A Marriage of Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  Chapter Sixteen

  Xavier moved behind her and held her against him.

  ‘Tell me what you remembered,’ he murmured.

  Her muscles tensed as she began to speak. ‘I remembered following my mother all the way to the beach. It was getting dark and I was scared, too scared to go back alone. She was on the beach, arguing with a man.’ She turned her head towards him. ‘It was General Henson, I am sure of it.’ She turned back. ‘They were so angry. I pulled on my mother’s skirts, but she did not heed me.’ She paused. ‘She ran after the man and then I woke up.’

  His muscles tensed. ‘Can you remember anything now.’

  She grew still, as if trying to bring the memory back.

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  She moved out of his arms and scooted around to face him. Her gaze flickered over his bare chest and, to her credit, she did not turn missish.

  She looked directly at him. ‘I thought you would sleep in a different room.’

  He was puzzled. ‘Why?’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘This is not a love match.’

  That was a sabre thrust. ‘Maybe not, but I do want a real marriage. Children. All of it. Not separate beds and married in name only.’ He lifted her chin to look at him. ‘We will do well together as man and wife. Tell me you are willing to try.’

  She covered her cheeks with her hands.

  He pulled them away. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  She averted her gaze. ‘You have done nothing to make me unhappy.’

  He moved until she was forced to look at him again. ‘Does my sleeping with you make you unhappy?’

  ‘No.’ She recovered more of her courage and looked at him again. ‘I merely did not expect you would want such—such intimacy with me.’

  He released her hands and stroked her hair. ‘You must shake off this idea that I would not want you as a husband wants a wife, because, I assure you, I do.’

  He leaned forwards and touched his lips to hers, but she was not so warm and willing as she’d been for that first kiss. Still, he’d accept the challenge of winning her over. He knelt in front of her, placing her between his knees so he could hold her close. He kissed her again, this time lingering on her lips. His body flared into response, all too visibly.

  She trembled beneath his kiss and strained against his embrace.

  He released her and backed slowly away. ‘We have a lifetime to sort this out.’

  She gazed at him with wide eyes, as if she had not expected either the kiss or his retreat.

  Perhaps, later on, he could ask her what had made her withdraw from him. She had passion—their first lovemaking surely revealed that. It was not unlike what came out in her music. All he needed was to make her want to express that passion with him.

  He rose from the bed and opened his trunk for clean linen. ‘What would you like to do today?’ He glanced back at her and caught her staring at him.

  Yes. They would sort out the lovemaking. He was confident of it.

  She quickly averted her gaze and rose from the bed herself. ‘I would say play music, but since you rescued me from my mother’s prison, I have quite refilled the well. Performing at the gaming house tonight will be sufficient for me.’ She poured some clean water into the basin and washed her face.

  ‘There is some place I would like to take you.’ He turned away purposely so she could remove her nightdress without him watching. There would be time for watching eventually.

  ‘I will be at your disposal, then,’ she said.

  ‘First thing,’ he said, pulling on his pantaloons, ‘we send for your maid and your trunk. I had hoped it would be here by today.’

  ‘I expect my mother delayed it.’ He heard her moving behind him. ‘So that we would have to call upon her in order for it to be sent.’

  ‘Then we must call upon her first thing.’ He donned his shirt and dared a glance.

  She was in her shift and corset, but was struggling with its laces. He strode over to her.

  She allowed him to tighten them. ‘I suppose we have no choice.’

  He tied a bow. ‘Shall I call upon her alone with a coach and Cummings? We could take your trunk by force, if necessary.’

  She laughed. ‘Surely you do not mean it.’

  She stepped into her dress and put her arms through its sleeves.

  ‘I do mean it.’ The gown had buttons down the back. ‘I’ll call upon your mother, fetch your maid and your trunk and you may amuse yourself here. Play the pianoforte.’ He glanced around. There was clothing and such scattered everywhere. ‘Or pick up this room.’

  She swung around. There were mere inches between them. ‘I would scrub the chamberpots rather than call upon my mother today.’

