The Six-Month Marriage Page 9

  ‘I will be going there shortly,’ Lord Fitzgrey said. He turned back to Madeline. ‘You have been to Brighton, of course, Countess?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ admitted Madeline.

  ‘Then you must let me tell you all about it,’ he said as dinner was announced.

  ‘Fitzgrey, you’ll take Madeline in?’ said Lady Weatherby.

  He turned appreciative eyes towards Madeline, ‘I’d be delighted.’

  Philip direct a sharp look in his direction, but then gave his arm to Miss Carson, whilst Mr Carson escorted Lady Weatherby, and the six of them moved through to the dining-room.

  ‘Brighton is a wonderland,’ said Lord Fitzgrey, as they settled themselves round the magnificent oak table. ‘It has been a favourite haunt of the Prince Regent’s for many years.’

  As he talked of the Regent’s birthday celebrations, which were held there every August; the Regent’s statue, which stood eighteen feet high; and the sea bathing, he appeared to be speaking to the entire table. But after the first few sentences of every new topic his eyes went exclusively to Madeline and stayed there. He helped her to wine, he handed her dishes and listened to her responses to his questions with concentration. Fortunately, Madeline did not have to start any subjects and so she found it easy to converse with him.

  Meanwhile, Miss Carson was boasting of her jewels.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Miss Carson, ‘the Duchess was good enough to say that she thought my poor little emeralds were even prettier than hers?’

  ‘How kind,’ murmured Philip.

  ‘Yes, was it not?’ she asked, delighted. ‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed, as a confection of pastry and cream was brought in and set in the centre of the table. ‘So elegant! So stylish! Why, it reminds me of the pastry tower we had at Lord Somerby’s - you remember, Hector?’ She turned to her brother appealingly.

  ‘Indeed. Lord Somerby has an excellent chef,’ he said. Then, realising that praise for Lord Somerby’s chef might not be welcome at Lady Weatherby’s table, he turned to that lady and said, ‘But not, dear Lady Weatherby, as good as your own.’

  ‘It’s such a shame the Earl did not object to Lord Fitzgrey paying such marked attention to Madeline during dinner,’ sighed Matty as she helped Lady Weatherby into bed later that night.

  ‘He didn’t object,’ said Lady Weatherby shrewdly. ‘He couldn’t. Madeline’s a new bride and so she was the legitimate centre of attention But he didn’t like it.’ She gave a bark of laughter. ‘He looked like he was chewing nails!’

  ‘And after all the effort Pierre had put into preparing the most delicious meal!’ remarked Matty. ‘Lord Fitzgrey seemed very smitten,’ she went on, as she tucked the covers round her mistress. ‘What a shame he doesn’t live in Yorkshire. Just think, if he did, then he could marry Madeline when her marriage to the Earl is annulled.’

  ‘Fool,’ snorted Lady Weatherby, without, however, explaining exactly what she meant. ‘Still, Fitzgrey’s served his purpose,’ continued Lady Weatherby thoughtfully. ‘And this evening’s given me an idea. Pass me my writing-case, Matty. I’ve a letter to send.’

  Chapter Six

  There was a flurry of activity the following morning as the coach prepared to set out on the next stage of its journey. Lady Weatherby and Matterson stood at the top of the imposing flight of steps whilst a bevy of servants loaded the luggage, saw to the horses and filled the coach with small touches to make the journey pleasanter: a hamper of home-cooked food, a light travelling rug, and sweet-smelling sachets of herbs to freshen the air. And then they were off.

  ‘You seemed very taken with Fitzgrey,’ said Philip, as he and Madeline travelled north.

  ‘He was an agreeable gentleman,’ said Madeline non-committally.

  In fact she had not taken to him, but it would have been the height of bad manners to say so.

  Hearing her answer, she saw a frown cross Philip’s face but after apparently wrestling with himself for a moment he said no more.

