Her Proper Scoundrel (20 page)

“Yes.” Josceline nodded grudgingly, unwilling to picture the goodness inherent in Christopher. Whether the world knew it or not, the wretch had taken her virginity and she wasn’t willing to gloss over the fact as yet.

“As far as making your own way, would it be so terrible to find your place at Midland House? It’s good for you here too, Lady Josceline. You’ve lost the angry, miserable look you had the day you arrived.”

“Me!” Josceline exclaimed.

“Yes, you.” The housekeeper leaned over and patted Josceline’s knee. “You, the two lads, and even the master himself have benefited from Midland House.”

“The master?”

“Aye. The master arrived here as well with demons of his own to conquer. I wager they’re still there but I believe the urgency to do so has left him. Especially since you’ve come here.”

“I see.” Josceline pondered this new bit of information.

“It isn’t for me to make the choice for you but you could do worse, a lot worse than accept his proposal. Make of it what you can.” Abruptly she stood up. “Cook must be wondering where I’ve disappeared to. Sit as long as you like, my dear, but I warn you-.”

“Warn me of what?”

“A rocking chair is a lot like worry. It keeps you busy but gets you nowhere.” She chuckled at her own joke. “It is soothing, though, I finish every day rocking for a few minutes in the evening.” She turned serious. “Think on it carefully, Lady Josceline. Mr. Sharrington is a fine man. And Midland House could use a lovely mistress like yourself.”

A bemused Josceline watched Mrs. Belton hurry off. The woman had nothing but high praise for Christopher. And high praise for her as well. According to the woman, Josceline had her place.

Here, at Midland House.

She pushed off again with one toe, setting the chair to rock, letting the motion ease her.

The housekeeper was right in one thing. Midland House was lovely, and though clean and in good repair, apparently thanks to the good graces of Christopher, it did lack the feminine touches which would turn it into a family home. She could bring in the winter greens and the Yule log and make sure fresh flowers from the garden graced every room the rest of the year. She could entertain. There would be children – perhaps one nestled in her womb already – riding fat ponies and hosting tea parties on the lawn. The question she now faced was whether or not it was the family home she wanted.

The chair slowed and eventually stopped. Josceline got up. The conversation with Mrs. Belton hadn’t helped her in her decision at all.

If anything, it had made it more difficult.
 

* * *

Josceline’s little mantel clock struck four, awakening her. She must have dozed off.

This was it, twenty four hours had passed. Almost passed, she corrected herself, she still had an hour but she doubted waiting the extra time would make her decision any clearer.

In actual fact, she was still undecided.

She meandered towards the drawing room, changing her mind with every step.

 
Yes, she would stay and become Christopher Sharrington’s wife. However it would be a marriage of convenience and not the love match she had yearned for.

No, she would leave and continue as mistress of her own destiny. With possibly a child to care for as well.

Yes, she would marry Christopher and become the lady and chatelaine of Midland House.

No, she would retain her independence and be no man’s chattel. An image of the disgusting Mr. Burrows rose in her mind.

Yes. No. Yes. No.

“Josceline!” Christopher stood as she entered the room. His expression was anxious, his hair loose and mussed as if he had run his hands through it many times.

She stopped in the door and looked at him hard. Perhaps seeing him would push her one way or the other.

“Twenty-four hours has passed,” she stammered, hating herself for her seeming lack of confidence.

He schooled his features as she approached although his eyes darted to and fro across her face and his knuckles were white where they were clenched around the back of his leather chair.

As she walked across the room, she realized she still had no idea whether or not she would accept his proposal.

Chapter Eighteen

Christopher didn’t say a word as Josceline drew near. His obvious dread pierced her conscience and suddenly she knew how to answer.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her stomach flip flopped. She had agreed.

He smiled and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as if to thank the heavens for her answer. When he opened his eyes again, tears pooled in the corners. Visibly overcome with emotion, he nodded, grasping one of her hands gently to lift it to his lips. “You shan’t regret it, Josceline. I promise you,” he said huskily.

She tilted her head to one side. “You needn’t promise.”

“No?” He was clearly astonished at her statement.

“No.” She shook her head. “A promise is not a promise unless it is kept. I should not expect it of you. For now, let us agree this will be a marriage of benefit to us both. Regret need not enter into it.”

“Very well,” he replied. “And now that we have decided, I see no reason to wait. If you have no objections, I shall call on the vicar this evening and arrange for special dispensation to waive the bans. What say you for a wedding Sunday following the regular service?”

“So soon?” she squeaked. At the very least she would like to sew herself a new frock from the copper satin Christopher had given her. She would be pressed to finish it in time but perhaps she could prevail on Mrs. Belton to help her.

“There is no reason to wait. Furthermore, that would allow us to announce it at Lord and Lady Oakland’s dinner.”

 
“Yes.” She nodded thoughtfully. “The evening at Oakland Grange would serve as the perfect opportunity.”

“Splendid. We are agreed then.”

“We are. I should like to clarify two things, however.”

He cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her bold statement.

“I should like to complete my three month term as governess and continue with the lessons for Philip and Tom.” She may not be pursuing the self-sufficient path she had set out on when she left London but at least she could finish what she started. “With payment of the wage due to me.”

“As you wish.” He steepled his fingers and regarded her closely. “And the second?”

“You offered me the chance to become your partner. To help you, you said, in building your shipping company.” At his nod, she continued. “Then what is it you think I can help you with?”

