My Own Dear Mary
No one was as surprised as Juliana when the letter came inviting Mr and Mrs Comyn to spend the holidays at Avon Court as my Lord and Lady Vidal’s particular guest.
A Devil’s Cub ficlet. Comyn/Juliana, background Vidal/Mary. Part of my The Green Fields of England series.
No one was as surprised as Juliana when the letter came inviting Mr and Mrs Comyn to spend the holidays at Avon Court as my Lord and Lady Vidal’s particular guest. Her lifelong acquaintance with Uncle Justin’s imperious ways and his unyielding determination to curb the worst of his scion’s intemperance caused her to marvel that the Duke should now see fit to unleash the prodigal son upon his ancestral home as he had never consented to do before.
On reflection, however, Juliana determined that her aunt and uncle must be putting the utmost faith in their daughter-in-law’s calming influence, as indeed they had good reason to do, if Vidal’s exploits on French soil were anything to go by. It was therefore in the spirit of the liveliest curiosity that she endeavoured to persuade her husband of the desirability of such a visit; and although her dear Frederick did not evince any particular propensity to quit London at present, he was as ever prepared to indulge his wife’s ever whim – provided that it was not a wholly unreasonable one, of course.
For her part, Juliana took enough pride in her Alastair lineage as to forbear from any mention of the dullness of her previous sojourns at Avon; she did not anticipate any greater diversion than some light-hearted ribbing at her impetuous cousin’s expenses, though she was conscious of a somewhat unbecoming inclination to display her noble connections to the best of their advantage. Still, her dear Mary would be there, and she was eager for an opportunity to be private with her friend as there had seldom been an occasion since the officiating of their respective marriages.
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Although an Alastair by marriage now, Lady Vidal did not demonstrate any propensity for discussing the manifold perks of married life with her old school friend-turned-cousin. When Juliana laughingly accused her of being stuffy and not at all what one would expect from Dominic’s bride, Mary only raised her eyebrow in a perfect impression of Vidal’s haughtiest mien, observing that it would never do for them to compare the relative merits of their husbands when one of them was Juliana’s own cousin, and the other had once seen fit to offer her his hand in marriage – though merely from motives of the most disinterested chivalry, as Mary was prompt to reassure her before she could even think of taking umbrage at the unwelcome reminder.
“Do you know, I did once contemplate the idea of marriage to my cousin,” Juliana said airily, casting one swift glance through her long lashes to see the effect this extraordinary proclamation achieved on her friend. Since Mary did not appear at all discomposed by this shocking disclosure, she breezed on with one graceful shrug of her shoulders. “I must have been something like twelve years of age, or perhaps thirteen, I forget. I regret to say I was a most impressionable girl back then, and Dominic was the most handsome boy I had ever had the misfortune to clap my eyes upon. I recall I pestered him for weeks for a kiss – we were cousins, after all, and surely Mamma and Aunt Léonie expected us to wed as soon as we both were of age. In the end, I think I irritated him enough that he decided to punish me by giving me exactly what I had been asking for all along – only he knew I should not like it, as I was much too young for such things, and I remember running away in tears to my Papa. I was never told the particulars – I have a notion my uncle Justin did give him quite the set-down, though Vidal never mentioned the incident again to me, or indeed to anyone else.”
“I am happy to say I never had the occasion of soliciting Mr Comyn’s affections in any such manner,” Mary Alastair declared quite placidly, though there was a humorous glint in her steady grey eyes. “Though I have very little doubt we should have both enjoyed the attempt about as much as you did yours.”
“I will have you know my dearest Frederick is admirably skilled in the art of bestowing his affections upon his lawfully wedded wife,” Juliana informed her with as haughty a toss of her head as would have made her mother proud, and they promptly dissolved into a bout of helpless giggles as they were each of them faced with the mental image of Mr Comyn’s acute embarrassment upon discovering himself the object of so improper a discussion.
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It was not four days since their arrival at Avon Court that Mrs Comyn formed the resolve to provide her husband with some gentle encouragement towards resuming their nightly intimacies. For all that her ladyship had had the foresight of appointing them to adjoining bedchambers which were as far removed from the Marquis and his Marchioness’s own apartments as Juliana suspected to be possible, she was quite displeased to find her darling Frederick strangely loath to perform his husbandly duties in so grand surroundings as the Duke of Avon’s family seat.
She had only just succeeded in the nigh on insurmountable feat of enticing him into one of the smaller salons which she believed to be quite empty when Vidal’s arrogant tones cut in to shatter the promise of a most pleasant interlude between husband and wife. “As delighted as I am to find my advice did not quite fall on deaf ears, Comyn, I should be grateful if you could restrain your ravishing of my cousin to some other part of the house.”
Quite startled by the unexpected interruption, Juliana let out a most unladylike shriek, while Frederick’s complexion turned a rather impressing shade of crimson. “I beg your pardon, my lord, I had no idea – I have no excuse – I must beg leave to retire presently.”
“Dominic, you horrid wretch,” his cousin accused him at once, having by then sufficiently recovered from the mortification of being caught almost in flagrante delicto. “As if you yourself did not happen to cherish quite the same intent – or perhaps had done so, and merely beat us to the actual perpetration of it.”
“You will no doubt observe we are both entirely decent,” came Vidal’s careless reply, which was made somewhat less convincing by the fact that he could not be bothered to remove his head from its comfortable placement of his wife’s lap. “You might want to rearrange your tucker, Ju – my father’s servants are most discreet, as you may expect, but I shouldn’t like poor Comyn here to suffer an apoplectic fit while he is a guest under my own roof.”
“Surely you mean his grace’s own roof, my lord,” Mary saw fit to correct him, as imperturbable as ever save for the rosy tinge in her cheeks. “And will you permit me to remind you it is scarcely gentlemanlike of you to make sport of your cousin-in-law’s momentary discomfiture thus?”
“Dear Mary, pray hold your tongue,” Dominic retorted without the smallest hint of reproach to his tone. Her fingers were still employed in running through his dark locks – quite in the manner of someone stroking a wild creature into unwonted tameness, Juliana reflected in a sudden flash of amusement.
“I’m sure I shall never understand how she can bear with such a fiend as you are,” she threw at him over her shoulder by way of a parting shot, and taking possession of her husband’s arm went about forcibly removing him from the premises.
“I shall never be able to look either of them in the eye again,” Mr Comyn lamented with a somewhat dramatic shudder. “Juliana, dearest, we cannot remain here – I feel sure her ladyship would understand it if we were to depart sooner than we originally planned.”
“What a piece of nonsense, Frederick,” she exclaimed in rather crushing accents. “You never exhibited any undue signs of agitation in consideration of your absurd elopement with Mary, nor of my cousin’s attempt at your own life – not to mention your ill-advised decision to challenge him to a duel, which is by far the stupidest thing I had ever to bear through on your account, let me tell you.”
The look of compunction which instantly took possession of her husband’s features was quite enough to mollify her. “I see no other recourse but to apologise again for my own conduct, madame,” he humbly begged of her, clasping her hand between his own with more than his usual earnestness. “If there is any means by which I can atone for my past mistakes, you have but to name it.”
A mischievous gleam came up in Juliana’s eyes, and she took great pleasure in bestowing her archest smile upon him. “Well, there is something,” she said demurely, and was utterly delighted when he displayed no sign of raising any immediate objection to her implied request.