A Companion for Life (9 page)

“And what was Grace’s reaction to the
interruption?” The cold question wasn’t what William expected.

“She thought it was funny, though I failed to
see the humor. She said I’d be the best husband in the world. Uncle
Penryth, you have to give your permission.”

“I won’t give it.”

William blanched in horror. “But Uncle
Penryth, I have to marry her. Lord Morley will make Grace the
Christmas on-dit. I can’t allow…”

“William, you were set up. Morley was
Rosamund’s insurance that you’d be honour bound to wed the girl
sooner than later.”

William blinked in disbelief. “Are you
accusing Grace of seducing me?”

“She probably had some coaching.”

“How can you think Grace would do anything so
despicable?”

“I’m merely pointing out that it was far too
providential to be a coincidence.”

William felt sweat beading on his upper lip.
“Grace would never do such a thing.”

“Then why did she laugh when she was found
with her skirts around her knees?”

“Some people laugh when they’re nervous.”

“Did she look nervous?”

“I’m not here to impugn Grace’s honour; I’m
asking you for permission to wed her.”

“If you wish to ruin your life before your
twenty-first birthday William, you’ll have to drive the girl to
Scotland and marry her over an anvil.”

“But Uncle Penryth I can’t marry Grace and
live off her parents. That would be humiliating. What if she gets
with child? I’d need money to take care of it.”

“I’d rather hang myself than kick you into
that witch’s web. If you wish to ruin yourself, go ahead, but it
won’t be with my permission or my assistance.”

“Uncle Penryth, please…Grace is waiting for
me to bring her good news.”

“I’m sorry William. Even if I liked Grace I
wouldn’t give my permission.”

“What do you mean, even if you liked her?
What is there not to like?”

“She’s a spoilt brat with a vile temper
who’ll make your life hell.”

“How can you think that? Grace is an
angel!”

“I’d wager a thousand pounds not one of
Rosamund’s servants would agree.”

“Who cares what servants think? They spend
their day scrubbing and cleaning. How could they appreciate Grace?
She’s so…so beautiful…so sublime… I have to protect her from
Morley’s tongue. You know what that devil is like.”

“Marry her over an anvil and live off her
parents for two years or wait two years and carry her over the
threshold of your own house. There is no third option.”

“I could ask Carmarthen for a loan. He’s
always going on about the family line dying out. He’s been offering
you fifty-thousand pounds for years to marry. Is that why you
married her? Did you lose your money on the cards?”

“I haven’t even told Carmarthen the good
news. His money comes to me when he dies, what difference does it
make?”

William crossed his arms and seethed in
futile rage. His Uncle could marry Grace’s fat ugly penniless Aunt,
but he was expected to stand by while his beloved Grace was ruined.
Well he wouldn’t stand by. He’d marry her over an anvil. He was a
man; he’d do what he had to do. As he was about to forfeit his
allowances; he’d share his opinion of his Aunt Lily and be damned.
“Why haven’t you informed Carmarthen? Are you afraid he’ll dislike
your choice of bride?”

His uncle’s eyes narrowed in a threatening
look. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

William defiantly stared into his Uncle’s
angry eyes. “You should care what your family thinks. There’s only
the two of us left and we have to share your shame. Your wife
wouldn’t grace a butcher’s table. She sits hunched over her plate
as if someone might snatch away her food; no one would mistake her
for a countess. I don’t think I’ve yet seen her with her head held
upright. I hope you won’t be taking her into society; you’ll both
end up the main entertainment. As for that orange knitting wool on
her head she calls hair; if she wasn’t using it to hide her face
she could cut it off and knit socks for the poor. And how can you
bear to see her wandering around the house in that old dressing
gown? It’s obscene…anyone with eyes can’t help but stare at her
breasts bursting out of those night gowns you bought her which were
made for a woman, not an elephant. Unless she dies from eating too
much cake she’ll be the next Countess of Carmarthen, and bring our
family nothing, but shame.”

“By my reckoning you’ve just lost nine months
allowance.”

“What allowance? I have an appointment with
an anvil. Grace needs me and I won’t let her down.”

“Don’t be a fool boy; she set you up.”

