Gillian sighed and looked down at her stitching. “Yes, I suppose we must go out. I certainly must, if I am ever to find a husband.”
“You will find one in no time, Gillian. You look radiant tonight. Wear a dress of that color to a ball and you’ll be danced off your feet.”
Gillian continued to look down at her embroidery. “I don’t think I should like that—to be danced off my feet. Some might call me dull, but I prefer to stay at home in the evenings. I’ve always preferred it. Everything that makes me happy is in this house.”
Clara inclined her head questioningly. “Have you been living here long? I thought you were just visiting, that you normally live with your uncle.”
On the far side of the room, Quintina looked up from her book and listened.
“Yes,” Gillian replied, “and Auntie has been very kind, always letting me stay as long as I like. My uncle doesn’t mind. He knows that even when my parents were alive, this was like a second home to me. I was close to Seger, you see.” Gillian lifted her needle high over her head. “We’ve always been friends,” she continued. “I was only a baby when Seger’s father married Auntie. Seger was eleven, and he used to play with me and teach me things. We’ve been through a lot together. When my mother died, he was such a comfort to me, and before that, when he was suffering with a broken heart over Daphne....” Gillian paused and glanced up from her embroidery. “Forgive me. Perhaps you don’t know about Daphne. I have no manners sometimes. I can be so clumsy.”
Gillian resumed her needlework.
“Please, do not concern yourself,” Clara said. “I know all about Daphne. Seger told me everything. It’s a very sad story, isn’t it?”
Clara wasn’t sure why she felt such a strong compulsion to inform Gillian that she knew about Seger’s first engagement, and why she felt suddenly competitive. It made no sense at all. Gillian was Seger’s cousin, not Lady Cleveland.
But Gillian had known Seger her entire life. She knew so much more about him than Clara did.
You’ll catch up, Clara told herself. Soon, you’ll know him better than anyone.
“You are the most beautiful creature here,” Seger said as he escorted Clara onto the terrace at Weldon House.
The breeze was warm on Clara’s cheeks, the champagne sweet on her lips. Seger had not stopped looking at her all evening, and she felt beautiful in her red silk, form-flattering Worth gown, with embroidered pearls on the bodice, and a flowing, flounced train. At her neck she wore a large diamond pendant that flashed and sparkled. Seger’s gaze had dropped many times to her cleavage, though she doubted he was admiring the diamond.
Clara gazed up at him flirtatiously over the rim of her champagne glass as she sipped. “You are a shameless flatterer.”
She couldn’t wait to go home and be alone with him.
He gave her a look that offered promises for later. “Shameless is my middle name. And I can flatter you all night long, if you wish it.”
Just then, a woman approached Seger from behind and spoke close in his ear. “You must flatter me, too. I haven’t heard your delicious talk in a dog’s age. I’m sure your lady-friend won’t mind sharing.”
Clara drew back in surprise. “Sharing?”
Seger turned to face the woman but she suddenly seemed more interested in talking to Clara. Her breath smelled of whisky and she nearly lost her balance as she whispered in Clara’s ear, “Your bed or mine, darling? We can take turns, back and forth, five minutes each. What do you say, Seger?”
Horrified, Clara gazed up at her husband. He stared blankly at the woman. Clara wasn’t even sure if he recognized her.
But then he spoke her name. “Mrs. Thomas, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Rawdon.” He gestured toward Clara.
The woman blinked a few times. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Did you say your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Dear me.” Her cheeks colored. “I didn’t know. No one said anything.” She backed up a step and laid a gloved hand on her chest. “I’m mortified. I’ve been in Paris, you see, and I only just returned yesterday and....”
Seger turned to Clara. “Darling, this is Mrs. Abigail Thomas.”
The woman held out her hand. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you,” Clara replied, shaking her hand. The woman fiddled absently with a lock of hair around her ear as the three stood in awkward silence, then Mrs. Thomas commented on the weather. Finally, she made a move to leave. “It was very nice to see you, Lord Rawdon, and a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rawdon.” She turned and left.
Seger watched her go. “I apologize for that.”
Clara tried to keep her voice steady. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I hope that sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” Seger added.
I’m surprised she hadn’t heard about our marriage.”
“We married quickly. And she was in Paris. The news will make its way around soon enough.”
He downed the rest of his champagne and smiled at her understanding, then escorted her back inside. Clara forced herself to forget about the incident and did not mention it again, but she did feel a tension between herself and her husband for the rest of the evening.
The following morning, Clara sat in the breakfast room sipping tea and reading the newspaper.
Gillian entered, served herself breakfast from the sideboard, and sat down. “Did you have a good time at the assembly last night?” Gillian asked.
Gillian had arrived later in the evening with Quintina, and Clara had seen her talking to a number of handsome young men. “Yes, I did, and it looked like you were having a good time as well. Who was that man with the red hair? He always seemed to be smiling when he spoke to you.”
