by Julia Donner
Taffy allowed her to help, and the evening went well enough. Mrs. Nugent claimed herself in transports—although there was no discernible change in her demeanor—with the task of creating a fine meal. Having seen how Bainbridge paid so little attention to what he ate and wore, Leticia was glad the woman had a reason to celebrate. And she did, creating three courses, two removes and excellent wine choices. Taffy had found more clean livery and additional footmen to serve.
Relieved that the meal hadn’t come off as shabby and ramshackle as the rest of the house, Leticia sent her compliments downstairs and appreciated the reprieve when the gentlemen accepted her request to be excused to prepare for the following day.
Her heart pounded that evening as she waited for Bainbridge to come up. She’d noticed an odd tension in him, which had a strangely unsettling effect on her nerves. Throughout the meal, she’d longed to excuse herself from the table, oddly desperate to leave the men to port, smoking, and whatever it was that men talked about when ladies weren’t present.
After readying for bed, she went to the window and lifted the latch to air the room. A night breeze carried the scent of recently harvested hay. She inhaled a deep breath of summer’s perfume. Something about the sultry night stirred thoughts and feelings she never recognized before coming to Stokebrook. Images formed and evolved. Tonight, would he take advantage of the offer she made at the inn? As every night approached, she asked herself that question. There was no answer that night, since she fell asleep before he came up.
Chapter 15
Bainbridge swore to Carnall the following morning, “That blasted vicar had better show his face or I’ll drag him here myself.”
He glanced at the closed dressing room door. On the other side, Leticia dressed for the ceremony, which he hoped would be brief. He doubted he could wait much longer and had spent part of the night watching her sleep.
The night before, he’d asked the marquess his opinion of what to wear for a wedding. Carnall had appeared before breakfast and demanded to see the contents of the wardrobe. Shaking his head again, Carnall reached into the clothespress crammed with clothes never worn, mainly because he’d filled out across the shoulders and arms since the clothes had been made ten years before.
Carnall withdrew a pair of trousers and a jacket. “I asked the maid what the countess is wearing. This coat will do nicely. Where are your orders? It would be a nice touch.”
Bainbridge tugged his left ear. “Not sure. Most likely in a drawer somewhere. I never go to places or functions where I’d need to wear them.”
“There’s been talk of your absence in the House. If you ever attended.”
“I’ve been there. A few times.”
Carnall handed him pantaloons. “See if these still fit.”
They did but were snug, especially across the thighs. He worried that the skin-tight kerseymere might shock his bride, especially since he couldn’t look at her without responding. He’d heard men joke about eager bridegrooms often enough. He didn’t like the idea of Leticia being exposed to that sort of crudity and public awkwardness. Fortunately, this would be a private ceremony.
Carnall’s mumbled curse brought him back to task. Bainbridge turned and slid his arms into a jacket Carnall held at the ready. He’d found only one shirt that fit properly, and after insertion into a whiskey-colored vest and the jade green jacket, the rig looked ready to split across the shoulders.
“Carnall, I don’t think this will do. The vest buttons are on the verge of popping, and I can scarcely move my arms.”
“Philistine. It’s supposed to be that tight. I doubt you ordered it that way but have grown into it since having it made. No, allow me to tie that. Don’t you have any neckwear that’s properly starched?”
“I don’t usually take time for this.”
“That much goes without saying. Where are the gloves?”
Bainbridge carefully reached sideways to slide open a drawer. Carnall inspected the contents and withdrew a pair, again shaking his head when the seams split as Bainbridge inserted his hand and flexed his fingers.
“This is the outside of enough. Lady Bainbridge must hire a proper manservant for you.”
“Carnall, I spend all of my days in the stable. There’s no need to waste time on dressing for the horses.”
“You have a wife now. You will be expected to dress properly for dinner, entertain the county, attend church and local assemblies, and the season. Lady B. will require a trip to town at least once a year, and you must start showing your face in parliament.”
