The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love)

by Vanessa Riley

  “I’m me, Ruth. If that’s a blend of Adam, I don’t care. I know I can make you happy. You make me happy.”

  “How? I haven’t done anything. I keep pushing you away.”

  “But we end up here, with you letting me hold you. We are meant to be.”

  “What if I disappoint you? What if you built up something in your head because of what Adam told you? I’m not that girl. Surely, you see that?”

  “More faith, Ruth. That’s what you need. You dazzle me. I cannot stay away.”

  I was glad of his persistence, but I still had a truth I hadn’t told anyone, not in a long time. I needed to tell him.

  His lips sought the arch of my neck.

  The thought of food and a confession disappeared. I wanted to be bold and turn to him, but my feet didn’t work.

  My conscience weighed me down. I wouldn’t be free until I told him everything.

  “Ruth, I lost everything once. I spent years struggling to understand why. I know what I need. It’s you. Since the first day I saw you, it’s been you.”

  “So, you fell for a bed wench on your steps?”

  “No, a friend that I needed and had missed for an eternity.”

  I rotated like the hands on my watch face, ticking closer and closer to being consumed.

  He nipped at my nose.

  My head tilted up in response.

  A double knock at the door made the bear growl.

  “You should eat. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He took me to my chair, gathered his sjambok from the desk, then disappeared beyond the doors.

  The sight of his weapon forced my rapid pulse to jitter.

  Shouting erupted outside the door.

  That voice.

  I knew it, the tone of evil. Fear latched me to my chair. It was a heavy, invisible hand that clapped my mouth and punched at my bosom until all the air came out. You can’t scream when that happens. I needed to scream, to shout, and save my Wycliff.

  One of the men who’d killed my Adam, who’d killed me, was in the house.

  …

  Sjambok in hand, Wycliff headed to the hall. Lawden’s signal meant trouble and he would return with bullets.

  There was no time for guns with danger in his hall.

  His heart pounded like a gong.

  These two showed up at Blaren House uninvited?

  A groom would be dismissed.

  No one was supposed to visit while Ruth was here.

  He entered the hall and saw them, Loftus Johnson and Nicholas. “Gentlemen, I am quite busy.”

  Johnson wrinkled his nose. “You’re decorating while you destroy us.”

  “Yes. Now leave.”

  The portly gray-haired man headed toward a bucket of paint as if to kick it.

  Wycliff couldn’t allow it. With his sjambok, he hit the man’s leg, toppling him over like Christopher’s frog toy. “It took forever to clean up after my cousin here. I don’t need you making a disaster, too.”

  Johnson rolled around, grasping at his ankle.

  “Are you much hurt?” Wycliff curled his whip for another strike.

  “Yes, my ankle. My back.”

  “Good. Cousin, drag Johnson from here.”

  Nickie looked nervous and sweaty. His dark-blue eyes were beady, his sunny locks ruffled. The mole as hideous as ever. “Wycliff, things are out of hand. You’ve proved your point. You’ve outsmarted us all. Relent. Leave us something.”

  “Like you all did me?”

  “I let you live, Adam. I could’ve let the mob kill you.”

  “Like you did to Steward?”

  “That wasn’t my doing. You saved me from drowning when we were children. Can’t you have that kind of compassion upon me now? Please, Cousin. Tell me what to do.”

  Wycliff shouldn’t be moved by this. He didn’t give a whit about his uncle or Johnson, but Nicholas, at times, had been like a brother. He snapped the sjambok to turn back the empathy he’d begun to feel. Weakness meant death.

  “Please. You know I have a son. If you had one, you’d know how I can’t face not putting bread on his table. Johnson’s wife is about to have a baby. We repent of what we’ve done. Have mercy.”

  A lightning bolt from the heavens should blow through Blaren House’s roof and strike Wycliff for even considering the notion. They were trying to use his beliefs against him. “I’m not the one who grants forgiveness for trespasses. Leave. Go pay alms to Steward’s widow.”

  Nickie tried to grab his arm, but he bucked away and readied the sjambok to strike. This time he’d hit for blood.