“That was Stanley Scott. His father is a baron from the north, so dear Stanley is only a mister. He seems young, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I thought he looked very nice.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. “Nice, and limp in the head.”
Clara didn’t know what to say to that. She picked up her tea and took another sip.
“I noticed that you barely left Seger’s side,” Gillian mentioned a few minutes later. “Don’t you trust him?”
The question caught Clara off guard, and she set down her teacup. “Of course I trust him. We simply enjoy each other’s company, and there were a some people he wanted to introduce me to.”
“Like Mrs. Thomas?” Gillian replied. “I saw her talking to you. Well done, Clara.”
Clara felt her insides begin to churn. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“I saw you shake her hand. You were very composed. One would never know.”
“Never know what?”
“That you must have been seething inside. I would have been, too, in your position.”
Clara closed the newspaper and sat back. “I was not seething.”
Gillian gave her a look. “Please. You don’t have to lie to me. I know how it is with Seger and all the women who want him. But you were very good last night. You’re just the kind of wife he needs.”
Clara tried not to choke on her tea. “Gillian—”
“I’m not sure I could do what you do,” she continued, “especially being an American. I’ve heard you people have different expectations about marriage, that a man who strays is frowned upon.” She returned to her breakfast.
“Gillian, I don’t like what you are insinuating.”
Gillian stopped chewing and stared at her. “Oh, my goodness. It does bother you, doesn’t it. I’m so sorry. I can be so tactless sometimes.”
Clara swallowed over the agitation rising up within her. “Nothing bothers me, because there is nothing going on. Seger was very apologetic about Mrs. Thomas’s behavior.”
“Of course he was. Pretend I didn’t say anything.” Gillian watche
d Clara pick up her newspaper but did not take the hint. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I see how you look at him.”
Clara set down her paper again. “I’m not going to get hurt.”
“I just know how I would feel if I were his wife. He is such a handsome man. It would be difficult not to be possessive.”
Clara felt like she was going to blow a gasket.
“Permit me to offer you some advice,” Gillian said. “You must try to remember that you are an Englishwoman now, and English wives look the other way when their husbands take lovers. If he were my husband, that’s what I would do. I wouldn’t think twice about it and I’d be the perfect wife for him because he’s worth it. Not only is he a marquess, but he is handsome and charming as well.”
By this time, Clara’s blood was boiling in her head. “You’re telling me it wouldn’t bother you if he was unfaithful?”
Gillian sipped her tea and tossed her head. “No. I’d be happy that he chose me as his wife above all the rest—especially when no one thought he would ever marry, because of Daphne. He loved her very deeply. If only you could have seen them together…. I thought they were made for each other. They were kindred spirits, the best of friends. Some say that kind of love comes along only once in a lifetime.”
Everything—from the tabletop to Gillian’s mouth moving clownishly as she chewed—turned Clara’s vision red. She had not expected this from Gillian, who had been very sweet up until this moment. Why in the world was she saying these cruel, hurtful things, and reminding Clara that she was not the great love of Seger’s life?
Then it dawned on Clara, like a gaslight exploding brightly inside her head.
Gillian was in love with Seger.
Chapter 17
That night, while waiting for Seger to come to her, Clara couldn’t stop thinking about what Gillian had said to her that morning. She tried to tell herself that she was jumping to conclusions about the young woman’s feelings, but it did no good. She couldn’t get over how Gillian had suggested that she would be the perfect wife for Seger because she would turn a blind eye to his philandering.
Clara wasn’t angry with Seger. The rational part of her brain knew that he had done nothing wrong, at least not that she knew of. She was angry with Gillian for saying those things, and she was angry with Mrs. Thomas and Lady Cleveland for reminding her that her husband was coveted by other women, and that he would face temptation every day for the rest of his life.
Women would offer themselves to him. Desperate, lonely women who knew how skillful he was in the bedroom. Beautiful women, who wanted nothing more than a few casual hours with an expert lover—a man who knew by instinct exactly what they wanted.
A chill cooled Clara’s skin at the thought of all the women her husband had made love to, but she was sensible and knew better than to dwell on that. It was in the past.
Later, after Seger had entered her bedroom and made love to her, he rolled onto his back and sighed. “I like being a married man.”
Clara tried to smile. “More than being a bachelor?”
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. “With you as my wife, definitely.”
She considered that for a moment. “But what if I were sick for a month? What would become of our marriage if there was no sex? Would you wish for a different wife then?”
He rolled to face her and rested his cheek on his hand. “I told you before that I desire no one but you.”
Desire, yes, but love? Will you ever love me like you loved Daphne?
“You’ve asked me that question before,” he said, “and I’ve answered you, yet here you are asking again. Is it because of what happened at the assembly last night?”
Clara realized how foolish she was sounding. He was right. She had asked this question before and he kept giving her the same answer. She had to try to accept it.
“I’m sorry, I’m asking silly questions. I think it’s because of the conversation I had with Gillian this morning. She said some things….”
He frowned. “What did you talk about?”