Bainbridge started to inhale to heave a resigned sigh but the restriction of his clothes made him think otherwise. More strain on the seams and the jacket would go the way of the gloves. “I never gave a thought to all of that. You’re right, of course.”
“We both know exactly what you’ve been thinking about, and hopefully, that will be alleviated after today. You really should wear gloves. I’d offer a pair of mine but they wouldn’t fit. At least your boots have been properly shined.”
Due to the tightness of the neckwear and high shirt points, Bainbridge couldn’t look down at the state of his boots. He turned instead to the long mirror. “Well, Carnall, let’s hope I don’t make a spectacle of myself. In this rig, there are endless opportunities for embarrassment.”
“I promise not to laugh if it comes apart.”
“Blackguard. I’m more concerned I might horrify my innocent bride. In the condition I’ve suffered for the last while, she might take one look and run shrieking from the chapel. Stand in front of me as often as you are able.”
Carnall paused, then laughed and slapped him on the back. A knock on the door to the hallway took their attention.
When the footman entered, Bainbridge noticed Mrs. Taffinton’s hand. The livery had been cleaned and mended, buttons polished, the fellow’s wig neat and freshly powdered. Along with the improved appearance came the aloof disinterest of a proper footman. “My lord, you have a visitor.”
“My lady’s cousins from Charhill?”
“No. It’s Mrs. Rawlins.”
Carnall raised his eyebrows at the veiled subtext of the footman’s reply. Irritated, Bainbridge snapped an explanation. “A neighbor. Uninvited.”
As they went down the wide staircase to the entry hall, Bainbridge raced to think of a reason why Jessamyn would show her face at Stokebrook, and more importantly, how to send her on her way as soon as possible. The entire county knew about their longstanding involvement, which was more like a public secret. The legacy of residual fear leftover from his father’s reign left everyone careful and purposely ignoring the affair. He couldn’t expect Leticia to accept or agree with the neighborhood’s unspoken tolerance. He’d been searching for a way to break it off. Perhaps not exactly searching—more like procrastinating. This was as good a time as any to end the relationship.
Jessamyn’s sloe-eyed gaze widened as he approached. “Bainbridge, I’ve never seen you look so fine. At least, not in years.”
Bainbridge took the hand she offered and stood squarely under the lintel to block her from entering. “Good day to you, Jessamyn. May I ask how I may be of service?”
Her slumberous eyes held a spark of sly humor when she replied. “You certainly may, but not until after you introduce me to your guest.”
Turning his head and shoulders as one to glance at Carnall, Bainbridge made the introduction. As pleasantries were exchanged, his mind raced on ways to get rid of Jessamyn before Leticia came down. He hoped she would take longer to dress for the ceremony than he had.
Then another scenario entered his head, and he began to pray that the vicar wouldn’t show up while Jessamyn stood on his threshold. That was all that was needed, a clergyman coming upon the pair of them, the most gossiped about liaison in the parish, conferring on his doorstep minutes from him getting leg-shackled. But he didn’t think of Leticia that way, in joking terms or as an imprisonment for life, and felt a twinge of remorse for using the term, even mentally
.
Most of all, he wished Jessamyn would leave. She was a determined lady, refusing to accept the hint to move on when he didn’t extend an offer to enter. He attempted to edge her outside, rather than take her arm and shove her away from the door, but Carnall remained near the threshold, an awkward position. Both had to be wondering why a visitor was being kept outside.
Jessamyn broke into his whirling thoughts. “Bainbridge, I heard the strangest story and had to verify the particulars. Everyone is agog with the news that you eloped with Leticia Carlton.”
Bainbridge said to Carnall, “I should like to speak in private with Mrs. Rawlins for a moment. Would you mind escorting Lady Bainbridge down?”
Her clever eyes watched Carnall climb the steps. “That answered my question. So for once there is truth in gossip. Be that the case, is the marquess attached?”
