An Improper Companion (14 page)

After the meal, my father suggested a game of whist, to which we all agreed, somehow it was arranged that my father should partner me and I became quickly aware he was testing me. How well could I play if my partner were a fool? How well if he were skilled? Did I lose gracefully? Did I win graciously? Could I both converse and play at the same time? Did I appear to consider the cards too lengthily? Too lightly? He tested me until I grew weary of it. I considered warning him that I knew what he was about and was on guard to please him. But I did not do so for fear he should devise a more devious test. From time to time, Leslie regarded me anxiously, it seemed. But I would not let him see my weariness. Philip, I am convinced, noted none of this and Mary placidly wrote letters, oblivious to the rest of us.

Leslie had again ordered a cold supper to be served at midnight. I thought it ironic that Lord Pellen ascribed the efficiency to me. For the first time that evening, Leslie and I exchanged truly amused smiles. So little escapes my father that he noted even that and nodded to himself, as though with satisfaction. Mary bade us good evening in a rather abrupt manner and I wondered what had overset her. Perhaps she did not welcome Lord Pellen’s presence in the household, disrupting as it did our previous quiet existence. And yet, I should have thought her pleased at the right to claim such close ties to someone so important. Perhaps she feared my newfound father would claim all my affection and I should have no time for herself. I determined to find an opportunity to reassure her.

I withdrew shortly after Mary, climbing the stairs slowly. To my surprise, Ellen was not waiting to help me undress. Instead, as I looked about Mary came out of the shadows. “Mary!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“Hush,” she whispered, and made haste to shut the door. Then she smiled, but spoke little louder, “I’m sorry, my dear, I dismissed your maid because I wanted to warn you to bolt your doors tonight, if you could, and if not to sleep in my room.”

“I shall assuredly bolt the doors, as always,” I said in puzzlement, “but I do not understand your distress. What has happened?”

Mary sighed unhappily. “My poor child! Leslie spoke with me this afternoon. He told me your father had bade him ignore the promise he made to leave you in peace. And when I asked if he meant to do so, he said he was sorely tempted ... that your father was, after all, a man of sense. I was shocked, my dear, and told him be reasonable, but he seemed too angry to listen. So I came to warn you, my dear, to bolt your doors. Though I believe it was an empty threat.”

I stood for a moment, rooted in shocked silence, then strove to reassure Mary. “My doors shall be bolted and Leslie expects them so. I know he is angry with me, but I cannot believe he will try to force himself on me.”

“Heather,” Mary said in distress, “you forget what passed your first night under this roof!”

“But—” I stood, mouth agape. “I thank you for your warning, Mary, but I think this a different matter. Nonetheless, I shall be careful. Is there anything else you wished to speak of?”

She hesitated. “Your father. I fear I can not trust the man altogether.”

“Nor I,” I said grimly, “and I shall continue to need your advice.”

Mary smiled and I knew I had pleased her. “I shall always be available, should you need me,” she said. “You are tired, my dear, let me help you undress.”

I protested that I did not wish to trouble her, but she insisted and in truth I was glad of every assistance. As Mary undid the buttons she said grimly, “It’s unpleasant enough fulfilling one’s marital duties when one has wed willingly. Unbearable if one has not! Should Leslie determine to force his rights, no bolts would protect you, nor any laws. You must promise to come to me should Leslie go too far. I swear I would protect you.”

She was agitated and I said, “Is marriage always so unpleasant, then?”

Mary paused. “Usually, I fear. Even Richard and I ... we’ve a good enough marriage now, but ... well ... at first it was difficult. Men demand so much and often are not faithful even so. If Leslie respects your privacy, then yours will be an enviable existence.”

Enviable? I thought in wonderment. But it lacked so much and seemed so empty, this marriage of mine. I could not think what to say to Mary. But she did not seem disturbed by my silence. “You are tired and perhaps I have shocked you. I shall leave you now,” she said. “Try to sleep
and bolt the doors
.”

I promised I would and she waited as I shut and bolted the door after her. Yet, surely, it was absurd to think Leslie would intrude? Perhaps not so absurd, for scarcely had I gotten into bed and blown out the candle than it seemed I heard a hand softly try my door.

