The Earl's Marriage Bargain

by Louise Allen

  There had been laughter when they were happy, of course, but looking back he did not think she had much of a sense of humour. But then, young ladies were not supposed to have such a thing. They were supposed to be light and frivolous and take delight in happy, pretty things, not dig beneath the surface in search of satire or the absurd.

  ‘What is wrong? Have I been tactless? Were you thinking of your friend who was killed?’

  ‘No, not at all. I was just thinking that I should not share some of the amusing situations in my past with you,’ he said, making a joke of it.

  ‘And I should not be laughing when Violet’s poor sister and her family are in such straits. I do hope it does not prove to be a malignant fever. But at least they are in London where all the best doctors are and, if anyone can rally a household in despair, it is Violet.’ She gave a little sigh, almost too quiet for him to hear.

  The clerk who had been assisting Violet with wedding preparations emerged from the study, hat in hand. ‘I am to follow the travelling coach to Batheaston in the gig, my lord, and return with Miss Newnham’s trunks and any paperwork relating to the wedding preparations. I shall instruct the receiving office to direct all post for the household to Miss Newnham here.’ He clapped his hat on head and strode to the front door.

  ‘Things happen at alarming speed when the Marquess assumes command,’ Jane remarked. ‘I feel dizzy.’

  ‘Come with me to see Great-Aunt. We will take Grandfather’s letter and see if we cannot coax her into the carriage.’

  ‘With no notice? She may have any number of engagements.’

  ‘If she cannot come, then you must stay with her until she can, because I will not give Aunt Augusta’s sharp tongue any grounds for wagging. But she will agree, mark my words. She has been attempting to seduce our cook away for years without success and she will not refuse the opportunity to stay, not with the inducement of Mrs Hopwood’s food at all hours, let alone the chance to interfere with all the wedding preparations and inform all her closest friends that she was critical to the successful planning. She will lie on the chaise longue giving elaborate instructions to everyone and then forgetting them the next day.’

  * * *

  Ivo seemed pleased to have her company, Jane thought when, half an hour later, they set out in a smart carriage and four to carry Lady Gravestock off in style.

  ‘We might be back on our adventurous journey from Kensington,’ he said as the carriage turned out of the gates on to the turnpike road.

  ‘The further that is in the past, the more amusing it seems in recollection,’ Jane admitted. ‘Is your shoulder quite healed? I keep forgetting to ask you, because it does not appear to be giving you any trouble.’ And she should have been thinking about that and not admiring his figure in his well-cut coat and tight breeches, she reminded herself.

  ‘It is, thank you. You found the journey entertaining, did you?’ His expression was rueful. ‘It appeared more in the nature of a nightmare to me. Everything hurt, I had an impossible young lady artist on my hands and a hideous mess behind me.’

  Jane decided to ignore the impossible on the grounds that it was deliberate provocation. ‘I have not liked to ask because it is none of my business, but is there any news of Miss Parris? It is the same person that Lady Frederick was referring to, is it not?’

  She hoped that Ivo did not realise that she had perfectly understood the hints that his aunt was throwing out. Daphne Parris was not simply the sister of his close friend, she was his youthful love. She tried to console herself with the thought that he could have married her before if the attraction had persisted, but common sense told her that a young man setting out into the perils of war would have not tied a young bride to him, or that her parents would have agreed to so precipitate a match. She tried to ignore the cold feeling deep inside, the fear that Daphne meant more to him still than a memory and a promise.

  Ivo nodded. ‘Yes. Her brother Charles was my closest friend—their family home is just eight miles away to the east.’ He spoke easily, his long body was relaxed, almost sprawled, in the corner of the carriage, yet his gaze seemed unfocused as he stared, not out of the window, but at the empty seat opposite him.

  ‘So you lost both your father and your friend almost at the same time and then found yourself with the impossible task of rescuing a girl who had no wish to be saved.’ Jane edged towards him, wanting to hug, or, at the very least, to touch him, but there was nothing in his manner that suggested such comfort would be welcome. And if he still had feelings for Daphne, then another woman’s touch would be even less so. She decided to opt for practicality. ‘Has there been any word of how that progresses?’

