by Ingrid Hahn
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. One unmarried woman of good reputation and standing should have been interchangeable with any other. He wasn’t supposed to feel any hint of possessiveness toward his wife, no matter who she was. Least of all toward the one who’d deceived him in such a heinous manner.
The clergyman began the final blessing, and Jeremy bowed his head. A church was not the time and place for vengeful thoughts.
“I pronounce you man and wife.”
Lieutenant and Mrs. Hart beamed at one another. The lieutenant gave his bride a knowing look that made her gaze fall to the ground and her cheeks fill with color. Light glinted off Christiana’s spectacles.
Witnessing the bond between them flung Jeremy square into the middle of a place he did not want to be. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the woman by his side. His wife. The woman who’d deceived him into marrying her when he’d promised to marry another.
Outside, as they led the informal procession down a narrow dirt path to Idlewood, Jeremy went back and forth with himself about whether or not he should speak. These notions were as new and unfamiliar as they were unexpected.
“You said in the orangery that you’d wished the letters had worked.” When he’d rehearsed the question in his head, there’d been no vulnerability. Reality was far different. As he was standing beside her, there was a small measure of…well, exposure. He had to rally his gumption to continue and pray that he concealed more than he revealed. “Is that true?”
Eliza didn’t hesitate. “You can’t expect me to rejoice in this marriage, can you, my lord? I might have schemed my way into it, but it was born of desperation.”
They were walking side by side, her arm in his, as if they were a real couple. But they were strangers to each other. No. Worse than strangers. Because they had this wretched thing between them.
“Are you telling me that you don’t care to be married to me any more than I care to be married to you?”
“I suppose. But unlike you, my lord, I’m prepared to make the best of it.”
“There is nothing out of which we can make the best. The situation is entirely hopeless. We can’t recover from where we started. I don’t suggest we try, because I can never forgive you.”
The words were harsh for so beautiful a day. The sun was warm, the brilliant sky all the bluer for the high white clouds scattered here and there. Birds twittered, and the occasional red squirrel bounded up a tree trunk in hasty pursuit of who knew what.
“If you’d approached inheriting the title with that attitude, you’d never have gotten to where you are today.”
“That’s entirely different.” Was it? Or did he only want it to be? For ten years he’d had nobody to vent his anger over what his uncle had done. Now he had this. Was he punishing her beyond reason?
No. She’d tricked him into marriage.
“But you forget, my lord, that I never asked your forgiveness. Perhaps I should be the one telling you to beg mine.”
Never let it be said his wife didn’t have a backbone. “That’s outrageous.”
They walked a little longer in silence. It irked that she didn’t think highly of him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. He didn’t want to care about the opinion of others, but even he couldn’t be blind to the fact that he’d spent the last ten years of his life single-mindedly bent on restoring the family reputation, at any cost.
“I’ve been thinking about the orangery.”
Jeremy glanced down at her. “What?”
She paused in the shade of a young oak and turned in the direction of the dilapidated old building. It stood on the far edge of the gardens, the ruin out of place among the careful cultivation about to hit the peak of the season. “Why do you think it’s unnecessary?”
“I had to make choices. The orangery isn’t good for much that’s important in day-to-day life.”
The others made their way into the house. Eliza, seemingly unaware or uncaring that they were alone, frowned, still looking across the gardens. “Perhaps it’s time you began to rebuild.”
“The plans are in the works. I had to deliberate for a while before I decided to do so, however. I didn’t know if it meant anything. But it’ll complete the picture, and that’s what’s important.”
“That’s what’s important? How things look?”
“How things look is of the utmost importance. The rest is nothing more than diversions, and I don’t have time for diversions.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re perpetually in a sour mood, my lord.”
“If my mood has been sour of late, my lady, you might think of what role you played in the matter.”
She arched her brows at him. “Whatever mood you do or do not find yourself in, my lord, is entirely your own affair.”
“You must take some responsibility—”
“For your moods? No. None. None at all. They’re your business and your concern. If I made it my life’s work to please those around me, I’d die raving in an asylum. Now, for my actions, I can take full responsibility.” She turned serious, and her voice lowered. “I always have, and I always will.”
The air between them was suddenly tense. Jeremy studied her a long moment. If only he could peer into her and see what had caused her to speak in such a way. It was as if she were haunted by something. As if somewhere in her past she’d gone horribly wrong and she still hadn’t forgiven herself.
Of course. It must be related to what went wrong between her and her former fiancé.
Jeremy muttered a curse below his breath. Damn him if a fierce burden of protectiveness hadn’t fallen upon his shoulders. He couldn’t help himself. She was his wife, however they’d gone about it, and if anyone had tried to crush her vibrant soul…
He had to take a deep breath. He was trembling from unchecked rage. The urges toward violence could be so strong—almost unbearably so.
Suddenly she was the one studying him. “Are you quite well, my lord?”
