Authors: The Dutiful Wife
Lady Kenrick started to speak but Lord Rothwood forestalled her. “No,” he said implacably. “If you know you will tell them, just to prove you were able to browbeat it out of me. I have no wish to be beset with curiosity seeking visitors while my bride and I are getting to know each other better. You must be satisfied with enjoying their confusion and speculation.”
Lady Kenrick regarded her nephew with narrowed eyes then finally nodded. “Very well. You have a point, even if I wish you did not.” She paused and turned to Mrs. Trowley. “Well? When are we to have tea?”
Relieved to have Lady Kenrick’s attention turned elsewhere, Beatrix let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Again Lord Rothwood squeezed her hand. All they had to do, she told herself, was manage until the wedding and wedding breakfast were over and they could be on their way.
If that was a rather naive view of things, well, what experience did Beatrix have except what she had seen in her own household? How could she imagine that marriage would be any different than the affectionate companionship she saw between Mama and Papa? Who was going to tell her otherwise? Certainly not her parents or her siblings or Lady Kenrick, all of whom devoutly wished for this marriage to take place.
As for Lord Rothwood, in his own way, he was as naive as she was, even if his expectations were rather different. As so many other couples before them, they marched toward their wedding day blithely unaware of what they were doing, of what was in store in the days ahead.
Lady Kenrick watched as Edmund put the final touches to his cravat on the morning of his wedding day. He was, she thought, looking most pleased with himself. No doubt he had convinced himself this marriage was a sensible one, just as his father would have wished. And, by the terms of the late Lord Rothwood’s notions, it was. But she knew Edmund better than that. He might not know it yet, but she saw the eagerness in his expression every time Beatrix entered the room. Lady Kenrick saw the tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her goddaughter, and she was glad for it.
Edmund didn’t know it, but he needed a wife who would touch his heart and melt the exterior of ice that had grown in place over the years and caused Lady Kenrick such worry. He’d been a sensitive child and the late Lord Rothwood had done everything he could to browbeat it out of the boy. But nothing could destroy Edmund’s innate kindness. Even when he tried to follow his father’s dictates, he always fell short and Lady Kenrick gave thanks to God for that. She would have hated were Edmund truly the man he thought he was, the man most people thought he was. Indeed, she would never have countenanced this match if she did not believe that Beatrix was the woman to help Edmund be the man he could be, if he would only let himself. She would encourage him to play, to laugh, to set aside his father’s harsh dictates and instead explore the wonders of life.
It was sentimental of her, to be sure, but Lady Kenrick had always loved Edmund with a fierceness that was beyond reason. She saw the best of his mother in him, as well as the best of his father for, yes, there had been good in the late Lord Rothwood, despite all his faults. He was an honorable man and had upheld his marriage vows even when his wife did not. He had refused to publicly speak a word against her, even when she did not hesitate to flaunt her affair to the
ton
. The late Lord Rothwood had raised his son to honor his debts and take his responsibilities as Viscount seriously. He simply had not known what to do with a wayward wife and a son who cared about everything as deeply as Edmund did. It had almost destroyed all three of them. But now, with this marriage, Edmund had a chance for happiness and Lady Kenrick would do everything she could to see that he seized that chance. If only she could see a way to shake his faith in his father’s strictures on the subject of marriage.
“It will not come amiss if you treat Beatrix with kindness,” she ventured to suggest.
Edmund looked affronted. “Of course I shall treat my wife with kindness,” he said. “How could you think otherwise?”
Lady Kenrick tried again. “Her notions of kindness may not accord precisely with yours,” she said.
He frowned. “Aunt Violet, what are you trying to say?”
She took a step toward him. “Only that your father was not always the wisest of men when it came to marriage. He did not understand that we women need affection. We need to have someone truly listen to us.”
Edmund smiled kindly at her. “It is natural for you to worry,” he said, “but my father’s ideas were carefully thought out, and I never heard my mother complain about how my father treated her.”
Of course he had not, Lady Kenrick thought with despair, for Edmund’s father had warned her that if she ever did so, he would remove the boy from her care and she would never see him again. But she could not say that to Edmund. He worshipped his father, and to try to tell him the truth would only create a rift between herself and Edmund that might never be healed. Experience had taught her that much over the years. No, she must trust Beatrix to teach Edmund to challenge his father’s rules on the subject. So now she merely said aloud, “I only wish you to be happy.”
“I know. And I shall be. Miss Trowley is the perfect wife for me, you shall see.”
