The Hired Wife

By Cari Hislop

Marshall Godfrey the 8th Viscount Raynham is in need of a wife, but his strenuous efforts to acquire one through normal channels have failed. He's out of patience and out of time. His twin sisters are being launched into society, but he can only hear within a very short distance. How can he protect them if no one tells him what people are saying? His plan is to hire a woman to hover at his shoulder and repeat into his ear what people are saying, but he can't take a secretary into polite society.

The fourteenth applicant is a thin bonneted creature in old ill-fitting clothes. She slowly unties the ribbons and removes the hideous hat hiding her face. She isn't ugly, but. Marshall's unfavourable assessment is suspended as the small window behind the solicitor's desk becomes a golden square. Sunshine breaks through the overcast sky, bends around several corners and showers the woman with light. She looks like she's stepped out of the Dutch paintings he saw on his grand tour. Poetic words sprout through his melancholy like brightly coloured tulips. She's plain, but there's something pleasing about the woman with honey coloured hair.

She can't possibly be the one. She probably has an irritating voice. She's probably in love with some Vicar. She probably smells like a close stool. She'll probably be unfit for purpose. He meets her curious expression with a scowl, she looked hungry. If she passes all the tests she'll be more inclined to become a temporary wife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cari Hislop
• Release date: Jul 25, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452312248

Cari Hislop

I’m an American married to an adorable English Goblin who makes me laugh every day. I’m an artist with a degree in fashion design, but I’ve always been a story teller. Stories are everywhere; in every scent, every glimpse out of the corner of the eye. The most magical moments of my life have been born of ‘what if?’.I’ve been making up stories as long as I can remember, but I was ten before I 'wrote' my first story. It was a romance - the young girl’s parents are killed by a plane falling on their house so of course she moves to England. Don’t ask me where she got the money or the passport!I knew I wanted to grow up to be an author. All my artistic talents converge on my favorite subject: people. I find both individuals and general humanity endlessly fascinating.My genre: Regency romances (historical romances set in late Georgian England)Rated: PG13 (PG13 as in 1985)Style: Each of my stories tend to have their own humor depending on the character's personalities, but they always make me laugh. My plots are character driven and my stories evolve with the characters. Other than the hero and heroine somehow ending up together at the end, I never know what will really happen in the story until it happens.Note: After much deliberation I decided to use English spelling rather than American English spelling in my stories. This will sadly irritate some people, but the USA is the only country to use American spelling while the rest of the English speaking world uses English spelling.I don't think of my books as a series, but all my characters inhabit the same Regency Universe. Most of the main characters are either related or know of each other so my stories often intertwine.If you ever have any questions about my stories or would like to receive an e-mail to let you know I've finished a book please e-mail me at... [e-mail] Reading!Cari Hislop

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The Hired Wife

Copyright 2008 Cari Hislop

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The Hired Wife

Early March 1818

‘A gentleman wishes to hire an unattached female aged between thirty and forty with excellent hearing who can read and write. She must be good natured, patient, hard working and honest. Duties will include reading to the master, dealing with servants and assisting the master to hear. There will be no free day for the first four months. All applicants who do not conform to these specifics are not wanted. Apply at Dobson and Browne Solicitors near St. Bride’s between ten and twelve.’

Miss Mary Donne took a deep shaky breath and looked up the queue; there were thirteen applicants in front of her. She blushed as her stomach gurgled; she didn’t need an audible reminder that life’s kindnesses had come to an end. It was unlikely she’d get a chance to be interviewed, and even if she did she’d probably be passed over for being only twenty-six. Fate could be so cruel.

Taking another deep breath, she inhaled the scent of dusty books. It brought back memories of her father in his study. She missed his genial smile, having a home and eating three meals a day. The new Reverend had sold off her father’s belongings and kindly allowed her to stay three months in the attic while she looked for employment. After six weeks she was no longer welcome at the family table and allowed only a beggar’s breakfast of cold pasty gruel in the kitchen.

