“I hate being so tired,” Caroline pouted.
“Cara mia, I was only teasing. Of course, I have been hatefully cruel to have not thought of your fatigue sooner.”
“I’ve had a marvelous time this last week. I only wish I had the stamina to keep up with you.”
“You must take care of yourself. And the baby. Tomorrow, I order you to stay in bed until it is time for the theater. We shall not even go to a late supper, but come immediately home.”
She didn’t like his constraints, and told him so. “I am not feeble, just pregnant,” she insisted.
He gasped, “Madam! You do shock me with such vulgar reference to your delicate condition.”
“Oh, I am sure,” Caroline said drolly, “that your sensibilities are offended.”
He chuckled devilishly, and they laid out their plans. As it was to be Caroline’s launch into society as his wife, the circumstances had to be carefully chosen. After Magnus went into the library, there to begin addressing his business concerns, Caroline went to examine her rapidly expanding wardrobe to choose just the right gown. When she had selected a lovely peacock blue with a long, straight skirt that helped hide her slightly thickened waist, she and Lillian fussed like schoolgirls over the array of accessories until they had laid out the entire ensemble.
“Yer goin’ to make all the rest of them ladies turn green!” Lillian crowed.
“I doubt that.” Caroline shrugged. “Just so I do not shame my husband.” It was easy to talk to Lillian as a friend. She was only a few years older than Caroline, and she had a no-nonsense quality about her that Caroline liked.
“Shame ‘im! My ladyship, I hope yer teasin’. If ye could see the way ‘e looks at ye, ye’d know you could never shame ‘im.”
“Looks at me?”
“When ye don’t see. Anyone could tell ‘e admires ye terribly. It—” She broke off, dropping her eyes. “I shouldn’t be goin’ on like that. Never know my place, that’s what my problem is.”
Caroline wanted to beg her not to stop. What was it Lillian saw in Magnus’ eyes when she wasn’t looking?
Of course, she could do no such thing. She thanked Lillian, and the maid left. Alone, Caroline pondered the possibility that Magnus could return her affection and, like herself, be afraid to admit it.
She could never imagine Magnus afraid of anything. Yet he had told her a little bit about himself, enough for her to understand that he had been gravely hurt as a young man, so much so that he had buried his vulnerability behind the facade of a scoundrel. The only question was, how deep did the facade go?
Of late, he was almost a different man, so full of caring and tenderness that she could almost believe he did harbor some true feeling for her. Or was it because of the babe?
She mustn’t underestimate the power of her having his child. It was everything to him. She, as the baby’s mother, was precious to him. That she knew. But was she cherished for herself?
To be loved was something she had never thought to want. Perhaps because she had considered it unattainable. Her father had taken that away from her when she was but a child. He had shown her no example of loving husband. And when he had touched her in that horrible way, he had shown her that men would love only to get what they wanted.
Louis Wembly was not all men. He was not Magnus. In her mind, she knew that. In her heart, she still could not trust, at least not completely.
Thinking about her father’s depraved overtures brought no discomfort. Not even anger. She had gotten over the rage long ago, focusing it on the one who deserved it. Louis had been shocked indeed when, on the first occasion of his trying, to slide his hand into her dress to feel her newly-developing breasts, his twelve-year-old daughter had told him in no uncertain terms that he was never to do such a thing again. Oh, of course, Caroline had been terrified, but the fierce example of her mother, who had fought so doggedly and so often on behalf of her children and who had, in spite of her resignation to her disastrous marriage, never allowed her husband’s sickening life-style to make her less a lady, had given Caroline the courage she needed.
Louis was like a different person after that. Even as debauched as he had been, he had enough humanity left in him to be ashamed of what he had done. That was just luck, Caroline had the good sense to realize, and so a day didn’t pass that she would not forget to utter a prayer of thanksgiving. If he had reacted differently to her rejection, her life would have been ruined.
