Trouble With Harry (2 page)

“Sir…” Temple said, even more at a loss as to how to counsel his employer from such a ramshackle method of finding a wife. “I…what if…how will I know who you will find suitable?”

Harry frowned over the top of an estate ledger. “I've already told you what I want, man! Someone honest, intelligent, and she must like children. I would prefer it if she possessed a certain charm to her appearance, but that's not absolutely necessary.”

Temple swallowed his objections and asked meekly, “Where do you wish to interview the candidates for your hand? Surely not here, at Ashleigh Court?”

Harry ran his finger down a column of figures, his eyes narrowing at the proof of abuse by his late cousin's steward. “The man should be hanged, draining the estate dry like that. What did you say? Oh, no, any woman of sense would take one look at this monstrosity and run screaming in horror. Find somewhere in town, somewhere I can meet with the ladies and have a quiet conversation with them. Individually, of course. Group appointments will not do at all.”

“Of course,” Temple agreed and staggered from the room, his mind awhirl. The only thing that cheered him up was the thought that Harry's wife, whoever she would turn out to be, would no doubt insist on the house being cleaned from attic to cellars.

Harry was just settling down to make notes about what needed attention first on the estate, when a sudden high-pitched shriek had him out of the chair and almost to the door before Temple appeared in the open doorway to the hall.

Harry hesitated at the sight of Temple's weak smile. “The children…is someone hurt?”

“Peacocks,” Temple said concisely.

Harry blinked, then relaxed. “Peacocks? Oh, peacocks. Yes, they do have an ungodly scream. I thought one of the children—”

Another bloodcurdling screech cut across his words. Before Harry could draw a breath, a huge green-and-blue bird raced passed him down the hall, its once magnificent tail feathers now ragged and muddy. Hoots, yells, and assorted shouts followed the peacock as the three younger children pounded after the poor bird. Anne stopped next to the great curved staircase, threw her head back, and let forth the most hair-raising sound Harry had ever heard.

“As I was about to say, sir, it is not the peacock making the noise, it is the children.”

Harry closed the door quietly, leaning back against it as the sounds of one agitated peacock being pursued by three noisy children around and around the hall filtered through the solid door. “Write the advertisement, Temple.”

A loud avian squawk followed by the sound of something large and ceramic shattering upon the hall's marble floor sent Harry running back into his sanctuary. “Now! For God's sake, man, write it now!”

Plum nuzzled the soft, downy head lying against her breastbone, and breathed deeply of the milky, soapy smell, ignoring the less pleasing odor that wafted upward.

“There you are, I thought you would be in the vicarage. How has the baby been for you—oh, heaven, he's rank!”

Mrs. Bapwhistle bustled into the tiny garden and before Plum could object, plucked the youngest Bapwhistle from her arms and handed the sweet baby over to a waiting nurse. “Clean him up, Withers. He smells as if he'd been dunked in the cesspit.”

“I would be happy to bathe—” Plum started to say, halfway rising from the shaded bench. The nurse wrinkled up her nose and hurried off with her charge before Plum could finish her sentence.

“No, no, that won't be at all necessary. That's what I engage a nurse for, to do all the many unpleasant chores connected with children. Now sit down, do, and allow me to speak to you for a moment. I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”

“But…I was hoping I would be able to feed the baby—” Plum felt as if her heart had been ripped from her arms with the babe. He was so sweet, so adorable, so small and needy.

“You can feed him another time, Plum. This is important.”

Plum leaned back against the carved back of the bench and idly plucked a leaf from the hydrangea that grew alongside, trying hard to keep the peevish tone from her voice. “You promised me I could take care of Colin while you were out paying calls, Cordelia. I think it's unkind of you to hand him over to Nurse when you promised
me
I could care for him.”

“Honestly, Plum, you don't want to be present when he's filled his napkin. The mess that baby can make—it's positively horrifying.” Cordelia Bapwhistle, wife of the vicar and Plum's closest friend, raised her hand and cut off Plum's objection. “I know, I know, you don't find anything about dear little Colin objectionable, no more than you found anything objectionable about Constance, Connor, or Columbine, but my dear, dear friend, you must take it from one who knows—babies aren't all sweet little bundles of delight.”

Plum's gaze dropped from her friend's eyes to the faded blue material over her knees. She smoothed her gown and tried not to look as if Cordelia's words—kindly meant, to be sure—had caused her pain. “I know they aren't perfect, Del. I'm not stupid. I
have
raised a child.”

