Chapter Two #2
She took a deep breath and heaved it out in a sigh. After all, she had not really been given any choice at all.
“That was a large sigh,” said a man’s voice from the garden below. “Are your prospects that discouraging?”
“Alarming, at the very least,” Mima said. One part of her mind was telling her she should be yelling for help. A man was in the enclosed garden, where—or so she had been told—no one was meant to be. On the other hand, he sounded so relaxed she could not regard him as a threat.
Besides, he was down there and she was up here.
She had plenty of time to call for assistance if he tried to come closer.
Also, she was still contemplating the answer to his question.
“I would feel better about my prospects if I knew how I would be received by His Grace of Harwood and the Townswells. And what my husband-to-be thinks about it all.”
“I can tell you the second and perhaps have some influence on the first,” said the man. “In fact, I came to do so, and to find out your thoughts on the matter. First, may I introduce myself?”
Mima considered that question. Truly, she should be alerting the guards, or at the very least, telling him to leave immediately. But what harm would there be in finding out what he knew?
“Very well,” she said, peering over the balustrade so she could see what the man looked like. But while the moon made most of the garden clearly visible, the man was in shadow, and she could discern little beyond his shape.
He must have understood what she wanted, for he took several steps backward until he stood in a pool of moonlight. He bowed—the full courtly bow that noble boys were taught in case they ever met royalty. And when he straightened, she was able to catalogue his good looks.
The color of his hair and eyes was uncertain given the quality of the light, but the hair was dark, cropped short, and curly, and the eyes well shaped and set in a face handsome enough to set every unmarried maid in Ilton Castle atwitter. Yes, and the matrons, too, most likely.
It was hard to judge his height from this angle, but his shoulders were broad and he was lean, though not weedy.
He gave her a long moment to catalogue these features and then spoke.
“I am Lord Pelham Townswell, second son of the Duke of Harwood, and my father’s choice as your groom, my lady.
And I think you and I might be able to make common cause, and turn this unlikely match into grounds for a lasting peace between our families. What say you?”
For a few seconds, Mima was stunned, and could only repeat, “Lord Pelham?”
“I prefer ‘Pel,’ if we are to be on first name terms, my lady,” said the man in the garden. “May I ask, are you Lady Margherita or Lady Jemima? And may I come up? I’d hate your father to interrupt our discussion.”
Heaven forfend! “I am Mima—Lady Jemima, that is. Do you give me your word you are not here to cause me harm? Oh, what am I saying. If you were, you would lie.” He was a Townswell, after all, and everyone knew they could not be trusted.
But there he was, waiting in the garden, making no effort to climb to the balcony, which he could without her permission, for what could she do to stop him?
And he was right. If they could work together for peace, it would be good for both families.
“I am not here to cause you harm,” he said. “If you like, I shall make my marriage vows early.” He raised one hand in the air, palm out. “I solemnly swear to love, honor, protect, and cherish you, as long as we both shall live. As God be my witness.”
That took her by surprise. Surely he was not so devoid of honor that he would make such a solemn vow intending to immediately break it? “Yes,” she said quickly, before she could change her mind again. “Come on up.”
It took Lord Pelham—Pel—no more than half a minute, using the sturdy trunk of a climbing rose that must be nearly as old as the inn to reach the base of the supports of the balustrade, and then pulling himself up the rest of the way by main force.
He was not a tall man, though nor was he short. Medium-sized, which meant several inches taller than herself. Well-formed, as she had already observed, and the muscles that had hauled his weight up the side of the balustrade were not just painted on. She wondered what he did for exercise.
“I apologize for my brother Clay,” he said, as he swung first one leg and then the other over to her side of the barrier that was no longer between them. “He has remained roaring drunk since the day he learned the contents of the agreement.”
“Then I apologize for my sister Marge,” Mima replied, not to be left behind. “She locked herself in her tower when she heard about the marriage, and has steadfastly refused to come out.”
Pel grinned. “It is my hope, Lady Mima, that we shall in future offer my brother and your sister our devout thanks. Do you not think that you and I shall deal very well together?”
Mima was beginning to think it quite possible, but she was not such a fool as to fall for a few flattering phrases and an empty promise or two, even accompanied by a pretty pair of eyes and a neatly-turned calf.
“That remains to be seen, Lord Pelham. Mind you, I am not unhappy with the substitution. From what I have heard, your brother is a drunk and a rakehell.” There.
