The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love)
Page 12
“Old or young?”
“Young. They’re smiling. Must like what they see. I do.”
“You’re a bad flirt with terrible sight jokes.”
“I’m a terrible flirt, and I’ve been known to be punny. It covers my discomfort. My voice is grating, but I’d never joke about your sight. I’m like you. I don’t trust easily, either. My guard is a thick shield.”
She pivoted and crashed into him.
He held her for a moment, nothing more than a few seconds to keep her from falling. Heaven was in that blink of time. “Cousin, we have to stop these unplanned caresses…while people are watching.”
Ruth shook her head. They walked on.
He steered her to the little area within a square of hedges, close to the house but private. He stopped at the stone bench he’d spied earlier. “How about we sit? Perhaps, if we are still, a dove might land on your birdbath.”
“Yes, to sitting, but I fear the party is too noisy for birds. You didn’t say why you trust me.”
He waited for her to sit, tucking her slippers beneath the hem of her beige gown. This dress was billowy and beige. The sleeves were long, almost balloons. So not Ruth, the color part or the style. She had been stylish, bold with gowns that had shown her fine figure.
It was almost as if she tried to hide. How do you hide a sun?
Smoothing his waistcoat, he plopped down beside her. “It’s quite simple. Adam trusted you with his life. He was a great judge of character. Thus, I trust you.”
Her cheeks warmed. A bronzy tint kissed her deeply honeyed skin. “It’s that simple for you?”
“Yes, that simple. Adam was a great reference.”
She relaxed more, but her posture remained straight and composed. Good baroness stock.
But he wasn’t composed, not on the inside.
His arms wanted to be about Ruth again. The feel of her, the scent of her—all was a torture for a man who was desperate for her. He forced his gaze to the birdbath and the deep pond in which it stood. The water was a little cloudy with slick water lilies floating on top. White dead nettles plants rimmed the pond with large shells, seashells. A few of the white heart-shaped petals stirred into the emerald broth. In the middle was a fragile-looking pedestal that supported a large bowl. The birdbath was formed from small indigo blue tiles.
“This is lovely, Mrs. Wilky. It’s peaceful here.”
“What peace? The party is quite loud. I still want to be in the house.” She lifted her palm. “May I have my lenses.”
“Only if you promise to hand them back if things overwhelm you.”
“What?”
“You were at Blaren House in the company of a stranger. You were poised and calm, especially after my lousy greeting.”
“I’m an expert at adapting. Ask my family.”
He reached in his pocket and produced her spectacles. “You’ve learned to survive. There’s strength in that.”
She slid them on and looked over her shoulder. “I do like it here. This is close to the house. I watch my son gather rocks. We skip them across the pond.”
“How will you handle new places when I escort you out?”
She scooted away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I need my cousin’s help. Blaren House will be completely redone, rejuvenated from top to bottom. I’d like your opinion on everything. Adam said you had great style and a way with color.”
“Stop. I only need you here to convince everyone of Adam’s existence. I’m not looking for anything more. I don’t need you gaining ideas.”
This courtship was becoming trickier by the second. She’d talked of wanting a friend, but now she retreated. Women and consistency, was this a fleeting notion?
Go slow, Wycliff, he told himself. He was in love with Ruth. She tolerated him for her own goals. Such were the inequities of his life, but rather shrewd on her part. “Fine. But may I ask your opinion on things upon occasion? Would you help me out a little, dear cousin?”
Ruth nodded but her focus was upon the pond. Perhaps she loved the stone birdbath. He could install one at Blaren House for her.
Rubbing her temples, she removed her spectacles, laying them between them on the bench. She stretched and picked up a rock from a small pile by the foot of the bench. A smooth, black basalt stone was in her palm. She skipped it across to the other side.
Her aim was perfect, a straight line close to the birdbath. She didn’t strike the pedestal.
“Nice aim or beginner’s luck?”
“Shall I do it again?”
