His Lady Mistress (18 page)

‘’Twas Ted Granger, my lady.’

‘Ted…? Oh.’

Ted Granger. Widow Granger’s lost son. The entire crew had been lost when their vessel grounded on the Goodwin Sands. In a high wind no other ship had been able to get them off. Ship and crew had been swallowed without a trace by the sands.

‘She’s a good girl!’ Mrs Henty burst out and then closed her eyes and gripped her hands more tightly. ‘She’d been walking out with him this age past,’ she continued in shaking tones. ‘They were just about to ask Rector to call the banns. Everyone knew he’d asked her. When he died, she said nothing. Just to leave her be, that she’d be all right. She only told me about…about the baby last night. So I thought if I resigned and took a pension, I could make a home for her and her baby.’

Verity looked at her, really looked at her, and smiled. Instead of seeing a disapproving housekeeper, she saw a woman who cared about her family. Why couldn’t this woman have been
her
aunt?

‘You’ll be a great-aunt. Had you thought of that?’

Mrs Henty blinked. A slow answering smile dawned. ‘Not exactly, my lady. A great-aunt…’ She dashed away something that sparkled on her cheek. ‘I suppose it might be worse.’

‘Much worse,’ Verity assured her. ‘Now, why don’t we think hard about ways to help Sarah? There’s no need for you to leave unless you really feel it would be best for your family.’

‘My…my family…’ More tears spilt over.

Verity’s eyes stung and her throat closed up. Lucky Sarah to have this stalwart aunt prepared to sacrifice her position and face social ostracism for her sake. She’d be prepared to trade places with Sarah just to know this sort of unswerving love.

After a moment, Mrs Henty sat up and sniffed, wiping her
eyes. ‘Well. I dare say that’s all settled.’ She looked at Verity firmly. ‘If your ladyship wouldn’t mind a word of advice. Your hair.’

Verity flushed. Her hair was awful. The only way she could manage it was to scrape it back into the most severe bun imaginable. Otherwise it curled around her face in the most annoying way, falling into everything she did. But the bun made her face look so hagged.

‘You need to cut it a bit. Just around your face so it can curl. Soften things a bit, that would.’

‘Cut it?’ Verity stared. Who would do that?

The answer came. ‘I could cut it for you, my lady. I was lady’s maid to the master’s mother until she died. And I’ll show Sarah how to dress it better. Lovely hair, it is. So thick and curly.’ She nodded in a very decisive sort of way. ‘That’s settled then. We’ll do it tonight.’

With Mrs Henty as an ally Verity’s days became far busier and happier. There seemed all manner of things requiring the mistress’s personal intervention. Such as the garden.

‘A disgrace it is, my lady!’ said Mrs Henty roundly. ‘The master and Mr Richard spend all their time on the estate and the garden is going to rack and ruin. Barnes is getting on and unless he’s pushed he won’t do anything beyond the lawns, hedges and trees. Why, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I have to go to finding some flowers for your sitting room and the drawing room!’

Verity swallowed. Mrs Henty appeared to think Lady Blakehurst had only to give orders and it would all happen, but how would Max view it? As interference? And that other item of information that Mrs Henty had let drop with seeming casualness…She shied away from that. The garden would be far easier. Surely if Max could see that she was trying to carry out her responsibilities as mistress of his house…if she made it clear that she wished for his guidance…

She broached the garden over breakfast the following morning.

‘My lord, Mrs Henty has brought it to my attention that the gardens need attention.’ He looked up with a frown as she sat down with her laden plate. ‘Nothing major,’ she hurried on, ‘but I did just wonder if you had any preferences, plantings you would particularly like…or…or dislike.’

He fixed her with a cool stare. ‘The gardens are no concern of mine. Do as you please.’ He disappeared behind his newspaper.

Verity gritted her teeth. ‘Excellent,’ she said sweetly. ‘I thought of replacing the knot garden with a fountain court, not as large as Versailles of course, but—’

The newspaper dropped. ‘The devil you will!’ he said.

She showed him an innocent face. ‘Oh, then you do have some interest! And some things you would prefer I didn’t do?’

