Elizabeth Mansfield (12 page)

A laugh broke out of him. “No, of course not,” he said, finding himself drawn to the girl against his will. This was not a feeling he wished to encourage, having almost convinced himself that her manner was not sincere. Although he’d thus far found this conversation more pleasant than he’d dared hope and had even found the chit likable, the warning bells in his head had not stopped ringing. Her motives in this affair were not at all clear. Until he understood her nature, he would not permit himself to be an easy mark. It would take more than a small display of charm to win him over.

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re quite right. If we’re to endure a long wedded life, we can’t be stiffly formal with each other. I certainly can’t continue to address you as ‘Miss Chivers.’ Shall I call you Cassandra?”

“No, please don’t,” she begged. “I hate that name. Cassandra, the prophetess of doom. Would I be pushing you to too much intimacy to ask you to call me Cassie?”

“No, not at all,” he said, a small smile breaking out in spite of his wish to prevent it. The girl had more spirit than he’d originally thought. He’d have to be on his guard. If he didn’t keep his instincts on the alert, she might manage to manipulate him quite easily. “I’d be happy to call you Cassie if you’ll agree to the equal intimacy of calling me Robbie.”

“
Robbie
?” At the thought of using so familiar an appellation, her cheeks turned pink again. “Oh, no, my lord, I couldn’t,” she objected, her habitual shyness washing over her.

He noticed the quick reddening of her cheeks. “Robert, then,” he suggested, admiring her ability to behave with such convincing diffidence. “You cannot continue to address me as ‘my lord,’ you know. Surely we can compromise on Robert until we grow more … accustomed to each other.”

“Robert,” she murmured, testing it on her tongue. “Yes, I think I can manage that.”

“Then that’s settled. Now, ma’am, if you please, I’d like to broach the matter that brought me here.
It has to do with living arrangements. Have you given the subject any thought?”

She looked puzzled. “Why, no. I suppose I should have, but everything has happened so quickly.”

“Yes. But I thought, in all fairness, that we should discuss the subject before the nuptials, in the event that there are some areas of disagreement to iron out.”

“Disagreement? But why should—?”

“I assume, ma’am, that you anticipate taking up residence in the London house, is that not so?”

“I … suppose so … if that is your desire, my lord.”

“Actually, it is not what I desire. What I’d really like to do is live in Lincolnshire. Your father has convinced me that the property there could, with proper management, become profitable. It is my most ardent wish to achieve that goal. With the estate making a profit, I could free myself of the remaining encumbrances on the Suffolk property and begin to give your father some return on his investment.”

“But, my lord … Robert, it is my understanding that the money my father gave you was, in a manner of speaking, a dowry. A dowry is not an investment to be paid back, is it?”

“He may not have meant it to be paid back, my dear, but I shall feel more like a man when I’ve done it.”

“Oh,” Cassie murmured, feeling as if she’d been chastised. “I see. Then we must take up residence in Lincolnshire, of course.”

“There is no ‘of course’ about it, ma’am.
Your
wishes must be considered, too. I would understand completely if you objected. All the women in my family prefer London to the country. After all, there is no society in Lincolnshire to compare to that in town. There might be, in Lincolnshire, an occasional Assembly dance or a dinner party with the local gentry, but there would be none of the routs, balls, galas, theater parties, opera evenings, and the other amusements with which town life abounds. So if the thought of quiet country evenings oppresses you, I’d quite understand.”

“No, my lord, the thought does not oppress me. Although I’ve lived in London all my life, I’ve lived as quietly as any country girl. I shall feel quite at home in Lincolnshire.”

“But that quiet life, my dear, was before you had the advantage of my name. I hope you’ll not think me a deuced coxcomb for saying that, but surely your father must already have pointed out to you that your life will be quite different as Lady Kittridge. Why else did he arrange these nuptials but to open these doors to you? As my wife, you will be invited everywhere. As long as we remain in town, there will hardly be an evening—particularly in season—when you won’t have half a dozen wonderful amusements to choose among. That is what removing to Lincolnshire will deprive you of.”

“I’m aware of that, my lord. Please believe me when I say that I would prefer the quiet life. You must have noticed that I am not … comfortable in social situations.”

