Joanna felt her face grow rigid with shock. She had wondered whether her husband's children would accept her, but had not anticipated such blatant hostility, and from such a young child. Albinia collapsed back onto the sopha, gasping and demanding Sir Kenelm control his wretched brats before they gave her spasms and probably killed her. Henry, flushed with anger, berated the twins for discourtesy, ignoring Albinia, and trying, at the same time, to welcome Joanna. Sir Kenelm at first ordered the twins out of the room until they could behave themselves, and then said they had first to apologise to Joanna.
Amelia stared defiantly at him, and then burst into tears, occasional words being distinguished, all of them indicating a refusal to speak to Joanna. George, his eyes wide with fright, started to leave the room, while Harry, his card building collapsing in a heap, began to shout at the twins, blaming them for ruining the best house he had ever managed to build.
With a harassed look at Joanna, Sir Kenelm grabbed his children and dragged them out of the room. Albinia continued to demand hartshorn, her smelling salts and a fan, and plead tearfully with Henry to take everyone away, before she has an attack of the vapours. Henry, looking distractedly at his wife, hovering between her couch and his son's ruined card house, ordered Harry to leave the room until he could control himself. Joanna, feeling the comment might be better addressed to Albinia, retreated to a corner of the room and collapsed into a chair, wondering how she was going to deal with the situation.
She had not expected the twins to greet her with open arms, and all Sir Kenelm's assurances that they would soon come to love her had not convinced her they were just longing for a new Mama. Now what was she to do? What was their father saying to them? Would he thrash them?
As Harry, muttering threats of vengeance on, it seemed, everyone, opened the door to leave, the sound of Sir Kenelm's furious voice and Amelia's loud wails came to them. Henry went swiftly to close the door, glanced at Albinia, who was by now sobbing loudly, hovered for a moment, and then pulled up a chair to sit beside Joanna.
'I am so dreadfully sorry,' he said. 'It was a shock to me, and must have been even more so to the twins. We had no idea, you see, that Kenelm contemplated matrimony. In fact – ' he paused, and glanced across at his wife.
Joanna pulled herself together, rejecting the handkerchief Henry was offering her. From all Sir Kenelm had said, Henry was the brother closest to him, nearest in age, and living nearby so that they met frequently. If he and his wife disliked the marriage, as it appeared they did, how would Sir Kenelm react? Would he, even, feel obliged to have it annulled?
'I know it has been a shock,' she said as calmly as she could. 'We should have sent to inform you, but I'm afraid the past few days have been rather busy.'
What else could she say? How could she say anything that might help? She ought not to tell anyone else the reasons for the marriage, she thought. Nor ought she to mention it was a marriage of convenience only. That was too embarrassing to mention, and for Sir Kenelm to divulge, if he wished others to know the circumstances.
Henry was frowning, and still looked puzzled, but he simply nodded, and as Albinia's moans grew louder, he excused himself to Joanna and went across to his wife.
'My maid! Ring for her! Henry, do something! I must go to bed, or I will collapse.'
Henry assisted her to her feet, and half-carrying her took her from the room. Once more the open door allowed the sounds of weeping to be heard, then they were cut off and Joanna was left alone to wonder how her peculiar marriage would survive this. At all costs, she decided, she must not allow it to cause dissension between Sir Kenelm and his children, or between him and his brother.
*
The drive home was accomplished in a silence interrupted only by George's muffled sobs and Amelia's louder, uncontrolled weeping.
Joanna lay back against one corner of the carriage, her face averted. She was still horribly shocked and wondering what best to do. No one had entered the drawing room where she sat alone for what seemed to her to be hours. When he came to take her out to the carriage Sir Kenelm, apart from a brief apology, had not spoken to her. Henry, looking embarrassed, said Albinia sent her apologies, but she was too distraught to come and wish them goodbye. He nonetheless urged them to stay for dinner, as had at first been planned, but Sir Kenelm, patting him on the shoulder, refused.
'Another time, Henry. When Albinia feels more the thing. We will be driving in the dark even if we leave now,' he said.
'It's a full moon, and you'd have been driving home in the dark anyway, so why not stay?' Henry protested, but unconvincingly.
Sir Kenelm climbed into the carriage after Joanna.
'But cloudy. Thanks, Henry, but I feel it best if I take my wretched twins home as soon as possible.'
He now sat in the corner opposite Joanna, while the twins and their Nanny occupied the forward seat.
