The captain? It might prove embarrassing to visit his home, that was sure. Had he family there? she wondered. A wife, perhaps? That thought unexpectedly disturbed her.
Lord and Lady Caufield both regarded her expectantly. She looked from one to the other.
Finally Lord Caufield leaned toward her. “We realize it was not well done of us to conceal this from you, my dear, but we thought it for the best.”
Maggie still failed to comprehend their concern. “I assure you, sir, I would not protest wherever you wish to visit. I am too indebted to you for your kindness. Whatever would I do if you had not invited me into your home?”
Lady Caufield made a high-pitched sound.
Her husband clasped and unclasped his hands. “That is just the thing, my dear. We are not taking you to Caufield House. We are taking you to Summerton Hall.”
“But, why?” Maggie blinked in confusion.
Lady Caufield moaned.
Lord Caufield cleared his throat. “Tess and I decided that it would be best if you stayed at Summerton. It is the logical thing, you see.”
Maggie spoke carefully. “I fear, sir, that I am unable to comprehend the logic.”
Lady Caufield wailed, “It is my doing. I should not have looked in your portmanteau.” She reached across the table and grasped Maggie’s wrist. “I assure you, I had no idea what I would find and I was only trying to help—”
“She was only trying to help—” interjected her husband.
“What else could we do? We are so fond of Gray and, indeed, have come to love you as well—” she went on.
“—for your own good and his, you see,” he added.
“Wait!” Maggie threw up her hands.
The Lord and Lady Caufield went wide-eyed simultaneously.
“Stop.” Maggie made her voice less harsh. “Please explain yourselves. What did you find, and why does it matter?”
“Why, the paper saying you are married to Gray,” Lady Caufield said.
Maggie felt the blood drain from her face. “But I am not—” she began, but clamped her mouth shut. To disavow marriage to Captain Grayson would require explaining about the man who had used his name. The baron was just the sort who would insist on making inquiries. She suspected Lord Caufield could discover the mystery of her husband’s identity, but if he did, no doubt the knowledge would send Maggie straight to the gallows.
Lord Caufield looked at her with a kind expression. “Now you need not tell us why the secrecy, or what the difficulty is between you and Gray. That is none of our concern.”
“Unless you’d care to—” began his wife. He put a stilling hand on her arm.
“But,” he continued with an indulgent glance toward Tess, “we do believe it best that you live with Gray’s family. Of course, if they will not have you, you must come to Caufield House with us, but we think Lord Summerton will thaw when he sees the child, no matter his present feelings toward Gray.”
“Which are perfectly conciliatory by now, I am sure,” added his wife helpfully.
What kind of coil would encircle her now? Maggie’s heart sank so low she was certain she would be unable to stand. “I shall yield to your judgment, of course,” she managed.
The baroness smiled happily, and the baron’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Baby Sean wailed and Maggie was glad for the distraction. His nappy was soaked, as was his dress and the bedding in the cradle. She grabbed the small cloth bag that contained the baby’s things and busied herself changing the linens and the infant.
If going to Summerton Hall was what she must do to care for her son, then that was what she would do.
Four hours later, Maggie stood in the foyer at Summerton Hall, near one of the wooden pillars painted to look like white marble. She’d come down the elegant curved stairway past the mural of classical scenes that gave the illusion of wandering about ancient Greece. She paused, unsure of where to find the parlor, or more accurately, afraid it might be the room from which she heard voices raised in anger.
“Whose maggot-brained idea was it to bring them here?” one man shouted. “Was it his? I’ll be damned if he can just send any doxy he fancies to be housed and fed at my expense.”
That voice belonged to the Earl of Summerton, Captain Grayson’s father. Upon their arrival, she’d met him briefly, before the earl closeted himself with Lord Caufield. The earl might have once been nearly as tall as his son, but now he was stoop-shouldered, with one lame leg.
She heard his walking stick pound sharply on polished wood floors. “I won’t have it, I tell you!!”
