The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  “Apology for what precisely?” he asked cautiously.

  Harry’s mouth suffered a spasm before he could speak. “For not addressing you in private. You had the right of it. It was so badly done of me.”

  Get on with it, man! Gray said to himself. He tried to be patient.

  His cousin coughed and fiddled with the knot in his neckcloth and opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke again. “You and I could have settled it. If I had known your Spanish wife to be dead—” Harry broke off, his chin shaking like it was made of jelly. “I . . . I might have spared your true wife any knowledge of how you deceived and disgraced her.”

  Gray almost laughed. As apologies went, this one left much to be desired. So he was still the dishonorable bigamist and Maggie, the true wife, his unwitting victim. What a riotous joke. Too bad the only person he could share it with was Maggie, and he doubted she would find the same humor in it.

  Gray attempted to keep his face composed.

  Harry swallowed several times. “I . . . I do not know why you did it, Gray, but I promise I will say no more about it to anyone. Tess and I will keep your secret. We will be the soul of discretion.”

  Gray did laugh then. Harry looked puzzled.

  He tried to sober himself. “Did you tell Father?”

  Harry’s eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head. “No, no, I am not lost to all good sense. Hoped my uncle would never find out.”

  That was one small point in Harry’s favor, Gray admitted to himself.

  His cousin stared at him warily. “Is . . . is my apology accepted?”

  Harry’s soft cheeks and pale skin gave him a boyish, innocent appearance, although he was nearly as old as Vincent would have been had he lived. Harry had remained Gray’s faithful ally throughout his flight from his father and during his army years. How much did it matter that he was prosy and self-righteous? Did Gray care that Harry thought him lost to all decency? That Harry would so readily believe he could wed two wives? By God, he’d not chosen to wed either one!

  Gray held up his hand. “Say no more, Harry. The matter is forgotten.”

  Harry’s countenance barely relaxed. “I never meant to insinuate myself in your business . . .”

  Had you not? Gray thought, his anger rekindled. You examined my papers readily enough. He flexed one hand into a fist.

  “It was all my doing. The responsibility is all mine.”

  Now that was a corker. Tess, Gray would wager, had a big part in the event. But one of the things Gray most liked about his cousin was his unwavering devotion to his equally bird-witted wife.

  “Harry.” Gray relaxed his hand and put it on his cousin’s arm. “Enough. I realize you and Tess meant no harm.”

  But, deuce, they had created much havoc in his life. This whole matter might have been avoided had Harry done what Gray asked and given Maggie the money.

  The money.

  Gray leveled a glance at his cousin. “Harry, what happened to the money I provided for Maggie?”

  Harry turned red. “Put it in the bank,” he sputtered. “I always meant to give it back to you . . . with interest, of course. We . . . we thought it a better plan to bring her here, and I think you can agree now that our judgment had been correct.”

  A small knock sounded at the door. Before either man could respond, the door burst open, producing Tess in a flurry of skirts and tears.

  She fell into Gray’s arms. “Gray, it is all my fault. I only opened the papers to dry them and I couldn’t help looking at them, could I? And they did not say she had died, you know, and I knew you married Maggie first because I read her papers— It was very bad of you to marry two wives, I am sure, but I do not pretend to understand the ways of men— In any event, Harry has explained to me we should not have looked at your papers, though how we could dry them and not look at them is beyond my powers of comprehension. But you must know it is my fault and my fault entirely—not Harry’s—and it is I you should never forgive, though I shall be wretched if you do not!”

  She spoke the whole in one breath and sobbed at the same time. It was quite remarkable.

  “Tess.” Gray’s stomach hurt from the effort not to laugh. “It is over and little harm done.”

  “Except to Maggie.” Her voice wobbled.

  He took a deep breath. He must get used to being the villain in this farce, he supposed.