  ‘There has been nothing from her,’ Ivo said.

  ‘Perhaps that is a good sign. She reacted so wrongly, lashing out when you tried to help, but now she will have had time to consider and, as you are such a close friend from her childhood, surely she would turn to you if her husband proved to be abusive or neglectful?’

  ‘I suspect that I would be the very last person...’ Ivo seemed to give himself a shake and sat upright. ‘The lawyers say there is nothing to be done. The Scottish ceremony appears to have been performed according to the law, there is no evidence that she was forced or deceived and the marriage has been consummated. However, with Charles’s unexpected death he had made no provision for her in his will and their father’s disposition still stands: she receives no dowry until she reaches the age of twenty-five unless she marries with the blessing of her guardian. And I believe her elder aunt is now that guardian. No consent was given, so Sir Clement Meredith has no money or lands from her.’

  ‘I hope that does not make him treat her badly,’ Jane said, then could have bitten her tongue. ‘I am sorry, that was thoughtless. You must be so concerned about her, not just because of your promise to her brother, but because of your feelings for her.’

  ‘My what?’ Ivo demanded, turning abruptly on the seat to face her.

  Oh, yes. I was not wrong. He loves her still.

  Somehow she kept her thoughts from her expression. ‘I thought you were childhood sweethearts. Your aunt implied you were.’

  ‘My aunt is an interfering harridan,’ Ivo retorted sharply. ‘And I would be obliged if you would refrain from vulgar speculation.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was a deadly silence before Jane managed to find her voice. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  Inside, something hurt and indignant wanted to protest, It was sympathy, not vulgar speculation. I want to help. And I am hurting, too. But she managed to close her lips on the words. Ivo was feeling raw and guilty and, surely, bitterly betrayed by Daphne Parris’s reaction to his attempts to help her.

  ‘And I apologise, too,’ Ivo said. ‘You clearly meant well and no speculation was necessary when Aunt Augusta was painting such a very clear picture. I believe Lady Parris once crossed her badly in public with a witty retort to one of Augusta’s nasty jibes. Those who heard it tittered. You do not laugh at her and expect it to be forgotten, I fear.’

  ‘Miss Parris is very pretty, I gather.’ Jane hoped that did not betray the shameful jealousy she felt about Ivo’s sweetheart. He might not love Daphne now, she still had no proof of that, and it was pathetic to care what she looked like, but Jane found herself afraid of the comparison.

  And Daphne had spirit. She had gone for what she wanted, defied convention and eloped with her lover, however unsuitable he might be. Her own attempt at kicking over the traces and making a bid for freedom had run aground because she had not thought about what she really wanted and how she might achieve it. She had dreamt of the grand gesture even though it was not right for her. Ivo probably admired Daphne’s courage although he deplored the outcome.

  ‘Pretty?’ Ivo seemed to be looking at some mental picture. ‘She is of a type that is very much admired, yes. She has always been lovely and, as a result, she was spo
iled by a great deal of admiration and indulgence.’ Jane thought that was all he was going to say until he added, ‘I appear to be one of the few people who does not do what she wants, when she wants it.’

  There did not seem to be much to add to that. Jane let the silence hang for a few minutes, then asked, ‘Your grandfather asked me about my painting and said that he might have a commission for me. Do you know what he wants?’

  Ivo seemed glad of the change of subject. ‘He said something about having the servants painted, all of them. He has heard about the series of portraits of the staff at Erddig in Wales that the Yorke family commissioned and was interested. Then he saw the miniatures that the Duke of Dorset has at Knole and conceived of the idea of having our own staff immortalised.’

  ‘I have never tried miniatures.’

  ‘I believe he wants normal-sized canvases. Think about it, because he will want to discuss it with you himself.’

  How many of them were there? Inside and outside staff? Distracted, Jane pulled the little sketchbook out of her reticule and began making notes of the things she must ask the Marquess.