She reached out to take his hand, warmth swirling in his veins at the unanticipated intimacy.
“Nothing more than too much coffee at breakfast, I’m sure.”
“You like your coffee, don’t you? At least you have that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean you’ve got nothing in your life that you really live for.”
The pronouncement rankled. “I’ve worked—”
“Yes, I know.” She waved. “You have much to be proud of, my lord, that I would never dispute. But the only thing you do is work.”
“That’s the only thing for which I’ve had any time.”
“That’s the only thing for which you’ve given yourself any time. You treat life like it’s a game of subterfuge.”
“I suppose I’ll take your word for that one, my lady. Since you’re the resident expert on subterfuge.”
She colored.
They went on in silence. His shoulders ached from tension.
“I used to play the violin.” Lord save him. He didn’t need to tell her this—he hadn’t spoken of it in years. He had nothing to prove. Whatever she thought of him…he didn’t care.
“You did?”
He scowled and sighed. “I started lessons when I was a lad. And I hated them—every last second. I finally wore my mother down and finagled her help in convincing my father to let me abandon music all together. It wasn’t easy. My father was…a difficult man.”
Eliza’s eyes were full of tender concern. She said nothing. Only waited.
Jeremy looked away and continued. “No sooner had I put down the instrument—forever, I’d thought—than I longed to pick it up again. After a year, I could stand it no longer, and demanded to resume lessons. But on my own terms and with a new master.”
That’s when they’d found Mr. Oswald, a man with a deep passion for music instead of a deep passion for petty punishments.
With Eliza’s hand over his, Jeremy allowed himself to feel the full measure of the guilt he’d pushed away for
years, telling himself it no longer mattered because the estate and the family name were more important than anything else.
He didn’t want to let go, though—didn’t want to admit that perhaps he’d taken things too far. He raised his chin and withdrew his hand. “Music is nothing more than a frivolity.”
When she reached for him again, he pulled away.
“My lord…” Her was face full of concern, her voice soft. It would be so easy to kiss her now. To capture her lips with his and drink her long and deeply, inhaling the rosy scent of her. “I don’t think those things are frivolous. Least of all music. You’re entirely wrong on that score. Perhaps you should think about taking it up again.”
“It’s too late for that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Eliza retired as late as she possibly could. With Tom in the house and the wedding festivities, she and Lord Bennington had not found any more time to talk. When they’d been forced to interact, they’d been stiff and formal with each other.
She lay under the covers in darkness so black, it didn’t matter if she kept her eyes open or closed. Her hand rested upon Daisy’s curled body, the dog having nestled against her hip.
Eliza bit her lower lip. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was confide her wretched shame to another human being. After Captain Pearson, she’d sworn she’d never speak of it again.
A frank conversation with a trusted friend after her marriage had left Eliza reasonably certain that men couldn’t tell the state of a woman’s virginity, for all the talk that purported otherwise. Although she’d toyed with the notion of not telling Lord Bennington, she owed him the truth.
Her insides churned with nausea at the thought of his reaction to her confession. The feeling between them was already tense and angry. Confessing her darkest secret was going to demolish any hope that life between them could ever become cordial. Once he knew—once he saw her for the defiled woman she was—he would hate her forever.
There was a tap on the door joining her chamber to his.
Her heart started pounding. Everything inside her wanted to turn over, pull the covers over her head, and stay perfectly still. He would think she’d fallen asleep and leave her in peace.
Coward. What would that solve?
A voice—hers, it seemed, although her nerves were far too frazzled to be certain—broke the silence. “Come in.”
“My lady?”
“Yes?” She pushed herself up to sitting, pulling her knees close. Daisy ran to the end of the bed, then back up to nose into Eliza’s lap.
The light from the candle illuminated the angles in his features. It was like he wore some wild and fantastical mask.
She still hadn’t told him, and he was here to start the process of trying to conceive the heir he’d told her he wanted. What did she fear more—the conversation or the inevitable coupling? Maybe it would have been easier if he’d banished her from his sight upon news of the original deception.
Her hand wandered to her neck, remembering the weight of the stones. How connected she’d always felt to her father when she’d worn the jewels he’d given her. That wouldn’t go away simply by selling the object—she could have taken a different path when she’d first learned of her mother’s plan for Christiana. But the idea of parting with the jewels had always felt like trying to cut away a piece of herself.
She resorted to drawing on courage she didn’t know if she actually possessed. “If it’s an heir you want, you’d best be about it.”
The moment the impetuous words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She owed him the truth about herself before they began their endeavor. The secret was a snake in the grass ready to bite.
“I think there are a few things we need to discuss.”
Her heart began to pound. Provide him an heir and then quietly disappear into a dusty old corner of England and never bother him again. However, if he thought for one minute that she’d be surrendering a heir to him and vanishing from her own child’s life… “All right.”
