by Cari Hislop
“I thought you said you didn’t mind plain speaking.” The booming roar dropped to a relative whisper as his thumb caressed her face. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Unless you’re a thief, a complainer or a whore I’ll be quite satisfied with you.” Her skin was soft and smelled faintly of roses as his lips brushed her cheek. His bride didn’t pull away, but he could feel her freeze with dismay. His romantic soul was making him a fool. He pulled away, picked up his book of poetry and randomly chose a page. “Go acquaint yourself with the household. I’ll call if I need you.” The words on the page were meaningless symbols as he stared blindly at the object in his hands.
Mary sighed in dismay as she stood to go. The man had been smiling before he’d kissed her. Now he was glaring at the book as if he hated poetry. “Marshall…” He turned over the page and pretended to read until she tapped his shoulder.
“What?” It was a terse unhappy word.
“I’m sorry I misunderstood you.” Intelligent blue eyes looked up at her and then returned to the page. She was dismissed.
Marshall watched her disappear out the door before throwing the book on the desk and rubbing his eyes. There was something irrationally pleasing about the plain woman. Sitting back in his chair he closed his eyes and recalled the image of his wife in her chemise. She was far too thin, but after a couple months of good dinners… Was he losing his mind? Was he so desperate that he’d reached a point where he’d settle for any woman in his bed? He growled in disgust as his dreams wilted in despair. He had to get out and clear his head. After a long walk he’d return to find the real woman he married.
Chapter 3
Mary heard her husband shouting for his overcoat and hat and then the front door open and close. Where was he going? Was he angry with her? She sighed in ignorance and continued her inspection of the house. There was a depressing air of temporary accommodation about the rooms. After staring at a painting of a long dead Godfrey with bright blue eyes she ran her finger along shelves and fire surrounds finding dust. The house and furniture cried out for proper cleaning. Candle wax globbed the sides of expensive silver candlesticks. Oil lamps were stained black with smoke. The fire grates were swept and filled with fresh coal, but hadn’t received a proper blacking in weeks. Did the twins have important callers? The thought made Mary cringe. If her father’s rectory had looked half as neglected she’d have faced quiet disgrace from the entire parish. She couldn’t believe the upper class would be any less vicious. With a mental list of improvements and a plan of execution she went in search of the housekeeper.
…
Marshall let himself back in with his own key and locked the door on the night. He sniffed the air in shock; the house smelled of lemons, vinegar, linseed oil and beeswax. He shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over the hall chair. Free of his hat and gloves he stepped into his study and found a small clean oil lamp lighting up his tidied desk. He looked at his watch and stepped back out into the hall and stopped in shock. His outerwear had disappeared. He hadn’t seen such efficiency since his step-mother’s death. It was gone nine-thirty; would his wife be in bed? He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find. He’d idled away the day browsing bookstalls and spent the evening at his club reading the papers trying to convince himself that his wife’s charms were delusions born of desperation. For the present, his dream of romance refused to politely step aside for lust.
Stopping in the doorway to the sitting room, he stared spellbound at the mermaid. Bathed in lamp light, the small pillow on her lap dotted with pins and bobbins tied with future lace lying forgotten as she listened intently to something one of his sisters was saying. She suddenly turned to look in his direction and smiled. The bobbins clacked as she set them aside and rushed to his side. “Did you have dinner? Do you need a drink?”
“Tell him to come over here and sit with us.”
“I’ve eaten. What are those two hussies chattering?” Her touch resurrected memories of his father greeting his mother with a kiss. Marshall barely resisted the impulse to follow suit.
“They want you to join them.”
“Alright, move over Alyce and one at a time. I refuse to be driven mad for your evening’s amusement.” Mary watched her husband sit down in between his pretty sisters and fold his arms in contentment as they each claimed an ear. She returned to her seat and pretended to work on her lace as she listened.
Emily Godfrey wrapped her hands around her brother’s arm. “We had the most fantastic day. Auntie Bea took us to a breakfast party that lasted forever and we met the most amusing man. I think I’m in love…”
Alyce pulled on Marshall’s other arm for attention. “He’s ugly, but he’s so rich it doesn’t matter…”
Emily scowled at her sister before continuing. “He’s adorable! He looks just like a bunny rabbit and he has the most charming personality. You’d like him Marshall, he’s very kind…”
“Yes, he reminds us of you…”
Marshall met his wife’s laughing eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Wife, do I look like a rabbit?” He twitched his lips up and down over his front teeth and was rewarded by silent laughter as she shook her head. “My wife doesn’t think I look like a rabbit.”
Emily pinched his cheek. “We like your face, you look like Papa.”
“I’m glad someone likes my face. So who is this paragon of rabbithood?”
