Page 49 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Sixteen
To Our Dearest Patrina,
We are thinking of you every day, and I’m sure you can imagine just how much we miss you. Are you faring well? Are you happy? We read your first letter home with great trepidation and were so very relieved to learn that you are comfortable and enjoying your new position as Lady Morendale.
Not much has happened in London since you left, although perhaps we are all too sad at your leaving to pay much attention. Agnes has a new gentleman caller, a rather nervy young man who seems extremely anxious – she nudges me in annoyance as I write this – but she is very fond of him already. We entertain hopes, which I shall not spell out in case of tempting fate!
Plans for Gillian’s coming-out are being set in motion, although she is most insistent on not beginning her come-out in earnest until you are home to guide her through it.
We are glad to hear of your first soiree with your new husband and are truly disappointed that the distance prevents us from attending. We were alittlesurprised to learn that some of the Marquess’ family have come to visit so soon after the wedding. His mother and sister, of course, live with you, but his aunt and cousin’s visit is not at all in the ordinary way.
Perhaps this is not a necessary thing to write, but Agnes is insistent that we include it. She has made some enquiries regarding Lord Tidemore and his mother and was greatly surprised to learn that his debts are remarkable. The Tidemores, it seems, are an ancient and titled family, but not a rich one – the wealth it all tied up in the Morendale estate,as is so often the way with this old, titled families. For my part your Mama is writing the letter, of course I cannot see why this is so very strange, and Agnesdoestake such strange dislikes to people. However, she insisted that we add this to you, although what you might do with the information is beyond me. Lord Tidemore must know that while he was once in the line of succession, your appearance and the children you will inevitably have will put the title sadly out of his reach.
That is all we can think of at the moment, beyond a few bits of idle gossip which Gillian intends to include as a postscript. We miss you, darling, and think of you every single day. Let us know at once when we might travel up for a visit, as we are all eager to see you. We wish you the best, and much love. Write back to us directly.
All our love, Mama, Papa, Agnes, and Gillian.
Patrina drew in a deep, shaky breath after finishing the letter. She folded it carefully, pressing it against her chest. The letter had arrived at breakfast, and Patrina had dashed off at once to read it, neatly evading Thomasin’s not-so-subtle questions.
In the end, she settled herself in the music room to read it. Nobody else seemed to come in there.
Homesickness pricked at Patrina’s heart, and she swallowed thickly, hunching forward.
I miss them. I miss them so much.
What on earth am I going to do without them?
Sniffling, Patrina wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and resolutely put the folded letter away. She was not going to waste her time blubbering and moping. The plain fact of the matter was that she was not going home. This was her home now, and it was up to her to make it feel like home.
I’m Lady Morendale, Patrina thought furiously, lowering her fingers over the smooth, ivory pianoforte keys. Perhaps it will take a while to understand how much power I really have, and get others to understand it, but I will get there. I shall succeed.
She began to play.
As the music unfolded, Patrina closed her eyes, letting the familiar melody melt away her worries. Worries about Neil, about his health, about the way his family were pushing her away. About her own feelings for Neil, which were growing day by day and which were best left unexamined.
After all, she’d known before the marriage that she was likely to be a widow soon enough.
The music filled the room, with Patrina resting her foot on the pedals to make the sound linger, unnaturally so.
When she reached the end of the memorized piece, Patrina finally let the music fade away.
“That was beautiful, Patrina.”
She flinched, spinning towards the doorway. Neil stood there, leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick. He smiled wryly at her.
“I apologise if I have caused you any alarm. I had to fight to be allowed out of my room. Harry stood up for me, thankfully, only on the condition that I would use this,” he waved the walking stick with a grimace. “I feel like an old man.”
Patrina bit her lip. “I’m glad to see you up and about. I… I tried to come and see you, but…”
“I know you did. I heard your voice in the hallway outside. I heard Mr. Blackburn and Clayton turning you away. I would have said something, but I was so weak I could scarcely form words. I apologise.”
