The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  Taking the armchair beside the fireplace, Conrad faced her but did not speak. Having brought her sewing box down before dinner, Ruby busied herself with readying her implements while planning out which of her embroideries would grace the walls in this room. Peeking at him from time to time, she tried to dispel the uncomfortable silence, but with the exception of Lucas, Ruby had never spent much time conversing with gentlemen—and her conversations with Lucas had never amounted to much.

  Opening her mouth, Ruby began to form words and then stopped as Conrad retrieved a book and set to reading. From this distance, she could not read the title, and she was curious as to its subject, but she could not bring herself to interrupt. Their marriage had started on such poor footing, it would not do to cause further harm by prattling on. Doing so had always put Papa in a foul mood, so Ruby kept her own counsel and turned her attention to her needlework.

  ***

  Conrad often welcomed the opportunity to crawl under his bedcovers and embrace the oblivion that sleep brought, but never had he both wished for and cursed the approaching nighttime.

  As he turned the pages of the novel, his eyes ran over the words without reading a one. He wasn’t even certain which book he had in hand, for his thoughts were not centered on the ink and paper. Dinner was finished, and still, his wife remained silent. His attempts at conversation then had been met with disdain, and Conrad felt no desire to try again; he preferred to accept that this day was naught but a disaster and retire to bed early.

  But that brought an entirely new conundrum.

  The shadows lengthened, the hours passing as he mused about the coming situation. Married in name. Sharing a bed with a stranger was not something he desired to do, yet that was the situation he’d been forced into.

  Conrad wagered Ruby’s thoughts had traveled to the same conclusion, for the lady battled to control the fine tremor that had taken hold of her hands. Eyelids grew heavy, and they both stifled yawns. When Conrad could take no more, he put his book aside and stood.

  There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

  Following his lead, Ruby placed her sewing aside, though there was a strained pull to her features and a tautness to her posture. Conrad stepped forward and motioned towards the door, and when he placed a hand on her back, she leapt as though he’d pressed a hot coal to her skin. That did not bode well for either of them.

  There was a weight to the air, growing more substantial with each step they took, making the climb to their bedchamber all the more difficult. Ruby did not shy away from him, and Conrad kept his hands at his sides, though instinct had him reaching to lead her through the unfamiliar halls. However, even without that contact, he felt the nerves radiating from her, and Conrad could not blame her. He rubbed his hands against his trousers and fought to keep from fidgeting like a child trembling in the dark.

  They arrived far quicker than Conrad would’ve liked, though there was no avoiding the inevitable; prevaricating would only serve to intensify their distress. Turning his thoughts away from the situation, Conrad focused on readying himself for bed. Closing the door behind them, he pulled at his tie and freed his neck from the wretched thing before divesting himself of his jacket.

  For a brief moment, he was able to lose himself in the nighttime routine, but then he made the mistake of glancing at the other side of the room and found his bride staring at him with eyes the size of teacups. Seeing her there made Conrad all too aware that he was standing half-dressed; his cheeks grew hot, and he fought the urge to slip his jacket back on.

  “I forgot my novel downstairs,” he murmured, stepping back out the bedchamber door and closing it behind him. He never read in bed, but that was as good an excuse as any, for Ruby was none the wiser concerning his nighttime rituals.

  Pacing the parlor, he felt himself a fool for reacting so, but what was a fellow to do?

  With a sigh, Conrad fell down onto the sofa, uncertain of what he should do. He sat thusly for far longer than he should have, but the thought of returning to Ruby’s side kept him in place. Retreating to the guest bedroom set a dangerous precedent for their marriage; if they had any hope of making a go of this despite their inauspicious start, they had to acclimate, and hiding would not help.

  When Conrad finally worked up the courage to return to their bedchamber, he found the lamps dimmed. He knew the bedchamber well enough that the light of the fireplace was enough to guide his steps, and he felt awash with relief to see that Ruby was already tucked into bed. With quick movements, he disrobed and changed into his nightshirt, and before he could rethink the move, he slid under the bedcovers.

  As this had been his parents’ bedchamber, the bed was a good size, but still, he brushed against Ruby’s back as he lay down. With a jerk, she inched away until she was nearly off the bed, and Conrad said nothing. Curled on her side as she was, Ruby feigned sleep, and Conrad was quite willing to follow her lead.

  Her side of the mattress trembled, and a muffled sound broke through the silence. Though Ruby tried to stifle it, there was no mistaking that his bride was crying.

  Conrad ground his teeth as he thought of the cad who had caused this heartache. He tried to loosen his muscles, but thoughts of Lucas made it impossible to sink into the mattress and slip into sleep. Lucas had brought the pair of them to this point. A wedding day filled with bitter tears and broken hearts.

  But Conrad struggled to keep hold of his anger. The strain of the past few days made it difficult for him to maintain such fire. And hearing Ruby’s pain drained him.

  Words floated into his thoughts, and Conrad wondered if he should give them voice. But what was there to say? What words could explain the sorrow in his heart? An apology on Lucas’s behalf meant little. There was no explanation for what he’d done, and Conrad was paying for it in equal measure as Ruby.