Alyce pulled on Marshall’s ear dragging his attention back to her. “Lord Buckingham; he says the funniest things. We nearly wet ourselves laughing.”
Emily scowled at her mirror image, “I saw him first!”
“What does it matter which of us saw him first? The man can’t tell us apart. Besides, you’d spoil him and make him think he’s handsome. I’m more ruthless. I’ll ensure he makes something of himself. He could be prime minister…”
Marshall scowled at Alyce. “Don’t be a hussy! A man doesn’t marry so he can be mauled into political office. You’ll choose a husband and then leave him well alone. I don’t want him knocking on my door complaining he can’t sleep or eat for your nagging.”
Alyce rolled her eyes. “I won’t need to nag Lord Buckingham. He thinks I’m beautiful; he’ll worship me with his twenty thousand pounds a year. And when he inherits his grandfather’s Earldom he’ll have another ten thousand. I’ll have more money every year than you could save in five! I’ll have rooms of red dresses…”
Marshall growled in anger before shouting, “I don’t care what Lord Rabbit is worth. Unless it’s a love match you won’t have my blessing.”
Alyce pouted as her eyes filled with resentment. “You didn’t marry for love. Why should we?”
Marshall’s eyes narrowed in unhappiness. “Ugly deaf men have to settle for the best they can buy and hope to find some small pinch of happiness, but I won’t allow you to marry a rabbit just because his pockets are well lined. You’ll marry for love or you won’t receive a penny of your dowry.”
The kind Emily looked at her twin in horror as Marshall jumped up off the sofa and marched out of the room and up the stairs to his bedchamber. All three women started as a distant door slammed shut. “Shame on you Alyce Godfrey; you know he’s sensitive. How could you?”
“He’s being a hypocrite. He can’t hire a wife from an ad in the paper and not allow me to marry whoever I please.”
“Oh Alyce, don’t be a cow. He’s just trying to protect us because he loves us.”
“Well maybe I don’t want to be protected? I’m nineteen not nine. I don’t need a governess to…”
Mary impulsively set aside her lace followed her husband. She stood outside his bedchamber door a few minutes. She was the man’s wife, even if it was on a wage. It was her duty to comfort him. She slammed the door behind her hoping he’d feel the vibration and was relieved when he turned his head in her direction. He was standing in front of an open chest of drawers clutching a miniature portrait of a woman. Sapphire eyes looked like brittle glass in the candlelight. “I wish to be alone.”
There was wetness in his voice that made her heart ache for the lonely man. She crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know how you feel.” The blue glass cracked in anger.
“Do you? Have you had your heart rejected thirteen times? Have you been laughed at every day of your life and thought an imbecile just because you couldn’t hear properly? Well?”
“No, but I’m a plain woman without a dowry. I might as well be deaf, dumb and blind. What’s an ugly girl do with a loving heart? When she hears church bells peeling for another wedding she says a prayer that one day they’ll chime for her. She prays that one day she’ll meet a man who’ll see her heart and love her anyway. It’s all just a silly dream.” Marshall impulsively put an arm around her waist and felt comforted by her hand on his back. “Is that your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She looks very kind.”
“She was an angel.” He gently laid the miniature inside the top drawer and pushed it closed. “She used to tell me that I was special, that God had made life difficult for me because it would have been too easy for me with perfect hearing. I think God must have a demented sense of humour.”
“Perhaps you’re not the one being tested?”
Looking down into serious eyes Marshall gave into temptation and kissed her on the forehead. “Perhaps not. It doesn’t matter; I’d rather be deaf than blind.” As he pulled his arm free of her waist he tugged on his cravat. It felt completely natural to have her at his side as he undressed.
“Did you have a pleasant day Marshall?” She took his cravat as a matter of course and waited as he shrugged out of his jacket.
“It wasn’t unpleasant.” Marshall handed over his waistcoat and stopped half way through unbuttoning his trousers as he caught her modest eyes staring at the ceiling. It was tempting to ask her to stay, to share his bed. Would it be so bad to settle for companionship? His romantic heart resisted the argument and opened his mouth. “I’ll do the rest on my own.” He clutched his trouser flap closed as she leaned into him to speak.
“Would you like a hot bath in the morning?”
“Hah! When I ask for a bath I get four cans of tepid water and a tin tray. Half the room floods, it’s easier to sponge myself from the basin.”
“What time do you rise?”
“Eight-thirty, but I don’t expect you to work until after breakfast.”
“Did you need anything else this evening?” Marshall took a deep breath as the innocent words tempted him to give into his baser needs.
“No, I’m going to bed.”
“Pleasant dreams…” Marshall’s shoulders slumped as the door closed, he shook his head and tried not to think about how pleasant it felt to hold her close as he finished undressing. Snuffing out the candles, he slid into bed and lay there staring into the darkness tormented by loneliness until he fell asleep.
