Beatrix looked up to see her parents standing there, a stern expression upon their faces even as Mrs. Trowley hastily shooed the other children back inside the house.
“You have been out here a very long time,” Mr. Trowley said sharply.
Rothwood stood and faced her father. In a voice that sounded stiff he said, “My apologies. I ought to have spoken to you first, Mr. Trowley. As I have told your daughter, I came here to see if we might suit each other. As husband and wife.”
Rothwood looked down, smiling reassuringly at Beatrix. Her father, however, was not so pleased.
“And has she accepted?” he demanded.
Now Beatrix stood. She met her father’s gaze and said, “Lord Rothwood has just arrived. We have barely had time to get to know each other again. He has not yet decided whether to ask me to marry him, and I have not yet decided what I will say if he does.”
“Not decided?” her mother echoed in dismay. “What is there to decide? The two of you looked quite taken with each other just now.”
“We were becoming reacquainted,” Beatrix repeated sharply. “That is scarcely the same as knowing Lord Rothwood well enough to marry him!”
“Your mother and I scarcely knew each other before we were wed,” her father countered.
Beatrix blinked. “But you and Mama, that is, you are both so affectionate with each other. I always thought it was a love match.”
“It became one,” her mother said briskly. “Just as it shall for the two of you. Come inside now. It isn’t proper for the two of you to be alone. Particularly if you are not yet betrothed.”
Beatrix tried to protest, but her parents took no notice. Rothwood leaned toward her. “They mean well,” he said, “and they wish to see you happy. They know I can give you what you deserve. Come, let us not fight with them when it will clearly do no good. We have already agreed to get to know each other again before you, er, we decide. I shall not let them bully you.”
She glanced at him doubtfully but then nodded. “I suppose you are right. If we decide we will not suit, Mama and Papa will have to understand. So long as we do not send out any announcements, no one will be the wiser if we choose not to wed.”
* * *
She could yet reject him, Rothwood thought, fear shaking him to his core. Until this moment he had not realized how much it meant to him that she not do so, and not just because of the provisions of his father’s will. It made no sense, he knew that. His father would have said he ought to either not care, or if he did care, use every persuasive way he knew to get her to agree to marry him. Indeed, he would have thought Miss Trowley daft for not instantly seizing on her sudden good fortune.
But Edmund didn’t want a wife he had to trick or manipulate into marrying him or who did so simply because of his position. He wanted, he realized, Miss Trowley to want to marry him because she felt about him as he felt about her. Already he knew Miss Trowley was the same girl he remembered, even if at times she forgot herself in the present. Already he was drawn to her more than to any girl or woman he had encountered in all the years in between his last visit and this one. His friends would say it was folly. His father would be appalled that emotions played any part in his choice. Edmund only knew that when he was with Miss Trowley, he again felt the freedom of his boyhood and the warmth of her approval and he wanted it to go on forever.
He had botched things, of course, but he would do better this coming week. He must. His happiness depended upon it and so, he was arrogant enough to believe, might hers. Meanwhile, he could talk settlements with her father. That would save time if Miss Trowley did agree to marry him. He had had the foresight to review his finances thoroughly a few weeks back when he first began to realize the deadline was fast approaching and he had wished to know for certain what would be feasible and wise in the matter of such things as settlements. All that would be needed would be for some local man to draw them up. Once Miss Trowley agreed to marry him, if she agreed to marry him, they could be signed. He was sure Mr. Trowley must know someone who could do so and certain Mr. Trowley must be as eager as he was to have the matter settled.
It was therefore with quiet calm that Rothwood went into the library with Mr. Trowley fully prepared to negotiate.
* * *
Beatrix looked at the closed study door and then at her mother. Her siblings had been sent on various errands so there would be some privacy for the talk her mother clearly wished to have with her. Well, why not? It would give her a chance to speak plainly and perhaps nip this nonsense in the bud. For it was nonsense, wasn’t it? Now that Lord Rothwood was in another room she could see that her silly tendre was a childish thing and not sufficient to base a marriage upon.
Never mind that she didn’t want it to be nonsense, that she wanted to believe that Rothwood really did wish to marry her and that it would be all right to say yes. That was not, however, what she chose to say out loud to her mother.
“Why didn’t you warn me, Mama? When Lord Rothwood mentioned the possibility of marriage, I was so taken aback that I am certain I made a fool of myself!”
“I thought there would be more time,” Mrs. Trowley said, fluttering her hands helplessly. “I, we had no notion he would say anything so soon after arriving. He must be most taken with you! Indeed, Lady Kenrick—”
Abruptly Mrs. Trowley closed her mouth and looked dismayed at having said too much.
“Mama? What are you not telling me?”
“I, whatever do you mean, dear?”
“You have just mentioned Lady Kenrick. Lord Rothwood said his aunt sent you a letter telling you that he was coming and why. Did she perhaps also mention anything about why he had fixed his interest on me instead of some other female?”
As always, her mother caved to the pressure in her daughter’s voice. “Oh, very well. Lady Kenrick writes that his lordship is looking for a dutiful, submissive wife who won’t mind living in the country or interfere with his way of life. And apparently, as he remembers things, that’s you.”
