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 weedencrusted 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 wholehearted 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 hurried 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?