Nanny was a middle aged, plump woman who had been a nursery maid when Sir Kenelm himself was in the nursery. She had been in charge of the twins since their birth, and had, Sir Kenelm had told Joanna, much regretted their elevation to the schoolroom, so that she saw less of them. Joanna wondered how much she knew about the scene in the drawing room, but as she said nothing, even to the weeping twins, there was no indication of her attitude. She had bobbed a brief curtsey when introduced to Joanna before they all entered the carriage, but kept her hands loosely clasped in her lap and her eyes discreetly lowered so that her feelings were not shown.
The carriage eventually arrived at Rock Castle, driving straight into the stable yard. Joanna was exhausted. She felt she had never endured so long a journey. Even a full day in a badly sprung stage coach seemed easy by comparison.
'Take then straight to bed, Nanny,' Sir Kenelm said as the footman let down the steps. 'They can meet their new governess and begin lessons with her in the morning.'
'Aren't we to have supper?' George asked through his sobs.
'I don't want any!' Amelia declared. 'I shall starve to death, and that will serve you right!'
'Come,' Nanny said, and the twins, with a final glare at their father, followed her out of the carriage and into the house.
Sir Kenelm sighed. 'I'll ask them to find us some dinner. Shall we say six o'clock?'
They normally had dinner at five, but Joanna was not in the least hungry. She would not, however, behave like a spoilt child and refuse to eat. At least, the servants not expecting to have to provide dinner, there would be fewer dishes than usual. She let him take her hand as he helped her from the carriage, but pulled it away at once and followed the children into the house.
Betsy was waiting for her in her dressing room, and Joanna sank onto the stool before her dressing table with a deep sigh.
'It's going to snow later,' Betsy said. 'I was worried you might be stranded with Mr Henry.'
Joanna shuddered. That would have been unendurable. Henry had, after the first shock, at least tried to appear friendly, but his wife had shown as clearly as the twins how much she deplored Sir Kenelm's marriage. It was almost six, though, and she had no time for reflection. Swiftly she removed her walking dress and allowed Betsy to help her into her only evening dress. There had not been a great deal of choice, for she had determined to buy a gown in half mourning lavender. It was plain, with only a small flounce at the hem, but the neckline was far lower than she was used to. She looked at the plain gold band Sir Kenelm had procured for the wedding ceremony, wondering how much longer she might be wearing it, then clasped her only other piece of jewellery, a locket with pictures of her mother and a very young and handsome father, round her neck. It was the first time she had worn it since her father's death, but she felt the need of something from her former life to sustain her.
The cook had provided soup and cold beef and ham, which had been destined, Joanna thought, suppressing an hysterical giggle, for breakfast. There was also a game pie and some apple tarts which she suspected had been meant for the servants' supper. Two bottles of the best Burgundy were on the table, and Joanna suspected the butler had deliberately selected them when the family had returned so unexpectedly early and he had seen the weeping children being hustled up to their rooms by Nanny.
Sir Kenelm, who had maintained a rather discursive commentary on the weather and his expectation of a snowfall that night, dismissed Firbank and John, the footman, as they cleared away the soup bowls, saying they would serve themselves to the rest. As soon as they left the room he breathed a deep sigh, refilled their wine glasses and handed one to Joanna.
'You need something stronger than ratafia,' he said. 'How can I express my regrets and apologies for that deplorable display from my children? It just shows how their former governess and Cousin Georgina indulged them. But that will change now!'
'Then they will blame me even more if you punish them,' Joanna said calmly. 'Perhaps it would be best if I went away for a time, until they became used to the notion of your marriage. Unless, that is, you would find it easier to obtain an annulment? That should not be difficult.'
He stared at her, then sighed.
'Is it what you wish?' he asked, helping her to slices of beef and ham. 'I rushed you, almost forced you, knowing how destitute you were, into accepting my proposal. Are you having regrets now you have met my children?'
Joanna looked steadily at him. 'I don't know,' she said slowly and honestly. 'I am grateful to you, you have given me so much, but it seems as though I cannot give you anything, and I may cause your children to hate you. I could not have that on my conscience. But please do not blame your children. They have received a shock, and are too young to disguise it.'
'Albinia and Henry could have disguised their shock rather more temperately,' he said curtly. 'I should have realised and notified them at once. But I did not expect Henry to show his disapproval so plainly.'
