by Fiona Monroe
It was a set of architects' drawings, showing an overhead view of three connected circular terraces, two large and one smaller, with green gardens at the centre of each. On separate sheets were drawings of tall, grand-looking town houses.
"The Earl of Moray," said Mr. Fraser grandly, "owns an estate of land just to the northwest of here. It is a little beyond the north side of Charlotte Square and the existing boundaries of the New Town. He has recently decided to build on this land, build a development that will exceed anything yet seen in splendour, grandeur, and exclusivity. I assure you—my lady, my lord—only gentlefolk of first rank will be permitted to purchase property in the Moray Feu."
"Of the first rank, or in possession of a thousand guineas to lay down on the table," said Lord John. "I expect the latter will go further than the former in pleasing his lordship, the Earl of Moray."
Mr. Fraser smiled blandly. "These houses will start at around two thousand pounds, rising to three thousand for the larger properties. But they will truly be country mansions within the walls of a town house—every modern convenience for gracious living—and they will be an excellent investment."
"They will also not be ready for some considerable time, I imagine? I mean, you look out beyond Charlotte Square at present, it is all undisturbed cow-meadows."
"Indeed. But the city council has given planning consent, and building will start very soon. Early purchasers will have all the advantages of choice and flexibility. See here—Moray Place, a great circus, you see, with pleasure gardens here in the centre—the prime plots are going very quickly. Moray Place will, I assure you, become the capital's premiere address. Nobody will rate Charlotte Square, once Moray Place is complete."
"Very well, we shall take one," said Margaret. "You do not need to talk up the scheme any longer, Mr. Fraser. Put me down for the best-situated plot in the largest of these three terraces still available, and that is that."
Mr. Fraser looked startled then rubbed his hands together. "An excellent decision, Lady John. You will not regret it! Let me show you the range of house plans approved for the development."
Margaret looked with interest at the proposed plans and elevations, and with a feeling that she was in a dressmaker's shop hesitating between illustrations of one gown or another, she selected a double-fronted house with five stories, a ballroom, six principal bedrooms, and a stable block behind. She was promised a plot in Moray Place that would give her a view of a river from the back windows and an assurance that the earl had written into the planning deeds that the land around the river should never be built over.
"An admirable choice," said Mr. Fraser. "Now, if Lord John would be so kind as to sign the contracts and a banker's order for one thousand pounds in the first instance, to secure the plot, we can put things in motion." He pushed the paperwork toward Lord John.
Lord John had been walking around the table, hands in his pockets, glancing only now and then at the illustrations of house designs and street layouts. He stopped, frowned, and peered at the artist's impression of the pillar-fronted exterior of the house. "Wait a moment," he said. "This house will cost two thousand pounds to build?"
"Yes, my lord, and it represents an unparalleled investment—"
"And it won't be ready for two years, at least. We need somewhere to live, now."
"As I said when I arrived, my lord, I have a variety of suites of apartments available for immediate rent—"
"We had better take one of those, then, and worry about buying extravagant new houses in the future. Why do we need a house this size and so ostentatious?"
"I want it!" said Margaret. "I have always wanted to be mistress of my own establishment and hold literary soirees, like Mrs. Hamilton does, except more exclusive. This house seems as if it will be the perfect venue. It is my money, after all."
"It is not. As of half past eleven this morning, it is mine." He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets.
A chill of panic rose in Margaret's breast. "Technically, but as a gentleman, you would surely not deny me the use of it?"
"I would when I see you proposing to spend a tenth of our entire capital on a house that doesn't yet exist."
"You promised me the freedom to live as I wished!" she cried.
"And you, not four hours ago, promised to obey me. Mr. Fraser, I think I saw you had some rooms for rent in Princes Street."
Mr. Fraser had been watching this to-and-fro with alarm sparking behind his small round spectacles, and now he sprang to life. "Yes, indeed, Lord John. Number thirty-eight Princes Street, on the first floor of the house. A very commodious drawing room apartment with one principal bedroom and ample staff facilities to the rear—"
"We'll take it. We'll let you know when we require a Palladian mansion to line the pocket-book of my father's old hunting companion."
Clearly disappointed but bowing and smiling gamely, Mr. Fraser and his portfolio made a rapid exit.
Margaret listened to the front door of Sir Duncan's house being closed behind the land agent, then she turned on her new husband. The same frustrated fury she had felt when she was denied permission to greet Emmeline seethed in her breast, with a new under pull of dread.
"I had thought, sir," she said furiously, before anyone could come in and interrupt them, "that I was to be allowed the use of my own money."
Lord John had been on the point of leaving the room. He turned and scowled. "And so you shall be, by God. I won't stop you buying a bonnet or a brooch or a punnet of peaches with what you term your own money; do as you please. There is, however, a difference between frivolous spending on fripperies and frivolous spending on major capital purchases."
"Do you think, sir, that I want to spend frivolously on anything? And I do not care about finery or other ephemera. I want to be mistress of my own house, and since you do not have one, I had understood that we were to purchase one. I like the idea of a new house that is mine from the outset, that might acquire a reputation as a centre for culture and literary discourse. I am sure that property in the Earl of Moray's development will be a good investment, and besides—"
"How many servants would a house that size require?"
