by Regina Darcy
His position required hospitality and he honoured that requirement. But he would be grateful when the last guest left and it was time to go to bed.
David followed Arthur out of the ballroom and up the stairs to the Viscount’s study. This was Arthur’s favourite room in the entire house because it was simply, perhaps even shabbily furnished, with comfortable chairs and a chaise longue which had been in the room for years. The draperies were not new and the books on the shelves were well-thumbed. It was a room that revealed the character of the man who occupied it.
“Now then,” Arthur said briskly as he poured two glasses of brandy from the decanter on the desk and, handing one to David, gestured for him to sit down. “What’s this about?”
“For one thing, those young men who were hovering over the punchbowl as if they were Poseidon’s offspring and thought they ought to take a swim in it, they were drinking excessively . . .”
“Oh, yes,” Arthur said. “I noticed them. They are staying with Judge Larson and his wife for the holidays; they are his wife’s great-nephews. I believe the Judge doesn’t fancy them much. They’re looking to marry; Mrs Larson thinks perhaps they might offer for the Pettigrew twins.”
“I believe they are looking for a woman who will provide the services of a mistress, which the Pettigrew twins certainly will not, I think, unless either is tempted to believe their promises and thereby surrender her virtue in hopes that marriage will put it right.”
“I see,” Arthur said grimly. “I’ll have a word with the Judge and he can lecture them about the proper way a gentleman should behave. Perhaps they will return to London after Christmas and become all together someone else’s problem.” Arthur took a sip of his brandy, “Thank you for the alert; I shall take care of it.”
“And I wish to ask for your permission to court your wife’s cousin,” David continued in his smooth, urbane fashion.
The information concerning the licentious nature of Mrs Larson’s great-nephews had occasioned no surprise from Arthur, but at these words from his guest, the Viscount’s eyebrows rose.
“Theodosia? I had no idea . . . I am not her guardian, you know.”
“I know,” David said, sipping the brandy. “But for the sake of propriety, I thought I ought to make the gesture, although I understand that she is independent and on her own.”
“Yes, quite on her own. Her parents died a few years ago during Christmas; their carriage got in a frightful accident on an icy road and they were killed instantly. Theodosia was grief-stricken, as you can imagine, and for a young girl to endure so horrid a tragedy, then to be obliged to make her own way in the world. . . well, it has marked her. You know, I am sure, that she was unsuccessful in three seasons and did not obtain a husband from either of them. Last year, she was engaged but the bounder vanished. She has let the Patten estate to strangers—well, she had no choice, did she, she needed an income—and she lives in rented rooms in London. She is very dear to us and she and my wife are quite close.”
“You have a reason, I think, for divulging these details. Do you suspect me of planning to trifle with her?”
“I have no idea what your motives might be. I merely call to your attention the facts as I know them. If you wish to court her, I am not an obstacle; nor am I in a position to grant permission. She is her own woman. If she accedes to your offer, it is of her own volition.”
“But you will not oppose me?”
“David, I have nothing to say in the matter. Tabitha now . . .” Arthur leaned forward and gave the other man a keen, searching glance. “Tabitha will want particulars. What are your intentions, what do you expect. . . she has no dowry, you must realise, although if it’s marriage you want, I daresay that Tabitha and I can settle something on her.”
David held up a hand.
“I do not need a dowry,” he said. “I am not improvident, as you must know. The estate does well, although I am seldom there. I admit that I prefer London to the country. I trust that Miss Patten will not object?”
“You must ask her what her preferences are, although as she currently lives in London, I cannot think she will wish otherwise. But these are questions which you must take up with Theodosia herself. And Tabitha… I shall inform Tabitha of your intentions.” He smiled wryly. “I have no doubt that she will have far more questions for you to answer.”
This seemed fair and even admirable; he was glad that, despite her orphaned state, Miss Patten was not without close kin who looked out for her wellbeing. “I shall expect them,” David said.
He and Arthur bid friendly adieux and David left and returned to his waiting carriage outside. As he rode home, he considered the surprising turn of events of the night. He had expected a pleasant holiday gathering, nothing more, when he arrived at Henton for the annual Christmas ball. Instead, he had, he hoped, acquired a wife.
He had no wish to linger in the country and instructed the carriage driver to drive him back to London to his manor house.
He had instructed his servants not to wait up for him, and he let himself in. The house, although it was fashionably furnished and in excellent condition, seemed somehow barren as he walked in. He gave the salver containing invitations a perfunctory glance before ascending the staircase to go to his bedroom. He had never noticed before how devoid of presence the house was; if ever a place needed a woman’s touch, whatever that might be, he thought, this house did.
His mind was too active for sleep, so after removing his evening clothes and donning a dressing gown, David sat at his desk by the light of a candle and allowed his thoughts to unravel in the silence of the room. The house reflected his emotional abstinence, he realised; although he possessed the latest acquisitions in furnishings, draperies and carpets, there was nothing in any of the rooms that betokened as much comfort as what he had felt in Arthur’s untidy study.
