He thought back to the first afternoon they had ever met, and winced. How cold and cynical he had been.
Ever since Phoebe had asked him her fateful, innocent, insightful question, he found himself constantly wishing he could easily and openly declare his affections for Miss Sedgwyck. It was incredibly heady and disconcerting because he had always been guarded with his emotions. His father had seen to that, even though Reeve’s natural temperament always flowed in the vein of poetry and improvisation. He’d merely learned to act like less of a poet.
Reeve scowled and sipped some of his tea. Apart from his embarrassment at being in love and his seeming inability to express either sentiment – love, or consternation – there were admittedly several practical obstacles in his way.
For one, he was older than she was. On its own, that was not out of the ordinary, as so many women married older men. Some married men who were old enough to be their fathers. In the end, he was only a decade or so older than Miss Sedgwyck. Possibly a little more than that.
He did not even care that she was a “nobody”. He had money and status enough for both of them.
More crucially, he was battle-scarred and nearly deaf. She deserved someone whole, someone whose body and mind had not been torn apart by war and conflict. He wondered what he could give her apart from material comfort and security.
Was he too shaken, too broken, to enter a real love match? In his heart, he had always wanted one. If he was to be painfully frank, he was disappointed and bitter that he’d never had it.
You can offer her more than a comfortable existence, thought Reeve, surprising himself. You have two beautiful, bright daughters, and you’re trying to be better. A better man.
He recollected all the times he thought he had seen some of his own desire mirrored in her intelligent, graceful face. He chuckled in the empty room.
Even back when she had caught him in the garden with a trollop, she could not completely hide her avid interest under moral indignation.
Not that he was under the impression that Miss Sedgwyck only wanted his body.
Oh, no… he felt that she might wish for the same conclusion to their relationship that he did.
She would be happy to receive you.
But because Reeve could not be sure of this, he continued to shy away from broaching the subject with her.
So their gazes would meet above the table at breakfast, or less frequently, because she was busy during Sophie and Phoebe’s lessons. He still believed, or dreamed, that he saw the same questions and ideas within her expression that loomed in his own head. But she would blink and avert her eyes, and the moment of hot clarity would be gone. He would be back to chasing his own tail.
The few times he left The Thornlands to oversee his estate and business affairs, he missed her terribly. None of his journeys were nearly as long as they had been before she declared that he spent too much time away from his family, but they felt longer than anything he had endured.
Ultimately, the decision of whether or not he should confess his feelings was taken out of his hands.
*
One windy Friday afternoon in early October, a messenger arrived at The Thornlands with a letter. The weather was mercurial and awful, and everyone was confined indoors. Lessons were over for the day and Caroline was about to return upstairs to take a leisurely bath when the duke asked that she see him in the library.
Once she arrived, he wordlessly handed her the two pages that had been addressed to Lord Malliston, Duke of Nidderdale.
With a deep sense of foreboding, Caroline said, “My lord, you do not generally have me read your post.”
He smiled, but only just.
She dropped her eyes back to the paper and read.
The duke was called by England’s Prussian allies to battle. This was merited by the very high recommendation of the Duke of Wellington, whose personal note accompanied the call to arms. It was an irregular summons and Lord Malliston was to be one of a very small number of Englishmen.
Suddenly, Caroline felt as though there were little, live animals fighting in her stomach. She kept reading.
Lord Malliston would be consulting on some aspects of strategy, a move that would ostensibly remove him from harm’s way and, importantly, enormous amounts of noise, while engaging his tactical acumen.
He was to report in barely nine days.
Heedless of how little sense the question made, Caroline could only think to ask, “Do you even speak any of the languages of your new commanders?”
He had to smile at how dazed she sounded. “Some. They presumably also speak some English, so we shall muddle along. Besides, maps and colors provide their own language that relies very little on words.” He peered at her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good, because I am not certain I feel quite well.”
“The girls will be so devastated,” she said forlornly. She was afraid to voice her own personal dismay at the turn of events. Caroline longed to beg him not to go but felt it was useless.
She had determined long ago that Lord Malliston was bitter for being sent home from Salamanca only days before an official English victory. Somehow, he felt that this had cheated him of being part of it.
Even if the seal of the Duke of Wellington had not been staring up at him from one of the pages she held in her trembling hands, the duke would not pass up the chance to prove his worthiness. It’s a matter of honor to him, she thought.
“I want us to tell them together. I think that would help soften the blow,” said Lord Malliston, nodding, “but I have something else to say to you.”
Overwhelmed by the intensity of her reaction to the summons, Caroline swallowed and returned it to the top of his desk, leaving the Duke of Wellington’s note visible. She could not quite bear to see the order itself.
Lord Malliston did not speak for over a minute, and she began to think he was as shocked as she was.
“Shall I fetch some water?” she asked. “Brandy, perhaps?”
“No. I am in love with you, Miss Sedgwyck.”