The office door opened as the first woman to be interviewed was shown out and the second shown in. The line shortened as they all pressed closer, but there was only a few minutes of silence before the woman rushed from the room in tears. The third applicant hesitated, but entered with a fearful expression. Half a minute later she too was dismissed. Mary watched the plain woman leave and wondered if she was equally hungry. The next applicant only had time to shut the door before they all heard a man shout, God preserve me! Next! Mary’s heart went out to the middle-aged woman who was almost ugly and watched a more comely woman confidently enter the office. This time the interview seemed to last forever. Mary watched in surprise as the door burst open and the pretty little woman sobbed past as everyone shifted up a space. What was the man looking for? A horrible feeling settled over Mary’s heart, how was she going to get the position when she wasn’t even pretty? She was wasting her time standing in a line when she could be out looking for employment, but she remained where she was. She was too hungry to contemplate scouring London. Common sense prevailed; she couldn’t be rejected unless she applied for the position.

…

Marshall Godfrey, the eighth Viscount Raynham sat on a mahogany settee flush against the wall with his arms folded and his legs crossed. He watched in silent disappointment as the thirteenth applicant was put through the mill by his solicitor. Were all single educated women so unromantic looking? He hadn’t seen one woman he’d want to write a poem about after three bottles of port let alone stone sober. He chastised himself for judging the poor creatures harshly, but he was the one who’d have to look at her for a year or forever if he couldn’t get an annulment. For once he’d get what he wanted. Next! The shouted word drew the young woman’s head in his direction. She was comely, but there was something about her eyes that reminded him of a corpse he’d once seen lying in the street. The thought of sitting close to her for hours as she repeated other people’s words into his ear made his skin crawl. He didn’t care if she did have a pleasant voice. He sighed loudly as melancholy threatened to press flat his heart. He wasn’t going to give up until he’d seen every applicant. A few minutes later Marshall’s romantic heart slumped in despair as a thin bonneted creature in clothes fifteen years out of fashion stepped into the room.

He couldn’t hear the solicitor ask the woman to remove her bonnet. He watched as she slowly untied the ribbons and removed the hideous hat hiding her face. She wasn’t ugly, but… Marshall’s assessment was suspended as the small window behind the solicitor’s desk became a golden square. Sunshine broke through the overcast sky, bent around several corners and showered the young woman’s calm features with light. She looked like she’d stepped out of one of the Dutch paintings he’d seen on his grand tour. Words sprouted through his melancholy like brightly coloured tulips. She’d never be pretty, but there was something inexplicably pleasing about the woman with honey coloured hair. He crossed his legs and sighed loudly drawing the woman’s eyes in his direction. She probably had a voice like his Aunt Beatrice. She was probably in love with her Vicar. She’d probably stink. She’d probably be unfit for purpose. He scowled at her curious expression. There was a sunken hollowness around her eyes. If she was hungry she’d be more inclined to accept his offer.

He couldn’t hear her reading the bible. He had no idea that the quill pen made a squeaking noise as she proved she could take notes as the solicitor’s mouth opened and closed at regular intervals. A few minutes later the solicitor waved her over to him. She’d passed the first three tests. She met his piercing gaze and then dropped her eyes as she curtseyed low as if he were the King. From the corners of his eyes he watched her sit next to him. What’s your name?

Mary jumped at the booming question and rubbed her ear. I can’t hear you woman, speak into my ear and don’t mumble. I hate people who mumble.

Mary steadied her nerves and stared into sapphire blue eyes out of place in the plain face. He was clean shaven, but he looked like he’d dressed in a windstorm. His black and white striped waistcoat was misbuttoned and didn’t go with either his dark blue jacket or snug pale green trousers tucked into black boots. If you can’t speak I have no use for you. She licked her lips and leaned over. She’d never been so close to a man. He smelled like soap, lemons and ham. She was so hungry she was smelling food everywhere. My name is Mary Donne.

Merry Dunne? Like the poet? Marshall watched the woman’s eyes crinkle with amusement and lean back to speak against his ear.

My father liked to tell people we were descended from the famous man. I suspect after reading my father’s poetry, John Donne would sue him for libel. She jumped as he barked a loud laugh and relaxed back in his seat so he could see her more clearly.

Where’s your father?

He died a short time ago Sir.

Speak up woman!