  Tess’s eyes filled with fat, glistening tears. “I promise I shall never look at papers that are not my own.” She spoke with what was, even for her, exaggerated drama. “I shall never intrude into another person’s affairs. From this moment, this very moment, I . . . I will mind my own business only.”

  Gray did laugh then and hugged her close. “Tess, be easy. Be easy.”

  She hiccoughed and sniffled, and he sacrificed a clean handkerchief into which she noisily blew her nose. Her husband opened his arms and she collapsed into them. He patted her back and looked as if he might succumb to a fit of crying as well.

  “Cease this commotion at once,” Gray insisted. “What is done is done. We shall simply forget all about it.”

  Both regarded him with mournful eyes.

  He gave them a reassuring smile. “Have you breakfasted? Because I have not and I am famished.”

  Like puppets he’d seen once at the Mayday Fair as a boy, they shook their heads in unison.

  Arm in arm, he walked with them to the breakfast room.

  Harry and Tess, amid hugs, kisses, and more tears, departed later that morning. Gray sent them off, standing between Maggie and Olivia on the front steps while Tess waved from the carriage window.

  Gray felt Maggie close to him as if they had been wrapped in the same clothes. When she’d entered the breakfast room with his father earlier, he’d barely nodded a greeting. Yet throughout the meal, he had felt no one else’s presence, even though Tess filled the room with her lively conversation.

  With Tess and Harry still calling out their farewells, the Caufield carriage began to roll, Sean and Rodney making a game of running after it. Gray felt rather than saw Maggie retreat into the house.

  He turned to follow her, but Olivia drew him aside.

  “I did not wish to say so in front of Maggie, but I most sincerely convey my condolences to you.” She patted his arm in a sisterly fashion. “I . . . I am persuaded you must have married your Spanish lady out of love. I know you could not have done otherwise. You must have felt very desolate and alone in Spain after whatever transpired to estrange you and Maggie. I refuse to judge you harshly for your actions.”

  It appeared Harry and Tess were not the sole purveyors of melodrama. Gray tried not to cringe.

  Olivia went on. “I have experienced love and grief as you have, so I completely understand. But I do wish you would give Maggie a chance. It is possible to love again, and she is such a fine person.”

  “Thank you, Olivia,” he said stiffly.

  They climbed the steps together.

  She slowed a little. “I wish you would persuade Maggie to accept the invitation to the Camervilles’ house party. It would be a treat for you both.”

  He stopped completely. “What invitation?”

  She smiled warily. “Surely Maggie spoke to you of it? Lord and Lady Camerville are giving a house party in a week.”

  Cammy. Lecherous to lowly governesses. And, he figured, to lonely widows. But what of beautiful would-be wives? “Maggie declined the invitation?”

  “Yes. She said she would not go.” Olivia’s forehead wrinkled. “The invitation came to me, but it quite properly included her. I am certain it was meant for all of us, but they could not have known you had returned to Summerton. So would you come and persuade Maggie to come, too? We need only stay a week.”

  By damn, it looked as if Olivia would water up. He’d had enough tears for one morning. He put an arm around her. “Do you wish to attend, Olivia?”

  She nodded. “I have not been to such a party since . . . since Vincent was alive. Lady
Camerville and I once knew each other, and there will be new company and games and entertainments.”

  Gray could imagine what sorts of entertainments Cammy might devise, but the man was not so lost to propriety as to engage in open debauchery. It was from clandestine debauchery Olivia would need protection.

  “Sir Francis has an invitation,” she went on. “He said he would drive me, but . . .”

  But she could not very well attend in the sole company of a single gentleman and keep her reputation intact. Gray suspected Sir Francis was behind this invitation, wanting an opportunity to get Olivia away from Summerton. Not that Gray disapproved. Sir Francis was a good man and Gray had seen his eyes glow when they lighted upon Olivia.

  Gray gave her a knowing smile.

  Which she completely missed. “I don’t know what I should do without Sir Francis. He has remained a faithful friend.”

