The Landlocked Baron (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 1) Page 4

  “Well, but…I didn’t mean…” the woman stumbled over her words.

  “Say no more.” Rosaline knew she had to be gracious. The Finchams were every bit as much a part of county life as the Ridlingtons, so alienating them before she’d even moved to the Chase…well, it wasn’t a particularly wise course of action. “I’m sure it was just the surprise of the moment that led you to an unwise comment. We shall consider it over and done with. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, my Lady?” She turned to her portmanteau. “I expect the Ridlington carriage within the hour, and would not wish to leave my quarters in a state of disarray.”

  Lady Fincham turned away with a sniff. “Then I will not delay you further.” She stalked out of the room.

  “Ma’am.” Rosaline dropped a perfunctory curtsey. Old bitch.

  There was little to collect, she mused, just her small wardrobe and one or two personal items. She had no pictures or mementoes, nothing to remind her of the husband she’d lost except for the thin gold band on her left hand. Which was probably for the best. She’d married him because she didn’t have a choice, and regretted it on more than a few occasions. However, he was gone more than he was home, so she kept her own counsel, managed to avoid the worst of his behavior when he arrived home on leave, and saw him off to sea again with a wave and the polite smile of a dutiful wife. Her real smile was kept hidden until after he’d left.

  He had been a bully and a snob; her family had been right about that. Also a martinet for schedules and rules. But a musket ball had taken care of his worst personality traits, reducing him to little more than a helpless cripple. Fortunately, his elevated rank, reputation and contacts had provided for his care, and she dutifully kept his house, entertained the dwindling number of his visitors, and conducting herself with as much dignity and propriety as possible. On his passing, she handled all the funeral details, only to be informed after the event that the house was now the legacy of a distant nephew and she would have to leave.

  Such things happened to widows, she knew. There had been a vague hope that something would come her way, but alas it failed to appear. Within the month she was at the Fincham’s, with little hope of rescue.

  Then Baron Ridlington happened.

  And suddenly, that tiny little bit of wildness she believed she had suppressed reared its head—and laughed gleefully. His proposal had caught her completely off-guard, coming out of the blue like a cannon ball from a clear sky. But even before the full impact knocked her off her feet, she knew what her answer would be.

  If one is in jail and someone unlocks the door, it doesn’t take long to run through it to freedom. Rosaline had run. Actually she had stood in surprise and tripped on her skirt, tumbling to the floor before she could catch herself.

  The Baron had moved rapidly and caught her arm, holding onto it and thus helping her avoid a serious bruise or two. He had pulled her upright, conveniently near enough for him to put his arm around her and hold her steady.

  Such a position had emphasized the fact that she was not immune to him on a purely masculine level. He smelled good. And his arm was firmly muscled beneath the black mourning jacket he wore.

  Yes, whispered her imp of insanity. Do it, Rosaline. Marry a man you’ve known for two hours. Have the biggest adventure of your life. You may never get another chance.

  She still wasn’t quite sure who was more surprised when she said yes, herself or the Baron. He’d blinked, opened his mouth a time or two, then cleared his throat and expressed his delight.

  Then they’d both stared at each other—and laughed.

  She felt obliged to point out that it was madness. He agreed, adding that he’d learned to follow his instincts during his life at sea. She mentioned the obvious—marriage wasn’t a ship of the line…and he nodded, but countered by saying that he believed she’d be an excellent crew.

  She gave up and the laughter was back.

  ’Twas a good way to start out, she thought. With luck things would only improve between them. She hoped for someone with whom she could converse, share her thoughts and continue to laugh.

  If he decided to exercise his husbandly rights…well she wouldn’t fight him off with a poker. But since the topic had not been mentioned, she decided to let that one lie for now. There would be a lot to keep her busy, she knew, once she became The Right Honorable Lady Ridlington.

  She had to think for a minute about the title matter. Why had the family dropped Holbury? It went against the customary forms of address, which dictated that Baron Ridlington was still Lord Holbury. Under normal circumstances, she would have become Lady Holbury upon their marriage, or even Lady Henry, Baroness Holbury if she chose to retain her husband’s title as well.

  Her brow wrinkled as she pondered this abnormality and added it to a growing list of things she’d like to pursue once she took up residence at the Chase. With a sigh, she closed her portmanteau, reflecting upon the little pile of belongings that represented her entire worldly possessions. There wasn’t much to show for her twenty-seven years, but then again she knew better than to judge herself by what she owned.

  A tap on the door distracted her from her thoughts. “Come in.” She turned to see Mr. Sewell, the butler.

  “The Ridlington carriage has arrived, Mrs. Henry. I’ve asked Peter to assist you with your bags.” The stately demeanor unbent a little. “May I say that we will miss your cheerful presence here at Fincham.”

  Rosaline blinked, then smiled. “That is very nice of you, Mr. Sewell. I shall remember your kindness, and that of the rest of the staff.”

