A Dangerous Undertaking. Mary Nichols
After that——’ he shrugged—you may annul the marriage if you wish, so long as it has lasted at least a year. You will be amply recompensed in that event.’ He did not know how difficult an annulment would be, but, as he did not anticipate having to put it to the test, it was an easy thing to suggest.
She understood that the marriage was not to be consummated. It seemed extraordinary that he should not want an heir. And what significance was there in stipulating a year? ‘My lord, this conversation is becoming nonsensical,’ she said.
‘It will make more sense if you think about it,’ he said. ‘Do not dismiss my proposal out of hand and, as it looks as though you might be snowed up here for a little while, perhaps you would do me the courtesy of allowing yourself time to consider it.’
Agreeing to that could do no harm, she decided. ‘Very well, my lord. I will think about it.’
He smiled and returned to the table. ‘Thank you, but I must ask you to maintain the masquerade for my grandmother’s sake when you meet her.’
She was his guest, and an impoverished one at that; she agreed reluctantly. She didn’t see how deceiving Lady Pargeter would be any help at all if the marriage never took place. He was so willing to lie that she supposed he would soon invent a story of a lovers’ tiff and the engagement being all over.
She met her ladyship at dinner, which was taken at three in the afternoon, but, even as early as that, it was almost dark and the long dining-room was bathed in the glow of several chandeliers.
Physically Lady Pargeter was a tiny, very frail woman who had to be helped to her chair, but mentally, Margaret was sure, she was strong as iron and just as unbending. She wore a white powdered wig with a cap trailing ribbons sitting on top of it. Her undress gown of patterned silk flowed in pleats from an embroidered yoke, which did little to disguise the fact that she was little more than skin over bone. Her face did not look painted, although it was chalk-white and the cheeks sunken. But her brown eyes were alive, darting about the room, taking everything in, missing nothing. She lifted the lorgnette which dangled from a ribbon on her wrist and peered through it at Margaret.
‘So,’ she said, when everyone was seated and the silent footmen began to serve the meal, ‘are you my grandson’s choice or is he yours?’
Margaret did not know what to say, but before she could think of a suitable reply Roland came to her rescue. ‘It was mutual, Grandmama.’
He had changed into a lilac satin coat over a long embroidered waistcoat. His white breeches were tied with a bow below the knee. Pristine white ruffles adorned his throat and wrists and white stockings graced his elegant calves. He wore a powdered wig with side-curls and ringlets tied at the back with a black ribbon. He looked very stylish, but Margaret found herself thinking that she liked him best in plain country clothes which seemed to suit his muscular physique better. She blushed suddenly when she realised he was looking at her. Could he possibly have read her thoughts?
‘Do you know what you are letting yourself in for?’ Lady Pargeter demanded of Margaret, ignoring her grandson.
‘I think so, my lady.’
‘Good, because I wouldn’t want you to be under any illusions. Being married to a Pargeter heir is a dangerous undertaking, especially for a Capitain.’ She looked venomously at Margaret. ‘Did your mother never tell you that?’
‘No, she never mentioned Winterford at all, not until…until the day she died.’
‘Hardly to be wondered at.’
‘Grandmama, you are making something of nothing,’ Roland put in before Margaret could ask what she meant. ‘We will hear no more of it. Tell me, what have you been doing today?’
‘What is there to do in this God-forsaken place? Hannah read to me a little while and I worked on my needlepoint, but my eyes are not good enough for that now. I don’t know why I continue with it. Obstinacy, I suppose. I do not like being beaten. Oh, and I sat for a time looking out of my window.’ She gave a cackle of a laugh. ‘A wonderful view I have from my window—nothing to behold but the horizon and the sky.’
‘The sky is very beautiful,’ Margaret said. ‘I never realised it until yesterday.’
‘I did see something today, though,’ the old lady went on, ignoring Margaret’s comment. ‘I saw a woman in a rowing-boat, coming upriver from that…that place. She stopped at our jetty.’
Kate giggled and Charles said, ‘I didn’t see anyone, did you, Roland?’
‘At our jetty?’ he queried. ‘No, I did not.’
‘It’s funny she should turn up again,’ the old lady said, peering at Margaret. ‘You have a look of her…’
‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Roland quickly. ‘Mistress Donnington is nothing like her. And it was years ago, Grandmama…’
‘Is it? Oh, time means nothing to me now. Sometimes it drags, and weeks seem like years, and sometimes it is the other way round.’ She sighed. ‘What it is to be old. Everybody standing about waiting for you to die.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Roland.
‘Oh, Grandmama!’ said Kate. ‘You must not talk like that.’
‘Why not? I am long past the age when I should be in my coffin. My daughter-in-law has been dead these many years and now my son is gone. Why have I been left behind?’
‘Because we love you and do not want to part with you,’ Kate said.
‘There’s more to it than that,’ she said. ‘It has something to do with this young man here.’ And she poked Roland’s arm with her lorgnette. ‘I have been preserved, pickled in wine and brandy, simply in order to see the Pargeters with a new heir. I shall go to my grave in peace when that happens.’
Roland looked at Margaret as if defying her to deny the possibility. She concentrated on her plate, picking without appetite at fish in oyster sauce. What was going on? They were all talking in riddles.
‘So, when is the wedding to be?’ her ladyship continued. ‘I think it should be soon.’
‘But I am in mourning, my lady,’ Margaret put in, reluctant to talk of a marriage she never intended should take place, but she remembered just in time Roland’s warning to humour the old lady. Arguing with her might bring on a seizure. ‘My mother died less than two weeks ago.’
‘Where?’
‘In London.’
‘Your father? Was he one of the Donningtons of Devon?’
‘I don’t think so, my lady. He died when I was very small. In India.’
‘Oh, a merchant!’ There was contempt in her ladyship’s voice, and Margaret was tempted to defend the father she had never known, but changed her mind.
‘I believe so.’
‘Was he successful?’
Margaret forced herself to smile. ‘If he had been, I would not be here now.’
It was not an answer which pleased her ladyship. She drew her lips down into a thin line and tapped Margaret impatiently on the back of her hand with her fan. ‘My grandson honours you, and you would do well to remember it.’
‘Indeed, I do, my lady.’
‘Good. Have you any other kin, besides that reprobate Henry Capitain?’
‘I know of no one, my lady.’
‘Then who is there to complain if you marry while you are in mourning?’ She turned to her grandson. ‘I want it done and I want it done quickly. I have no time to waste, even if you think you have. And you haven’t, you know. Twenty-six and still single. You are not even a widower, which might excuse you.’
‘Oh, I say,’ Charles broke in.
‘I