Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion

God, but it was damn complicated, being married. The good moments got all snagged up with darker feelings until he couldn’t unravel the tangle.

‘Look, Mary...’ He sighed with exasperation. ‘If ever you do anything I don’t like, I will be sure to tell you. No need to get worked up over such a little thing.’

‘I...I’m sorry.’

The tremor in her voice made him turn to look at her sharply. Her little face was all woebegone.

Damn. Why wasn’t he more adept with words? His explanation of how his mind worked had come out sounding more like a reprimand. And he’d hurt her. Which was the very last thing he ever wanted to do.

‘Look, I warned you before we got married that I’m a blunt man.’ In lieu of smooth words, he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘So this is the truth. I like being married to you.’ Far more than he’d thought possible.

‘Oh. Well, I like being married to you, too,’ she said shyly, returning the pressure of his hand.

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

‘There. That’s all right and tight, then.’ He got up and reached for his clothes. ‘Think I’ll go for a ride.’ Clear his mind. And let her recover.

Because if he stayed he was bound to end up saying something that would make this awkwardness between them ten times worse.

* * *

All of a sudden, it seemed to Mary, the place was teeming with servants. When she’d eventually plucked up courage to go downstairs and face Mrs Brownlow, the woman had told her exactly how many she would need to run a house of this size efficiently, then brought them all in. She didn’t even go through the motions of letting Mary interview them. She just hired the people she always hired on whenever Mayfield had tenants.

Not that she could fault any of them. Each of them knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing—and each other, too.

She was the only one who seemed to feel like a stranger here. Who wasn’t totally comfortable with their role. She was used to doing housework, not ordering others to do it, that was half the trouble.

So, as the spring cleaning commenced, even though the new year had not yet come round, Mary took to walking about the rooms with a rag in her hand, and a scarf tied over her head, desperate to find some dirt, or a cobweb, Mrs Brownlow’s team might have overlooked.

While her husband rode out early to avoid, she suspected, all the bustle, even though he muttered vague excuses about tenants. And only making love to her at night, behind the closed doors of their bedroom.

‘There’s a carriage coming up the drive, my lady.’

Mary looked up from the skirting board behind the sofa—where she’d found a satisfyingly thick layer of dust—to see that Mrs Brownlow herself had come with the news, instead of sending her husband.

‘You’ve got visitors. So I’ll take that,’ she said, snatching the duster from Mary’s hand. ‘You shouldn’t be doing it, anyway,’ she grumbled.

Though what was she supposed to do all day, now that her husband didn’t seem inclined to chase her round the furniture any longer? Sit on a sofa and twiddle her thumbs?

‘I’ll have Mr Brownlow...’ who’d taken on the mantle of butler ‘...show them to the drawing room while you go and change into something more suitable.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Mary, fumbling the strings of her apron undone and making for the door.

Change? Into what? She supposed she would look slightly better in a clean gown, rather than one she’d been crawling around on the floor in, but not much. Neither of the other gowns she owned were in all that much better condition, after serving as bedding, then withstanding her time as cook and housemaid.

There was her wedding gown, of course. Only was it suitable for receiving callers?

What did the wife of a viscount wear for receiving callers, anyway?

Oh, what did it matter? Surely the most important thing was to make them feel welcome?

And it was no use, she decided—snatching the scarf from her head and stuffing it into her pocket—trying to pretend she was something she wasn’t.

She stifled a pang of guilt as she hurriedly tidied her hair before the mirror. Lord Havelock had said he wanted her to be well dressed when the local gentry came calling. He’d said she would have to buy a lot of new clothes.

Only, somehow once they’d got down here, the topic had never come up again. And she hadn’t liked to mention it.

With any luck, whoever was calling on her today would be able to tell her where she could find a reliable dressmaker, locally. In fact, it would be a very good topic of conversation. Anyone who knew her husband would have no trouble believing he’d swept her off her feet, and down here, without giving her a chance to buy any bride clothes.

Feeling much better about her gown now she could look upon it as a conversation opener, rather than a personal failing, Mary made her way to the drawing room.

She had only just reached it and taken a seat on one of the chairs by the fireplace, when Brownlow opened the door again.

