McTavish's hand tightened around hers. He looked down at his feet. "You wouldn't?"
"No, I wouldn't. Wasn't it just yesterday your father lined you all up in the library and lectured you for twenty minutes about disregarding orders he and I give you?"
Digger snorted. Anne looked more worried. Andrew scowled. McTavish released Plum's hand and tried to run off after a pretty butterfly. She grabbed the back of his shirt and marched him toward the house. "Yes, indeed, I would be very, very worried had I been one to disregard your father's strictures."
"What's a stricture?" McTavish asked as Plum gently pushed him up the steps to the verandah.
"Order."
"Papa won't whip me, he says I'm too young," he replied, and scampered up the last of the steps. "Race you to the kitchen!"
"Nursery!" Plum bellowed as the children turned left at the top of the stairs and ran off down the length of the verandah. "Change your clothes before you do anything else, and don't you think you've escaped so lightly! I have not finished talking to you about ignoring-don't you give me that look, you are in enough trouble already, you do not want to be pushing me any further!"
Plum sighed her third sigh of the day as the children raced away, wondering for the hundredth time how she was to prove her excellent mothering skills to Harry when his children defied her attempts to mold them into well-behaved examples of manners and decorum rather than the wild heathens they were. She sniffed back a tear of self-pity, and immediately wrinkled her nose. The sun warming her wet shoulders heightened the horrible stench to the point where it could drop a horse at fifty paces. "Bath first, then Edna can burn this gown," she said to herself as she squelched wetly through the French doors into her sitting room. She would just run upstairs before anyone saw her....
That thought died as she realized the sitting room was already in use.
Plum blinked in surprise as Harry rose from the rose damask settee, a cup of tea in one hand, a small plate of biscuits in the other. "Ah, there she is. Plum, my dear, may I introduce mister... mister... Good Lord, woman! What have you done to yourself?"
The vicar! She'd forgotten about the vicar paying a call! Plum's eyes closed in horror for a moment as she tried to blot from her mind the sight of the vicar's and his wife's appalled faces turned to gape open-mouthed at her. A third woman clutched a handkerchief to her nose as she surveyed Plum from slimy head to weed-encrusted foot.
Thom, seated beyond Harry and playing mother as she poured tea, stared at her in equal surprise. "Been swimming, Aunt Plum?"
Harry took a step near her, then quickly retreated once he got a whiff of the eau du pond. "What the devil. . . sorry Vicar ... what's going on?"
"I... er ..." Plum glanced to the side. The vicar, a pleasant-looking, mild little man gazed at her with real concern. His wife fanned herself vigorously while discretely extracting a small vial of perfume from her reticule. The other woman, dressed in puce with a bonnet that resembled a warped saddle, wore a look of pure, malicious delight. Plum dragged her gaze from her to Harry. "There was a little accident at the pond. No one was harmed, but I ... er ... fell in. If you will excuse me, I will change into something a little more suitable."
"Suitable?" the woman with the saddle on her head snorted. Plum paused at the door, unsure if she should apologize for her untoward appearance, or just gracefully sail out of the room and act as if she was above such petty concerns as smelling like a bog. "Anyone less suitable to be the Marchioness Rosse than Charles de Spenser's whore you would have a long way to find."
The vicar's wife gasped and dropped her vial. Harry turned slowly to look at the woman. Thom, with calm deliberation, removed the cup and plate clenched in Harry's hands, then rose and stood by her aunt.
Plum lifted her chin and gazed as coolly as possible-not an easy feat when one was dripping with pond slime-at the woman. "You must be Miss Stone."
"I am," the woman said in a loud aggressive tone. "I know who you are, as well."
"Yes, of course you do, you would be a fool not to know," Harry said suavely, but Plum could see the tiny muscle in his jaw twitch. He was angry, very angry, and although she knew he wasn't angry at her, it was her fault he should be exposed to the scorn of such a vile woman. She felt sick, nauseated that what she had dreaded would happen, had. "She is my wife, the stepmother of my children. She is my marchioness."
