Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  “Very wise, I’m sure,” Graham answered gravely, exchanging a laughing glance with Penelope. “When you are quite done with entertaining our Penny, I would like to borrow her for a while, if you would not mind.”

  “To discuss this evening’s invitations or the high cost of the candles I ordered?” she asked mockingly.

  Sharp words in the foyer interrupted them, and a moment later Guy burst into the room, a tabloid clutched in his hand. The baronet waved the paper under Graham’s nose.

  “Trevelyan, I will not have it! This cannot go on! Deauville’s only just got back, it cannot be coincidence!”

  “Hamilton, you will take hold of yourself, or I shall have you carried out.” Graham did not touch the newspaper, but turned to the stunned occupants of the game table. ““You will excuse us, my lady?”

  Guy turned desperately to Penelope. “Tell me he was here when you came home last night.”

  Looking puzzled and frightened, she answered as truthfully as she was able. “Of course. He was sound asleep. Why?”

  For a moment, Guy looked relieved, until another thought seemed to strike him. “All night? Was he with you all night?”

  “Guy, that’s quite enough!” Graham grabbed Guy’s elbow and all but flung him through the doorway.

  The paper fell from Guy’s hand as the parlor door slammed behind them.

  Alexandra’s expression was once more fraught with anxiety. Penelope feared hers did not reflect great calm. She retrieved the tabloid from the floor and perused the narrow lines on the page Guy had left open.

  It took a minute before she found the article, but she found the name “Deauville.” The article gave his birthplace as Hampstead, but called him a Caribbean planter recently returned to London. It then went on to describe his suicide by a “bullet through the brain” and ended with a list of his survivors, including a mother and two sisters.

  Penelope curled the paper in her fingers. A black pinprick of fear took root. Why would Guy come here in a fury over the suicide of a man who had not lived in England in years?

  Graham asked the same question when he slammed the door of the study and turned to face his irate friend.

  “Don’t play the innocent with me, Trevelyan! I know what happened that night. You cannot tell me it is coincidence that the moment Deauville returns to London he blows his brains out. What can you get out of seeking revenge after all these years?”

  Graham limped to his desk chair and with the aid of his walking stick, eased himself to a sitting position. “You have become quite single-minded in your beliefs. I cannot fathom how you imagine I raised myself from my sickbed to limp downtown and persuade a man I haven’t seen in years to put a pistol to his head. You give me too much credit.”

  “Then you knew about it?” Guy demanded.

  “Of course I knew about it. I know about many things. I know Deauville’s reputation on Martinique turned out as unsavory as it promised here. I know he was practically bankrupt when he returned, and his uncle threw him out when he went home looking for funds. I know he has been living in a brothel and working in a gambling hell since he returned to London. It sounds to me as if our friend had every reason in the world to blow his brains out.” Graham leaned back in his chair and crossed his walking stick over his legs.

  “And I know damned well that the toplofty sapskull thought too well of himself to put his spoon in the wall on purpose! Devil take it, Trev, you can’t act as a one man tribunal of justice. They killed Marilee, I know, but you can’t say they meant it to happen. You cannot bring her back with revenge. You have Penelope now. Why risk what you have over the worthless lives of these vermin, particularly since it was my life they sought, and not yours? If there is revenge to be taken, it is my place to do.”

  “Hamilton, you’re exercising your jaw for naught. As well you know, Marilee was lost to me before the accident. Your opinion of your old club mates has little to do with me. Those that caused the accident were a worthless lot then and remain a worthless lot now. I am ashamed that I was ever associated with them in any way. Now I suggest you go back and apologize to Penelope. You have no doubt frightened her into hysterics, and I must say your manner of questioning was quite insulting. I don’t think you’re likely to earn her forgiveness anytime soon.”

  Penelope had apparently sent Alexandra back to the nursery by the time Graham and Guy returned to the parlor. The tabloid lay on the table where she sat mending a tear in one of Graham’s neck cloths. He gave the item of apparel a wary look.