  “If my father lets you know how sorry he is, will that change things?”

  “Nickie, don’t bring that man here or you all will be dead by morning. Go see to these children who’ve made you humane. But don’t fret. I take care of widows.”

  Johnson stood but rubbed at his knee. “My wife says you are partial to a widow now. What if we make similar threats?”

  “Then you die now.” He struck Johnson in the face with his fist and knocked him into Nicholas. “Lawden, let’s kill them and dump them in the woods.”

  His man came from the top of the stairs with his blunderbuss loaded.

  Nicholas’s eyes bulged. “This is too public. You won’t do it.”

  “You don’t know what a dead man is capable of. You’re all being watched, and as much as I have enjoyed your squirming. This must end quicker.”

  Nicholas tried to reach for Wycliff’s arm again, but a snap of the sjambok kept him away. “What do you mean?”

  “Johnson, for mentioning my interests, your note shall be called in the morning. If you cannot pay, your bankers, who are my bankers, will send for the magistrate. You will be at Marshalsea before tomorrow nightfall.”

  “Debtors’ prison. Wilkinson, you said you could reason with him.”

  “Johnson, leave and go be with your wife. Your last night as a free man should be hers.”

  The man shook his fists at Nickie and limped out the front door.

  “Nicholas, you have something else for me? Shall I call for your father’s debts tomorrow?”

  “No. No, Wycliff, but Father does want to see you. Let him plead with you. I’m doing for my father like you did for yours.”

  “You? You’re protecting him from being convicted of a crime he didn’t commit?”

  Nickie’s eyes went wide like Wycliff had lied. Maybe he was surprised that Wycliff had discovered the depths of his nasty deeds. “Out of my house, vulture.”

  “Please give him this one chance. Just one.”

  These fools would keep showing up and growing more desperate. “Fine. I feel like going to the theater. Come to Drury Lane Theater. We can meet ten minutes before intermission. But let Uncle Soulden know that this war is over. I’ve won. Ruin is coming.”

  “Spare me, Wycliff. Let us start anew.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not the man I was.”

  “But you’re still doing Uncle’s bidding. What good is it to cry for forgiveness if you haven’t changed your ways?”

  “Sometimes mercy is given to those who don’t deserve it. You’re a fair man. I’ve heard how you’re taking care of Steward’s widow. I think Johnson had Steward done in for a lesson. Protect everyone around you.”

  No, that was Uncle’s hand. Nicholas was covering for him.

  “Please, Adam.”

  Wycliff didn’t move, didn’t allow his eyes to drift. Nothing to indicate he cared for anything.

  “Cousin, I know if you think about it, you’ll understand my choices.”

  He’d had sympathy for Nickie…once. Uncle Soulden was a terrible man. He had to have been a terrible father, but there was a point when a son, a man, had to choose which path to follow. “When Uncle is in Marshalsea, I’ll see.”

  Nicholas, fist bulging, mole bulging, slunk across the threshold.

  Wycliff’s gut had been right about finishing off Johnson early. Mrs. Johnson was too close to the Croomes.
He predicted she’d disclosed Wycliff’s attentions to Ruth.

  He took deep breaths, stretched with his sjambok. He needed to be calm before seeing Ruth.

  Would Uncle rotting in Marshalsea for the rest of his life be enough for Wycliff?

  And what of Nicholas?

  Could a man asking for a second chance with Ruth deny Nickie a second chance at being a better man, a father to his son?

  Rubbing at his aching neck, Wycliff headed back to his dinner companion and hoped after tomorrow’s theater performance his business would never again come this close to Ruth.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Secrets and Control

  It was the middle of the afternoon, and I sat at my mirror, combing and pinning my curls for my evening with Wycliff. I’d given my tresses a good stiff brushing, trying to make them look smooth before I secured them with a ribbon.

  I hated the theater, the noise, the busy people looking to be seen.

  I hated pretending that I hadn’t heard one of Adam’s and my attackers come to Blaren House.