"She is also the mistress of Charles de Spenser, youngest son of Viscount Morley," Miss Stone crowed.
The vicar's wife swooned backward, drooping in the approved manner on her husband. The vicar's eyes were wide with astonishment as he waved his wife's vial under her nose.
"Was the mistress of Charles de Spenser," Harry said calmly, the tension in his hands belying his placid tone.
Miss Stone's vicious smirk of triumph dimmed a bit in the face of Harry's complacency. "You know of her shame?"
"I know of her marriage to Charles de Spenser, yes. And although I don't believe my wife's past is the concern of anyone present but her and myself, I will this once make an exception to my natural distaste in discussing such a private subject with persons not related to us."
Plum blinked back a few tears of adoration for Harry. She'd never heard him speak in such an aristocratic, cold voice, but she knew he did it for her sake. She was torn between a desire to kiss her darling avenging angel, and the need to shield him from the contempt she knew he would face.
"A bigamous marriage," Miss Stone spat. "He was married already when she went to his bed."
"I had no idea Charles was already married-" Plum started to say, but ceased when Harry took her hand in his, stroking his thumb over the pulse in her wrist.
"You don't have to defend yourself to these good people," he said, never once taking his eyes off the evil Miss Stone. "Although obviously they have heard only the basest lies, no doubt being good Christians they will be delighted to learn the truth, not to mention being filled with joy to learn that you were innocent of any wrongdoing other than having a too loving heart. They will be shocked when they are told of the cruelty practiced upon you by a disgusting cur of a man who thought nothing of using and abandoning you, and I'm sure they will do their utmost to remedy any false impression created by the slanders that other foolish and stupid people have spread in the misguided belief they were speaking the truth. Surely, everyone here knows how I worship the very ground you walk on, and that I would never, under any circumstances, allow anyone to say ill of you without exacting the most heinous and exhaustive of retributions."
Plum held her breath, her eyes on Harry's as they glittered meaningfully behind his spectacles. Miss Stone was no match for him. Before his threatening gaze, her eyes wavered, then fell as she slumped back into the chair, deflated of the spite and venom that had puffed her up like a balloon.
Harry turned to the vicar and his wife, both of whom immediately swore their whole-hearted devotion to clearing any misconception regarding Plum's past.
Plum herself stood in silent misery-laden bemusement, watching Harry carefully. He turned to her, pulling her hands to his mouth as he winked before kissing her fingers. "My dear, I'm sure you wish to change into something a little less reminiscent of a cesspool."
"Yes." Plum blinked at him, her mind more than a little numb. Had he just winked at her? Had he taken the wind so effectively out of Miss Stone's sails? Had he with just a few words, erased the shame of her past?
"Now, perhaps, would be a good time?" His eyes twinkled at her. She goggled at that. He could twinkle after what just happened? Twinkle?
"I'm sure you will all excuse my wife. Thom?"
"I'm right here. Come along, Aunt Plum. What you need is a bath to wash all that pond off you."
Thom's arm was warm on her damp sleeve, but Plum couldn't stop staring at Harry. He winked and twinkled? Was he mad?
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Rosse," the vicar said, standing and giving her a little bow.
Was she mad?
His wife hurri
ed to add her niceties. "Oh, yes, it was, it was very nice, and I hope we see you on Sunday."
Mayhap they were all mad, and none of them knew it?
"A pleasure," Miss Stone said in a begrudging, surly tone. Her face was dull red with anger, but Plum found little sympathy for her.
"Plum?"
Her name was soft on Harry's lips. She turned to him. "Hmm?"
Harry made shooing motions with his hand.
She blinked, then suddenly reason, blessed reason was returned to her, and she realized that he had done the impossible just as he said he would. She wanted to kiss him, but felt she'd shocked the vicar enough for the day, so contented herself with allowing her love to shine in her eyes. Harry mouthed, "I told you so," at her as she let Thom escort her from the room.
"What a nasty, vile old cat that Miss Stone is," Thom said as they walked up the stairs.
