Authors: The Dutiful Wife
Nine years later. . . .
Edmund Hetherton, the Viscount Rothwood, stared at his glass of brandy trying to recall how many of these he had consumed. No matter, he assured himself, his thinking was as clear as it had ever been. Wasn’t it?
“I,” he said with careful enunciation, “am getting married.”
“The devil you say!”
“Who is the lucky chit?”
“I’ve not thought you fixed your interest on any of ’em. ’Pon my soul, all we hear from you is how you cannot abide the current crop of debutantes!”
As Rothwood’s friends continued to protest, he merely smiled. When the hubbub settled down, he said, “M’father’s will was quite clear. I must marry by the time I’m twenty-five or I shall have the estate but not much else.”
For a long moment they all pondered this patently unfair provision of the late Lord Rothwood’s will. Lord Burford, the oldest and closest of Edmund’s friends, was the first to speak.
“Every matchmaking mama in London has tried to take advantage of that fact,” he said shrewdly. “More young ladies have been thrown at your head than at any other eligible fellow this Season. And you’ve spurned them all. So who is the paragon who has drawn your interest and how has she done so?”
How could he tell them the truth? That whenever he thought of marrying all he could see was a young girl who had once looked at him with worship in her eyes, put a gentle hand on his arm and spoken words of admiration for his hopes and dreams? That she had been kind, and he had had far too little kindness in his life? That by contrast every young lady he’d met in London had seemed shallow or obsessed with his title and wealth? Was it folly to believe that the girl he remembered even existed?
Rothwood inwardly sighed. If he said any of this aloud, his friends would think him mad. And perhaps he was. His father would certainly have said so. All he knew was that when he thought of marrying, folly or not, it was always her face that came to mind.
Instead he said what he had said so often before, “I am determined my wife shall be a quiet and dutiful woman, content to remain in the countryside and able to provide me with several children so that I shall have an heir and several spares. I’ll not be caught out like my father with only one son.”
“Yes, but who is this paragon you have in mind?” Burford repeated. “Or do you even have one in mind? For I tell you plainly that I do not think there are many such chits around. You have said so yourself more than once. Sworn there was no girl in all of London you would wed. Even talked of letting the deadline pass and making do on your own without the inheritance. So what has changed?”
Rothwood smiled. “I find I am not willing to be a pauper, after all, so I set my mind to the matter and recalled a girl I met some nine or ten years ago. My aunt’s goddaughter, in point of fact. She lives in the country and is one of many siblings. Hence the odds for several offspring seem good. Her name,” he paused for effect, “is Beatrix. Anyone named Beatrix must be docile and retiring, don’t you think?”
His friends hesitated.
“It does seem likely,” Totham said, a hint of doubt in his voice.
“Not a fashionable name,” Hawthorne chimed in. “Not likely to be a fashionable girl.”
“Yes, but what will you do if she isn’t what you expect?” Lord Burford demanded. “Or if she doesn’t want to marry you? Dash it all, Rothwood, you deserve to be happy!”
Rothwood blinked. Why the devil was it so hard to think? “My aunt approves of her,” he said, after a moment, a hint of triumph in his voice as he recalled his reasoning. “That ought to be enough to assure me that she is a compliant girl and one not altogether wanting in wits. And why wouldn’t she want to marry me?”
That silenced the group of young men. All of them knew Rothwood’s aunt. Indeed, the entire
ton
knew his aunt and most feared her. She was known not to tolerate the company of any woman who was not willing to be subservient to her will. Nor was she one to tolerate the company of fools. Yes, one could safely assume that any female of whom Lady Kenrick approved would be meek and submissive, just as Rothwood wished, and yet not altogether a ninny. This was a good thing for he had no more patience for fools than did his aunt. Most important of all, if Lady Kenrick approved of the match, the girl’s breeding would be impeccable, no matter what her current circumstances. As for the notion that any such girl would turn him down, well, that was absurd!
