Page 58 of Wed By Proxy

She laughed. “Were you very badly behaved then?”

“I always had a bad temper,” he shrugged. “But it was more to do with my father. Servants were always falling out of favor.” He coughed. “If he thought anyone was too soft on me, too … sentimental, or I’d grown too attached, then he’d get rid of them.” At her startled look, he added. “He didn’t want me to grow up soft.”

She squeezed his hand again. “I don’t think you have a bad temper,” she said, lifting her chin.

He cleared his throat. “I do, though,” he admitted. “And I bear grudges.” Why was he admitting all his faults like this, he wondered uneasily? To the very person he ought to hide them all from! A little wildly, he cast about to distract her from his confession. “You were fond of your own nurse?”

“Oh yes, she was a dear creature. Although …” she broke off, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t think I should have been her charge for as long as I was.” He wondered why she looked so uncomfortable. “When I was a small child,” she burst out confidingly. “She used to tell me fairy tales with the same characters to teach me my lessons. The angelic Lady Tilda and the naughty Lord Matty.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Lady Tilda always abided by the rules and lived a life of virtue and fear.” She gave a sad smile. “Around every corner lurked a pitfall for her to plunge headlong into. Even seemingly innocent things were waiting to trick her from the righteous path. Ogres lurked behind every bend in the road.” She gulped. “For a long time, too long, I tried to be like Lady Tilda, but—” she broke off her words distractedly. “The one I really loved was Lord Matty. You see, Lord Matty always recklessly strayed from the path, he was just too full of joy and curiosity to live in fear. Of course, he reaped the rewards of the wicked. He was punished at the end of each tale, soundly whipped and sent to bed without any supper. But here was the point that struck me the most.” Mathilde paused. “His resilience. You see, he never learnt his lesson, Guy. Next story time, who should come along, whistling a merry tune. Lord Matty.” She gave a small shaky laugh. “The story didn’t really come alive until he appeared. I used to long for him with bated breath. He was a breath of fresh air. Lady Tilda was just… unspeakably dull.” She threw him a look of appeal. “Does that make sense? I once tried to explain to Nurse that he was my favorite, and she was quite horrified.” She sounded so woebegone that Guy, who had been letting the story wash over him as he led them through the crowd, paused.

“I’m not horrified,” he assured her, though it did cross his mind that he was not paying attention as he should. The bustling crowd was distracting him. He didn’t want anyone treading on her toes.

“I’m glad,” she said gratefully. “You see,” her voice lowered. “One terrible day, I gazed into a looking glass and realized that it was Lady Tilda who was staring back at me,” her voice was choked now. She blinked her eyes rapidly. “It was very …upsetting.”

Her distress got through to him, though the story’s significance escaped him. “You could never be dull,” he said firmly, and crowded her to one side to avoid a donkey.

“I’m happy you think so,” she said in a wobbly voice. “Though I fear many would disagree.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close to his side. “Mathilde, did you not notice how Waldon lapped up your story this morning? How Temur loved your tales the other week?” He paused, letting his words sink in. “No one finds you lacking here. Least of all me.”

She gazed up at him, the color blooming in her cheeks. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her arm slipping around his waist. They had come to a halt now as the crowd jostled and bustled around them. “Oh!” He turned his head to see what she was staring at. A broad, mean-faced man was loudly haranguing a stallholder, his expression twisted in spite. He raised a meaty fist to shake it in the woman’s face.

“Guy,” said Mathilde uncertainly. But he already knew what she was going to say. “That man — he’s the carter.”

XXII

Guy could feel the throb in his knuckles as he changed his tunic for dinner that evening. Two were bruised, and one even split. He winced faintly as he fastened his buttons. If anyone had told him he’d be brawling in the marketplace that morning, he would never have believed them. But he’d held onto his temper, just. Despite the fact he wanted nothing more than to beat that man to a bloody pulp, he’d allowed himself a few blows only, and dragged him to the jail where he’d been apprehended. At this very moment, the carter would be in the stocks and on the wrong end of a lot of moldy, rotten fruit and vegetables. Mathilde had followed along jauntily behind them and told her story of horse thievery and assault in a clear voice. The carter had protested hotly and loudly that he’d never met the maid before, but he’d been cuffed around the head for his impudence and thrown in a cell all the same. She had not seemed unduly traumatized by the experience although he’d had to assure her the villain would not hang and would be freed from the stocks after the third day of punishment to return home.

On their return to the lodge, Prudie and Robin had received the bag of much nicer almond cakes that had replaced the pastry horns and listened to the tale with relish.

“I know where I’m off tomorrow,” Robin had announced. “Can I borrow Sabrina?”

“I’m coming too,” Prudence had chimed in quickly. “There’s an overripe turnip that would be just perfect for throwing at the knave.”

Guy smiled to himself as he fastened the laces at his cuffs, though in truth, his relaxed frame was starting to tense up even before he’d left his room. Another whole evening of the Kerslakes stretched before him like a life sentence. And it wasn’t even the last of them! How long was he expected to put them up? He had thought that by avoiding their company by day, he would find their visit more bearable. But somehow, after Mathilde’s company, theirs seemed an even worse prospect than before. He didn’t want to part from her. He allowed himself fleetingly to imagine being sat opposite her at the supper table and felt his heart thud in his ribs.