He’s dead Sir!

Her prospective employer rubbed his ear, There’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf.

I’m sorry Sir, is this better?

Don’t call me Sir. It makes me feel like an aging tutor. You may address me as Mr Godfrey. Did Mr Browne tell you I loath being addressed as my Lord?

Yes…

Good, do you have any family? She didn’t have to answer the question. Her crumpled features spoke volumes. You don’t have any bastards to feed or…what? Do you have a problem with plain speaking Miss Merry Dunne?

No, of course not…

To which question? You don’t have any bastards or…?

No to both questions.

Are you promised to marry some impoverished vicar or journeyman?

No.

Is there any particular man you wish you could marry?

No. Why?

Good. I’ll take this one Browne. Send the rest away. We’ll need a few minutes alone. What’s wrong with you woman? You’re not going to be sick are you?

You…you’re…

Out with it woman; I hate people who can’t say what they want to say.

You’re shouting. It hurts. Mary’s heart sank as she waited to be dismissed before the first meal.

Of course I’m shouting. If I don’t shout no one listens.

There’s something I need to tell you…

The man waited until the door was closed before turning to face her with a ferocious expression. Don’t you know what an ear is? Talk into it!

I’m only twenty-six.

The man scowled in confusion, I’m forty-three, what difference does it make?

He looked down as she held out the paper and pointed to the ad. You didn’t want anyone under thirty, but I came anyway…hoping… Mary’s hungry brain swirled with confusion as burning blue eyes seared her soul.

Do you have a problem with working for someone who can’t hear very well Miss Dunne?

Her eyes went wide with horror as she shook her head. No! You advertised for someone honest. I couldn’t pretend to be thirty while I’m only…

Humph! The ferocious expression softened into mild irritation as the sapphire eyes studied her person and then returned to her face. I wish to hire you to be my wife. Mary stared dumbfounded. Had she heard him correctly? I need help presenting my sisters into society. I can’t attend functions on my own; I can’t hear anything. I can’t communicate. They all look at me like I’m stupid. I need you to translate what people say to my face as well as behind my back. I need someone who can tell my poxy servants I expect them to earn their wages.

But I don’t know anything about high society.

Are you saying you don’t wish to marry me? Why are you making that awful face?

It hurts when you talk so loud.

I haven’t got all day Woman, are you going to marry me or not? You’ll receive a new wardrobe which I’ll choose and a monthly allowance to spend or save as you wish. If you last a year I’ll purchase an annuity for you when the marriage is annulled, but I may require your services for longer in which case the amount you receive will increase accordingly. If I find I can’t stand you and annul the marriage before the year is over I’ll send you away with enough to keep you housed and fed until you find other employment. Mary felt her inner organs relax back into their normal positions.

You won’t be consummating the marriage?

Lord Raynham’s eyebrows met as he looked her with an expression of distaste. I wouldn’t beget my children on a common dowdy châtelaine I picked out of a line after placing a want ad in the paper. I’ve never heard of anything so unromantic! Mary winced at the stinging verbal slap. What did it matter? Her dream of falling in love and having children was destined to remain a dusty unread novel on the shelf of life. She’d be his property until he found a more suitable woman for the position, but in the meantime she’d have a bed and three meals a day. It was an acceptable exchange.

Very well, I’ll marry you.

You will? He looked surprised. I haven’t even told you how much you’ll be paid.

I’ll have three meals a day, won’t I?

When did you eat last?

Five o’clock this morning. Reverend Stokes kindly allows me one bowl of gruel a day with the other beggars.

I see. The two words implied an unchristian desire to inflict bodily harm on the Reverend Stokes. It’s almost twelve-thirty. I told the Archbishop to be ready for one o’clock. I’ve purchased a special license…he just has to fill in your name.

