The Hired Wife (6 page)

Mary’s nervous
curtsey drew a few icy polite words from the white haired Aunt
Beatrice, but Marshall and his wife were quickly dismissed in
favour of the excited twins. Patting the gloved hand clinging to
his arm, Marshall led his wife through the curious throng oblivious
to her torment and chose a seat with a good view of the room. “Sit
down; I’ll get you a drink.” Feeling adrift, Mary slowly sank onto
a padded seat and snapped open her fan. Taking a deep breath she
reminded herself the haut ton could stare and smirk to their hearts
content; she had three meals a day and a roof over her head. A few
uncomfortable moments were hardly comparable with starving to death
and as her husband had loudly stated, she was a Viscountess until
he declared otherwise. She slowly fanned her cheeks and watched the
dancers take their places. She didn’t notice the approaching men
until her view was blocked by three elegantly attired bodies.

“Lady
Raynham…we presume?” The snickering man in the middle ogled her
through a gold lorgnette.

“Yes?”

“Is it true you
were hired to be Raynham’s wife?”

Mary took a
deep calming breath to rein in her temper. “Yes.”

“You must have
been desperate to marry Lord Beast. Did he promise not to eat
you?”

“She can’t have
been as desperate as Lord Beast. Even whores blush at his ear
splitting attempts to negotiate a minute of pleasure. Ma mother was
desperate to marry off ma sister to him, but Lydia refused his
screaming declaration. Just when she hoped he’d take his leave he
pressed his ear to her face and demanded a reason; as if any woman
needs a reason to refuse a brute.”

“Lord Raynham
isn’t a brute; he’s hard of hearing.”

“He’s a deaf
brutish beast. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to correct
your betters?”

“I doubt her
mother taught her anything beyond how to sell her wares.”

Mary clenched
her teeth and reminded herself that cruel people inhabited every
level of society. “Whatever will your mothers say when they learn
you’ve publicly acknowledged a vicar’s daughter?”

“What are you
saying to my wife?” Marshall loomed large, the two elegant china
cups in his manly fingers looking absurd. “Go away and find your
own woman, if any will put up with your simpering poses and bad
breath.” He returned their sneer and bared his teeth. “Mushrooms!”
The loud word drew a number of heads. Marshall remained standing
until the men minced away. Sitting down, he handed Mary a cup.
“They’re not supposed to speak to you unless they’ve been properly
introduced. What did they say?” Marshall pointed at his ear.

“They wanted to
know if I’d married you after answering an ad in the paper. I told
them I had.”

“What’s the
difference between placing and ad in a paper and having one’s
mother whisper on the vine that her son is looking for a beautiful
girl with a suitable fortune? Hypocrites! Drink up and try not to
spill it, there’s a crush around the refreshments. You’d think they
hadn’t eaten all day.”

Mary put her
lips to his ear, “Perhaps they’ve spent all their money on
clothes?” She was rewarded with an amused snort.

“It’s more
likely they’ve lost it on a turn of the cards. Speaking of spent
fortunes, I think you look rather fetching in that yellow dress; a
Dutch painting come to life.” Marshall’s voice dropped to a loud
whisper, “I believe I made an excellent acquisition yesterday.” He
smiled as Mary blushed and sipped her sickly orgeat with a shaking
hand. “Ah yes, milling before us is the great and the good. That’s
what we call ourselves. Have you ever heard such a rum description?
If we’re so great and good why are there always more skeletons in
our attics?”

“Perhaps it’s
because you can afford a large attic to put them in. Ordinary
people have to make due with an old chest or a dusty shelf.”

Marshall eyed
his bride with restrained amusement, “You grow more congenial with
every ration of sustenance. I may have to keep an eye on how much
you eat. If you become irresistible I may find myself…undone.”

“You’re quite
safe my Lord; I’ve never reached the dizzy heights of
irresistibility, nor have I ever undone anyone.”

“You’ll be
dizzy from hunger if you keep referring to me as a God.”

“So what’s in
your attic Husband?” Mary’s curious question pushed the humour out
of Marshall’s eyes.

“It’s bare,
filled with ghosts aching for a few bones and a little flesh.”