'Does he disapprove? Or was he just shocked?'
'He cannot possibly disapprove. He will come round when he has had an opportunity to think properly, without Albinia to distract him by her tantrums. Really, I cannot think what made him marry her. Yet, she was not always so, only the past year or two.'
'I trust you are right.'
She was fingering the locket, for it gave her some small comfort, and Sir Kenelm asked her about it, apparently deciding to change the subject.
'My mother gave it to me when she knew she was dying. It is all I have left of her.'
She opened the locket and he came to stand beside her, holding her hand as she began to unhook the locket to show him.
'No, I can see. Your parents were both very handsome,' he said. 'No wonder you are so beautiful yourself.'
So he still thought her beautiful, she realised, and a small shred of hope crept into her heart. She might not need to go away, and she knew beyond doubt she wanted to stay, not for the luxury he surrounded her with, but to be with him, for he was kind and considerate. He would look after her, unlike her father, who had cared only for using her to attract other men with whom he might play cards.
'How can we deal with it?' she asked, suppressing a sigh. 'The children, I mean. What can I do?'
'We'll talk about it later, tomorrow,' he said, going back to his place and pouring more wine for them both. 'So you will stay, and help me?'
*
Joanna, saying the heavy, unaccustomed wine had made her sleepy, excused herself and went up to bed soon after they had finished dinner. Sir Kenelm took what wine remained and went into the library, but he could not forget that dreadful scene in Henry's drawing room. He chastised himself for not having managed it better, preparing Henry and the twins for his marriage. It had been crass and insensitive, but at least it seemed he had not alienated Joanna, she did not immediately wish to leave him. But he could see she was deeply shocked, and further reflections might persuade her she would be better away from him and his children. At least she had not reminded him he would still need a chaperone if he were to keep his new governess. That was a problem he would face if and when she left.
What could he do? Ought he to talk to the twins, try to convince them Joanna was no threat to them? Their behaviour had been atrocious, and he blamed himself for not realising it could happen that way. He had permitted them to become so unruly and uncontrolled. He was to blame, not the lax rule of Cousin Georgina and the ineffective training of Miss Tucker. Would Miss Busby be able to inculcate better behaviour, or might her strictness, as Joanna feared, make life even worse for Joanna if the twins blamed her? That must be avoided at all costs, but surely he would not have to dismiss Miss Busby so soon? He hoped not. She had all the qualifications he wanted for his children, and if he did have to dismiss her, what reason could he give? She would, justifiably, feel she had been very badly treated.
He finished the wine, and considered having some brandy. After one glass he had come to no satisfactory conclusions, and decided he might as well go to bed before he drank himself into insensibility. He told Firbank he would not have any supper, and made his way upstairs. He did not feel in any way affected by the amount he had drunk, but it had been far more than he usually took, for he had never been one of the hard-drinking fraternity. His interests, until his marriage, had been sport, and he still followed the regime he had then, keeping fit and practising his skills whenever opportunity offered.
Venner was waiting for him, but he dismissed the valet after he had donned a brocade dressing gown, saying he meant to sit beside the fire in his bedroom for a while. Venner gave him a sharp look, but spent little time in the dressing room and soon went away.
How was Joanna? She had been calm during dinner, but he had seen the hurt in her eyes. She had been distressed, naturally, but had done her best to conceal it and behave as normal. He felt a sudden surge of affection for her. She, unlike Albinia, had behaved like a true lady. Was she all right? He had never ventured into her bedroom, but perhaps he ought just to make sure she was not still distressed.
He picked up a candle and went softly through the connecting dressing rooms, but the light it shed was not needed. Joanna's curtains were not drawn, and the moonlight lit up the room. He could see her curled up in the big bed, its curtains also not closed. She had told him once that life in Portugal, when they often had to sleep in tents, or the simple cottages of peasants, made her dislike being shut in by curtains, either round a bed or at a window.
She did not stir as he walked across to the bed. She was fast asleep, but there were traces of tears on her cheeks. So she had been more hurt than she had shown. He had a crazy desire to gather her into his arms and promise her he would make sure she was never hurt again. That, though, would be against the bargain they had made, and he knew such intimate contact would lead to yet more intimate actions, while he had promised her it would be a marriage only in name. He must not take advantage of her vulnerability, after what had happened.
He stole back to his own room, and climbed into bed. This was when he most missed the comfort his mistress in Leeds had been able to give him for the past five years, the solace of having a warm, living body beside him, of not feeling quite so alone.