She had not told her mother, a carefully considered decision she made based on the knowledge of the heavy burdens of worry her mother already bore and Louis’ surprising reasonableness about the matter. As her father declined, Caroline enjoyed a certain smug satisfaction in knowing she had been instrumental in showing him what a disgusting piece of refuse he was. She liked to think it bothered him, and perhaps it was that which brought on his slow deterioration. As it turned out, it was disease. At his passing, Caroline had felt nothing but relief, as if a malignant presence had been removed from her life. Yet after his death, she and her mother and James had been plunged into worse circumstances than any of them would have dreamt they would ever face.
That nightmare was over. Now, they had food and clothing and a decent roof over their heads—all their material needs were now seen to in abundance. More importantly, Mother’s frequent letters reported fabulous improvements in James’ condition. Audrae was even hopeful they would be able to arrange a visit soon, if the doctors would agree. The knowledge of her brother’s health growing gave Caroline a distinct sense of peace. Yet so much of her remained restless and unsure.
Chapter Eighteen
Magnus thought that his wife’s enforced day of rest would be an excellent opportunity for him to run several errands he had been putting off. He ordered the cabriolet to be readied, and he set off just after breakfast.
It was a horrid day. The fog was thick and yellow. He hated the way it seeped into even the sturdiest wools, seeming to penetrate the flesh to one’s very bones. There was no wind, which was both a blessing and a curse. It would have cleared the fog, but the added chill would have been uncomfortable.
He was not deterred, however, from his appointed tasks. Heading first to Caractacus Green’s office, he braced himself for an unpleasant encounter. He had never liked the man, but since David had done most of the interacting with him, he could hardly complain overmuch. As it turned out, the solicitor was out of the office. Magnus headed back to the fashionable part of the city.
“Rutherford!” a voice called, penetrating the clatter of the horse’s hooves. Magnus looked up to see one of his old cronies headed his way.
A strange reaction settled in his chest. It was Garding, a friend from Oxford. They had caroused together, raising hell and a lot of eyebrows for more years than Magnus could remember, yet Magnus could not muster an ounce of enthusiasm for his old friend.
“How the devil are you?” Garding roared, giving Magnus a fraternal embrace.
“Better these days, and you?”
“Ah, it is taxing carrying on the traditions without you. There are more whores to service, more fools to fleece without you to help. Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me you were in town? Come to White’s tonight, everyone will be there.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why the blazes not? My God, won’t they all just die to see you?” Oblivious to the tactlessness of his words, Garding’s face was full of hope. “Come on, it will be just like old times. We’ll work off a few demons.”
“I’ve run out of demons,” Magnus answered. He took a step away, a sign of dismissal. “I am taking my wife out to the opera tonight. You are welcome to join us, but only if you promise to behave yourself.”
Garding whooped, “Not a chance, old boy. Sounds like you’ve got yourself at least one demon left—it would take a she-devil to tame you. The opera!”
Garding’s laughs echoed behind Magnus as he continued down the street. Strange he had never noticed how annoying the sot was. It was only eleven in the mo
rning and Magnus had smelled liquor on his breath. Choosing not to remember how many times he might have been in the same condition, he proceeded on his way.
Aimlessly, he glanced at the shop windows as he passed. He felt buoyant as his thoughts turned again to his wife. Tonight he would introduce her to everyone who was someone in the city. He was looking forward to it with relish. And pride.
It seemed the fog was thinning and the sun was glowing hazily, trying to burn some of it off with its meager midwinter warmth. It might even turn out to be a pleasant evening, weather-wise.
His eye caught something in the window, and he was a full three paces away before what he had seen registered in his brain.
The Dresden lady.
He retraced his steps to the window and took another look. It was his mother’s Dresden lady. Or one exactly like it.
If it was the very one, he had been correct. Someone was stealing from him. But how had the object gotten to London? He went into the shop.
“Oh!” a heavyset man exclaimed as he rushed around the counter. “May I be of service, your lordship?”