  “Indeed.” He gave her a fond squeeze, wondering if she were blind or simply thought him so. “Very faithful.”

  “So you will tell Maggie we will attend?” she asked hopefully.

  Gray’s forehead knitted. Maggie. The need to appear in public with her as husband and wife must eventually come, but so soon? “I cannot—”

  She interrupted him. “I asked Harry and Tess, but they have not received an invitation.”

  And would probably not receive one. Cammy would have little use for a self-righteous prig totally devoted to his wife.

  Olivia looked at him entreatingly.

  How far did a brother’s obligation stretch? To a country house party? Such an entertainment ought to have been commonplace for a woman of Olivia’s age and position. She should have attended many such parties, instead of being secluded near to total isolation at Summerton.

  But, then, he had not been present to give her escort.

  He expelled a long breath. “I will speak to Maggie.”

  “Ohhh!” she cried, falling on his neck. “Thank you, Gray! We shall have the jolliest time!”

  He had not precisely said yes, had he?

  How the devil was he going to address this party invitation with Maggie? He had no idea how to even be comfortably in the same room with her.

  Olivia released him and skipped up the steps. “I can hardly wait to tell Sir Francis! I do hope he will visit today.”

  Sir Francis’s visits were as regular as the sunrise.

  He watched her dance happily into the house. He followed less joyfully.

  When he crossed the hall, Murray stood there, hat in his hand.

  Another obligation, he suspected. “What is it, Ted?”

  The man twisted his hat. “Your father summoned me. I thought you might bear me company.”

  “Of course.” His insides turned to lead. After such a morning, he had no energy left to tackle his father. He avoided his father whenever possible, was rarely in his company without Maggie present, but he’d be damned if he’d ask Murray to wait until they could summon her. He ought to be able to handle his father without her.

  Without complete confidence in that thought, however, he entered his father’s study with Murray. The earl sat at his desk, which was piled with ledgers.

  Murray cleared his throat. “You asked for me, my lord?”

  The earl looked up, his baffled expression darkening when he spied Gray. “I did not ask for him, did I?” The old man waved a finger in Gray’s direction.

  “I thought I might assist you, Father,” Gray said mildly.

  “Hurrummph.” The earl searched through the ledgers. “These are all old. I cannot find the current ledger. Someone has stolen it. We must alert the magistrate.”

  Murray gulped. “It is not missing, my lord. It is in my office.”

  “In your office?” Summerton’s brows rose. “What the devil is it doing there?”

  “So that I might make the entries, my lord.”

  The earl half rose from his chair, leaning on his cane. “You make entries? Since when do you make entries?”

  “Since—” Murray began, but Gray put a restraining hand on his arm.

  He stepped forward. “If I were you, sir, I would ask Murray to bring the ledger to you.”

  “You would?” Summerton sat back down.

  “Indeed.” Gray nodded. “In fact, I would insist upon it.”

  “Insist upon it?” Summerton’s eyebrows rose.

  “Yes.”

  “Hurrumph.” He gave his son a sneer. “I suppose you think any manager I employed would steal me blind.”

  Gray shrugged.

  “Well, I’ll have you know, this fellow”—Lord Summerton wagged his finger at Murray—“is honest. I grew up with him. Selected him myself for this job.”

  Neither young man corrected the earl.

  “You keep that ledger, my friend,” the earl said to Murray. “You are doing a fine job. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Very good, sir.” Murray expelled a breath and darted a glance toward Gray.

  “Yes, well, you may leave now. Got work to do,” the old man mumbled.

  Murray beat a hasty retreat.

  Summerton looked up to see his son still standing there. “What the devil are you waiting for?”

  A corner of Gray’s mouth turned up, ever so slightly. His father’s sharp words still stung, but not like before. More often they now made him sad. He would never discover which of all his boyhood crimes had netted him his father’s enduring ire, would never have the chance to make amends.

  “Your permission, sir,” Gray said mildly. “I did not wish to leave you without it.”

