An Unsuitable Occupation for a Lady by Jackie Walton
Leaving his curricle and a horse at the inn’s stable, he urged the other horse in the direction he received from the innkeeper. As he looked around, the condition of the land and its people impressed him--well-tended orchards, sleek cattle and happy children. Chiara proved herself an excellent steward of the land.
He’d chosen well. Now, he had to convince her that she had. He didn’t fool himself that it would be an easy job.
In the clearing ahead of him, workers swarmed around the brick shell of a building. Three people stood to the side, including a woman heavily cloaked and hooded against the early morning chill. Even with their backs to him, he could tell it was her.
When he was a few yards from them, one of the men turned. It was Sam Goode, the injured marine from the Swiftsure. He said something quietly to Chiara.
She turned. For the briefest moment, her face filled with joy. If he hadn’t been watching her, he would have missed it because, in the next second, her face went cordially bland.
“My lord,” her voice wavered slightly, “I am delighted to see you well.” Her voice grew stronger. “No one knew of your fate.”
He dismounted, looped the reins over a bush, and walked closer, not taking his eyes from her. He absorbed her presence like a dry sponge does water. To her credit, he thought, she stood her ground. “After a bothersome journey, I made my way back to England.”
“I’m sure the telling will stand you in good stead at dinner parties.”
“Ah, but there are so few people I can tell it to.” Sweet Jesus, he loved sparing with her. All other women were like unsalted potatoes.
“Lady Key,” Goode interrupted them. “Do these changes meet with your approval?” He looked at Rafe. “My lord.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Goode. What are you doing here?”
“Invalided out, sir.” He turned slightly to reveal his left arm in a sling. “My lady was kind enough to take me into her service when we landed.”
“And a most profitable notion it was for me.” She turned to Goode. “You can go on with that.”
Goode nodded and went off to supervise the construction with the other man. Although he was out of easy earshot, Rafe saw that he kept Chiara in his sights. Rafe noticed that he said something to a young boy who went sprinting off. Something about Goode screamed “guard dog” to Rafe. While that was all well and good, he hoped that they wouldn’t come to blows over it. Rafe guessed that every one of the men working on the project, men who surreptitiously watched the proceedings, would be there to help. The help wouldn’t be on his side.
“Your people take good care of you.”
“Yes they do. What do you want?”
“What do you think I want? I want my wife.”
“You don’t have a wife.”
“Even the Church of England recognizes a marriage performed by the Pope.”
“Were you married?” She looked over at some men on the other side of the construction. Her hood slipped back, and he could see that her hair was cropped short with the ends still the walnut brown of her Italian disguise.
“Don’t be coy.”
“My name is Chiara, not Coy. And I have nothing to say to you on the subject of marriage.”
“So you’re going to make it difficult.”
“No, I’m going to make it impossible.”
“Why?”
She looked out over the building site. “I think I told you once that I would only marry if I found a man who could love me for all that I am. Under the circumstances, I’ve come to the conclusion that he doesn’t exist. Therefore, no marriage.”
“What about me?”
“You?” She tilted her head to look at him. “Find a sweet, biddable thing straight out of the schoolroom and marry her.”
“What about you? I’m not looking to be a bigamist.”
“What about me?”
“You’re already my wife.”
She turned to face him squarely. “I’m not your wife. As far as I know, you have no wife, and I have no husband.” She held up her hand when he started to speak. “You made yourself perfectly clear in Savona. I have accepted that. I suggest you do likewise. It would be to your benefit.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Now who’s being coy? You repudiated me, remember? Now, I’m giving you the chance, no the necessity, of starting over fresh with someone else, someone who can meet your standards as I obviously can’t.“
“I don’t want anyone else.”
“That’s unfortunate for you.”
“You’re my wife.”
“So you say. However, I say otherwise. And, most importantly, you have no proof.”
“That’s the crux of it, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
She spread her hands. “The game is over. You lost. Accept defeat gracefully.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. “Absolutely not.”
Retrieving his horse, he mounted and rode back to the inn.
He really would have to challenge her to a game of chess some time. They were well-matched. She’d formulated her defenses like a master. His needed to be better. This was one game he did not intend to lose, gracefully or otherwise.
He summoned the innkeeper. “Two questions, my good man. First, besides Lady Chiara, are they any other aristocratic landowners in the district?”
The landlord scratched his balding head. “Well, the nearest gentry be Squire Abernathy ‘nd his lady. Then there be Mr. Pomfrey. He be looking to marry Lady Key. Then,” he thought for a moment, “oh, Lord ‘n Lady Meriwether. They jus’ got in from the city. They be the nearest.”
“Very good. Now, how might I find out if there are any properties for sale in the area?”
Armed with directions and names, Rafe set out to make his presence in this part of Kent more permanent and more pronounced. Pomfrey was going to find out that Chiara wasn’t available, but that small detail could wait. First stop was the Meriwethers’. Luckily, he’d known them for years. Not very well, he admitted, but that could change.