His face slightly red, he said, ‘I meant you might do as you pleased within reason! Not turn the place upside down.’

‘An upside-down fountain…’ mused Verity. ‘That
would
be something out of the common way, don’t you agree, my lord?’

A strangled sound from the other side of the table caught her attention. ‘Can I pour you some more ale? Or are you finding something difficult to swallow?’

Richard looked as shocked as if one of the spaniels had bitten him.

Verity smiled demurely and turned back to her husband. ‘There are some things needing attention in the house as well, some rugs that need replacing, pictures that need cleaning, the chandelier in—’

‘I beg you will spare me this recital of your household tasks, madam!’ snapped Max. ‘While I expect my wife to attend to these matters, I do not expect to be wearied with them!’

Verity flinched. She opened her mouth…and shut it again.
She
wouldn’t
apologise! Why should she? Then annoyance flared. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am afraid you must be wearied with them for a moment, since I require your advice on one or two matters.’

Max, who had again retired into the
London Gazette
, lowered the paper and stared at her. She met his gaze with outward calm, praying he wouldn’t notice her shaking hands. So long since she had stood up to anyone. God only knew what had given her the courage now.

‘My advice?’ His voice bit into her like a frozen knife. ‘My advice is that you concern yourself with keeping the house in good order, rather than wasting my blunt replacing items that may be a little old fashioned, but are still perfectly functional.’

She looked down at the plate of ham and eggs in front of her. And discovered that her appetite had vanished completely. Instead she poured herself a cup of tea, her hands not quite steady handling the massive silver pot.

He spoke again. ‘I would remind you that I did not marry out of any particular need for a wife.’

Hurt stabbed deep, but she hung on to her quiet façade. ‘Thank you for reminding me,’ she said carefully and pushed back her chair. Her plate lay untouched, her cup of tea full. She felt as though she might be sick.

His voice followed her. ‘You haven’t finished your breakfast. For heaven’s sake, Verity, you haven’t even touched it! You’ll starve!’

She turned and glared at him, infusing her tones with indifference. ‘I think, my lord, that at nearly twenty I can judge for myself when I have had enough.’

The door shut quietly behind her, leaving a dazed silence.

Richard broke it. ‘You know, Max, one or two of the rugs
are
a trifle worn. And I dare say if you
wanted
to get a better look at any of our forebears, cleaning the portraits would be a perfectly reasonable thing to do.’

More than reasonable, Max acknowledged. Precisely what
she ought to be doing. Going over the house. Setting things to rights. It wasn’t as if she had suggested spending vast sums of money as his mother had done on the London house. Had his mother made such a suggestion about a fountain court he’d have known she meant it. At least with Verity he knew she’d been joking, trying to ease the tension between them. She had been trying very hard to do that since their marriage.

I should like to belong again…

Such a simple wish. The one thing he couldn’t grant her. He didn’t dare let her that close. But he didn’t have to hurt her. Did he?

Richard’s chuckle gave him further pause. ‘Must say she’s quick enough. An upside-down fountain! I wish you might have seen your face.’

Max suppressed a savage rejoinder. It would be so damn easy to respond to her overtures of friendliness, to laugh with her, to be friends. His body tightened. He wanted more than that. He wanted to be her lover again.

He looked at Richard, unconcernedly devouring sirloin. His twin. Half an hour between heir and spare. Damned if he’d put that distance between him and his brother.

Leaving the house, Verity walked and ran until she reached the beech woods, ignoring the stitch in her side.
Coward! Can’t you do anything but run?
Shivering in the breeze, she forced herself to think again about the tidbit of knowledge Mrs Henty had shared. Max’s birthday was next week. Richard’s too, of course, since they were twins. Twins. Their obvious friendship and closeness tore at her. What would it be like? To be that close to someone, to know that however much you argued, there was always that tie binding you.

Ties could break. Even ties of blood…Pulling back from that, she remembered once saying to Max that she had no one to give a present to. Well, now she did. But…a birthday. She tensed. And hung on to her common sense. His birthday.
Not hers. Just because she never wanted another birthday didn’t mean that other people couldn’t enjoy them.

