“That certainly didn’t stop me,” said Josephine.
“Then or now,” Margaret said pointedly.
Josephine lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Yes, well, not all of us are in love with our husbands.”
“How do you know I am in love with Henry?” asked Margaret curiously. Was it that obvious? Color stole into her cheeks as she recalled the events of last night… And this morning… And again after breakfast. When she had learned Grace and Josephine were not only in London, but were coming to call, it had taken a whirlwind of maids to make her presentable. Even now her skin felt flushed and damp beneath her undergarments, and no amount of powder had been able to fully disguise the faint bruises around her throat courtesy of Henry’s roaming lips. A high necked gown had fixed the problem, but Josephine’s knowing gaze revealed she knew exactly why Margaret had chosen that particular gown to wear for their visit.
“Darling, it is written all over your face. I am happy for you, truly I am, but you must know that loving one’s husband is the exception in marriages like ours, not the rule.”
Grace sat up a little straighter and frowned. “I love Stephen,” she said. “And we are going to be married.”
“Don’t remind me,” Josephine muttered.
Sensing an impending battle, Margaret hurriedly rang the bell to signal for tea. It came out on a silver platter and was poured into matching blue and white porcelain cups. The women sipped delicately, giving their thoughts time to settle, and when they began talking again the topic of Grace’s impending marriage was wisely put by the wayside.
“So where is your delightful husband?” Josephine asked as she stirred another lump of sugar into her tea.
“He left this morning to attend to some business. An accountant of his has been stealing money for quite some time, and –”
“Oh is that why he ran off with your dowry?” Grace interrupted, her dark eyebrows rising.
“Yes, exactly so.”
“A good excuse as any, I suppose,” said Josephine.
“Has anyone heard from Catherine lately?” Margaret asked, smoothly changing the subject.
“I have!” said Grace. “I received a letter from her just yesterday. She and Marcus have decided to stay in the country with the children for the Season.”
Josephine set her cup down with a sharp clink. “Stay in the country?” she repeated, visibly horrified. “For the entire Season? They’re not coming to London at all?”
“Not at all,” Grace confirmed.
“How lovely for them,” said Margaret. She and Henry had already discussed when they would be leaving the city. Their social standing obligated them to attend at least one ball, but after that they were returning to Heathridge with all due haste. London had never held the same allure for Margaret as it had for her friends and Henry had no preference one way or the other. He would go, he had told her this morning as they lay curled in each other’s arms, where ever she went. It was ironic, really. At the beginning of the summer she would have given anything to leave Heathridge and now she wanted nothing more than to go back. Raising her cup to her lips she attempted to hide her smile. Unfortunately, Josephine was not easily fooled.
Fixing her with a piercing stare, the blond haired beauty said, “You’re going to remain in London, aren’t you Margaret? The Season is less than two months away! Not worth going back to the country only to turn round again, if you ask me.”
“I am sorry,” she said apologetically. “But Henry and I have decided to return to Heathridge at the end of the week.”
Uttering a long, dramatic sigh Josephine flopped back on the loveseat and threw her arms wide. “You are all deserting me,” she complained.
“I will be here for the Season,” said Grace, looking only slightly put out that she had been forgotten. “Although I imagine most of my time will be spent with Stephen. He does so love taking carriage rides through the park and last week we went on a picnic – with Mother, of course – in the sweetest little town not far outside the city. And the week before that –”
“Please,” Josephine interjected dryly, “spare me the details of your perfect courtship. If I have told you once, Grace, I have told you a thousand times: Lord Melbourne is not a suitable match for you. He is opinionated, arrogant, hard headed, and just… just… Well, if you must know, he is simply too old for you!”
“Oh dear,” Margaret murmured.
Grace’s blue eyes widened. “What did you say?” she breathed.
“I said your intended is opinionated, arrogant, hard – ”
“Well at least he loves me!” Grace cried. The second the words were out of her mouth her cheeks went pale and she was instantly contrite. “Josie, I am so sorry. I did not mean to imply that – ”
“That my husband does not love me?” Josephine finished. Smiling tightly, she got to her feet as well and began to retie her hat. “Not to worry, dear. I don’t love him either. Margaret, I am afraid I am going to have to take my leave now. I suddenly find I am not feeling well.”
Looking back and forth between Grace, who looked on the verge of tears, and Josephine, who looked murderous, Margaret decided that tea was very much at an end. “Not to worry,” she said with forced brightness. “As I said, I will be in London until the end of the week. That gives us five more days to catch up.”
Josephine nodded, feigned a smile, and marched out without looking back. Distraught, Grace turned to Margaret.
“Do you think she hates me?” she asked miserably.
“Of course not,” Margaret soothed. “She is merely upset. You know how she gets. By tomorrow she will have forgotten this even happened.”
“Really?” Grace sniffed.
“Really,” said Margaret. “Now I hate to rush you along, but I am expecting Henry to return any moment and…” she trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that particular sentence.
“And you want to be alone,” said Grace. “I quite understand. I wish I could be alone with Stephen, but Mother is always there.”
“Yes, well, soon enough I suppose.”