"And what a wonderful, adorable, marvelous man Harry is," Plum replied, her mind full of her husband. She sighed happily. "Could any man be more perfect?"
She was married to a raving lunatic.
"We're what?" Plum cried ten days later.
"Leaving for London in three days." Harry stuffed another handful of papers into a leather satchel. "Gertie assures me the children's things can be packed by then-you won't have any difficulty, will you?"
"No, of course not-that is, yes! Yes, I will! I couldn't possibly pack everything by then. London? All of us? Why?" Plum was well aware that last word was pronounced desperately close to a wail, but she was too distraught to worry over such trivialities. He wanted to go to London? Now? Wasn't the shameful scene they'd recently survived-admittedly due to his ability to forcibly erase her past-enough for him? He had to be scorned and ridiculed in London as well? Why now, when she was just starting to feel comfortable with her role as his wife? Why couldn't he wait, oh say, ten or twelve years, just until she felt like she really had a firm grasp on the job of being his wife?
Harry stopped satchel-stuffing long enough to make a face. "I have to go to London to meet with the head of the Home Office. It's nothing I want to do, Plum, but it is my duty to go when it concerns a past investigation of mine."
"Investigation? What sort of an investigation?"
He set down the satchel. "I told you that I did some work for the government, didn't I?"
"Yes, although you didn't say what sort of work, exactly." And at that moment, Plum didn't care what he had done in his past, except in terms of it necessitating his return to London.
"The nature of the work is neither here nor there, the fact is that I have to present the results of my findings to the new head of the HO, and discuss with him the possible repercussions. As it is my preference not to leave my new wife alone for who knows how long, and since I know you won't wish to leave the children, I have decided that we will all go to London. Granted the city may never be the same after the children get through with it, but we'll just have to take that chance."
Plum wrung her hands and tried to convince her husband to leave the children and her at home, but he would have none of it. "Plum, I don't want to leave the children behind because ... well, I left them earlier this year to check out this property when it had been left to me, and during my absence there was a fire. An entire wing burned down, the wing housing the nursery. It was only by the quick thinking of Gertie and George that the children were saved. You know that the girls' governess died?"
"Yes, but-"
"She died in that fire. The children were upset about it for months." His thumb stroked a line down her jaw. "I know it's silly of me, but I don't want to leave them again. I almost lost them once- I don't wish to tempt fate again."
Her heart melted under the look in his eyes. "Harry ... the scandal-"
"What scandal?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.
She gave up. She knew there was no way she could stand against neck nuzzling, so she didn't even try. Instead she gave the (reluctant, and with much misgiving) orders for their things to be packed, and three days later they set out in numerous carriages.
"You're making too much of it," Thom told her two days after they had started their journey, as they were about to leave the inn at which they'd spent the night. "Probably no one will recognize you-it's been twenty years, Aunt! And how long has it been since that man you married died? A year?"
"Six months. Even if no one remembers the scandal itself, I will be recognized, and then everything will come out," Plum said glumly, one eye on the younger children as they romped around the inn yard chasing geese. "The whole dreadful thing will be aired once again, and everyone will mock me, shame Harry, ruin the children's and your lives, and then he will regret marrying me, probably going so tar as to hate me, no doubt ending with him going to the Lords asking for a divorce, at which point I shall die homeless and friendless living in a ditch with an earthworm named Fred as my sole companion. I just hope Harry will be happy then."
Thom laughed and patted her on the arm. "Don't be such a pessimist. I'm sure you'll have a perfectly lovely time in town, and no one will know who you are if you don't want them to. Twenty years is a long time."
"Not nearly long enough, but at least I can do right by you," Plum said thoughtfully, noting how well a new gown suited Thom. Her dark curls were glossy with health, her cheeks bright, her eyes sparkling with good humor and happiness. "I can see my duty through with regard to your future. You will make your debut. You will go to balls and routs and breakfasts, and possibly the opera, if I can arrange all of that before I'm recognized and our lives are completely and utterly destroyed."