*
'I will take the children and introduce them to Miss Busby,' Sir Kenelm said as they ate breakfast the following morning.
Joanna felt a wave of relief. She had not been looking forward to the next meetings with either the children or Miss Busby. She helped herself to more coffee and bent her face over the cup. She was certain she was blushing. It had taken all her courage to behave as normal before Betsy, to dress and come down to the breakfast room, greet Sir Kenelm cheerfully, smile at Firbank and let him help her to food she was certain she could not eat, and then permit herself to wonder what was going to happen.
'If you think that is best. Then it is time I began to make some more gowns from the material I bought. Mrs Aston showed me a room which has in the past been used as a sewing room.'
She wondered rather bleakly if she would remain here for long enough to finish any of them. Sir Kenelm might consider it best for his children if they parted.
'Make sure there is a fire. It's bitterly cold today.'
'Not as cold as it was last winter,' Joanna said, trying to be cheerful.
'Thank goodness. I have to ride out later, business on one of the farms, but I expect to be back in time to have a nuncheon with you.' He nodded dismissal to Firbank and waited until he had left the room. 'Do you wish me to make the children join us?'
Joanna swiftly shook her head. 'Perhaps it would be best to let them become familiar with the idea I am here, before they have to face me,' she said. 'Unless you wish it, that is.'
'No, I agree with you. Don't look so worried,' he added, and gripped her shoulder for a moment. 'I'm not going to disown you just because my children are unmannerly little beasts! Well, I must be off.'
Joanna felt her heart lift. She was to stay. Well, she would do her utmost to come to a better understanding with the twins.
'Oh, there is one matter I need to ask you about. I bought presents for the children. Should I give them now or wait until Christmas?'
He looked at her in silence for a moment.
'You still wish to reward them for their appalling behaviour yesterday?'
Joanna shrugged. 'I bought the presents before I knew how much they would resent me. Perhaps, if they like them, it will soften their attitudes towards me.'
He nodded as he moved towards the door.
'Christmas is only two weeks away. I hope that by then they will have come to accept you. Make then Yuletide gifts.'
He departed, and Joanna felt she had been feeble in avoiding meeting the children. Or Miss Busby, she added to herself. The woman clearly disliked her, but Joanna felt more confident now, and knew she could use her own position to defeat the governess if it became a battle of wills. After all, Sir Kenelm would surely be willing to dismiss her if necessary, if Joanna asked him to. She now felt secure in his regard, her marriage was not apparently to be annulled, and she knew such a man would support his wife.
Betsy helped her take the lengths of material she had purchased to the sewing room, where she was able to stack the rolls on shelves to one side of the room. They used old sheets to protect them, for the wood of the shelves was sometimes rough. A large table was below the window, and Betsy showed her where items such as pins and scissors were stored.
'May I stay and help, my lady?' she asked rather wistfully.
'I'd be glad of your help, Betsy.'
Betsy grinned at her. 'It's always difficult spreading out the fabric. I can help with that.'
Joanna nodded. 'I would be grateful. But first, I think this table needs a thorough clean. When was the room used last?'
'Not for years, Mrs Aston says. Even before her late ladyship came to the Castle. Any mending has always been done in a room next to the laundry, and Nanny makes dresses for Miss Amelia, and shirts for Master George, in her own room.'
'Then can you fetch some warm water, soda and a scrubbing brush, please? I won't be able to cut out until the table is dry, but I can be sorting out all the ribbons and silks I bought. And then I suppose I ought to decide what to embroider. That, I think, must go downstairs to the drawing room, to be on show. Isn't it what ladies are supposed to do?'
Betsy giggled, but went to fetch what was needed, and insisted on scrubbing the table herself.
'You'll wet your gown, my lady, and I know you have only two, this and the grey. I've borrowed a big apron from Cook.'
Joanna laughed and agreed. 'If you wish. But soon I will have more. Betsy, can you sew?'
'Yes, Miss, I mean my lady. I used to help my Ma, but only with the simple parts, the straight seams. I never got the ruffles even enough for her, so she always did the fancy bits herself.'
'Then you can help with the straight seams and we will have more dresses in no time.'
They were busy sorting and storing the ribbons and other trimmings Joanna had bought when one of the footmen came to tell Joanna Mr Henry Childe had called. She paled, but nodded to him.