“Jessamyn—”
“Oh, my. I recognize that tone. You are displeased. Might I enjoy a small moment of victory with the supposition that you are jealous of my interest in the fascinating Lord Carnall?”
She stepped closer and suddenly it was more than tight clothes that made him feel trapped.
Chapter 16
Leticia smoothed her palms down over lavender tulle, one of the gowns Taffy had tucked among her baggage when she left Charhill. The diaphanous layers did little to thin down her figure but hid her fleshier parts. Taffy had included apple green kid slippers. Ribbons of the same color twined through her hair. Rosellyn had picked tiny, white roses and inserted them where pins held curls in place. At least she wouldn’t look entirely the frump for her wedding day.
A knock on the door interrupted her spoken appreciation of all that Taffy and Rosellyn had achieved. The maid went to answer. Leticia’s anticipation to see Bainbridge’s reaction deflated when the door opened. Holcombe stood in the passage.
“My lady, the vicar should be arriving any moment, and you have a visitor.”
She succeeded in keeping her tone neutral when she replied, “Very well. I will be down directly.”
Leticia accepted a handkerchief from Taffy, who whispered, “The snake in our garden.”
Since Rosellyn hadn’t left, Leticia coughed to cover a laugh. “How appropriate. Taffy, promise you’ll be with me at the chapel?”
“Certainly. I shall join you there after I change.”
“Wait! What if the visitor is Cousin Henry?”
Taffy made a face. “Allow his lordship to deal with him. I’m more concerned about the brother. Joseph Caudill reminds me of the reptile recently at the door.”
“I do beg your pardon, ladies.”
Lord Carnall stood in the doorway Holcombe had left open. Glad to see a friend, Leticia felt the tension relax from her shoulders. “How timely. Sir, may I ask for your escort downstairs?”
“Precisely why I am here.” He nodded a bow and offered his arm.
She gave him her best smile as they chatted and talked about everything but the ceremony to come. Again, she marveled at how a man, who so perfectly portrayed a veneer of aloof detachment, could so completely comprehend her anxiety.
Really, she shouldn’t feel so overwrought and excited. In her heart, she married Bainbridge at the posting inn days before. The brief exchange of words in front of a clergyman was merely a legal transaction. Holcombe was preparing the settlements, which should have been arranged and signed prior to any ceremony. Bainbridge asked that she wait to sign them herself on her birthday. Everything was being done backwards, but was at least being done. She had plenty of doubts about herself but none when it came to Bainbridge’s honesty.
Mainly, she wasn’t going to allow Cousin Henry to see or sign anything, so what was being written up was essentially a contract to protect her beloved fells and clarify her settlement income. She had no doubt that Bainbridge would be fair and probably too generous. Her priority was the fells. If something should happen to Bainbridge without a living issue, the land would pass to her next heir, Cousin Henry. That thought made her more eager than ever to get started on setting up a nursery crammed with healthy issue. Her cheeks heated, because, she also had an interest in how they were created.
Halfway down the staircase, she halted Carnall when she saw the visitor standing with Bainbridge at the entry doors. Jessamyn Rawlins, vibrant and gorgeous in a peacock-blue riding dress, lit up the introductory hall’s shadowy gloom without stepping a foot inside. A hat of the same color, accented with a jaunty, vermilion feather, perched on her guinea-gold waves. The habit fit her lithe figure without a crease or wrinkle, as if the material had been applied as another layer of skin. She held the train and a crop in her left hand, while her right was placed on Bainbridge’s chest, stroking him. In full daylight.
They made a splendid pair, while Leticia felt sure she resembled a pallid purple grouse in the layered tulle. She inhaled a shaky breath. Her heart pinched and a little piece broke off.
How could any man be blamed for loving such an extraordinary creature? They’d known each other for ages, and love had a way of doing the choosing.
Beside her, Carnall murmured, “Is something amiss?”
Blinking to soothe the sting of tears, she replied in a hoarse voice, “Not anything that should.”