Let him digest that! Would he lash out in defense of his brother?
“Not undeserved,” said Lord Pelham. “Clay thinks the world revolves around him, and certainly my mother does. My father says he is just sowing his wild oats, and will settle down. For the duchy’s sake, I hope my father lives forever.
What about your sister? Rumor has it that she is indulged, picky, and self-absorbed. ”
“I cannot argue with any of that,” Mima agreed.
In the spirit of fairness, she added, “Though she can also be sweet when she wants to be and good company when she is in a good mood. She has locked herself in the tower so that she gets her own way, and Mama had taken to her bed and demanded her tonic. It seems you and I have a certain amount in common, Lord Pelham.”
“Pel,” he said. “My friends call me Pel, and I hope you and I shall, at the very least, be friends.”
“If my father catches you on the balcony of my bedchamber, Lord Pelham, we are unlikely to have the opportunity to be anything. How on earth did you make it past the guards?”
“Is your father likely to catch us?” Pel asked. “As to how, I knew a secret way into the garden, so I did not need to pass the guards.”
He seemed to be completely relaxed, even though she had just threatened him with her father.
And he was right. The Marquess of Ilton was undoubtedly down in one of the inn’s private parlors, drinking with his valet.
“Not very,” she told Pel. “My father, I mean. Not very likely. He and his valet are probably sampling the innkeeper’s brandy.
It is very good, apparently. Smuggled, I suppose.
My Uncle Edwin is probably with them, if he has arrived in Coombe.
He wasn’t here by the time I went up to my bedchamber.
” Her eyes widened as an idea apparently occurred to her.
“Oh! I see. You came in through a smugglers’ tunnel. ”
Pel grinned. “I heard you were smart,” he said. “Edwin would be your mother’s brother, Edwin Thoroughgood. Wasn’t he one of the architects of this marriage agreement?”
Mima nodded. “Sort of. Uncle Edwin says that the Duke of Norcross was demanding that both our fathers be attainted, but he—Uncle Edwin, that is—managed to talk the lords and the Prince Regent into a peace agreement. He says that Norcross insisted on the marriage. And if we cannot keep the peace—both between the families and within our marriage—the agreement will be broken.”
“Norcross would like that,” Pel commented. Once again, they were in agreement. Norcross was the biggest landholder in the vicinity of Coombe, and his estates bordered those of both families. He would love to extend his reach into their holdings.
“Our biggest problem,” Mima said, “is not Norcross. He might be waiting to pick over the bones after the Townswells and Ruthermonds kill one another, but our own people are the ones who are keeping the feud alive. Or, at least, I am assuming that the Townswell feel about this agreement and this marriage the way that the Ruthermonds do.”
“Suspicious, hostile, and certain it is all your family’s evil plan,” Pel said, instantly.
Which was so true that all Mima could do was sigh. “I do not see how our marriage will keep the peace, then. Indeed, it is more likely to become yet another point of contention.”
“But they are fundamentally decent people,” Pel argued.
“Mine are, most of them. There are some who just want a fight, and a few who want someone to blame for anything that goes wrong, but most of them are good people who help their neighbors and are kind to the needy. Would you say that is true of yours?”
Mima nodded. “They are decent, but they don’t believe the Townswells are.”
“So, we’ll show them,” Pel said. “If you are willing, Mima. I’ll take you visiting and introduce you to my people, one household at a time, and if you do the same with me, don’t you think that will make a difference?
Looking in the face of the enemy and seeing they are not the demons they have been made out to be? ”
It was a hopeful thought. “It will take time,” she said. “As long as our fathers can keep a lid on the simmering pot in the meanwhile, it might work. We could leave out the known hot heads.”
“Yes, for I would not wish to put you in any danger, Mima. The way I look at it, we have three choices: We can marry as our fathers wish and sit back to watch the agreement fall to pieces. We can marry, and work for peace. We can run away—together or separately—and let our families work out their own fate.”
My. He had thought this through. Mima’s respect for the man was increasing by the minute.
“Then, Lord Pelham Townswell, let us marry and work for peace.” She held out her hand, and he shook it, as if sealing a business deal, then changed the gesture to a more romantic one by lifting her hand to his lips.
“To a long life and a happy marriage, Lady Jemima Ruthermond,” he said.