  Putting my head down on my vanity, I lay next to my silver reticule. This beautiful beaded purse had been a birthday present years ago. It would be perfect this evening to go with my mazarine-blue gown. The sleeves were full and slimmed at my wrists. I was elegant, covered, and colorful.

  The reticule held coins, a starched handkerchief, and Papa’s knife. Papa had a few, but this one with a pearl handle I’d kept with me these past few weeks. I didn’t know why, but I had.

  It was palm sized with a blade that folded. Even if I never used it, it was with me.

  The orange polish that anointed the vanity tickled my nose. I fingered the outside of the reticule, slipping my pinkie up and down the seed-pearl trim.

  Now, I understood why Wycliff carried a sjambok. I needed something to feel a little more powerful when evil came calling.

  Should I tell Wycliff?

  What proof did I have other than recognizing a voice?

  Though some things could never be forgotten, I needed proof, undeniable proof before I accused someone of something so vile.

  Madame Talease would know. I would write her and ask those questions I had avoided.

  I sat up and glanced at my reflection. My bodice was lower, with lace covering up my curves. I had curves. I hadn’t shown myself, not truly, not until Wycliff.

  My neck looked long. It was devoid of a necklace, those things a fiend could twist and rip off.

  Why did my thoughts fall back upon that memory? I didn’t want to dance with pity. It wasn’t my chosen partner. I chose joy. I could be happy about spending time with Wycliff and watchful. The noise of the theater was nothing to his fingers entwined with mine.

  The theater was Wycliff’s world, and he needed me. I could protect him.

  The door to my room opened.

  No knock.

  Some things never changed.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind me. Ester’s.

  “Where is Lord Wycliff taking you today?”

  “The theater.”

  My sister looked pretty in a high-lace salmon-pink gown. I thought of Wycliff’s paint and I burst. I laughed and felt at ease doing so.

  Ester frowned, seeming cross enough to hold her breath. “You hate the theater. You went once with me. You’ve never wanted to return.”

  I rubbed my temples, pushing away that lingering headache. “I get uncomfortable sometimes, but Wycliff will find a way to make me comfortable. He always does.”

  Ester paced from the closet to the bed and then back. “I don’t understand. You haven’t seen the barrister, not once since the garden party.”

  “I wrote Mr. Marks. I sent him a note wrapped in red ribbon, telling him we should no longer correspond. I’ve heard no response.”

  “Ruth, Papa vetted the barrister. We’ve learned nothing about Wycliff except that he’s in finance.”

  “Haven’t you heard, Papa’s rooting for him? I think he’s betting on the Black Prince or was it blackjack? He doesn’t have to pay a dowry if I marry Wycliff.”

  “Let me get Bex to dig around and find out more, then maybe you could reconsider the well-respected barrister.”

  I tossed my brush onto the table. “His letters are very nice, but I’ve seen him four times in six months. He’s always working. Wycliff is like Papa, and he’s making a space for me and Chris in his world.”

  I was done, done with my hair, with justifying things to a beloved sister who didn’t understand. I lifted from my stool, kissed Ester’s cheek. “You can wait downstairs and fuss at Wycliff.”

  One look at her flustered olive face and I knew my sister was just beginning her argument. “I sound like a nag, Ruth.”

  “You are a nag, Ester.”

  The pacing began again. “I feel so strongly. He’s dangerous. I feel it in my soul.”

  “You know what I feel. I feel respected and secure with Wycliff. I didn’t think I could have both.”

  “How can you be so sure of him? You would risk your safety and Chris’s for a man you just met? Three weeks ago, he was a whip-swinging loon.”

  “It’s a sjambok. You heard your Bexeley’s voice on stage, and you knew it to be love.”

  “I was in love with his voice for years, but I grew to love the man passionately. I know the difference between infatuation and the deepest love.”

  “I know, too. I had it once, Ester, and everything was perfect. Things are close to perfect with Wycliff, as close as I ever thought I could get to being loved again. That’s the worst thing, to let the bad make you forget you’re valuable.”

  “Ruth, you deserve to be happy.”

  “That’s something we tell others, to help us sleep. How many actually mean it?”