“Soon enough,” Grace agreed before she said, after a hesitant pause, “I do love him, you know, even if he isn’t perfect.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Margaret’s mouth as she rose to see her friend out. “None of them are, dear.”
“But you are happy with Henry now?”
“Over the moon,” she confirmed.
The two women embraced, kissed each other’s cheeks, and parted ways after promising to meet tomorrow afternoon for lunch.
Later that day…
Margaret rolled over onto her stomach. Trailing her fingertips across Henry’s chest, she began to circle one nipple, watching in fascination as the rosy skin puckered and hardened. She could tell by the unnatural flatness of his stomach that he was holding his breath, and with a low chuckle she flung herself backwards to stare up at the ceiling. Her unbound hair cascaded down her bare shoulders in waves and she felt a gentle tug as Henry wound a lock around his hand. He had come home two hours ago and they had not been out of bed since.
“Henry?” she said hesitantly.
“Hmmm?”
“Why did you marry me?” Margaret could feel every muscle in her body tense as she waited for his reply. How long, she wondered, had she been desperately yearning to ask that question? For months it had hovered on the tip of her tongue, there but not there, the last wall between them.
Henry did not hesitate before he said, “For your money, of course.” Rolling over onto his side he gazed down at her, his eyes lingering on the sheet that barely covered the tips of her breasts before sliding back up to her face. “Why did you marry me?”
“Because my mother wanted me to marry a Duke,” she admitted candidly.
The hint of a smile tugged at Henry’s mouth. “And do you always do what your mother tells you?” he whispered huskily as he leaned forward to kiss her exposed shoulder.
“No, not always but in this case –
Henry, stop that! This is a serious discussion.”
With a sigh he lifted his head and slipped his hand out from under the sheet. “What is a serious discussion? What the devil are you going on about?” he asked.
“The reason why we married each other,” Margaret said.
“I thought I explained that quite thoroughly, love. I married you for your dowry.”
“Yes I know that,” she replied. “But why me?”
Henry frowned. “Is this a trick question?”
She shook her head.
“Very well. I married you because you seemed sweet and gentle and kind. The perfect wife to manage a household and take care of my children” he said, watching her closely.
“But I am none of those things!” Margaret cried, suddenly feeling perilously close to tears.
“Exactly. I married you for the woman I thought you were, but I love you for the woman you are.”
“You… you love me?” she sniffed.
“Well of course I bloody love you, I – Margaret, are you crying?”
She covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. “No,” she said, her voice muffled. Henry loved her. Through her tears she smiled, and she smiled all the more brightly when she felt his arm snake around her ribs to pull her snugly against him.
“You silly goose,” he said fondly, nuzzling her hair. “I have loved you since the day you threw a plate at my head.”
A watery laugh escaped her lips. “You liar,” she accused, poking him with her elbow for good measure.
“Well, perhaps I did not know I loved you at that precise moment... But I did. We married each other for all the wrong reasons, Maggie mine. Yet how can that matter when we love each other for all the right ones? Come here,” he said gruffly and she squealed as he rolled her over the top of his body before pinning her beneath him. “There,” he said, grinning wolfishly down at her. “I have you exactly where I want you. There shall be no escaping me now, Lady Winter.”
Looking up at her husband, seeing the love in his eyes that matched the love she felt in her heart, Margaret could think of only one thing to say. “Why would I want to?”
EPILOGUE
For her second wedding, the bride wore blue. The dress floated down her body in a cascade of soft silk and chiffon as she walked across rose petals towards her husband. He took her hands when she reached him and raised them to his lips, giving one kiss for each finger while the bride blushed and tried not to roll her eyes at the silliness of it all.
“They look perfect together, don’t they?” Catherine said fondly. Standing only a few yards away from where Margaret and Henry were repeating their vows for the second time, she leaned against her husband and he automatically curved one arm around her waist to draw her snug against his side.
“Perfect,” Marcus agreed before he asked, “And whose idea was it to renew their vows?”
“It was Henry’s idea to have another ceremony where he wasn’t foxed to the gills, although Margaret was the one who wanted to have it outside. Something about talking to a sheep,” said Josephine from behind him. Edging closer, the blond cast one pointed glare behind her to where her own husband was standing. The unspoken message was clear: stay there. Inclining his chin and offering a small, tight smile, Traverson melted back into the small crowd of wedding guests and Josephine breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Despite having been married for nearly two years, she rarely appeared at social functions with Traverson. Today it had been unavoidable as both of them had been invited to Heathridge and the last thing in the world Josephine wanted to do was disappoint Margaret. Still, it was just so terribly awkward to be in the same room (or, as the case was today, in the same field) as her husband. For once she didn’t know exactly what to do or what to say. She could feel Traverson’s eyes on her, but every time she glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder he was looking somewhere else. The sky. The treeline. The roof of the estate just barely visible on the other side of the hill. The man had the attention span of a flea. His head was always in the clouds, thinking of new ideas and new inventions. It was but one of the many reasons their marriage had been doomed from the start.
“Oh look, they are about to kiss,” Catherine sighed, drawing Josephine’s attention back to the top of the hill.