‘Lady Peverell,’ he intoned. ‘And Miss Julia Durant.’

‘Oh!’ She leapt to her feet, her hand flying to her throat. She knew that her husband had written to invite Julia to come and live with them, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t received a reply.

Lady Peverell, a stylishly dressed blonde who didn’t look much beyond the age of thirty, flicked Mary’s crumpled, grubby gown a look of scorn, drew off her gloves and made for the chair she’d just leapt out of.

‘Oh. Of course,’ said Mary, moving out of her way. ‘Do come and sit beside the fire,’ she said a moment too late. ‘You must be dreadfully cold after your journey. Such weather. I expect you’d like tea.’

It was all she could do to cross to the bell pull and ring for a servant, rather than run down to the kitchen and put the kettle on herself. With one withering look, Lady Peverell had made her feel as though she had no right to be in the room. Let alone pose as lady of the house. And as for presuming to the title...well!

‘And you, too, Ju—’ She pulled herself up, remembering she had no right to address her husband’s sister by her given name, just because they’d been used to speaking of her that way. ‘I mean, Miss Durant.’

She sent the girl a timid smile. Which wasn’t returned. Miss Julia Durant remained standing just inside the doorway, scowling at her.

Oh, but she looked so very much like Lord Havelock, when things weren’t going his way! She had the militant stance and the determined chin. She had the same-shaped hazel eyes, too. And from what she could see of her hair, which was fighting its way out from under her bonnet, the same thick mass of unruly curls that graced his head, too.

Though, she frowned, he had described her as a beauty. A girl at risk from a predatory older man.

Julia could certainly become very attractive, once she’d outgrown the spots that marred her complexion, learned not to pout and glower at strangers, and had her hair styled by a professional.

Julia responded to her smile with a look of scorn and a toss of her head. She flounced over to the window and flung herself on to the sill, turning her shoulder to the other occupants of the room.

‘You see?’ said Lady Peverell, waving the riding crop she held in one hand in Julia’s direction. ‘You see what I’ve had to contend with? I have a houseful of guests, but does she care? No. The minute she gets that letter from her brother nothing will satisfy her but instant removal to this godforsaken pile. Won’t even wait till Twelfth Night.’

Well, that was very like Lord Havelock, too. He didn’t see the need to wait once he’d made up his mind to do something, either.

‘And now she is here,’ Lady Peverell continued, her voice rising both in volume and pitch, ‘she’s no better pleased. Not that I’m taking you back, miss, so don’t you think I will.’

Julia shot her a look of fury over her shoulder, before folding her arms and glaring out of the window again.

‘That is the only thing that made me give in to her badgering. The knowledge that at long last I would be able to wash my hands of her! Even though I can see that we’ve taken you by surprise, turning up unannounced.’

‘Oh, no, not at all....’ Mrs Brownlow could have any of the bedrooms in the guest wing ready in a trice. ‘It doesn’t matter in the least that we didn’t know the exact date she would arrive—’

‘Stuff,’ snorted Lady Peverell. ‘And this is how it will always be once you have her under your roof. Well, I just hope you have a very strong constitution. The girl is a complete hoyden. Selfish and self-willed. Totally impossible.’

Mary didn’t believe it for one second. From what Lord Havelock had told her, the poor girl had spent her life being passed around like a parcel. The few weeks during which Mary had undergone such treatment had given her a very good idea of how Julia must feel. Especially since her current guardian was doing what her own relatives had done—talking about what was to become of her as though she had no say, no brains, no will of her own.

And no feelings.

She had just taken a deep breath, to explain, calmly and rationally, that Julia would be a welcome addition to the household, when the door burst open and Lord Havelock strode in.

‘Gregory!’ With a heart-rending cry, Julia leapt to her feet, flew across the room, flung herself into his outstretched arms and dissolved into noisy sobs.

‘There, there,’ he crooned, rocking her in his arms. ‘No need to cry. You’re safe now. You’re home.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ muttered Lady Peverell. ‘No wonder the girl is so wild. Nobody can ever do anything with her, because she only has to pour out some tale into your ear and you come rushing in to take her side. She’s a spoiled madam and it is all your fault.’