Cordelia set aside the newspaper she'd been clutching and gave her friend's hand a sympathetic pat. “I never in a million years imagined you were stupid, Plum. You're the smartest, most giving woman I know, and you've done a marvelous job with Thomasine, although she wasn't really a child when she came to you. How old was she when her uncle died?”

“Fifteen,” Plum admitted.

“You've done wonderfully raising her these past five years, and you know you'll always be welcome here. The children adore you…”

The unvoiced objection pierced Plum's heart with an arrow's quickness. She looked up at her friend, the black eyebrows that refused all her attempts to make them arch settled into a thick slash across her brow. “But?”

Cordelia squeezed her hand. “But it's time you had a family of your own.”

Plum raised her eyes heavenward for a moment. “Do you think I haven't been trying to find a man who would take me? Good heavens, Del, you yourself have introduced me to every eligible bachelor in the county, and I've examined all of the ineligible ones. There's not a man in all of Dorset who hasn't heard of the scandal, and thus won't sully his reputation by marrying me. The rest of them are either drunkards or wife-beaters or too poor to support Thom and me. And before you tell me I'm being too finicky, I assure you I'm not looking for a man of fortune—just one who has the means to support a wife and one small niece.”

Cordelia laughed. “I would never call you finicky, Plum. Some of the men you even
thought
about marrying…” She gave a little shudder. “But that's neither here nor there. Look, see what old Mrs. Tavernosh heard was posted in yesterday's paper.” She held out the newspaper for Plum to examine the small advertisement that had been circled by a blue pencil.

Plum read the paragraph, her eyebrows lifting as she looked up to meet her friend's bright, dancing eyes. “You cannot be serious!”

“Why not? This man needs a wife, wants someone who likes children, and says he has comfortable means.”

Plum allowed her mouth to gape open, just a little, just enough for her friend to see how shocked she was. “Why not? Why not? Cordelia Bapwhistle, have you or have you not been lecturing me these last two years I've been husband hunting about the folly of accepting just any man?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And are you not the very person who weekly lectures me about how women can be perfectly happy and productive without bearing a child or being a wife?”

“Yes, and I stand behind that statement. Children are not for everyone, Plum. Some women—”

“And yet you, you who regularly tells me that I should be grateful to be unencumbered and free to live my life the way I want—although I'd like to point out that poor as a church mouse and unloved by anyone but a niece who prefers the company of animals to people is
not
the life I wish to live—
you
are suggesting that I answer this ridiculous advertisement inserted by a man I know nothing about?”

“Well, of course you'd have to find out something about him, I'm not suggesting you take him sight unseen. He might not be suitable at all. The advert says you should send particulars, and you will be contacted if the man wishes to interview you.”

“Interview me!” Plum said, indignation rising at just the thought of being
interviewed
. She gave a ladylike snort. “As if I were a servant? I think not!”

Cordelia watched her with an eye lit from within by warmth, affection, and a good deal of humor. “There's nothing to stop you from interviewing him, as well, you know. And really, what is an interview but time to get to know someone? You've done as much with the men you've pursued.”

A faint blush the color of a nearby rose colored Plum's cheek as she looked away from her friend. “You make it sound as if I was desperate, hunting men the way a fox hunts its prey.”

“Plum, you know I want you to be happy. If your experience with Charles has not put you off men for life and you are sure that you want to be married and have a family, then I will do everything I can to help you.”

“My marriage with Charles did nothing to put me off all men, Del. I assume that he was the exception to the norm, and that most men would hesitate to marry a woman when they already have a wife living. And as for the family, I fear it's too late for that. I'm forty years old. Surely most women my age have finished having children by now.”

“Ah, but you're not most women,” Cordelia said, her smile warming Plum's heart. “You're Frederica Pelham, daughter of Sir Frederick Pelham, the woman of breeding if not fortune, who just so happens to also be the author of the most popular, most scandalous book of the century.”

Plum glanced around the small garden worriedly. The last thing she needed was for anyone in Ram's Bottom to find out she was the notorious Vyvyan La Blue, author of the famed
Guide
to
Connubial
Calisthenics
, a book so shocking it was banned as obscene by the government—and subsequently went into three separate printings to fulfill the demands by members of the
ton
.

“I did have Old Mab Shayne examine me,” Plum named the local midwife hesitantly, unwilling to get her hopes up about something that meant so much to her. “She said there was nothing wrong with my womanly parts, and she knew of several women who had children well into their mid-forties.”

“There, you see? If you really want to have a family despite me telling you just how appallingly horrible childbirth can be, then you owe it to yourself to investigate this advertisement.”

