Free An Infamous Marriage by Susanna Fraser Page A

the tribes as allies in the event tensions with the Americans led to war, but he told her how the Indians had looked and what they had worn, and of the dances the chiefs’ followers had engaged in before and after the council. She could only tell him of her hopes for the spring’s lambing. He told of tasting a strange concoction of dried buffalo meat and berries some of the tribes of the prairie ate as a staple. All Elizabeth could offer in return was that this year’s Christmas pudding had been especially rich and full of raisins. Compared to his life, hers was inexpressibly dull.
    She sighed. If she could not entertain and enrapture, at least she could reassure. She dipped her quill in the inkwell and began by informing him his mother continued in good health and cheer. She had grown a little more confused in Elizabeth’s time at the Grange, but she looked likely to live on indefinitely. A few months ago, Elizabeth had hired a sturdy young woman from the village to help her and Metcalf with the heavy work of taking care of an invalid who could no longer wholly control her bodily functions.
    Not that Elizabeth would share the more unpleasant details with her husband. He need only know that his mother enjoyed having poetry read to her, and that she often asked about him. She rarely remembered that her son would turn thirty-three in April and was a lieutenant-colonel in Canada, but Jack had seen her state for himself before he left. He did not need reminding.
    With that subject exhausted, she added a paragraph about Sir Richard, who planned to stop at Westerby Grange for a few days that spring on the way south for his annual visit with his elderly officer friends in Bath and London. She’d grown quite fond of Jack’s uncle over the past two years—his direct, forthright temperament was a breath of fresh air—but she had already told Jack about Sir Richard’s brief stay last October, and there was only so much that could be said about a visit that hadn’t happened yet.
    As Elizabeth twirled her quill between her fingers and pondered how to make life on a farm anything other than dull to a man who sat at Indian council fires and ate dried buffalo meat, she heard a knock at the door.
    She set her pen down with a happy sigh. Likely it was only Purvis, come from the farm with some problem or question requiring her attention. She hoped it would be nothing serious, but something interesting enough to add meat to her letter. Even better would be Eugenia Ilderton or Augusta Rafferty come to call, but she doubted they would venture out of Selyhaugh on such a cold day.
    Molly, the housemaid, appeared in the parlor doorway. “Lady Dryden, ma’am,” she announced.
    Elizabeth concealed a frown. Why had Selina Dryden finally condescended to call on today of all days? She wished it wasn’t too late to have the servants announce she wasn’t at home to visitors, but she’d never had an unwelcome caller before, not unless she counted Sir Richard Armstrong for the first quarter hour of his first visit.
    “Show her in, please, and ask Cook to send tea,” she said.
    Moments later, Lady Dryden sailed into the parlor, red-cheeked from the cold and wearing an unmistakably triumphant air.
    “Good morning, ma’am.” Elizabeth concealed her wariness as best she could. “Please come and warm yourself by the fire. I hope Sir Henry and your family are all well.”
    Lady Dryden settled herself on the other end of the sofa, stretching her feet toward the hearth. “Is that Colonel Armstrong’s latest letter, my dear Mrs. Armstrong?”
    She managed to make the innocuous question sound sinister, and Elizabeth fought the urge to snatch the paper away like a schoolgirl caught with a love letter. Instead she folded it and set it on the table beside her and out of her visitor’s line of sight. “Yes. Jack is in York—the one in Upper Canada, not ours—and he has been hunting buffalo with the prairie Indians.”
    Her visitor favored her