Authors: Mary Jo Putney
"He will grant permission—I guarantee it. He's also decided it's time to go to London and the House of Lords. He'll leave the day after the reception." She gnawed on her lower lip, intrigued, then shook her head. "What's the point? The sooner I leave, the sooner any scandal will die down. If I go to Scotland under my own name, who will know or care that I was temporarily Lady Maxwell? "
He didn't want her to leave. But his selfish desire wasn't a good enough reason to ask her to stay. "I think I've found a way for us to separate without scandal. No one except my closest family knows exactly what happened between us in that cell, and they won't discuss our private business with outsiders. We pledged ourselves with a very old form of wedding ceremony, but there is another Scottish custom called a handfast."
"A handfast?"
"It's a trial marriage to determine if two people will suit. At the end of a year and a day, they may go their separate ways if one or both partners chooses."
"What if there is a baby?"
"The father is liable for the child's support. Often the couple decide to contract a permanent union, but if they don't, they can separate with no stigma attached and find new mates later."
"The Scots have odd marriage customs," she said dryly. "How does that help us?"
"We can say that I wanted to help you leave China, so I made you Lady Maxwell by handfast. At the end of a year and a day, you're free to go. In the meantime, it explains why you've been introduced as Lady Maxwell—
for now it's true. We haven't been… cohabiting, so it should be easy enough to say that we simply contracted a temporary marriage of convenience to help you."
She glanced askance when he mentioned cohabitation, but said only,
"You have a devious mind, Lord Maxwell.''
"Thank you."
Her mouth curved. "That wasn't a compliment."
"It's been a hard year. I'll take compliments where I find them." Glad to see her with a suggestion of a smile, he rose and helped her from the floor.
"This version of events may not be literally true, but it's close enough to the spirit of what happened, and it provides an explanation that doesn't injure your reputation."
"I'm not important enough to have a reputation, but handfasting does sound more respectable than a false marriage."
"Does this mean you'll return to Dornleigh until the year and a day have passed?" That would give him more of her company. "Think of the pleasure you'll have turning that mausoleum upside down and making it more livable."
Her eyes narrowed with calculation. "I suppose I can bear it that long. During that time, will you take me to Scotland? It will be easier if you are with me."
If she wanted to seek her father's relatives, Lady Maxwell would be received more courteously than plain Miss Montgomery. "It will be my pleasure, though we should wait a few weeks until the weather improves. While we're there, I'd like to take you to our house in the Highlands. Staying at Kinnockburn will teach you as much about Scotland as your father's stories."
"If I return, it won't be as a decorous English lady." she warned. "I've spent most of my life pretending to be something I'm not, and I'm weary unto death of pretense."
"I understand. I had to travel halfway around the world to find out who I was. You've also come halfway around the world, so perhaps Dornleigh is a good place for you to discover the nature of your true self." His clasp tightened on the hand he was still holding. "But please—promise me you'll never try to injure yourself again."
She smiled crookedly. "I would have turned the knife away at the last moment, but I had to do something to show how… how vast my rage was."
"You succeeded. I probably have gray hairs now," he said. "Though I've never had Dominic's charm, neither have I ever driven a woman to attempt suicide to get away from me. Very bad for my
amour propre
."
"You think your brother more charming?"
"Definitely—he has a much easier disposition. I've more of my father's stiffness. I'll try to do better."
"A wise resolution." She gave him a cat-eyed glance. "The house is not the only thing in need of improvement."
She swept from the room, leaving him to collect her carpetbags. Her manner had changed from demure and near-invisible to something grander and far more unpredictable. He wondered what she would be like now that she had stopped trying to be what others expected of her.
He suspected that she would be even more entrancing than she was now.
There was much to be said for abandoning hope, Troth decided after she returned to Dornleigh. Looking back, she recognized that she'd been cherishing secret hopes that Kyle would decide that he loved her and wanted her to be his wife for always if she tried hard enough, was respectable and obliging.
Her delusions had been ripped away when it became obvious that he'd never once considered the possibility of remaining married. He liked her, he wished her well, he had a sense of obligation to her—but he didn't see her as his wife. At least, unlike his father, he hadn't made his decision from bigotry.
How lucky Constancia had been to be loved by a man with such a faithful heart.
Instead of hope, Troth had a fierce and lonely freedom. Except for Kyle, she no longer cared what any of these people thought of her, for soon she would be gone. Wrexham she greeted with a cool nod, no longer bothering to be deferential, since she'd been judged and found wanting for reasons over which she had no control.
His glance slid away; he seemed ashamed of what he'd said to his son, but he made no attempt to apologize. She doubted he knew how. She rather admired his total lack of hypocrisy. He despised her and thought she would ruin his son's life, and that was that. Very straightforward. How nice that he was going to London. She'd be sure to be gone by the time he returned. That would make both of them happy.
It was ironic to realize that since Kyle's return, she'd tried desperately to be English, yet found herself as submissive as the most docile and downtrodden of Chinese women. Enough of that. Now she would act like a stubborn, strong-willed Scottish female. That meant fully embracing her Chinese heritage, and be damned to what the locals thought.
She liked the idea of leaving bizarre legends about the mad Chinese woman whom a Renbourne heir had brought home from his travels. This was the sort of house where such stories would linger for generations, becoming more baroque with each retelling.
The next morning she rose at dawn, donned a loose cotton tunic and trousers she'd brought from China, and made her way from the silent house to the gardens. The formally laid out beds and borders didn't have a fraction of the imagination or charm found in the gardens of Chenqua and Meriel, but spring flowers were budding and the earth pulsed with life. It was going to be another fine day.