“We shall need investors and for that, you shall be the key. To grace my table. To entertain.”

“I see.” It wasn’t quite what she had in mind when she thought to make her own way but working with Christopher to build his enterprise was a goal she could take pride in. She nodded. “I can do that.”

“I vow you shall do it very well,” he said gallantly, swooping an elegant bow.

She looked down at him, at his bent head and sinewy body folded over one leg. So she had done it. She had agreed to become Mr. Christopher Sharrington’s wife. By marrying him, not only would her reputation be rescued, but he offered her the chance to help him with his shipping enterprise. An enterprise which, if successful, would foster a feeling of independence in her own right.

Josceline fervently hoped he wasn’t under the mistaken impression her family name and connections would help him. She dreaded his reaction when that truth came to light.

* * *

 
“You look lovely,” said an admiring Mrs. Belton as Josceline pirouetted in her new dress in front of the mirror in her room Sunday morning.

“Thanks to you.” Josceline dropped an impulsive kiss on the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “I should never have finished it if you hadn’t helped me.”

“It was nothing,” Mrs. Belton said modestly. “I’ve sewed a frock or two in my time.”

“Look, the lace matches perfectly.” Josceline stopped twirling to inspect herself carefully.

Elizabeth’s hand me down watered blue silk had been carefully picked apart to serve as the pattern for the new dress. Josceline hated to lose the blue silk when she had so few frocks to begin with, however she consoled herself with the thought it had always been too tight. Too, she could use the pieces elsewhere so it would not go to waste.

She’d also painstakingly removed the lace trim from the hem of the blue silk and dyed it in a basin of tea so it turned from white to a lovely ivory shade.

Her new dress had a snug, high-waisted bodice, long fitted sleeves with ruffles around the wrists, and a scooped neckline trimmed with the dyed lace. She half turned to see the pert bow tied at the back, its long ends almost reaching her hem. The beautiful copper satin flowed over her hips to drape elegantly to the floor.

With the leftover bits of fabric, she’d had enough for a matching hair ribbon, now looped stylishly through her curls, and she’d fashioned two satin roses to be tacked to her slippers.

 
“I’ve just the thing, Lady Josceline. Wait for me.” Mrs. Belton hurried off to return a few moments later, huffing and puffing and holding aloft triumphantly a tortoise shell comb. She tucked it high into Josceline’s hair and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“I vow you are as fine as any of the London ladies during the Season.” The housekeeper wiped away a few tears. “The master will be speechless when he sees how beautiful you look.”

Suddenly shy, Josceline looked away. She hoped so. She hoped admiration would fill Christopher’s eyes. What if he thought her plain? Angrily she pushed the misgiving away. Why should she care what he thought? Today was her wedding day and all brides were beautiful, even brides of convenience.

How surprised Elizabeth would be when Josceline wrote her the news of her nuptials. A pang of guilt passed through her at the thought her dear friend wouldn’t be there to share her special day but there just hadn’t been time to invite her. Moreover, the day wasn’t that special for she entered into a contract with Christopher, nothing else.

 
She turned back to the housekeeper, flashing what she hoped was a gay smile. “Shall we? I do believe the carriage is ready for us.”

“Oh dear, yes of course, it won’t do to keep the master waiting. Such an honor it is, for Tedham and I to be standing up for you.”

The remainder of the day passed in a collage of images, one swimming into the next: The ride in the shiny ebony carriage and the feeble spring sunshine which barely took the winter chill from the air; the church, ivy clambering over its mellow golden stone walls; the few villagers still lingering after the morning service giving her inquiring glances as she alit from the carriage; Mrs. Belton handing her a small nosegay of daffodils; Christopher in his finest black wearing an inscrutable expression as he slid a ring on her finger; the vicar, absentminded and with kind grey eyes beneath a shock of unkempt white hair droning on and on until at last all she heard was:

“By the power vested within me, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Christopher leaned over to peck her cheek. They signed the register, and as they left the church, she tossed the nosegay to a little girl playing on the front steps.

Just like that, it was over. She was now Christopher’s wife.

For better.

Or for worse.

* * *

It already was worse, fumed Josceline later that afternoon. Without her knowledge or permission, her things had been moved into the room adjoining Christopher’s. Entirely reasonable, of course, for it was intended for the mistress of the house but that meant her bedroom now adjoined his directly.

She glared at the door separating them - only the thickness of it kept him from her – then inspected the rest of the room. As was the case with the rest of Midland House, it was spotless, and ready for her.

An enormous brick fireplace filled one wall, its marble mantel bare save for two heavy silver candlesticks. The lovely, carved oak wardrobe, waxed to a warm golden glow, had a matching carved dresser. The sleigh style bed beckoned, overflowing with pretty lace cushions and a lovely lace counterpane. A glass hurricane lamp sat guard on the lace draped bed stand.

But Josceline loved most the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the garden and framed by royal blue velvet drapes. Through them, sunlight suffused the room including the single wingback armchair, cheerfully upholstered in blue and yellow checkered fabric. The chair, positioned perfectly, sat close enough to the fire for warmth yet still close enough to the windows to look out. Someone, Mrs. Belton no doubt, had placed a small crystal bowl filled with violets on the little strapped chest beside it and her nose filled with the sweet fragrance.

Her anger dissipated.

This was a room she could spend time in, a room she could write letters in, and read, and do her needlework. A room providing a peaceful refuge and a room she could love.

She glanced again to the adjoining door. Even now, she could hear Christopher moving about.