“I’m not the one who was set up. You’re the
one who married a woman who fell down the stairs and then persuaded
you she needed rescuing from her brother-in-law.”

“She didn’t fall down the stairs. Your
beloved Grace pummeled her black and blue in a fit of rage and then
Rosamund took her turn. Marry that brat if you will, but don’t be
surprised when she attacks you and claws out one of your eyes.”

“I can’t believe you’d even think that, let
alone say it.”

“I can’t believe you’re blind to the fact
she’s wearing a pretty mask.”

William clenched his fists, tempted to strike
his beloved Uncle. “You’re just jealous Grace didn’t want you
because you’re old. You married that ugly orange thing because you
knew Grace wanted to be a Countess…didn’t you? You married that
elephant so Grace would have to resign herself to being Mrs
Bowen.”

“Boy…” William hated being addressed as boy.
It meant the older man was about to lecture him as if he were still
wearing nursery skirts. “…if that child had set her cap at me I’d
have bought passage on the first ship to anywhere.” William
unconsciously leaned back as his uncle leaned towards him. “Insult
my wife again and I’ll put you in bed for a month.”

“You insulted my beloved first.”

William waited like a coiled spring ready to
defend himself. His uncle looked him in the eyes and then grimaced.
“If I did, forgive me…I feel like hell. Go put your hat back on.
I’ll talk some sense into Mrs Philips or die trying.” William
slapped his uncle on the back and ran from the room relieved to
know he wouldn’t have to face his unpleasant fate on his own. He
paused at the open door of the next room and peered in. His Aunt
Lily was still lying face down on the bed. He hoped she hadn’t
heard his unkind words. The thought made him blush with
mortification. He wasn’t the only one having a bad day. Feeling
miserable he went to find his hat silently lecturing himself on his
latest failure to be a gentleman.

Penryth stood staring into space silently
cursing love. Because of love he’d have to return to that frightful
house with William and face Rosamund. But for love William might
have noticed that the sublime looking Grace was really a harpy.
Because Lily didn’t love him she’d probably never forgive him and
he’d die a miserable wretch. He couldn’t hear any sounds coming
from the next room. She was probably in need of more laudanum.
Knowing his kindness would probably be rejected, he prepared a
glass of water with enough drops of opiate to ease the pain and
allow her to sleep. He set it next to his bed and after pulling on
his outerwear he picked up his chamber key and walked back to her
bed. She was still lying there face down. A servant had built a
fire, but the room was still cold. “I’ve prepared you a dose of
laudanum.” Her head moved on the bed. She was awake and hating him.
The thought caused a horrible pinching pain. “It’s beside my bed.”
Did she just groan in horror? “You’ll sleep in my room until the
carpenter fixes your door. It’s warm and the door locks. I have to
leave; William needs my help. Rosamund’s latest scheme to entrap
him is quite devilish.” She didn’t move. “Up, up, up or I won’t
give you the key.” Avoiding his eyes she struggled to her feet and
held out her hand. Sighing he put the key in her palm and watched
her limp from the room without a word. He flinched as his door was
slammed and locked. At least she’d be hating him with her lips
pressed into his pillow.

…

Music and laughter spilled out of the
Philips’ drawing room, but it couldn’t mask the oppressive gloom
hovering over the house. Penryth shivered as shadows flickered in
the corner of his eyes. He could believe the devil himself was in
residence. The footman announced them and his legs carried him
forward into the well of light, but their arrival went unnoticed.
Grace was playing a cheerful tune on the pianoforte; the Earl of
Morley whispering in her ear as he turned her pages. Her laughter
had the loud forced sound of a young woman desperate to be the
center of attention. Rosamund was having a t
ê
te-
à
-t
ê
te with a
young man enthralled with her overripe charms. Mr Philips was
asleep by the fire with a half filled glass in his hands while his
two eldest sons were playing a game of chess. He could easily
imagine his nephew’s feelings as the young man marched across the
room and stopped beside his fiancé, scowling at her companion. The
Earl of Morley was a dangerous man, but love made truth irrelevant.
Penryth strolled over to the fire and lit his pipe knowing it would
irritate his hostess. Rosamund’s look of hate was quickly
camouflaged with a fake smile. “Mr Bowen…I wondered if you’d have
the nerve to enter my house after stealing away my sister without
even inviting us to the wedding.”

