Dilemma in Yellow Silk (20 page)

“Not a servant!”

“Before this affair erupted out of control, I had plans for Viola. She was in training to become a housekeeper, if she did but know it. I would have given her control over the household after Mrs. Lancaster retired. It is no mean thing, housekeeper at Haxby Hall.”

“Instead of which she will be the mistress of it,” Marcus said firmly. “And of the other places we own.” He would remain with her, give her strength and support.

“Do you not think London will go to her head?”

His Viola? “No. Why, is that the reason for the contract?”

“One of them.”

Anger simmered low in his gut, but if he got up and stormed out, his father would account his leaving a victory. He had done that before and lost the argument. Even if he married tomorrow, his father would always be ready to say, “I told you so,” the minute they fell out.

Marcus was not a fool. He knew he and Viola would not always agree, but the prospect of the hammer falling every time added to the pressure on his shoulders. He would not stand for that. So he had to remain and argue the matter out. He wanted Viola, and deep in his heart he knew she would make a good marchioness. But also, he did not care. He wanted her.

His father loved him, so he would appeal to that part of him. “Most people would consider my position a privileged one,” he said, and as he spoke he recognized his speech was long overdue. “But as the years have passed, you have put more and more responsibilities on my shoulders. I know what the conditions are like down a mine because you compelled me to visit one. I know how to scythe a field of barley and gather corn into stooks. I can keep a complex series of account books and manage a portfolio of investments. I know which cargo to invest in and where our ships are at any time. Do I not deserve something for that? I am claiming Viola. She is my reward. You know from your experience running an estate such as ours is not always easy. I want a helpmeet by my side, someone I can talk to and share with. Not a pretty miss with not a brain in her head. I want Viola.”

“I see.” The buttons on Lord Strenshall’s waistcoat glittered as he heaved a deep breath. “There is no moving you?”

“None.”

“So you have won your prize.” Lord Strenshall nodded and drew the contract towards him. “So be it. Then the consequences are yours. Make her happy, Marcus.” He wafted his hand twice, as though shooing a fly.

Marcus laughed. He had won. His father’s petulant response told him as much as his words.

* * * *

Before dinner, Viola received a message from Lady Strenshall, civilly asking her if she would stop by her room before she went down to the drawing room. Arrayed in her new splendor, a light blue with white petticoat embroidered with forget-me-nots, she tapped on the door of the marchioness’s private boudoir. Her maid answered it, and opened the door wider to let her in.

Lady Strenshall was dressed for dinner already. Even her jewelry was in place. “You may go, Horrocks.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and left.

“Now, my dear, come and sit.”

Viola did as she was bid, sitting on a chair by the marchioness, who would tomorrow become her mother-in-law.

“We are on our own. You may speak freely,” the lady said. “I will not repeat anything, neither will I take offense at anything you say. Unless of course, you intend to make offense.” She smiled, such a sweet expression.

Viola smiled back, unsure what the lady meant.

The marchioness folded her hands in her lap. “My husband told me that you have signed the marriage contract. I have no idea why he made you sign one, except for one reason.” She met Viola’s eyes. “He wanted you to think, really think, about the step you are about to take. He will tell you that we can protect you in other ways.”

“He did.” She trusted Lady Strenshall. Perhaps she was too naïve, but she would not close herself off to people she instinctively liked.

“And what do you think?”

“If Marcus wishes me to withdraw, I will. But he does not.”

“He wants you,” her ladyship said. “I have seen him grow up, and I know how deeply he feels things, although he has learned not to display it so blatantly. He cares for you. It is true, we can care for you without marriage. There is no reason for you to marry him. You do not have to do it if you don’t wish to.”

She leaned back, watching.

Viola wanted to. A realization like a jolt of lightning hit her. She had to fight not to gasp. “He—I care for him too.” Loved him. She always had, but not as much as in the last week. He’d shown him herself, shared her perils with humor and bravery, and been the best companion she could have wished for. “I will do everything I can to help him. To become the wife he wants.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Lady Strenshall clapped her hand to her chest. “That is the last thing you ought to do. Do not indulge him. He needs a person who will tell him the truth, whatever that happens to be. He needs a true helpmeet. That is the wife he needs.”