  I spun and looked at my reflection—my brave reflection—in the mirrored glass. “I’m happy. I choose him.”

  Ester came to me and draped her arms around me. “I love you.”

  “I have been tested, Ester. I’ve come through as gold. I stopped believing that for so long. But I believe in me again.”

  “Because of Lord Wycliff?”

  “It started with him, but it’s me. Once you remember you deserve better, you won’t accept less.”

  I turned Ester so that we could have both our faces in the mirror. “We Croome women deserve to be loved.”

  “And you deserve a better chignon. Let me make you a beautiful braid and pin curls for your wild man.”

  Wycliff was wild and wicked and wonderful. I just needed him to be lucky, luckier than Adam, and wiser, too. But he’d invited me and a devil to the theater. That didn’t seem wise at all.

  …

  Sitting at his father’s desk, Wycliff waited for word of Johnson’s arrest. The magistrate would work quickly on behest of the bankers now that all his notes had been called.

  It was a little early to be dressed in his formal black trousers for the theater, but he didn’t want anything left to chance. This day felt fluid, and he hadn’t heard Johnson’s fate. The man needed to be locked away, no longer a threat to the Croomes.

  Uncle would be next to pay. It was a mistake to think these evil men would go quietly off to prison.

  He heard motion at the front door. Then a knock upon his study.

  “Enter.”

  Lawden announced Wilkinson.

  Wycliff readied his sjambok, but it was his cousin, not Uncle Soulden.

  A bit of relief swept over him, but a baby viper was still a viper.

  “Cousin, this is not the theater. Did you get lost?”

  “You weren’t joking. They came and got him. Johnson is with the magistrate.”

  “Yes. Marshalsea by nightfall. Did you think I stuttered?”

  “You’re just a step ahead of us. You and I need a truce. Things have gone too far.”

  Now they’d gone too far? “Your father tried to kill me. Killed my wife and Captain Steward, and now things are too far?”

  “Well, you’re not dead. Traitors n
eed to be dealt with, and wives are replaceable.”

  That was a sad commentary. The man hadn’t loved a woman like Ruth. How terrible for Nickie’s wife and mistress. He set the sjambok down and pulled out his blunderbuss. “I hear cousins are replaceable, too. Or is that shippable, to be banished to the Navy. Stop with the pleasantries. Did Uncle refuse to come out of his hole for this evening?”

  “Uncle wants to meet, but it’s too public.”

  “Then there’s no meeting. Good-bye, Nickie. Do come back and describe Uncle’s expression when they come for him.”

  “Adam, Father is prepared to deal.”

  “I’m prepared for him to fail.” He tapped his nose. “Perhaps we should meet at Captain Steward’s grave.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I didn’t ask. I know that your side did. The captain had friends. I wonder how they will respond when they figure it out. I highly doubt the lumbering man here last night could rouse sailors into killing their captain.”

  His cousin sputtered as Wycliff had expected. He didn’t have evidence of their hand, but Nickie didn’t know. He wanted them looking over their shoulders, fearing retribution every moment. That would keep the Croomes safe and poor Cicely, too, if he ever found her.

  Their side definitely didn’t have her. She or Ruth would be the ultimate leverage.

  Nicholas shifted in his seat. “Why don’t you come to him?”

  “I don’t walk into traps.”

  “Then let him come here. He doesn’t want this any more public. He’s worried that the same runners that took Johnson will come for him at the theater. The man was rousted out of his bed.”

  Oh, so the men who’d ruined his life and his father’s were scared for theirs. Didn’t people know that if they sowed death, they’d reap it?

  This was the one time Wycliff didn’t mind being thought of as a rake, a tool to make the ground fertile for judgement.

  “Let my father come to you. Guarantee his safe passage.”

  Wycliff tapped his desk, again fingering N for no. “I said no. Uncle will be torn to pieces if he steps a foot over Blaren House’s threshold. I don’t stutter.”

  “I suppose Fournier Street is also off-limits.”

  “Fournier?”

  “Johnson said you’re seeing a woman there.”

  “I see a lot of people. I see you.”