  Their journey continued as before. Days passed. As they went further north the landscape changed, becoming wilder and more open. Towns and villages were farther apart, and in between there were expanses of wild moorland instead of cultivated fields. There was a harshness about the moors that Madeline had not come across before, the grass that covered them being tougher than the lush grass that grew in the low-lying fields, but despite its harshness she found it attractive. Here and there outcrops of rock thrust their way out of the landscape and twisted oak trees drew the eye. Lower down, away from the most exposed heights, sheep grazed.

  And then at last they arrived in Yorkshire.

  Since the masked men had held them up on the first stage of their journey they had not experienced any more unsettling incidents, and once in Yorkshire Philip allowed their pace to slow. With the gentler pace, Madeline spent more of her time in the saddle. She wanted to see her new home from horseback, the better to get to know it.

  Philip often rode beside her, telling her about the various landmarks they passed, as well as the names of various towns and villages until at last he reined in his horse. Relations between them had been more cordial since their visit to Lady Weatherby, and their rapport had gradually returned; a rapport which would make it easier for them to convince Philip’s friends and neighbours in Yorkshire that they were truly man and wife, Madeline told herself.

  ‘This is the edge of the estate,’ said Philip, turning towards her one morning as they reached the top of a steep incline and looked out across the open landscape. ‘From here on, it is all Rochdale land.’

  Madeline took in the vast panorama that lay ahead of them. All this belonged to Philip, she realised. And, for a short while, it belonged to her as well.

  Philip turned to the coachman. ‘Go on. The Countess and I will ride across the moors for the rest of the way.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The man whipped up the horses and the coach rolled forward.

  ‘There is something I want to show you,’ Philip said. ‘We will reach it by way of this track.’

  Madeline looked in the direction of his gaze and saw a small track leading across the moor, cutting through the swathes of purple heather that waved in the breeze.

  Philip turned his horse’s head and set out at a slow pace, guiding his own animal across the scrub and heather and leaving the track to Madeline’s mare.

  ‘Well, Madeline?’ he asked as they picked their way across the moors. ‘What do you think of your new home?’

  ‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she said, taking in the wild grandeur of the moors. ‘It’s so open I can see for miles.’ As she said it she remembered how she had been hemmed in and trapped in London, and how it had oppressed her spirits. But here there was space in every direction.

  ‘That’s where we’re heading,’ he said, pointing ahead. ‘That outcrop of rock on the horizon. It gives Stonecrop Manor its name. From there you can see the whole estate.’

  The horses continued to pick their way across the fragrant moor until they reached the large outbreak of rock. It was set high up, and Madeline drank in the view.

  ‘I can see why you love it,’ she said.

  Philip threw one leg over the back of his horse and dismounted, tying the reins to one of the rocks on the craggy outcrop.

  ‘We’ll stop here for a while. We still have a long way to go and you will need to rest.’

  Madeline, tired from the day’s exercise, readily agreed.

  She reined in her horse.

  Philip held out his arms to help her dismount.

  Madeline hesitated. To be in his arms again - who knew what feelings it would produce? But it had to be done. She certainly could not dismount without his help.

  Summoning her courage she sprang lightly from her mare’s back and into his waiting arms, feeling his strong hands close round her waist. There was a momentary tingling sensation, and then to her relief he began to loose his grip. But as he did so a bird flew out of the heather and her mare
took fright, pitching her forcefully forwards. Philip’s arms tightened instinctively round her and she felt her body being crushed against his. She was suddenly so close to him that she could see every detail of his face: every line, every curve, every bristle that covered his chin. He was, with his scar, like a force of nature, rugged, indomitable and powerful, his masculine scent harsh and exciting, at one with the unyielding landscape of rock and stone. If he kissed her now . . . her knees sagged with the thought and he caught her; held her up; and then his lips closed over her own.

  It was intoxicating. She was consumed by a rush of tingles that spread to every part of her. She knew she should pull away, but she was too weak and too overcome by the feeling that she never wanted the kiss to end. Once it ended she would have to think. She would have to wonder why it was she could bear him to touch her, let alone want him to caress her. She had never wanted any man near her before. Men disgusted her and made her afraid. But Philip . . . Her thoughts dissolved under the onslaught of the heady sensations that were coursing through her and she gave herself up to his kiss.

