Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (18 page)

"Good night, Winn," she whispered. "I hope you feel better tomorrow."

He never slept more soundly in his life.

The Rand sisters came in one steady invasion the next afternoon. Lissy had bounced in with the news that a whole train of carriages was trundling down the lane. "Mama, there are so many of them!" she said, then hurried to the window.

Lord Winn peered over his spectacles at Roxie, who sat beside him on the sofa, darning his socks. "I can't face it," he moaned as he put down his book.

Roxie only laughed and threw a sock at him. "We are supposed to love our relatives," she said, then amended under her breath, "except for Lord Whitcomb."

"Well, he loves you, Roxie," he joked, and ducked as she dumped the basket of socks on him.

Helen stared at her mother in amazement. "Mama!" she gasped. "You've never done anything like that."

Roxie paused, surprised. "No, I suppose I have not," she agreed. "But I enjoyed it, Helen." She threw a last sock at him. "And he deserved that. Oh, foul!" she exclaimed as he threw the socks back.

They were still gathering up socks, sitting on the floor and laughing when Mrs. Howell opened the door to announce Amabel, Clarice, and Lettice, with husbands and children in tow.

"Oh, dear," Roxie said under her breath when Lettice raised a lorgnette to her rather prominent eyes.

Winn grinned at his sisters, and threw a sock at Amabel. "Happy Christmas!" he announced, flopping back on the carpet to toss another sock over his head at Roxie.

Clarice stared at him, then began to chuckle. "Winn, you're certifiable," she declared as she came forward and stepped over him, her hand outstretched. "You have
to
be Roxanna, my dear. No one else but a wife would stay in the same room with this lunatic. I am Clarice and this is my husband Frederick. Fred, help up your brother-in-law. He seems to have done injury to his foot."

Roxie raised up on her knees and shook hands as though she did this every day. "Welcome to Moreland," she said, tucking her hair under her lace cap. "I was darning socks and your brother was being outrageous."

"I'd like to know who began this attack," Winn said as he held out his hand to his brother-in-law.

"You deserved it," Roxanna replied.

Lord Winn allowed his brother-in-law, Lord Manwaring, to help him back to the sofa. "My God, Winn, where did you find one that juicy on such short notice?" Fred whispered.

"It was just the most bare-faced piece of luck, which I will never explain to you," the marquess whispered back. "Good to see you, Fred," he said out loud, then turned to Roxie. "Fred, meet my wife, Roxanna. And these are her daughters Felicity and Helen."

Lord Manwaring bowed, then kissed Roxie's cheek. "Welcome to the family, m'dear. You're a brave one."

Amabel still stood in the doorway, transfixed. Lord Winn grinned at his youngest sister. Never saw me have any fun before, did you, Amabel? he thought. He waved her in. "Cat got your tongue, Amabel?" he asked. "This is a rare occasion, indeed. Let me make you known to my far-better half. Roxie, this is Amabel. And Lettice. Sisters, such a pleasure to undergo your scrutiny! I hope we measure up."

"I cannot imagine what they must think of us," Roxie told Lord Winn that night as she sat at the dressing table in his chambers and brushed her hair.

"Let me answer for Fred," he spoke up from the bed, where she had fluffed his pillows behind his head and given him his book and spectacles. "He wonders where I found such a beautiful wife."

She clapped her hands in genuine delight. "Really? He thinks me beautiful? How diverting."

"Roxie, sometimes I think you have cotton wadding where your brains should be," he remarked, putting down his book. "Don't you ever stand still long enough to look in a mirror? I wish I had a sock to throw at you."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him through the mirror. "Don't remind me! I do not think Amabel was impressed."

"Amabel has had a poker up her bum as long as I have known her," he responded, sinking lower and returning his attention to the book.

He sighed with pleasure as she sat in the chair by his bed. "And you would say all those outrageous things at dinner!" she scolded. "You needn't look so pleased about it, either."