She didn’t want to buy anything. She might have plenty of money but, as far as she was concerned, it belonged to Max anyway. The idea of buying him a present out of his own money nearly choked her. She wanted it to be something special, something of
her
and there was only one thing she could think of.

Mentioning her idea to Mrs Henty had earned her an amused smile.

‘Oh, aye. He’d like it, right enough. But whether or not you’d get Master Richard to agree! That’s another story. Tried to get one done a couple of years back. Master Richard wouldn’t have any of it.’

Verity could well believe that. So she’d have to be a little devious and do something she had vowed not to do. Encroach on Richard’s space in the library in one last effort to reach Max.

Grimly she focused on the sketch. This should be the last sitting. Richard was ignoring her as usual in favour of whatever he was carving. She could almost believe that she was invisible. She frowned as she tried to capture the twisting fall of a wood shaving. If only this idea had never occurred to her. If only she didn’t have this need to reach out to her chilly husband…Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly. Dratted dust! Or maybe the flowers on the sofa table behind her were making her eyes water.

Just as long as Richard didn’t realise that her supposed perspective sketch of the library was a hoax. She risked another glance across at the unconscious subject of her sketch. Asking for his co-operation would have been far simpler, but her courage had failed her in the face of his scornful, assessing gaze when she walked in the first time and met his outraged stare. It wasn’t so bad really. He never spoke beyond a brief acknowledgement when she bid him good day, or to
call the dogs away from her when they became too demanding of pats and attention.

Flickering a glance at the dogs now snoozing in a patch of sun, she acknowledged that all he wanted was for her to finish as quickly as may be and leave him in peace.

‘Tell me, sister—when can I expect to be supplanted by your child?’

Her sketch book crashed to the floor and the dogs looked up, startled. ‘I…I…Pardon?’ Shock swirled in her brain.

His smile would have flayed an elephant. ‘Oh, very good, sister!’ And his voice flicked her on the raw. ‘Your child. You do understand that I have a vested interest in the issue of your marriage, do you not? That I’d be interested to know when you plan to fulfil your obligations.’

Frowning, Verity worked her way through that as she retrieved her book, trying to understand his meaning, fending off the curious Gus. That Richard was Max’s heir presumptive she knew. And if the marriage was childless, then of course Richard would remain his heir. But it sounded as though he thought
she
had some say in it.

Puzzled, she met his eyes. ‘I don’t quite follow. How is it my fault if—?’

‘Good God!’ he exploded. ‘You trapped my brother into marriage, then refuse him your bed and calmly ask me how it is your fault if he has no heir?’

Heat flamed across Verity’s cheeks as his meaning penetrated. That he could even say such things to her shocked her. And the injustice enraged her.
She
had refused her bed to her husband? Had Max told him that?

And the expression on his face. Scornful, mocking.

Her control splintered. ‘Let me make something quite clear,
brother
: whatever Blakehurst may choose to believe, this marriage was not of my seeking, but since I was forced into it, I assumed he had every intention of getting an heir. Whatever
his
attitude may be to his vows, I have every intention of keeping to mine! If at any time he wishes to avail
himself of his rights…’ she paused and bit her lip hard ‘…then he has only to knock on the door between our rooms. It would be difficult for me to refuse him my bed since he shows no sign of wishing to share it. Until he does, there is little chance of an heir supplanting you. So I suggest you mind your own business!’

She grabbed her sketch book, scattering crayons over the floor with clumsy, shaking hands. She left them, seared by the knowledge that Max had indicated his contempt for her to his brother and blamed her for the state of their marriage. Damn him! Max had refused to heed her misgivings and insisted on the marriage. And now he blamed her!

Later that afternoon she sat curled up on a garden seat near the fishpond, golden warmth pouring down on her shoulders as she sketched. So many years since her mother had taught her…She blinked and wriggled her stiff shoulders. Remembering was too painful, especially the sketch she had done just before her mother’s death—the sketch her father had destroyed in his grief.

She changed her position slightly. The sun glaring off the paper was making her eyes water. Focusing on her double subject, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that they were immobile at last. The three-hour walk she had taken them for after leaving the library had finally exhausted the spaniels and they lay asleep in the sun.