Lord Caufield’s milder voice responded, “Now, Uncle, I told you, I am asking this of you. Not Gray. I thought it best.”
“You thought it best!” came the older man’s retort. “This is my house and I decide what is best. She’s no wife, and that baby’s naught but a bastard.”
“No,” Lord Caufield said. “She’s his wife, all right. I don’t know why . . .”
The voices became muffled. Maggie took a step closer to the door, but still could not hear. Or perhaps she had heard enough. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the column, which was almost as cool as if it had been marble. She hoped the baby would be all right. She’d insisted he be put in the same bedroom as she, not sent down one of the cavernous hallways where an old nursery would have been located. A round-faced, cheerful-looking maid was dispatched to look after him while Maggie attended dinner. She’d made the maid promise to send for her immediately if the baby should cry.
“He has a frightful temper,” someone whispered. Maggie’s eyes flew open. The earl’s daughter-in-law, the young Lady Palmely, stood a foot from her. Had this wraith of a woman been wearing white, Maggie would have thought she was a spirit, but she wore a shapeless gray gown that hung on her thin body.
Maggie glanced at the doorway from which the angry voices persisted. “I shall not stay.”
Lady Palmely did not change expression. “You will stay. He will not pass up the opportunity.”
“Opportunity?”
The wraith almost smiled. “To punish him through you.” Lady Palmely drifted away, almost floating as if she were indeed a spirit. She hovered by a door near the room from where Lord Summerton’s and Lord Caufield’s voices could be heard. She turned to Maggie. “Come into the parlor. The earl will soon be ready for dinner.”
Maggie followed her into the room.
A gentleman with thinning blond hair and dressed in riding boots and wool jacket stood to greet Lady Palmely. Who was he? He’d been among the seeming multitude of people who’d materialized when they first arrived. Most had been servants who quickly scattered in the wake of baby Sean’s ill-timed display of temper and the earl’s confused orders. She and Lady Caufield had been whisked above stairs by the housekeeper where a battle soon broke out regarding the nursery. Bless Lady Caufield for taking her side, unfashionable though it was. Maggie could barely endure this present separation, let alone the distance a nursery would entail.
The gentleman walked over to her. “Mrs. Grayson, please sit down and be comfortable. I suspect the earl will be along directly.”
As if on cue, the earl’s voice, raised in a furious roar, carried in through the open windows. Maggie flinched, though she did not know if it was from the earl’s anger or the enormity of realizing she was truly parading as Mrs. Grayson.
The gentleman inclined his head toward the sound, taking Maggie’s hand. “Pay him no heed, my dear.”
This man was like the eye of a storm, a calm place around which wind, rain, and thunder raged. Part of the storm was inside her as well. She raised her gaze to his calm eyes. “I have no wish to upset the earl. I must not stay.”
“Nonsense!” the man said, escorting her to a chair next to Lady Palmely, who sat staring absently at hands folded in her lap. “This house has seen a lot of sadness. Perhaps you and your son will cheer it up.” He glanced at Lady Palmely briefly before smiling toward Maggie again.
It was a kind thing
for him to say. In truth, she’d met with more kindness than trouble since Captain Grayson had opened his door and delivered Sean safely into her arms.
Maggie smiled. “Forgive me, sir. I have forgotten our introduction.”
He gave a little laugh. “Well you should. I’m afraid your entrance was a bit more hectic than grand. I am Sir Francis Betton and my place here is in the capacity of old family friend. My property borders Summerton, you see.”
Maggie extended her hand and he clasped it. “I am pleased to meet you. I’m sorry if I gave you any slight at first.”
“You had your hands full,” he added, helpfully. He turned to Lady Palmely, his smile becoming wistful. “Were you formally introduced to Viscountess Palmely?”
The lady in question raised her head at the mention of her name and said, “We met.”
“It will be nice for you to have some female company at Summerton, won’t it, Olivia?” His voice became even more gentle than before.
“Yes,” she said without inflection. “It will.”
