The Marriage Mart (8 page)

He had his second dance, and though his fingers gripped too tightly, and his body swayed too near her own during the movements, and his habit of staring without saying a word was once again exhibited, it could have been worse. She thought to herself gratefully that at least now she could go on with dancing without having to try and avoid his company, for it was not the thing to stand up too many times with the same gentleman.

But she was mistaken, for though he did not again bid her to dance, she could not leave the man behind. He followed her from group to group, ignored Mrs. Pennett’s not-so-subtle requests of him for punch or tea or a slice of cake, and stood awaiting Mary’s exodus from the floor when she danced with others. More than once she left the dance in the exact opposite direction of where he stood waiting, but every time he worked his way back to her side, and joined in her conversations whether she would have him there or no.

Finally, in exasperation she excused herself to her hostess, and left the party early. Mrs. Pennett frowned all the way home, though they were both so wearied by Lord Stephens that by mutual consent they did not even speak of what a nuisance he had made of himself.

Mary’s spirits lifted immediately upon her return home, however, for there was another letter from John. It read:

My heart,

I am a weak man. I admit it. I have therefore crumbled under the weight of my imprisonment here, and though it is the height of the season, and though it is all that is selfish and unthinking in myself, I am writing to plead with you that you should come and rescue me. That’s right, sweet Mary, I need you here, to give me comfort, to rest mine weary head upon thy lap, to have thee as a shield before me--staving off my sisters with a stick if necessary. They will not heed me. They will not give me a moment’s peace. But you! Mary, they will listen to you, for you would be their guest, and they have that much in manners anyway. Or so I dare to hope.

Say you will come. For a week. For a day. Even an hour. It will save my sanity, I vow it.

To show my good faith, I will even say you are to bring your chaperone, Mrs. Pennett. She is a fine and sensible lady, to whom you could pass that staving stick once in awhile, that we might have some relief from the Dragons of Kent. Yea, even bring your mother! Your father. Your siblings. I shall host and feed them all, and gladly, for the sake of seeing you once again before I am driven mad.

Come at once. Do not reply. Come. As you love me, you will come. At once. Please. I beg of you, please, come!

John.

She read the letter again, holding it in one hand as she smiled to herself, and even as she reached to drag out the old traveling case from under the bed with the other.

“Mary!” John called jubilantly, his deep voice carrying. His enthusiasm was so great at seeing her carriage upon his drive that she was treated to the rare occasion of seeing Rothayne actually run. His grin was wide as he sprinted by twos down the stone steps of his front entrance, his hatless hair ruffled by the wind and burnished to copper even by the dim light of the gray day. She waited, pulling back her foot from the step the ostler had just lowered, as John came up to the carriage in a rush, grabbing either side of the doorframe and thrusting his head and shoulders within. “Mary,” he said again, but this time it was more a purr than a shout.

She could only gasp when he reached in, placed his large and manicured hands around her waist, and physically drew her out. Before her feet could touch the ground, he had caught her up in a bear hug and was spinning her around, laughing. “My angel of mercy! It is true, heaven does indeed answer our prayers, for you are
here.”

“John!” she laughed breathlessly as he finally set her on her feet. Mrs. Pennett came from the carriage, her surprise at the greeting reflected only in the minute lifting of her eyebrows.

“How many bags did you bring?” he asked, eyeing the top of the carriage. “Only two? Surely you’ll stay a while?” he added anxiously.

“I only packed for a week’s time--”

“A week? In only two cases? Mary, I knew you were a wonder, but now I know you are a saint.”

Mrs. Pennett cleared her throat, and it was clear she thought an invitation into the house was appropriate. John raised suddenly sorrowful eyes to that impressive residence’s facade, and sighed deeply. “Perhaps,” he said with faint hope, “they would not notice if I slipped into your conveyance and we made straightaway back to London…?”

Mary’s giggle and Mrs. Pennett’s pursed lips put a period to that dream, so he took up Mary’s hand and settled it on his arm. “Remember, later, that you asked for this,” he warned, his expression more sadly resigned than even that of disciplined hound.

As he led her up the steps she had a moment to take in his home. It was a beautiful, modern, white brick, three-story delight, set atop a slight rise. The grounds were not ancient, but it was clear that although many of the shrubberies were only ten or twenty years in place, a great deal of the aged trees had been retained, lending the property grace and charm. There was a duck pond to the left, shaded by lazy trees that stooped to drag their leaves across the water’s surface. To the right, barely perceptible behind the house itself must surely be the stables, also in shining white brick. Columns of looming white graced the front of his home, and the large windows were accented by shutters painted in a soft gray shade, behind which she glimpsed pale blue silk curtains. “John,” she breathed reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth quirking into an almost-smile. “And deceptively peaceful in its appearance.”