  “I’ll have none of your lip, boy. Begone with you.” The older man waved him off.

  Gray hesitated, but there was no more he could say. With a slight bow, he walked out of the room.

  And ran straight into Maggie.

  With Sean in her arms, she was hurrying toward the earl’s study. Gray had to grab her shoulders to keep her from crashing into him.

  “Oh,” she cried. “I heard that you were in with Lord Summerton.”

  She looked delectably frazzled, but Gray pushed that thought away. “Did you suppose I could not be trusted in my father’s presence without you?”

  She colored. “It is merely that he can be so cruel.”

  And you must be there to protect me, he added silently.

  He dropped his hands, realizing he had held her much longer than necessary for her to regain her balance.

  “Papa!” Sean’s chubby arms strained toward Gray.

  He reached for the boy, to give his hands something else to do but touch her.

  “Walk, Papa,” Sean said firmly, pulling on the collar of his coat.

  Not horfe? Gray turned to Maggie. “This is a twist. What does he mean?”

  “We were setting off for a walk, but then I heard you were with Lord Summerton.” She looked at him warily from beneath her lashes, but the effect was quite different than she might have supposed.

  It put Gray in mind of the previous day’s kiss, an ill-timed, inopportune thought.

  “Do not let me alter your plans.” His voice was husky.

  As if she realized the direction of his thoughts, her eyelids fluttered. “Would you care to accompany us? You would be most welcome.”

  “Walk, Papa!” Sean demanded. “Now!” He squirmed to get down.

  Gray released the child only to have his large hand captured in two small dimpled ones. Sean pulled him with all the strength a two-year-old could muster, which was quite surprisingly a lot.

  “Seems I do not have a choice.” He smiled, suddenly feeling almost lighthearted.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Maggie felt a thrill rush through her at seeing his smile, though she realized her delight was all out of proportion. They were merely going on a walk. Still her heart beat with mounting excitement as she collected her shawl and bonnet from the table in the hall. Her fingers trembled as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.

  She must learn to be in his
company without feeling like a bride on her wedding night. She groaned to herself at this terrible analogy, but she could barely be in his company without such thoughts crossing her mind. Or influencing her behavior.

  It had been shameless of her to throw herself at him the previous day when their emotions had been in such a turmoil. He had made it clear that her willingness to play his wife in bed was not to his taste at all. She could not blame him. Because of her he was trapped into another marriage he did not want and was branded a great sinner besides.

  Still, she could not regret being in his company. The day was fine, brisk and clear and perfect for a long walk.

  Rodney ran up to her. “Are we going for a walk after all?”

  “If your mother and Mr. Hendrick have given you permission.” Maggie smiled.

  “They have.” Rodney skipped along. “Are you coming, too, Uncle?”

  “It seems so.” Gray’s hand remained thoroughly in Sean’s possession, and the child tugged him along.

  “Capital!” cried Rodney. “Can we walk down to the stream?”

  “Stream!” parroted Sean.

  Maggie disliked the stream. She disliked any bodies of water. She bit her lip.

  Rodney grinned. “You could show Aunt Maggie and Sean where my father taught you to fish.”

  Gray looked to her for the decision.

  “Oh, very well,” she said, reluctant to disappoint the boy. “But you must be very careful and hold Sean’s hand.”

  “I will!” shouted Rodney.

  “Stream!” cried Sean.

  The boys ran ahead, but as they were almost always in view and the stream some distance away, Maggie did not mind. The land they must cross to reach the stream was beautiful, if hilly. Where the boys scrambled easily, she took care not to trip. Gray often offered his arm to assist her, and when he did so, she could not fail to notice the firmness of the muscle beneath his coat sleeve or how much taller he was than she.

  He lifted her over a stile, his hands firmly upon her waist. She still felt them long after he’d released her.

  “I am glad of the opportunity to be alone with you.” His voice was as warm as the sun illuminating his handsome features.