Slowly she stepped into a tai chi form. Gods, she was out of shape! Her joints were stiff, her muscles weak because of the months that had passed since she'd last performed the exercises. If Chenqua were here, he'd tie her in knots within seconds.
She felt intense regret at the knowledge that they would never spar again. Though she hadn't been fully at ease with him, they had shared a special relationship that neither would experience with anyone else.
Thank you,
honorable Chenqua, for finding a place for a mixed-blood female in your world
. She tried to visualize
chi
flowing from the earth into her feet and through her limbs. At first it was difficult, but gradually she began to sense the energy.
Chi
was real, no matter what the unimaginative English thought. The pulse of life was everywhere, and in its balance lay strength and harmony.
An hour of increasingly vigorous exercise left her panting but with a greater sense of well-being than she'd known for many months. She'd been a fool to give this up.
After bathing, Troth visited the breakfast parlor for the first time since arriving at Dornleigh. An impressive assortment of food waited under silver covers, and she'd worked up enough of an appetite to enjoy a good meal. She was half-finished when Kyle appeared and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee. "I heard a rumor that you were in here. Do you mind if I join you?"
"As you wish." She'd be damned if she would look at him with spaniel eyes again, craving his presence. Especially since he'd never noticed when she did.
Yet she couldn't help watching as he collected food. He was still too thin, and today he was also moving stiffly. "You're acting rather bruised."
"Far too much riding yesterday, not to mention the fact that Nelson threw me before I even left the stableyard." He topped off her tea—a rather good souchong—and took the chair opposite hers. "Yesterday I was thinking of asking you to go riding, which was when I learned you'd had the same thought, with regrettable consequences."
"Not regrettable. Rather… educational and overdue."
"Overdue certainly." He shifted awkwardly in his chair. "I'd better avoid the saddle for a day or so, but would you like to go riding later in the week?
I want to show you the estate, and I need to reacquaint myself with it as well."
Exactly what she'd wanted so much the day before. The universe mocked her. Still, she'd enjoy the ride. "I'd like that, if your stable has a mount that won't consider throwing me a personal challenge."
"I'm sure that can be arranged." He took a bite of egg and ham. "The household will be at sixes and sevens today with the reception tonight. You're coming, aren't you?"
"I can't think of any good reason why I should. It's not as if I'm going to become a permanent resident, and I wouldn't enjoy being stared at."
"If you don't come, it will appear as if we're hiding something, because everyone in the neighborhood has heard of you by now. Actually, this is the perfect occasion to introduce the story that we're handfasted, not permanently married. The more people who know the official version, the more quickly it will be accepted." He gave her a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. "And I'll enjoy it more if you're present."
Damn the man
. He was going to turn her into a spaniel all over again. But his request was reasonable. "Very well, I shall attend long enough to be exhibited."
He grinned. "We can both fade away when we've had enough." True. But they would be fading away separately, not together.
That evening Troth took her time bathing, then washing and drying her hair. Most of the guests had already arrived by the time she reluctantly began to dress. She would wear the lavender figured-silk gown that had been made for the Warfield Christmas ball. It was the most splendid garment she owned.
Bessy handled the gown reverently when she removed it from the wardrobe. "How beautiful you will look in this."
Troth stroked the heavy silk, remembering the Christmas ball. She'd been frightened that night, yet ultimately had enjoyed herself. But on that occasion, she had felt welcomed and accepted. Tonight was very different. Thinking of the ball reminded her of what Jena Curry, the half-Hindu friend of Meriel and Dominic, had said:
Don't renounce your Chinese side. To
be only English would be to impoverish yourself
.
Troth had rejected the advice, since her greatest desire had been to fit in with the Renbournes. But she never would—Lord Wrexham had made that brutally clear. Though she'd foolishly thought his gift of jewelry was a mark of acceptance, Meriel had recognized that the present had been about Kyle, not her.
The devil take Lord Wrexham
. She had given up trying to please him, and her marriage to Kyle was to all intents and purposes over. Tonight she would be what she'd always wanted to be—a grand Chinese lady. "I've changed my mind.''
She opened the bottom drawer of her clothespress and took out the gifts Kyle had given her in Canton. She had transferred these items from trunk to drawer with her own hands, so Bessy had never seen them.
Undergarments, trousers, jewelry, and cosmetics came out of storage, followed by the magnificent scarlet robe embroidered with flowers and butterflies. Carefully she spread it out on her bed. Good, almost no wrinkles. Bessy touched the robe as if fearing it would dissolve under her fingertips. "Oh, my lady! This is Chinese?''
Troth nodded. "I shall wear it tonight."
"I… I don't know how to help you put this on," Bessy said anxiously.
"No help is needed. Chinese clothing is easier to wear than European." After donning undergarments and trousers, Troth put on the robe, fastening the frogs from shoulder to knees. For a moment she was caught by her image in the mirror—a woman dressed in bridal scarlet who was no true bride. She suppressed a sigh. "What do you think, Bessy?" The maid's eyes were round as saucers. "I've never seen such a sight! But the trousers… well, aren't they indecent on a female?"
"Not in China." Troth smiled as she sat down at the mirrored dressing table, remembering her own reaction to the low-cut lavender gown. Now she was modestly covered to the neck, and far more comfortable than she'd have been in the corseted lavender gown. Expertly she dressed her hair in a high, elaborate style, securing the heavy coils with chased-gold hairpins. Then she opened her lacquered cosmetic box, where the palettes were formed into the shape of a lotus. She was tempted to apply masklike formal court makeup, but decided against it, though it certainly would raise eyebrows in Northamptonshire. Instead she added artful shadings of color to her cheeks and lips and darkened her brows.