She watched, a smile blossoming across her face, as Margaret stood on her tip toes, threw her arms around Henry’s neck, and kissed her husband with wild abandon. The guests clapped politely, while Josephine and Catherine hooted their delight.
“Where is Grace?” Catherine hissed when the well wishing quieted to a pleasant hum of voices and the wedding party prepared to move down to the estate where large tents had been set up for dining and dancing.
Only now realizing their friend was conspicuously absent, Josephine did a quick search of the crowd. Many of the faces were familiar – only close friends and family had been invited to the intimate affair – but Grace’s was not among them.
“She was here earlier,” Catherine said, puzzled. “I saw her with Lord Melbourne.”
At the mere mention of Grace’s fiancée Josephine’s mouth pinched together and her eyes narrowed. “No doubt he made her miss the ceremony,” she predicted darkly.
Catherine clucked her tongue and hid a smile behind her hand. It was no secret that Josephine despised Grace’s intended. She had warmed up to the man herself and secretly thought he was a perfect match for Grace, although she would never dare say so aloud in Josephine’s presence.
Josephine had quite made up her mind that the two did not suit and was determined to break them apart before their wedding. So far she had had little success, partly because Grace was so head over heels in love with her fiancé that she was oblivious to everything else and partly because Lord Melbourne was surprisingly protective of his young bride-to-be. Twice he had thwarted Josephine’s ill-disguised attempts to draw them apart. Catherine could only hope there would not be a third.
“Perhaps she was merely hungry and went down for the estate for a bite to eat,” she suggested.
“Perhaps,” said Josephine grudgingly.
“Shall we, ladies?” Marcus interrupted. Extending one arm to his wife and the other to Josephine, he escorted them down the hill to the first tent where ten round tables of varying size had been set up. Candles flickering merrily atop the white linen table cloths and vases filled with wildflowers gave everything a soft, rosy glow. Marcus plucked a daisy from one of the bouquets and slipped it behind his wife’s ear. Catherine laid her palm upon his chest and smiled up at him, lost in his gray eyes. From beside them came a quiet murmur as Josephine cleared her throat before she mumbled something about finding Grace and scurried off.
Her smile fading, Catherine watched her friend walk briskly away. “Do you think she will ever be happy?” she asked her husband sadly.
“She seems happy enough,” said Marcus, a bit surprised by the question.
“No,” said Catherine, shaking her head. “She cannot be happy until she finds true love.”
“Isn’t she married?” he asked.
“Yes, to Lord Gates. It was an arranged marriage, though. I do not believe either of them wanted it.”
Marcus’ eyebrows drew together. “Lord Gates… The Earl of Farley? I have been on a few hunts with him. He is hopeless on a horse, but seems like a pleasant enough chap. I had no idea they were married. If that is the case then why is Josephine always with other –”
Catherine pressed her finger to his lips, effectively cutting him off. “Not another word,” she ordered sternly. Even though it was well known by everyone in the Ton that Josephine had slept outside her marriage bed on more then one occasion, Catherine would not allow her husband to spread such gossip. She did not approve of her friend’s well publicized affairs, although she certainly understood the reason behind them, having once been accused of such lascivious behavior herself. Years of loneliness would drive a person to almost anything, she imagined. It was simply bad luck that the
person happened to be Josephine.
“I believe they are doing the toast,” said Marcus, eager to change the subject.
“Oh dear, have you seen Grace? Josephine and I were looking for her earlier. I know she wouldn’t want to miss this,” said Catherine worriedly.
“Lord Melbourne took her to the stables half an hour ago to show her a horse Margaret said she could ride without falling off. Pretty or Poppy or something of that nature.” Marcus’ lips curved wickedly as he winked at his wife. “I simply cannot imagine what they might be doing.”
“Oh!” Catherine exclaimed, her cheeks turning pink. “Is that all you think about?”
“Most of the time,” he admitted. “Go on, go find her. I will stall the toast until you get back.”
“Did you see what direction Josephine went?” she asked over her shoulder.
“That way,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the left.
Following her husband’s direction, Catherine found Josephine at the desserts table, sampling an array of bright red strawberries. “Marcus said he saw Grace go to the stables. Will you come with me to get her?”
“Of course,” said Josephine. Popping an entire strawberry in her mouth she followed Catherine out of the tent and down the stone drive that led to the barn. Slipping inside the double doors, the two women came up short at the sight that greeted them.
There, in the middle of the aisle, with her skirts hiked up to her knees and her white drawers on full display, sat Grace atop the largest horse Catherine had ever seen.
“Oh my goodness!” she gasped.
“Grace, what in the world are you doing?” Josephine cried. Marching forward she went to snatch the reins out of Lord Melbourne’s hand, but he swept them behind his back before she could grab them, his expression formidable.
“I am quite all right,” Grace chirped, unfazed by her friend’s strong reactions. “Stephen was simply teaching me how to ride on Poppy. Isn’t she marvelous? And so sweet tempered. Why, I hardly feel at all like I am going to fall.”
“Get down this minute,” Josephine demanded.
A Ravishing Redhead (Wedded Women Quartet) Page 6