At Eight thirty-four the following morning Marshall woke up from a pleasurable dream and rolled over to see the steaming hip bath accompanied by two clean linen towels, fresh soap, a note and a bell. He flung off the covers and picked up the note. ‘Ring the bell if you’d like me to wash your hair before you bathe.’
He dipped his hand in the water, it was hot. He didn’t want to wait for assistance. He scrubbed away with relish and finished bathing a half hour later feeling clean and well disposed to the world, the late night scene forgotten. Humming to himself he shaved the night’s growth off his face and finished his ablutions. If his hired wife could coax a hot bath once a week out of his lazy servants he’d consider her wages well earned. The thought reminded him that he hadn’t even told her how much she’d be paid. He paused as he scraped his neck; if he offered her a permanent position he wouldn’t have to pay her salary. He thrashed his razor in the bowl of water and sighed with disgust at the inner war. His heart pleaded with him to listen to reason, but his mind scoffed the beggar and reminded Marshall that there wasn’t any point in searching for a woman who didn’t exist. How could a woman fall in love with him if he couldn’t have a proper conversation with her to begin with? Besides, his ideal woman was probably happily married to a man with perfect hearing. His pride sided with his heart, but his body firmly agreed with his mind. It was humiliating to accept that he’d never experience love; never hold a woman who’d make him feel like he was living his own love poem.
If he gave in to his head there’d be no hope of early morning words of affection whispered over his pillow, but wouldn’t a kind greeting be better than nothing? He nearly cut his throat as his hand shook with disappointment. He was forty-three, practically deaf, unattractive and unfairly reputed to be a brute; being a wealthy Viscount didn’t even begin to balance his personal deficit.
He finished dressing and forced himself to check to make sure he had enough clean shirts and cravats for the next several days. His few brief attempts at employing a valet had always ended in blows. He made a mental note to instruct his wife to add checking his linen to her list of duties and finished dressing. He thundered down the stairs and hollered for his wife. As he stepped into the dining room he stopped abruptly and looked around. Something was different. Had the table always looked so shiny? Had the dishes always matched? The room had an odd cheerful air that hadn’t been there the day before. Where had the vase of flowers in the window come from? He looked into the silver lidded dishes on the sideboard and was relieved to find that none of them contained overcooked liver or boiled kippers. He dished up a plate of eggs and bacon sat down. Several minutes later his wife appeared breathless at his elbow. “Where have you been?”
“I was in the attic discussing improvements for the servant’s quarters with Mrs. Green. Is there something you’d like me to do?”
“Sit down.” He pointed to the chair at his right with his knife and watched her pour herself a cup of chocolate before sitting down. She looked tired.
Mary watched him cut up his eggs and bacon, shovel them neatly into his mouth and then smack loudly as he enjoyed his food. She closed her eyes and slowly sipped her chocolate as she imagined herself sitting in a small dining room at a little round table, a wooden cradle near her feet rocking back and forth…
“Stop rocking, you’re making me sea sick. I hate being sea sick!” The roar tipped her upright and snuffed out the pretty picture before she could finish designing the print on the cheap muslin curtains. Her favourite daydream on hold she opened her eyes and wondered what the scowling man’s children would look like. He didn’t look so quite so frightening after a thorough wash. His wet hair still looked like old thatch, but it was now clean old thatch. She withstood the temptation to reach out and touch it to see if the ends were as stiff as they looked. His children would laugh a lot. They’d sit on his knee and pull his nose… “Is my person amusing you this morning?”
“I was imagining what sort of father you’d be.” Marshall froze as his heart and mind forcefully resumed their conflict. Should he or should he not make her a permanent offer? “I think your children will wrap you around their little fingers before they can speak.”
“Humph! They’d be obedient brats or regret it.”
“If you say so my Lord.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed at her pointed disobedience and had to grit his teeth to keep from laughing.
“I’ll punish you later Mrs Godfrey.”
“As you wish; the needle-witch delivered several large boxes this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who’s owned such lovely dresses. Old Mrs. Harding, whose fourth husband made a fortune selling charcoal ink by the barrel, always wore the most exquisite clothes. She often said I deserved to marry a title, though I suspect she meant a Bishop rather than a Lord.”
“Do you always talk enough for ten women? You’re going to give me a headache…what sort of mother do you think you’d be?”
“I don’t know. When I think of having children they’re either babies or adults, I skip the part in-between.”
Marshall put down his knife and fork, wiped his lips, sat bac
k and stared at his wife. Morning sunlight was bouncing off the two large mirrors hanging on opposite walls and wrapping her in light. She was smiling at some inner thought as she stared into space. She wasn’t pretty, but her magical hair looked like golden honey dripping off her head and her eyes were luminous and kind. “What are you thinking about?”