Saturday was another day of callers. Although my father and Leslie were visibly pleased, I found the day wearying. And after dinner, there were cards to be played, this time with Philip as my partner. Fortunately he cared no more than I whether we won or lost. Determined not to be cast down by anyone, I encouraged Philip’s natural gaiety. I also discovered that he was not so shallow as I thought, for later, as the cards were put away he said softly, “You seem very tired, Heather. Let me escort you upstairs.”

I was about to assent when Lord Pellen said, “When you are in Town, Heather, you cannot keep such country hours.” Before I could answer, Philip retorted, “Well, this is not London. This is Heather’s home, and there are no guests, only family present. So she is free to do as she wishes. Shall we go up, Aunt Heather?”

Avoiding the eyes of the others, I took Philip’s arm. And with an exchange of “good night” we swept out of the room.

Chapter 12

Sunday. I dressed with special care, aware that I would face a more careful scrutiny than ever before. My dress was demure, yet fashionable, and my straw hat vastly becoming. Ellen took pains with my curls, and when she had finished I knew I should pass muster.

Leslie came to my room when it was time to leave for church. He surveyed me carefully and childishly I waited for his compliments. But when he spoke, it was curtly, “Your father ought to be satisfied.”

Annoyed at this lack of gallantry, I gathered my skirts and swept out of the room, but I was not so foolish as to refuse his arm on the stairs. I well knew it would annoy my father to detect such an obvious sign of discord between Leslie and myself. As matters were, my father was pleased. “Good morning, Heather. I trust you slept well? Excellent. Your dress is enchanting. You will give precisely the correct impression today. Simply be calm and remember that if anyone gossips it is from envy.
You’ve
nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I smiled and spoke truthfully, “Indeed, I am calm, Father.” “Good.” He nodded. Then, past me, he said, “Good morning, Lady Mary. How nice you look! And young Philip? I should say that I am glad to see you are not irreverent as so many of your generation. I will not, however, as I suspect you are motivated less by piety than by a desire to see the reaction of the countryside to the news Heather is my daughter. ’Tis only natural.”

Philip grinned and did not dispute Lord Pellen’s analysis. Mary appeared less pleased, but was placated when his lordship offered her his arm. And soon he had teased a smile from her as well.

As we approached the churchyard, I could
see
the parishioners being herded inside. It seemed my father should have his wish ... we would be the last to enter. With Mary on his arm, my father led us in. Leslie and I followed next with Philip last. As I expected, all eyes turned to scrutinise us. With creditable dignity, we reached the family pew in front. Mr. Watly had heard the news but a short time before, it seemed, for he was flustered as he gave the announcements and made a point of welcoming the Earl of Pellen, Lady Kinwell’s father. I was amused. Was Watly afraid I should complain to my powerful father of his cavalier treatment of me on my wedding day? Didn’t he realise my father should be more likely to thank him than to nab the rust? Or perhaps it was not that at all. After all, I had no notion what Leslie had told Watly of my birth.

I cannot remember the sermon as it was unutterably boring. (Though later Philip said he believed a bit of it had been directed at me.) As a young woman, I felt no closer to the church than I had as a child. Church attendance was a ritual « to be observed, much as was taking tea or leaving calling cards. Of what use was religion to me when it could not provide the love I had ever lacked? Never had a curate even noticed me save to lecture over one or another of my failings.

I surreptitiously glanced about, studying faces and hats and the altar and ... Then I felt a hand close over mine in warning. It was my father, of course, reminding me of my position. I resentfully tried to concentrate on Mr. Watly, but my thoughts would not stay. Of what use was a father if he were never loving or understanding?

And then the service was over, and as Lord Pellen had predicted, it was necessary to stand and greet everyone. Mrs. Bentworth wished us to meet her daughters, and the Connellys wished to introduce us to friends. “Wasn’t Mr. Watly’s sermon so uplifting?” Miss Louise Connelly demanded. “Of course, all of his sermons are inspiring.”

Neither I nor Mary could reply, so astonished were we at this view of Watly. Fortunately, my father, ever the diplomat, answered, “Indeed, he has a style quite his own and I confess myself impressed. Mr. Connelly, I trust you are well?”

Mr. Connelly seemed surprised at Lord Pellen’s question.

“Oh, indeed, my lord, indeed. Are you enjoying your visit to our neighborhood?”

My father smiled and nodded his head in my direction. “Reunited with my daughter, how could it be otherwise?” Mr. Connelly turned to me. “Lady Kinwell, I can easily understand your father’s delight.”