“I see.”
And she did. Beatrix sat in the nearest chair, scarcely aware that was what she was doing, so deep did the hurt go. So Rothwood wanted a submissive wife? That was how he remembered her? Of course he would. Back then, she had been a besotted child, running any errands he asked and listening happily for hours to anything he wished to say. Because she adored him. He’d been kind when her brothers and every other male she knew at least pretended to despise her. The boy Rothwood had not. He had listened to her and explained things. And in return she had gazed adoringly at him.
Worse, when he had asked her hopes and dreams, she had prattled on about some day being married and the mother of children, of becoming a pattern card of propriety. And now he believed, or at least hoped, that in all these years she had not changed. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Bitter and yet part of her wanted to laugh hysterically, for if he really knew the person she had become, he would run the other way! But part of her also desperately wished to believe she could be the woman he wanted her to be. Even knowing how he saw her, what he believed, she still wanted to be near him, spend time in his company. Folly, it was utter folly, but it was how she felt. What was she to do? To wed him under these circumstances was to deceive him. And yet wasn’t he deceiving her by not mentioning what he wished for in a wife, and simply assuming she would bend to his will? Wouldn’t it serve him right if she married him and then let him discover how mistaken he had been? And hadn’t he changed as well? Where was the rebel, the boy who swore to grow up to do whatever he pleased? When had he become this starched up man so devoted to propriety?
No, she could not do so, it simply wouldn’t be right. It would not be fair to him nor to herself. What if he turned mean when he discovered she wasn’t the dutiful sort? What if he were cruel? Surely nothing good could come of a wedding born out of such deceit?
And yet, Beatrix could not envision the boy she had known turning into a cruel man who would mistreat her if she an
gered him. Already he had shown her kindness on this visit as well. It was, it must still be an essential part of his nature. Mustn’t it?
Beatrix took a deep breath. They had time to get to truly know each other, she reminded herself. He would see who she was, just as she would see who he was now. And maybe, just maybe, he would like the woman she had become.
Her mother, apparently alarmed by something in her expression, leaned forward and grasped Beatrix’s hand. Her voice was fierce as she said, “You must marry him, Beatrix! We are done for if you do not. Think of your brothers and sisters. How are they to be provided for? If you marry Rothwood, then at least you can bring out your sisters each in turn. Perhaps you can turn him up sweet so that he even funds the cost of doing so, and perhaps he can help find positions for your brothers or buy one or more of them commissions. You must not throw away this chance! I beg of you, Beatrix, think of the family!”
As if she did not think of them every day. As if she had not sacrificed, over and over again, already for their sake. That was what Beatrix told herself. Out loud, however, all she said was, “And suppose I wed Rothwood and we do not suit and he refuses to lift a finger to help any of us?”
Mrs. Trowley shook her head. “You must not let that happen. We are all depending upon you!”
Depending on her. As they always had. When was Beatrix going to be able to depend on someone else?
Mrs. Trowley pressed her point. “Even if you cannot turn him up sweet enough to help your brothers and sisters, you at least would be married and have everything you need. Everything you want. Think! Good food, lovely clothes, warm fires in the fireplace, enough servants that you need never scrub a floor again!”
It was tempting, oh, so tempting, even if she had not had such fond memories of him as a boy. Could she let herself do this? How hard could it be, after all, to please the man? Mama seemed to please Papa without much effort. Couldn’t she perhaps accomplish the same with Rothwood? Would it really be so terrible to pretend to be the kind of wife he wished her to be, at least when he was around?
Chapter 4
“What is all this?” Beatrix asked, coming into the front hallway a few mornings later to discover Lord Rothwood and her brothers and sisters all lined up and giggling in a most conspiratorial way.
This was a change. Up until this moment, Rothwood had been the consummate Viscount. Now he looked at her with as boyish a grin as any of her brothers.
“We’re going fishing!” her youngest brother, Richard, said with glee.
“We’re going to take a basket and eat al fresco,” her youngest sister, Melody, corrected.
“We’re going to do both. And pick berries. And wildflowers,” Callista added, with the careful dignity of a young woman who is all too often still treated as a child.
“We are going to have fun!” her middle brother, Harold, crowed.
Beatrix looked at her two other brothers, John and Adrian, but they merely grinned at her. Well, they always were the quiet ones. “I see,” she told the assembled crowd. “And were none of you going to invite me?”
Lord Rothwood frowned. “The whole point was to include you,” he said curtly.
Beatrix felt her heart sink a little. Did he not recognize teasing when he heard it? Still, her siblings could be a trifle daunting. Out loud she said lightly, “Where are we to have our adventure?”
“Lord Rothwood said you were to choose,” Callista answered, regarding him with adoring eyes.
They all looked at her expectantly. Beatrix smiled. “I know just the place. Do we have everything?” When they nodded, she said, “Follow me,” and led the way out of the house and down the path that ran behind it.
She did indeed know just the place. It was where she and the boy Rothwood had been spent so many hours all those years ago. Would he remember? If not, she would remind him. His reaction would tell her a great deal about the man he had become and whether she was foolish to hold onto those memories.