As he pushed open one of the two large front doors, she was met at once by a loud hum of noise. She had only a moment to take in the large entry hall, complete with black and white marble tiles on the floor and a spectacular crystal chandelier, before John led her to a room at a diagonal from the entrance, from which emanated the hubbub.

They stood for a moment in the doorway, and Mary felt her eyes grow wide as she realized there must be as many as twenty females within. They were dressed in varying shades and hues, looking for all the world like a human flower garden scattered over the rugs and settees within. Although the sound level was rather high, it only took John’s gentle clearing of his throat to bring all eyes their way, and an immediate end to all female speech.

“My family,” he intoned rather formally, “I should like for you to meet my very dearest friend, Lady Mary Wagnall.”

A chorus of ‘how-do-you-dos’ filled the room, followed by another echoing silence.

“And this is her companion, Mrs. Pennett,” John said, stepping into the room with Mary at his side, enough to let Mrs. Pennett step forward and make her curtsy.

Another chorus of murmured greetings filled the room, but not one pair of eyes wandered from John, as they all sat and awaited further enlightenment.

“Mary,” John said as he stepped farther into the room, his hand over hers where it lay on his arm. Mrs. Pennett followed in their wake. He led them toward the eldest female in the room. “This is my mother, Lady Rothayne.”

“My dear, how pleasant to meet you. John has told us of his new friend. We are so glad you could join us.”

“I pray it is no bother--”

“Not at all. You can see for yourself we are quite used to company,” the dowager Lady Rothayne said, indicating the crowded room with a movement of her hand. “Nor do we stand on ceremony here in the country. Truly, we cannot. There are too many of us to bother with titles. It becomes overwhelming. So I beg you to be so kind as to use our Christian names. I am Cornelia. May I call you Mary?”

“Please do, my lady--um, Cornelia.”

“We have a pair of rooms ready for you and for Mrs. Pennett.”

“Thank you,” Mary said. Mrs. Pennett, looking a trifle awed, made another acknowledging curtsy.

“Now, if you would all be so good as to allow me to point,” John said by way of apology for the crudity, and proceeded to do just that. “This lady here is Hortense. She is our eldest, and would not thank me for telling you how much so.” He received a disdainful look down that lady’s nose, upon which perched a set of spectacles, for his trouble.

He proceeded, “In age order, then, there is Eugenia, Angela, Marian, Penelope, Sofie--that is short for Sophronia--Daphne, and the lovely lady in pink is my closest-in-age sibling, Georgette, the new mother. I, alas, am the younger brother of all eight of them.” He paused to take a breath, then went on. “My nieces then. Hortenses’s four: Ann, Margaret, Lorraine, and Elizabeth. Eugenia’s three: Karen, Marcia, and Stephanie. Here we have Angela’s two darlings: Katherine and Suzanne. Marian and Penelope each have the one daughter, respectively Alice and Rosina. Sofie is our newlywed, and has had the bad manners to have not yet seen to her duty by way of producing any offspring for our already oversized family.”

This comment caused that lady to fluster a little, but John, as usual, went blithely on. “And of course you see our newest, Jessica, there in her mother’s arms. That, as your math will tell you, makes me the slave of twenty-three females. Twenty-four with Mama.”

“How do you do?” Mary said to the room at large, already quite lost as to who was who, except for Sofie, who was the only other sibling to have the true auburn hair of her brother. They were all handsome people, a revelation which made Mary feel the tiniest bit plainer than usual.

“Are you two going to be married?” the eldest niece, Ann, asked abruptly.

“Good heavens, no!” John replied, aghast. “I tell you, Mary is my friend. I could not do
that
to a friend.”

“Quite right,” someone said.

“We despair of him, Mary,” Sofie, the one with hair like John’s, explained. “We wish for him to marry. It is his duty. He
is
the marquess. But none of us is willing to sacrifice a friend to such a state of being, and equally none of us wishes to see someone for whom we do not care become the mistress of the house. It is a dilemma, I declare.”

“And I, of course, do not care to marry at all, but they do not listen to me,” John said in mock weariness.

“But you
must
marry someday,” one cried.

“Of course he must,” cried another of his sisters. “He will. He just likes to tease us so.”

“Well, I for one pity the girl.”

“Yes, it would be a hard life having to make a go of it with one such as John.”

“To say nothing of having to deal with all of you,” he jumped in with a rather sour look about his mouth.

“Pish.”

“How he does go on.”