Still, they worried. Rothwood was the best of friends and had pulled each of them out of trouble when they needed it the most, regardless of the cost to himself. He was unfailingly kind to children and animals, had never been known to gamble excessively or treat with contempt anyone whose circumstances had taken an unfortunate turn. Rather, he was always there with a kind word and often an offer of help. Dash it all, the man was practically a saint! At least in the eyes of his friends. What had his father been thinking treating him in such a shabby way as to demand he marry upon cue or lose the greater part of his inheritance?
Rothwood smiled yet again as he watched the play of emotions across the faces of his friends. He called for another round for all of them to celebrate his impending good fortune. Maybe that would silence the doubts he felt. His father would have scorned him for needing such Dutch courage but then his father would have scorned him for a great many reasons, this being the least of them.
“When do you leave?”
“Straight after I inform my aunt.”
“Inform your aunt? Why the devil would you do that?” Burford asked.
“Not wise,” another predicted gloomily.
“She’ll try to take charge!” another added, with a shudder.
“Right thing to do,” Rothwood countered, though at the moment he couldn’t quite recall why.
There were a few more protests followed by good wishes and toasts to his impending good fortune. Finally, while the others stayed to play cards, Rothwood left to find his aunt. He had a sort of vague sense that if he ever brought his bride to London he would wish for his aunt’s help in launching her. But it was more than that. She had stood as some sort of mother to him after his own had died. For all her starch and intimidating manner, there was a strong affection between them and he felt an almost filial duty to tell her his plans before he carried them out.
So pleased was Rothwood with these thoughts that he went straight from his club to Almack’s, where he found his aunt intimidating yet again the latest crop of girls making their curtsey to the
ton
.
* * *
Lady Kenrick had just finished lecturing one poor girl’s mother on the folly of allowing her daughter to dress in a color that so clearly ill-suited her, when she spotted her nephew coming toward her and crowed with delight.
“Rothwood! Are you here to finally dance with me?”
Since this was a long-standing jest between them, Rothwood merely kissed his aunt’s hand, swore eternal devotion to her and then said, in a voice that carried far better than he realized, “No, Aunt Violet, I came to tell you I am off to the countryside as soon as I can pack.”
Lady Kenrick felt her heart sink. What scandal had her nephew fallen into now? Before she could think what to say, the lady closest to her tittered and said, “In the middle of the night? My heavens! What can be so urgent that you cannot wait until morning?”
Lady Kenrick was acutely conscious of all the faces leaning forward to hear her nephew’s answer. Trying to make light of things she said, “I hope you will have a good trip, then.”
“Don’t you want to know where I am going and why?” he countered.
Curse the boy! Didn’t he understand how foolish it was to air his predicament, whatever it was, in public this way?
She made herself shrug. “If you wish to tell me.”
“I, my dear Aunt Violet, am about to earn your deepest approval,” he crowed. “I am off to offer for your goddaughter, Miss Trowley, to be my wife.”
And then, before a stunned Lady Kenrick had time to collect her thoughts or respond, Rothwood turned on his heel and strode out of Almack’s, head held high, entirely oblivious to the fact that his announcement had caused a deep silence to fall over the room. A silence that was broken the moment he was gone by loud and merry speculation over what he had just said.
For her part, Lady Kenrick pasted a smile on her face and made light of Rothwood’s words. “Oh, my nephew takes these notions and by the next morning usually has forgotten them. Or changed his mind. I pray you will pay no attention for I certainly do not. Either that or he is playing a prank on me, wishing to get up my hopes only to laugh at me tomorrow for being a credulous fool!”
Since no one would ever dare call Lady Kenrick a credulous fool, that effectively ended any direct conversation with her over the matter, but it did not stop the speculation that continued to swirl among members of the
ton
who were present that night. And it would not, Lady Kenrick very much feared, prevent it among everyone who would hear the news in the morning.
Mind you, had circumstances been otherwise, Lady Kenrick would have been delighted had Rothwood come to her and said he wished to marry her Goddaughter Beatrix. But not when he was clearly so deep in his cups and not when he had not even seen the girl in close to ten years. What on earth, she wondered, had put it in his mind to marry her and why on earth had he felt the need to announce his decision in the midst of such a public place?
