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Authors: Susanna Fraser
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Elizabeth Hamilton, the widow of my old friend Giles. She is to remain at Westerby Grange with Mother while I am in Canada, and I believe we shall be well-suited. ”
Elizabeth smiled. Jack had been generous in avoiding her scandalous maiden name and in suggesting they might suit. “I suppose there wasn’t time to say more before he sailed. Won’t you sit down, sir?”
She took a chair opposite him, and with another “hmph” he seated himself. “There wasn’t time? Are you saying this was a sudden courtship? And who was your first husband? I don’t remember any Hamiltons.”
Elizabeth considered which impertinent question to answer first. “I believe there were formerly a great many Hamiltons in Selyhaugh, but my husband—my first husband—was the last. He was a clergyman.”
“Was he, now? Where was his living?”
“He was curate here at Saint Michael’s.”
“A curate? Hmph.” His dark eyes narrowed. “When did he die?”
“At the beginning of February, sir,” Elizabeth said simply.
“Madam, you shock me! Jack’s letter informing me of his marriage was dated the fifteenth of that month.”
Elizabeth blinked hard. She would not give this horrid man the satisfaction of seeing her weep. “We could not delay any longer, or he would have missed his sailing.”
“That does not answer the question of why you married again with such indecent haste.”
“It was my late husband’s dying wish,” she said icily.
At that his eyebrows flew up. Elizabeth had seen that look of mild surprise or enlightenment on Jack’s face on several occasions. “Ah, now it all becomes clear. Jack has always been persuadable when it comes to his friends. So you gained a settled home, which I daresay you needed, for it isn’t as though a curate would’ve married a woman with a fortune or had one of his own to leave her. And Jack gained both a caretaker for his mother and a comfortable sense of his own heroism and generosity to his friend.”
It was so accurate Elizabeth wanted to smash something. Possibly the jasperware vase on the mantel, and probably over Sir Richard’s head. “I do not claim it was the most regular of marriages, but, nevertheless, here I am.”
“Yes, here you are, and as unsuitable a bride for a man like Jack as could be.”
Elizabeth stood, brushing her hands on her skirts. “I will not stay to be insulted.”
“I am not here to insult you.”
“Oh? But you are doing so very effectively.”
“Peace, ma’am, and sit down. I only came to see what sort of bride my lad had chosen for himself—and now that I’ve seen, I’d be glad to advise you on how you ought to go on.”
Elizabeth stayed on her feet. “Why should I take your advice, pray tell?”
“Simple. I am presently the head of your husband’s family. I am an army man, so I know more of his manner of life than you could. Also, I’ve known him since he was a babe in arms. You met him, what? Four months ago?”
After a long hesitation, Elizabeth sat down. Sir Richard might be a dreadful man, but he was right. Also, it wouldn’t do to alienate her husband’s family at the very beginning of this marriage of convenience, especially not if she ever hoped for it to become something more.
“Thank you,” Sir Richard said. “Now, tell me, who are your people? Not an army family, I suppose.”
“No, sir,” she said, debating on how much to tell him. “My father was a banker, but both my parents and all my near relations are dead now. I’m aware I bring no fortune or connections to this marriage.”
“Hmph. What do you bring, then, if I may ask?”
She lifted her chin and met his eyes, so like Jack’s when he was in a flinty, military humor. “Loyalty,” she said. “Honesty. And I will not fail to do my duty.”
At that her inquisitor actually smiled. “Why, you may have the makings of a soldier’s wife after all.”
Over tea, he questioned her about Mrs. Armstrong’s health and the state of the farm and the
Elizabeth smiled. Jack had been generous in avoiding her scandalous maiden name and in suggesting they might suit. “I suppose there wasn’t time to say more before he sailed. Won’t you sit down, sir?”
She took a chair opposite him, and with another “hmph” he seated himself. “There wasn’t time? Are you saying this was a sudden courtship? And who was your first husband? I don’t remember any Hamiltons.”
Elizabeth considered which impertinent question to answer first. “I believe there were formerly a great many Hamiltons in Selyhaugh, but my husband—my first husband—was the last. He was a clergyman.”
“Was he, now? Where was his living?”
“He was curate here at Saint Michael’s.”
“A curate? Hmph.” His dark eyes narrowed. “When did he die?”
“At the beginning of February, sir,” Elizabeth said simply.
“Madam, you shock me! Jack’s letter informing me of his marriage was dated the fifteenth of that month.”
Elizabeth blinked hard. She would not give this horrid man the satisfaction of seeing her weep. “We could not delay any longer, or he would have missed his sailing.”
“That does not answer the question of why you married again with such indecent haste.”
“It was my late husband’s dying wish,” she said icily.
At that his eyebrows flew up. Elizabeth had seen that look of mild surprise or enlightenment on Jack’s face on several occasions. “Ah, now it all becomes clear. Jack has always been persuadable when it comes to his friends. So you gained a settled home, which I daresay you needed, for it isn’t as though a curate would’ve married a woman with a fortune or had one of his own to leave her. And Jack gained both a caretaker for his mother and a comfortable sense of his own heroism and generosity to his friend.”
It was so accurate Elizabeth wanted to smash something. Possibly the jasperware vase on the mantel, and probably over Sir Richard’s head. “I do not claim it was the most regular of marriages, but, nevertheless, here I am.”
“Yes, here you are, and as unsuitable a bride for a man like Jack as could be.”
Elizabeth stood, brushing her hands on her skirts. “I will not stay to be insulted.”
“I am not here to insult you.”
“Oh? But you are doing so very effectively.”
“Peace, ma’am, and sit down. I only came to see what sort of bride my lad had chosen for himself—and now that I’ve seen, I’d be glad to advise you on how you ought to go on.”
Elizabeth stayed on her feet. “Why should I take your advice, pray tell?”
“Simple. I am presently the head of your husband’s family. I am an army man, so I know more of his manner of life than you could. Also, I’ve known him since he was a babe in arms. You met him, what? Four months ago?”
After a long hesitation, Elizabeth sat down. Sir Richard might be a dreadful man, but he was right. Also, it wouldn’t do to alienate her husband’s family at the very beginning of this marriage of convenience, especially not if she ever hoped for it to become something more.
“Thank you,” Sir Richard said. “Now, tell me, who are your people? Not an army family, I suppose.”
“No, sir,” she said, debating on how much to tell him. “My father was a banker, but both my parents and all my near relations are dead now. I’m aware I bring no fortune or connections to this marriage.”
“Hmph. What do you bring, then, if I may ask?”
She lifted her chin and met his eyes, so like Jack’s when he was in a flinty, military humor. “Loyalty,” she said. “Honesty. And I will not fail to do my duty.”
At that her inquisitor actually smiled. “Why, you may have the makings of a soldier’s wife after all.”
Over tea, he questioned her about Mrs. Armstrong’s health and the state of the farm and the
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