After leaving behind the rakehell years of his youth, he had settled into something of consistency in adulthood. He was not discontent with his lot, although he found the prurient curiosity of the ton irritating. He knew that there were stories of what must be hiding in the house in town because he never invited guests for overnight stays or even suppers or visits. He had no wish for company in his own home, that was all; he preferred to be entertained elsewhere so that he could leave when he wished and return to his solitude.
He maintained a butler, Abbot; a footman, James; and a cook, Mrs Morris, who functioned as a housekeeper so that he need not be bothered with menus or domestic matters. They were trustworthy and hardworking and they did not intrude upon his privacy. He sought no more.
It was possible, however, that if Miss Patten accepted his offer, she might have other intentions. That was all very well; for the five years that their marriage was destined to last, she must be allowed to be mistress of the residence in which she lived. But she must not disrupt his household to the point that, when the five years were finished and she was no longer living there, his own routine was out of sorts.
He was not sure when Miss Patten would come to meet with him and he was not at home the next day after the ball, attending to matters of business with his banker and solicitor. But the following day, he was in the library when Abbot came to announce that he had visitors: the Viscountess of Randstand and her cousin were calling.
“Excellent, Abbot,” David replied, folding up the newspaper he had been reading. “Take them to the drawing-room. See that the fire is adequate for comfort.”
“Very good, my lord.”
He had expected more time to pass before his offer was taken up, but he was pleased with the lack of delay. He went to the drawing-room, where he was pleased to note that the ladies had been seated before the fire, which was keeping the temperature of the room warm.
“Your ladyship,” he said, bowing to the Viscountess, “Miss Patten,” he bowed to Theodosia. “I am pleased to welcome you. Has Abbot seen to your needs?”
“Yes, thank you. He offered refreshment, but we declined,” Tabitha said. “We
have much to discuss and this is a business meeting rather than a social call.
My husband has relayed to me the contents of your conversation with him the other night. You are correct; Theodosia is independent and makes her own decisions. However, I must insist that this arrangement, which is really most unusual, be committed to paper in legal terms so that my cousin may be assured that at the end of the marriage, she will not be cheated of what she has been promised.”
“I would wish for no less,” David said. He had not expected the Viscountess to be so formal in her manner but he thought better of her for it. She might have her own doubts about the proposed arrangement but she did not intend for her cousin to suffer due to a lack of consultation on the details. “I have already spoken with my solicitor regarding the marriage if, that is, Miss Patten will honour me with her consent.”
Theodosia had been very quiet during the exchange but at this, she looked directly at David. “I give my consent,” she answered.
“Then here is the contract,” David said, standing up and going to the writing desk in the corner. He handed it to Theodosia. “I think you will find everything in order but if something is unclear, or does not meet with your approval, please let me know and I will have Brace amend it.”
For a moment, the Viscountess’ regal manner faltered and she was once again the pretty, plump wife of Arthur Clemens, who enjoyed her home and her neighbours and was a genial hostess to all. “Did your solicitor not find it passing strange that you would initiate such a contract?”
“Brace has been my solicitor for some years now and before that, he was my father’s. And his father was my grandfather’s solicitor. There is nothing, I daresay, which would arouse his surprise; he is well used to the vagaries of the Overton family.”
“There must be nothing of this arrangement which is released,” Tabitha said urgently. “It would do irreparable harm to Theodosia if your friends in the ton suspected that she is a party to what is, after all, a pretence. It might not harm you, but it would her.”
“Brace is discretion itself, milady, I assure you. And I have spoken to no one but you and your husband. After first, of course, speaking with Miss Patten. We are the only ones who know of this arrangement.”
Theodosia finished reading the contract. It was more than generous. During the duration of the marriage, she was the mistress of the household, with the authority to manage the household accounts as she saw fit. She would have a generous allowance for her wardrobe and her entertainment as well. She would be entitled to wear the Marquenson jewels; she would not, however, be allowed to take them with her after the marriage ended, but any jewels or garments or personal effects which she purchased during the marriage were hers to take with her when she left. After the marriage ended and the divorce, which was to be categorically judged as the fault of the Marquess, she would receive a very generous settlement to be paid until the end of her days.
She gave the document to her cousin, knowing that Tabitha would want to make sure that everything was clearly detailed.
“You are satisfied, Miss Patten?”
“I am,” she answered.
Tabitha’s eyes were swiftly travelling over the document. “This is very generous, David,” she said, returning to the cordiality which was more familiar to them both. “The settlement . . . if you predecease her, it will be paid even after?”
“I am one-and-forty,” he said. “She is much younger. I should assume and indeed hope that she will outlive me. So yes, the arrangement will continue throughout her life. If she chooses to travel, to purchase a house or houses of her own, as I am sure she will,” he smiled at Theodosia, “she will have the means to do so. She will be able, with the amount, to live quite comfortably, even in London. If Miss Patten, you wish to end the tenancy of your country estate and return there to live, you will be able to do so.”
