The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

“I wanted to marry you, sir, and instead you brought back that creature from Scotland! All you had to do was ask me. I would not have kept you dangling overly. I would have refurbished the vicarage, perhaps added to it, removed some of those worm-eaten old graves and built another wing that would cozy right up to the church so you could be closer to your flock. You would also have greatly appreciated my beauty. You should have already appreciated my beauty. It is remarkable. Just look at me, sir, then at her. There is no comparison.”

Tysen looked mildly interested. “No,” he said, “there is no comparison.”

“Yes, I waited and waited, but you didn’t ask me. What do you possibly see in her? Surely she has no dowry to bring to you. I am nineteen years old. She is old, nearly the age of my mother!”

Tysen decided in that instant that he hated conservatories. It was time to bring this monologue of hers to a close. “Forgive me for disappointing you, Miss Strapthorpe. Mary Rose hasn’t quite gained your mother’s years. Now, what did you wish my advice on?”

“Are you blind, sir? Are you an idiot? Without a brain or any sense at all? I just said that I wanted you, and you were beginning to appreciate me when you had to leave for Scotland. Now you are Lord Barthwick, and my father is more than pleased, and he wanted you for a son-in-law. And you had the gall to bring her back, that foreign creature with no style, no claim to beauty—”

Tysen said slowly, cleanly interrupting her, “Yes, Miss Strapthorpe, perhaps I have been a bit blind. The fact is, however, that I am now married. I was raised with the notion that a person of breeding was always civil, even in the face of disappointment, distress, or regret. If you have no need for advice, then let us return to the drawing room.”

He heard her angry breathing behind him as he opened the door and stepped back to let her pass in front of him.

“Be nice to Mary Rose,” he said, looking at her straight in her lovely eyes. “I would appreciate it very much. It would be the polite thing to do.”

She looked like she would rather gut trout.

“Well, we survived,” Meggie said, when, finally, a half hour later they were walking back toward the vicarage. “Well, Papa, did she try to seduce you in the conservatory?”

“No,” Tysen said. “Meggie, curse you, I don’t want you to know about that word and its meanings. ‘Seduce’ isn’t a good word for you. You’re only ten years old. Contrive to forget it.”

“Yes, Papa. What did she want with you?”

“She wanted to upbraid me,” he said. “She was angry that I brought back a wife when she saw herself as waiting to marry me.” He sighed.

“Oh, dear,” Mary Rose said. “There might be problems.”

“Nothing we can’t deal with,” Tysen said. “We have done our duty. You have met nearly everyone except for Mr. Thatcher, who spends a great deal of his time beneath his table, dead drunk. But he is always sober on Sundays, and you will meet him then, Mary Rose.”

It was strange how they responded to Tysen, she thought—both with wonder and, perhaps, with a bit of confusion. It didn’t make much sense to her. Then she realized that she’d been blind—what had concerned everyone was that most people simply didn’t know what to make of her, a foreigner dropped suddenly in their midst. They very likely wondered why he would marry her, of all the possible women available to him.

Mary Rose brooded about it, at least until dinner that evening.

25

Vivere, amare, discere

Living, loving, and learning

OVER A VERY fresh turtle soup at the dinner table, Tysen announced, “The weather is very warm. We’re going to visit Brighton. I asked Mr. Arden—”

“That’s Papa’s solicitor,” Meggie said to Mary Rose.

“Yes, and he immediately found us a house. I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain we could go. We will spend a week there. What do you think?”

His two boys stared at him. Leo said slowly, “Papa, you have never before taken us to Brighton. You have never taken us anywhere except to visit our uncles. You have always believed that doing nothing much of anything at all is a waste of time.”

Had he really believed that?

“We would love to go,” Max said, frowning a bit toward Mary Rose. “Perhaps having her here isn’t such a bad thing.”

“I agree with you, Max. She is nice to have here,” said his father, and thought briefly about kissing her behind her left ear, breathing in her scent, and maybe then sliding his mouth to her—well, no, that would be rushing things a bit. He realized his children were looking at him. He coughed behind his hand and tried to look blank.

“Oh, I see,” said Leo.

“Dolt,” said Meggie.

The regent wasn’t in residence at the Pavilion, and so Brighton was thin of the London society who dutifully followed the prince here during the summer months. It was late in September now, but the weather remained glorious—sunny and mild. They quickly settled into the small rented house on the Steyne.