Caroline thought perhaps she had heard him wrong.
Just because you’ve wanted to hear it does not mean he is saying it.
She had spent hours sternly telling herself that her infatuation with Lord Malliston was neither healthy nor respectful. Why was it that after one and twenty years on this earth without any silly notions about any man, he turned her head?
His expression, however, was earnest.
She peeked at him and brought a hand to her mouth. “I – I do not understand,” she said, barely remembering to speak as loudly as she should.
In truth, she didn’t.
“It is extremely selfish of me to put you in this position, now,” he said. “But please know, I have been in love with you for quite some time.
“I don’t know when it happened. Then, once I realized it, I did not know how to tell you.” He began to pace in short steps on the magnificent rug that cushioned the library floor. “You are young and brilliant… and kind.” He looked at her, his eyes both harried and desperate.
She tried to remain calm for his sake.
“On the other hand, I am difficult and battle-worn.” Bitterly, he gave a short chuckle, and then brightened enough to say with sincerity, “You have been nothing but a blessing to me from the first day we met, even though I did not necessarily deserve a blessing.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Caroline. She could not think of what to say to him, other than that. As soon as it left her lips, it sounded banal.
Yet he continued as though she had not spoken.
“I cannot conceive of a day without you. If you will have me, I will always do right by you.” Lord Malliston looked at the papers on his desk as though they were a poisonous snake, coiled and ready to strike if he moved too suddenly. “War is upon me again. While I will not be in the fray this time, I am wise enough now to know that anything can happen. Anything happened once, after all
.” He tore his eyes away from the papers and fixed them upon her. “I would never forgive myself if I left without telling you how I truly felt.”
The tears she had been holding in check since she’d read the letter began to fall freely. She had longed to hear him say these things since the night of the ball, at least, and most likely before then, if she was being truthful about it.
Now that he said them, she could only cry.
In a near panic, she thought, You must say something to him, Caroline!
But she was mute.
Lord Malliston did not look annoyed by her tears. On the contrary, he had stilled and was half-smiling. “I do hope your tears are not evidence of your utter disgust with me. Miss Sedgwyck, my heart aches to hear you say that you feel the same. But if you do not reciprocate, please tell me. I will not fault you.”
She shook her head, sniffling. “You ridiculous man. Caroline. If you are in love with me, you cannot continue calling me Miss Sedgwyck for the rest of our lives.”
He grinned at her and it was a beautiful sight.
She went to him; his nervous pacing had brought him nearer to the ornate fireplace.
“I love you, Lord Malliston.” She took both of his hands in hers, stroking his palms. “I would wait for you even if you decided you were somehow going to the moon.”
He watched the movement of her slender fingers on his hands. “Reeve, Caroline. My name is Reeve.”
Then, at long last, he kissed her fully and warmly on the lips.
*
They were married within the week, well before nine days had passed. It took some hurried arrangements with the parish and a special dispensation, but due to his standing, Lord Malliston managed to push everything through without difficulty.
Sophie and Phoebe took the news of their father returning to the battlefield about as badly as Caroline feared. Sophie went entirely mute, while Phoebe’s lower lip trembled as she tried not to cry. But the promise that she was to be their new mother did comfort them somewhat.
At the simple and intimate ceremony, Duckie was all proud smiles, swanning about and saying to every guest who might listen that she had known the duke would marry Caroline all along, as if she personally took credit for the match.
The duke’s rather reprehensible but closest friends, two men whom Caroline did not recognize and one she certainly did, the rake who had mistakenly thought she was a lady for hire that night months ago, were there. Surprisingly, they were on their very best behaviors and the rake, a duke called Bellamy Bingham, personally apologized to Caroline for his crass words. Winking, he said he had known all along that Reeve would take her for a wife.
Even her father confessed to Caroline in private that, once or twice after reading her letters, he hoped her affection for the duke might grow from that of mere esteem and friendship to love.
“As irregular and outlandish as it might have been,” Arthur had said, “I found myself hoping.”
When news of the marriage reached the wider world, those who had been present at Lord Poppleton’s ball agreed they saw it coming. Lord Cuff even sent along a contrite note offering his apologies for insulting the then Miss Sedgwyck.
Reeve merely threw it in the fire after reading it once, prompting Caroline to ask why, and when he reluctantly explained his and Cuff’s encounter at the ball with more detail than he had before, she just chuckled.
Of course, there was a strong contingent of the public who believed that there was no love in the marriage at all. The new Lady Malliston, they believed, only wanted the duke’s money.
She had to be greedy and mad to marry a man who’d almost assuredly killed his first wife.
The surprising thing was, however, that some of the eager gossipers spread the opposite explanation.
It must have been a love match since the former Miss Sedgwyck was a commoner and not even a wealthy one. The duke must love her.
Cautiously, the people who favored this line of thought wished only the best for Lady Malliston.
