The Hired Wife (4 page)

“Do you? Have
you had your heart rejected thirteen times? Have you been laughed
at every day of your life and thought an imbecile just because you
couldn’t hear properly? Well?”

“No, but I’m a
plain woman without a dowry. I might as well be deaf, dumb and
blind. What’s an ugly girl do with a loving heart? When she hears
church bells peeling for another wedding she says a prayer that one
day they’ll chime for her. She prays that one day she’ll meet a man
who’ll see her heart and love her anyway. It’s all just a silly
dream.” Marshall impulsively put an arm around her waist and felt
comforted by her hand on his back. “Is that your mother?”

“Yes.”

“She looks very
kind.”

“She was an
angel.” He gently laid the miniature inside the top drawer and
pushed it closed. “She used to tell me that I was special, that God
had made life difficult for me because it would have been too easy
for me with perfect hearing. I think God must have a demented sense
of humour.”

“Perhaps you’re
not the one being tested?”

Looking down
into serious eyes Marshall gave into temptation and kissed her on
the forehead. “Perhaps not. It doesn’t matter; I’d rather be deaf
than blind.” As he pulled his arm free of her waist he tugged on
his cravat. It felt completely natural to have her at his side as
he undressed.

“Did you have a
pleasant day Marshall?” She took his cravat as a matter of course
and waited as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“It wasn’t
unpleasant.” Marshall handed over his waistcoat and stopped half
way through unbuttoning his trousers as he caught her modest eyes
staring at the ceiling. It was tempting to ask her to stay, to
share his bed. Would it be so bad to settle for companionship? His
romantic heart resisted the argument and opened his mouth. “I’ll do
the rest on my own.” He clutched his trouser flap closed as she
leaned into him to speak.

“Would you like
a hot bath in the morning?”

“Hah! When I
ask for a bath I get four cans of tepid water and a tin tray. Half
the room floods, it’s easier to sponge myself from the basin.”

“What time do
you rise?”

“Eight-thirty,
but I don’t expect you to work until after breakfast.”

“Did you need
anything else this evening?” Marshall took a deep breath as the
innocent words tempted him to give into his baser needs.

“No, I’m going
to bed.”

“Pleasant
dreams…” Marshall’s shoulders slumped as the door closed, he shook
his head and tried not to think about how pleasant it felt to hold
her close as he finished undressing. Snuffing out the candles, he
slid into bed and lay there staring into the darkness tormented by
loneliness until he fell asleep.

At Eight thirty-four the following morning Marshall woke up
from a pleasurable dream and rolled over to see the steaming hip
bath accompanied by two clean linen towels, fresh soap, a note and
a bell. He flung off the covers and picked up the note.
‘Ring the bell if you’d like me to wash your hair
before you bathe.’

He dipped his
hand in the water, it was hot. He didn’t want to wait for
assistance. He scrubbed away with relish and finished bathing a
half hour later feeling clean and well disposed to the world, the
late night scene forgotten. Humming to himself he shaved the
night’s growth off his face and finished his ablutions. If his
hired wife could coax a hot bath once a week out of his lazy
servants he’d consider her wages well earned. The thought reminded
him that he hadn’t even told her how much she’d be paid. He paused
as he scraped his neck; if he offered her a permanent position he
wouldn’t have to pay her salary. He thrashed his razor in the bowl
of water and sighed with disgust at the inner war. His heart
pleaded with him to listen to reason, but his mind scoffed the
beggar and reminded Marshall that there wasn’t any point in
searching for a woman who didn’t exist. How could a woman fall in
love with him if he couldn’t have a proper conversation with her to
begin with? Besides, his ideal woman was probably happily married
to a man with perfect hearing. His pride sided with his heart, but
his body firmly agreed with his mind. It was humiliating to accept
that he’d never experience love; never hold a woman who’d make him
feel like he was living his own love poem.

If he gave in
to his head there’d be no hope of early morning words of affection
whispered over his pillow, but wouldn’t a kind greeting be better
than nothing? He nearly cut his throat as his hand shook with
disappointment. He was forty-three, practically deaf, unattractive
and unfairly reputed to be a brute; being a wealthy Viscount didn’t
even begin to balance his personal deficit.