Lord Winn took a last look at the page and closed the book. I do not know what I have been reading anyway, he thought as he watched his wife's lively face. It might be the records from last year's Corn Exchange or merchant marine lading bills. Roxie, I see only you. I'm the one with cotton wadding for brains.

"Well?" she was prompting.

He drew his legs up, wincing a bit. “I don't think our reproductive proclivities are any of her business, do you? Lettice's son is my heir, and I intend to leave it that way. You know my views on the subject."

He knew she would blush, and she did, the rose coming into her cheeks as he watched. "But did you really need to make those remarks about stud fees among the peerage?" she persisted. "And now Helen is asking me questions. Dear me, Fletch. She's only six."

He took her hand, running his fingers over her wedding ring. "I am sorry, my dear. It was rude of me." He sat up straight again, wishing he had the nerve too pull Roxie onto his lap. "But Amabel is such fair game!"

Roxie sighed and rose to her feet. "My brothers were just the same!" She shook her head at him. "Fletch, they will be here one more day and so will you. Do try to be pleasant."

She went back to the dressing table and tied on her sleeping cap. His heart sank. And now you will leave me for the other room, he thought. "What will you do for me if I am a model of rectitude tomorrow?" he asked, stalling her.

"I will probably sink into a coma at your feet," she responded promptly and kissed her hand to him. "Good night, Fletch. I hope you sleep well."

I would sleep better if you were in my bed, he told himself as he nodded to her and smiled. She went into the dressing room and closed the door behind her. He listened, but she did not turn the key in the lock. At least you trust me. Damn, what a burden.

He took off his glasses and turned down the lamp. If I must leave the day after tomorrow, how soon do I dare return? At what point will she look at me and see a husband, and not a convenience? Anthony, you must have been quite a fellow.

He tried to make himself comfortable, but all he could think of was Roxanna Rand in the next room. And Clarice and Fred in the room beyond, and Lettice, and Amabel in the dower house probably complaining to her mouse of a husband about the accommodations. He wished he could evict them all and woo his wife in the day remaining. I know so little of the sensual arts, he thought as he stared at the ceiling. There was only argument as I grew up, and then war, and bitterness and divorce. He remembered a Spanish proverb then, and smiled into the gloom—"Patience and shuffle the cards." But I am not a patient man.

The next day began in a more promising fashion, with the company lured to the breakfast table by Mrs. Howell's cinnamon buns and a ham that suited even the critical Amabel. While he sat at the table after breakfast chatting with Fred, Roxie organized a snowball fight on the front lawn. He went to the window to watch, finally opening the window quietly to scoop snow from the ledge and plaster his wife when she wasn't looking. He barely closed it in time, laughing as a snowball splattered onto the glass by his head.

Lord Manwaring watched him from the breakfast table. "She's a ripe one, Winn," he said, and nudged his wife. "Don't you think so?"

Clarice only smiled and finished her tea before speaking. "She's a delight, Winn. But why do I think there is much more here than meets the eye?"

I cannot fool you, he thought as he regarded his older sister. He sat down beside her. "Because there is."

"Tell me, brother," she asked quietly. "I won't say anything to my sisters."

He looked from his sister to her husband, leaned back, and told them the whole story, leaving nothing out. He was relieved that Clarice had the good sense not to make any comment as he spoke quickly, hurrying to finish before the snowballers trooped indoors for a continuation of breakfast. "And that's it," he concluded. "She's sleeping on a cot in my dressing room, and we are trying to present a good face to all of you. I wish you had not come, actually."

Fred chuckled. Clarice touched Lord Winn's hand. "You love her, don't you?" she asked, her voice soft for a sister of his.

"Clarrie, I can't begin to tell you how much I love her," he replied. "That's the damnable part. If she were merely agreeable, this would be an easy arrangement. But she is a darling and I want her so much." He shook his head. "But I have to be patient now, and return to Winnfield, and leave her here. It chafes me."

He heard the front door slam, and excited voices in the hall. "Well, now you know. Wish me success, Clarice. Maybe I can return here in the spring ..." His voice trailed off.

