Read Online An Infamous Marriage by Susanna Fraser - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Fraser
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away and swung into the saddle. He had a lovely mouth, and such nice, full lips. One might enjoy more kisses from them, and one might even spend the next few years remembering this farewell and dreaming of their reunion.
Chapter Five
In the first three months after Elizabeth’s hasty second marriage, she received only one letter from Jack, a hurriedly written epistle sent from London just before he sailed. It granted her the right to draw from his funds under the care of his regimental agent there and suggested a stallion for breeding to his dapple gray mare, Penelope, closing with a simple, Yours most affectionately, John Armstrong. She didn’t expect anything more from him for a few months, given the distance letters from Canada must travel, but she faithfully wrote him every month, assuring him his mother was as well as could be expected, and reporting everything Farmer Purvis told her about the management of his horses and the planting of the south fields.
She enjoyed her new life more than she’d expected. Her raw grief at Giles’s loss settled into a quieter regret as spring came to Westerby Grange. Care for her mother-in-law and learning the management of the household kept her occupied. There was security, too, in knowing she had at last, for the first time in the ten years since her father’s disgrace, come to a home where no one could cast her out.
She lived quietly, since despite her new marriage she considered herself still in mourning for Giles. But with the exception of Lady Dryden, all of Selyhaugh’s small society paid her calls and spoke to her civilly each Sunday at church. She wasn’t friendless and alone as she’d feared, and she had this home, warm and sturdy and safe.
Within a week of her arrival, she had a table and a comfortable chair brought up to her bedroom. As she learned the ways of the Grange, she had more idle hours, and she spent most of them curled up with a novel or a book of travels, occasionally gazing out the window with immense satisfaction at the placidly grazing horses in the west pasture.
One afternoon when she was so occupied, a carriage rolled into the stable yard and a white-haired gentleman she didn’t recognize climbed out, leaning heavily on a cane. He wore a red coat of somewhat antique cut and spoke with familiarity to Purvis’s older son, a stout lad of nineteen who’d come to see to the horses. She frowned. Who could it possibly be? With a sigh of regret, she set her book down— The Hungarian Brothers was such a thrilling tale—and went to the looking glass to prepare herself to receive a caller.
By the time she’d tucked up the loose strands of her hair, which was forever falling out of its pins, the housemaid Jane was knocking on her door. “Sir Richard Armstrong is here, ma’am.”
Ah, yes. Jack had written his paternal relations in Scotland to inform them of his marriage, and Sir Richard was the military uncle, the one who’d commanded brigades during the American war, just before Elizabeth had been born. What must they think of her, this unknown, unconnected English wife? “Tell him I’ll be down directly, and have tea made ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After the maid left, Elizabeth counted to twenty to settle her nerves and made her way to the parlor. Sir Richard stood as she entered, and Elizabeth studied him. Surely this was a foretaste of how her husband would look in thirty or forty years, the thick, curly hair and strongly marked eyebrows gone entirely white, making the fierce, dark eyes stand out all the more, the nose grown even more emphatic with time and gravity.
“Good morning, Sir Richard,” she said, trying not to quail under his unabashed gaze. “I am Elizabeth Armstrong.” Three months into her marriage, the name still felt strange on her lips. “My husband often spoke of you, before he sailed.”
“Hmph. Then you have the advantage of me, madam, for all he said of you was, hm, how did he put it? I have lately married
Chapter Five
In the first three months after Elizabeth’s hasty second marriage, she received only one letter from Jack, a hurriedly written epistle sent from London just before he sailed. It granted her the right to draw from his funds under the care of his regimental agent there and suggested a stallion for breeding to his dapple gray mare, Penelope, closing with a simple, Yours most affectionately, John Armstrong. She didn’t expect anything more from him for a few months, given the distance letters from Canada must travel, but she faithfully wrote him every month, assuring him his mother was as well as could be expected, and reporting everything Farmer Purvis told her about the management of his horses and the planting of the south fields.
She enjoyed her new life more than she’d expected. Her raw grief at Giles’s loss settled into a quieter regret as spring came to Westerby Grange. Care for her mother-in-law and learning the management of the household kept her occupied. There was security, too, in knowing she had at last, for the first time in the ten years since her father’s disgrace, come to a home where no one could cast her out.
She lived quietly, since despite her new marriage she considered herself still in mourning for Giles. But with the exception of Lady Dryden, all of Selyhaugh’s small society paid her calls and spoke to her civilly each Sunday at church. She wasn’t friendless and alone as she’d feared, and she had this home, warm and sturdy and safe.
Within a week of her arrival, she had a table and a comfortable chair brought up to her bedroom. As she learned the ways of the Grange, she had more idle hours, and she spent most of them curled up with a novel or a book of travels, occasionally gazing out the window with immense satisfaction at the placidly grazing horses in the west pasture.
One afternoon when she was so occupied, a carriage rolled into the stable yard and a white-haired gentleman she didn’t recognize climbed out, leaning heavily on a cane. He wore a red coat of somewhat antique cut and spoke with familiarity to Purvis’s older son, a stout lad of nineteen who’d come to see to the horses. She frowned. Who could it possibly be? With a sigh of regret, she set her book down— The Hungarian Brothers was such a thrilling tale—and went to the looking glass to prepare herself to receive a caller.
By the time she’d tucked up the loose strands of her hair, which was forever falling out of its pins, the housemaid Jane was knocking on her door. “Sir Richard Armstrong is here, ma’am.”
Ah, yes. Jack had written his paternal relations in Scotland to inform them of his marriage, and Sir Richard was the military uncle, the one who’d commanded brigades during the American war, just before Elizabeth had been born. What must they think of her, this unknown, unconnected English wife? “Tell him I’ll be down directly, and have tea made ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After the maid left, Elizabeth counted to twenty to settle her nerves and made her way to the parlor. Sir Richard stood as she entered, and Elizabeth studied him. Surely this was a foretaste of how her husband would look in thirty or forty years, the thick, curly hair and strongly marked eyebrows gone entirely white, making the fierce, dark eyes stand out all the more, the nose grown even more emphatic with time and gravity.
“Good morning, Sir Richard,” she said, trying not to quail under his unabashed gaze. “I am Elizabeth Armstrong.” Three months into her marriage, the name still felt strange on her lips. “My husband often spoke of you, before he sailed.”
“Hmph. Then you have the advantage of me, madam, for all he said of you was, hm, how did he put it? I have lately married
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