Lord Havelock’s arms tightened round his sister’s heaving shoulders. He glared at Lady Peverell.

‘Then you can have no qualms about leaving her in my care, can you?’ He jerked his head towards the door. ‘Have a safe journey home. I heard you say how busy you are with your house party. Do not let us detain you.’

Mary’s jaw dropped. She knew he had a temper. But was he really going to throw Lady Peverell out, after travelling so far, in such horrid weather? She hadn’t even had any tea.

But the peevish Lady Peverell didn’t appear the least surprised by his attitude. She just got to her feet and gathered her things together with an air of magnificent disdain.

Shooting the siblings one look of sheer loathing, Lady Peverell turned to Mary.

‘I wish you luck,’ she said. ‘Oh, and before I forget, I brought you a small gift. Here,’ she said, thrusting the riding crop into the hands Mary had stretched out, impulsively, to implore her not to leave without at least having a cup of tea.

Mary blinked down at the riding crop in confusion. She couldn’t ride a horse, so had no need of such a thing. Of course, Lady Peverell couldn’t know that. She raised her eyes, trying to form a polite smile of gratitude.

‘I’ve found,’ said Lady Peverell, shooting Julia a look of pure malice, ‘it’s the only way to keep that creature in line.’

With that parting shot, she strode from the room, her nose in the air.

The smile froze on Mary’s lips.

There was a beat of silence.

Lord Havelock was looking at her with cool, assessing eyes. And with a start, Mary realised she was still clutching the riding crop in her hands.

With a cry of disgust, she flung it away. It landed on the floor by the window with a clatter that caused Julia to lift her head from her brother’s shoulder and look up.

‘I would never,’ cried Mary, ‘ever use such a thing. Not on an animal, let alone a person!’

* * *

‘I know,’ he snapped.

There was no need for her to say it. She was such a gentle creature—too gentle for her own good, sometimes.

He’d heard Lady Peverell’s tirade well before he’d reached the room, her voice was so strident. And though she’d spoken venomously, he couldn’t deny there was an element of truth to what he’d overheard. Julia could be...a bit of a handful. She was a Durant, after all, with the Durant will and the Durant temper.

And he could just see her running rings round Mary, given half a chance.

Well, he’d just have to make sure she didn’t get a chance.

He stilled as it struck him that Mary’s happiness was now just as important to him as Julia’s had ever been. Which was ironic, considering he’d only married her so he could provide a home for Julia. Yet now this had become Mary’s home, too. She loved it here. He’d watched her blossom in it. Delight in it.

And he didn’t want Julia’s moods to ruin it all for her. It would be totally unfair to expect her to deal with Julia—in this frame of mind, anyway. Not even Lady Peverell could exert any sort of control over his sister, so how could he expect Mary to take her in hand? Why, she couldn’t even keep Mrs Brownlow in her place. The dratted woman had promoted herself to the position of housekeeper and was running Mayfield just as she pleased.

‘You needn’t be afraid of Mary,’ he said to Julia. ‘She has the kindest heart imaginable. Honestly,’ he said when she continued to cling to him, whilst looking at Mary as though she was some kind of ogre. ‘I made sure of it before I married her.’

Mary flinched. Made sure of it? How? They’d only known each other a few days before he proposed.

And yet he’d made that list, hadn’t he? A list that ensured the woman he picked would provide a home for his beloved, treasured sister. The girl he was holding in his arms. The girl who’d flown to him. Who called him by his given name without thinking, when so far Mary had never dared be so familiar....

She always had to call him my lord, or husband, or occasionally, when she felt very daring, Havelock. Because he’d never invited her to share the intimacy his sister naturally took for granted.

Though she was sure Julia hadn’t meant to, the girl had given her a very brutal reminder of what her place in his life really was.

A means to an end.

‘She’s been very busy,’ said her husband to his sister, ‘putting this old place to rights, so you could come home.’

‘C-can I have my old room back?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Ju. The family wing hasn’t been used in such a long time it’s still a bit of a mess. But there are any number of rooms in what used to be the guest wing you can choose from.’