The next hour whirled by in a hungry haze as Mary stood next to a stranger named Marshall Allen Francis Godfrey, eighth Viscount Raynham and promised to love, cherish, and obey him in sickness and health till death parted them asunder or the union was aborted like an ill attended production of ‘Alls Well that Ends Well’. The simple gold ring was too big for her finger. She clenched her fingers all the way to the vicarage. Her new husband insisted on accompanying her inside and up the stairs to her pathetic corner under the eaves almost free of cobwebs. Her small trunk was quickly packed. Once downstairs he loudly demanded the remains of his wife’s property. The disgruntled Reverend insisted on seeing proof of the wedding before handing over three old manuscripts, an antique ink well emblazoned with the Donne family motto and a battered wedding plate that had been in Mary’s mother’s family for over two hundred years. Feeling brave with a large man at her side Mary said, I want my mother’s lace table cloth.

It was sold to pay for your upkeep. He rubbed his nose and slid a look to his wife.

I saw it on the table last week when you had the Parish council over for tea.

You must have imagined it.

Stealing from my wife is stealing from me. If you enjoy playing a man of God you’d best hand it over or you’ll know the meaning of hell long before you inhabit it. The frightened old woman quickly retrieved a wooden box and key. The contents were inspected and Mary left without looking again at the couple. It was three o’clock as the carriage slowly wound its way back across the city around dazed animals, screaming pedestrians, galloping horsemen and every conceivable kind of coach, cart and wagon that could block a narrow road.

…

Marshall ignored the passing fray and stared at his bride. Who was this sleeping woman clutching a wooden box to her chest in the opposite corner of his carriage? Had he made the right decision? She looked weak. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter; he wasn’t planning to breed with her. The carriage pulled up outside the rented town house. The footman appeared a few minutes later and slowly unfolded the steps and opened the door. Wake up woman, we’re home. She jerked awake with a disorientated expression. She watched as her things were handed over to a waiting servant leaving her with nothing to do but take his large outstretched hand and climb down.

Is this where you live? She looked up at the narrow house in surprise. I thought Lords lived in large houses.

I’ve rented it for the season.

The slender woman’s face drained of colour. For the spring?

He couldn’t hear her question; he was once again frustrated by his servants, an hourly occurrence in the Godfrey household. He felt her sag against him, as her eyes rolled into her head. Damn and blast Man, hold the door open she’s fainted; I only have two arms. The words rattled the neighbour’s windows as he picked up his wife and waited for the servants to obey. Carrying her inside he bellowed for the housekeeper and laid her gently on a sofa in his ground floor library.

Mary came to with the stench of ammonia in her nostrils and four curious faces hovering above, two of them identical. She’s hungry. Get her some food. The middle-aged woman disappeared from view leaving the three siblings.

Where did you find her?

Are you in love with her?

Enough! Stop chattering in my ears. You’re giving me a headache.

May we each have a red dress to celebrate your nuptials?

I won’t have my sisters gadding about like strumpets. I said no I meant no.

Princess Charlotte wore red dresses.

I saw her once wearing a red hat.

I don’t care if she wears red in heaven, I said no. The two beauties winked at Mary and danced from the room singing a song about a red dress. Mrs Green! The old woman appeared at his elbow with a tray. Inform the household I’ve married. I wish her to be addressed as my Lady. Send someone to the needle-witch. I want her here tomorrow. Make sure she understands Lady Raynham will need an entire wardrobe. Tell the witch my wife is medium height, thin, small bosomed and faire with honey colored hair.

What if she can’t come tomorrow?

She’ll wish she had. The housekeeper rolled her eyes and disappeared as Marshall turned his attention back to his wife. She was sitting upright, hatless and staring at the large tray of food. Eat!

She looked up at him her eyes filled with gratitude. Thank you.

I can’t hear you. He watched her silently say grace and then had to jump up and grab the shaking teapot out of her hands and pour her cup himself.

…

Mary wanted to shove handfuls of food in her mouth, but she forced herself to take small ladylike bites, chew and swallow politely for her audience. His eyes followed her every move. After three sandwiches, two pieces of cake, four slices of ham and two cups of tea she sat back and returned the compliment. There was a pleasant elasticity about his lips that hinted he might smile any minute. His brown hair looked like old thatch off a country cottage, but his body was a collection of well proportioned limbs wrapped with muscle and attached to a strong torso. His lips curled into a smile as he shook with silent laughter. Do you find your new husband attractive? If she told him the truth would he carry her back to the Bishop and have her future meals annulled? She slowly shook her head causing the smile to twist into a frown. Well you’re no beauty either Mrs Godfrey. She shrugged her shoulders; she was his servant. What did it matter? Her eyelids drooped, until they stuck together in sleep. She awoke half way up the stairs. Don’t scream or I’ll drop you. Her stomach was full. She was too comfortable to worry about being held in a stranger’s arms. Pressing her face into his shoulder she fell back to sleep.