  It was nothing but the truth. Being a companion was a challenging position, in that it wasn’t “below stairs” nor was it “above stairs”. It was a nebulous world that too often was ignored by both. But as if to offset Lady Fincham’s behavior, the downstairs residents had welcomed her, inviting her to dine with them and making her time there much more bearable.

  “If I might take the liberty,” he glanced over his shoulder then back at Rosaline, “one or two of the maids are terribly unhappy. Perhaps you might entertain the thought of hiring them, should they seek employment elsewhere?”

  “Local girls, are they?” Rosaline narrowed her eyes in thought.

  “Yes. Jean and Mabel.”

  “Ask them to bide their time? Let me settle in to Ridlington Chase. There are, as you can imagine, many details to be arranged prior to my becoming Lord Ridlington’s w-w-wife…” She stumbled over the word, finding it unfamiliar and almost foreign as it pertained to her own situation.

  Sewell bowed. “I understand. And I thank you for your consideration in advance.” He turned and beckoned to someone outside the room. “Now we must get you on your way.”

  Rosaline took a last look around her tiny quarters and then turned her back on them without regret. She was embarking on a new adventure and the waves looked as though they might be every bit as choppy as the ones that crashed against the cliffs near Ridlington.

  She hoped she was as good a sailor over these uncharted waters as her future husband had been over the real thing.

  Good God. I’m starting to think in nautical terms. And I haven’t even married the man yet…

  *~~*~~*

  Edmund found himself smiling a week or so later as he passed by Rosaline’s door and heard her humming to herself. His step slowed, but then he decided that discretion was probably best, and moved on to the large staircase. He had paperwork to do, and then a scheduled visit to some of the farms on the edges of the Ridlington estate.

  For some reason, the hall seemed brighter since Rosaline had arrived. The windows were cleaner perhaps? Or was it the heavy drapes that had been pulled further to either side of the large windows? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but every day something, some feature of this mausoleum, seemed to grow less intimidating.

  “She’s made some changes.” Letitia came up to his side as he stood on the top step.

  “I was just trying to work out what they were. But yes,
she has. And I’m quite happy with them.” He glanced at his sister. “How do you feel about it?”

  She was quiet for a few moments. “Truthfully? I care little either way. This house, as you said recently, is merely the place I grew up. I don’t have happy memories either. None of us do. So the more Lady Rosaline changes things the better, as far as I can see.”

  He nodded. “Good. I was hoping you would feel that way. I have given her carte blanche as far as the house itself goes, and I will say I’m very pleased with the subtle changes I’m seeing.”

  Letitia looked at a massive urn filled with brilliant late autumn leaves, that now stood in the sunshine on a sparkling clean and polished floor. “Subtle?”

  “Well, you know what I mean.” He started their progress down the staircase. “She’s brightening the place up a bit, isn’t she? And so far, I haven’t received any bills.”

  They reached the bottom, and Letitia patted him on the arm. “Yes, dear brother. You’re quite right.” Then she turned to the door. “I’m off to have lunch in the village. I believe Fiona Stanton and her Mama are in the area and I’d like to say hello if they are.”

  “Back for tea?” Edmund inquired out of habit.

  Letitia rolled her eyes as she fastened her bonnet beneath her chin. “Yes, Edmund. And I’ve already told Lady Rosaline, so you really don’t have to ask me that anymore.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Although it’s lovely that you do.”

  “Ah. Well. That’s good then.”

  His sister chuckled. “Men.” She swirled out of the door on a gust of cool autumn air.

  Edmund continued on his progress to his office, pleased that matters seemed to be working themselves out very much as he’d hoped.

  Rosaline had taken up residence in the East Wing, where Letitia and Kitty had established small areas of what he referred to as “femininity”. While they still kept the suites they’d occupied as children, they also enjoyed having parlors and small salons where they could write, or share tea, or entertain friends. All things that the snug size of their private quarters made quite impossible.

  It was fortunate they had done so, since Rosaline could move in to that wing, accompanied by a maid, and take up residence without causing too much of a scandal. And being close to the two girls, there was also the chance to become acquainted; something which seemed to be already in progress. Edmund was pleased to note the friendships developing, and felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He had no idea how to go on with young women and his sisters were a perpetual mystery to him. Especially Hecate, but she was a law unto herself, having selected a tower chamber in one of the oldest parts of Ridlington Chase. She had been five years old at the time, but her quiet adamant insistence had won the day and she still retired to her turret rooms like some heroine from a fairy tale.

  Edmund was looking forward to seeing how Rosaline managed the unique character that was his youngest sister.

  In the meantime, there were accounts to be tallied, a few bills to be dealt with and as the autumn progressed, he knew he had to take a hard look at where the agricultural matters of the estate lay.

  Such problems kept him occupied for a couple of hours, and he paused only to put another log on the fire as the hiss of rain against the window reminded him it was a bit chilly.

  He’d just poked the wood into a cheerful blaze when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter.” He turned his back to the fire and warmed his rear end.