  Hardly words to provoke passion.

  Undaunted, he leaned down, closer, his eyes fixed on her lovely pink lips. ‘Play music,’ he murmured. ‘Leave the pots to the maids. In fact, leave this room to the maids. Play music.’

  He forced himself to move away lest he seize her in his arms and take the kiss he so very much desired. The ease between them had returned and he had no wish to risk losing it again.

  * * *

  Their comfort with each other lasted through breakfast and Xavier saw Phillipa comfortably seated at her new pianoforte, now in the drawing room, before setting out to call upon Lady Westleigh.

  He walked to Davies Street, telling Cummings to meet him there in a short time with a hackney coach.

  The September day was chilly and damp and he quickened his pace to keep warm. When he reached the Westleigh town house, he sounded the knocker.

  The butler answered the door, his quizzical look something more than expected.

  ‘Mr Campion to see Lady Westleigh,’ he told the man.

  ‘Right away, sir,’ the butler responded. ‘You may wait in the drawing room.’

  He gestured for Xavier to follow him, but instead Xavier said, ‘I can find my way.’

  The man nodded and started to climb the stairs. He stopped and turned back to Xavier. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Campion, but how fares your wife?’

  Xavier grinned. ‘She is very well. I will tell her you asked about her. Last I saw her she was playing her new pianoforte.’

  The corners of the butler’s mouth turned up for a fleeting moment. ‘How very good, sir.’

  Moments later Lady Westleigh swept into the drawing room. General Henson was right behind her. ‘What is it, Xavier? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Good day, my lady. General.’ He bowed. ‘Nothing is wrong. I am here to pick up Phillipa’s trunk and to bring her maid to her.’

  ‘Where is Phillipa?’ Lady Westleigh asked. ‘I wanted to speak with her.’

  ‘To beg her forgiveness?’ he asked.

  Her eyes flashed. ‘No. To tell her you should live here. Or with your parents. Until we find you rooms of your own.’

  ‘Lady Westleigh.’ His voice was firm. ‘Stop managing. Release the trunk and the maid and let us go about our lives.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, sir!’ the general broke in.

  Lady Westleigh motioned for him to be quiet. ‘You cannot leave Phillipa to her own devices, Xavier,’ she told him. ‘She will simply closet herself away. You must make her mix in society. Limit her music—’

  ‘Never.’ His voice deepened and he leaned closer to her. ‘I will never limit anything she wishes to do. Certainly not her music.’ He stepped back. ‘Now, if you please, summon her maid. My coach will be here very soon.’

  She walked to the door and stepped out of the room to speak to the butler. ‘Find Lacey and bring her to me,’ Xavier heard her say.

  The general took that moment to talk to him. ‘Campion, I will not have this insolence towards Lady Westleigh. She d
oes not deserve it. The welfare of her daughter has been her greatest concern, I promise you.’

  Xavier straightened. ‘Removing Phillipa’s pianoforte was a terrible cruelty. It will take time for either one of us to forgive her that.’

  ‘She meant it to be instructive.’

  It had almost taken the life out of Phillipa.

  Xavier met the man’s gaze. ‘Keep Lady Westleigh entertained, General. Keep her busy. Do not let her interfere. No more involving herself in what Phillipa does or does not do.’

  Lady Westleigh re-entered the room. ‘I will always involve myself with my children.’

  ‘Not with Phillipa,’ Xavier said. ‘Not unless asked.’ He made certain she knew he was speaking in all seriousness. ‘No more interference or I will break my vow to you and tell what I’ve sworn never to tell.’

  About Phillipa’s accident.

  Lady Westleigh blanched. ‘You would not dare!’

  He did not back down. ‘I suggest you do not test my resolve.’

  A few minutes later the maid appeared, her gaze sliding towards Xavier. ‘Yes, m’lady?’

  ‘Apparently my daughter wishes you to be her lady’s maid, but I must tell you that it means living above a gaming house which is not at all respectable. You do not have to go if you do not wish it. You may stay here.’

