Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife

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Now they were once again in company, his lordship resumed his role of tulip, flicking at his cuffs, picking up his quizzing glass and surveying the people passing by the booth and making humorous comments on their appearance. Max laughed hilariously at his jokes, Ash looked at him in disapproval and Rosamund was simply too bemused to react at all. Their recent conversation was going over and over in her mind…Had he really proposed marriage to her? Had he really promised her ample pin money, clothes, jewels, a carriage, the freedom to order the household, all in exchange for giving him an heir?

A baby. A little human being, not a pugdog, not a doll, but a real live human being who needed both parents, not only for a few days and weeks, but for a lifetime of growing up. Supposing the marriage was so awful it had to be ended? What would become of any child then, especially if she had become excessively fond of it? Why had she not brought that up as a point for consideration? No, she decided, he had been jesting.

She realised he had not been jesting the following afternoon when he called on her at Holles Street. She was in her black gown again and had done nothing to her hair except brush it back and tie it with a ribbon while she sat at the escritoire, writing notes. Janet, agog at the sight of him, forgot to ask if she were at home and showed him straight in. Flustered, she rose to receive him. ‘My lord, I did not expect you.’

He swept her a bow. ‘Did you not, madam? I fancied we had unfinished business.’ He looked about at the bare room. There was a sofa, besides the chair she was using at the desk, but that was all. And Janet had disappeared.

‘Oh. Are we still acting our parts?’ she queried, making light of her confusion. ‘I had fancied the curtain had come down on that particular play.’