Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Every day I am more convinced that kindness is a virtue higher than (almost) any other. Our father is kind. As well as inept with money and hopelessly optimistic.
After a last luncheon, we shall leave this godforsaken abbey forever,” Godric said, sitting down on the bed a half hour later. “Will you please join me in the library when you’re ready?”
Once again, he had wrung sensation from me until I felt utterly boneless. I blinked at him. “Where are you going?”
“Lance and I are going to make plans that will allow him to return to France promptly. But first I’m going to assure Ophelia that no matter her birth, she is ours, and we will care for her.”
I smiled at that: Godric had been a father for only one day, but he was a marvelous parent already. “Once I’m dressed, I’ll tell her the same.”
Sometime later I sank into a bath, holding a cup of tea, watching Tess packing the last of my trunks. “What is everyone saying in the kitchen?” I asked, when I was awake enough to converse.
“That Ainsworth is a murderer,” Tess said. “Didn’t I say it? I always said it.”
“What? No, you didn’t,” I objected.
“Well, I said the abbey was an evil place. She’s been living here. Wickedness has seeped into her bones.”
“That’s absurd,” I said, shaken. “She’s no murderer.”
“Evie, she rogered him to death!”
(Another new word, but easily identifiable.)
“That doesn’t fall within the definition of a criminal act,” I pointed out.
Tess snorted. “Then there’s this business about Miss Mima being the dowager Lady Burnsby. Mima said flat out this morning that Burnsby was a fatheaded fool, and she would never have gone near him. She won’t even consider the idea that the new Lord Burnsby might be her son.”
“I suspect it wouldn’t make much difference in Mima’s life if she understood that Lance is her son. She misses her baby, not the grown man he’s become.”
“When I was in the kitchen just now, gathering your tea tray, they told her three times that Burnsby had passed away,” Tess said. “She can’t keep it in her head for more than the flicker of an eyelash. And what’s more, she doesn’t give a toss when she does hear it.”
“I’m not grieving, either,” I said.
“The new Lord Burnsby asked, not for the first time, if Mima would care to live with you and Sir Godric in London, but Mima said no, because what if her baby came to find her? And there he was, right in front of her eyes.”
We were both silent for a moment. “It’s unbearably sad,” I said, thinking of Lance’s face as he knelt beside his mother. I held out my empty teacup. “May I have some more tea, please?”
“I can’t wait to be free of this place,” Tess said, fetching the teapot. “Even knowing Mima’s unhinged, I can’t believe she’d rather live among the wolves and ghosts in this benighted abbey.”
“I don’t think a London doctor could solve problems as grave as Mima’s, problems that stem back to the catastrophic effect of giving birth. And this has been her home for years.”
“Lord Everley’s valet and I will go ahead of you to the inn,” Tess said, changing the subject.
“A sleigh scoots down the mountain faster than a carriage, so you’ll arrive at the inn in good time for supper.
Mr. Crumpsall dispatched a groom yesterday to reserve rooms. It’s not as if they’ll have many guests at this time of year. ”
I wouldn’t post another letter to my sister from the closest village, because Godric and I planned to travel straight to London. I wanted to tell Rosie everything in person—after introducing her to my new husband. The thought made me glow with happiness.
Two hours later I walked into the library in a traveling gown, prepared to flee the abbey, though not until I fulfilled the obligations mentioned in the will.
Even if I had never truly been married to Burnsby, I still felt responsibility for Mima, Ophelia, and (despite myself) Sophonisba.
Their care was consigned to Burnsby’s heir and his wife.
In the world’s eyes, the wife would be me—one of the Bigamous Burnsby Wives.
(I sounded like a circus performer. Still, I was grateful not to be a Ghostly Burnsby Wife.)
Ophelia would accompany us to London, frequently visiting her beloved brother and his wife in France. The household that made Mima an apple tart every day for a month would feed her well. Crumpsall, her footman, and her maid would keep her safe while she searched the attics.
That left Sophonisba.
Godric’s face lit up when I entered the library, and he started to his feet. I paused after handing my mantle to a footman, savoring the moment, my heart so happy that I couldn’t contain my emotion.
He drew me into his arms without a greeting, his tongue twining around mine, and heat bubbled in my body like the finest champagne. I had a fierce wish to catch his hand and draw him back to my bedroom.
Why on earth hadn’t we consummated our marriage? My body trembled against his, and the idea of his weight on top of me sounded wonderful. I longed for the friction of skin roughened with hair against my bare skin.
From behind me, Colette’s merry laughter brought us back to sanity. Godric drew away, even as my eyes begged for another kiss.
“Tonight, my darling, darling wife,” he breathed in my ear.
He tucked me under his arm, and we walked over to the fireplace to join Colette and Lance.
“I love that gown!” I exclaimed. Colette was wearing a sky-blue traveling dress, albeit with Valenciennes lace at the neck and wrists and a hem adorned with five rows of adorable tiny pleats.
Colette jumped up and kissed my cheeks in the French style. “Now that you are my sister, I shall always greet you with two bises,” she said with satisfaction. “Your gown is also nice, though perhaps not as bedecked as I prefer.”
My gown was tailored from blue Lincolnshire wool, its only adornment a black velvet trim that would disguise the road dust that seeps through carriage doors.