“No, I am sorry. I’m your wife, and I ought to have been by your side,” Patrina rose to her feet, and hesitated. “Come sit down. You shouldn’t stand for too long.”
She moved over to the window seat, gesturing for him to follow her. He did, lowering himself down onto the cushion with a relieved sigh.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” he said, after the silence had dragged on for a moment or two. “You were never meant to have to go through it all.”
Patrina bit her lip. “I’m your wife.”
He threw her a wry smile. “We both know it wasn’t an ordinary sort of marriage. You didn’t agree to any of this.”
“Actually, I believe that I did. In sickness and in health, and all that.”
He closed his eyes. “You don’t deserve this, Patrina. You’re so much kinder and sweeter than I had imagined. I heard how sharp Mr. Blackburn was with you, and I’m truly sorry.”
She swallowed hard, glancing away. “He was sharp with me. I… I didn’t mean to encourage you to stop taking your medication. It was foolish of me. I only thought… well, since you already seem to believe that this illness is a death sentence, why not try something new? You haven’t even consulted other physicians.”
He shrugged. “What’s the point? Mr. Blackburn assures me that there is no precedent, no other cases like mine and my father’s that he can think of.”
“That he can think of,” Patrina echoed. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t consult others. Mr. Blackburn is hardly the beginning and ending of medical knowledge. I don’t mean that you should take on another physician, but why not try and seek for a second opinion?”
Neil sighed. “Truly, I’m not sure I have the strength. And until now, everybody – except you, of course – have been against it. Clayton and Aunt Thomasin were always against my marriage. I think that even Cynthia thought it a bad idea.”
“They don’t like me,” Patrina admitted. “Your aunt and cousin, I mean. I don’t know what I could have done to make them angry at me.”
“It’s the inheritance, it must be. Clayton imagines himself my heir and is angry now that he feels that I am trying to pass him over. Can you credit it, he kept trying to find out whether you and I were sharing a chamber – as if trying to work out whether you might have a child or not!”
Patrina flushed at that. There had been no talk or suggestion of them sharing a chamber, and she had not brought it up herself. As things stood, though, it would be frankly impossible for Patrina to be carrying the next Morendale heir.
“It’s none of his concern,” she said firmly. “I want us to be friends, Neil. I want to support you.”
He met her gaze squarely, and a ripple of warmth ran through Patrina’s chest. On impulse, she reached out, taking his hand in hers. His fingers were warm, his palm smooth. For one instant, he sucked in a breath, and Patrina wondered whether he would draw his hand away.
He didn’t. Instead, he interlocked his fingers with hers, and they sat there for a while, palm to palm. The warmth spread up her arm and blossomed in her chest.
“They want to cancel the soiree,” Neil said, after a pause. “I’m too weak to argue.”
“I wanted to sit by your bedside, but apparently my authority as Lady Morendale doesn’t count for much,” Patrina sighed.
He shot her a sideways glance. “My mother still sees herself as the Marchioness, I think. She always has. And I’m her little boy, who still needs guidance and understanding.”
“Perhaps if we…” she broke off abruptly as footsteps echoed along the hall, heading towards the music room. A moment later, the door opened, and Thomasin poked her head into the room. Spotting them, she gave a sigh of irritation.
“There you are, Neil! We were looking for you.” Not waiting for a response, she turned her head and called down the passageway. “He’s in here!”
Before Patrina could say a word, more and more footsteps approached, and the family poured into the music room. All of them, and Mr. Blackburn, she noticed.
“Now,” Emma said briskly, clapping her hands together. “We have discussed the matter, and we feel it is best to cancel the soiree after all. It was arranged too hastily, and you are simply not well enough, Neil.”
Neil bit his lip. “I’d like the soiree to go ahead, Mother. I’ll rest beforehand and retire early. I won’t even dance.”
“I’m afraid it’s already decided, old boy,” Clayton said softly, stepping forward and clapping Neil on the shoulder. “You can’t even climb up on your horse anymore.”
Neil seemed to be sinking lower and lower into his seat, knuckles standing out white on the handle of his walking stick.