When she didn’t stop pouting, Lord Havelock chucked her under her chin. ‘How about coming and having a look? A couple have good views over the stables.’

‘The stables?’ Julia stopped crying abruptly. ‘I...I suppose that would be...’ She sniffed and wiped her tear-stained face with the back of one hand.

‘And even better,’ he went on, before she had the chance to form her thoughts into words, ‘I’ve got something inside the stables that will put a smile back on your face.’

‘A new horse? For m-me?’

‘Welcome-home present,’ he grinned. ‘Saw Panther at Tatt’s and knew he’d be just the thing to put the roses back in your cheeks. Want to come and meet him?’

Julia shook off her angry, tearful demeanour the way a dog shakes off water after a dunking.

‘Oh, yes, please.’

All smiles and arm in arm, brother and sister left the room without a backward glance. As though Mary didn’t exist.

And then Mrs Brownlow came in, with a tea tray. Behind her came Susan, who was the chief housemaid, with another tray, laden with cakes and other dainties.

‘Where has everyone gone?’ Mrs Brownlow looked most put out to find that her efforts to whip up a tray of refreshments for their unexpected visitors had all been for nought.

‘Lady Peverell has gone home. And Miss Durant and his lordship have gone to the stables.’

‘And what are we to do with miss’s luggage?’ said Mrs Brownlow, plonking her tray down on the nearest table with a clatter. ‘There’s boxes and trunks all over the hall. I can’t just leave them there. One of my girls will be tripping over them and breaking her leg, I shouldn’t wonder. What room shall I have them taken to?’

‘You could have them taken up to the guest wing and placed in...oh, I don’t know. How about the room that has all that crimson brocaded wallpaper?’

‘It’s not really suitable for a young girl, my lady. Far better to put her—’

‘Well, one of the rooms that overlook the stables, if you please,’ she said more firmly. ‘And if she doesn’t like it, she can pick another one. You needn’t unpack anything. Just move her luggage up there, so it is out of your way.’

‘Hmmph,’ said Mrs Brownlow, before bustling out with Susan in tow.

Leaving Mary in sole charge of an enormous pot of tea, half a dozen cups and more cakes than she could eat in a fortnight.

Chapter Twelve

‘Julia, I think you have something to say to Lady Havelock, do you not?’

Julia hunched her shoulders and lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry I was rude to you when I got here,’ she muttered.

Good grief. Lady Peverell had said Julia was completely unmanageable, but at only a hint from her brother, she’d apologised for her behaviour. Grudgingly, it was true, but it was far more than she’d expected.

And she was very grateful. She hadn’t been looking forward to enduring many more dinners like the one they’d just sat through. It had been bad enough getting used to the formality of the immense dining room anyway, and letting footmen wait on her, but having to try to make conversation with a girl who clearly wanted nothing to do with her, whilst grappling with the reminder of her unimportance to her own husband, had been downright demoralising.

‘Think no more of it,’ she said. ‘It sounds as though you’ve had a perfectly horrid time with Lady Peverell. Frankly, I was appalled at the way she spoke about you as though you weren’t even in the room. If it had been me in your shoes...’

She frowned at the recollection that it had been all too easy to picture herself in Julia’s place. Though she’d never had the courage to make a fuss, the way Julia had done, or demand her own way. She’d just meekly allowed people to dispose of her as they liked. She’d let them parcel her off like...like a bundle of dirty washing for someone else to launder.

How she wished she had a tithe of Julia’s spirit.

‘Well, anyway, I just want you to be happy here. It is your home, after all.’

‘I don’t remember much about when I lived here before,’ Julia retorted. ‘I was still quite young when Mama married again and we had to move away.’

And yet she’d requested her old room back, reflected Mary.

‘We can soon rectify that,’ put in Lord Havelock. ‘There are some splendid rides to be had in the area. And now you’ve made the acquaintance of Panther I’m sure you’d like to put him through his paces. Tomorrow I’ll start taking you about and introducing you to people.’

Julia’s face lit up.

Mary’s hackles rose. He’d never offered to take her about and introduce her to anyone. He’d never bought her a horse, either. Not that she had any use for one. But that was beside the point. He simply hadn’t bothered.