*
The night following their nuptials, Caroline entered the duke’s bedroom as his bride. It was the first time she had ever seen it and she looked around with interest. Like every other room in The Thornlands, it was stately and rather large. The furnishings were all dark, lacquered wood that glowed in the candlelight, and Reeve’s bedclothes were blue brocade accented with bronze. Everything had its place and nothing about it was disorderly. A maid had placed a bouquet of roses on the dresser. They must have been hothouse flowers or late garden blooms. Their honeyed scent filled the room, contrasting with the bracing citrus smells of wood polish and Reeve’s cologne.
She was not nervous, but she was curious and a little apprehensive. Reeve seemed to sense this, because he gave her space as she surveyed his room and did not rush her to the bed.
“It suits you, in here,” she said. “I cannot picture anyone but you in this room.”
She was not stalling for time. She merely had little idea of how to initiate what was bound to happen next. All her theoretical knowledge on the subject, which was considerable, apparently deserted her head when she entered Reeve’s personal chambers.
She kept a smirk well off her face as she thought back to Aunt Lydia trying to explain the things that happened between women and men.
Books, even the obscene books that had left her curious and agitated, proved far more instructive and engaging than her aunt’s flustered, hushed nattering about the things. And none of Caroline’s friends were terribly fast young ladies, but a few of them had engaged in clandestine trysts before marrying. She had learned much, sometimes too much, from their experiences.
His smile was gentle. “I tried to make it as peaceful as possible. Until you came, it was the eye of the storm.” He approached her slowly. “May I?”
Her breath caught a little when he skimmed his fingertips down the back of her dress. It was new, as all of her clothes now would be, and a delicate leaf green satin that set off her eyes and clung to her in a manner she felt was risqué but was obviously appreciated by her husband.
“Play lady’s maid, you mean?”
“You are Lady Malliston, now,” Reeve said. “Someone must until we can find you one.”
He pressed a kiss to the base of her neck, and her knees went wobbly as her cheeks warmed. Part of her was amazed at the rapidity of her reactions, and a much larger part wanted him to keep provoking them.
As though her mind was running off in its own direction, heedless of any sense, she blurted out, “After we… after tonight, would you ever… in the garden, with me?”
It was hardly intelligible, and Reeve laughed, but he caught her meaning.
“I thought you were concerned for my – our – daughters’ sensibilities. You gave me quite the diatribe.” He kissed her neck again and she gave a little, low moan. “But maybe, just maybe, I can arrange for Duckie to go with them into town one afternoon…”
He used his teeth very lightly on her skin and she shivered.
She discovered that his hands were still moving as he spoke, ranging along her back, then sneaking around her torso to fondle her breasts softly. It was intoxicating.
Caroline had never been touched in such a way, but she decided right then that she adored it. She all but melted, leaning back into him. “Reeve…” she murmured.
They retreated to the bed, eventually, but Reeve made a terrible lady’s maid.
He only fully undressed her before the second time they took pleasure in each other on that night.
*
The day before Reeve was scheduled to depart, Caroline planned a surprise for him. All she said was for him to meet her at half-past ten in the morning at the pianoforte. It was easy to accomplish what she wanted without him realizing. He was busy seeing to his own affairs before he left, and as Lady Malliston, she now had the run of the house and the command of the servants. She was a much better housekeeper than Mrs. Humphrey had ever been, and she took to the running of a large househo
ld like a duck to water. It suited her pragmatic mind.
All the surprise took was dispatching Alice to town for some new sheet music. The day of the wedding, she had also spoken to her father, who was very pleased to help her.
Once everything she needed was procured, Caroline instructed her husband to do as she said.
True to his word, he came indoors at half-past ten with a bloom in his olive skin and mussed hair. He smelled of damp leaves and horses. She smiled at him from over the pianoforte.
“Come,” she said, motioning to him.
Puzzled, he still kissed her before sitting on the bench to her right. Then he kissed her again, and Caroline found herself almost deliriously distracted. Though pleasurable, that would not do.
“Reeve,” she said, a little breathless, but through a laugh. “There will be time for that tonight.”
“What’s this, then?” He eyed the pianoforte and the crisp, new sheet music warily.
“A gift,” she said. “I thought I could play for you before you left. That way you can hum or sing something that you will always associate with me.” She kissed the dubious expression from his face. “Don’t look so skeptical. It’s only a folk song that I’d forgotten until I started to think of them.” With a note of playfulness, she added, “We shall see if it fits the elegant and dignified pianoforte.”
“Anything you play with these graceful fingers will fit it.” He took her hand and kissed each of her fingertips.
“You cannot dissuade me from my task,” she said archly, reclaiming her hands and starting to play.
It was nothing complex and certainly nothing particularly aristocratic. She doubted that most of the folks who had known it over the years had sheet music for any instrument to accompany them.
An old song about a squire falling in love with someone above his station, it was one of Father’s favorites and she had dim memories of him teaching it to her when she was very little.
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