It was not a terribly long walk, but it was far enough from the house so as to afford a high degree of privacy. Once at the pond, Beatrix expected Rothwood to dance attendance upon and try to fix his interest with her. Instead, he took the time to help her brothers set up their fishing poles, all but Adrian, who considered himself grown up and not in need of anyone’s assistance. Then he helped her sisters find a cool spot for the basket with the food.
Only when her siblings were all laughing and engaged in what they were doing did he come over to Beatrix where she sat on the stone that had been their favorite nine years earlier. He settled himself beside her without a care for what damage the dirt and mud might do to his clothing. Did he remember or was she the only one who replayed those days, those conversations over and over again in her head?
Rothwood clasped his knees with his hands and drew in a deep breath. “I have missed this spot,” he said, “and thought you very fortunate to be able to be here all the time.”
Beatrix laughed. “Not all the time. Someone must see to things at the house and we all have our responsibilities. But yes, often enough I can come here and be at peace.”
“Are you at peace?” he asked.
She looked at Rothwood, tempted to make light of the question, but there was something in his eyes that invited the truth. Still, it was not for her to speak of their family troubles, so all she said was, “Not always. With a family as large as ours there are always challenges.”
“And they fall on your shoulders?”
She did not answer, but then she did not have to answer. It was evident from his expression that Lord Rothwood had not really been asking a question. In the short time he had been here, clearly he had grasped how things stood. There was sympathy, too, in that look and it almost undid her composure.
But Beatrix did not want pity and so she changed the direction of their conversation before he could say anything more about the matter. “How do you like London?” she asked.
A shutter seemed to close over his face. “It is noisy and dirty.”
“I see. Well, then, what is your favorite place, other than here?” she asked playfully.
A hint of longing seemed to come into his eyes. “There is a tree, on my home estate. I used to climb it as a boy and from near the top it seemed I could see for miles. These days, I do not climb it,” he said with a wry smile. “Instead I’ve had a bench set at its base and when I am at my country estate I like to go and sit there and think. I cannot see as far from the bench, but it is a far safer view.”
“Safer.” She echoed the word thinking how lovely it would be to feel safe, not to have to be afraid every morning that the day might bring disaster. How lovely it would be to know there was someone big and strong, like Lord Rothwood, to protect her.
Beatrix was lost in this reverie when Melody cried out. Immediately Rothwood was on his feet and running to where her sister lay on the ground crying. He knelt beside Melody and his voice was gentle as he asked, “Where have you hurt yourself?”
“My ankle. I must have stepped in a rabbit hole. It will not bear my weight.”
“I’ll carry you back up to the house,” Rothwood said and bent to put action to the words.
“No!” Melody held out a hand in protest. “Please? I do not want to miss the fun. If you will help me over to where I can sit in the shade, I am sure I will be better soon.”
Rothwood shook his head. “You will not be better soon,” he told her. “I can see your ankle already beginning to swell. Forgive me, but I must check to see if it is broken.”
He felt Melody’s ankle, then gave a sigh of relief. “Not broken,” he said. “I shall carry you over to the pond. You may sit on that rock and keep your ankle in the water. The cold will help it recover faster. I know,” he added with a rakish grin, “because as a boy I was forever running about, stepping in holes and turning my foot the wrong way. My tutor taught me early on about the benefits of cold water. He had to, for he had no wish to cater to an invalid.”
That made Melo
dy laugh and Beatrix could have kissed Rothwood for his kindness to her sister. Not one word of scolding passed his lips, nor did he stop to think about propriety as he lifted her as though she were a featherweight and carried her to the spot where he and Beatrix had been sitting a short time before. Mind, he recovered himself once he had set her down and quickly backed away saying, “I shall leave it to you to remove your stocking and soak your ankle.”
He seemed so stiff and remote that he might have been another man entirely than the one who had sat with Beatrix by the pond or reassured her sister about her ankle. Would he be like this with her when they were married?
And then the other Rothwood was back, the kind and gentle one who stopped her brothers from teasing Melody. He didn’t scold them, either, but rather gave them tasks to carry out, such as finding various creatures that tended to live around the pond. Mama would not be happy if they brought back a toad, but the search would keep her youngest brothers, the twins, busy for some time. To Adrian, he spoke man to man, asking his help keeping up Melody’s spirits and to watch for signs that the damage to her ankle was worse than expected. Harold he set in charge of the twins, saying confidentially, “For you and I both know what kind of mischief boys their age are bound to stumble into.” Callista he enlisted to oversee everyone.
In just a few short moments, Rothwood had everything in hand and her brothers and sisters delighted with the roles allotted to each. He would, Beatrix thought, make an extraordinary father. That alone almost tempted her to accept his proposal here and now. If, that is, he had officially asked her.
He was always kind, it seemed. Look how he had arranged for food and wine and delicacies to be brought to the Trowley household, claiming it was for selfish reasons. But Beatrix had noticed how sparingly he ate and the smile with which he watched her family consume food far better than what they could usually afford. Yes, Lord Rothwood seemed the veriest paragon of virtues.
April Kihlstrom Page 5