Coulson's Wife (The Coulson Series) Page 4

  “You want me to babysit her?” William chuckled.

  “Of course not. But continue to have dinners here, and keep an eye on her. If you notice anything that needs attention, I trust you to take care of it. I also think she likes you and she may need your company while I’m away. She doesn’t converse with the staff much—which of course is not a bad thing—but women can get emotional during this time. I’ll just feel better knowing you’re keeping an eye on things for me.”

  “Okay, Randall. I’ll babysit your child bride for you.”

  “Oh, stop calling her that!”

  • • • •

  Mary Ellen stood at her bedroom window and watched as her husband prepared to get into the motor car with William. Just as he got into the vehicle, he glanced up to her window and gave her a brief, impersonal farewell wave. He got into the car quickly and did not glance back up to the window, therefore he didn’t know his wife failed to return the gesture. She watched as the car pulled away from the house. William was taking Randall to the train station. Her husband was on his way to Chicago.

  Still looking out the window, watching the car disappear down the drive, Mary Ellen brought her right hand to her belly, holding it there for a brief moment. She smiled, glad to be free of Randall’s nightly attentions for a month, and wondered how he would react when he discovered she was not pregnant.

  Turning from the window, she walked to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. It had been three nights since Randall announced he would be going to Chicago for a month—three nights since he told her she was carrying his child. She didn’t argue with him, in spite of the fact she knew he was wrong. Once he believed she was pregnant, he stopped coming to her at night and for that she was grateful.

  While her period was late, she was experiencing morning cramps, which she normally had a day or so before her monthly cycle. If she told him she wasn’t pregnant, he might cancel his trip and send William instead, meaning she would again be forced to endure his nightly visits.

  She understood those visits would resume when he returned from Chicago, however, she desperately needed a temporary reprieve. She hated the way he touched her—used her. There was no tenderness, no softness.

  Their conjugal visits changed slightly after their first week of marriage. He continued to come to her bed each night, at precisely the same time. The room remained dark, lit only by whatever evening light managed to make its way through the bedroom curtains. But after Randall pulled down the bed sheets to uncover his wife, he gently turned her over onto her stomach, pushed a pillow under her belly and took her from behind.

  She found the experience humiliating. He never offered tender words, kisses or caresses. Each night, unseen tears slid down her face as she clung to a pillow, her cheek pressed against the mattress as her elevated bottom received her husband’s repeated thrusts.

  She wondered if it was like this for her mother—for all other women. Then she remembered what Aunt Rachel had said. It could be enjoyable. Mary Ellen didn’t know how that was possible. She hated everything about her marital duties, including her cold husband.

  That evening, an hour before supper was to be served, Mary Ellen started her period. It was obvious her husband had shared his misinformation with some members of the staff, considering how the housekeeper and cook were clucking around her, delighted with their master’s news. Since she was not the one who spread the falsehood, she decided it would be Randall’s duty to tell them he had been wrong. While no one came out directly and discussed pregnancy, it was obvious they all believed they were sharing some grand secret.

  But Mary Ellen had her own secret and she was determined to conceal the fact she’d just started her cycle, even if that meant burying the bloody rags in the wooded field behind the property.

  “Are you feeling all right?” William asked that evening as he sat down at the dinner table with Mary Ellen. The cook had just served the potato soup. Mary Ellen and William sat across the width of the table from each other, alone in the large dining room.

  “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m just tired,” Mary Ellen explained as she brought a spoonful of soup to her lips and gently blew on the hot liquid.

  “Well, it’s not uncommon for a woman to be ill during these early days.”

  Mary Ellen’s eyes flashed up and looked across the table to William. He told him. William thinks I’m pregnant. She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Did I expect he wouldn’t?

  “I’m sorry, did I embarrass you?”

  “No, I…well…I’m just surprised Randall has been so…so vocal with his news.”

  “How so?”

  “Apparently he mentioned it to some of the staff. I assume so, considering how several are hovering.”

  “He’s just excited.”

  “Is he?” she snapped. William set his spoon on his plate and looked across the table at Mary Ellen, who was clearly agitated.

  “Randall has always wanted children.”

  “Sons, you mean. Sons. How will he react if I give him a daughter?” While she was not pregnant now, she imagined he would eventually impregnate her and there was no guarantee she would give him sons.

  “I would adore a daughter. I’m sure Randall would too.”

  “Have you ever heard him mention daughters?” She no longer sounded like the timid seventeen-year-old bride who’d married his business partner, but an angry woman who might be fully capable of throwing a punch if someone said something she disliked.

  “Umm, no…but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t love her.”

  “Like he loves me?” Her comment took William by surprise and he sat there speechless for a few moments.

  “Are you that unhappy?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “You told me once your friend wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Has he hurt you?” What had Randall done to his innocent bride?

  “I hate it. I really hate it!”

  “Has he hurt you?”

  “I suppose not. No more than husbands have been hurting their wives for eternity, I suspect.”

  “You’re saying you hate the intimacy a wife must share with her husband?” William knew he had no business asking such a personal and inappropriate question, yet he couldn’t help himself.