'Thank you, John. Please tell him I will be with him in a few minutes.'
Betsy whipped off the apron she had been using to protect her own gown.
'You'll need to change that gown, my lady, the grey makes you look pale, and your hair needs tidying. It won't take more than a couple of minutes.'
*
Joanna found Henry Childe in one of the smaller saloons. He was standing before the fire, but came across the room to meet her as she entered.
'I came to apologise for what happened yesterday,' he said. 'My lady, I was so ashamed that the twins, who had been in my charge, should have shown such ill manners.'
Joanna smiled faintly. 'I don't think you can be held responsible,' she said. 'Please, come and sit down, and as you are my brother now, do call me Joanna. I feel so ancient to be called my lady.'
He sat facing her. 'I could see you were shocked and hurt by what happened. I have to say, though, the twins were shocked as well. I'm not trying to excuse them, believe me. What Amelia said was unpardonable. There has been no hint of a possible remarriage. Indeed, I was under the impression Kenelm was quite adamant he would never marry again. He never even hinted at the possibility. Indeed, he ... that is ... I have forgotten what I meant to say.'
Joanna wondered for a moment whether to confess to Henry the real state of her marriage, but she soon decided it would serve no purpose. Why had Sir Kenelm been so set against marriage in the past? She longed to know, but did not dare ask Henry. He was too stern, and would probably be shocked if she began to question him. Perhaps, when she came to know him better, she might ask. Then the thought struck her, why could she not ask Kenelm himself? Yet, it might offend him. That his first marriage had been unhappy she knew, for he had told her, but surely that was not sufficient to make him abjure it for ever, until the need to provide a chaperone had forced his hand?
'How is your wife?' she said instead. 'I hope she has now recovered from the shock.'
He shrugged. 'Albinia has been in poor health ever since Harry's birth, and it grew worse with the new baby. The slightest thing can upset her. I think she had found it a strain having the twins with us, even though she hardly saw them. However, you and Kenelm must come over one day and we will endeavour to make it a more pleasant visit.'
Firbank then came in with wine and small cakes, and Joanna was reduced to asking about the weather while he stayed to pour wine for Henry and ratafia for her. She suppressed a grin, recalling the Burgundy of the previous day. Would this staid brother of Sir Kenelm's be shocked if he knew? The cakes were handed to Henry, and then the butler withdrew, but before Joanna could think of another topic of conversation Sir Kenelm walked into the room. Henry repeated his apologies, which Sir Kenelm waved aside.
'My fault, I should have been more sensitive to their feelings and prepared them more. Has Albinia recovered?'
'You know Albinia,' Henry said, drawing out his snuff box and taking a pinch.
Sir Kenelm laughed. 'Well, stay and have a nuncheon with us, it's almost noon.'
'Thank you, I will.'
'How did the children get on with Miss Busby?' Joanna asked. She had been wondering all morning. 'She is the new governess,' she explained to Henry, but thought it better not to add that it was to provide a chaperone for the woman that Sir Kenelm had married her.
Sir Kenelm frowned. 'They were subdued. I think Nanny had been berating them, for she knew all that had passed. They were polite, and I soon left them to her care. I hope they have been so shocked by what happened they will behave for a while.'
Joanna left the brothers together immediately they had eaten some cheese and fruit, saying she hoped to see Henry again soon. They would no doubt have much to say to one another. She retreated to the sewing room, where she cut out some squares of the finest cotton. She intended making Sir Kenelm handkerchiefs as a Christmas gift, and she sat busily hemming them until it was time for dinner.
*
It was two days before the twins were brought down to the drawing room after dinner. Sir Kenelm had considered it wise that they did not encounter Joanna for a while, as he explained to her when she asked how they were going on with Miss Busby. Joanna had been playing softly on the piano, but she stopped the moment the door opened and Miss Busby ushered the twins into the room.
They immediately went to Sir Kenelm and Amelia kissed him while George, trying to look grown up, solemnly shook his hand.
Miss Busby took a chair just inside the door and folded her hands. She was trying to look meek, but however hard she tried she could not conceal her air of superiority when she glanced at Joanna.
The twins ignored Joanna until Miss Busby spoke.
'Well, children, greet your step-mama properly.'
Sir Kenelm frowned. He did not wish Joanna to be associated with all the fairy tales featuring evil step-mothers, but he judged it would be worse to intervene and insist she be called Mama. The twins had a point, he accepted. She was not only not their mother, she was a mere ten years older than they were.
