B005R3LZ90 EBOK (13 page)

"In your library, I think. Besides, we haven't finished tidying that chamber."

He mumbled an oath about her incessant tidying. Despite his impatience with her constant efforts to physically declutter his life, he had to admit the house was far more enjoyable now that she had become its mistress. Not even Diana had known how to eliminate the clutter from their life. And he rather fancied neat rooms now that he possessed them.

He removed himself from the breakfast table and followed Sally to the library. She gathered up a stack of letters and went to sit upon the sofa, patting the cushion next to her. "Come sit here, George."

He sat beside her and watched as she read a letter that was neatly printed. It was the only application that was not in handwriting—and printing seemed a more masculine than feminine trait, George thought.

"This one," Sally began, "states her age as eighteen. Though she has no experience, she is quick to point out that she was responsible for the care of two younger sisters and four younger brothers."

"You'd think she'd want a rest from children," George quipped.

"It's probably the only thing she knows. I'm not in favor of hiring this one."

"Because she lacks formal experience?"

"Oh no," Sally said. "Because her abundance of experience has likely rendered her too inured to children. I should like someone who is enchanted with children—quite possibly someone with no experience, who will, therefore, find their every action delightful."

He found himself smiling down at her. Every word she said, though impossible to prove empirically, seemed so wise. No wonder she was at the top of her class at Miss Worth's School for Young Ladies. "Then it is to be hoped one of the applicants will be imbued with those qualities you seek."

"I did demand a sweet nature in the job announcement."

He laughed. "I'm sure you did. I can't picture you leaving anything to chance."

She looked up at him wondrously. "You've entrusted me with the most important task on earth, that of raising your precious children. I mean to be successful. I don't just want them to be well taken care of and well educated, I want them to be happy. I want them to be compassionate and caring . . ." Her voice trailed off.

He choked up. Her tender heart for his children seemed to do that to him. Without being aware of what he was doing, he lifted her hand and kissed it. "Each day of our marriage, I'm more convinced of what an excellent wife I've chosen."

She gave him a wistful look and spoke with a shaky voice. "That's a very sweet thing for you to say."

"Men don't wish to be sweet, Sally."

She returned her attention to the stack of applicants. "Is that why men never smile in their portraits?"

"I suppose it is."

She continued to summarize each applicant's letter. One was from a woman who'd been nurse in homes of The Quality for the past three and thirty years. Another was from a woman who lamented that her little lambs had gone off to Eton, and she was no longer needed. George wished to see what Sally would think of that lady. He thought she would be favorably impressed.

She was. With that application, she started a new pile for the applicants who were under serious consideration.

"She sounds like a softie," he said. "Just like you."

She laughed. "I'm afraid there's not a servant in the house who thinks of me as a softie."

"Don't ever belittle yourself on account of being a natural-born mistress. You're fair and generous and offer praise to your servants when they've earned it. I heard you the other day when you insisted the servants rest for a spell while they were cleaning windows. And by your example in working beside them, you've earned their undying respect—and loyalty."

"I do so hope you're right. I worry that I'm too demanding."

"I think we're all aware the house was in a shambles when you took over its running."

"I wouldn't say it was in a shambles--"

"It was."

"Well, it is to be hoped the servants don't begin referring to me as The Curmudgeon behind my back."

"They won't. You're still a softie. They've only to see you with the children."

"A softie is precisely what I would like for the children's nurse." Her glance fell on the next application.

"Then you've found your woman. This one who laments that her lambs have grown."

She set aside the stack of letters. "I believe you're right, George! Can you ever in your wildest dreams imagine The Curmudgeon referring to our babes as lambs?"

Our babes.
God, but it felt good to share responsibility—and love—for his children with another living, breathing compatible soul. Since joining his life to Sally, it had become so much richer. Though still it was tormented. Because of Diana's loss.

Sally glanced back at the woman's letter. "Her name is Miss Primble. There's another thing I like about her."

He lifted a quizzing brow.