* * *

Lord Havelock smiled back at his sister, then turned to Mary with a troubled frown. It was just as well he’d already reined himself in, in an attempt to spare Mary’s blushes after that time Brownlow had nearly caught them out. He certainly wouldn’t want Julia catching him chasing his wife through the house and tumbling her on sofas. It wasn’t the kind of behaviour he wanted his sister to think was acceptable. And, dammit, it wasn’t.

He rubbed his hand round the back of his neck, wondering just what had got into him lately. He’d never been one of those fellows who was led by the urgings of his cock. But ever since marrying Mary, he couldn’t stop wanting her. Couldn’t keep his hands off her.

True, she’d submitted to every demand he made on her and derived pleasure from every encounter, but didn’t he owe her more respect?

He’d been a thoroughly selfish sort of husband, so far. He’d promised her she would always have a room of her own, wherever they lived, that nobody else could enter except with her permission. It was pretty much all she’d asked of him. But had he ever honoured that promise? Had he ever knocked on her bedroom door and asked if he could join her? No.

Well, he could rectify that situation tonight. From now on, he’d be the model of decorum.

He still hadn’t provided her with the means to purchase her trousseau, either. Nor had she had the time, she’d been so busy putting Mayfield to rights.

Not that she’d complained. Not once. Not about anything. Most women would have nagged him half to death by now, but she just smiled sweetly and made the most of what little she did have.

‘You know, it’s past time you saw a dressmaker about getting some new clothes,’ he said, guilt making his voice a little gruff. ‘I know you’ve been busy, getting the place ready for Julia’s arrival, but surely now you can spare the time to spruce yourself up?’

* * *

Spruce herself up? Spruce herself up! Mary took a deep breath and bit back the indignant response she would have given had Julia not been there.

But then that was just it, wasn’t it? This was the second time he’d humiliated her by rebuking her in front of someone else. If he had complaints, couldn’t he at least show her the courtesy of waiting to make them until they were alone?

It was bad enough feeling that she half deserved it. She’d known from the look on Lady Peverell’s face that the way she dressed was letting him down. But did he really have to chide her like this, as though she was a...a...well, someone who wasn’t his equal? When she hadn’t complained about any of the things he’d done wrong. Not once.

To add insult to injury, neither he, nor his sister, noticed that she was sitting there, quietly simmering with resentment. They were chattering away happily about people she didn’t know and places she’d never been.

* * *

After what felt like an hour of being comprehensively ignored, Mary’d had enough.

‘I am going to bed,’ she said, getting to her feet. And then, because she didn’t want to be rude, added, ‘Goodnight, Julia,’ with a forced smile.

‘I’m not tired,’ Julia declared with a toss of her head.

‘It has been a long day,’ said Lord Havelock, getting to his feet, as well. ‘We’ll all go up.’

The three of them mounted the stairs in various states of dudgeon. Julia was pouting at being sent to bed before she was ready to go. Mary was still smarting from her husband’s cavalier attitude towards her tonight and tallying up all the other things he’d done to annoy her.

And Lord Havelock looked distinctly uncomfortable at being flanked by two women who were in the sulks.

‘What do you think of the room Mary chose for you?’ he asked with determined cheerfulness as they mounted the stairs.

Julia shrugged.

‘You can always move to another if it’s not to your liking. What about this one?’ He flung open the door to a room they’d slept in only once. Mary hadn’t liked it much. The wall hangings were of a cold greyish-blue, liberally spattered with muddy-hued hunting prints.

‘I’m in here, for the moment,’ said Lord Havelock, to Mary’s surprise, ‘but I can soon shift if you prefer it.’

Julia peeped inside, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. ‘I like the red room better,’ she said.

Heavens, Mary reflected sourly. She’d actually got something right today.

‘Good. Mary is in here,’ he said, striding to the door of the bedroom she had assumed they would be sharing.

‘It’s rather poky,’ said Julia, taking a quick glance round the room that Mary found so cosy that it had become her favourite. It was easy to keep warm, the chimney didn’t smoke and the walls were decorated in a very restful shade of green, with sunny little details in gold here and there.

And then, as one, the siblings bid her goodnight and turned away, arm in arm.