“Yes, but on the other side of the birdbath.”
Her smile became a little bigger. She picked up another rock. This was a round piece of gray slate. She flung it and again it skipped the surface of the water, like a gull. The trajectory matched the last but on the left of the birdbath like he’d asked.
He clapped his hands. “Wonderful. This is your pile of rocks and you practice often?”
“Must have party tricks. My son likes it here the best. Doing something with my hands helps when I have to be out here.”
Son. The baby or the little boy? Time to find out. He leaped up. “While you are smiling, let’s find your parents.”
“No. Wait. Just stay and watch the ripples in the small pond. Sometimes, you’ll hear a frog’s moan.”
Her mood had changed again. What a puzzle she was. Well, that hadn’t changed. She had intrigued him before, and he’d fallen for her before he’d even known it.
“I can’t decide if you want me to leave, Mrs. Wilky, or if you want me to stay. I have rather large shoulders to comfort you in this turmoil.”
“That you do.”
Was that a smidgeon of appreciation for him? Ruth used to tease him for being tall and lanky. He picked up her lenses, thin brass like the ones broken at Blaren House but made with slimmer glass. “Tell me why we’re procrastinating.”
A small grin bloomed then disappeared.
A check of their surroundings—Mrs. Bexeley and a few other women edged closer. “Talk to me Mrs. Wilky, before we have an audience.”
“They know. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”
Crossing her arms, she held on to her elbows as if she were cold, but even her vacant eyes brimmed with fire, something akin to defiance. “For four years everyone wanted me to forget Adam. They wanted to take my memories away. They wanted Adam to be a lie. He wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“You can’t know. He was a flesh and blood man who loved me more than he loved himself. You’re here at my parents’. You will tell them the truth. Perhaps they will believe you. Why not? You’re a man. A peer. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Use me for your advantage.”
Her hand popped up, palm wide, fingers stretched.
“Four years of branding me a liar are ready to magically disappear. You think the pain goes away, too?”
Wycliff put his hand to her wrist and lowered it. “You know Adam was a person. You’re no liar. You’re a truth teller.”
“But I want to forget everything. I wish I was a liar. I’m disappointed in how my life has gone. Then I feel guilty, for that means denying Adam, a man who died for me.”
She pressed at her temples. “I want to feel justified, but what if you’re not believed? What if we never find the other half of the document? What if I never have a legal, valid way to show I was loved and honorable? These are my fears. Please, sit with me, not moving. I need another minute before this sliver of hope is put at risk and destroyed.”
Wycliff wanted to confess right now, to honor what she’d suffered. This was his fault, thinking that taking the registry would keep her safe.
Yet, his admission now would make her seem more of a liar or foolish for having him here at her party. She needed him to be Wycliff, the eccentric peer, not Adam the fool.
It was good she still thought him dead. A dead man couldn’t be a live friend.
Wycliff pulled her hand to his ches
t. “If Adam had known how you would suffer, he would’ve done things differently. He should never have headed to London. He’d been warned. He knew better, but he still went. It’s his fault.”
“See, you weren’t even there, and you know the fault is mine. He wanted to head to Scotland. I should’ve let him. He made the choice to please me.”
“You weren’t responsible. Adam made up his own mind. Even if he valued your opinion, he still made the decision.”
Ruth picked another stone. This time, when she tossed it, she hit the birdbath dead center. A piece of tile chipped. The bowl moved. The rock fell with a big splash into the pond.
“My fault. He listened to me. He died doing what I asked. I’ve suffered every day since. Maybe that is my punishment for causing his death.”
No.
The attack was his enemy’s fault and his.
Yes, he’d headed toward London to make her happy and to protect her from her fears for her parents and their disappointments, but the decision had been his.
Wycliff was a wiser man. Security outweighed everything. He’d do anything to keep her safe.
“I’m your friend, Mrs. Wilky. What happened was the fault of the evil men.”
She held out her hand. “My spectacles. I wish to see you change my mind.”
