because something I don’t even understand myself has brought me here.”

  Shaken, Beatrix seized on the only thing she could. “Y—you said you must marry soon. How soon?” she asked.

  He had the grace to flush as he said, “By the end of the month.”

  “By the end of the month?” Now
Beatrix did yank her hand free and take several steps back from him. “Why did you leave it so late?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I would, I must, meet a suitable wife in London. There are so many debutantes each year, you see. But I didn’t and as the time grew short, I thought of you.”

  “How flattering,” she said in the most withering of voices.

  “I do not mean it the way it sounds. Even if we had all the time in the world, I should have wanted to come and see you and see if we would suit.”

  “It’s impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “How can we know by the end of the month if we should suit?”

  He stiffened, but not from courage this time. His voice was curt as he said, “I am not proposing a love match. I despise such sentimentality. I am proposing that we see if you and I could enter into a sensible marriage, one that would be of advantage to both of us.” He waved a hand at her home. “Surely you do not wish to stay here forever? I can offer you comfort. You would never have to scrape pennies again. I can give you all the things you’ve never had.”

  “And I am to offer you companionship and an heir,” Beatrix said, her voice breaking on the words.

  “Yes, exactly. We needn’t live in each other’s pockets. It will be much better if we do not. As I said, I am not asking you to decide today. I am only asking that you give us a chance to know each other again. If either of us decides we would not suit, that will be the end of it.”

  Beatrix felt her heart ache all over again for the boy Rothwood had once been. He had grown up, all right, and she was not certain she liked the man nearly as much as she had adored the boy he had been. But he was right, she thought, taking a deep breath. There was much to recommend what he proposed.

  “You have taken me by surprise,” she said, finally. “I must think about the matter. But whatever we decide, I am glad to see you again and wish to hear all about your life since you were last here.”

  He grinned, and it was as if he was that boy again. He began to talk at the rapid-fire pace she remembered from years ago and she was content to listen as he talked. He even made her laugh more than once. They walked through the rest of the garden and sat on a bench under her favorite tree. At least they meant to sit on the bench and talk. But they had barely done so when they were interrupted by someone clearing his throat.