Viola swallowed. “I have a lot to learn.”

Lady Strenshall shook her head. “Not as much as you think. Oh, I know it is easy for me to say, but you can do it. Let me tell you about the way I came to be the marchioness.”

Her gaze, at first alarming, became sympathetic. Viola nodded and folded her hands over her fan.

“As you know, my father was a duke. My brother is a duke now, so I grew up knowing powerful people and becoming accustomed to them. I will not insult your intelligence by telling you they are all the same under the skin. Or a duke could become a ploughboy with no trouble, and vice versa. It is possible, of course, but learning is difficult. So are expectations. However, when my father approached me and told me I was to marry John, I was concerned. Worried, if you like. The Strenshall title is a great one and the marquesses have a long tradition of public service. They were allies, my brother and John, so the match appeared natural. But John wanted someone else.” She paused. “I will not tell you who it was, because you might have met the lady. But she was not intelligent, and she was pretty instead of beautiful, and she had no fortune. You need at least one of these to succeed as a public figure.”

Viola listened in astonishment. The Strenshalls appeared so perfectly matched, she could not imagine them with anyone else. And their love for each other was undeniable. They showed it in the way they read each other’s thoughts and acted in such harmony.

Lady Strenshall continued, “The lady would not have been happy. At the time I loved John. I always loved him, since the day I first met him, but I refused to allow him his own way in everything. The opposition was good for him. He could have so easily become too autocratic, I fear. He came to love me, but we had a fraught few years when we were first wed.”

“But ma’am, mine is a different case. I bring nothing to the marriage.” The marriage contract had humiliated her, and she suspected it was meant to. To scare her into backing away.

“You bring everything my son needs,” she answered calmly. “He does not need wealth, nor does he need land or political power. We have all those. Any more and I would be concerned for him. You bring him the salt he needs. You are the only woman I have ever seen to out-reason him, and not because he allows it. You are his match, my dear, and that is precisely why I support this marriage.”

Viola caught her breath. True, she had never allowed Marcus to intimidate her, but she had assumed the reason was because she had known him as a child. Perhaps not so, because of her stubbornness and her determination never to allow anyone to overwhelm her. That was why she chafed at the idea of him marrying her to protect her. And the necessity. If she had intelligence, as Lady Strenshall believed, she had used it to suppress her natural repudiation. She was entering a new world, with or without Marcus. She would much rather she did it with him. “I will do my best. But we could create fireworks. Marcus is a stubborn man.”

Lady Strenshall smiled slowly, wonderful to see. Knowledge shone from her eyes. “His father was ever the same. Still is. All I can demand is your best. But now, I wanted to give you an early wedding gift.” She picked up a black leather box from her dressing table. “You should have something to wear on your wedding day, rather than a lace ruffle around your neck. I do not know what gown you will wear, but I chose jewels that will become anything.”

Pearls. Beautiful, round, perfectly matched pearls—a single string and matching earrings. “These are lovely.” Viola touched them with one finger, their cool beauty reflected in the silky texture. “Thank you.” She smiled and finally decided which gown of the half-dozen she now owned she would wear for her wedding. “I’m wearing yellow.”

* * * *

Rather to her disappointment, Viola slept alone that night. However this time she did sleep, although she woke early as dawn crept through the house and the maids began the day’s work. At Haxby the house would be bustling, but Haxby was a much larger establishment, and the staff started early.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the cook would be preparing for the day, especially since Lady Strenshall had performed a miracle and arranged a wedding breakfast. “We cannot have people thinking you have married hugger-mugger,” she told them over dinner last night. “This is the heir to the title marrying after all.”

“If you can manage, my dear…” His lordship did not appear surprised.

Could she do that? Viola had no idea, but she would have to try, which meant extending her acquaintances. She would have to learn to cultivate people who would prove useful to the title. That was part of her new position.