It was a reprieve. As much as she didn’t want to discuss anything further with this man, it kept her from having to tell him her sordid story. Then maybe he really would toss her out on her ear.
“First, forgive me for being indelicate, but I want to know if you married me because you’re…er…” He cleared his throat. “Because you’ve gotten yourself with another man’s child.”
The question, too dangerously close to what she had to tell him about herself, made her stomach go hollow. “No. It was strictly because of Christiana.”
There was a long silence. He stared at her, his face so like a garish mask in the candlelight. And completely unreadable.
Finally, Eliza ventured to speak again. “Do you believe me?”
Something shifted in his face. “In fact, I do. I don’t know if I should. But I do.”
“But?”
“I’m going to need an heir.” The low notes of his voice brought an unholy awareness between her legs. A sort of…warmth. It was unusual, but rather nice.
She mentally started. Good Lord in heaven, she didn’t actually want the earl to bed her, did she? A kiss was one thing. That was quite another. There might have been reason to believe that relations could actually be enjoyable for other women. Not for her—and certainly never with the man who resented her deception as deeply as he did. “We discussed this, my lord.”
“Yes. Yes. I need you to know and understand something.”
“And that is?”
“There can be no more scandal. Nothing. Not one more hint of anything untoward. I will not stand for it. I’ve worked too hard to restore honor to the family name and the title. I won’t have anyone else sully me ever again, least of all someone as intimately connected with me as my wife.”
Eliza had gone weak and dizzy under the weight of his pronouncement. Her throat was dry, and her voice emerged high and strange when she tried speaking. “Of course, I understand, my lord.”
“If there is anything else I should know—anything at all—now would be the time to tell me.”
It sounded for all the world as if he had something in mind. Was he purposefully giving her the opportunity to confess? No. That was impossible. Nobody knew.
The burden of her secret was going to crush her. She was cold suddenly with the renewed realization of just how alone she was. But what else had she expected?
“If you had something in mind, you’d best tell me what it is you think you ought to hear.”
He was silent a moment. “Your mother, she…”
“Is this really the time to discuss her, my lord?”
“Now that I’ve put the question out there, you might as well answer it.”
Eliza shrugged. “She would die before being involved in any scandal. As it is, I’m sure what I did is going to be impossible for her to accept. Now before we…uh…do the necessary business, I think you ought to know that I won’t be leaving any child of mine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going to give you a son and then quietly bow out of your lives. I…” She’d meant to say that she’d always wanted to be a mother—except in those few harrowing weeks at fourteen when she’d come to understand the full measure of what she’d done—but her voice threatened to quaver, so she went in another direction. “I’m willing to be minimally involved in your life, because I know that is what you shall want, but I want to help raise my child.”
“There is no question in my mind that it would be any other way, my lady.”
“Good. Now are we going to get on with this heir business, or are you going to leave me in peace?”
It was a gamble—she sensed that if she pushed him, he’d leave, instead of coming to her bed. Then she could think about how to handle her confession another day. At a more appropriate time than when they were about to have relations.
Sure enough, the earl’s lips flattened to a stern line. “Leave you in peace? Is that what you would prefer?”
“I’m perfectly willing to give you an heir, my lord. Never fear.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “I surrender myself completely to my duty.”
“That’s…precisely what I needed to hear.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound as if he were fighting strangulation? He took a deep breath. The candle in his hands wavered. “On second though, it’s been rather a hard—uh…that is, I think perhaps we can begin another day. Er, night. Sleep well, my lady.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, in the corner of a forgotten music room, Jeremy opened the violin case and stared inside, near choking with guilt. Untouched for a decade, the instrument was in some disrepair. A thousand memories flooded his brain as he inhaled the smell. The happier parts of his childhood, when he’d lost himself in music.
Mr. Oswald, his beloved master, had had little in the way of belongings, but upon his death, he’d willed Jeremy his prized violin.
“For my best student,” he’d said on his deathbed, pale and fragile, when he’d handed the instrument over. A while later, he was gone. Jeremy would always be grateful for being able to see the man through his final hours. After Mr. Oswald’s last breath, Jeremy had had the honor of shutting the man’s eyes and arranging his hands. It had been a clear and strangely quiet day—one of the saddest and most beautiful of Jeremy’s life. Mr. Oswald had been the father Jeremy’s own sire had not been.
Truth be told, by measure of sheer talent, he hadn’t been Mr. Oswald’s best student. For the pleasure Jeremy received from playing and his passion for the music, he’d outshone all the rest.
Jeremy had not done right by the man’s memory. Used to be that he didn’t think much about what he’d given up. Once in a while, he’d find himself running his left thumb over the pads of his fingers, absently feeling for calluses. He’d catch himself and resolve to do better in the future. To remember what he had to do and why he had to do it. To remember that playing the violin was an indulgence he could no longer afford.