"Her lambs were little boys. It has been my observation that far too many governesses and nurses have a preference for prim, ladylike little girls. I want someone who likes boys." Tossing him an apologetic glance, she quickly explained herself. "We never have need to worry that Georgette will not be a great favorite because of her sweet nature, pretty manners, and cooperative ways. But boys, as you must know, are totally different from little girls."

He swelled with pride at Sally's mention of Georgette's attributes. He knew her praise was genuine, that she loved Georgette as he did.

He also swelled with pride that the woman whom he had selected for his children's mother had an appreciation for boys. His own nurse had certainly not. She had been the original Curmudgeon. Even though he was not as close to the boy as he was to his daughter, George appreciated the fact his wife would never neglect the son Diana had died bearing. "I suggest you put aside that stack of letters and draft a letter immediately to Miss Thimble."

"Miss Primble."

"Should you like to use my desk?"

"You mean our desk, do you not, my dearest husband? I mean to share everything in this house equally with you," she said with a little laugh.

What a paradox his wife was! She made it sound as if she married him for mercenary reasons, when he knew that to be as far from the truth as possible. Were she possessed of even a smidgeon of pecuniary greed, she would never have turned down the opportunity to marry Mr. Higginbottom, who was one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. No, George thought, shaking his head to himself, never was a less mercenary lady than Sally born.

 He suspected that since he hadn't made Sally his wife in that most important way, she was adamant to express her wifely rights in all other areas. Of course, she was probably grateful not to have to engage in sex with him. Women—well-born women especially, even Diana—did not particularly enjoy the sexual act. And he'd wager this little bag of bones he'd married was no exception. Oh, she was loving enough. But he could not imagine her ever writhing with joy beneath his naked body. She was much too proper. A vicar's daughter and all that. Her father had likely made love to her mother but three times. One for each offspring. For Mrs. Spenser was cold as ice.

Sally moved gracefully to
their
desk. Her hair, as it was now every day, was curled, and she wore her clothes especially well. She looked rather like those drawings the women ogled over in the fashion magazines.

As she sat down and began to write, he came to stand over her, oddly curious to see his own wife's handwriting. How peculiar that he had never before had occasion to see it. Her penmanship, like herself, was neat, precise, and flawless. No doubt she was Miss Worth's prized penmanship pupil, too. "You have a lovely hand, my dear." He hoped he did not offend her by frequently referring to her as
my dear
. It seemed a most natural thing to call this woman who had become his wife.

"Thank you, George. I regret that I cannot return the compliment. Your penmanship is rather like you are, dearest husband—a bit slothful."

"Just a bit? You wound me. I thought my penmanship was abominable. At least that's how Miss McGillicuddy referred to it."

"I take it Miss McGillicuddy was your governess."

"Mine and Felicity's and later, Glee's."

"That was a most uncharitable thing for her to say. It only reinforces my belief that the majority of governesses prefer little girls."

"Miss McGillicuddy certainly did. At least she strongly preferred Felicity. Of course, Felicity was perfect in every way."

"Like Georgette," Sally said, nodding.

He beamed. "Exactly. Now, when Glee came around . . . I admit Glee led the old bag on a merry dance. She wasn't at all like Felicity."

"Poor Glee, she always did so hate being compared to her perfect sister. Even though Glee is spectacularly beautiful in her own right, do you know she doesn't believe she can ever measure up to her elder sister?"

"She certainly measures up in Blanks's eyes. He's far too besotted over her for his own good. Told me any number of times how blessed he is to have captured the loveliest lady in the three kingdoms."

Sally frowned. "I do so worry about the both of them. I don't believe I've ever seen two people more in love—or more estranged."

George nodded, frowning. "A pity. He was so deliriously happy. Before he realized his love for Glee could kill her."

In childbed. Like Diana.
Sally's heart thumped. "Blanks is far too morbid. Can't you try to convince him Glee comes from sturdy stock?"

"Ever since. . ." he had vowed to speak of Diana no more. It was the only way to be decent to the very decent woman who had consented to become his wife. He cleared his throat. "Blanks has lost two women whose lives were intertwined with his. His own mother's and that of his wife's sister-in-law. How can I assure him he won't lose Glee?"