He put them in her hand.
After balancing them on that button nose, she squinted and leaned into him. “Well friend, what happened to your face? I don’t think my physician punched you. Or did he? Is that what you warrant for being nosy?”
“No. I typically get people to tell me what I want without these consequences.”
“I don’t have your special powers, my lord. I don’t need them. People whisper just loud enough to ensure I hear their horrible thoughts.”
“Hear mine. You deserve better.”
She shrugged. “Who hurt you, Wycliff?”
“Someone who vented his anger because his crimes have caught up to him. He’s angry because I won’t help him. He’ll not do it again.”
“Well, Lord Wycliff, I won’t punch you in the eye for being nosy.”
“There’s that.”
She reached to the ground again, but her pile was empty. “Chris will have to get me more. I like flat stones.
Chris…Christopher. An older child who could gather stones. Possibly his son.
“Mrs. Wilky, let us get on with the introductions.”
He stood and helped her up, slipping her hand firmly into his. “I’m with you, my dear, like a knight to his queen. I’ll make sure that you are believed. I won’t rest until everyone knows that Ruth Wilky is a truth teller.”
“Queen, hmm.” She wiped at her long lashes, then took his hand and kissed it. “Stop letting people hit you.”
That was unexpected, such an open expression of affection. She still had that power to confuse him. “Let’s find your parents so I can tell them of the goodness of Adam Wilky.”
“No, let’s walk a little more.”
More time to prepare was good. He needed to be convincing. There’d be no chance to win Ruth if he failed.
Chapter Fourteen
A Widow’s Friend
Wycliff had my hand and he guided me away from the still pond waters, but my soul was anxious. I was not restored.
The baron was smooth, not taking my baiting comments, allowing me to be honest about how I felt about Adam. He took all my hurt and sorrow about his cousin and remained sweet.
I couldn’t share all my truths—that Adam was the hole in my chest, the space where a heart should be. I’ll never feel toward anyone the way I felt for him.
This was for the best. That deep kind of love had too many risks. I’d never gamble like that again. My son needed his mother to be reasonable and smart, not a dreamer.
Wycliff tugged hair away from my face. He thought himself clever, trailing his thumb along my cheek.
It was sweet, a more romantic gesture than the barrister’s.
But I was immune.
Wycliff’s touch would never be a caress that vibrated through me, all the way to my spine. It would never send those tingles and sparks, like embers dancing in a flame.
I’d have to be vulnerable for that. I’d have to trust someone with the intricacies of my thoughts and the intimacy of my body. Never again.
He smiled at me, but I wasn’t stupid. His motives were obvious, despite his patient words. He wanted what Adam had had. He wanted me.
Wycliff cleaned my glasses and returned them to my face. “See. Good as new.”
“You noticed I was broken?”
He frowned but didn’t answer and started us moving again.
He didn’t take the bait of that barb. I was grateful for that. I needed to be me again, a less sarcastic woman who spoke her mind and danced on hot coals because she wanted to. That was me.
“Mrs. Wilky, do you think your mother will approve of me? I left the sjambok in my carriage.”
“A little.” Well, that wasn’t true. Mother would love him, a baron at her house.
If I had to be on a man’s arm, it surely didn’t hurt that Wycliff was big like my father, tall and brawny like him, too.
“Take your time examining me, my Mrs. Wilky, my Ruthy. See what you think of me. I don’t mind the scrutiny.”
With a nod, I did just that and took another glorious look at the handsome man. The beard made him more mysterious. I liked that.
His nose was thin and unremarkable, but his lips, they were smooth and full, something I hadn’t seen on anyone but Blackamoors. “Only Adam called me Ruthy. It’s Mrs. Wilky to you. That will change if I accept the barrister’s offer.”
“Now that is a problem. How did you meet the busy barrister?”
I lowered my head to the baron’s wide chest and couldn’t help but notice how everything fit snuggly to his form.
