Marry in Haste

Marry In Haste

“Marry in haste, repent at leisure”, William Congreve, 1693.

CHAPTER ONE

We were Married in a shoddy, slap-dash affair, over an anvil at Gretna Green with only my maid and his valet to stand witness. I was already enceinte, as they say, but not with the child of my Husband. Nevertheless, it was an agreeable Proposition: he would keep his mistress, and I my Lover, and both of us would enjoy the fruits: the magnificent estate of Edgewater.

No Lie was ever so sweet. It was only after, flush with our Deception, that we knew we trod the path of Perilous Ruin. 

At the news, I heard from Miss P— that the Dowager Countess took to her bed for a Week, then decamped to Bath to take the waters and drum up Sympathy for herself. To lose a husband and two sons in so short a time: she would complain of her Dreadful Plight to any who would listen. 

Lo! But my heart was Sore for my dear friend, not only had she begged me to Reconsider, but she had been forced to take a position as a paid companion to my Lady Grandmother, for she would not Marry. 

Dear Reader, how I Envied her! 

•••

After six weeks on the Continent, my new Husband and I returned to Claim our estate. We had laid out our circumstance thusly: to him, a Mistress, to me, a Lover. Edgewater needed heirs, he only wanted but one for Himself, and I needed not trouble myself for a few years on that account. 

How merry we were then! 

I romped nude in the Bay of Naples, and took a three-day trip to see Pompeii. I painted many lovely watercolours, and sent them off posthaste to Annabelle, whose wicked letters, filled with all the gossip, brightened my spirits. 

When I returned to the villa, my Husband’s mistress was glowing. I was sure he had put a child in her belly. 

He is so different when he is with me, Perdita! 

I cared little for what Society would think, then. Ah, those were happy days — the happiest! I became sleek and well-fed as a seal, I ruined my complexion, and freckled all over. Of the Life inside of me, I rejoiced — never worrying what my Lover did in Town, only hoping that he would not think too badly of me. 

But all our Sorrow was yet to come…

•••

My dearest Perdita… 

How I envy you in the warm sun of Italy! I hope it agrees with your complexion, your Lady Grandmother had her maid mix us up the most dastardly concoction from a woman in the village. It stunk worse than an alley on a hot summer’s day, but Madame assures me I shall be white as milk with nightly applications (I dump it in the chamberpot each night, and Cook has begun to fear for my constitution). 

You asked for news of Town, and what has become of your suitors. It is thus: Mr Sinclaire is holed up in his townhouse, and will not see visitors. Prince Hamid has left for Constantinople, and they say his eyes were full of sorrow to see our great city go, but I think his tears were for you. Mr Harper still works for your Step-Mama, though he has confided in me he means to rejoin the army, and hopes for a posting abroad before your Return. 

As for Miss Sutton, her father has vowed to sue your Husband for Breach of Contract, I hope it will not importune your fortunes overmuch. 

You know where my Heart lies, dearest Perdita. I shall never wed, not even if the Prince Regent himself made an offer. 

All my affection,

Annabelle. 

•••

When we returned to Edgewater, my Lady Grandmother met us at the door. She looked as though she had aged a Decade, so frail and trembling was she. “Dearest child,” she said. And her fan said, What have you done?

“I have only taken what is mine, Lady Grandmother,” I said aloud. My Husband touched my arm. I had vowed on my own to make a Man of him. He would not bow to the Dowager Countess, nor give her demands any quarter. Are you not proud? my fan replied to hers. “After all, this is what my Father would have wanted.”

“Your father–! The Duke is in the parlor with the Dowager Countess,” said she. She trembled fretfully, and I laid a gentle hand upon her arm. 

“I am Countess now, Lady Grandmother. The Duke does not scare me.” I looked to my Husband, who quaked in his fine Hessian boots. “Husband? Shall we beard the lion in its den?” 

My Husband turned to me, and I could have sworn I saw a glint of Mirth in his blue eyes. 

Let us eat, drink, and be merry; for

tomorrow we Die.

“After you, Wife.” Yes, most decidedly mirth. He touched my lower back, but not in a lover’s caress. Though I had laid with him but a handful of times to consummate the marriage, there was naught between but friendly Affection. 

After our first copulation, which was not as bad as I feared, we had laid and laughed in bed, and he had touched my cheek, and said only, I think I have made the right choice. 