Marshall laid his hired wife on her bed and stood looking down at the thin woman. There was something about her that made his toes curl with expectation as if he was about to peel a sweet Christmas orange. He shook his head at the strange feeling and removed her worn shoes. Unpinning her hair, he pulled it down over her shoulders. It fell heavy and straight, following the curves of her body like golden honey. She looked like a starving mermaid. He covered her up and closed the curtains. He’d know soon enough if he’d regret his impulsive choice.

Chapter 2

Is she awake yet? Don’t stand there shaking your head at me. Go check again and don’t think I can’t tell whether you’ve gone all the way up the stairs or not either. The lady’s maid rolled her eyes as she climbed the stairs for the tenth time that hour and quietly opened the door. The lump of bedclothes hadn’t moved; feeling brave the maid stepped over to the windows and pulled the curtains open letting in the sun.

Where am I?

In your room my Lady.

My lady? Oh yes…is that the time?

Yes, it’s gone eleven my Lady.

Good heavens! Mary sat up and steadied herself. What will he think of me? I need to wash. I need to get ready. Where are my clothes?

The master sold them to the ragman. He’s most particular.

He sold my clothes to a ragman? All of them?

Everything except what you’re wearing my Lady. He thought you’d find it distressing to wake up naked. Mary felt her cheeks glow bright red at the thought and quickly removed her dress so she could wash her face. Feeling refreshed, she was sitting in her thick flannel chemise having her hair combed when the door burst open.

Ah, you’re awake! Mary opened her eyes in shock and tried to cover her chest with her arms. Don’t be missish; I’ve seen ladies wear less to the opera.

They were probably ladies of easy virtue.

Her new master scowled. Do you wish to repeat that into my ear Madam?

Mary shook her head. I thought not. Folding his arms, her employer sat on the edge of her dressing table causing it to groan. She was so hungry she was delusional; those blue eyes couldn’t be admiring her. Is your room satisfactory Wife? Do you require anything? He leaned forward and put his ear near her lips.

I think I’ll need a screen to bathe behind and a sign for my door requesting privacy.

Her new lord barked out a laugh and sat back with an impish grin. Does this mean you don’t wish me to help you scrub up my Lady? He smiled as she blushed and looked away. Her hair is combed enough; tell the kitchen to start heating water for my wife’s bath. Wait downstairs for the needle-witch. Bring up the coven as soon as they arrive. He waited till the door was shut and then reached into his pocket. Stand up! She hesitated. You promised to obey me. Stand up and hold out your left hand. He removed the gold band and slipped it into his pocket. One of these should fit. His hand opened like a pirate’s chest, glinting with unexpected treasure. Try them on.

Mary sighed in defeat as she took both her hands off her chest and obeyed the insistent command. I like this one the best… She picked up the glowing sapphire a second time.

Talk into my ear woman and don’t shout.

This one fits…and it’s… She played the blue stone in the sunlight and forgot her state of undress. …it’s lovely... She held her hand up next to his face. …and the same colour as your eyes. Staring into the living gems she felt a strange wave of pleasure burst into her veins. She wasn’t aware that he’d taken hold of her raised hand until he brought it to his lips causing shivers of pleasure.

So I’m not unattractive after all…I confess you looked quite unappealing yesterday, but I suspect it was an illusion caused by a magic spell to blind me to your charms. This morning you resemble a half starved mermaid. I’ll have to remember not to take you anywhere near the ocean.

Mary’s face cheeks threatened to catch fire as

Reviews for The Hired Wife

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely brilliant. Extremely romantic, funny book. Every one of the characters are fantastic and the villain is truly evil.

[Dzame Thomas · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The villain was quite horrible! The hero adorable and the heroine lovely.