Sir Thomas’s Bride_Masterful Husbands_Book One, page 11
"Mother, please excuse me, for I have the megrim and I wish to lie down before dinner, I shall retire for now and see you this evening."
"Tsk, tsk, poor dear, always so delicate. You are in your old room next to me and nincompoop is in the blue guest room."
Margaret stopped mid stride and turned back to her mother. Two bright pink blobs appeared on her face, one either side of her cheeks.
"Mother, you will refrain from calling Thomas a nincompoop. He is far from that and he is my husband. I am a married woman now and Thomas and I share a bed chamber. You are supposed to be living in the Dowager House and not still be residing here at Longetlestone House!"
Lady Amelia rose to her feet and moved across the room to her daughter. She raised her hand and struck Margaret briskly across the face.
"I think you forget to whom you are speaking, daughter!"
In the doorway stood Thomas, he had seen and heard everything.
He shook with anger, before saying, "And I think you should go to your room and remain there until morning when you are to retire to the Dowager House for good. I will ask Johnson to send you up your supper on a tray later. Now leave before I forget that I am a gentleman and take a stick to your back!"
Margaret had never before heard Thomas sound more coldly furious or threatening. He moved to her side and immediately took her into his arms.
"Get out now!" he shouted at Lady Amelia as the woman stood frozen to the spot. She lifted her jowly chin high and waddled from the room.
Thomas tilted Margaret's chin and softly kissed her slapped, reddened cheek. "Darling Bee, I am so sorry; I would never have left you alone with your mother if I had suspected she would lash out at you in that cruel way. Come and I will escort you upstairs to lie down for a while."
Between them, they removed Thomas's and then Margaret's luggage into the yellow guest room and not the small gloomy blue chamber that Lady Amelia had in mind for her son-in-law. Margaret had become much more independent over her toilet during the last couple of days doing without her maid, Hockley. In fact, she was considering dispensing with Hockley, who was always so loyal to her mother and possibly had acted as a spy for her.
Thomas helped Margaret into her night gown and tucked her into the comfortable bed.
"Thomas, I owe you a huge apology for my dreadful behaviour while we were engaged. Why did you not punish me for my rudeness toward you at the time?"
Thomas tucked a curl of her glossy chestnut hair behind her ear; his hand remained against her burning cheek in a gentle caress.
"Did you think that I did not know how much your mother influenced your peevish nature? I wanted to liberate you from her and teach you to be happy, to allow you to fulfil your womanly potential. I have loved you from afar ever since your cruel put down of me at your coming out ball. Every caustic woman that I have ever dallied with was simply a pale copy of you. I only dallied with them because they reminded me so of you. It was always you, Margaret, only ever you that I loved"
Margaret wept then, her arms wound about his neck as she cried into his shoulder. Thomas rocked her gently and while he did, he avowed vengeance on the vindictive viper that was the Lady Amelia.
Chapter 20
Thomas set off a couple of days later to return to Lewes and collect both their coachman Jackson and Hockley. Margaret had decided that Hockley should work as Lady Amelia's maid from the moment of her return and Morris, a fairly new, young ladies' maid, who it seemed was petrified of her employer, Lady Amelia, should transfer to Margaret's service. Lady Amelia had grumbled so much about her maid Morris that she could not in all consciousness complain at her daughter's sensible suggestion that they swap maids.
Margaret was pleased by the outcome, for she no longer trusted Hockley with the details of her personal and intimate life with Thomas. Her mother had made reference to Thomas punishing Margaret and to the occasion that Margaret had hidden in the attic; remarks that led Margaret to conclude she could not trust her ladies' maid.
Thomas had given Margaret permission to ride so long as a groom accompanied her and so after she had waved Thomas off, Margaret admired the scented and pendulous mauve blooms of wisteria that curved around the porch covering the entrance to Longetlestone. She stood and inhaled the scent of the beautiful spring morning, enjoying the warmth and sound of fat bumble bees as they droned busily from flower to flower. The scented open air drew her outside and so she ordered her horse, Honey, to be saddled. She set off for a gentle ride in the warm sunshine, a groom following her discreetly at a distance.