  “We share nothing. He just takes!” Mary Ellen snapped, then she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. “I’m sorry, that was very improper of me. Please, don’t tell Randall what I said.”

  “No, of course not. But it was really my fault. I should never have asked such a personal question.”

  “In fairness to Randall, he’s not cruel to me. And he has been most generous in providing me with a comfortable place to live, and I have beautiful clothes. But...well…I’m lonely, William. I have no friends…no family here. I have no one to talk to.”

  “You always have me.” Reaching across the table he patted her hand as she was about to pick up her water goblet. She blushed at his words.

  “You have been very kind, and I thank you for that.”

  “Randall did say I was to look out for you. I think a car ride in the countryside would be good for you. Get you out of this house. How about I pick you up in the morning, after breakfast?”

  Chapter Six

  Lily stood in the hallway looking in the open doorway of Mary Ellen’s bedroom. Unaware of the maid’s presence, Mary Ellen was just about to dump the contents of one dresser drawer onto her bed.

  “Can I help you find something, Mrs. Coulson?”

  Mary Ellen paused a moment and glanced up to Lily, who held a clean stack of linens. By the expression on the maid’s face, it was obvious she was stunned. The bedchamber looked as if someone had ransacked the room. Clean clothes were strewn across the unmade bed; items that had been stacked neatly in the closet were now dumped in disorganized heaps atop the clean clothes.

  “Oh no!” Mary Ellen laughed merrily. “I just felt like reorganizing my room.”

  �
��There’s no reason for you to do that, ma’am. Staff can see to reorganizing your things if you’re unhappy with how we’ve arranged it.”

  “Lily, I understand you’re simply doing your job. But this is my room, and I’m used to a certain amount of privacy. In fact, I was planning to discuss this with Mrs. Parker during breakfast. From here on out, I’ll assume responsibility for maintaining my rooms. This means, household staff is not to come in here without an express invitation—from me.”

  “Excuse me ma’am, but Mr. Coulson is quite fastidious with the housecleaning. He expects the linens to be changed regularly, the carpets regularly beat and…”

  “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Mary Ellen interrupted. “I’m fully capable of taking care of two rooms. Staff can leave the clean linens on the table outside my door in the hallway, and I’ll place any soiled linens outside my door for you to pick up.”

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Coulson…” Lily mumbled, clearly confused.

  “I want my privacy, Lily. If those towels are for me, please set them on the dresser and then you can leave. I’m sure Mrs. Parker has something for you to do. Oh, and please shut the door on your way out.”

  • • • •

  “You should have seen the room!” Lily told Mrs. Parker. The two stood in one corner of the kitchen while the cook was busy preparing breakfast.

  “She’s just nesting, I suspect,” Mrs. Parker whispered, then glanced up to see if the cook was eavesdropping.

  “I don’t understand.” Lily frowned.

  “Women in her condition…you know…”

  “Oh, do you think that’s it?”

  “My sister did the very same thing when she was carrying her first child. Insisted on cleaning all the closets and the attic, had the entire house torn up. Of course, she decided to do that just hours before she went into labor. Seems our Mrs. Coulson is an early nester.”

  “I suppose that explains it. But what are we to do? The room is an absolute mess! I don’t see how she’s going to get it put back together today. Shouldn’t we insist on helping her?”

  Mrs. Parker chuckled. “Lily, haven’t you learned your lesson with her yet? Leave the girl be. If she wants to reorganize her room and make a mess, let her. She isn’t hurting anything. Mr. Coulson won’t be back for weeks, and I’m sure she’ll have it put together by then. It’ll keep the girl busy, and I’m sure she’s lonely, doesn’t know anyone here. Just leave her be.”

  “I suppose…”

  • • • •

  Mary Ellen stood in the middle of the bedchamber and surveyed the damage. Perhaps I overdid it, she thought and then began to giggle. She understood her impulsive act may not have the desired effect—it could backfire. What she wanted was to keep her husband in Chicago for the full month, as he initially planned. She desperately needed this time alone to figure out some way to deal with her new life.

  She hadn’t lied to Lily when she said she needed her privacy. She did. Each night when her husband visited her room she felt her privacy—and person—invaded in the most intimate and humiliating fashion.

  What she feared was someone from the household staff telling him she was not pregnant—that she had started her monthly. He might cut short his business trip so he could return home to continue on his quest to make a son.

  If household staff kept barging into her room whenever they felt necessary, keeping track of what linens she used, surveying the missing rags in the closet or questioning the freshly washed rags in her private bath area, someone was bound to convey that information to her husband.

  She understood the conjugal visits would resume when he came home and discovered his wife was not yet with child. But she was determined to delay that return, and to do that, she needed to keep the household staff out of her bedchamber.

  The impulsive plan came to her when she woke up that morning and removed a clean rag from its neat stack in the cupboard. Even if she simply disposed of the soiled rags, instead of washing them—one of the nosy staff would notice the dwindling pile and they could easily determine what that meant.

