Читать книгу The Complete Regency Surrender Collection - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 48

Chapter Fifteen

Stephen spread the afternoon mail out on the writing desk in the salon and sighed. The packet of letters was not as large as he would have hoped. After his recent marriage, there should be invitations to balls, routs, or at least a dinner or two. Most importantly, there should be something addressed to Lady Fanworth.

Hopefully, Margot would not notice the degree to which she’d been snubbed. So far, the only event they would be attending was the hastily arranged reception Justine was hosting to celebrate the wedding and to welcome her brother-in-law, the Duke of Bellston, to Bath.

His parents would be in town by then. If they attended, it would give him a chance to introduce the family on neutral ground. Mother would be charming wherever they met her. But Larchmont was more likely to be civil if another peer was present. Much to his father’s annoyance, the Bellston title was the older and respect for tradition would force him to be on his best behaviour.

If the rest of the town did not see this party as a reason to welcome them, then they could all be damned. Since the majority of the ton followed the Regent to Brighton, it hardly mattered what people thought here. They would manage well enough until it was time to retire to Derbyshire and by the London Season, it would be old news.

But while he could ignore the snubs of strangers, he would not abide dissension in the staff. When he had come on holiday, he’d brought Mrs Simms, and the cook along with him. He liked his comforts and, in Derbyshire, those two women fussed over him like two hens with a single chick.

But it appeared that his marrying a woman of a lower class did not meet with their approval. Worse yet, he had entertained her in his home before marriage and they knew for a fact that she was not as virginal as her snowy-white gowns.

The insults to his wife were subtle, but frequent. Mrs Sims had been able to keep her own counsel while he’d entertained Margot as a mistress in the house she managed. But her patience had come to an end the moment he announced he would be marrying her. At any mention of the wedding or the bride, Mrs Simms had taken to sniffing in disapproval. She had done it so often that he had enquired of her whether she had a cold, or some chronic condition that affected her breathing.

Cook was little better. Lady Fanworth’s portion of last night’s wedding supper had been practically inedible, as if she thought that it might be possible to starve the interloper out of the house. It was only Margot’s kind-heartedness that had saved the pair of them from a dressing down worthy of Larchmont at his most temperamental.

As it sometimes was with servants, the lady’s compassion was greeted with more contempt than obedience. And now they were growing so careless as to be gossiping in the front hall, oblivious to the fact that the master of the house was listening to every word.

‘I suppose it will be dinner in the bedroom, again,’ said Cook in a disgusted voice, ‘while a perfectly good dining room stands empty.’

‘Herself is too busy to use it,’ Mrs Sims responded, equally annoyed. ‘Down to that shop, dawn until dusk.’

‘Perhaps I should ask her to stop at the grocer’s on her way home,’ Cook said with an evil chuckle.

‘It makes more sense than that we be waiting on her,’ Mrs Sims agreed. ‘A tradesman’s daughter. No better than us, really. The duke will never approve. Of course, her Grace’s blood is as blue as the Princess Charlotte’s.’

Stephen rose, throwing down the letter he had been holding. By God, he had heard more than enough. They had served in the family since before his birth. But he would sack the pair of them if this was how they behaved when he was not in the room.

‘Ladies.’ Margot had heard as well. She had come home hours earlier than usual, totally unprepared for a household contretemps. If he’d handled the problem last night, as he should have, he might have saved her from this embarrassing encounter.

‘Your ladyship,’ both women responded in unison and there was a moment of silence to cover what must have been the most hypocritical curtsies ever performed.

Stephen waited for his wife’s response. Had his mother ever been in such a situation? He doubted it. She held the staff in check as Lord Nelson held the Navy. But then, she was past fifty and had been the daughter of an earl before becoming a duchess. If his sister had been presented with such a problem, it would have reduced her to tears.

And Margot was barely older than Louise.

‘Despite the concerns you voiced a moment ago, dinner will be in the dining room tonight,’ Margo said. ‘And so it will be on any evening I arrive before six. I trust that it will not be necessary for me to run errands, since Fanworth assures me that his house is very well managed.’

Liar. They had never discussed such a thing. He smiled.

She sighed so heavily that he could hear it from where he sat. ‘But I begin to wonder if that is the case. Last night, the capon you left for me was practically inedible. It was as if someone had upended the salt cellar over it. There was too much pepper in the carrots and the potatoes were bland. Fanworth shared his plate with me and neither of us got enough to eat. See that it does not happen again.’

‘Yes, your ladyship,’ said Cook, properly chastised.

‘And before we go any further, Mrs Sims, I must correct your other assessment of me. I am not a tradesman’s daughter.’

‘You are not?’ Now the woman was torn between bravado and confusion.

