to say in a low voice, “I must say, I think I shall like this Mary of yours, even though we have but met.”
“And I will tell you what you have met is what she is, sir, a paragon.”
“A virtuous one?” Edmund asked.
John turned to throw him a dark look, but then he saw at once that Edmund had not meant to be unkind; he was merely prying. That kind of behavior was surely reprehensible, but one grew used to its like here. John put on a pained face, sighed heavily, and replied, “I fear so.”
Edmund smiled mildly, and made no attempt to hide the fact this conversation would be related to his wife. “I do not know if Hortense will be happy to know that or not.”
“She will say she is, as only vows before a preacher would satisfy that one, but inside she will be regretting that Mary does not have that avenue by which to ensnare me. A marriage by compromise is still a marriage, that would be Hortense’s thought.”
“Why don’t you settle down? It’s not so bad.”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Mary asked, looking up from her seat. Her eyes were as lively as her ears were sharp. The three other husbands followed her example, all eyes fixing upon John.
“It is impolite to eavesdrop,” John responded lightly.
“It is impolite to share whispers while in a group,” Mary countered.
He allowed his eyes to fall meaningfully toward the floor, and in the silence that filled the room they all clearly heard the babble from below stairs. “It is,” he said, his tone having grown weighty, “my sincere belief I should beget nothing but more females. Acres and acres of females. You must all see, then, why I forebear that estate which produces offspring.”
It was Mary who began to laugh first, but she was quickly joined by all the rest.
They poured her a glass of ratafia, queried her as to her journey, and proceeded on to telling tales of the horrors of living or visiting among the “Rothayne Bevy.”
“Harry, Stephen, and Eric--they’re the clever ones. They all found excuses not to come. And of course, there’s Humphrey, who’s away at sea more times than not,” Timothy explained about the other missing brothers-in-law.
“Sofie said she wouldn’t come without me, the roads being unsafe with brigands and all,” Aaron put in, looking glum.
“But escape is possible. We ride a bit, don’t we?” John said. At their nods he went on, “At least every morning at eight. Would you care to join us, Mary?”
“Oh yes, I should like that,” she said, her face shining under all the attention being lavished on her, and at their eager looks of invitation.
“Then let’s away to the stable, to find you the proper nag,” Edmund said, setting down his snifter.
A movement at the door halted them in their steps, for it was Lady Rothayne who stood there. “John,” Cornelia said with faint disapproval, “I thought you were seeing Mary to her room, and yet I am told this has not occurred.”
John gave Mary a half-shrug at having to delay choosing a mount, and declared, “We were going there just now, Mama.” He turned to offer Mary his arm. She stepped next to him, slipping her hand onto his sleeve.
“Lead the way,” she said up at him.
As they followed his mother down the long corridor, he said sotto voce, “Don’t let them monopolize you. Save me some time. Say you will, I beg of you.”
“It’s why I came, John,” she assured him, unable to suppress the soft smile that came to play around her lips. It was a great, good feeling to be wanted.
When he left her at the door of her room, wherein she was accompanied by his mother, she could not help but notice how cool the room seemed. It was not that it was one jot cooler than the corridor, she knew with a sigh, it was that John was gone from her side. Oh, I must be careful here, she thought to herself. He is the beautiful window but not the life-giving sun, she reminded herself.
“My dear, is the room not satisfactory?” Cornelia asked,
“And I will tell you what you have met is what she is, sir, a paragon.”
“A virtuous one?” Edmund asked.
John turned to throw him a dark look, but then he saw at once that Edmund had not meant to be unkind; he was merely prying. That kind of behavior was surely reprehensible, but one grew used to its like here. John put on a pained face, sighed heavily, and replied, “I fear so.”
Edmund smiled mildly, and made no attempt to hide the fact this conversation would be related to his wife. “I do not know if Hortense will be happy to know that or not.”
“She will say she is, as only vows before a preacher would satisfy that one, but inside she will be regretting that Mary does not have that avenue by which to ensnare me. A marriage by compromise is still a marriage, that would be Hortense’s thought.”
“Why don’t you settle down? It’s not so bad.”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Mary asked, looking up from her seat. Her eyes were as lively as her ears were sharp. The three other husbands followed her example, all eyes fixing upon John.
“It is impolite to eavesdrop,” John responded lightly.
“It is impolite to share whispers while in a group,” Mary countered.
He allowed his eyes to fall meaningfully toward the floor, and in the silence that filled the room they all clearly heard the babble from below stairs. “It is,” he said, his tone having grown weighty, “my sincere belief I should beget nothing but more females. Acres and acres of females. You must all see, then, why I forebear that estate which produces offspring.”
It was Mary who began to laugh first, but she was quickly joined by all the rest.
They poured her a glass of ratafia, queried her as to her journey, and proceeded on to telling tales of the horrors of living or visiting among the “Rothayne Bevy.”
“Harry, Stephen, and Eric--they’re the clever ones. They all found excuses not to come. And of course, there’s Humphrey, who’s away at sea more times than not,” Timothy explained about the other missing brothers-in-law.
“Sofie said she wouldn’t come without me, the roads being unsafe with brigands and all,” Aaron put in, looking glum.
“But escape is possible. We ride a bit, don’t we?” John said. At their nods he went on, “At least every morning at eight. Would you care to join us, Mary?”
“Oh yes, I should like that,” she said, her face shining under all the attention being lavished on her, and at their eager looks of invitation.
“Then let’s away to the stable, to find you the proper nag,” Edmund said, setting down his snifter.
A movement at the door halted them in their steps, for it was Lady Rothayne who stood there. “John,” Cornelia said with faint disapproval, “I thought you were seeing Mary to her room, and yet I am told this has not occurred.”
John gave Mary a half-shrug at having to delay choosing a mount, and declared, “We were going there just now, Mama.” He turned to offer Mary his arm. She stepped next to him, slipping her hand onto his sleeve.
“Lead the way,” she said up at him.
As they followed his mother down the long corridor, he said sotto voce, “Don’t let them monopolize you. Save me some time. Say you will, I beg of you.”
“It’s why I came, John,” she assured him, unable to suppress the soft smile that came to play around her lips. It was a great, good feeling to be wanted.
When he left her at the door of her room, wherein she was accompanied by his mother, she could not help but notice how cool the room seemed. It was not that it was one jot cooler than the corridor, she knew with a sigh, it was that John was gone from her side. Oh, I must be careful here, she thought to herself. He is the beautiful window but not the life-giving sun, she reminded herself.
“My dear, is the room not satisfactory?” Cornelia asked,
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