  Finally he let her go. His eyes were filled with a gleam she had never seen before and it was matched by an answering fire in her own. But her mind was back in control now.

  And so was his.

  ‘You have my apologies, Madeline,’ he said stiffly. ‘That was unforgivable.’

  It wasn’t, she wanted to say, as she tried to swallow down the emotions that were still lighting her blood.

  ‘You may rest assured it will never happen again,’ he said.

  Of course not, she thought as he walked away from her. He is not in love with me; he is in love with Letitia.

  The thought gave her pain. She was under no illusions about the nature of her marriage to Philip. In fact, she would not have agreed to it had things been otherwise. It was only because it was a temporary marriage that she had felt able to be a party to it, because in that way she could be certain that her mother’s unhappy fate would not become her own.

  Even so, she could not deny the feelings that he roused in her, feelings that were as wild and untamed as the moors themselves, feelings that had been created by the same ungovernable force: Nature.

  And yet it was not just Nature. At least not for her. It was definitely something more.

  That thought was too unsettling to pursue, so she walked in the opposite direction and sat down on an outcrop of rock. Her breathing began to return to normal, and as she grew calmer she was able to turn her thoughts away from Philip and take an interest in the landscape instead.

  Below her the estate was spread out like a living map. In the distance, so far away and so far below her that it looked like a toy, was the Manor. Around it was a swathe of green. And far off, flashing as it caught the sunlight, was a river, snaking its way through the fields.

  ‘We should be on our way,’ she called at last.

  Philip, who had climbed the rocks that gave the estate its name, cast his hawk-like gaze over his domain one more time, and then he gave up his place on the rocks and joined her.

  Unwilling to let him touch her again, afraid of her response, Madeline had already mounted. It had not been easy, but she had managed to use one of the rocks as a mounting block.

  Together they set off towards the Manor.

  The landscape became gentler as they followed a path leading downwards, away from the exposed heights of the moors. The number of sheep grazing increased, and the sight of them cropping the grass created an atmosphere of pastoral tranquillity.

  It was strange to think that somewhere Philip’s friend was in danger, perhaps being pursued even now by the men who had held up the coach.

  At last Madeline and Philip came to the Manor. It was a splendid sight. Built entirely of pale golden stone, it was large and imposing. Windows were set at regular intervals along the walls, going down almost to the ground. They would give beautiful views over the gardens and fields beyond.

  They rode up to the front door. Crump, in his element, was on hand to greet them.

  As Madeline passed in through the high door she was surprised and somewhat alarmed to see that he had assembled all the servants to greet their master and their new mistress. For the first time, Madeline began to fully realise what being Philip’s countess – even his temporary countess - would mean. She lifted her chin. Although deception did not come naturally to her, circumstances had forced her to take on the rôle of Philip’s wife and she meant to play her part.

  ‘This is well thought of, Crump,’ said Philip

  ‘It is only proper, my lord. The staff wished to pay their respects to Lady Pemberton.’

  Philip nodded his approval. ‘Well done.’

  After a short speech of welcome, delivered by Crump in his most respectful manner, Philip said a brief word to each member of staff, before leading Madeline into the drawing-room.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many servants,’ she remarked.

  ‘It takes a lot of people to run a house of this size. But you need not worry about it. The servants will see to everything. You need do nothing more than amuse yourself.’

  His manner was polite, but at the same time distant. The closeness of the previous week had vanished. It was as though, having realised he had overstepped the boundaries of their agreement by kissing her, he meant to make sure that nothing like that could ever happen again. And for that Madeline was grateful - or so she told herself. It had begun to mean too much to her, her rapport with Philip, and she must learn to let it go.

  She looked round the room, glad of the excuse it gave her not to speak. She took in the elegant proportions and the tasteful furnishings. Venetian gilded mirrors hung on the walls and gilded chairs were scattered around the room. An elegant sofa upholstered in sage green damask complemented the pale green walls, and the white Adam fireplace gave the room a light and airy feel.