Reining in a mile or so from her home, Margaret espied a rider, a woman riding side saddle and at some speed. She thought perhaps that it might be Rose Mortimer. As the rider rounded the bottom of a hill that lay slightly below where Honey and Margaret stood watching, the lady appeared to either fall from her seat or faint in the saddle. Concerned, Margaret urged Honey and onward down the gentle incline to where the woman lay upon the ground.
As Margaret approached, she heard the distinct sound of a girl sobbing and waved the groom back. She dismounted and walked timidly to where the woman laid face down, her head pillowed upon her folded arms. Margaret could see that this was not Rose, for Rose Mortimer was a blonde and this lady's hair was a soft light brown, far lighter than her own chestnut curls.
"Are you hurt? Might I be of assistance to you?" she asked gently as she approached the prone figure; she did not wish to scare her.
A tear streaked face lifted briefly. "N-no thank you, please just leave me be." Margaret instantly recognised Benedict Mortimer's young sister Imogene and went to sit beside her on the grass. Not knowing what else to do, she stroked the younger woman's hair and let her cry uninterrupted. Eventually the sobbing diminished to hiccups and Imogene spoke.
"Can you ever trust a man?" she asked tremulously. Margaret hugged her knees and was silent while she thought of a sensible response to this question.
Imogene continued, "I mean, if a fellow tells you he loves you and will wait for you to become of age and then he tells one's brother that he has to go to London to see a lady... I mean what is one to make of that?"
"Perhaps the lady is an acquaintance?" Margaret offered.
"Madam Angeline a lady? I think she is his ladybird!"
"Oh, Imogene, my dear, men have these um, urges and they simply cannot be held at bay until marriage. It does not mean they love the woman of their choice any the less. Might I ask, are we talking about the Viscount Weston here?"
Imogene sat up and rubbed her wet face. "Yes, h-how did you guess?"
"Well, it is not a guess really. Sir Thomas told me that the Viscount is madly in love with you."
Imogene perked up. "He did? When did he say that?"
"Sir Thomas, or Viscount Weston?"
"Oh just tell me the whole of it, Lady Margaret, do not keep me in suspense!"
"Very well then, since you ask. Your brother told Sir Thomas that Viscount Weston was like a love sick calf mooning over you and had asked for your hand but only after you came out."
"What! Why wait until I come out! I don't want to go to any stupid balls when I already know who I want to marry! This is all so very stupid!"
"I should think that both men and your mother wish you to enjoy your coming out. Most girls look forward to their season, all the dresses and dancing, I know that I did."
"Well I am not 'most girls' I just want to marry Charles and kiss him every day until we have a pretty pink baby!"
Margaret was somewhat flummoxed by this charmingly, innocent statement. "Oh,
well yes, I do agree that kissing is most delightful!"
Imogene gazed innocently at Margaret, a tremulous smile spread across her face.
"Oh I am glad to hear that! So far all Charles has done, is kiss my hand and once he kissed my wrist, which was so very romantic that I nearly swooned! To be finally kissed upon the lips, only after we are wed of course, would be so simply dreamy and for him to kiss me and give me a dear little baby!"
"Dreamy, ye-s," Margaret muttered, feeling somewhat concerned for this exceptionally innocent and guileless girl. However, it was certainly not her place to inform this child that more than kissing would be required to conceive a child.
"Come, Imogene, it is near luncheon and you must be famished. I shall send the groom to Merriton to let them know that you are safe at Longetlestone and will stay for luncheon, returning later in the day."
"Oh that is most obliging of you, Lady Margaret. I can see that Sir Thomas's kisses have made you so much nicer!"
Margaret grinned widely, in a most unladylike way. "Certainly it seems my husband has the knack of bringing out the best in me, my dear. Now shall we mount up and go?"