Mary looked
into hungry eyes and shivered. He was looking at her again like a
lover wooing a beautiful girl. “Ah yes, ghostly dreams; I keep mine
tied around my throat.”

“These dreams
around your neck; what are they woven of?” It was a soft question
made frightening by the intensity of interest in his blue eyes.

“The usual
sorts of materials; motherhood, wanting to be loved, a home…”

“You have a
home!” The words were loud and sharp.

Mary finished
her drink before looking at her temporary husband. “I have very
good accommodation. A home is where one feels safe, secure, at
peace…loved.”

“Humph!”
Marshall sat back in the delicate chair and crossed his muscular
legs as the inner war resumed with fury. Fate was content to
silently unfold with a roll of the dice. If he offered her a
permanent position would he find some small happiness with his
hired wife or was there an exquisite woman waiting on the other
side of an annulment? He could see no guiding light. He’d almost
decided on his heart and the unknown woman when he felt Mary’s hand
on his shoulder. It was an intimate, yet necessary gesture as she
balanced herself close enough so he could hear her. His head caught
hold of the sensation and tempted him with the promise of intimate
caresses. The battle had reached a critical moment; his head could
promise definite pleasures deflating his heart which could only
surmise the possibility of love; the handle of his cup snapped off
from the force of emotion.

“You’ve come
undone.” He glared down into innocent concerned eyes. Did she know
what she was saying? Had she any idea how close to being undone he
was? “You’ve broken your cup.”

Marshall looked
down at his fallen cup, then the handle in his fingers. Was it a
sign? Was his own small cup of happiness never meant to be? His
thirst for love might never be quenched, but he could have pleasure
and companionship. He could have someone to talk to and laugh with.
He could have someone to wake up with. A definite something had to
be better than a probable nothing. He bent over and picked up the
cup and looked into his wife’s eyes.

“Drink with me
and drink as I:

Freely welcome
to my cup,

Couldst thou
sip and sip it up:

Make the most
of life you may

Life is short and wears away
.”

Her eyes were
wider than usual. Did she understand what he was trying to say?

“Who wrote
that?”

“William
Oldys…Merry, do you believe your dreams will ever be wrapped in
flesh?”

The intensity
of his stare gave her gooseflesh, “No.”

“How would you
feel…?”Absorbed in his wife’s face, Marshall didn’t see the
fashionable couple stop nearby. Seeing Mary look away from him he
followed her eyes and found his elegant cousin, Lord Brooke, and
his beautiful wife looking at him with amused contempt. “Good
evening Cousin, have you come to pay your respects to my new wife?”
Marshall’s irritation subsided as Mary put a hand on his shoulder
and leaned over to repeat the reply.

“You’ve made
the family a laughingstock. If you were so desperate Marshall, you
could have had my sister. She’d marry a three legged dog to escape
spinsterhood.”

“If I wanted to
wake up looking at fish eyes every morning I’d put a dead cod on my
pillow. My wife has a pleasing manner and a pleasant voice which is
more than I can say for you or your sister.”

“She looks like
a half starved guttersnipe.”

Marshall’s
shoulders tensed as his temper flared. “I didn’t know you were so
well acquainted with the gutter Brooke. I pray God I have a son. I
don’t like the idea of you or your spurious offspring living in my
father’s house.” Lady Camilla Brooke gasped in horror as the loud
words rolled into the company behind her.

“Are you going
to let him insult me like that? He’s just called your children
bastards.”

“Do you expect
me to call him out for being a bore? Everyone knows he’s a brute.
The next time we see his ‘wife’ she’ll be black and blue.” Mary
repeated the first sentence and then fell silent as she blinked
away angry tears.

“What did he
say Woman? Well?”

“He thinks
you’re a brute and that you’ll beat me.”

“It’s no wonder
you’re a cynic Brooke, what with a drunken father who practised
fisticuffs on you every time he found you wearing your sisters
dresses.” Looking even more horrified, Lady Camilla dragged her
husband away before any more skeletons could be exposed. Marshall
returned his attention to Mary. “I don’t want any sweetened
versions in future. Repeat exactly what you hear.” Marshall watched
bewildered as Mary’s face fell. “What have I done now? Don’t mope,
tell me. I hate people who mope.”