He finished
dressing and forced himself to check to make sure he had enough
clean shirts and cravats for the next several days. His few brief
attempts at employing a valet had always ended in blows. He made a
mental note to instruct his wife to add checking his linen to her
list of duties and finished dressing. He thundered down the stairs
and hollered for his wife. As he stepped into the dining room he
stopped abruptly and looked around. Something was different. Had
the table always looked so shiny? Had the dishes always matched?
The room had an odd cheerful air that hadn’t been there the day
before. Where had the vase of flowers in the window come from? He
looked into the silver lidded dishes on the sideboard and was
relieved to find that none of them contained overcooked liver or
boiled kippers. He dished up a plate of eggs and bacon sat down.
Several minutes later his wife appeared breathless at his elbow.
“Where have you been?”

“I was in the
attic discussing improvements for the servant’s quarters with Mrs.
Green. Is there something you’d like me to do?”

“Sit down.” He
pointed to the chair at his right with his knife and watched her
pour herself a cup of chocolate before sitting down. She looked
tired.

Mary watched
him cut up his eggs and bacon, shovel them neatly into his mouth
and then smack loudly as he enjoyed his food. She closed her eyes
and slowly sipped her chocolate as she imagined herself sitting in
a small dining room at a little round table, a wooden cradle near
her feet rocking back and forth…

“Stop rocking,
you’re making me sea sick. I hate being sea sick!” The roar tipped
her upright and snuffed out the pretty picture before she could
finish designing the print on the cheap muslin curtains. Her
favourite daydream on hold she opened her eyes and wondered what
the scowling man’s children would look like. He didn’t look so
quite so frightening after a thorough wash. His wet hair still
looked like old thatch, but it was now clean old thatch. She
withstood the temptation to reach out and touch it to see if the
ends were as stiff as they looked. His children would laugh a lot.
They’d sit on his knee and pull his nose… “Is my person amusing you
this morning?”

“I was
imagining what sort of father you’d be.” Marshall froze as his
heart and mind forcefully resumed their conflict. Should he or
should he not make her a permanent offer? “I think your children
will wrap you around their little fingers before they can
speak.”

“Humph! They’d
be obedient brats or regret it.”

“If you say so
my Lord.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed at her pointed disobedience and
had to grit his teeth to keep from laughing.

“I’ll punish
you later Mrs Godfrey.”

“As you wish;
the needle-witch delivered several large boxes this morning. I
don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who’s owned such lovely dresses.
Old Mrs. Harding, whose fourth husband made a fortune selling
charcoal ink by the barrel, always wore the most exquisite clothes.
She often said I deserved to marry a title, though I suspect she
meant a Bishop rather than a Lord.”

“Do you always
talk enough for ten women? You’re going to give me a headache…what
sort of mother do you think you’d be?”

“I don’t know.
When I think of having children they’re either babies or adults, I
skip the part in-between.”

Marshall put
down his knife and fork, wiped his lips, sat back and stared at his
wife. Morning sunlight was bouncing off the two large mirrors
hanging on opposite walls and wrapping her in light. She was
smiling at some inner thought as she stared into space. She wasn’t
pretty, but her magical hair looked like golden honey dripping off
her head and her eyes were luminous and kind. “What are you
thinking about?”

Her head jerked
back in his direction. “I was just wondering what it’d be like…”
She rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand
as he leaned closer.

“What would you
give to have children?”

“What would I
give? I don’t understand.”

“Which is more
important to you, children or love?” asked Marshall.

Mary felt her
cheeks burn again as the loud words rumbled through the house. “I’d
certainly never marry just so I could have children. My friend
Lilly was desperate for babies and a house of her own. The man she
married wasn’t cruel or a drunk, but he didn’t love her. She died
holding her sixth infant before her fourth year as a wife. All the
babies were too little to survive. I think it broke her heart.”

“The man was a
thoughtless bore. He should have left her alone for more than five
minutes after giving birth.”

“She was
expendable. He married the butcher’s daughter a month later. She
was quite a catch, even if she was ugly.”