  The baronet bowed stiffly. “My apologies, Lady Trevelyan, for my untimely and rude intrusion.”

  Penelope’s eyebrows lifted. “That is very pretty of you, Guy, but I’m not likely to accept apologies without explanations. Graham?”

  She held herself as regally as any princess, more regally, Graham amended, remembering Princess Caroline’s particularly blowsy informality. He couldn’t help but admire his wife’s stiff-necked pride, even if it was a damned nuisance. Any other woman would have been dissolved in tears or hysterical ranting by now. One or two might have meekly accepted Guy’s pitiable apology. Penelope, however, had singled out the real cause of the earlier scene and nailed the culprit.

  He returned the hot potato to Guy. “Well, Hamilton, what explanation would you like to give?”

  Guy set his lips. “I am sorry, Penelope, but it is no concern of yours. If I have frightened you, I did not mean to do so, and I apologize. I beg you will consider me sincere and accept it without further explanation.”

  Any trace of sympathy fled her face. She jabbed her needle into the soft cloth and replied coldly. “You are right. It is none of my concern. Apology accepted.”

  It was as neat a dismissal as Graham had ever seen. Unable to catch his wife’s eye, he steered the stricken baronet from the room.

  “She is angry.” Guy accepted his hat and gloves from the butler.

  “It would seem so. She does not anger easily. I told you to keep her out of this.”

  “I’ll not apologize to you. You’ve brought it on yourself, and nothing will convince me otherwise. I never took you for a fool, Trev, but I’m seriously considering revising my opinion.” He spun around and stalked out.

  Graham pondered whether or not his friend was right, but it was too late to change course. He was not one for leaving things half done, but his increasing regard for Penelope caused him to question what he had once taken for granted.

  Twitching his shoulders in unaccustomed confusion, Graham returned to the parlor. Penelope refused to look up from her mending. He contemplated her bent head in dismay. He had no knowledge at all of how to deal with Penelope’s anger since he had never seen it displayed before.

  “I will not endure a fit of the sulks, Penelope. It does not become you.” That sounded sufficiently stern to be convincing. Graham rested on his cane and waited.

  She sent him a scathing look. “Neither do my high-necked muslins, you tell me, but you married me anyway. Obviously becoming was not one of the attributes you require in a wife.”

  That was a singularly odd tack to take, and Graham contemplated her line of reasoning. “You are well aware of why I married you. I have given you no reason to inquire into my affairs.”

  “No, you are quite right in that.” Penelope stood, throwing down the mended neck cloth on the table. “So I will not ask how that was torn after you left me unattended at the ball last night.”

  Graham caught her arm as she tried to pass by. “I do not remember how it was torn, Penelope. It is of no significance.”

  “And neither am I. I tell you, I understand my position completely, my lord. You have made yourself clear from the first. May I go now?”

  An unexpected tension forced Graham to ask, “Are you unhappy with our arrangement, Penelope? Would you have any part of our marriage changed?”

  “You have given me more than I ever dared dream, my lord. I could never ask for more,” she replied politely.

  Disappointment wa
shed over him, and he cursed himself for a fool. What did he think she would answer? He released his grip on her arm. “I came down here earlier to apologize for deserting you last evening, and to ask if I might make it up to you by taking you for a ride this afternoon. I have just quarreled with my best friend. I do not wish to quarrel with you. Will you go with me?”

  “Is that your wish, my lord?” she asked coolly, her anger unsoftened by his plea.

  “My wish, yes, but not my command. Is there not somewhere you would particularly like to go, someplace you would like to see?”

  With a slight nod, she agreed. “I promised Alexandra new ribbons for her bonnet tomorrow. And the hems have been let out of her smocks as far as they will go. I thought we might have a new muslin or two made up for her.”

  Graham curled his lips wryly. “I had thought to let you indulge yourself in a bonnet or two. I should have known Alexandra would be the only reason you accompany me.”