Plum nibbled on her lower lip, her gaze slipping to the paper. Although the method the man had used to state his desire for a wife off-put her almost as much as the word
interview
rankled, Cordelia did have a point. There was nothing to stop her from examining the man to see if he would make a suitable partner for her. She'd more or less done as much with the other men of the area she had considered. “There is the problem of my past,” she said slowly. “I have lost more than one potential suitor upon his finding out that I was Charles's mistress.”

“You weren't his mistress—you married him in good faith. He is the one who wronged you, he is the one who used you and threw you away without any regard or concern for your future.”

“We both know that, but gentlemen, alas, do not care that Charles lied to me when he wed me. They only see a woman who gave herself to a man who was not lawfully her husband, one who caused a scandal so great that it resulted in Charles being sent abroad, Papa disowning me, and poor Susanna ostracized and reviled by Society for the mere fact that she was my sister. She went into a decline because of the scandal, Del. It's my fault she died and left baby Thom to be brought up by her uncle Beauclerc.”

“It's not your fault in the least, so stop martyring yourself. Besides, there is a simple solution to the problem: Don't tell this man who you are.
Were
.”

Plum stared in surprise at her friend. “You want me to lie?”

“No, of course not, that would be sinful and wrong. I simply suggest that you not tell the man everything—until you're wed. Then, after such time has passed as is needed for him to fall in love with you, you tell him the truth. By then it will be too late for him to do anything about it.”

“That's rather callous,” Plum said, her fingers fretting the material of her gown. “After the experience with Charles, honesty is at the top of the list of qualities I seek in a husband. I will not again marry a man who has secrets from me.”

“Mmm, well I'm afraid that lets out every man in the British Isles who can still draw breath.” Cordelia paused for a moment, then asked, “You have a
list
of qualities you desire in a husband?”

“Yes, of course I do. Lists are excellent ways to become organized. I keep them for many things. Husbandly attributes are just one of the many lists I maintain—”

“What is on it?”

“On the husband list?” Cordelia nodded. Plum thought for a moment, then ticked off items on her fingers. “Honesty is the most important, as I mentioned. And a good nature is also necessary.”

“I should think so.”

“A sense of humor is a definite plus.”

“I agree completely.”

“Of course, he must want children.”

“Of course,” Cordelia said somberly. Plum slid a glance toward her to see whether or not she was being mocked. Cordelia's face was all seriousness, although there was a glint in her dark gray eyes that made Plum suspect otherwise.

“Financial security is also necessary, although I will not be demanding regarding the amount, so long as he is able to provide a secure home for me, and for Thom as long as she is with us.”

“Mmm. More is better when it comes to items of a fiduciary nature.”

“And last of all, the man I wed must be very, very limber. Double-jointedness is preferred, although I would settle for a normally jointed man so long as he was fit and limber.”

Cordelia blinked. “Limber? Why ever should he be limb…oh! You mean for…in…when he and you…”

“Yes, exactly. I may not have much experience being a wife, but even I know that one must indulge in connubial calisthenics in order to get with child. And you must admit that when it comes to such things, it's much easier to have a limber husband than one who is unable to perform even the simplest of calisthenics like Bull Elephant at Hadrian's Wall.”

Cordelia opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, then evidently thought better of it, and shook her head instead.

“Although I have a number of qualities my prospective mate must meet, the first and foremost items are honesty and forthrightness in all things. After Charles, I just couldn't tolerate anything less, and if I demand that in a spouse, I must provide the same. I will have to tell him about my past.”

“Yes, but Plum, you don't really have that luxury, do you?”

The words, although softly spoken, carried a sting. Plum's heart sank as she once again shouldered the burden she had cast off for a few hours of enjoyment of young Colin. “No, I don't. To be truthful, my situation is worse than you know. The money from the last of my jewels ran out earlier this year. The lease on our cottage expires at the end of this month, and Sir Jasper has warned me that he cannot be as accommodating on the rates as he has been. Mrs. Feeny has told Mr. Feeny he is not to extend me any more credit until I pay what I owe them, and all the other shops in town are following suit.”

“I will be happy to ask Mark for a sum to tide you over until the next draft arrives from your publisher—”

Plum shook her head before her friend could finish her sentence. “There won't be any more drafts. The last one was for such a miniscule amount, I wrote to Mr. Belltoad. He informed me that the
Guide
, although extremely popular with members of the
ton
, had limited appeal to those of a lower class, who evidently feel the book to be more pornographic than a celebration of physical affection between spouses.”

“But surely there must be something you can do! Some employment you can find…”

Plum blinked back tears of self-pity. One of the first things she had learned was that tears never helped. “I'm a gentleman's daughter, Del. My education has been limited to those things suitable to running a household and bearing children.”