  The woman was attempting to manage the maid’s life as well as her daughter’s. And his.

  ‘I do not mind living atop a gaming house,’ the maid said.

  Lady Westleigh took a breath. ‘Very well. Pack my daughter’s things, and yours, as quickly as you can. Mr Campion will take you there right now.’

  ‘All is packed, m’lady,’ the maid said. ‘Since yesterday.’

  The hackney coach arrived and Cummings and a footman carried Phillipa’s and the maid’s trunks out to the coach. The maid said quick goodbyes to the other servants and, in no time, they were on their way.

  In the coach the maid looked tiny seated with the two men.

  ‘It is Lacey, is it not?’ Xavier asked her.

  ‘Mary Lacey, sir,’ the girl replied.

  He introduced her to Cummings, who nodded.

  ‘Lady Phillipa will be very glad to see you,’ he told the girl.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She blushed.

  * * *

  Phillipa heard the carriage pull up in front of the gaming house. She left the pianoforte and walked to the window. Xavier returned. With Lacey.

  She hurried down the stairs and opened the door for them.

  ‘M’lady!’ Lacey cried, skipping to her.

  ‘I am so very glad you decided to come.’ Phillipa clasped her hand. ‘Come in. I will show you around.’

  ‘I cannot believe I’ll be living in a gaming house!’ the girl cried.

  ‘It is just temporary, but I’m sure you will find it very comfortable.’

  She introduced Lacey to MacEvoy, who bowed and looked very pleased to meet her. Xavier introduced both Phillipa and Lacey to the kitchen servants and the maid-of-all-work. They left Lacy to the disorder in the bedchamber and went out again.

  ‘I almost forgot.’ Phillipa pulled a note from her pocket. ‘This came from your father.’

  He stopped to read it. ‘He says there is a small town house very near here that we might be able to let. Shall we go see it?’

  ‘I am willing,’ she said. ‘But where else were you going to take me?’

  He placed the note in a pocket. ‘Let me surprise you.’

  * * *

  The leasing agent was not far and, after a surprised glance at Phillipa’s scar, declared himself delighted to show the Earl of Piermont’s son the town house.

  ‘Tenants are few and far between this time of year,’ the man said as he led them to a second-rate town house on Dover Street, directly across Piccadilly from St James’s Street.

  ‘The walk would be only a little more than a street,’ Xavier remarked.

  The agent unlocked the door. ‘I am certain the interior will please you.’

  The hall was unremarkable, but there was a comfortable study and a dining room behind it. The first floor had a nicely decorated drawing room, with plenty of space for a pianoforte, and a bedchamber behind.

  One bedchamber with dressing rooms on each side.

  There was another bedroom on the second floor and a maids’ room with three beds. They descended the stairs again and examined the kitchen area and more servants’ rooms.

  She could be living here with Xavier, Phillipa thought. She would be in charge of the house, the meals, the servants.

  ‘We can assist you in finding excellent servants, as well,’ the agent said. ‘There are several good people from whom to choose.’ He smiled. ‘Do you wish to take the house?’

  Xavier looked to Phillipa.

  She was to make the decision? ‘It—it seems satisfactory.’

  Xavier turned to the man. ‘We will take it.’

  They returned to the agent’s office, signed the papers and received the keys.

  ‘Shall I send some servants for you to interview, ma’am?’ the agent asked.

  This was all too sudden.

  Xavier answered for her. ‘Let us contact you about that tomorrow.’

  By the time they walked out of the agent’s office Phillipa’s head was spinning. She walked numbly at Xavier’s side, not even heeding where they were headed.

  Xavier finally spoke. ‘Please tell me you wanted that house, Phillipa.’

  She slowed her pace. ‘I assure you, it is all I could want.’ She took a breath. ‘I am simply dumbfounded. Two days ago I was completely under my mother’s thumb. Now I am a married woman with a house to manage.’