  * * *

  Perhaps half an hour later she came to herself to find that she was curled up in one corner of the carriage, feet tucked under her, shoes on the floor and a neat list of queries on the page. Ivo was asleep. At least, his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed than he had when they had been talking earlier. Perhaps she had been saying too much, asking too many questions, and he welcomed her silence. If he still loved Daphne—she made herself think the words even though her mind kept skittering away from them—then it must be exhausting to have the woman you were going to marry talking about her.

  Jane grimaced at her reflection in the glass of the window, noticing that they had reached the City already. She was not cut out to be a silent woman, she knew that. She wanted to ask questions, make observations, exchange ideas.

  As she thought it, Ivo opened his eyes. ‘Why are you pulling faces at me?’

  ‘I am pulling them at myself, thinking.’

  ‘You think too much,’ he said and moved purposefully along the bench seat until she was within arm’s reach. ‘If what you are thinking makes you wrinkle your nose, I shall have to take your mind off it.’

  The kiss was exciting, made more so by the movement of the carriage and the fact that it had slowed almost to a walk in the Bath traffic and anyone might look in and see them. Jane clung to Ivo’s lapels as he held her. It was awkward, but somehow the discomfort and the danger made it more urgent. Then they turned a corner, the carriage lurched and they fell apart, sprawled on opposite seats. Jane found that she could not look away from him.

  ‘We are here,’ Ivo said with a hasty glance through the window. He straightened his neckcloth and reached out to set her bonnet back straight on her head.

  His breathing was decidedly rapid, which Jane decided to take as a compliment. ‘My mind has been so far distracted that I am going to appear a complete airhead to your great-aunt.’

  ‘You think too much,’ he had said. Was that what he wanted, a compliant wife with no thoughts in her head? One who would melt in his arms whenever he felt like kissing her and then return to a state of passivity? It was not a pleasant thought. She gave herself a brisk mental shake. This was nerves, that was all. She had tumbled into a betrothal when she had no intention of marrying, she had placed her freedom to pursue her art in the power of a man and her world, already shifting on its foundations, was about to be turned upside down. No wonder she felt out of sorts. But understanding why she felt like this was not reassurance.

  Jane tweaked her bonnet ribbons into order and allowed Ivo to hand her down. They were between the Circus and Queen’s Square, she realised as they climbed the two shallow steps and crossed the slab that lay like a bridge across the sunken service area. Two chairmen, labouring under their burden, trudged up the steep street behind them and she flinched inwardly at the reminder of how she had found herself in this position.

  An elderly manservant admitted them, showed them through to a drawing room cluttered with china ornaments, heavily framed watercolours and much drapery, then creaked off to ascertain whether her Ladyship was receiving.

  He left the door ajar so they were perfectly able to hear Lady Gravestock in the next room.

  ‘Of course I am at home to my great-nephew, Smithers! What is the matter with you? Bring him in this moment and send for refreshments. The scones as well as the cakes and do not forget the jam.’

  There was the sound of Smithers mumbling.

  ‘A young lady? Why did you not say so? Both of them, of course.’

  Jane braced herself for an irritable old lady and was surprised by the beaming welcome they received from the plump figure on the sofa. ‘My dear! Come in, come in. That old fool Smithers, keeping you waiting when he knows you are my favourite great-nephew, Ivo. And is this the charming young lady who is to marry you? Come and kiss me, my dear.’

  Clearly their arrival was as entertaining as a seat at the theatre. Great-Aunt Honoria gasped in sympathy at the news of Violet’s family’s illness, tutted in dismay at the thought of Jane being left alone in the Batheaston house with only the servants for company and protection, nodded sagely at the decision to stay at Merton Tower and then clapped her hands in delight at the suggestion that she might assist by chaperoning her.

  ‘The very thing—how sensible dear Westhaven is, to be sure. I shall not grudge the slightest exertion in coming to your aid, my dears.’