"Oh." She floundered a little. "Eight. Ten, at most."
"Which we would have to support on the income of what would then be eighteen thousand pounds only. That is barely going to return one thousand a year!"
"That is ample! I do not wish to live extravagantly. We do not even have to keep a carriage. But I want to have an address of consequence, an establishment of consequence. I do not want to live a shiftless existence in rented rooms in Princes Street, with a maid-of-all-work sleeping in the scullery!"
"By God, you have very decided opinions."
"Why should not I? I have spent many hours thinking about this. I had little else to do while living with my uncle and his wife. It is my fortune, and if you were true to your word, you would let me spend it in the way that I see fit!"
The door to the dining parlour opened, and Sir Duncan Buccleuch looked in. "All finished with the land agent? He scurried away like a cockroach when I attempted to greet him. Have you scared him off, Dunwoodie?"
"We have engaged rooms in Princes Street," said Lord John, with a great exhalation of breath.
"I have purchased a house in a new development," said Margaret. "Excuse me, Sir Duncan."
She brushed past him and ran up the stairs two at a time to her room.
Sir Duncan closed the dining parlour door. "Raised voices, already? You have been married, what—six hours? I should take care, Dunwoodie. Don't let her get away with displays of wilfulness and petulance even at the outset, or she will gain the upper hand, and neither of you will be happy."
John waved his hand. "She wanted to spend two thousand pounds on a house. It is her money, I suppose."
"No! It is not her money. Now that you are married, her entire fortune is legally yours. But that is not even the crux of the matter. I suspect, from what her charming friend, Mrs. Douglas, tol
d me, Miss Bell was thoroughly spoiled, by an indulgent old fool of an uncle who had no children of his own. Girls who were never disciplined growing up make tricky wives."
"You tell me this now! You advised me to marry her."
"Nothing is perfect, Dunwoodie. The girl came with a clear and unencumbered twenty thousand pounds and was content to exchange it for nothing but an excuse to leave her uncle's house. Now it's your duty to take her in hand and supply the discipline and guidance she sorely needs. Or not, as you see fit. You may neglect her, let her run about town making your name ridiculous, leave her to her own devices and go off and find a mistress elsewhere. It's up to you."
"You make me feel like a cad," said John miserably. The whole exercise sounded exhausting. He had been pleased with Miss Bell's conversation up until this last interview and had thought—for a few hours—that they might get along well enough to make being married to her a pleasant enough situation. Now, after that display of temper and wilfulness in front of the land agent—and within earshot of Sir Duncan, which was worse—he felt that he would prefer to take the money and head off on his own.
But where? His thoughts had already gone round and round on this, when Miss Bell's twenty thousand had not been in consideration. He could not go to Dunwoodie, because of Arabella. He could not go to London, because of Contarini. He could not go to Europe, for similar reasons.
"Then don't behave like one," said Sir Duncan briskly. "Be a man. Do your duty."
"How, exactly?"
"It's very simple. You don't let her talk to you like that. Do you think I would allow Catriona to contradict me in front of others, stomp her foot, and storm out of the room? Go straight upstairs, turn her over your knee, and wallop her bare behind until she repents of her ill temper and she acknowledges you as her lord and master. She will be much happier for it, in the end."
John made a half-hearted acknowledgement and slunk away before his friend could lecture him further.
Because there was one thing he had not told Sir Duncan, which made such an assertion of his husbandly authority a rather daunting prospect. There were quite a few things, of course, that he had not shared with Sir Duncan, but the main problem haunting him was something he would have to make a decision about before bedtime. Thoughts of catching hold of Margaret's lithe, slim body, laying her face down across his lap, and lifting up her skirts to bare what he had no doubt was her plump, smooth little bottom did not help at all.
Chapter 14
Margaret retired to bed as soon as she decently could after dinner, a meal which had been dominated by Sir Duncan and Lady Buccleuch reminiscing once more about their trip to Europe. She had not spoken alone with Lord John again after their argument over the house—indeed, she had seen him go out the front door from her bedroom window, dressed for walking—and they had met at the dinner table with every outward appearance of courtesy.
She was too nervous to speak, anyway, or to eat much of what was before her. She was content to listen to Sir Duncan, who was an entertaining raconteur, recount the adventure of being accosted by banditti on the island of Mallorca. She wanted to hear about Lord John's travels in Italy, but she was disappointed that he contributed almost nothing to the conversation.
"I saw very little of Italy but Venice," he said, shortly, when she ventured an inquiry. "La Serenissima is a world in itself. Its inhabitants rarely leave the lagoon; there is nothing on the mainland for miles around."
"I should like to see it for myself," she said.
"It stinks in summer, and in the winter, it floods. There is not a speck of greenery to be seen. It is like living in a stone prison, a wet, noisy, stone prison."
Lady Buccleuch laughed. "Sir Duncan and I spent a fortnight in Venice. It was the most beautiful and magical place I have ever seen. You would be a poor advocate for the city, were its fathers to employ you to encourage travel there."
"An unlikely contingency, I assure you, your ladyship," said Lord John, and he would speak no more on the subject.