  “You can indulge me with a membership in the lending library, if you like. Your library is no doubt educational, but since I read neither Greek nor Latin and have little understanding of agriculture or philosophy, I am left with a few novelists from prior centuries. Admittedly, they should not be ignored, but they are rather heavy reading for a rainy day.”

  “Penelope, you need not be so clutch-fisted with my money!” Graham glared at this prim vicar’s daughter he had somehow taken to wife. “You can go down to the bookseller’s and buy out the store and stop at the printer’s and have them send over every new volume off the press if that is what you like. Do you think me such an ogre that I would complain of a few books?”

  Penelope’s lips finally turned up at this exaggeration. “I think you would believe I set myself up in a new profession as librarian should you see bills for all that. I am not clutch-fisted, but sensible. The books I would like to read are not necessarily ones I would ever look at but once. The lending library suffices. When should I be ready?”

  Graham surrendered the argument. “Fetch your bonnet. I’ll have Harley call the carriage.”

  Penelope hesitated. “The carriage? Are you certain? I do not want to cause you undue discomfort—”

  “Hoi polloi may grow accustomed to my face in slow stages. I’ll order the hood put up,” he answered shortly.

  He would simply have to hope his face did not cause riots in the street just so he might please his wife.

  Chapter 12

  The seat beside the driver was piled high with packages. Ribbons had led to laces and then necessarily to a delightful little girl’s bonnet the milliner had just made up. One or two muslins meant new chemises and a pretty pair of ruffled pantalets to peek out from beneath the eyelet summer frock Graham had declared perfect for his daughter. Of course, that meant new stockings and shoes, and the pink ribbons exactly matched a miniature parasol in the bow window of one of the shops on St. James, and that, naturally, meant new lace mittens. Penelope declared he was spoiling his daughter, and Graham countered any daughter of his should be spoiled.

  He held his peace as his wife pricked the balloon of inflated prices on the various wares on display and obtained Alexandra’s wardrobe at the more reasonable rates the shopkeepers would have paid themselves. To his surprise, he wasn’t bored by shopping with Penelope. He enjoyed watching her outwit the shopkeepers, enjoyed the admiration he saw in their eyes as they packaged her purchases, and even enjoyed choosing colors and styles for his daughter, since Penelope requested his opinion. The surreptitious stares of the clerks failed to annoy him, and since no one wished to offend a viscount with a large purse, he met with no screams of horror.

  All in all, their first outing could be named a success, Graham decided as the driver turned the carriage toward home. Penelope had recovered from her anger, he had assuaged another restless afternoon, and though Guy’s accusations still rankled, he saw no point in changing his ways now. He had undoubtedly created a gallery of problems by marrying Penelope, but gazing down at her serene smile as she held his hand, he couldn’t repent a minute of it.

  When Penelope’s face lit with a sudden joy, he followed her gaze. One of the more enterprising farmers from the outskirts of the city had interspersed the scanty produce of his vegetable cart with colorful bouquets of May flowers. Graham called for the driver to halt.

  He caught her waist and swung her down from the carriage. She blushed and smiled uncertainly at his touch. Deliberately, he let his hand linger at her waist. The thin muslin of her gown did little to disguise the curve of her waist as she bent to admire a bouquet of tulips.

  They argued laughingly over the merits of wild bluebells against cultured daffodils. By the time they were done, Penelope’s arms were filled to overflowing with an assortment of every flower in the vendor’s stock.

  “These remind me of home,” she said with delight, sniffing her bouquet. She glanced up to old church nearby. “Such happiness deserves to be shared,” she declared. Instead of returning to the carriage with her prizes, she swerved and headed up the walkway to the church.

  Swinging his walking stick, Graham followed. He couldn’t imagine how they looked to others—the ferocious beast in his eye patch limping beside the graceful lady carrying an arm load of spring flowers—but for once, appearance didn’t concern him.