"No!" Thom said, her face turning pale. "I don't want to go to balls and routs and breakfasts, and I especially do not want to go to the opera! I can't think of anything I'd like less! I'll be miserable! I'll hate it! I'll be wretched!"
"Welcome to my world," Plum said, then hurried off to rescue a goose that had been cornered by the twins and McTavish.
Two nights later Plum stood with a trembling hand on her husband's arm as they paused at the top of a long curved flight of stairs. She wondered briefly if she threw herself down the stairs whether or not she'd break her neck outright, dying instantly, or if she'd just bounce down the steps, embarrassing Harry by displaying to everyone not only her sad lack of ability to navigate stairs, but also showing too much limb and perhaps even petticoat. Since she suspected it would be the latter, she allowed him to pull her unwilling self down the stairs, a grim smile curving her lips.
"Plum."
"What?" she asked, transferring her grim smile to her husband.
"You look like you've been asked to roast a small child over an open fire."
"I do not."
"You do. You have a horrible expression on your face."
"It's called a smile, Harry."
"Yes, but it's a I've-been-asked-to-roast-a-small-child-over-an-open-fire sort of smile, one that is going to frighten the elderly and make everyone else stay away from you."
"Good," Plum said, her voice rich with satisfaction, the first morsel of satisfaction he'd heard her express since he had informed her that morning that they would be venturing into society by way of Lady Calendar's ball. "Perhaps that way no one will discover who I am and I might just possibly survive this evening."
Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs and drew his wife aside, out of the way so he could speak to her without being overheard. He stopped her next to a large man-sized potted palm. "Why do you think I would lie to you?"
"Lie to me?" Plum looked startled, her lovely brown eyes wide with surprise. At least that wiped the child-roasting smile off her face. "I've never thought you'd lie to me, Harry. Never!"
"Then why do you assume that what I've told you before-that your past will not be an issue-is untrue?"
"I... I-"
Harry kissed her hands, damning the need for him to prove to her that she had nothing to worry about with regards to her past. He'd much rather be home with her now, trying out yet another of the inventive Connu
bial Calisthenics, but he couldn't just think of his own needs, he had to reassure his wife once and for all that she was worried needlessly over something so trivial only she and a few countrified tabbies remembered it. "I will say this just one more time, and then if you continue to disbelieve me, I shall be forced to punish you-no one will care what happened to you twenty years ago. You are my marchioness, and that is all."
Plum stopped worrying her lower lip and pursed it, instead. Harry resisted the urge to kiss the wits right out of her. "Punish me? What sort of punishment are you talking about? Because frankly, husband, forcing me to come to this ball should count as the worst sort of punishment."
"Look at it this way," he answered, tucking her hand into his arm. "At least you're not alone in your desire to be elsewhere. Thom is miserable, too."
"Yes, there is that," she said, looking to the right. Thom was marching down the stairs with a martyred look on her face that almost identically matched Plum's grim smile. Harry couldn't help but smile at the two of them-two of the loveliest women he had ever seen, and both looked like they were being sent to their own executions.
Harry had no qualms about the evening's outcome-he had done a little investigating on his own regarding Plum's first husband (as he then thought of the bastard) when Plum and he were first married, and had found that the man had drowned in a boating accident off the coast of a small Greek island where he had been living the past ten years. Harry had enough experience with the collective mind of the ton to know that without the stimulus of de Spenser, no one would recognize Plum, let alone remember the scandal. He also knew, however, that despite assurances to the otherwise, Plum believed with every morsel of her being that she would be the tool of his destruction.
Harry did his duty. He strolled around the crowded, overheated rooms, introducing his wife to every person he knew, and quite a few he hadn't met, not even flinching when her grip on his arm turned painful. He dragged her around to every single person he could find, and only when they had met and had a few polite words with everyone present did she begin to relax. He coaxed her into a waltz, a dance that normally Harry loathed, but one that afforded him the possibility of holding his wife in his arms. He pulled her tighter than was polite, grinning at her mock-scandalized look in response. "You no longer look as if hot pokers are being inserted under your fingernails, so I assume that means you are beginning to enjoy yourself?"