Equally unprofitable a topic of conversation was the matter of their forthcoming move. When Lady Buccleuch politely asked if their interview with the land agent had been satisfactory, Lord John replied, "Yes. Entirely. We are to take rooms in Princes Street, by the end of the week."
And almost simultaneously, Margaret boldly answered, "Mr. Fraser showed us plans by the Earl of Moray to build on the land beyond Charlotte Square, some very fine properties indeed, finer than anything yet built. We shall be amongst the first to purchase."
She was aware that Lord John looked angrily at her, but she did not care. Lady Buccleuch, in her turn, looked surprised and a little wary, glanced between them, then talked of something else.
It was no surprise, therefore, that their hosts reverted to tales of their foreign travels, and Margaret half-listened to an account of a Spanish bull-fight while eviscerating a custard tart with the edge of her fork.
She sat in the drawing room with Lady Buccleuch for about half an hour by the mantelpiece clock, doing nothing but rubbing her fingers along the skirt of her best evening gown while her hostess worked on an elaborate silk screen. Margaret had brought no work with her, and all her books were still in the bags the servants had deposited in her room. They were briefly diverted by the appearance of the French nursemaid bearing a sleepy, fretful baby, but it was late and the child was fractious and was soon taken away again.
Margaret listened to his howls as he was carried out in the arms of his nursemaid, and his mother took up her needle again with a fond smile. "Sir Duncan always contrives to miss the appearance of little Wallace," Lady Buccleuch said, without any appearance of ill-temper. "I expect he will take more notice of the child when he can talk."
Margaret smiled politely but quailed internally. She did not feel ready, now it came to it, to make this great, irrevocable change, the change that could lead—might lead that very hour, to the beginnings of a child of her own. She looked again at the ring on her finger and tried to recall the words she had spoken that morning. She felt, inside, exactly the same. How was it that this ring and those words, licensed her to do the thing that had always been forbidden?
She had once found herself in a situation of danger. Once, when she had been nineteen, she and Mrs. Douglas had gone to a private ball in a house in St. Andrew's Square. A very handsome young gentleman called Mr. Meldrum had paid attention to her all evening, danced and flirted with her, and eventually contrived to entice her into a room on an upper floor of the house which turned out to be a bedroom. He was a guest in the house, and it was his own quarters. She had gone with him to be shown a book he claimed would interest her, and she had very nearly been deflowered.
What had scared her at the time was how little resistance her body had put up to what her mind knew would be a catastrophe. While the very persuasive and charming Mr. Meldrum had been kissing her and running his hands over her back and bosom and thighs, it was as if her brain was melting. It had taken a huge effort of will to break away from him once he started running his hand up inside her skirts, and she had managed to flee the bedroom without being seen. She had begged Emmeline to take her home from the ball, and she had never met with Mr. Meldrum again. She had not told Emmeline about the incident, either.
Now it came back to her, and she thought about it for the first time in four years. She remembered the sensation of tingling heat spreading through her lower body; she remembered the short, eager breaths of Mr. Meldrum as his mouth pressed against her bare neck. Soon, she would be entirely unclothed and in bed with a man she knew no better than her near-seducer of that night, and all because of the narrow band of gold on her finger.
When Lord John came through with Sir Duncan, she felt her face flame. She was overcome with shyness and consciousness and could not look up at him.
"Well," said Sir Duncan, after they had all sat around in near-silence for some minutes, "I think the hour advances. It is time we were retiring, is it not, my dear?"
With a sof
t, knowing smile, Lady Buccleuch folded away her intricate embroidery and shut her work-basket.
Margaret saw a long, fine-fingered hand before her face and accepted it with downcast eyes.
Her heart beat so hard that she could hear blood thundering in her ears as they climbed the spiral stairs and went into the bedroom together. Lord John closed the door and then leaned on it.
Margaret stood awkwardly by the bed. She wondered, as she had often wondered, how it went exactly. Was she supposed to undress first? Would he undress her? Would he kiss her, before any garments were removed, as three men in her life had kissed her before?
He stood there, still in full evening dress, jacket, boots and all. She recalled how he had sat with her on the bed earlier in his shirts-sleeves and how unexpectedly intimate and exciting that had felt.
She sat, therefore, on the bed again and smoothed her skirt for the hundredth time that evening as she smiled up at him.
He did not return the smile. His handsome features seemed overcast with thought, and he was staring at her as if she displeased him.
He said, "Margaret, I did not like to hear you speak again, at the table, about the house on Moray's land."
It was not what she had expected at this moment. Taken aback, Margaret said, "I'm sorry, but I still think we should buy it."
"So I perceive, but that is a matter between us, not something to be paraded in front of Sir Duncan and Lady Buccleuch. I had already made my feelings known to you."
"Very well. I shall be sure not to answer any questions put to me in future, without consulting your feelings, sir."
"And I would not have you speak to me in that impudent manner!" he flashed out, suddenly cross.
Margaret knew she had been intemperate, but she felt driven. "I am not a child!" she cried. "I would not have you speak to me as if I were!"
"You may not be a child, but you are my wife, and I expect my wife to show me respect."