“I dare say.”
“But there is more to this, is there not? You seem so out of sorts. Not because of some potato in your hair, which by the way, I shall remove when I get you ready for bed.”
“He requires me to be friendly with the boy. Not a mother, but a friend. I thought of myself more as a distant aunt who is kind and brings you an occasional gift or sweet. But even that I cannot manage.”
“Do you think his lordship would be content with you simply being a friendly aunt?”
“Yes,” she replied. “He would. He told me that more than once. He does not wish for a wife or a mother for Henry. But I do not know what to do with the boy. I cut his food today, and he seemed to think it was amusing. I cut it too small, I dare say.”
Juliet shook her head. “Goodness, you are fortunate that I have arrived. It’s not that difficult. He is but a small child. That is like being an adult but in a smaller body with less control. All children want is someone to play with, someone to read them a story, and to admire their silly little artwork. That is all you must do. In fact, you could start tonight. Go to the nursery right now and read him a story. Tell him that you do not want him to go to bed feeling badly.”
“I do not know how to read a story properly,” Marianne said.
Juliet jumped out of bed and huffed. “Please, you are the Earl of Langley’s daughter. Do not tell me that you didn’t learn to read much sooner than any of us at the convent. You must cease this self-pity at once. You agreed to all of this, did you not? Six months or a year of pretending to be his wife, and then freedom?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you need to start acting like his wife. I have not been here even a full day, and I’ve already heard some of these deuced servants whispering.”
This alarmed her. “Whispering? Pray tell, what did they say?”
“Just that you and his lordship do not act as though you were terribly in love and that you have not much interest in the boy. They find it odd that you remain in your chamber so much, that you do not take breakfast together, and that you haven’t taken the boy out for walks.”
Marianne dropped her head into her hands. “That is exactly what I was afraid of. If I cannot manage to make myself look like a believable wife, even to the servants, then he will get tired of me very quickly. He may even end all of this. I think he’s already vexed.”
“Well, then, do what I said. Go and read to the little boy. I will start spreading the word among the servants that you are madly in love with your husband and have secretly admired him even from afar. They will believe me. As for his lordship...I cannot imagine that he would be vexed with you. He’s getting what he wants, after all. Mrs. Greaves appears to be a friendly woman, but she has told me how much she wanted him to get married after his first wife died, and she was very pleased that he did. So his charade on that front is also working.”
She tipped her head to one side. “As in that we are in love?”
“Yes, exactly. The servants believe you married for love, not convenience. We must maintain that illusion.” Juliet reached over and squeezed her hand. “But first, you must work on the boy. If you cannot even manage a friendship with Henry, the servants will never believe you care for this family at all.”
Marianne bit her lip. “But what if I cannot? What if I try, and he simply does not like me? Children are so honest. They do not pretend.”
“Then you will win him over,” Juliet said firmly. “He is merely a boy who has lost his mother and gained a stepmother he does not know. Of course, he is uncertain. But you can change that.Start small. Read him a story. Sit with him at meals. Ask him about his interests. It does not have to be perfect, Marianne. It only has to be a genuine effort.”
Marianne nodded slowly, though doubt still gnawed at her. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t,” Juliet said. “But you must try.”
Marianne rubbed her lips together. She didn’t want to. She’d felt foolish cutting his meat and then being pelted by mashed potatoes, but she knew it was the right thing to do.
She had to make an effort; she had to at least pretend. If the servants were already talking, then perhaps their charade would fall apart sooner rather than later. She could not let that happen. Besides, Juliet was right. He was but a child. How difficult could it be?
She parted ways with her friend, agreeing to meet again in an hour to get ready for bed, and then made her way to the nursery. She knocked, and the governess rose from the armchair by the bed.
“My lady,” she said, her eyebrows raised as she examined her as though she were a curiosity at a fair. “Is something amiss?”
“No, nothing is amiss at all,” she replied, keeping the smile on her face. “I thought I might have a few minutes alone with Hen...my stepson,” she said. Using the correct terminology wasclearly important when around these servants. She could not know who was talking behind her back and who was not, after all.
“Of course, my lady,” the governess said and left the room. She had to learn her name. Was it Harley? Harvey? Something of that nature.
Henry looked at her, his eyes wide and fearful. She paused. Did he think she’d come to scold him?
“Hello, Henry,” she said. “Do not be frightened. I’ve not come to deliver a rebuke. I’ve come to tell you I am not upset with you.”
“Oh,” he said. “Good! Will you read to me then if you are not cross with me?”
How quickly the child had switched from afraid to contented. Was this a regular occurrence with children of this age? She could not recall this from her own childhood.