To his surprise, she came up behind his chair and hugged him. "We do wish you well, my dear." The door opened and his nieces and nephews tumbled into the room, snowballs in hand, to continue the fight indoors. "But now I would duck, if I were you, Winn!"

As the day wore on, the thought of leaving sank him lower. His mood was not improved when yet another post chaise rolled to the front driveway at Moreland and released from its confines Lettice's son and his heir, Edwin Chandler. If that was not enough to throw him into despair, the carriage also disgorged two of Edwin's Cambridge friends, all watch fobs and seals and too-tight pantaloons.

"Uncle! What a pleasure!"

Why must he be so cheerful? Lord Winn thought as Edwin shook his hand vigorously, introduced his friends whose names he promptly forgot, then toddled off to find refreshment, looking about with interest as though he already owned the place. I wonder he does not follow me from estate to estate, counting the silver, Winn thought sourly. Why did I never notice that about him before?

Roxie was the perfect hostess, smiling at the new arrivals, and even listening with what appeared to be interest at yet another of Edwin's prosings about life at university, the price of things, and other bits of noninformation that made Lord Winn's head and toe throb simultaneously.

The only crisis passed quickly enough. Roxie whispered to Mrs. Howell to clear up that yet-unfinished chamber, and try to locate a third bed from somewhere. Mrs. Howell thought a moment, assured her that she could find something, and hurried off to do her duty.

He
managed to capture Roxie for a private word before dinner as she was hurrying to make a tisane for Amabel's headache, brought on, Amabel was sure, by "all these children shouting."

"This is not what I had in mind for a peaceful holiday," he said, draping his arm over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "Hold still a minute, Roxie," he ordered, when she remained in motion.

She slowed down to oblige him, and looked up into his face, a question in her eyes.

"Why isn't this driving you crazy?" he asked, out of sorts with her that she could be so cheerful in the face of relentless relatives.

"It's simple, Fletch," she replied, offering no objection when he put his hands on her waist to stop her. “I like Clarice quite a bit, and Fred, too. Lettice is a prosy windbag but she means well, and Amabel was put here on earth to test mortals."

He let out a shout of laughter and smacked a kiss on her forehead. "You're a wonder!"

"No, I am not," she argued and gently moved out of his grasp. "I would trade you one Lord Whitcomb for at least ten of these people. Twenty. Thirty."

He could not disagree. "Never thought of it like that." He resisted the urge to pat her on the fanny as she hurried off to the kitchen.

He suffered Edwin's after-dinner chatter, and couldn't hurry through the brandy and cigars fast enough. He was starved for a glimpse of Roxie. Somehow, when she was close by, he felt less inclined to speak his mind to his relatives. Do I just feel
safe
around that little lady, I who have fought Napoleon's legions across half of Europe? I wonder how soon I can tear a page from Amabel's book and plead a headache? he thought as Edwin blew another puff of smoke in his direction.

But when they rejoined the ladies in the sitting room, Amabel was on one of her rampages. She lay on the sofa, wincing as Helen softly played a rather fine Scarlatti he had been teaching her. Roxie turned the pages and Lissy leaned against her. Roxie patted the chair beside her, but Amabel was too quick.

She dragged herself upright. "Brother, T have something to say to you about the sale of your London house," she began.

"Don't start on that, Amabel," he warned. "There is nothing for me in London anymore."

"You might have considered the rest of us," she burst out, holding her head and ignoring the twitterings of her colorless husband seated beside her. "It is just another example of your selfishness!

If society sees fit to cut you direct, I don't know why you need to take it out on us! Wasn't it enough for you to tumble Papa into an early grave? Perhaps Cynthia was justified."

"Damn you, Amabel."

"No, Winn! You are the villain here," Amabel shouted.

Lettice gasped and dug for her smelling salts. The air was thick with tension as he felt his own anger rising. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Clarice starting toward her sister, but a calm voice interrupted them all.