  As the exertion appeared to be entirely on the part of Lady Gravestock’s maid, several footmen and a middle-aged companion—so mousey that Jane did not notice her until a good half-hour into their visit—it was easy to recognise Ivo’s description of his aunt.

  Fortunately the Marquess’s travelling carriage was capacious and they managed to fit in Jane, Ivo, Lady Gravestock, the maid and the companion—‘Eunice, Miss Herring, my niece’—without great effort. Several trunks were loaded on to the roof and, as they set off with much groaning of springs, Ivo remarked that it was a good thing that he had eaten only two scones.

  * * *

  A week later it seemed to Jane that with the arrival of Lady Gravestock everything became more real. It was a strange thought—Merton Tower, the Marquess and, certainly, Ivo had all seemed very real indeed before, but somehow preparations picked up pace, acceptances were still coming in, the size of the guest list and the practical considerations all became alarmingly apparent.

  Ivo’s great-aunt never seemed to actually exert herself to move far from her self-appointed position on a chaise longue in the Chinese drawing room, but little Miss Herring was constantly scuttling about with pieces of paper or checking things off on lists.

  Ranwick, the Marquess’s secretary, began to enquire what Jane’s preferences were on any number of subjects on which she had never before thought to form an opinion. Flowers in particular were obsessing him that morning.

  ‘Roses?’ Jane said, at random.

  ‘For the chapel, the dining room or the entrance hall and reception rooms, Miss Newnham? The gardeners need as much notice as possible, you understand.’

  ‘For everywhere. Roses—will we be able to get them in October? Anyway, shades of pink and some dark blue flowers and a great deal of white,’ she decided, plucking colours out of thin air. ‘In different proportions. More blue, white and foliage in the chapel. More pink in the reception rooms and more red in the rest. That should give both continuity and variety.’

  Ranwick was scribbling. ‘Excellent, Miss Newnham. Sprays, garlands, towers or formal vases?’

  * * *

  Jane finally escaped half an hour later, head spinning. She needed fresh air and an escape from decisions. The Marquess had told her he would like pencil sketches of some of the staff first so he could decide on style and size, so she took her sketchbook and went out on to the back lawn in th
e hope of finding the gardeners.

  There was none in sight, but she did see Ivo walking towards the ha-ha. She thought he looked enviably relaxed in breeches and boots and what was clearly a favourite old coat. He was bare-headed and she watched him climb down a hidden flight of steps into the ditch on the park side of the ha-ha and then walk along towards a grove of trees.

  Now he had shown her the way to get directly into the grounds, the idea of exploring seemed tempting. She would walk in the park around the house until she came to the front where she might find the gardeners.

  Ivo was out of sight by the time she reached the ha-ha so she clambered down the rough stone steps and strolled off in the same direction he had taken, keeping the sun behind her. The long grass of the park was full of late wild flowers and the hum of bees and she wandered along in a daydream, thinking vaguely of how to compose the portraits and whether to show the occupations of the various servants plainly or just hint at them.

  Then she saw Ivo and recognised where he was. That was the hermit’s cell she had seen from the carriage when she arrived and the mound next to it must be the ice house. Ivo had told her the ground was boggy there, but he appeared to have crossed it with no difficulty. Perhaps with the fine weather it had dried out and, if that was the case, then the biting insects he mentioned would probably have gone, too. The overgrown path did not seem to cross boggy ground, but perhaps it drained well.

  When she was closer Jane perched on a fallen tree trunk and waited. Ivo looked as though he wanted to be alone and was probably escaping, as she was, from the demands of the household. When he was gone she would explore the little folly and perhaps make a quick sketch. It might make an interesting background for a picture of the gamekeepers.

  Ivo was in no hurry to move along. He was standing by the door into the little hermitage, a Gothic fantasy, built with a half-ruined turret. The roof was intact, tiled and thick with moss and, as she wondered if it was unlocked, Ivo stooped and went in. He was inside for perhaps ten minutes and she began to worry. What if there were fallen timbers in there and he had tripped and hit his head? Or a well...