“Repeating
hurtful things makes me feel like I’m hurting you for someone else.
I don’t want to hurt you.”

Marshall’s eyes
lit up with pleasure, “That’s why I have you blowing in my ear;
your soft delivery removes the sting.”

“That sounds
romantic…” Mary’s eyes were pulled away from smiling sapphires to a
well preserved middle aged gentleman standing in front of them with
his hands behind his back.

Marshall jumped
up from his seat and affectionately thumped the man on the
shoulder. “What are you doing at this cursed event?” The man leaned
over and whispered something Mary couldn’t hear. “You’re at the
right market. Have you seen my sisters…? Yes they mentioned they’d
seen you. I’m glad you were able to help them. If you can stomach
it, ask them to dance just in case they’re short. I’m sorry I
didn’t invite you to the wedding; didn’t think to ask you to be a
witness. Mary?” Marshall held out his hand and waited till she
stood up. “My Lady, may I present my good friend Lord Henry
Fitzalan, the Marquis of Morley?” Mary curtseyed as he bowed low
over her hand and held it to his lips for several long seconds.

“Enchanted…”

“That’s enough
kissing!”

“Ah jealousy, a
sure sign of happiness; do you dance my Lady?”

“Yes, but…”

“Are you free
for the next dance?”

“Yes, but…”

“Excellent, I
pray you’ll allow me the honour of partnering you for the next
dance.”

“I don’t
think…”

“She’s not here
to dance; she’s sitting with me.”

“You can’t take
a woman to a ball and force her to sit on the sidelines all night
Marshall. That is the height of boorish cruelty.”

“I’m not
forcing her…”

“Well then,
your good lady will not want to disappoint me.”

“Do you wish to
dance?” Marshall watched Mary’s face contort with mixed
emotions.

“He’s very
kind, but…”

“Very well, you
may dance.”

“Really
Marshall, you sound like a benevolent dictator. I hope she doesn’t
have to ask your permission to receive callers?”

“Who’d call on
her?”

“Forgive
Marshall, he only sounds insensitive.”

“I’m not
insensitive.”

“I didn’t say
you were.” Morley bowed towards Mary and fiddled with his coat
sleeves. “I believe the next dance is starting. If you’ll allow me
to offer my arm I’ll lead you away.”

“What kind of
dance is it? I don’t know if I know…”

“I believe it’s
a country dance. I’ll talk you through it.” Marshall resigned
himself to losing his companion for twenty minutes and sat back
down. With his arms folded and legs tightly crossed he watched the
yellow dress float away. He wanted to rush across the room and
snatch her back. He watched the dancers take their places, and then
they were all moving in time.

He watched her
watch the other dancers and then smile at her partner as she
completed her turn gracefully. It seemed almost unbelievable that
at the end of the evening the woman holding his eye would climb
into his carriage and return home with him. She might even spend
the night in his bed. His cravat tightened as he gulped down a
sigh. His heart slumped in despair as its precious dreams burst
like soap bubbles. He didn’t want to continue the unhappy search
for happiness or go through the hell of procuring an annulment. He
wanted tranquillity and peace. He threw a mental coin into the air
for one last toss; heads or hearts? The coin landed heads up with a
painful thump into his soul. He sighed with relief and relaxed. It
was over, settled, and decided; he was keeping his wife.

…

Mary’s knees
trembled with relief as she followed the other ladies and curtsied
low to her partner at the end of the dance. All she could think
about was escaping back to the safety of the man sitting alone,
with his arms folded, against the wall. She put her hand on the
outstretched black silk covered arm and ignored the loud sneering
whispers with her head held high. “You dance like a cygnet taking
to water my dear.” Morley firmly grasped her hand and forcefully
led her in the opposite direction she wished to go. “Poor Marshall
has finally found a bit of luck. If I placed an ad for a wife I’d
unearth a mountain of trolls.”

“Lord Raynham
didn’t advertise for a wife, he merely listed general requirements
for an assistant. He only proposed after he felt I could fulfil his
needs.”

“Modesty
becomes you my dear. Marshall must be ‘relieved’ to have found
someone to ‘fulfil’ his ‘needs’.” Mary’s eyes narrowed at the
suggestive tone. Something about the man was making her feel deeply
uncomfortable.