I smiled at this attempt at gallantry. Mrs. Connelly was not so pleased and she soon hurried him away. As they receded, Mary muttered impatiently, “ ‘Found the sermon uplifting’ indeed! Her difficulty is that she cannot forget the family was popistical but three generations back. And she is afraid everyone else remembers as well. Which of course, they do, as she is at such pains to remind us with her absurdly pious behaviour.”

Leslie smiled. “Confess, Mary,” he said softly, “in truth you dislike the family because you once had a
tendre
for Mr. Connelly and he spurned you.”

“What a bouncer!” she protested.

Leslie merely regarded her with amusement. Philip whispered to me, “Lord, ain’t this daffy?”

I nodded and found it easier to smile. After all the others, we still had to face Watly and his wife. Leslie performed the introductions and I added with a touch of malice, “Father, Mr. Watly officiated at our wedding.”

My father scrutinised the vicar for a moment before answering. “Ah, yes, I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir. I am sorry I was unable to be present at my daughter’s wedding. It was a most
interesting
ceremony, was it not?” Though the words were spoken mildly, Watly blanched. Leslie chose to rescue him. “He has for some time now presided over all the Kinwell family marriages, burials, and other such occasions.”

Lord Pellen nodded and I hoped we should be able to leave. Unfortunately my father appeared to consider Watly in some way important, for he requested a tour of the church and grounds. “Oh, certainly, my lord, I should be delighted.” Watly glowed.

With resignation, I prepared to endure the process. We were all to be included in the tour, it seemed. I held back a moment, casting about for an excuse to remain where I was, when I felt a hand on my arm. With surprise I saw that it was Mrs. Watly. She spoke softly. “I cannot think you truly wish to join them. Perhaps we might enjoy a comfortable cose instead?”

I glanced toward the others. They had apparently not noticed my desertion. I smiled. “I should like that, Mrs. Watly.”

“I must wish you happiness with your marriage, my dear. And tell you we have heard of your help with the Bartlet child. I could not say it in my husband’s hearing, but that act has gained you much credit hereabouts.” She paused to smile. “Of course, my husband and others felt it unsuitable for a well-bred gentlewoman who has not yet had a child of her own, but I think you cannot care much for such disapproval. And even did you, the news of your father’s name will silence the highest sticklers.”

I laughed at the truth of what she said, but shook my head. “No, not silence them. I fear I shall be much talked of, but it will force them to receive me.”

For a moment, we were silent ourselves, perhaps a bit shy. There was much I would have asked Mrs. Watly of herself, but from politeness could not. How could I ask what strength enabled her to endure a continuous existence with a man such as Watly? How could I ask what was truly being said of Leslie and myself? What if she in turn asked for my story? And did she know the truth about my wedding? “Have you many children?” I asked her.

“Six. All but two safely wed and away,” she replied instantly. “The eldest, a boy, has followed his father in the church. The next two, girls, have married farmers and live nearby. The third girl attended Mrs. Gilwen’s school a few years back. She married well and lives in London now. And then I’ve the two boys at home. I worry what they’ll do, for they have but a small portion each. One is army mad, but the other has no notion what course he wishes to follow.”

“Grandchildren?” I asked.

She smiled, but a trifle wearily, I thought. “My eldest has two boys, but as his living is south of London, it’s not often I see them. And my daughters have none. The third has been married a short time, so one cannot yet expect ... but the other two ... The first has borne and lost two babies and the second girl has had none. Ill luck they’ve had, those two, for much.”

“How did you come to marry Mr. Watly?” I asked before I could stop my tongue.

“Ah, well, it was a fine offer for the fifth daughter of a deacon,” she smiled gently. “His prospects were good and he was a kindly, pious man. And I a plain child. I cannot say I have been unhappy with him, and it is not every woman who needs excitement in her life. Nor have I ever believed contentment comes without work. If one works at it, love comes in time.”

Guiltily I wondered if her words were meant as a reproof to me. I did not doubt this woman would have disapproved had she known the course Leslie and I followed. Hers was a far gender, far more forgiving nature than mine. It was not necessary to answer, however, for she was already talking of other, parish matters. The time passed agreeably enough in this manner, and I was impressed with all the things Mrs. Watly found time for when I saw the group come round the side of the church. Mr. Watly saw me at the same moment. “Why Lady Kinwell! I had not realised you were not with us.”