  ‘And now I must leave you,’ Philip said. ‘I have been away from the estate too long as it is. If you need anything, Mrs Potts will be happy to help.’

  ‘Mrs Potts?’

  ‘The housekeeper.’

  ‘But I thought Mrs Green . . . ’

  ‘Mrs Green is responsible for the London house. It is Mrs Potts who looks after the Manor.’

  ‘Of course.’ Madeline realised once again how different the lifestyle of an earl must be from anything she had experienced. But she must learn, and learn quickly. Because now they had arrived in Yorkshire she would come under scrutiny from Philip’s friends and neighbours, and she must be able to play her part convincingly.

  If she did not, the true nature of her marriage to Philip would surely be discovered, and their six-month marriage would be over almost before it had begun.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Well, my lady, things are looking up and no mistake,’ said Jenny as she dressed Madeline’s hair a few days later.

  Madeline’s bedroom was at the front of the house, overlooking the formal gardens, which Philip’s father had designed himself.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Madeline. Although the first few weeks of the marriage had passed well enough there were many months to go, and Madeline had not relaxed, as Jenny had. There had been the strange business of the break-in at the Earl’s London home, and then the incident with the masked men on the road, to say nothing of the confusing feelings Madeline had for Philip.

  ‘The servants are a friendly lot. I thought they might be stuck up at first, but they’ve made me welcome,’ said Jenny cheerfully. But then she gave a slight frown.

  ‘What is it?’ Madeline asked, happy to be drawn out of her own thoughts.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Jenny with a shrug. ‘It’s just that one of the footmen, Danson, seems a bit . . . over friendly.’

  ‘If you are having any trouble with him, I will speak to him.’

  ‘Oh, no, my lady, it’s nothing like that,’ said Jenny as she laced Madeline’s corsets. ‘He isn’t too familiar, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s more that he’s
too interested, if you know what I mean. He asks too many questions. Where I’m from, how long I’ve been with you, if you’re happy at the Manor, that kind of thing. It’s just a servant’s nosiness, I dare say,’ she continued. ‘It’s a bit out of the way here, my lady, not like London, where there’s always plenty going on. He’s just bored, most probably, and needs something to gossip about.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure he isn’t bothering you,’ said Madeline, looking at Jenny searchingly; for whilst Jenny was very protective of her mistress, Madeline was also protective of Jenny.

  ‘Don’t you worry your head about it,’ said Jenny.

  Madeline was satisfied, and turned her attention back to the gown that was laid out on her bed.

  ‘Here, my lady, let me help you on with that,’ said Jenny.

  The gown was one of the first of Madeline’s new dresses. It had been waiting for her on her arrival at the Manor. It had been brought over by Miss Silverstone, Madame Rouen’s cousin, as soon as it was ready, and the other outfits were to follow when they were finished.

  The dress was extremely beautiful. Madeline had resisted the idea of always dressing in silks and satins, as Madame Rouen would have liked her to have done, and had opted for a number of simple yet elegant day dresses, reserving the more luxurious fabrics for the outfits she would wear when she was out and about. The dress she now wore was of white muslin with a small jonquil spot. It was edged at the hem with a double-plaited ribbon in a matching shade, and a single-plaited ribbon marked out the high waist line and trimmed the puffed sleeves.

  She looked in the cheval glass to check that she was tidy before she went downstairs. She pushed one stray ringlet back from her face and smoothed her hand over the crown of her head, where her flaxen hair had been pulled back into a glossy chignon. She adjusted the handkerchief set into the scoop neckline of her gown and fastened a single strand of pearls round her neck. Then, after giving Jenny a few directions, she went downstairs.

  On arriving at the Manor she had at first felt overawed by the way Mrs Potts had looked to her for decisions about the running of the household, but to her relief she had found a collection of old household diaries in the pretty study that had been used by Philip’s mother. She had quickly realised they contained all the information she needed. Having read them through, she knew what had to be done in each week, and sometimes on each day, of the year, and could instruct Mrs Potts accordingly.