  Rosaline stepped in. “I trust I’m not disturbing you, my Lord?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Edmund. Please. I have requested many times now that you refer to me by my given name. I’ve done so very politely, too. Very shortly I shall begin to bellow at you as if you were a raw midshipman below decks. Don’t make me do that, please?”

  She grinned. “Oh very well, Edmund.”

  “There. You see? Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?” He pushed a chair slightly closer to the hearth. “Come. Sit. I need to clear my head of numbers for a little while. So please tell me what has brought you here at the perfect moment?”

  She walked to the chair and sat, arranging her skirts and waiting for him to take the opposite seat. “I realized this morning that we are but ten days or so away from our wedding.” She glanced down at her hands for a moment, now bare of any rings. “Simon will be reading the banns for the second time this Sunday, and given that he’s approved our wedding for the third Sunday, instead of the traditional final reading…I wondered if this might be the time to go over the details of the ceremony?”

  He eased back in his chair a little. “You don’t want me to pick out flowers or some such nonsense, do you?”

  She widened her eyes. “Well, I thought you’d want to be involved…”

  He felt the color drain from his cheeks.

  And then she laughed. “Of course not. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s November. Flowers are few and far between, although I think I may have coaxed Mr. Darden to part with a couple of his late chrysanthemums.”

  “Good God. You must have a magic gift then, because for as long as I can remember Darden would take a pitchfork to anyone who even looked twice at those blooms.”

  “There you are, then. And by the way? You just endorsed flowers for the wedding.” She smirked at him.

  “You’re jesting, aren’t you?” He sighed. “I can tell.”

  “Why Edmund. How unfair.” She quirked an eyebrow. “What gave me away?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. What did you really want to see me about?”

  “Everything is well in train for the ceremony, and as you know about a dozen or so guests are expected here for the wedding breakfast. If they bring companions and so on, in addition to the family and our staff, we might well find ourselves seating twenty-five to thirty. Is that acceptable?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “It will have to be. I cannot promise every seat will have the same pattern of china or silverware, but we will have an adequate spread. Cook has called in favors from a wide selection of her acquaintances and has promised us a delightful meal.”

  “Agreed. She said much the same to me.” Rosaline smiled. “But my visit here isn’t prompted by any concerns about the actual event. It’s more about the ceremony itself.”

  “The wedding? In the church?”

  “The wedding. In the church.”

  “I am not sure I quite understand. Simon has gone over the service and we both found it acceptable, didn’t we?”

  Rosaline’s bodice rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “Edmund, I just realized that I have no one to give me away.”

  “Oh.” He absorbed that statement. “Is that important?”

  She shot him a glance from beneath her lashes. “For some, perhaps not. For me? Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He watched her look anywhere but at him. “Yes, Rosaline. It matters to you. Therefore, as your future husband, it matters to me.”

  She swallowed and lifted her head. “My first marriage took place in a small, dark chapel just outside London. I was considered an inappropriate choice for someone as highly regarded as Henry, so nothing in the way of a large celebration was permitted. My mother was too ill to attend, so my father and I left the house for the ceremony. On the way there he suffered a fatal attack. His heart failed.”

  Edmund stilled at the tale. “Oh my dear girl. I’m so sorry.”

  “I arrived at the chapel, with my father barely clinging to life.” She gulped. “But the Henrys took over. Before I knew it, Papa had been taken away and I was being rushed into the chapel. The schedule could not be disrupted, you see. It was a Henry rule.”

  Edmund nodded. “Go on.” He leaned forward and reached across the space between the chairs, putting his hand over hers. “Finish the story please?”

  “I married Lord Henry that night, as my Papa passed away in a nearby Inn. And I was given away by his servant.” Her voice cracked a little
, but she pulled herself together. “I came to understand the compulsion to stay on a schedule as my married life began. After a while I was as regimented as he was. At least when he was on leave. When he returned to duty, I could breathe again. And after his injuries, I almost felt sorry for the man he had become. A shadow of his former self, who could not ever hope to keep any kind of a schedule again.” She shook her head and withdrew her hand from beneath his. “I will not bore you with more, Edmund. That was the past and this is now a new future.”

  “But you would like someone to give you away.” He looked at the palm of his hand. It was warm from her skin, tingling, making him realize how silky it was to his touch.

  “I would. And I’ve just had some happy news in that regard.” She smiled, the emotion pushing the last of the unhappiness from her eyes. “An old friend of our family, Sir James FitzArden, is in the area. I received a note from the Fincham household, letting me know he was asking after me. So I wondered if I might ask him to stand for me at our wedding? If you wouldn’t mind?”

  His mind was spinning. “FitzArden?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Would he be related in any way to Captain Sir Leopold FitzArden?”

  “Yes. They are cousins, I believe.”

  Edmund let that astonishing pronouncement roll around in his brain for a moment or two, while he tried to prevent his jaw from dropping to his lap. “Rosaline,” he began.

  “Yes?”

  “What was your maiden name?”

  “Um…why do you ask?”

  “Please just answer the question.”