But Leslie had noted by his angry eyes, as had Philip and Mary, who seemed to reproach me silently. I spoke quickly, “I pray you will forgive me. I wished to speak with Mrs. Watly and learn what church projects are afoot.”

Watly beamed. “Ah, just so, my child. An excellent notion.”

I believe Mrs. Watly and I both smiled with relief. “Say you will stay for luncheon,” she asked us.

Leslie answered, “Thank you, but the servants will have laid a meal at the castle and Mrs. Morgan would tax us with waste.”

It was said with a smile and we all laughed. After a few more polite exchanges, we climbed into the carriage and were on our way home. Mary and my father discussed the church while we other three sat silent. I was grateful for the company that prevented Leslie from speaking to me. The coachman was as eager as we to be home and reached the castle in good time. As Leslie handed me out of the carriage, his grip was as iron on my arm. I began to grow impatient with this absurd behaviour. In the hall, Leslie hung back to let the others go up, but Philip refused to leave us, and after a moment, Leslie said, “I shall see you at table, shortly, madam. I trust you will not keep us waiting?”

And then he was gone up the stairs. I turned to Philip, who smiled impishly. “I have saved you from a scolding, Aunt Heather. When Uncle noticed your absence, he was all for going and looking for you to be sure you were all right. But Mother wouldn’t allow it. She said she was quite sure there was no need for concern. I rather thought Uncle would cut up stiff over it, but not if I were here. And now you’re forewarned!”

I grinned in spite of myself. “I thank you, Nephew. And now we’d best both go up and prepare for luncheon. It would not do to further tax his patience.”

Philip agreed and we hurried to our rooms. Dear Philip! Perhaps I ought not to encourage such behaviour, but in truth I was grateful. I’d no mind to be taken to task today. Lunch was the usual sort of affair with polite, unimportant conversation. I noted, with relief, that Leslie appeared to have forgotten his annoyance at me. After lunch, Mary withdrew to her room and Philip I am not sure where. I determined to plan the week’s menu and to this purpose went to my room. I had not, however, worked long when I realised I had no notion how long my father meant to stay. After he returned to London we should have no need of midnight suppers, as the rest of us preferred country hours. With a sigh, I set down my pen. Best to know the answer before I went further. I walked down the cool corridors to the library and paused at the door, for I could hear voices “...you, Lord Pellen, it is a matter which must be handled gently.”

“Gently! And I tell you the solution will not be found that way! You must be firm with her.”

The voice became hard. “Let me speak plainly, my lord. I will handle it my way. It is one matter on which I will brook no interference. She is not
your
wife, she is mine.”

I waited to hear no more, but fled to the garden. It was intolerable that my father should meddle so far! And Leslie ... his voice had been so sure of success, whatever the goal they discussed. Well, and why not? He had succeeded in forcing me to marry him. I felt tired suddenly. How could I fight these two men who were so determined to rule my future? “Heather?” a voice said softly near me.

I turned. “Philip!”

“Are you well?” he asked with concern. “You seem very pale. Has Uncle Leslie been angry with you?”

“Leslie? No, why do you ask?”

“I saw you coming this way, and a moment later my uncle, looking quite furious. I thought perhaps...”

I smiled at the concern in Philip’s voice. “No, all is well between us, I believe. Perhaps he was disturbed by my father. They were closeted together in the library.”

Philip nodded with evident relief. “Yes, perhaps that’s it. I was worried because I know Uncle has a temper and you are so young ... Aunt Heather, you must promise me that if my uncle ever bullies you, you will come to me and I will protect you.”

There was that in his voice which warned me I must not laugh. “I thank you, Philip,” I said gravely, “but I do not believe there will be a need.”

He was silent a moment. Then: “The servants say he did not know you were barren before he married you. I fear that he married you for the sake of an heir and now that he knows you cannot have one...”

I smiled sadly. “There is little Leslie did not know about me before we were married. Nor is it certain I am barren, only likely. But this is a matter I ought not to discuss with you. You must excuse me, Philip, I have household matters to attend to.”

He nodded but watched me unhappily as I walked back to the castle. It was as well, I thought, he had no notion of how matters truly stood. Philip was a hotheaded boy, too quick to anger, and I had no wish to see an open breach between him and Leslie. The menu sheet I had begun lay on my desk and with a sigh I turned to it. I should plan as though my father were to remain the week. If he left sooner, then I must simply change the orders. This matter occupied me the entire afternoon.