Clara hesitated, not sure if she should tell him, but then she decided it was worth discussing. Perhaps it would bring them closer together on an emotional level, which was what she wanted after all.
“Gillian told me that she saw what happened with Mrs. Thomas, and she congratulated me for not making a fuss. She said that if she were your wife, she would give you the freedom you needed.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I cannot believe you had this conversation.”
“Neither can I. All day long I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Gillian might be.... Is it possible that she might be in love with you, Seger? Have you ever suspected it?”
Seger sat up and gaped down at her. “That’s ridiculous.”
Clara sat up, too, hugging the covers to her chest. “Is it?”
“Of course. She has never so much as glanced at me in that way. She thinks of me as a brother. I cannot even imagine such a thing.”
“But if you could have heard her talking this morning. Haven’t you noticed how she’s been dressing lately? How she’s been changing the way she looks?”
“No, I have not. I think you are letting your imagination get the best of you, and you always seem to think the worst of me.”
“No, I am not accusing you of anything, Seger. I believe it is all on Gillian’s side, and maybe she doesn’t even know it herself.”
“Know what? That she wishes she were my wife? Good God, if she doesn’t know it, it hardly seems possible that you could.”
“I just sensed it.”
He got out of bed and pulled on his robe. “This is absurd, Clara. I understood your reservations about marrying me in the beginning, and I understand if you are upset about Mrs. Thomas’s solicitation last night, but this, Clara—this is getting out of hand.”
Her temper began to rise. “You think I am having delusions?”
He sighed with resignation. “I think you are worried about your decision to marry me because of what happened last night, and it has caused you to be irrational.”
Irrational?
“Gillian is just a girl,” he continued, “a shy, quiet girl. She’s not like Mrs. Thomas, so do not think what you are thinking. To tell you the truth, I’m getting tired of your lack of confidence in me. I told you I would be a faithful husband, yet you keep bringing up this sort of thing. I’m tired of discussing it.” He crossed to the door.
“Where are you going?” Clara asked, her anger rising. Seger had not understood any of what she was saying. He didn’t believe her, he couldn’t bring himself to doubt Gillian’s sweetness, and he thought she was irrational.
Even if she was completely wrong, he could have at least been sympathetic and tried to ease her mind about it. Instead, he had called her feelings absurd. He had defended Gillian. He was walking out. He did not want to delve into her emotions. He wanted only light conversation and sex.
“I am going to get a drink and read for a while,” he replied. “Suddenly I don’t feel much like sleeping.”
Nor do I, Clara thought miserably, flopping onto the bed after the door swung shut behind him.
Clara couldn’t sleep. She needed to talk to someone, but she couldn’t go to Gillian, nor could she go to her stepmother, who adored her niece and would probably react exactly as Seger had.
Clara wished she could talk to her sister, but Sophia had gone to Bath with James to spend a few weeks with his mother and his sister, Lily, who had wished to escape the pressures of the London Season this year. Sophia had explained to Clara that Lily had gotten into some trouble a few years ago, shortly after James and Sophia had wed. Lily had run off with a Frenchman. The whole thing had been covered over, but Lily, unfortunately, had not yet gotten over it. She was uneasy around men and didn’t trust h
er own judgment.
She and Clara would probably have a lot to talk about.
After a moment’s deliberation, Clara decided to write a letter to Sophia. If nothing else, it would help her to express how she was feeling. She went to her desk, pulled out a clean sheet of stationery, and dipped her pen in the inkwell.
Dear Sophia,
It is the middle of the night and I cannot sleep, for I am distraught. This morning, Gillian said things about Seger that made me uncomfortable, and I can only assume she said them to hurt me, for she is secretly in love with him.
I know it sounds absurd, and perhaps I should have waited until I had something more substantial to base my beliefs upon than my womanly instincts before I mentioned it to Seger. But I wanted so desperately for us to be close. I wanted to share my feelings with him. I told him my suspicions, but it did not go well. He did not believe a word of it. He called me irrational, for he cannot believe that Gillian would ever see him as anything other than a brother figure.
Now I feel worse than ever about my marriage. I feel as if I expected too much too soon, and I have pushed Seger away. He was angry with me, and he left our bed, and I fear that if he loses interest in me (you know what kind of interest I mean) that there will be nothing to keep him from leaving me, for there is really so little depth of feeling between us to begin with.
I miss you, dear sister, and I will look forward to seeing you when you return.
Love, Clara
“Look what I found?” Quintina said to Gillian the next morning, entering her niece’s boudoir and waving a letter in her hand. “It was sitting by the front door waiting to go out with the rest of the family’s correspondence, so I decided to take a peek.”
Gillian was sitting at her dressing table, trying different hairstyles. “What is it, Auntie?”
Quintina handed it to her niece. “It’s a letter Clara wrote to her sister last night. I almost feel like celebrating.”
Falling for the Marquess (American Heiress Trilogy Book 2) Page 20