“I don’t understand, madam.”
With a forced smile to hide the turmoil inside, she whispered, “That woman is Bainbridge’s paramour.”
Beside her, she felt Carnall stiffen, which didn’t seem possible, since he invariably held himself poker-straight. He muttered, “What appalling effrontery. It is no wonder you’re out of countenance.”
“Please take me back up, Carnall. Before they see us.”
Carnall raised a sleek eyebrow and viewed with disdain the tableau at the entrance. “”No, madam, I cannot think that is the wisest course.”
She forced a swallow down her constricted throat. “This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. It’s ruined. I can’t stand next to that beautiful creature. Bainbridge can do nothing but make a comparison.”
“I am sure he didn’t invite her here.”
She couldn’t hide the defeat she felt in her whispered reply. “I know.”
He didn’t move. “Are you so certain of your opinion? That you would suffer by comparison? What feeble creatures you must think us men are. She’s a handsome woman, Leticia, but she’s also a spoiled one. Were you in her position, would you consider doing what she is doing now?’
She felt her brow crease with a scowl. Before she could reply, he said, “Precisely. Exceedingly bad ton, and as lady of the house, you must not tolerate what she is attempting to do. I beg you, do not give her control of your husband. Send her off with a flea in her ear, one that bites. Ah, there’s the smile I hoped for. Off you go, now, and don’t be light-handed with the scorn, and perhaps a soupcon of ridicule.”
His advice penetrated the hurt. The widow’s impudence vibrated throughout her abraded emotions. A feeling of violation pushed aside her lack of confidence. Carnall was right. This was now her home, the man her husband.
“Carnall, if you would wait here for a moment? It’s bad enough that Bainbridge must witness this, but I’d rather not have you carry a memory of what I’m about to do.”
He smiled, a full-out barrage of Irish charm. She blinked at its effect, as he said, “Good girl! If I might suggest, the walls provide an excellent selection of mace and weaponry. Can you lift the morning star by the fireplace? It might penetrate her conceit.”
Leticia snorted an inelegant laugh. “I mean it, Carnall. Wait here.”
He gestured her onward with a wave of his hand. “Have at it, Countess.”
She took a deep breath and continued down the steps. As she crossed the flagstone floor, she noted the flash of surprise in the jezebel’s eyes. Bainbridge, whose back faced her, must have also seen it. He swiftly pivoted. His features tightened as he watched her approach.
Leticia’s confidence started to falter, then the widow’s smug grin reki
ndled her resolve. She held out her hand to the witch, glad they were both gloved. “How pleasant it is to see you, Mrs. Rawlins. Have you suffered a mishap?”
When the widow ignored her hand, Leticia tucked it in the crook of Bainbridge’s arm. The widow’s eyes narrowed slightly but her smile never altered.
“Why, no, Leticia. I was passing by and stopped to water my horse.” She gestured to a dainty red roan held by her groom. “We are so relieved, now that the sultry weather has moved off, and yet I wonder if I might bother you for something to drink.”
Mrs. Rawlins made the request to Bainbridge with the supreme understanding that her wish would be immediately carried out, as if he would trot off like an obedient puppy. The woman’s condescension rankled. Her conceit was so ingrained that she didn’t realize that she’d just drawn a line in the dirt.
Leticia mentally selected the double-bladed war ax over the mantelpiece. With a saccharine smile and even sweeter tone, she spoke to the interloper on her doorstep as if she were an impertinent child. In a devious sort of way, Jessamyn Rawlins was.
When the widow moved to enter without invitation, Leticia raised her hand to block her entry. “No, Mrs. Rawlins, you came here to make trouble. You will not be offered refreshment. You will get on your horse and ride away. All you see before you is now mine, and I find myself rather possessive of it. That is why there will be no offer or sharing of any kind on my part. I believe we understand each other perfectly. I do hope the remainder of your ride is pleasant. One can only suppose that you are eager to make calls of a similar nature in the neighborhood.”