“The Dresden figure in the window. I was interested in it.”
“Ah, yes, a beautiful piece. Let me get it for you.”
Magnus gave a quick look around the interior of the store while the man fetched the figurine. Magnus looked it over, frowning. “Do you have any Waterford? A large bowl, suitable for punch?”
“No, your lordship,” the shopkeeper said regretfully.
“Hmm.” Magnus tried to remember what else was missing from the grand salon. “What about a Chinese vase?”
“No, but I can contact my dealers and ask them if you wish.”
“No. I need it immediately. Do you have any cut crystal candlesticks, perhaps?”
“I did, your lordship, but I think they’ve been sold. Let me look for you.”
He hurried to a glass case which was crowded with all manner of bric-a-brac. Magnus’s mind raced. Two items from Hawking Park—if the candlesticks were also here-made it certain someone had stolen them from the grand salon. That cleared Maggie, or any other servant, for they would have no means by which to barter with a Londonbased merchant. He had no visitors, certainly no one who had access to the salon, so that left David. Or Caroline.
Suspecting Caroline was absurd. She never left his side.
Except when her mother was at the Ordinary. She had visited quite often.
No, the vase had been taken only recently, and Caroline’s mother and brother were off visiting friends. She had not left Hawking Park but for a few hours, and very infrequently.
David, then. David was always traveling to London.
The merchant returned with the news that the candlesticks had been sold.
“I’ll take the figurine,” Magnus said.
“Don’t you want to know the cost? Of course you don’t, my apologies, your lordship. I’ll wrap it for you!”
Magnus brooded, wandering the shop as his mind turned over the possibilities. Leaning on a glass display case, he fought an inner war of mistrust and incredulity. Could it be David?
“Oh, your lordship, may I show you some jewelry?” Magnus was startled out of his thoughts to notice an array of gems lay under the case upon which he was leaning. The shopkeeper thought he was interested in them, almost salivating at the thought of another sale. “I have some very interesting pieces. Let me show you.”
Magnus ignored the man, taking no notice of the necklaces, bracelets, earrings and brooches the shopkeeper piled up in front of him until—No!
Lightning-quick, his hand shot out and grabbed the sparkling object.
“Oh, yes, your lordship, excellent choice. It is a rare piece, look at the workmanship.”
Magnus crushed the necklace in his grip. His world narrowed, collapsing in on itself as he wrestled with the terrible implications of what lay before his eyes.
He wanted to snarl and growl and demand answers, but he knew he had a better chance at success by staying calm. “Yes, I see that. My wife will love it. She saw it in a painting once and always admired it.”
“Yes,-it’s very old. Diamonds like that are rare.”
“It would be especially delightful if it were the same necklace. I wonder if it could be. Tell me, where did you get it?”
“A lady in Cambridgeshire sold it to me,” the stupid man gushed, too overjoyed with the prospect of his customer’s total climbing higher to be sly. “It was hers, but beyond that I don’t know its history.”
Caroline. It was Caroline who was stealing.
Of course, how stupid could he have been? She had only married him for money, after all. Despite her sweet pretense at caring and the lush welcome of her body, theirs was only a business arrangement based on a fair reckoning of silver. When her allowance had not come in fast enough, she must have helped herself to the treasures littering Hawking Park.
Perhaps he wasn’t dying fast enough for her.
“The same lady who sold you the other items? The candlesticks and this Dresden?”
The man was immune to the significance of Magnus’s interest. This indicated that the transaction, at least from his end, had been honest. “Why, yes.”
A cold feeling curdled Magnus’s heart. “Include this and give me the total.”
“Yes, your lordship. Oh, your ladyship will be pleased with this, you can be sure!”
Magnus stared at him, but he didn’t see the bright, beady eyes nor the wide grin bristling with overlarge teeth. He doubted Caroline would be pleased at all. He paid the man, and waited an excruciating five minutes until the items were safely wrapped and bundled.