Mind you, the girl’s background was quite creditable. Her mother was the granddaughter of an earl and her father the youngest son of a viscount and Beatrix herself surely could not be blamed because both families had lost patience with her father’s gambling debts and refused to pay them any more. Had it been otherwise they might well have lived in London and Beatrix made her curtsey to the
ton
as any other young lady would.
Life, Lady Kenrick thought grimly, was about to get very complicated and she could only hope that no one would get hurt by her nephew’s actions. First thing when she got home, she decided, would be the task of writing to warn her bosom bow, Beatrix’s mother, of her nephew’s impending arrival and intentions.
Now any other woman would have told herself that she should confirm her nephew’s plans before she wrote such a letter. Any other woman would have let matters unfold on their own. Lady Kenrick, however, found herself growing rather fond of the idea of her nephew married to Beatrix and decided that if a note from her could help the matter along, why, that was what she would do. It was, after all, high time her nephew married. Indeed, the terms of his father’s will demanded that he do so in short order. Already wagers had been placed that he would fail to wed in time and lose most of his inheritance because of it. Not that ladies were supposed to know about these wagers made at the men’s private clubs, but a great many people were only too happy to keep Lady Kenrick informed on all sorts of things—particularly wagers involving her nephew.
The more she considered the matter, the more Lady Kenrick could not help but feel that Beatrix was exactly the right wife for her nephew. He needed someone to take him in hand. Folly or not, she would do what she could to promote the match and make the girl a success when Edmund brought her to London. Indeed, she quite looked forward to molding the girl into a proper companion for herself. And a proper wife for Edmund, of course. That nonsense from her last visit to the Trowley home would all be forgotten once the girl was here and needed her help. Yes, absurd as Edmund’s declaration had been, matters might turn out very well, after all. She would write the letter to her bosom bow Marianne the moment she got home.
Like her nephew, Lady Kenrick had had, perhaps, rather more wine that evening than was wise.
* * *
Rothwood might have been determined to set off at once for the countryside, but his staff knew their duty and they knew the propensity of his lordship to concoct foolish schemes in his cups only to regret them in the morning. Their task, therefore, was to get him to go to sleep and reconsider the matter over breakfast, by which time his thoughts would be markedly clearer and more sensible.
“Come, sir,” his valet said coaxingly. “You cannot go in your evening dress. And it will take some time to pack. Why don’t you undress and take a short nap while I take care of things.”
The majordomo spoke quietly to a footman, who went outside to speak to the coachman. A few moments later, Rothwood heard his carriage drive away.
“What the devil? Where is my coachman taking my carriage?” Rothwood demanded.
The majordomo coughed. “I, er, understand there is a problem with one of the horses, sir. Fine for in the city, but for a long journey you’ll want better. The, er, coachman went to change horses, or at least check to be sure they are in shape for such a trip.”
Rothwood frowned. “Oh. Quite right. Thank you, Henry.”
The majordomo merely bowed slightly.
Rothwood allowed himself to be coaxed upstairs and provided with a posset that Cook had taken care to add a touch of laudanum to. He drank it as he undressed. “Pack for a week. Now!” he told his valet as the man seemed to hesitate.
The man went pale. Even drunk as he was, Rothwood knew what that meant. His father would have scorned him for coddling his valet, but Edmund didn’t care. His voice softened as he said gently, kindly, “It’s all right, Collins. You shall stay here.”
The valet stiffened. “I know my duty, sir.”
“It isn’t proper to contradict me, Collins. I said you shall stay here,” Rothwood repeated.
“But sir! Who will dress you?”
“I shall dress myself. I’m going to a small village. No one will notice the difference.”
“I assure you they will.”
Rothwood sighed. “You know that traveling makes you ill, Collins. I cannot ask you to go when I truly do not think it essential. Mr. Trowley is bound to have a man who can look after me.” He paused, then added, “I can always send for you should I find myself mistaken.”
Collins hesitated, clearly torn. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you are certain.”