“We didn’t know if you survived.” Chiara looked straight ahead as she and Rafael strolled the somewhat barren grounds of the Meriwether garden. Thank heavens she’d remembered her muff, or rather Betsy had. When she accepted the invitation to tea, she didn’t know Rafael was in residence, in anticipation, he said, of his hosts’ winter house party. “We saw Luciano’s son riding in with the horses, but that was all.”
“Young Nico did me a large favor ramming the soldiers. After we dispatched them, I took off on one of the horses, and he went home.”
“I hope Luciano’s family is all right.”
“I’m sure they are. We didn’t leave any loose ends.”
She swallowed, knowing what that meant. “How did you get back?”
“Well being a French government official served me well once, so I figured it would do so again. It did. M. Honoré St. Lazar, a votre servis, assistant to M. Henri Montfort of the Emperor’s paymaster’s office. It’s a wonder what people will do for you when they think their money might be delayed.”
She smiled and saw his eyes lighten. “M. St. Lazar held me in good stead behind the French lines. Getting through Spain was a bit more difficult, since the Spanish peasantry have a distinct antipathy towards the French. I just slept where I could and lived off the land. Once I got to Oporto, I had to wait two weeks for a ship, but I finally got out.”
He turned to her, his face serious. “While I was in France, I heard that Napoleon ordered Pope Pius transferred to Fontainebleau.”
“That poor, sweet, old man!”
“Hah, ‘that poor, sweet, old man’ is a major pain in the royal French arse. Nevertheless, I sincerely regret that we couldn’t rescue him. I know that must be grieving you.”
“Yes, I think about him every day. I don’t know if he will survive the incarceration.”
“He will.” Rafe laid his hand on her arm in comfort. “He’s stronger than he looks.”
“I hope you’re right.”
They walked silently for a few paces.
“What about you? I thought Harley…I wondered…”
“Why the Swiftsure didn’t wait for you?”
“Uh huh.”
“They were under attack as soon as we got on board. I screamed at Mr. Topp and Captain Harley to go back, but there was nothing they could do for the moment. The attack wasn’t very serious, and they beat them off quickly. When they went back for you, you were gone.”
“Indeed, I figured the best place for me was somewhere else, right at that minute. I guess I was wrong.” They climbed the steps to the house.
“Yes, well…”
“Lady Key and my lord. I wondered where you’d gone to. The sky is lowering, and I wouldn’t want this sweet, young thing to get drenched, especially since she took an open gig.” Chiara liked Lady Meriwether for her sweet simpleness. She was a short, stout woman with a moon-shaped face, totally lacking in guile. However, Chiara thought, something was brewing in that good lady’s head. “My lord, would you be so kind as to take Lady Key home in our carriage? We have to take good care of her.”
There was no help for it, Chiara decided morosely, as Rafael handed her up into the carriage.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, my dear for the musicale that launches my house party. I know how much you enjoy good music. I’m sure the music will be worthy of the guest list.”
“I’ll be there.”
The patter of the rain began almost as soon as they left.
“I see a number of fruit trees on your land. What are they?”
“We grow pears and apples, mainly, although we are putting in more raspberries and currants this year. We’ll be using the new factory to preserve them in jars.”
“Jars?”
“Yes, they look a bit like champagne bottles with wider necks. Napoleon wanted a way to preserve food for his troops. Nicolas Appert, a Frenchman, recently developed the technique. You put the fruit in the jar, seal it, and boil them to keep them from spoiling. They called it Appertization. The British Navy is very interested in using them on ships to carry fruits and vegetables.”
“One of the few decent things to come from France lately. But why the big brick building?”
“Fire danger from the boiling vats. Plus, we can have the fruit preparation right on the premises. With the river nearby, we will put them on barges straight up to the Thames estuary.”
He nodded approvingly. “Sounds like a profitable venture.”
“I think it will be.”
“Quite a change from running around the world with a knife up your sleeve and a garrote in your pocket.”
“Yes, indeed, and a welcome one.” Her manor house came into view. A half-timbered yeoman’s house, it boasted the peaked roofs and white-washed walls typical of the style. Even in winter, the front gardens invited perusal.
As the carriage came to a stop, Rafael climbed out to assist her. Reaching up, he grabbed her waist and lowered her to the ground. Still holding her, he stood there, taking the opportunity to caress her. A look of shock crossed his face. He froze.
“Bloody hell, you’re breeding!”
Chapter 18
“Yes, I am aware of that, and so is my staff, but you don’t need to shout it to the world.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
The butler, who had opened the door at the carriage’s approach, shouted into the hall, “Lacey, Dunham, get down here!”
Chiara knocked Rafe’s hands away. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.”
“Right.” He grabbed her under the arm and marched her up the steps. Two young footmen raced to the door and pulled up in back of the butler. Rafael looked at the three of them. “I’m going to speak to my wife,” he snarled. “Let me know right now if you wish to try to stop me. Otherwise, back off.”