He peered at her closely. This was not at all what he expected her to say. Did she truly wish to banish herself to the wilds of Lincolnshire? Was she sincere, or was this part of some deep game she was playing? “Do you mean it, my dear? Living in Lincolnshire would be very dull, I’m afraid. You must think carefully. I want you to be aware of every option before you make a decision. I realize quite well how much you ladies enjoy town society, and I’ve been struggling with this problem ever since you accepted my offer. I’ve even considered the possibility of your remaining in the town house with my mother while I take up a separate residence in Lincolnshire—”

Her eyes flew up to his for an instant and as quickly dropped down to the fingers she was twisting together in her lap. “S-Separate residence?”

“Yes. Such arrangements are not unheard of, you know.”

“Would you …
wish
to m-make such an arrangement?” she asked in a small voice. The suggestion had come as a blow to her. She understood that this was to be a marriage in name only, but separate
residences would be no marriage at all! Why had he suggested such a thing? Was he resentful that he’d had to take her father’s aid? And did that resentment include her? “Is a separate residence what you’re suggesting?”

He stood up and walked to the fire. “May I speak honestly?” he asked, fixing his eyes on the flames.

“Please.”

“Then, frankly, I am not. I think we should take up residence together, and for several good reasons. Firstly, I don’t think your father would feel that I was living up to the spirit of our agreement if we did not. A separate residence seems to me to be an evasion of marriage rather than an entering into it, and it would surely seem so to your father. And secondly, though I know that we have agreed to … er … dispense with the connubial intimacies, I think it important that we present to the world the appearance of true wedlock. If we maintained separate residences, it would be on every tongue that we had made merely a
mariage de convenance
. That sort of gossip would be humiliating to us both, as well as a betrayal of your father’s trust in me. For these and other reasons, I think we should agree on living in the same house.”

She expelled a long breath. “Yes, I think so, too.”

He turned his head and threw her a quizzical glance. “Do you? Then please understand, Cassie, that I intend to abide by
your
decision as to the place where we live. If you wish to live in town, I am quite ready to do so. You needn’t make up your mind right now. Think it over for as long as you wish.”

“Thank you, Robert. You are both honest and fair. But I don’t need any more time. If the choice is truly mine, I choose Lincolnshire.”

He turned from the fire and looked her in the eye. “Are you certain, Cassie?”

“Yes.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my dear. I’m very grateful.”

She dropped her eyes from his. “There’s no need for gratitude. I made the choice as much for myself as for you.”

“I’m glad of that. This decision will not only help us to avoid the speculation of the
ton
as to the nature of our relationship but will also give our union the best possible start. It goes without saying that we shall spend part of every year in London. I’ll not be so selfish as to keep you hidden away forever from the pleasures of town. My plan, then, if you have no objection, is to permit my mother to remain ensconced in the town house, while you and I will remove to the country except for two months in season. I’d like my brother to be with us during those months of the year when he is not in school. My sister will, I expect, remain with her daughters in the London house.”

“I have no objection at all,” Cassie assured him. “But as for your sister, doesn’t she think the country is a better place than town for bringing up her daughters?”

“One would think so.” He peered at her again in surprise. “Would you be
willing
to have them in the country with us? There’s plenty of room, of course. The house is enormous, with, I believe, thirty bedrooms. But I’ve often heard that when two women rule one household, it makes for strife.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that would necessarily be true. I should very much enjoy having children about the house, I think.”

“Then I will certainly suggest it to her.” He didn’t notice that the words she’d just said had brought the color flooding back to her cheeks. He came away from the fire and up to her chair. Lifting her hand, he took it to his lips. “You’ve been more considerate than I had any reason to expect, Cassie. Your kindness has made a difficult situation more bearable. It augurs well for our future.”

Cassie’s hand trembled in his. “Oh, Robert, I hope so,” she breathed, trying to stem the emotion
that welled up in her chest so overwhelmingly that she feared it might spill over out of her eyes. “I do hope so!”

Chapter Fourteen

They were married by special license at St. Clement Danes on the Strand. The day was cloudy, with a few flurries of snow, but, as Kittridge whispered in his bride’s ear, it at least wasn’t rain.