  He threaded her arm through his. ‘I share your amazement. These are good changes, Phillipa. You must believe me.’

  She wanted to assuage his concerns, but could not. ‘I am too shaken by the changes to declare them good or bad.’

  He pulled her closer. ‘They will be good.’

  They walked towards Piccadilly.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ she asked.

  ‘To the hack stand,’ he replied. ‘To Cheapside.’

  ‘Cheapside?’ What could be there?

  * * *

  They walked to Piccadilly and Bolton Street, where the hackney cabs waited for passengers. They were immediately hailed by a familiar voice. ‘Mr Campion! Over here.’

  It was their hackney coach driver. He stood with his horses while they drank from buckets of water. The waterman waited nearby.

  When the jarvey saw Phillipa, he pulled on his forelock. ‘G’day to you, ma’am. Will you be wanting a ride today?’

  Xavier opened the door of the coach. ‘Take us to King Street in Cheapside.’

  The waterman picked up the buckets and the driver climbed up to his seat. Xavier helped Phillipa into the carriage. She’d no sooner settled in their seat than the horses set off.

  ‘Why do we go to Cheapside?’ she asked. ‘Are we to do some shopping?’

  ‘You will see,’ he answered cryptically.

  The coach wended its way through streets filled with wagons, horses and other carriages, until it pulled up to a shop with a newly painted sign, Jeffers Cabinetry.

  Why bring her here? He could not have known they would lease a house. Besides, that house already had all the furniture one could wish.

  Phillipa and Xavier alighted and Xavier paid the jarvey.

  ‘I can wait for you at the stand, if you like.’ The jarvey gestured to a place down the street where several hacks waited.

  ‘Good of you,’ Xavier said. He rejoined Phillipa.

  ‘We are visiting a furniture shop?’ A furniture shop was his surprise?

  ‘We are inde
ed.’ He reached for the door handle, but paused. ‘Phillipa, I must tell you. This shop is run by one of the men who attacked us.’

  She shrank back. ‘No! Then why bring me here? Are you going to see to the man’s arrest?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He turned the handle and held the door for her to enter.

  The shop displayed a variety of wooden cabinets, tables and chairs, all of simple, unembellished but pleasing design. She could hardly heed them, however, wary at encountering a man who had attacked them in the street and attempted to rob them.

  A shop clerk—not the man she feared—greeted them. ‘May I be of assistance, sir?’

  Xavier answered, ‘I am here to see Jeffers. Tell him Mr Campion wishes to see him.’

  The clerk’s eyes widened. ‘Mr Campion!’ He snapped to attention. ‘I will find him right away, sir.’

  The clerk’s reaction seemed very odd.

  It took no time at all for this Jeffers to emerge from a doorway covered by a thick curtain. It was the man Xavier cut with her knife. It must be the man, because a scar remained, still red from recent healing. But rather than gaunt and menacing, this man wore a pleasant, welcoming expression. His pleasure at seeing Xavier was genuine.

  ‘So good of you to come.’ He shook Xavier’s hand.

  ‘I brought someone with me.’ Xavier stepped aside so Jeffers could see Phillipa.

  The man blanched. Even through the netting on her bonnet, he recognised her.

  ‘Ma’am. Ma’am,’ he entreated. ‘I beg you to forgive me. It was a foolish act to accost you. I am heartily ashamed of my part in it.’

  She stiffened, the anger from that night resurfacing. ‘Why did you do it, then?’

  Xavier interrupted. ‘Phillipa, first allow me to present Mr Jeffers to you. Mr Jeffers, this is Lady Phillipa, my wife.’

  The man bowed respectfully.

  Xavier gestured to the doorway behind the clerk’s counter. ‘Let us go in the back. I would like my wife to see it.’

  In the back, three men worked on building furniture. One put the finishing touches on a cabinet. Another worked on a chair. The third, a table.

  Jeffers led them to a corner where a set of completed chairs and table stood, far enough away from the workers that they would not be overheard. ‘Let me pour us some tea.’