“I’ll be all right, Taylor,” she soothed. “Lord FitzHenry isn’t going to hurt me, although his bellowing may break some of the windows.” She jerked her arm away and walked into the house.
The Great Hall, a wide, central chamber, formed the core of the house. It opened to the rafters with two side staircases leading to upper halls. Chiara stalked to one of the lower side rooms, a parlor.
“Now’s the time, and this is the place,” Rafe growled. “Talk.”
Chiara divested herself of her cloak and muff. He peered at her midsection, looking for the obvious signs of her pregnancy. She smoothed her skirts and sat down. This room always calmed her, paneled in blue silk patterned with off-white, with dark brown accents. The large, leaded windows kept everything cheery, except on the darkest of days. She hoped that the surroundings might at least mitigate the coming storm. Somehow, she doubted it.
“What would you like me to talk about?” She needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts.
“You are pregnant, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell did you come to be pregnant?”
“The usual way.”
He glared at her. “Very funny. Whose child is it?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a level look. “At this point, I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”
“Under the circumstances, I think it’s a valid question.”
“The circumstances being that I wasn’t a virgin on our…on the night we had sex.”
He inclined his head toward her.
“Did you come to…that night a virgin?”
“That’s not the point. In any case, a man has a right to know if his wife’s children are his.”
“Coming from you, that’s rich.”
“Indeed. My father couldn’t disown his wife’s child without proclaiming himself a cuckold. He thought the title and the fortune were safe. God knows he tried every thing he could to prevent as much as a tup’pence from coming to me.”
“Well, since you have doubts, let’s just forget about the whole thing now. I’ll burn the marriage document, and you are quit of us, permanently.”
His eyebrow flew up. “You’d put yourself through the consequences of that just to spite me?”
“No. I simply have no wish to put myself or my child through a lifetime of doubt on your part.”
“And if I said I trusted you?”
“At this point, I’d say you were lying, or at least not really prepared to accept the consequences of that statement. You propose to give up concepts forged in your childhood that have guided your relations with women ever since. I find that hard to believe.
“You want virginity at marriage as guarantee of fidelity after marriage. Obviously, then the lack of virginity guarantees infidelity after marriage. I think it’s safe to say that most men today are not virgins, present company included, on their wedding day. Ergo, you will betray your vows. Or is fidelity only for women?”
She studied his face, trying to read his response there. Gently, she pleated the gold, high-waisted skirts of her morning dress, the dark blue of her spencer’s sleeve contrasting sharply. She’d spent four months thinking about this; four months of not knowing if she was a widow, wife, or whore; four months of trying to decide just what she wanted. What she wanted from him was everything or nothing. So much rode on these few words: her future happiness, his, and their child’s. It would be so easy to just tell him what he wanted to hear, to tell him whatever he wanted and to grovel for forgiveness, understanding, or just tolerance. That wouldn’t make a viable marriage. A marriage not based on love and trust and respect wasn’t worth it. She’d rather face the future alone than live with daily distrust and suspicion. After all, that was her original plan. Now, though, there’d be at least one option.
His eyes narrowed, he growled, “I can’t speak for the rest of mankind, but I have always had every intention of being faithful to my wife.”
“And if you, not being a virgin at your wedding, could be faithful to your vows, why would a
He shrugged as though unable to disagree and unwilling to agree. “But you,” he said softly, “were a virgin.” Her mouth dropped open. “I just didn’t realize it.”
“You, you said all sorts of vile things to me, and now you’re saying I was a virgin?”
“Yes, a virgin. Rape doesn’t change that. Knowing you, I should have realized that you didn’t give yourself lightly.”
A dam broke inside her. “Radet took something from me that was only mine to give. He stole from me. In doing so, he made me feel dirty: a toy to be used and tossed aside. He made me look on my body as something that was valueless, something to discard. He made me undervalue myself and the love I had to give with it.”
“Chiara…”
She waved him aside. “Then you came along, and I realized that I could give that love with my body as well as my head. But you did the same thing to me that he did. Except you were even crueler. He did exactly what you would expect an amoral bastard to do. I though you were different. I thought you were someone I could love and who could love me.”
“I know that know.”
“I was wrong. You’re no different than he was. I slept with you because I wanted to give my body and my soul to you for the rest of my life. My mistake was in over-estimating the kind of man you are. No reasonable person gives precious things to someone who throws them away. I won’t make that same mistake twice.”
“All I want to do is spend the rest of my life loving and cherishing you, just like I promised when we were married.”
“You ‘love’ me now, now that you’ve satisfied yourself that, if I’m not perfect, at least I’m not culpable. Yours is a lukewarm, half-baked, fickle emotion. I will keep and raise and love my baby. It was conceived with love, mine. You will have no part in it. I pity you for that loss, but you rejected us once; you won’t have the opportunity to do it again. If you try to force the issue, I will destroy the document.”