“Yes,” Theodosia said. “I noticed that. But under the circumstances, I believe I shall continue as before. I am accustomed to London now.”
“If you default on any of these items,” Tabitha pressed, “then you are liable by law to answer for them.”
“Yes, you will find that it is quite concise. Brace is thorough. If you wish to have your own man of business look it over, I shall be pleased to hand the document over to it.”
Theodosia thought of how Mr Evers would likely react if he knew that she was about to enter into a marriage of convenience with a pre-set ending date. The kindly village lawyer would not know how to handle such an aberrant matter which would clearly be beyond his comprehension of marital boundaries. “No,” she answered. “I am content.” She looked to Tabitha; if her cousin was uneasy about any of the stipulations, Theodosia knew that they would be of merit.
Tabitha slowly shook her head. “I am confident that this document covers all the possible contingencies,” she said.
“Very good,” David said. “I appreciate you coming here to let me know of your consent,” he said to Theodosia. “As to the usual procedures of an engagement . . . I asked permission—as a formality, you understand—of Arthur to court you. He explained to me that as you are an independent woman, he could not give permission. Shall I court you?”
Theodosia looked pensive as she considered his suggestion. David found it marvellous that she addressed all matters with that contemplative precision as if she were weighing all of the factors which played into the situation. There was a slight frown of concentration upon her forehead as she thought.
“No,” she said after a lengthy pause. “That won’t be necessary. There is no reason to waste time getting to know one another if we have already resolved to marry. Unless you can conceive of a reason to delay matters further, I am content to move forward with the marriage.”
“There is the matter of the banns being announced,” Tabitha pointed out with some asperity. “I see no need to rush into the marriage as if there were some furtive need for haste.”
David looked at Theodosia for guidance. He found himself wondering if she genuinely preferred the rather sedate style of dress that she had chosen, along with the equally sedate colours, or if she was intentionally dressing in order not to draw attention to herself. She would look magnificent, he thought, in rich hues that would accentuate her lovely ivory skin and dark brown hair. And of course, those eyes . . .
“I am not concerned with that,” Theodosia said. “There is no need for haste, but neither is there any need to appease others. If any are puzzled as to why the marriage is proceeding at such a pace, they may ponder to their hearts’ content. It is Christmas and they ought to have better things to do than probe into the circumstances of others.”
“Shall you be able to get a vicar to do the service?” Tabitha asked David. Although she and Arthur were well established in London, she was much more familiar with village life and its habits.
David nodded.
“I shall attend to that,” he said. “Do you object to say, the end of the week? Will that allow you enough time?”
Again, he addressed his query to his future wife.
She gave a faint smile.
“Time to do what?” she inquired. “My rooms are in London; my luggage is still at Henton. Tabitha and I drove up yesterday and spent the night at Arthur’s house in the city; Henton is not far and it will not take a preponderance of time for me to have my belongings moved into your home.”
“Our home, Miss Patten,” he said. “It will be our home.”
“For five years,” she corrected him.
Was she going to withhold herself from the house because it would not remain her residence? He found that he did not want her to do so.
“Miss Patten,” he said gently. “While you are here, it will be your home. I implore you to treat it as such. I want you to be happy here.”
At her silent nod, David felt an odd satisfaction.
FIVE
Despite the unorthodox nature of the marriage, Tabitha would not allow her cousin to marry as if a wedding were of n
o more importance than a trip to Vauxhall Gardens. Their dimensions were not such that they could share one another’s wardrobes; therefore, Tabitha insisted that Theodosia must go to a London dressmaker.
“You must marry in a dress which suits the occasion, Theo,” she argued.
“I don’t see that it signifies. I will be as married in one of my own dresses as I would be in a new one. It is not a real marriage anyway.”
“For five years it will be a real marriage,” Tabitha said firmly. “And you are to have more freedom over the finances of the household than many a traditional wife can expect. He is being very generous. Arthur is the same, but I know of wives who must almost beg their husbands for funds when they need something. It is clear that David has no intention of keeping you in destitution.”
“I rather think that he does not want to be bothered with the trivial details of managing the household and so he has granted me the authority to do it instead,” Theodosia said. Despite her protests, they were in the Clemens carriage and on their way to Tabitha’s favourite dressmaker.
“Whatever the reason, you will be able to indulge in a bit of decorating. The house is very fashionable, but it lacks . . . ”
“It lacks a heart,” Theodosia replied. She had noticed the anonymity of the drawing-room, a chamber in which the tastes of preferences of the resident were generally apparent. Her drawing-room was, admittedly, unlike most in that it served as the setting for other functions as well, but even so, it featured her books, her piano, her needlepoint, the easel by the window where she sketched on pleasant days, and other clues to her personality.
She had detected no such indications of the Marquess’ particular interests in his own drawing-room, all the more remarkable as he was the only person to live in the house. Except for the servants, naturally and she would meet them soon.