  *

  Conrad’s side of the bed shifted, and Ruby tensed, her breath catching. There was a weighty moment of silence before he moved again, rolling away from her. Her breathing shuddered, and Ruby clamped her lips closed, struggling against the jagged sobs trying to break free. Turning her face into her pillow, she buried it into the down, allowing it to muffle the sounds of her heart ripping in two.

  Ruby would be a fool to miss Lucas. No man who behaved in such a manner was worthy of being mourned, and there was no misinterpreting Lucas’s behavior; he was a selfish lout, and no matter how she had tried to reconcile his duplicity, it could not be ignored.

  But for the briefest moment, Ruby was transported back to those days she and her husband had spent together. The warmth of his skin. The weight of him in the bed beside her. The feel of his arms embracing her. The inn that had served as their residence was little more than a dingy dot along an isolated country road, but Ruby had never loved a place so dearly. They’d spent days together, wrapped in each other’s love as they made plans for their future.

  Lies.

  How had she not seen it? Not sensed his false heart? But even as Ruby contemplated that, she knew the truth. She’d wanted the attention. The adoration. Wanted to believe that Lucas was so thoroughly enamored with her that willingly blinded herself. Fool that she was. More foolish for still longing to return to those beautiful days together.

  Night stretched on as the tears fell, each one a recrimination for trusting that foul creature and wishing to recapture those loving words from a false heart.

  Chapter 7

  A drop of ink fell from the pen nib, and Ruby sighed at the smudge of black seeping into the paper. It was her own fault. She’d sat there, staring at the sheet for far too long, and gravity had gotten the best of her. Such a mark shouldn’t ruin the whole page, but Mama believed poor penmanship was a sign of poor character, and Ruby didn’t need to give the lady any more reason to think ill of her.

  Setting that page aside, Ruby readied a new one, though she still stared at the blank space that followed the salutation, uncertain where to begin. She scribbled a few pleasantries, asking after their health
and the weather in Chesterton. Her hand flew through the inanities, writing what she knew she must before she could arrive at that which she longed to discuss.

  And then, Ruby halted. Lifting her gaze to the window, she watched the carriages and people pass. Her mind sorted through what she ought to write that wasn’t a repeat of the many letters she’d written in the fortnight since her wedding.

  Tears blurred her vision, and Ruby caught them before they fell, batting them away. Taking in a shaky breath, she huffed, clenching her teeth against the surge of emotions filling her. Not again. Not another tear. Placing her hands on either side of the paper, she forced them to leave her be.

  Ruby took the pen in her hand, but it took few words to describe the entirety of her time as Mrs. Conrad Ashbrook; there was little change from one day to the next. No visitors. No conversation. Her husband made his appearance at dinner and warmed the bed beside her, but there was nothing more to report. A long string of nothings that was made all the more acute by the silence she received from home.

  Dropping the pen once more, Ruby watched the people outside her home and the frenetic movement of the town. Though Greater Edgerton was by no means large, this heart of commerce was abuzz with energy. Men of business strolled along the sidewalk, discussing all the intricate details of their mills and factories. Workers of all types scurried along, hustling between their posts and the errands their masters had commissioned. Carriages of ladies passed by, their lively groups on display despite the chill in the air.

  And Ruby watched it all from her silent parlor.

  A turn of her stomach had her straightening. Pressing a hand to the offending area, she took a breath and assessed how dire it was. But with a few more breaths, the feeling passed, and Ruby leaned forward to rub at her temple.

  “Come in,” she said at the sound of a knock on the parlor door.

  “Mrs. Mary Ashbrook is here to see you, ma’am,” said Fanny with a bob, and Ruby nodded at the maid. The girl disappeared, and Ruby straightened her makeshift writing desk, though she did not get much done before the lady in question arrived in the doorway.

  *

  Relaxing her hands, Mary released the edges of her skirts and embraced a jovial air. It was ridiculous for her to attempt it as her husband was the lighthearted one of the pair, but it was better than displaying the fretfulness that had taken hold of her since the Jeffries had arrived.

  Her daughter-in-law stood at the far end of the parlor beside a console table adorned with paper, pen, and ink.

  “Good afternoon,” said Mary with a curtsy, which the young lady returned with the same stiff and uncertain movements Mary had used. The pair stood on opposite sides of the room, watching each other for a brief, silent moment before Ruby stepped forward and offered Mary a seat on the sofa.

  “I do hope I haven’t interrupted you,” said Mary, glancing over to the makeshift writing desk.

  “I was writing to my mother,” came the reply. “It is nothing that cannot wait.”

  There was something in Ruby’s expression that gave Mary pause. A tightening around the lips, and a distinct rigidity that filled her as she spoke.

  “All is well with your parents?” asked Mary, and though Ruby attempted to disguise it, there was no mistaking the brittleness in her expression at that question.

  Her brows pulled together as she nodded. “I believe so. They have not written to me as of yet, but their letters may have been waylaid. While they were here, we received word that my nephew is unwell. Likely, my mother is preoccupied with his health and assisting my sister and has not the time to write. The illness did not sound worrying, but even the slightest fever can be fretful.”