This was about more than protection or secrets. This would mark the way the rest of her life went. Wrapping a sheet around her body, she went to the window and pulled back the curtains. Gardens were so beautiful at this time of the morning. Dew beaded on the petals, and the morning mist still skimmed the greenery, adding a veiled mystery to the loveliness.

Searching her conscience, Viola found no gaps in it. Lady Strenshall’s reassurance had strengthened her resolve. She would make a good wife to Marcus if it killed her. That she loved him she would keep to herself for now, not use it as a weapon to brandish at him and make him guilty he did not love her. He was fond of her, he liked her, and he wanted her in bed. That would have to be enough.

The maid found her asleep in the chair by the window at seven. She bustled in with the gown Viola had chosen, and from then on her morning was filled with preparations. Mostly of her. She had even agreed to have her hair powdered, a procedure she disliked. But after the maid had performed the task, filling the air with rice powder and creating the most appalling mess in the little powder room, Viola changed her mind. She had all the powder washed out. Her hair was so dark, the powder had to be caked on. It felt bad and she did not look like herself. She would have to suffer it on her court presentation. That was another ordeal she had done her best to put out of her mind, but otherwise she disdained powder.

The yellow looked much better with her dark, shining hair as a foil. This was a pretty watered silk, in the butter yellow shade that she loved. Under it she had a white petticoat embroidered with spring flowers. Ruffled robings adorned the front, emphasizing her small waist. A row of white silk bows covered the front of her stomacher.

The maid draped the pearls around her throat. Viola’s hand came up to touch them. Already they were warming from the heat of her body. The earrings dangled from her lobes, pear-shaped drops that drew the attention to the pale skin of her neck.

Triple ruffles of Mechelin lace frothed from the cuffs at her elbow. She had never looked so fine. Appropriate for her wedding day.

When she went downstairs she discovered her betrothed had already left. His mother had sent him off, warning him to go straight to the church once he had collected his cousin Julius. After a light repast, they too set off on the most momentous journey of her life.

Nerves made Viola tremble, but happiness suffused her when Lady Strenshall put her gloved hand over hers and squeezed gently. “You look lovely,” she murmured. The carriage bearing them, together with Dru and Livia, jolted over the cobbles on the short journey to the church.

People waited outside, and Viola had to swallow down her fear. If someone wanted to kill her, he could be lurking here. Even knowing she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, but her stomach tightened all the same.

But the carriage did not stop outside the church. It carried on around the corner to another door, much less frequented.

Outside stood Tranmere, the footman from Haxby.

Viola was so glad to see him, she could have flung her arms around his neck, and probably shocked him silly. Instead, she smiled at him.

The big man touched his forehead. “I’m so sorry about your father, Miss Gates.” He could be the last person to call her that.

Reminded of her father’s death, she swallowed back her tears of sorrow and went into the church. She would have loved him here today, to see her married. She would have had someone to talk to and laugh with before the wedding, someone she could utterly trust.

He was gone. She would never see him again. But this was her wedding day and she would not shed a tear. Not one, unless happiness overwhelmed her. Her father would not have wished to mar this day for her, and she would not allow their enemies to win by letting it happen.

The church was not full, but everyone who mattered to her had attended, and a few more for good measure—all the Emperors who were resident in London, their spouses if they had any, and their parents. She came out of the side door but walked down to the closed front door for the traditional walk up the aisle.

Marcus was waiting for her. He had glanced her way when she appeared, but then looked away. He waited with his back to her, his brother Darius by his side. The vicar, a man renowned for short sermons, which helped to explain the popularity of this small unprepossessing church, stood smiling encouragingly at her.

With her father…absent, Julius was walking her to her new husband. He was, as always, immaculately attired. Although she knew Julius from his visits to Haxby, she had never seen him in full town splendor before, and the sight gave her pause. Viola looked at his perfectly coiffed wig with not a little envy. If only she could leave her hair to be dressed in her absence, she could add half an hour to every day. And that was without evening activities. He wore a dark blue coat with monstrous gold-laced cuffs and a waistcoat that blinded the onlooker when the sun struck it. Obviously he did not care if he outshone the bride. Which he effectively did.