"George! Surely you know how robust the women in your own family are. It took a nasty fall from a horse to kill your mother. Felicity has borne two children with not a single ill effect, and Glee's borne one. Let us hope Joy's not their last."

"I honestly don't know what to hope for." His voice cracked as he spoke.

"I believe Glee would rather die in Blanks's arms than to live to old age not in his arms."

The devil take it! Die in Blanks's arms.
It was a most evocative thing for a virgin to say. There was a great deal more passion in the woman he'd married than he would ever have believed.

He had to remove himself from this room. All this talk of love and passion and dead wives was more than he intended to bear. "I really must be gone, my dear," he said as he swept from the chamber. "Get Peters to post the letter to Miss Thimble today."

"Miss Primble," Sally called after him.

Chapter 12

There were more people than normal at the Pump Room this day, Sally reflected as she and Glee swept into the crowded chamber and began to search for Felicity, who had promised to meet them there. Sally's glance met that of Miss Johnson, whose glare alighted on her for a moment, then flicked away with no acknowledgement. To Sally's astonishment, Miss Johnson stormed to the water attendants without even taking leave of her companion, the nearsighted Miss Arbuckle.

The horrid Miss Johnson must be furious indeed that the unworthy Sally had snagged the prime prize on the Marriage Mart. As the victor, Sally could afford to be gracious. She would neither cut off her acquaintance with Miss Johnson nor criticize the young lady in any way.

The bespectacled Miss Arbuckle glanced up, saw Sally and Glee, nodded brightly, and began to make her way to them, only just this moment realizing her companion had left her without a word of farewell.

"I trust you're doing well this afternoon, Miss Arbuckle," Sally said to the young lady.

She nodded to Sally, then turned her attention to Glee. "Tell me, my dear Mrs. Blankenship, is it true the younger Mr. Blankenship is coming soon to Bath?"

Sally's heart went out to poor Miss Arbuckle, who was hopelessly in love with Blanks's younger brother. The young man also appeared to hold Miss Arbuckle in deepest affection, but since he was a younger son and not possessed of large financial prospects, he chose to stay a bachelor. Glee said he had a most generous settlement but was far too parsimonious to ever desire a wife.

"Dear me," Glee answered, "I don't know. Blanks may have received a communication from him which he has failed to impart to me."

Miss Arbuckle's face fell. Then she returned her attention to Sally. "I know it's none of my concern, but I am curious to know the source of your falling out with Miss Johnson."

"I've had no falling out with Miss Johnson," Sally said. "I'm eager to know what makes you think Miss Johnson and I do not get on."

"I don't like to gossip," Miss Arbuckle prefaced, "but Miss Johnson's taken to saying the most vicious things about you—and about Lord Sedgewick."

Glee openly bristled at her friend's words. "It's my belief that Miss Johnson is decidedly upset that my brother offered his hand to Sally and not to her. Surely you have noticed how Miss Johnson has always pressed her company and her attention upon my impervious brother."

"I have noticed but wasn't sure others perceived things as I perceived them," Miss Arbuckle said.

"You know how spoiled she is," Glee added. "She always gets what she wants and cannot bear to be thwarted in anything."

"I dare she did have her sights set on becoming Lady Sedgewick," Miss Arbuckle lamented.

"I'd really prefer not to be having this conversation," Sally said, raising her eyes to the balcony where the musicians played.

"Well, I'm not ready to let it drop!" Glee protested. "I must know what kind of things Miss Johnson is saying about my brother and dear sister."

The blood rushed to Miss Arbuckle's face. Then she moved closer and began to whisper. "She said Lord Sedgewick has compromised Miss Spenser—I mean the new Lady Sedgewick—and was forced to marry her."

Sally's eyes widened, and her temper flared.

But not as much as Glee's. "That's outrageous! Sally's a lady, and my brother is a gentleman. I know for a fact he would never compromise a young lady of good birth."