  Now, if one of the staff happened to come into her room and looked in the cupboard and discovered the rags missing, they would assume she’d moved them somewhere while reorganizing.

  Glancing at the clock on the dresser, Mary Ellen realized she was going to be late for breakfast if she didn’t hurry up; the room would have to wait. William would be arriving soon to take her on the promised drive. Before going downstairs, she shoved several clean rags into her handbag.

  • • • •

  “Would you please tell Mrs. Parker I’d like to speak to her?” Mary Ellen asked one of the maids as she sat down at the dining room table to eat her breakfast.

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s in the kitchen, I’ll send her out.”

  “Thank you.” Mary Ellen flashed a smile. Snatching a biscuit from her plate, she tore off a small piece and popped it into her mouth.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Parker entered the dining room.

  “You wanted to talk to me, ma’am?”

  “Will you join me for breakfast so we can chat a moment?”

  “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “Perhaps some coffee then?”

  “Yes ma’am, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll fetch an extra cup.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Using her empty and unused coffee cup, Mary Ellen poured the housekeeper a cup of hot coffee and slid it across the table to the older woman.

  “Shall I get you another cup?” The housekeeper offered before sitting down.

  “No thank you. I’m really not much of a coffee drinker.”

  Mrs. Parker nodded and sat down at the table.

  “I imagine Lily’s told you I’ve my room pretty much torn up.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Parker smiled. “She did mention something about it.”

  “I wanted to reorganize my room. I don’t mean to offend the staff—you had everything put away so lovely—but, well, it wasn’t how I wanted it organized and since it’s my room. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

  “No, of course not. But why don’t you let us help you? You can tell us just where you want things.”

  “No!” Mary Ellen didn’t intend to blurt out the word so enthusiastically. She blushed and then took a deep breath before continuing. “No, I’d rather do it myself. Please don’t take this personally. But you see, I was raised with ten brothers. With a household full of curious and rambunctious boys, I learned to fight for—and treasure—my privacy. I simply don’t like other people going through my things—regardless of the intent. I know that may seem a little strange to you, but I hope you understand.”

  “It’ll make it a little awkward for us to do our job.” Mrs. Parker hadn’t intended to voice her thought but she spoke before thinking. Hastily she added, “But of course, whatever you wish, Mrs. Coulson.”

  “Like I told Lily, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my rooms clean. If there’s a problem with my husband when he returns, I’ll handle it.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Parker. Mr. Hunter’s taking me for a ride after breakfast. He tells me I need to get out of this house, so I’m afraid I’ll be leaving my room in a frightful mess. But I promise I’ll get back to it when I return. I’d just appreciate it if the staff would simply ignore it for the moment.”

  “Certainly. And I agree, a ride would be good for you. It might be rather warm later this afternoon, but I imagine it should be nice this morning. Mr. William has always been a considerate young man.”

  “Have you known him long?” Mary Ellen found it quaint how Mrs. Parker called him Mr. William, instead of Mr. Hunter.

  “Yes. Actually, I’ve known both men—Mr. Randall and Mr. William, since they were young boys. I used to work for the elder Mr. Coulson.”

  “My husband’s father?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand my husband’s parents were killed in a house fir
e.”

  “Yes. It was when Mr. Randall was away at college. All very tragic. I was off that day and when I returned, the main house was burned to the ground. It was horrific, really. Mr. Randall lost his parents and both his siblings. Two members of the staff were also killed.”

  “Oh, my goodness! What caused the fire?”

  “Some sort of furnace explosion, I believe.”

  “Was it on this property?” Mary Ellen had heard her father mention the house fire. She’d never discussed it with her husband.

  “Oh no, it was in Kentucky.”

  “I did wonder, since this house seems fairly new. I thought perhaps it was built on the same property.”

  “No. The family was from Kentucky. The elder Mr. Coulson raised horses.”

  “Really? But my husband doesn’t have any horses here.”

  “No. Mr. Randall never cared for horses much. He was thrown when he was a young boy, and after that, he wanted little to do with them.”

  “So Mr. Hunter is also from Kentucky?”

  “Yes. He lived with his grandparents, neighbors of the Coulsons. From what I recall, his mother died of a fever when he was just a babe, and his father was in a carriage accident when returning from his wife’s funeral. He was the only child. His grandparents quite doted on him. His grandfather passed away a few years after the house fire, and his grandmother died a couple years later.”

  “That’s all so sad. So my husband and Mr. Hunter were childhood friends?”

  “Oh yes. Mr. Hunter is a little older than Mr. Randall, and when they were young boys, Mr. Randall had a healthy case of hero worship for Mr. William. He used to follow that boy like an eager puppy. Of course, don’t repeat that to your husband!”

  Mary Ellen giggled. “I promise. But for some reason, I would have assumed it would be the other way around. My husband doesn’t seem like one who would succumb to hero worship.”

  “Mr. Randall had a healthy growth spurt in his teen years, but as a boy, he was a small child. Mr. William was always a big boy, plus he was the older of the two. Early on, he fell into the habit of looking after Mr. Randall, like a protective big brother.