Although the circumstances today had taken a violent turn, their day together in Wickhamford had made him realize that he would gladly spend his every minute with her. He remembered Julia’s absurd claim from before, as she had sat in his study. That she would be vastly contented if she could only sit thus every evening. He had thought it ridiculous at the time, but now… Would it annoy him if Mathilde sat at his window seat and proclaimed herself well content in his company? No, he realized, no it would not. He would even go so far as to say he would like it.

He no longer even seemed bothered by the fact she laid claim to another woman’s name so easily, he thought as he descended the stairs with faint surprise. It seemed he had absolved her of any blame for the deception. He had decided that either her upbringing was at fault, or she had been coerced into this role. Whatever the truth of it, he was sure now that she was not faking her pleasure in his company. Her spontaneous affection undid him. He hardly knew what to make of the warm expression in her eyes when they turned on him. He just knew he liked being the recipient of her smiles and certainly, her favor.

As for Julia, naturally he had been disappointed when she had broken their betrothal eight years ago to marry her much older husband. But even then, he had at some level acknowledged it was for the best. He had been actively involved in a war at that time. The idea of Julia remaining in the north, when it became apparent that Wymer’s forces were marching their way, had never made sense. When Miles, her older brother and Guy’s best friend had approached him hesitantly and told him of the southern lord who admired her and offered her a safe-haven at his side, Guy had conceded the field with good grace. He had no time for a wife, and no place at his side at that point. His father had been disgruntled it was true, but Guy had not suffered unduly at the end of it all between them.

It was only later, after the war was ended when Oswald Vawdrey forced an unwanted marriage on him, that Guy’s resentment had festered. It was his time in jail, the death of his father that had turned him bitter and angry, not the loss of his intended. On several occasions over the last few years, inwardly he had felt almost relieved that beautiful, tempestuous Julia was not his. He had, of course, quickly dismissed such thoughts and not examined them. But now, he considered it a moment. In the cold light of day, he was forced to admit that he and Julia were not well matched, and probably never had been.

What had brought this realization to the fore? Immediately, it sprang to mind. Mathilde. He wished he knew her real name. Soon, she would trust him enough to confess her charade and then he would start to plan their future together in earnest. Perhaps, he could even fall in line with whatever it was his devious bitch of a wife wanted? For the quiet dissolution of their union, there was not much he would deny her. Gold, jewels, he would hand it over with small protest, as long as … What? He could keep her little pawn. For that was what it boiled down to. Wealth, property, he could part with both so long as it did not touch his estate which had been in his family for generations.

What he could not part with, he realized with surprise, was this little female who had, with shocking rapidity, become so essential to his own happiness. He frowned. Could she really have secured her place in his affections so very quickly? There was no question in his own mind. She had. He could not do without her now. She was … in his heart. He touched his chest lightly. There was no shadow of a doubt. Even if he could not marry her, there was no question of the place she occupied, that was rightfully hers.

Marriage. That brought him up short. Had he just connected that institution with his mistress? The beat of his heart sped up. He had. He must be mad. To be considering, even fleetingly, the possibility of conferring his proud family name on a nobody, a female of frankly dubious origin, of linking his own fate inexorably with hers. Oh, but if she was yours in name and by law, a voice whispered in his head, the things you could do. The possibilities it opened up for them. He could place her at the head of his table. Call her his, in front of any man. He could beget his heirs on her. His mouth went dry at the thought. He stood very still a moment at the foot of the staircase. My gods. For that pleasure, there was not much he would not sacrifice.

He allowed himself to imagine her a moment, carrying his child. She had said she wanted that. True, she could have been playing on his feelings at the time. That line could have been a rehearsed one. But he would never forget the look in those hazel eyes when she had spoken of a baby. They had been alight with emotion, awash with longing. She had not lied when she spoke of wanting children, he would swear an oath on it.

How strange, he reflected, that reflecting on Julia should open his eyes to his true feelings regarding Mathilde. It was a strange world. For now, though, he needed to focus on the present. He had to wait until his true marchioness showed her hand. Who knew when that would be? Until then, he had to be patient and not expect his own Mathilde to be over eager to trust him. No matter how he longed for her to be honest with him, he had to expect some reluctance on her behalf. She would expect his anger, his outrage at her deception. How surprised she would be when he evinced very little of either! In truth, the fact he had come to terms with it so gradually was probably a good thing. There would be no explosion of wrath or indignation on his behalf that might drive a wedge between them or cause her to try and flee him. He went cold at the very thought.

She was his. If not by right, then by the sheer force of his desire for it to be so. He almost looked forward to the point where their current situation was torn asunder. While he cherished his every moment spent with her at the lodge, the realization that he wanted more, so much more from her, seemed to have awoken in him a desire to move forward with their situation, to progress. And what way was there for them to do this, other than by official sanction?

I want to marry her, he realized, feeling dazed by the idea. He wanted her for his rightful bride. Only then, he thought dry-mouthed, could he truly prize her as he longed to do, by giving her the full accord of his status. A mistress could only be lavished with wealth and affection, but a wife could be given so much more, a title and social status. A place that was truly at his side. And that was what he wanted. He wanted to give her his everything. His name, his title, his servants and his every worldly possession.

And the truth was, he had never felt that way about Julia. Not once. He could not even imagine her as a mother. Julia liked to be the center of attention at all times. He imagined her handing the child over to a nurse at the earliest opportunity. But Mathilde, his own Mathilde would be very different, he knew it deep down inside himself. She would love their children. She would love him. She would be the wife of his heart and the mother his children deserved.