Magnus cut short his other errands, returning home and going directly to the library. He locked the doors, unwrapped his parcels and sat staring at them.
Why? His mother’s necklace, for God’s sake. Could she not have at least respected what it meant to him? And all his mother’s trinkets, mementos he cherished. How dare she?
More pressing on his mind was the question as to why she would be in such desperate need of money?
There was some mysterious motivation, not just simple greed, at work here. With her family housed at the Ordinary and a new wardrobe for everyone, Caroline’s monthly allowance was more than adequate for anything further they would have needed. There had to be some other need for money about which he was not aware. Something urgent, something that would spur her to thievery. What the devil was it? Blackmail? Debt? Revenge?
Rage welled up inside him, nearly blinding and so intense he could scarcely breathe. With a growl, he began to pace.
Her reasons mattered, but the fact was that whatever the cause, she had betrayed him. Goddamn her. The woman had done to him what no other had. Not even Natasha, damn her black heart as well. Natasha had never pretended to be different than she was. It had been his youthful inexperience which had prevented him from seeing it at the time. But Caroline had played him false. Intentionally. Played him like a fiddle. And a fool.
With a crash, he sent the Dresden lady across the room. It exploded against the paneling, raining a thousand shards of porcelain over the carpet. Agitated, he looked for something else to destroy.
She had penetrated his deepest parts. She had drawn him out of the safe chrysalis of defeat and resignation. The most unforgivable thing—she made him want to live. He had wanted a lifetime with her, to talk with her, to ride the forests and laugh and tease and fight and challenge. To love, night after night, until that unattainable day when he would feel it was finally enough. She had made him desire, not only her body, not only herself, but life.
He overturned a chair, taking savage pleasure in reducing it to kindling.
What moronic idiocy had it been that had allowed vulnerability? How it must have amused her. Perhaps she even laughed with her accomplices, “Oh, you should see him, the fierce Earl of Rutherford. He is positively besotted.”
He cleared the library table in one swoop of his arm. The sound of it all crashing to the
ground was deafening.
God, he was besotted. What he could not put to word—and thank the Almighty for that one bit of mercy—he had tried to show, demonstrate in action and tone. He had cherished her with his body, delighting in her pleasure, hoping his touch, his kiss, his tenderness would communicate what his voice could not.
A pounding at the door brought him up short. “Master, the door is locked! Are you well?”
“Get out of here, I am not sick. I am not to be disturbed.”
There were no more sounds, and no one came when he yanked a portrait off the wall and stomped it into a mangled mess.
It took several hours to calm down. The room was reduced to a shambles at the end of it. As his reason returned, and he ran out of things to decimate, he began to formulate his plan.
He called in a manservant and instructed him to deliver a message to Mr. Green, directing the solicitor to reopen the investigation into his wife’s background. Then he went upstairs to Caroline.
Caroline was delighted to see Magnus. “Thank goodness, I have been going mad shut in here all day,” she said as he entered the room.
He stood watching her. “Have you missed our shopping excursions?”
“I have missed you,” she purred, coming to slip her arms around his neck. He stood stock-still as she pressed her lips against his.
“Have you selected your dress?” he said, unmoved by her kiss.
She leaned back in his loose embrace, fingering the soft lock that curled at the nape of his neck. Something was wrong. “The peacock blue,” she answered.
“Does it have a daring neckline?”
She arched her brows. “Are you asking because you would like me to wear a low décolletage, or prefer I do not?”
“I was wondering what jewelry you will wear. 1 have not seen the diamond choker on you. Well, only once, but it hardly counts since it was in the dark. I would like you to wear it tonight.”
She took a long breath, paused, and let it out in a sigh. “Oh, I—I think I must have forgotten it at Hawking Park. I didn’t even think to bring it. I am not used to such fine things.” Realizing she was over-explaining, she snapped her mouth closed and studied the smooth skin of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Magnus.”
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