Yes, but was he the perfect husband for her? Lady Kenrick worried that she had done a disservice to her goddaughter and yet she could not help but feel, deep inside, that this marriage would be the saving of both of them. She devoutly prayed that was true.
It was, perhaps, fortunate that neither Lady Kenrick nor Edmund had any notion of the chaos ensuing in the female quarter of the house.
* * *
Beatrix stood silent as the female voices all around her argued vigorously about her dress and what could be done about the disaster before them and whose fault it was.
“If you had only taken out the dress and hung it up when I told you to!”
“I did that.”
“Yes, but you didn’t inspect it the way Mama told you to.”
“I looked at it.”
“Did you pull out the folds so you could see every inch of it?”
“Why should I? It looked fine. And if you were so concerned, why didn’t you do so?”
“There wouldn’t be any problem if Mama had just arranged for a new dress for Beatrix.”
“Hush! You know we haven’t money for that.”
“Or time.”
“We could have asked Lord Rothwood to pay. I’m sure he would have agreed.”
“Lord Rothwood pay?” Mrs. Trowley’s scandalized voice silenced the rest of them as she turned an appalled gaze upon each of her daughters. “Ask a man to pay for his betrothed’s dress? Whatever are you thinking of? It isn’t done! We have accepted too much from him already. No, we shall have to manage. Melody, get my sewing box. Callista, help me figure out how we might overlap the fabric to conceal this flaw. Beatrix, for heaven’s sake, stand still!”
Beatrix did her best. Indeed, she had been standing quite still for some time, but it seemed safest not to argue the point. She did try to look down at the damage once but was immediately told to straighten up or they would never figure it out.
Melody returned with the sewing box, out of breath. She stared doubtfully at the attempts her mother and sister were making to rearrange the fabric. “Wouldn’t it be better,” she suggested, “if we covered the spot with a bow or flower or something?”
“The very thing!” Mrs. Trowley said, startled into this new train of thought. “There must be a bow on one of grandmama’s old dresses, the one in the trunk that holds her things. If we snip it off her dress and use it to cover the damage here, we might even be able to make it look as if we meant the bow to be there in the first place! Beatrix, wait here and don’t move!”
Beatrix did stay in the room but she sat on the nearest chair, shuddering slightly in anticipation of just what her mama and sisters were about to do to her dress. To be sure, she could not wed in a dress with such a visible stain on it. That would be an insult to Lord Rothwood. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that her mother’s efforts to repair the damage would not make matters worse. At times like this, there was nothing to be done but to pray and try desperately to think of a better solution before Mama returned with hers.
Since the area of the damage to the dress was not overly large, Beatrix grabbed her basket of sewing things and chose a fabric rose she had been fashioning to add to one of Callista’s dresses as a surprise for her birthday. Today it would instead adorn her wedding dress. By the time her mother and sister returned with the most hideous bow imaginable, Beatrix had already stitched the fabric rose into place. They stopped in the doorway and stared. Mama immediately tossed the offending bow onto the nearest available surface and clasped her hands together.
“The very thing! How clever of you, Beatrix!”
“Why didn’t you tell us you had that flower before we scrambled through the attic and got all dusty?” Callista grumbled.
“I didn’t recall until after you’d already gone up there,” she answered in an uncharacteristically meek voice.
It fooled neither her mother nor her sister. “You didn’t trust me to do it properly, did you?” Mama demanded.
Wisely, Beatrix chose not to answer. Instead she replied, “Isn’t it time to go to the church?”
“Yes, of course! My heavens, the time! Poor Lord Rothwood will think you have abandoned him at the altar.”
Beatrix did not think that likely. However, it successfully diverted Mama’s attention from the dress to hurrying them all into Lord Rothwood’s carriage, which he had so kindly put at their disposal. It was not the first time the journey to the church felt far too short, but it was the first time she felt that way for reasons other than dread of the length of the service or the likely subject of the sermon.
Was she a fool for marrying a man she scarcely knew? And yet . . . and yet she had adored him from the moment he had visited all those years earlier when he was kind to the gawky young girl she had then been. He had spoken to her as if he expected her to be intelligent. He had listened to her opinions without making fun of them, as her brothers and father did. He had held her hand to help her over a stile when they all went on a walk one sunny afternoon. Surely this Lord Rothwood, so astonishingly polished now, still had that core of kindness and thoughtfulness he had shown back then. She would make him a good wife. She would make him happy. She would.