The groom escorted them back to Longetlestone and was then immediately dispatched to Merriton Hall with the agreed message. Luncheon was served outside on the warm, sun baked terrace and Margaret thoroughly enjoyed the younger woman's company. Imogene adored being treated as an adult woman for once and not a silly girl just out of the schoolroom. Margaret asked her opinion of colour schemes for the house and discussed suitable fashions and styles of dresses for Imogene's coming season. While they both enjoyed their coffee after they had eaten, the crunching of gravel could be discerned from the front of the house, announcing the arrival of a coach.
Lord Benedict Mortimer and Viscount Charles Weston appeared on the terrace behind Johnson, who barely had time to announce them both before they strode over to loom menacingly over Imogene.
"What the deuce do you mean by riding off alone like that, you foolish girl?" Benedict boomed furiously.
"Imogene, I promise there will most certainly be consequences should you do such a dangerous thing again!" Charles Weston promised her darkly.
Imogene threw down her Limoges cup into the saucer with a clatter and ran from the table back into the house.
"By Hades, that girl needs to be punished!" her brother spluttered furiously.
"I agree, but surely it should be me, Mortimer, as her affianced." Charles drew himself up and puffed out his chest.
"Kindly remember that she is not your affianced as yet, Weston, and I'll thank you to keep your hands off my sister until you are!"
"Enough!" Margaret cried, "Gentleman, Imogene was totally distrait when I came upon her this morning. You should be ashamed of yourselves, frightening her in this uncaring way. Call yourselves gentlemen, well really!"
The two men looked at Margaret surprised and then they glanced at one another sheepishly.
"I apologise for my outburst, Lady Margaret, but we have been frantic with worry ever since Imogene first disappeared some hours previous," Lord Mortimer explained.
"That's as may be but you, gentleman, are the single cause of her distress. She overheard the Viscount stating that he was going to London to see his er... mistress."
Both men looked bewildered. "Mistress...? I don't have a damn...er a mistress!" Viscount Weston said indignantly.
"Well Imogene overheard a name, a Madam Angeline?" The two men groaned and shook their heads. Then Benedict turned to Margaret. "I apologise, Lady Margaret, we seem to have dragged you into a 'storm in a tea cup' situation and I thank you for befriending my sister. Could we impose upon your kindness further and ask that you fetch Imogene to us? My mother is frantic with worry and I wish to fetch Imogene home to her mother as soon as may be."
Margaret smiled accommodatingly. "Of course, I will go now and find her. In the meantime, I shall send Johnson out with coffee for you both." The two gentlemen sat down scowling, after Margaret had departed.
Margaret found Imogene lying on the settee in the gloomy withdrawing room. She was quiet but dry eyed. Margaret sat down next to her and placed her hand over Imogene's clasped ones waiting for the girl to speak.
"I don't understand men at all and yet I grew up with a brother. Do you understand your husband, Lady Margaret?"
Margaret sighed. "Some of the time I do but in general, no, I suppose not. Imogene, I think you are worrying over much about all of this. Charles will propose properly in time; of that I am sure. All that will be required of you will be to obey him. He will guide you and I am certain you will be a happy match. I would like to count you as a friend, my dear, and as such you may call upon me for support and advice whenever you feel the need."
Imogene sat forward and to Margaret's great surprise she threw her arms about her and hugged her.
"I am so glad you found me today, and yes, I should like to count you as my friend. If I can ever be of help to you, Lady Margaret, please, just ask. Can I please ask if you are happy in your marriage to Sir Thomas?"
Margaret held the girl away from her and smiled. "I am, Imogene. I dreaded the match and yet I find that I love him and I am very happy with Sir Thomas." As she spoke, warmth spread through her chest as she realised how very true her statement was; she was indeed very happy.
Chapter 21
Thomas found both his servants looking better than when he had last seen them. Hockley had her arm in a sling still and Jackson's ankle was firmly strapped up. Doctor Sherringham was adamant that both still needed his care but after a lengthy discussion, it was decided that Jackson should return to London to convalesce. It was abundantly clear to Thomas that both feared for their respective positions within his household and he was quick to reassure them of their places. Hockley was deemed fit for light duties and would return to Longetlestone with her employer.