Maggie longed to ask Sir Francis about this family. He, at least, appeared to be a comfortable companion. The earl had been near apoplexy since she’d been introduced as his son’s wife, and the Lady Palmely looked haunted. Maggie regarded her. She had a fragile beauty, blond hair pulled up into a severe knot on top of her head. She was too pale and too thin, and the gray dress did nothing to enhance her appearance.
Maggie attempted conversation. “I seem to remember a little boy when we arrived.” A pale-faced lad of six or seven, she’d guessed, pulling at the arm of a nanny. “Is that your son?”
“It is,” the wraith responded.
Usually mothers loved to talk about their children, but Lady Palmely said no more. Maggie tried again to engage her.
“Will . . . will your husband be joining us for dinner?” she asked.
Lady Palmely’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head, hiding her face with one hand.
“The viscount died of the fever,” Sir Francis said in a quiet voice. “You didn’t know?”
Maggie felt stricken. It explained Lady Palmely’s gray dress. Half-mourning. “No, I am so sorry, madam. I did not know.”
“Gray did not mention it?” Sir Francis’s eyebrows lifted.
Maggie felt her cheeks flush. “No.”
How would she know anything of Captain Grayson’s family? It was folly to suppose she could succeed at this masquerade. Already her ignorance had caused poor Lady Palmely distress.
Sir Francis bestowed a sympathetic look on Lady Palmely, who dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “It happened a little over six years ago, before Gray left for Spain.”
Six years ago? And his wife still wore gray and looked as if she were mourning a loss of a few days? What sort of people were these?
Lady Caufield entered at that moment. “Ah, here you all are. Well, not all of you. Harry and the earl are not here yet. I suppose they will be coming along soon. I hope anyway. They say women talk too much, but, I declare, men do go on and on.”
Again the earl’s voice penetrated into the room. The phrase “that damned fool” was clearly audible.
Lady Caufield remained undaunted. “See? What nonsense. I’m sure dinner is waiting.” She fluttered over to the window as if that would somehow make her husband and his uncle cease their argument and restore enough harmony for the meal to commence.
“I’m sure Lord Summerton will be about soon,” said Sir Francis. “He likes a prompt meal.”
Sure enough, the earl stalked into the parlor a few minutes later, followed by his nephew. Once in the room, he stood with one fisted hand pressed against his hip and the other clasping his ebony cane so tightly his knuckles were white. He glared at Maggie. She’d done nothing to deserve this man’s wrath. Or, at least, nothing he knew about. Nevertheless, she refused to cower. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, not gray like his son’s, but an unfriendly pale brown.
“Parker knows we are ready for dinner. No need for him to announce it.”
Lady Palmely rose and took the old man’s arm, the baron and baroness came next, then Maggie escorted by Sir Francis.
The dining room was dominated by a long mahogany table with chairs enough to seat twelve. The six place settings were all at one end. The party slowed as the earl hobbled to the head of the table past the long sideboard of the same dark wood.
When he reached his chair he pointed a bony finger at Maggie. “You girl, you sit here.” He pounded the place next to him.
Maggie did as she was told. Harry Caufield took the chair opposite her, avoiding her eye.
The food was placed on the table, à la français. Lord Summerton gestured to Maggie to serve the soup from the tureen sitting in front of him.
Before she’d had time to pass bowls to the others, the earl dipped his spoon into his soup. After one noisy slurp he banged the spoon against his bowl. “Parker, this soup is too hot.”
The butler stood in the corner of the room, his face expressionless. “My apologies, your lordship.”
“Well, don’t stand there, man,” the earl barked at the butler. “Leave us.”
Parker bowed and left the room.
Lord Summerton ate with single-minded absorption. Lady Palmely picked at her food. Lord Caufield’s thoughts seemed miles away. Only Sir Francis and Lady Caufield made stabs at conversation. Maggie felt a searing anger. Irrational, because she was certainly not blameless in this charade, but Lord Summerton’s patent rejection of her and her son enraged her. Why should he dislike her so? He could not know her, except as his son’s wife. Was that enough to despise her?