Once we were all seated, Colette said, “What are we to do with Sophonisba Ainsworth? My suggestion is that we toss her into a convenient snowbank.”
I opened my mouth.
“Which we will not do,” Lance concluded.
“I would give her my eight thousand pounds, except I didn’t inherit it.” I turned to my husband.
(Perhaps I should have brought this up in private? Obviously, I had much to learn about marriage.)
Godric was not a man to sigh dramatically, but I sensed the ghost of a sigh. “Lance, I suggest we each contribute four thousand pounds to Miss Ainsworth’s care and upkeep, thereby fulfilling the terms of Burnsby’s will.”
“Not fair to you,” Lance pointed out. “The will placed the onus of her support on his heir.”
“My wife’s generosity knows no bounds,” Godric said, giving me a wry smile. “Thankfully, neither you nor I are short of funds.” He rose and walked over to ring the bell that summoned Crumpsall.
When Sophonisba strode into the room a few minutes later, her ermine cloak trailing behind her, I saw a face locked in resentment, with a shading of grief. Her eyes were not swollen, but I was certain that she had cried all night.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice raspy as a seagull’s. She seated herself in a straight-backed armchair, arranging her black garments with care. She hadn’t removed her cloak; grubby white ermine rumpled around her feet.
I suppose my eyes conveyed sympathy.
Her face contorted with a storm of pure rage, but she quickly recovered herself. “You,” she said, disgusted.
We waited, but she fell silent.
After a moment, Godric said, “We are willing to pay you eight thousand pounds if you move to France and never speak of your relationship with Burnsby.”
“I don’t want her money,” she spat, referring to me.
“I don’t have any money,” I retorted. “The codicil my father negotiated is invalid because I never actually married Burnsby. And when did I become the devil incarnate? My only fault was allowing myself to be misled and betrayed by the same man who misled and betrayed you.”
“You never loved him,” she said, repeating her charge from the day before.
“No, I did not,” I agreed. “Thankfully, because my heart would have been cracked by his callousness.”
(As hers had been, but I didn’t add that.)
“Hecuba and Alice loved Bunny,” Sophonisba said. “They weren’t married to him for long, but I could tell they loved him. We had that in common.” She proclaimed it with the grandeur of a dethroned queen.
Colette’s eyes met mine in clear agreement. We both disliked Sophonisba ferociously.
“This offer of support springs from the goodness of Lance’s and my wife’s hearts,” Godric said. “In particular, Lady Everley has chosen to accept responsibility for you, as per Burnsby’s will, though she is under neither a moral nor a legal obligation to do so.”
“You’re doing it because you feel guilty,” she hissed at me.
(Hissed wasn’t the right word. Hooted would be more apt. She hooted at me, scolding my moral failings.)
“About Burnsby’s death? No, I do not.”
“You should feel guilty!” She tossed her head. “You married an old man without loving him, solely for his money. You are nothing but a mercenary hussy.”
That again.
I declined to answer.
“This offer of financial support comes with the proviso that you do not share your story,” Godric said.
“While living in Paris, you will never describe your life with Burnsby, Mima’s existence, or anything to do with his various marriages or offspring thereof.
You may well meet English people during your life abroad, but the name ‘Burnsby’ will not cross your lips. ”
Lance took over. “I shall establish an account for you at the Banque de France in Paris. You may contact my agent there once a month, and increments will be paid to you over the next decade. Should you break our agreement, the estate will sue you for repayment plus interest, as well as any funds you receive from a newspaper or other source. Should you die before the money is spent, the remainder will return to my estate. Should you outlive the eight thousand pounds, we will continue to give you the same monthly payments as long as you live.”
Sophonisba’s mouth pursed like a velvet bag with knotted strings, its coins hidden from sight. “I shall take your devil’s bargain.” She rose to her feet, her ermine cloak sweeping behind her. The household must have declined to clean it; the hem was begrimed as well as wet from snow.
For the first time, I could imagine her dominating a stage in Rome or Paris, singing in ringing tones about death, love, or longing, as per her summary of operatic subjects on our first meeting.
“Nasty, bad-tempered boys you were,” she said bitterly, “and you’ve grown up to be just as ill-mannered as ever.”
“You have made your disdain adamantly clear,” Godric said, his voice leaving no question about his indifference to her opinion.
“Crumpsall has placed your trunks on a sleigh,” Lance said.
“A groom will accompany you to Newcastle, paying for your tickets and lodging during the journey. At the port, he will buy you and your maid, if she wishes to accompany you, passage to France. On the first of the month you may inquire at the bank for your stipend.”
“Don’t think I’ll thank you,” she snapped.
“We do not want your gratitude,” I said, meaning it.
Godric’s large hand curled around my shoulder, a point of reference in that chilly room.
“I hope to never see the lot of you again,” she said.
“I doubt we shall inhabit the same arrondissement in Paris,” Colette said. “Goodbye, Miss Ainsworth.”
Sophonisba swept out, a departure marred only when her soggy train caught in the door so she had to reopen it and slam it shut (again).
“Good riddance to all that bosom!” Colette said cheerfully.
I felt depressed, but I tried to match her jest. “If I never hear the word rumpy-pumpy again, it will be too soon,” I managed.
(And I never did.)