They arranged that the baggage coach with its wheel now repaired would deliver Jackson back into the city the following day. It would then return to Longetlestone driven by the under coachman Simmons. Thomas settled his account for his servants' care with the good doctor and was about to leave for a bite to eat at the hostelry before setting off home, when the doctor invited him to lunch with him and his wife.
He gratefully accepted the offer and enjoyed a tasty meal of succulent lamb and potatoes followed by a damson jam roly-poly pudding and custard. Afterward, the Doctor smoked a clay pipe and Thomas sipped a fine port. The doctor's wife left them to it so that she could help the maid clear the table and wash up in the scullery. Jackson and Hockley had eaten in the kitchen along with the house maid.
"How is the Lady Amelia these days?" the doctor asked Thomas.
Thomas looked surprised. "You know my mother-in-law?"
"We lived near Henfield when I was young and I met her briefly many years ago after that fateful night. I was very young at the time but the horror of it stayed with me, father never forgot it you know."
"I am afraid you will have to enlighten me, Doctor, I know nothing of my wife's family history."
"Ah, well then, best forgot perhaps, no point in raking up the past."
"No, I should like to hear the tale."
"Well, the local miller's son was drowning and it was known that Lord Beauchamp could swim and so he was sent for to save the lad if he could. By all accounts, he jumped right in and pulled the lad from the waters, only to be hit upon the head by Jacob Oats the miller. Milord drowned and Oats was sent to Bedlam, where he still resides as far as I know. He was a strange and violent man."
The doctor shook his head and moved onto the subject of possible infection creeping in once bones were broken. He instructed Thomas on the insidious signs of gangrene. Thomas, being the gentleman that he was, did not return to the subject of his mother-in-law. It was only on his return journey to Longetlestone that he reflected on the drama that the doctor had related and began wondering why Oats had not been hung for obvious murder. Why had he been deemed insane?
As the coach swept into the gravelled courtyard at Longetlestone, Thomas frowned, what on earth? A coach was pulled up outside the entrance and a group of people were gathered. As he dismounted from the step of the carriage he distinctly heard the strident voice of his enraged lady wife. She appeared to be scolding his two closest friends, while a child, a girl, no wait; it was Imogene, Mortimer's sister was hiding behind Margaret's back.
He groaned, he had only been gone a few hours and already there was trouble, it seemed that trouble should have been Margaret's middle name!
"Wiggington! Thank God! Come man and talk sense into your shrewish wife, she won't let Mortimer remove his sister home!" What?
Thomas strode over to the group and Margaret hurried to his side vocally attempting to explain what was going on. Thomas held up his hand for silence, this was neither the time nor the place for her to explain.
"Margaret, Mortimer is Imogene's legal guardian since she is not of legal age yet and you have no right at all to detain her."
Margaret's face flushed seven shades of red, a bad sign Thomas surmised.
"Imogene wishes to stay here but a few days only, Thomas, where is the harm in that I ask of you all?"
Thomas turned to his two friends and shook both their hands. "I have no idea what this is all about, however Imogene is most welcome to stay if that is your wish, Mortimer?"
Benedict glowered at his sister but answered Thomas. "I do not think this young lady has any right to make demands. Indeed, she deserves to be soundly spanked for her behaviour today and believe me, after this little scene it is almost certain she shall be!"
"Benedict!" Imogene cried with furious embarrassment.
"Be quiet, Immy!" her brother snapped before turning back to Thomas.
"This young woman, a girl barely out of the school room if you please, rode off in high dudgeon this morn' with no groom or anyone to attend her. She left her mother distrait and the entire household in uproar. She will return today and face the music!"
Thomas wholeheartedly agreed and said so, whereupon Margaret and Imogene both began to argue with the gentlemen, leaving Thomas no choice but to take his wife's arm and drag her unceremoniously inside the house. He nodded curtly to his friends who gave him a quick salute. Mortimer then took one of Imogene's arms while Viscount Charles Weston scooted around her to take her other arm and between them they dragged the protesting girl into the waiting coach.