When I looked up, he smirked. He knew I admired him. “A newspaper advertisement. There’s nothing safe to look at when it comes to you, Lord Wycliff. You are handsome. Maybe I should leave off these spectacles.”
His hands were on mine again. “Is that such a bad thing to be handsome?”
“Yes. Because you do remind me of your cousin.”
“When you speak of Adam, I don’t hear much love.”
“Is it possible to love someone so much and hate him, too?”
The cough, the pause, the next cough said everything I needed to know. No one understood. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so honest.”
“I needed to know this. As you said, I’m nosy.”
“Let’s keep moving, Lord Wycliff. Someone will talk.”
He started guiding me, but I saw questions bubbling.
“Why did you risk everything to come to Blaren House? I know how much of a toll it took to come. I’m a survivor of a war, my personal struggles nearly killed me. What made the difference for you, Mrs. Wilky? What drove you up those steps to Blaren House?”
“Christopher. The chance at getting the other part of that registry is for him.”
A smile came to the baron’s face. One that was unexpected. One that reached for a possibility that I couldn’t confirm. Chris was Adam’s by marriage. I wasn’t sure by blood.
Wycliff put his hands to his back. “I’m glad you came. When you are ready to talk of Adam, the good and the bad, I’m here for it.”
“Find the registry for me. That’s what I need. Nothing else.” I folded my arms about my middle, but this was my truth. “I deserve to be made whole. The proof does that.”
“You are a truth teller, Mrs. Wilky. Never doubt that.”
I had doubted me. Then the trunk had arrived. I would work harder at being me. That hot-coals-walker, the dragon-slayer-in-training. “All this sweetness from an hour of association, half of which I spent unconscious on your steps. I must have mystical powers.”
“I didn’t leave you. I couldn’t. I feel I know you. Call me one of those sentimental fools who becomes entranced by a woman at first sight.”
Why didn’t Barrister Marks look at me like this? We’d corresponded for six months. We’d met on a couple of occasions, but never once had there been anything more than a respectful glance.
Nothing this warm, nothing like this.
I blinked and pushed against the baron’s hard stomach—one that wasn’t scrawny like Adam’s. “If you mention anything about destiny, I’ll leave you and find my way back to the house.”
“The truth gets me sentenced to solitude?”
I stilled my hands on his waistcoat and stopped smoothing the lines of the silken weave. I realized that I kept touching him. I’d crossed that boundary. I jerked my hands away. “Truth is what I need more than anything.”
“Yes. Truth. I see.”
I backed up to put distance between us, to move from the warmth that swirled between him and me. It was too much, too soon, and I was too wary. Turning to run to the house, I rammed into Mrs. Carter.
“Ruth,” the awful thing said, “still clumsy, girl. Never you mind. You look lovely today. So pretty in innocent peach.”
She grinned, but not at me. Her face had lifted toward the baron. “Introduce me to more of your mama’s people. You come fresh off the boat for a visit?”
What?
Why did she mention Mama? What was the dragon talking about? “Mrs. Carter, this is my Mr. Wilky’s cousin, Lord Wycliff.”
“Cousin? Ruth, it’s one t’ing to have a fake husband. It’s an entirely another t’ing to invent fake relatives.”
Lord Wycliff chuckled. “I assure you, madam, I’m not fake. True flesh and blood.”
He took the woman’s hand and kissed it.
Hopefully, the poor man wouldn’t turn into a frog.
“He’s a cousin to my late husband, ma’am. He’s just arrived in London.”
“Odd, we’re hearing of him now. Ruth, your sister’s husband, the actor turned politician, he could’ve picked someone more convincing. All mulattoes are not related.”
Used to jeers, I shook my head and started to the house, but Lord Wycliff didn’t move. “I assure you, I’m Mr. Wilky’s relation, and I’ve been in the Navy a good while. From your accent, I take it you are from Demerara. Ah, Demerara women are so feisty.”