  “It doesn’t take much for a mother to fret, as you will soon learn for yourself.” Mary gave a genuine smile at that, her eyes warming as she looked at her new daughter-in-law and soon-to-be grandchild. But Ruby’s expression tightened, her eyes falling to the place where her child rested. With quick movements, she reached for a sewing box beside the sofa and began placing stitches into a swath of linen.

  “I do hope you are not bothered if I continue to work,” said Ruby. “I prefer to do a good deed and not let the Devil find my hands unoccupied.”

  Mary mused over her wording. “Is that Chaucer?”

  Ruby’s eyes darted up from her sewing. “You are familiar with his work?”

  Another genuine smile broke on Mary’s face. “My dear, we are a family who adores books of all sorts. Though I do not care greatly for Chaucer, I am well acquainted with his writings.”

  “I fear my recitation did no justice to his words.”

  “Yet I recognized them well enough. Are you a great reader?”

  Ruby turned her attention back to her needlepoint. “Not a great reader, no. Mama and Papa do not care for me to waste my time with novels, but I’ve enjoyed what I have read. And I am very fond of poetry.”

  Mary had heard many a mother and father bemoan the dangers of novels, though that had been far more prevalent in her youth than of late, and for her part, she could not comprehend it. Certainly, one should be circumspect in what stories one read, but like any other pastime, it could be used for good or ill and was not wholly one or the other.

  “I must admit I am not an avid reader of verse, though I have read most of the greats,” said Mary. “Which do you enjoy most?”

  Pausing in her work, Ruby’s gaze drifted to the distance as she pondered that simple question. After a brief moment, she replied, “Wordsworth and Tennyson.”

  “Then you are of a similar mind to Conrad,” said Mary. “Though I do not know if he is fond of Wordsworth, Tennyson is a favorite.”

  But that elicited no joyful response from Ruby. Rather, the lady turned her attention back to her work with greater fervor than required.

  Mary opened her mouth to ask after that curious reaction, but timidity held her tongue. The feeling was rather odd, as it had been many years since Mary had felt so uncertain of herself and what to say. Ambrose’s influence had rid her of whatever tendency she had towards such behavior, but this was a situation Mary had never thought to find herself in.

  It took no great intelligence to know that all was not right in her son’s home, but with the circumstances they’d found themselves in, that was no great surprise. But Mary had hoped to find things progressing to some degree.

  Mary watched Ruby work and wished she had a better understanding of her new daughter-in-law. There was no undoing the past. Lucas and Conrad had both made their decisions, and Mary could not alter that, but she may be able to aid in repairing the damage done.

  “Are you making something for the baby?” asked Mary.

  It had seemed an easy question, a topic to stoke a conversation, but Ruby reacted to it much as she had to the previous subject. She paused in her work, shifting in her seat as her gaze meandered around the room, though her eyes avoided Mary.

  “It is a wall hanging,” said Ruby, tugging at the edges of the fabric.

  “Might I?” When Ruby did not protest, Mary stood and took the seat beside her. The stitches had to be some of the finest Mary had ever seen. She’d never had much interest in fancywork, but even her untrained eye could see Ruby’s talent. When she told her such, the lady blushed.

  “I have little skill for creating the designs myself,” said Ruby, “but I do enjoy recreating illustrations and paintings.”

  With a quick move, she released the linen from the embroidery hoop and spread it out to show Mary the full piece. Faint pencil lines covered the fabric, planning out where the stitches would go. A large sky stretched above the field of daffodils, a few wispy clouds lingering overhead.

  “It is a copy of a painting I saw in London this summer,” said Ruby, her fingers brushing over the vibrant greens and yellows that made up the landscape. “It reminded me of a poem by Wordsworth, so I’m attempting to recreate it here.”

  “It is far more than an attempt. Even only just begun, it is lovely,” said Mary, meaning every
word of her compliment. Though only a few of the daffodils were finished, they looked as though they were nodding beneath the push and pull of a springtime breeze.

  Reaching around, Ruby pulled her shawl free. On its own, it was a simple rectangular piece of cream cotton with fringe along the edges, but Ruby had added a border of vines and flowers; the greens of the stems and reds of the petals stood out against the muted background, and though it was not the most complicated of patterns, the embellishments made the piece unique.

  “You are an artist, Ruby,” said Mary, holding the shawl up so she could examine it. “Simply remarkable.”

  “It’s a tad ostentatious.”

  “Nonsense! It is perfect. I only wish I had a shawl so fine as this,” said Mary while meeting her eyes so that her daughter-in-law saw the truth of her words.

  Ruby could not meet her gaze for long before the young lady’s eyes fell away, but not before Mary saw the warmth shining in them. “You may have it if you like.”

  “You cannot be serious. This must have taken you weeks to complete.”

  “It was only a few days’ work, and it was an experiment at that. Something to keep me busy,” said Ruby. “I can always make another, should I wish for one, but if you admire it, please take it.”

  Mary hugged it with a smile before wrapping it around her shoulders. “That is so kind of you. I will treasure it.”

  Ruby blushed, bringing a softness to her features that wasn’t often there. “Truly, think nothing of it. I’ve had too much time on my hands of late, and I cannot stand to be idle.”