‘I am something far worse.’ It was said in a sweet and youthful voice that hardly matched her matter-of-fact tone. ‘My father has been dead for over twenty years. I own and run the business alone. I am in trade myself, Mrs Sims. As such I am accustomed to dealing with employees, both hiring and firing.’ She took another dramatic pause. Then she continued. ‘Perhaps other young ladies of my age would be intimidated by your obvious mastery of the household. But I am not. I respect it, of course. And Fanworth adores you. It would be a shame to have to replace either of you. But I will do so without hesitation if you are unwilling or unable to take my instructions.’

‘Of course, your ladyship.’ There was a kind of grudging respect in Mrs Sims’s answer, as though she had not expected the new lady of the house to have such starch in her.

‘Very good.’ Through it all, Margot’s voice had lost none of its cheerfulness. ‘Dinner at seven, then. Send up a maid, for I intend to dress. And remember, do not over-salt the meat.’

‘Yes, your ladyship.’ This answer came in unison, as both women acknowledged her authority.

Then Margot was gone. The sound of her slippers pattering up the stairs was light, youthful and unladylike.

Stephen smiled and settled back into his chair.

* * *

As requested, dinner was served promptly at seven. Lady Fanworth looked well satisfied with herself and sent her compliments to the cook on an excellent meal. Then she smiled at him more warmly than she had in weeks.

Stephen smiled at her in return. For all he cared, they might have been eating gruel. He’d still have proclaimed it ambrosia. To see her smiling across the table at him was the fulfilment of the dream he’d harboured since the first day they met. And no part of that fantasy had prepared him for the sight of her, dressed for dinner.

Perhaps Bath society thought they could spurn her, as a lower-class woman who’d got above herself. But they had not seen her like this. She was perfection: her beauty unrivalled, her grace unaffected and her smile so warm and genuine that one could not help but be drawn to her. One had but to speak to her for a few moments to learn that her personality matched her looks. God made a woman once or twice in a generation who was fit to be a queen. It was only natural that Stephen should wish to make her a duchess.

And on a much more personal note, it was dizzyingly erotic to see her perfect shoulders displayed above the low neckline of her green-silk gown. He had kissed those shoulders. She wore the pearls around her throat to remind him that they had done far more than kiss. They would do so again tonight. He was, truly, the luckiest man in England.

She was staring at him as if she knew a secret. Her sea-green eyes were bottomless. He could gaze into them for the rest of his life, floating, sinking, lost in their depths.

She had spoken.

He had not heard. He dragged himself back to reality. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, I had a most interesting day at the shop today.’

‘Really.’

‘Your sister came to visit me.’

He could not even manage am abbreviated answer. All words were shocked out of him and he could do nothing but stare at her in silence.

‘She is perfectly charming. You should have introduced us sooner.’

He nodded. Of course he should have. He had attempted it. It had not been his fault that he had failed.

The smile that she was using on him was dazzling, as though she knew how easy it was to beguile him. ‘We spoke of you, of course. And of the rest of the family.’

They talked about him. Of course they had. What other common subject could they have? It was rude to tell him of it. But what had he to fear? Of all the people in the world, he could trust his sister to be kind. And, of course, he could trust Margot.

I do. Two simple words, Fanworth...

He had managed to forgive her that. She had been angry. But he had given her reason to be. If he wished her to forgive him, he could not rage at her over every slight. Last night, he had trusted her with his body and been well rewarded for his faith.

But that had not involved conversation.

Now, her smile looked positively smug. Could he ever truly trust a woman who knew his greatest weakness and mocked it on their wedding day? She might sound sweet, but today that honeyed tongue had put the servants in their place with just a few words. He had admired her ruthlessness. But then, she had been using it on others.

‘Fanworth.’ She waved a hand in front of him, to gain his attention. ‘Stephen.’

It was only then he realised that she had continued speaking and he had not heard a word.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I asked if you were enjoying the dinner.’

‘It is fine,’ he assured her.

She gestured to the plates on the table. ‘Do you have a favourite, perhaps?’ She was trying to persuade him to speak.

He looked down at the dishes set before them. Duck in burnt butter. Pickled beetroot. Potted pigeon. Pears in puff paste.

It was a trap.

His father might use force and shouting to make his point. But his wife was a subtle creature. Now that he had taken her into his life, there were a hundred ways she could find to make him miserable. If there were any weaknesses she had not already guessed, she was likely to learn the rest from his sister. And he had no one to blame but himself. He had been the one to court her, accuse her and seduce her. He had made her his enemy.

He had created his own hell.

He said nothing. To speak was to give her ammunition. Instead, he tossed his napkin on the table and left the room.