The twins did not move from his side. Amelia sketched a small curtsey while George bowed his head.
'Good day to you, step-mama,' they said in unison.
Miss Busby nodded her head, smiling, and Sir Kenelm clenched his hands into fists. It was clear she had orchestrated this. He would insist she taught them to say, if not Mama, my lady.
'Well, what have you been learning?' he asked.
It was all he could think to say, and he knew he sounded stiff and too formal. He could not recall ever having asked them such a question when they had been with Miss Tucker. Hasn't he cared, or did he wish to demonstrate to Miss Busby that he would be keeping a close watch over their education?
'I'm having to study Latin,' George said, heaving a big sigh. 'I don't see why I must learn that, no one speaks it these days. It's a dead language, like our Mama is dead.'
'You are making good progress, George, and with proper application can do very well,' Miss Busby intervened, and George scowled at her.
'And I am having to sew a sampler, with Bible texts,' Amelia said. 'I hate sewing. Samplers are useless. If I have to learn to sew I'd rather sew something I could use, like a gown.'
'You must do as you are told, Amelia.'
'I know, Papa,' she replied, but she too sighed gustily.
Miss Busby frowned. 'I fear there is a great deal to be done to bring the children up to the standard I expect of their age,' she said. 'However, I do not despair. By the time George goes to school next year he will be able to keep up with the other boys his age. He is not unintelligent. And perhaps my lady will encourage Amelia in her embroidery. I am sure your step-mama sewed beautiful samplers when she was your age, Amelia.'
'I don't want to have to learn to do embroidery,' Amelia muttered, and said something under her breath which Sir Kenelm thought was 'and not by her.'
He let it go. Chastising her would not make her feel more friendly towards Joanna.
'You will both appreciate what you are learning now, when you are older, and not lagging behind other boys and girls.'
'Miss Busby says I ought to go to school when George does,' Amelia said. 'I don't wish to be with other girls, and I don't ever want to be sent away from my own home.'
She glared at Joanna as though the suggestion had come from her, and Sir Kenelm frowned. He had never contemplated sending Amelia to school, but if she did not behave more politely towards Joanna he might be forced to do so. Then, he thought, he would not need to employ a governess, and he would not need a chaperone. Why could Cousin Georgina not have lasted a few more months? The thought shocked him. He had, in such a short time, become used to having Joanna with him. Already, she seemed to have made the house more welcoming, but he could not understand why, unless it was by her very presence.
*
Joanna had no opportunity to discuss what had happened with Sir Kenelm that evening, as he said he had letters to write and shut himself into the library. The presence of the servants prevented any private conversation at supper and breakfast the following day, and he rode out immediately afterwards. She occupied herself, with Betsy's help, cutting out two morning dresses, deciding they were the most urgent of her new clothes. She would not need walking or carriage dresses yet, and her one evening gown was adequate for the time being, as she only needed it for evenings at home.
Home, she thought. How soon she had come to think of it as her home, despite the hostility of Miss Busby and the children. The servants, she knew, liked her and supported her, but she felt this was mainly because they liked Sir Kenelm and were predisposed to accept anyone he chose to be his wife. From the little she had seen he was a fair but exacting master. The only time she had heard him raise his voice was at Henry's, when he had shouted at the twins.
She did not expect callers, for Sir Kenelm had explained there were few families of note near enough to make morning visits practicable, and in any case, they would probably decide to leave the newly weds to themselves for a few weeks, until the weather improved and was less cold. She was thankful for the respite. She needed to become accustomed to her own situation before she could play hostess to people who had probably known Sir Kenelm all his life.
Therefore she was disconcerted when a footman came to say a lady had called to see Sir Kenelm, but as he was out and it was not known when he would return, he had shown her into the drawing room. Joanna was puzzled. Ladies did not normally call on gentlemen. She knew that much of polite society customs. If she had heard of the marriage, and the news of it had no doubt spread all over the district, surely she would have asked for her, not Sir Kenelm?
Joanna went downstairs and walked into the drawing room, to find a tall woman standing staring out of the window. She was dressed in a tight-fitting pelisse in emerald green, which showed off her voluptuous figure, and had a frivolous hat quite unsuited to the wintry weather perched on improbably gold curls. A fur-lined cloak was flung carelessly over one of the chairs.