  Unfortunately appearances influenced the world of nature. Penelope’s flowers invited a busy worker bee. Penelope cried in alarm as it dived for one of her daffodils. She jerked the flowers away, and the misguided bee alighted on the neckline of her yellow muslin instead.

  Graham tried to dislodge the bee with one hand and the flowers with the other. He succeeded only in sending the bee into the safety of Penelope’s bodice.

  Penelope’s cry of pain as the irritated bee took its vengeance on a vulnerable spot severed Graham’s patience with nature. Flinging the flowers aside, he jerked the drawstring of her gown, tore at the frail lawn of her chemise, and lunged for the nuisance.

  Figuring no one could observe them within the confines of the church’s high hedges, Graham left her with little modesty until he’d caught the marauder. The shock of brushing her breast as he removed the bee woke him to what he did. His wife merely looked dazed. She made no attempt to dodge his crude touch, but merely attempted to pull her bodice together.

  Without a word Graham parted her lacy chemise and sought the damage to tender skin. He frowned at the angry red welt swelling on the inside of one fair breast and sought the poisonous stinger.

  He had considerable difficulty removing his hand from temptation. Penelope blushed but met his gaze with the same heat that filled him.

  They remained rooted there for what seemed like eternity, Graham’s bare hand resting on her breast, his gloved one holding her so close they breathed in tandem.

  The look in Graham’s eye robbed Penelope of all thought. She held her breath as his cool fingers caressed the pain. She didn’t want him to stop, and he seemed strangely reluctant to do so.

  “I don’t know the proper remedy for bee stings.” His voice, when it came, was gruff.

  “A little flour paste, and I don’t carry such about.” Penelope wasn’t certain how she managed to speak, but the sensible words belied her state of near panic.

  “Then we shall have to take you home and find you some.” His voice was low and deep and as caressing as his touch. Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and stalked toward the carriage, leaving the flower-strewn steps of the church behind.

  “Graham, what are you doing? Put me down,” Penelope whispered as they emerged from the privacy of the hedgerow into the crowded street. He had not bothered to adjust her torn chemise or retie her bodice, and the sun fell warmly on her exposed flesh.

  “I don’t think I will.” With some deliberation, Graham pulled himself up into the carriage without losing his grip on her.

  When he continued to hold her in his lap as he ordered the driver home, Penelope turned to him in bewilderment while her heart pounded against he
r ribs. “Graham? I’m quite fine. We can’t ride about like this.”

  With a satisfied upturn of his mouth, he adjusted her more comfortably against his thighs and settled her head on his shoulder. “Yes, we can. White knights and conquering heroes are allowed some privileges for their daring deeds.”

  When she should have been horrified, Penelope giggled. She liked being held in his strong arms. Though she had a vague idea that her reaction was unspeakably wanton, she longed for Graham to return his fingers to where he’d touched earlier.

  “Jousting with bees does not seem to rate the recompense of abducting the heroine, my lord.”

  “Devil take the bee,” Graham warned her with a look that encompassed her breasts beneath the sheer muslin of her chemise. “I claim my reward for not carrying you off into the hedges and ravishing you right there.”

  “Graham!” Feeling the first faint stirrings of alarm, Penelope attempted to pull together her chemise or at least retie her drawstrings.

  “Oh, no, that’s part of my reward.” He caught her hands. “Cover yourself and I will be forced to take desperate measures we both may regret later. Like this.” He released her hands and slid his fingers along the neckline of the gown, releasing the muslin to slide downward until it threatened to fall off altogether.

  His fingers scorched her skin, and Penelope understood then the import of his words. Let him look his fill, for touching led to desire, and even her limited knowledge could figure the result of that.

  She glanced uncertainly at the set of his jaw. “I think the hero of this tale is behaving with ungentlemanly rashness.”

  “Perhaps.” Graham quirked an eyebrow. “But the sting would feel much better this way than buried under all that cloth, wouldn’t it?”

  She couldn’t help amusement at his behavior. “Perhaps. But would you have a heroine who behaves so shockingly?”