“Well!” John cried with that over-bright manner of one who wishes to make an escape. “I must see to getting Mary settled in her room. Good host duties and all that. In fact, then I think I’ll show her about the place. We’ll see you all at suppertime.” Abruptly he turned, his hand still tightly over Mary’s, forcing her to throw her thanks over her shoulder as he marched her from the room. Mrs. Pennett followed, ignoring any speaking looks from Rothayne.

He did not stop until they had flown up the wide sloping staircase. There on the landing he paused long enough to take a deep, relieving breath--but then was overcome by a bevy of young girls accompanied by their flustered-looking nanny.

Free of parental influence, they all squealed for hugs from “Uncle John! Uncle John!”, after which the six young girls were introduced to Mary, who offered them smiles and a curtsy. While all six spoke at once, eventually Mary made out that the group was in pursuit of dolls for a tea party they were planning in the nursery. Apparently a supply had been left in their bedchambers. Then they were gone as quickly as they’d appeared, little Alice toddling behind as best she may on her two year old legs.

Rothayne pulled down his waistcoat, reorganizing the order the girls had disrupted.

“And that is but a third of your nieces,” Mary noted, a bit dazed but still smiling.

“Yes, some of the younger,” John agreed.

He turned to Mrs. Pennett. “You will see that your mistress’s bags are safely ensconced?” he asked pleasantly, though it was no less than a command.

Mrs. Pennett at last gave in gracefully, simply inclining her head before she slipped back down the stairs.

Now it was John’s turn to smile as he gave his attention to Mary wholly. “Are you ready to meet still more of my relations?”

She nodded somewhat bemusedly, wondering if he meant the remaining nieces, or a grandmother or great-aunt who was confined to her room. He led Mary down a long corridor filled with a variety of paintings and marble busts in small alcoves, past a number of doors, some open, some closed, and through the closed one at the end of the long corridor. “Gentlemen,” John said by way of a greeting, as four men of differing ages turned toward him.

Mary’s eyes flew to John’s face. “You did not quite write me all the truth, John. How silly of me not to figure it out for myself!” she cried, for of course these must be his sister’s husbands. Although it was true he was surrounded by females, here then were also some males with whom he could take refuge.

“Would you have come if you’d known I had
some
relief?” he said quietly near her ear.

The eldest of the four, his hair streaked with gray at the temples and in his beard, stepped forward as he transferred a brandy glass from his right hand to the other. “So this must be Lady Mary,” he said in a soft, well-modulated voice.

“She is. Gentlemen, may I make known to you my very good friend, Lady Mary Wagnall, who has given us all permission to call her by her given name. Mary, this is Sir Edmund Billings, Hortense’s fellow.”

“How do you do?” Edmund asked politely as they exchanged bow and curtsy.

The other three men stepped forward as she gave her polite answer, each repeating the bows, and Mary her curtsy, as John introduced them. “This scalawag is Lord Gateway, shackled to Angela, and whom you must call Timothy. This is Mr. Aaron Seffixhenny, the new bridegroom among us. That makes him Sofie’s lucky fellow. And here is little Jessica’s papa, Lord Withal, called Kevin.”

“Felicitations are in order, my…Kevin,” Mary said in his direction, tripping over the casual use of his name.

“Thank you, Mary. I must say, we were just discussing our lack of surprise the newest babe was yet another female to come among us.”

“We Rothaynes are stubborn, even in the matter of procreation,” John quipped.

Edmund lifted his eyebrows, followed by a glance toward Mary at the mildly scandalous comment. When she did not blush, nor in any wise seem discomfited, he chose to voice no offense.

As she was invited to take a seat, Edmund moved to John’s side, close enough to say in a low voice, “I must say, I think I shall like this Mary of yours, even though we have but met.”

“And I will tell you what you have met is what she is, sir, a paragon.”

“A virtuous one?” Edmund asked.

John turned to throw him a dark look, but then he saw at once that Edmund had not meant to be unkind; he was merely prying. That kind of behavior was surely reprehensible, but one grew used to its like here. John put on a pained face, sighed heavily, and replied, “I fear so.”

Edmund smiled mildly, and made no attempt to hide the fact this conversation would be related to his wife. “I do not know if Hortense will be happy to know that or not.”

“She will say she is, as only vows before a preacher would satisfy that one, but inside she will be regretting that Mary does not have that avenue by which to ensnare me. A marriage by compromise is still a marriage, that would be Hortense’s thought.”

“Why don’t you settle down? It’s not so bad.”

“Yes, why don’t you?” Mary asked, looking up from her seat. Her eyes were as lively as her ears were sharp. The three other husbands followed her example, all eyes fixing upon John.

“It is impolite to eavesdrop,” John responded lightly.

“It is impolite to share whispers while in a group,” Mary countered.