“The Welsh have an endless supply of
nerve.”

“Perhaps you’ll invite us over for supper and
allow us to congratulate our Lily on her hurried nuptials.” She
turned to her young admirer, “Mr Bowen keeps my sister locked in
her room. I think he’s afraid she might change her mind.”

“If Mrs Bowen wishes to remain in bed at all
hours, I’m hardly going to complain. I should have married her
years ago. With a companion so sweet and pleasing, how could I not
be content?”

Grace suddenly noticed her fiancé standing
beside her. Music and laughter abruptly ended as if William was an
ill omen. “How long have you been standing there?”

“At least five minutes.”

Grace looked affronted. “Morley? Has Mr Bowen
been standing next to me for five minutes?”

“He hasn’t been there five seconds Madam; I
think the boy is trying to make you feel guilty for enjoying my
company.”

Seeing William flush dark red and clench his
fists, Penryth headed for the piano to keep his nephew from dying
in a duel. He put a firm hand on William’s shoulder. “What brings
you up to town this time of year Morley? I’d have thought you’d be
in the countryside killing foxes, pheasants or poaching peasants.
We all know how much you enjoy killing things.”

“I’m in the mood for prettier game.” The man
winked at Grace winning a trill of laughter. “What are you still
doing in London? I’d have thought you’d have galloped back to Wales
to sample your native haut cuisine, ragout of Welsh mutton.”

“William desired to remain in London near his
fiancé. How could I deny him?”

Grace appeared unhappy to be reminded she was
engaged. “If Mr Bowen had cooled his heels in Wales I wouldn’t be
compromised.”

William blushed in horror at her loud words.
“You begged me to stay in town!”

“Did I? I don’t remember.” Flicking her hair
at Morley she sorted through her music for a new song.

“I love you. I’d never injure you…”

Morley’s lips twisted in suppressed
amusement. “You nearly injured her this morning. A woman’s virtue
is as brittle and irreplaceable as her reputation.”

“Grace we can wed within a week. I’ll rent a
carriage. We’ll go to Scotland…”

The young woman’s hands banged on the
keyboard demanding the room’s attention, “I hate Scotland! I want a
church wedding. Mother…”

“Hush Dearest; no one expects you to marry Mr
Bowen over an anvil.”

William touched his beloved on the arm
earning a scowl. “Goosey-girl, we have to wed!”

“Do we? Morley, would you say I have to wed
Mr Bowen?”

“With your beauty and graceful charms, I’d
wager you could ensnare a Duke.”

“Dukes are boring; I’d rather marry an
Earl.”

Morley smiled across the piano. “Your beau
doesn’t appear very pleased with your declaration. Heaven knows
it’s unlikely he’ll be an Earl now that his Uncle has married your
Aunt. That was an interesting choice of wife for a man who’s sworn
for years he’d rather hang than wed. I wonder what induced him.
Perhaps the elder Mr Bowen envies his nephew’s youthfulness and
fiancée and foiled your dreams out of envy.”

Grace turned a contemptuous glance at the
elder Mr Bowen. “As if he’d ever be so lucky to win me.”

Penryth’s desire to smash his fist in
Morley’s face was restrained to a tightening of his lips. “My wife
is a pleasing companion. I wouldn’t exchange her for any silly
nubile debutante. If a man thinks a happy life is based on a wife
with a large dowry and slim figure he’s bound to be miserable after
he’s gambled her fortune and made her fat through incessant
breeding.”

Morley leaned over and whispered loudly
into Grace’s ear, “He must like plain ladies with large bottoms.
Perhaps it’s a Welsh trait. I hope your beau doesn’t plan to fatten
you up; you have such a pretty
derrière
.”

Grace smirked with pleasure she battered her
eyes at Morley ignoring William audibly choking on his fury. “My
Lord, you shouldn’t say such things…unless you’re intending to make
an offer.”

William exploded, slamming a hand on the
nearest keys ensuring he had Grace’s attention. “Stop making eyes
at Morley; you’re engaged to marry me. I came to tell you I’d marry
you in a week. That’s what you wanted this morning.”

“Take your hand off my pianoforte Mr Bowen.
You’re ruining my song.”