The woman turned, and stared at Joanna without any expression other than a slight narrowing of the eyes. She was, Joanna guessed, in her mid-thirties, but her hair, so obviously coloured, and the red in her lips and cheeks which spoke of lavishly applied cosmetics, made her seem older.
'I am Lady Childe,' Joanna said calmly, moving across the room and holding out her hand. 'I am afraid Sir Kenelm is out and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But won't you please sit down and have some refreshment. Have you come far?'
'Far enough, my lady,' the woman sneered, ignoring Joanna's hand and throwing herself into one of the chairs. 'I suppose you will claim you don't know who I am?'
Firbank then came into the room carrying a tray with a decanter and small macaroons, but the woman continued to speak, ignoring him. He glanced from her, and then to Joanna, eyebrows raised.
'I am Selina Kirk, Mrs Selina Kirk, from Leeds. Has your husband dared to mention me?' she asked, stressing the word 'husband' in a peculiar fashion.
Joanna waited until Firbank, having handed both of them glasses of ratafia, withdrew. The woman sipped the drink, then, making a grimace of distaste, put the glass carefully down on a small table beside her. Joanna had the feeling she would have preferred to fling it into the fireplace, and stifled a giggle. Who on earth was this unmannerly woman?
'I don't believe he has,' she said. 'Should he have done so?'
'He probably wouldn't dare. He didn't dare to come and see me, just sent me a letter to tell me he was getting married. For the sake of the children, he said, and to provide a chaperone after his old cousin died. What nonsense! If he needed a wife to play propriety, why could he not have married me? He's used me for the past five years, whenever it suited him, making it his excuse that his cousin would be shocked if he remarried. Well, she's dead now. I suppose, because you are younger, and no doubt brought him a fine dowry, he decided to finish with me. Not without making it worth my while, my lady! I'll make sure of that!'
Joanna felt a sinking in her stomach. Of course Sir Kenelm would have had a chère amie, he'd told her as much, and she knew it was normal for most men to keep mistresses, especially men who did not have wives, but she had never expected to meet her. For a moment she found herself deploring his taste, and stifled a sudden giggle. Perhaps men preferred such bold and buxom women as mistresses? It was still remarkably brazen of the woman to force her way into the house. What ought she to do? She could have the woman thrown out, she supposed, but would that be what Sir Kenelm would want? It might lead to more scandal, for she could not imagine Mrs Kirk going quietly.
'Excuse me for a moment. I will go and ask whether any of the servants know when Sir Kenelm will be back. Your business is, after all, with him, not me.'
The woman laughed. 'You can be sure of that!'
Joanna escaped, and stood for a moment in the hall, wondering what to do. Who could she ask? She began to move towards the kitchens, where she would find Firbank in his pantry, but before she reached them Sir Kenelm himself came through the door leading out into the stable yard, carrying his whip. Joanna gave a gasp of relief
'Oh, Kenelm!' she exclaimed, unaware she had for the first time omitted his title. 'There's a woman to see you! Selina Kirk, she says she is, from Leeds. I don't know what to do with her!'
He stared at her in astonishment.
'That woman? How dare she come here? Throw her in the lake! I paid her off, and handsomely. Has she been impertinent?'
Joanna tried not to giggle. Now he was here the situation was under control, and not her responsibility. This seemed a most unlikely conversation, a husband and wife discussing the husband's mistress, but they were not a normal married couple. Joanna was not ignorant, having lived with the camp followers in the Peninsula, and she understood that men had certain needs. If Sir Kenelm had no mistress, what would he do? Perhaps he had another? She looked at him speculatively and he flushed slightly. For a wild moment she considered offering to supply these needs herself, and then remembered he did not want her in that way. She would merely disgust him by her immodesty.
'She seems to think you discarded her, refused to marry her, because I had a large dowry,' Joanna said hurriedly, trying not to blush.
'She actually thought I might marry her?'
Joanna had to laugh at his appalled expression.
'She assumed you could not while your Cousin Georgina was alive,' she explained.
'Did she? Well, I will soon disabuse her of that notion! As if I would even contemplate marrying a woman such as her!'
He marched into the drawing room, dragging his riding whip through his hands as though he were about to use it. Joanna picked up her skirts and fled up to her bedroom, and concealed herself behind the curtain. Would Kenelm get rid of her? How soon might she see the wretched woman depart, on her way back to Leeds?
*