“And how is that relevant?” Patrina heard herself saying. Clayton glanced at her – they all did – as if seeing her for the first time.
Clayton smiled coolly. “Well, if Neil can climb up onto his horse, then perhaps the soiree can go ahead. Would you like to try, cousin?”
Patrina rose to her feet. She still held Neil’s hand in hers and noticed the way that both Clayton and Thomasin’s gaze dropped to their interlocked hands.
“This talk of climbing onto a horse’s back is not relevant,” she said firmly. “Neil is not going to be riding a horse but sitting quietly in his own ballroom while his friends and family watch him carefully.”
“It’s true,” Harry spoke up, having quietly followed the family into the music room. “I believe he will be all right, you know.”
Mr. Blackburn cleared his throat, levelling a dark and angry look at Patrina.
“My lady, I agree with this choice. I do hope you do not intend to argue with me on this matter, otherwise certain measures will have to be taken.”
Patrina swallowed, but before she could answer, Neil spoke up.
“And what measures are these, Mr. Blackburn? What measures could you take against Lady Morendale?”
There was an awful silence in the room. Mr. Blackburn paled a little at Neil’s tone and dropped his gaze. He didn’t elaborate on these measures, despite his confidence beforehand, when it had just been Patrina and him, with Clayton to back him up.
He never had any power over me, Patrina realized, with a rush of anger. Emma cleared her throat again and shuffled forward a step or two.
“I’m sure that Mr. Blackburn meant nothing by it, dear,” she murmured.
“No doubt,” Neil said, eyes fixed on the physician. His grip on Patrina’s hand tightened, as if for support. “Let me be clear. This soiree is, unfortunately, important. It is Patrina’s introduction into Society as my wife. As Lady Morendale. She is the Marchioness, and her authority is not to be questioned. In this house, she is second only to me. I think perhaps some of you are struggling to understand this.”
Thomasin threw an uneasy look at her son. “If dear Patrina feels unwelcome, or ignored, then she only has to say. There is no need to bother you about such silliness, Neil.”
He gave a brittle smile. “Patrina has not been complaining or bringing tales to me, if that’s what you are implying, aunt. I’ve heard myself how you treat her. You kept her out of my room when I was sick and rode roughshod over her wishes in several matters. She’s borne it with grace, but enough is enough. She is Lady Morendale, and outranks every man and woman here, is that understood? This is her house.”
There was another long silence. Patrina glanced from face to face. She felt a flurry of satisfaction at the pale nervousness on Mr. Blackburn’s, Thomasin’s and Clayton’s faces. However, she saw that Emma and Cynthia were both looking at the ground, mortified.
Neil sagged back a little, looking paler than before. His speech had clearly tired him out, and Patrina knew without asking that he would have to be supported back to his room again. He still held her hand, though.
“I see,” Thomasin said at last, meeting her son’s eye. “But our recommendation still stands. The soiree should be cancelled. Notices can be sent out at once, and apologies given. People will understand.”
Patrina glanced down at Neil, seeing at once that he was too tired to argue further.
Never mind, she thought. It’s my turn, anyway.
“No,” she said, trying to imbue her voice with a good measure of authority. “Neil has made his wishes known, and they are my wishes, too. Cancelling the soiree will only fuel gossip. It will be easy enough to keep an eye on Neil and see that he is cared for.”
“Lady Morendale,” Clayton said, speaking carefully and using her title, “I understand that you wish to support your husband, but…”
“Support my husband?” Patrina interrupted. “Why, he has just told us what he wants. Are we all to ignore it? Neil was clear. The soiree is to go ahead. And it will go ahead. Of course, none of you are obliged to attend, but Neil and I will be in attendance. Do you all understand?”
There was more silence. Harry spoke up first.
“I shall do what I can to support him, Lady Morendale.”
She smiled in relief, and nodded at him.
There were faint murmurs of agreement, and then the family began to file out of the room.
Patrina didn’t miss the angry looks shot her way, though.
This isn’t over, she thought tiredly. Not in the least.