It was a brief ceremony, witnessed by only a handful of people. The bride was modestly dressed in a blue walking suit and flowered bonnet and carried a nosegay of yellow roses and white baby’s breath that the groom had managed to procure for her. The dowager Lady Kittridge remarked in an undervoice to her daughter that although the bride’s bonnet was far from
chic
, she was willing to allow that it was not too dreadfully dowdy.

Sir Philip Sanford stood up with his friend. The rector (a distant relative of the Rossiters) beamed as the bride’s father led her to the altar, but his smile was the only one in the chapel. The dowager looked impassive; Eunice looked tragic; Gavin was utterly bored; Sandy bit his lip, disappointed that his prediction that a lucky accident would occur to keep his friend from being leg-shackled to a “manipulative
intrigante
” had not come to pass; Miss Penicuick wept openly; Oliver Chivers—who’d belatedly realized this morning, with an unpleasant start, that his daughter would henceforth be missing from his domicile—was suffering from the most painful second thoughts; the groom was stricken at heart with regrets for what-might-have-been; and the bride, to whose feelings nobody seemed to paying the slightest attention, was terrified. This was the happy beginning to the couple’s married life.

In a mere eighteen minutes, it was all over. With the papers signed and the vows taken, there was nothing left but to get through the wedding breakfast that Sandy was hosting at his hotel. With submissive sighs and a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, the wedding party moved out of the church and into the waiting carriages.

Kittridge’s man, Loesby, dressed for the occasion with a top hat and a boutonniere in his lapel, organized the logistics of moving the wedding party from the church to the Fenton Hotel. For a man who’d moved mountains of equipment across the Peninsula, the job of herding the wedding party into the three carriages and leading them the short distance to the Fenton was child’s play. Before the guests knew it, they were out of the wind, out of their outer garments and ensconced in the comfortable elegance of the hotel’s dining room.

The buffet Sandy had ordered turned out to be lavish enough even for the dowager Lady Kittridge’s taste. There in the Fenton’s private dining salon, on a long table decorated with greens, were platters, trays and tureens loaded with delicacies: ham slices curled around soft cheddar; hot little rolls
à la Duchesse
; a whole, steamed salmon; eggs with truffles; delicately browned lobster cakes; oysters au gratin; cucumbers
béchamel
; fragrant orange peel biscuits; rum and apple pudding with grapes; chewy French nougat cake, surrounded by assorted jellies and creams; and the most delightful French champagne. The sight, smell and taste of such ambrosial viands couldn’t fail to lift their spirits, and by the time their plates were loaded and their glasses filled, the wedding guests were almost cheerful. They even sounded quite sincere in their seconding of Sandy’s toast to the health of the bride and groom.

After a while, Loesby came in and whispered something into Kittridge’s ear. The bridegroom
nodded and announced aloud that it was time for him to take his bride away; they had to start out at once for Lincolnshire if they were to reach Highlands without a night’s stopover on the road. This announcement brought the festivities to an end, and the entire wedding party wrapped themselves up in their outer garments and trooped out to the street to see the pair off.

Emotions again came to the surface as good-byes were exchanged. The elder Lady Kittridge embraced her son tremblingly, whispering into his ear, “My poor boy, you shouldn’t have done it! We don’t deserve such a sacrifice!” in a shaken voice. Eunice kissed her brother’s cheek and, glancing over at the “drab little nobody” who was now her sister-in-law, promptly dissolved in tears. Miss Penicuick (having decided, with Cassie’s urging, to remain with Mr. Chivers, who would need his housekeeper now more than Cassie would) threw her arms round the bride in a kind of hysteria, as if she feared they would never see each other again. Sandy, painfully aware of the difference that Kittridge must see between the glorious Elinor and this shy, mousy creature who was now his bride, shook his friend’s hand with energetic sympathy and promised, with a forced smile and an encouraging slap on the back, to come up to Highlands for a visit within the month. Mr. Chivers pressed an envelope stuffed full of bank notes into Cassie’s hand, muttering in her ear that there wasn’t a girl in the world who didn’t need a bit of pin money, and adding, “If that damn fellow don’t treat ye just right, y’re to come ’ome at once, my love, do ye ’ear me? At
once
! And whatever it costs, I’ll rid ye of ’im.” In short, everyone seemed utterly miserable.