His lordship cleaned his plate, wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, and leaned back in his chair. He peered at Maggie through slitted eyes.
“Were you increasing? Was that it? Was that why that scapegrace son of mine married you?”
Maggie felt her cheeks grow hot. Educated with society’s daughters and living on its fringe as a ladies companion, she’d never heard such a question addressed during a meal. Lewd remarks were confined to hallways and gardens when one was unaccompanied and unfortunate enough to encounter a man looking for sport. Her birth was respectable, though her station in life was not, and she refused to think herself as undeserving of good manners. Indeed, no woman, no matter what her birth, should suffer such treatment.
She lifted her chin. “You insult me, sir. And your son.”
The earl glared at her. “You do not deny it, I see.”
Maggie took a breath and held it. She ought to remain silent. Meekness and passivity were demanded of her as a companion. She’d thought those traits worthy of a wife as well, but where had they gotten her? Had she not waited so long for her husband to come see her, had she informed his superior officer, his duplicity might have been exposed and he’d have been forced to marry her legitimately.
Somehow that did not seem any more desirable an outcome than this.
“Ha, ha!” Lord Summerton added triumphantly.
She could not leave the impression that his son had misused her. Surely Captain Grayson did not deserve that. Her knowledge of him was limited to their two strange encounters. The first time, he’d looked like a man who could do more than deflower a maiden, but that was also the day he’d safely delivered her baby. She owed the captain everything.
“I do deny it.” Let meekness fly, she figured. “You, sir, owe me and your son an apology for your uncivil words.”
“Hmmph!” The older man tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, a gesture oddly reminiscent of his son. “I’ll not apologize to that rascal, that disgraceful reprobate.”
“I will thank you not to speak of him in that manner, my lord.” Maggie kept her voice even. She’d defend the captain in his absence. It was the least she could do.
The elderly man’s eyes bulged and his lips, wrinkled and thin, twitched into something resembling a smile. “I will say whatever I wish about him. He is a dishonor to his family. The wor
st of men.”
Lord Caufield said, “See here, sir—”
The earl silenced his nephew with a flick of his hand. Maggie glanced at the others at the table. Lady Caufield was pale. Lady Palmely, abstracted as if she’d heard nothing. She could not see Sir Francis at her elbow, but felt his body stiffen.
The earl whipped back to Maggie. “My son thinks of nothing but his own pleasure.” His lips pursed. “Why is he not here with you? Did he abandon you, too?”
Maggie gaped at him. She would never stay in this house, with this appalling man. She had no idea what transpired between father and son for him to speak this way, but it was unthinkable to do so in front of the woman who was supposed to be his wife.
“Sir.” Her voice remained low and barely above a whisper. “Your son left because he was ordered back to war. He put me in the care of his cousin; therefore, it cannot be said he abandoned me.”
Gracious, she was sounding like a wife, though she’d been careful not to say anything that was not strictly true. It was what she avoided speaking of that was reprehensible. The captain, however, was blameless in all of this. He knew nothing of her shameful misuse of him.
“Bah,” the earl went on. “The fool will probably get himself killed, but that would be no great loss to me.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped. To lose a member of one’s family was the worst pain in creation. How could this man say such a thing? She was prepared to do anything for her son. Lie. Cheat. Steal, if it came to that. Anything to keep him alive. She was willing to dupe this family and make use of their home, food, and status to keep her baby safe until she could contrive a more honest life. She would not lose Sean like she’d lost everyone else.
She stood. “I am appalled at you, sir. He is your son.” Her voice rose. “I would risk all for my son. I would bleed if he bled. If I lost him I would lose all. Do you have so many sons that you can afford to lose this one?”
She heard a collective gasp from the others and saw that tears rolled down Lady Palmely’s face. Oh, dear, she ought not to have referred to losing sons. She’d not meant to hurt that poor woman. Lord Summerton’s lips became even thinner. He stared at his empty plate.
The Improper Wife Page 6