“Would you
marry someone you didn’t love?”

“Do you want
the technical answer dear Husband, or my heart’s answer?”

“Just answer
the question!” The blue eyes flashed irritation and something else
that sent a strange shiver down Mary’s spine. The question could
only be leading down a path that would snuff out her dreams.

“Not unless the
alternative was starving to death, but if I loved him even though
he didn’t love me I’d consider it. If one is going to be miserable,
one may as well be miserable with one’s beloved near at hand.” His
angry scowl didn’t make the next few hours look very pleasant.
“Why?”

“Because I…”
Marshall was silenced as the twins appeared at his side and pressed
cheerful sisterly kisses to his left cheek.

Alyce smirked
at her sister, “I think our brother’s enamoured with his hired
wife. Did you see the way he glared at us as for interrupting his
intimate conversation? I’d wager a guinea he was hoping to kiss
her.”

“They’re
married, he can kiss her if he likes.”

“What did that
wicked imp say?”

Mary met
unrepentant eyes and then turned back to Marshall with reluctance.
“She thinks you want to kiss me.”

Marshall’s
cheeks filled with colour as he stood up and leaned across the
table towards his sisters. “I’ll be careful in future not to alarm
your delicate sensibilities by doing anything so foolish as kissing
my wife.” Mary was watching the twins amused reaction to their
brother’s roar unaware of Marshall’s intentions until a hand tipped
back her chin and he was kissing her mouth, sending pleasurable
tingles into her lips and over her scalp. Mary’s mouth was gaping,
her cheeks a little too warm as she watched him stalk from the room
oblivious to his giggling sisters. Mary swallowed her embarrassment
and followed her husband leaving the two younger girls whispering
to each other.

She retrieved
her lace pillow with its clacking ivory bobbins from her bedchamber
and hovered several minutes in the hall as she listened to him
mutter in his study. Taking a deep breath she entered and closed
the door behind her. He was hiding behind a book. She hoped she
looked calm as she sat down in her chair and tried to focus on
tying the threads around the pins in the right order. He’d only
kissed her to make a point. The thought made her forget which
bobbin to pick up next. Her eyes slowly slid to look at the man
sitting next to her. He wasn’t handsome, but he was pleasantly
male. There was something attractive about the breadth of his
shoulders and the angular planes of his face and the roughness of
his skin. She reined in her thoughts and silently scolded herself
for being silly as her heart started pounding. Those kinds of
thoughts would only lead to a broken heart.

Marshall
watched Mary wind strands of thread around carefully placed pins,
tie a knot and then pick up another two bobbins. She looked
completely serene, totally unaffected by his kiss. He couldn’t
expect her to enjoy it just because he wished it. He threw down his
book and opened his desk drawer. He had a horrible feeling there
was something unpleasant happening in the evening. He took out the
list for his sisters’ schedule for the week and moaned in
horror.

“What’s wrong?”
Marshall turned his head to find tempting lips inches away.

“Horrid Aunt
Bea’s list of engagements for the week; I hope that needle witch
made you a ball gown.”

“A ball?”

“Don’t get
excited. You’ll be my companion wall flower.”

“I’d be a wall
flower in any case. The only time I was ever asked to dance was
when Papa asked men to stand up with me. He thought I didn’t
know.”

“I know the
feeling. When I was nineteen Mother employed a woman to teach me
how to dance by counting the steps and watching other people
keeping time to the music. The young ladies still refused to be
dragged about the dance floor by the deaf boy, but my teacher was
an attractive young woman with an eye to improving her station in
life. Mother sacked her when she found us in a passionate embrace.”
Marshall glanced at his wife’s lips and back to her eyes. “I hadn’t
known kissing could be so pleasurable.”

Mary felt like
one of her father’s butterflies caught in a net as she stared into
mesmerising blue eyes. How long before her delicate wings were
pinned down forever? He wanted her to admit she’d enjoyed his kiss.
If he asked her outright she’d have to admit that she had or refuse
to answer the question. Her personal rule of honesty decreed it.
She could see her silence was irritating him. “What time is the
ball?” Her question broke his concentration and turned his
attention back to the evening’s torture.