Unfortunately Mama interpreted her expression not as that of one making a fervent vow but rather someone thinking of running away from the altar. “You must go through with this!” Mama hissed. “All our futures are at stake and yours most of all! You cannot shame us by changing your mind now!”
Poor Mama. She was so very scared. She spent her life in fear of Papa losing all their money and all of them ending up penniless. Beatrix could not add to her burdens now by letting her think such a thing.
“Mama,” she said quietly, “I will marry Lord Rothwood today. I have no thought of running from the altar. I will do my duty and do it well. Lord Rothwood will never have cause to regret offering for me.”
Her mother’s sigh of relief was palpable, not just in her expression, but in the easing of her shoulders, in the way she finally allowed herself to sit back against the squabs. So, too, did her sisters let out a sigh of relief. Only Papa looked troubled, but since it was his fault they were in this predicament to begin with, Beatrix thought it rather just that he should be uneasy, for once, instead of the rest of them.
Even though Lord Rothwood’s carriage was comfortable, it was still a tight squeeze with all of them inside it. It would have been worse if her brothers had not gone on ahead. As it was, everyone was relieved when they finally reached their destination.
* * *
Edmund turned to see his bride entering the church. She stood straighter than he had ever seen her stand before, and she moved with a quiet grace that warmed his heart and settled some of the worry that had kept him awake most of the night. Her dress had clearly been made over, but the rose-colored material had once been fashionable and it suited her complexion. Even better, it fit her in ways that flattered her figure, and made him anticipate uncovering those curves tonight, their wedding night. If the flower on the skirt seemed a trifle out of place, he scarcely noticed. Women were forever trimming their dresses in ways that made no sense to him.
What he cared about was the smile that trembled on her lips as she placed her hand in his, the shy look in her eyes that held such trust—he found himself wanting to be worthy of it. He took comfort in the way she stood close to him, as if it was he who gave
her
comfort. He was reassured by the firmness, and even perhaps a hint of happiness, in the way she spoke her vows. She did not shrink back from taking his arm when the ceremony was over, and her writing was clear and bold as she signed her name in the registry.
The carriage was crowded and she made no objection to sitting on his lap to ride back to the house, even twining her arms around his neck to balance against the jostling along the rutted road. She was a lovely armful and had the ride run any longer, Edmund would have been in danger of embarrassing himself when it was time to get out of the carriage. Fortunately he was able to get out before Beatrix and lift her down, rejoicing in the newly married state that allowed him such familiarity with her person.
For the first time, Edmund understood the wisdom of weddings always occurring before noon. This way he could direct his coachman to be ready to travel by midafternoon and know they would reach a suitable inn in which to enjoy their wedding night, well away from the all-too-crowded quarters of the Trowley household.
Though he had not wanted his relatives there, it felt strange to see the contrast between just his aunt and all of the Trowley family crowding about. Even stranger to realize they had become his family as well. Strangest of all to have none of his friends around him to help celebrate his changed state. Well, time enough for that after he had settled his bride in at his country home and returned to London alone. He did not think she would enjoy the raucous behavior of his friends, nor they the need to temper their behavior if she were present.
All in all, Edmund felt quite pleased with how it was all working out, just as he had decided it ought to be, with a bride so sensibly chosen.
Even his Aunt Violet seemed pleased. She and Mrs. Trowley were deep in conversation. What were they plotting this time?, he wondered. Fortunately it was none of his affair. He and Beatrix would leave shortly and now that he was married, his aunt would have to turn her talents for scheming toward someone else. Perhaps she would decide to settle his cousin’s future. He’d never much liked Harold and it would serve the fellow right if Aunt Violet turned her interest that way.
* * *
How strange to think of herself as Lady Rothwood, Beatrix pondered, looking up at the man beside her. Her life had just changed forever and she didn’t even know where they were going when they left this house that had been her home her entire life.
Looking around the table, she wondered how it would feel not seeing her sisters and brothers every day. Or Mama and Papa. Relieved, she suspected, not having to see the havoc Papa wreaked upon the family with his gambling. But who, she wondered, would take over the role of making certain there was food upon the table, vegetables grown in the garden and torn clothes sewn whole again?
It was a little overwhelming how greatly her state had changed with just a few words spoken in church. It was both relief and guilt at knowing her family was no longer her responsibility. Was she wicked, she wondered, to be imagining what it would be like to touch and be touched by the man at her side?