If there had been a hint of sorrow in his voice, I had brushed it aside. There would be recriminations enough on the morrow, for it did not sit well with his mistress that I must take him to my bed for show; indeed, it took many assurances that his affections laid firmly with her, and there lay a robust friendship between he and I — nothing more. 

•••

The Duke was sprawled upon the settee, a glass of ratafia in his liver-spotted hand. When he saw us enter the room arm in arm, he glowered like an old bull that must watch the young, upstart bull plow the choicest cows from beyond the gate. “Lady Perdita!” he cleared his throat, but the Dowager Countess leapt in. 

“How dare you — how dare you, you  half-breed trollop! I demand an annulment, I have already written to the Archbishop –“

“This was my choice,” said my Husband, in a tone bordering on disrespect. “You have what you wanted. In this house –” he looked to me, and I gave him a regal nod, “– you will speak of my Wife, the Countess, with respect.” 

“But–!” Henrietta half-swooned, but when no one moved to catch her, she collected herself. “Do you mean to tell me–” but she could not go on; indeed, she was pale as a ghost.  

My husband smiled wickedly, looking straight at the Duke as he spoke. “I plowed the field, Your Grace, and planted my Seed.” His hand tightened on my waist, as if I could be told to hold my tongue any more!

I stood on tip-toe, and kissed his cheek. “He has made me the Happiest of wives.” And then I hid my blushing cheeks behind my fan, and signaled to the Duke, I do not care for you. Leave now. 

“I will put a stop to this sham marriage and rescue you, Lady Perdita, I vow it!” The Duke swore as he bent over my hand. His face was that of a man who plotted murder most Foule, yet he took his leave forthwith, leaving my Husband and I with the livid Dowager Countess. 

“You–!” she rounded on me, claws out, but to my eternal surprise, my Husband stepped between us.

“You will not touch her.” At his command, she collapsed, sobbing on the floor. Sadness crossed his face, and he helped her up, setting her down upon the settee: crocodile tears. She caught my gaze and smirked, simpering. 

“You would not turn me from my home–!” 

He looked to me and she saw it, her knuckles clenched white. “Not right away, Perdita needs instruction in the running of the household.” He cleared his throat. “What say you, wife?”

Of course I wanted the poisonous snake out of our lives without delay, but mindful of my Husband’s tender feelings for his mother, I said, “Madam, you may stay as long as you wish. But we wish to have the master bedroom to ourselves, for it has been a long journey.” I fluttered my fan at my Husband. Kiss me. 

His brows rose in surprise, but he stood, and when he bent to kiss my cheek, I turned my head and kissed him in the French manner, moaning wantonly. He caught on to the jest, and kissed me back exuberantly, groaning into my mouth. 

“Wife.” He drew back, flushed, loosening his cravat. He laid a finger on my lips, and then turned to his Mother, whose face was reddish-purple as a beet. I prayed she would have an apoplexy on the spot. “We wish to retire forthwith, so clear your effects from the room, madam.” 

That night, we made much merry: bouncing up and down on the bed as it creaked and swayed, until he tickled my ribs and we fell back laughing onto the mattress. For a moment, all was silent, and the air crackled with a thing unspoken. 

“Be kind to her, that is all I ask of you,” he said simply, touching my cheek.

Kind? I am not a kind woman, and neither, I regret to say, was she. 

After forty days and nights of our shenanigans, she decamped forthwith to Bath to plot her next move. 

•••

At the end of the Season, in August, the banns were read for a Marriage of Unequals. Miss Sutton wed the Duke with all Pomp and Circumstance, and we attended their wedding at Westminster Cathedral. The payoff to her had been handsome indeed, and made her Dowry one of the Richest in all the land. 

Proud Creature that she was, she soon set about to fill the London drawing rooms with gossip about myself and her former fiancé, but I was much admired for my grace, and the mud did not stick. After that, why, she turned her head to spending all the Duke’s money, and showing us up at every turn with the grand balls and parties she would throw. 

But I saw through it. Theresa Sutton was a sad creature, and she never stopped hating me, not until the day they lowered her into the ground. 

But she was not my deepest enemy — nay, I was not to know I clasped an asp to my breast, for I was young then, and in some ways of the world, an utter innocent.