The next morning from a Piccadilly pastry shop, he ordered sent round to her, a fresh bake of their finest, crispest biscuits. To accompany them, he sent her orange marmalade from Fortnum and Mason.
That afternoon, he received polite cards bearing her thanks.
Instead as payment, he hungered for her kisses.
The following week, he managed to have scarce two minutes alone with her. Lady Bridgewater’s invitation list this week was filled with men. Men of all ages. Men of all titles. And wealth. And damnable charm.
She dipped in curtsy. “Wonderful to see you again, my lord.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known that you were so popular.”
She glanced at the room, full of chattering people. “Charming group. Entertaining, don’t you think?”
“They love you.”
“No, they don’t, Theo. They appreciate a woman who has something more to say than complaints about her dressmaker.”
“Come with me to the theater tonight.”
“I dine with the Devereaux.”
“I must invite myself then.”
“A habit of yours?”
“It has worked for me in the past.”
The next morning, angry at his failure to move her, he went to Doctor’s Commons and applied to the Archbishop for a special license. He grew tired of taking no for an answer.
Chapter 10
The next Wednesday, she could not leave her bed. With a disappointment that she would not be able to banter with Theo today, she laid down again. For the next few days, she felt better, then not.
The following Wednesday, she was weak. Once more, she had to miss her favorite pastime. She put her unease to indigestion or a winter malady.
But the next day, the minute her bare feet hit her bedroom floor, the room spun. She’d scarcely been ill a day in her life. A good thing, too, because she’d hated every pompous doctor, every bloviating physician, every crude sawbones she’d ever met when her husbands grew ill. And so, stunned that she’d gotten some ugly condition somewhere somehow, she gingerly laid back down in her bed. What had she eaten that was bad? She searched her memory and recalled no dish that had not tasted the very finest. Only the biscuits that Theo sent each morning appealed to her. And only by noon, if at all.
And she decided that, yes, it was most likely time to call in a physician.
The clock in the upper hall struck one when she managed to sit up without the world whirling around her.
Her maid had just put out her day gown of purple wool and a delicate white fichu when her butler knocked at her outer door.
“Do see what that’s about, Mary.”
The girl went to the sitting room and reported back immediately. “Williams says you have a caller, Madam.”
Oh, dear. Penn patted the sides of her head. She’d asked Mary to style a simple coil of hair at her nape this morning. She was not in the mood for long sittings before her mirror. She looked terrible anyway. “Who is it?”
“The Marquess of Tain, Madam.”
Theo? The man was much too persistent. What would she do about him? The sweet darling could not be dissuaded.
She flapped her arms in resignation. “Powder will do. And a touch of rouge for my cheeks.” She bent to her reflection and stuck out her tongue at the pallid woman there.
Spare minutes later, she opened the door and strode in…only two steps, then halted.
“Theo? What are you—? Oh!” He looked marvelous this afternoon in a navy coat, turquoise silk waistcoat, black breeches and charming smile. Bowing as elegantly as if he were greeting the Queen, he grinned at her in greeting. But he was not alone. To either side of him stood two little girls, one blonde, the second with more red to her hair. Each child gazed at Penn with the eagerness of children well attuned to social engagement.
“Good afternoon, Lady Goddard,” he said with a nonchalance that told her he’d billed this to his offspring as an ordinary visit upon a friend. “We make our formal calls today. Thank you for inviting us.”
She shot him a withering look. I didn’t, you rascal.
He winked at her, then said, “Allow me to present my daughters, Lady Goddard. This is my oldest, Lady Violet.” The blondest beamed at her and sank on her heels, head bowed. Her curtsy reminded Penn of a tiny bird fluttering in a bath.
“Lady Violet,” Penn said, enchanted by the child’s regard of her. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“And this is Lady Suzanna.”
This little girl was a plump toddler. How old? Three, perhaps? But she giggled as she dipped.
“Lady Suzanna, I am happy to meet you, too. How delightful that you three have come to visit me!” Penn regained her composure and walked into the room to admire them more closely. Violet looked like her father. Suzanna, too, save for her sea blue eyes and the red sheen to her hair. “Won’t you sit and talk with me for a few minutes?”
Theo took the large Chippendale by the fire. He riveted his gaze on her, hot and intense.
Penn tore her attention from him and focused on his children.
Violet perched herself on the settee behind her with a grace extraordinary for one so young. Looking for direction or approbation, she glued her eyes to her father.
Suzanna quickly scrambled up next to her sibling and folded her hands, then didn’t, then tried again—desperately—not to fidget.
“I wonder if you have a favorite for tea?” Penn took a quick step toward the chair, but her head spun and she groped for the armrest.
Aware he watched her like a bird of prey, she tossed her head. That made her dizzy spell a whirlwind. But she smiled at Violet, then Suzanna.
Violet nodded. “I like cake.”
Suzanna said, “Taffy.”
“Cake I’m certain we have. But taffy, I am not—”
“Taffy?” Suzanna frowned. “Papa?”
Violet took up the topic. “Papa said you have a good cook.”
“I do. I like to eat.” Usually. Not today though. She put a hand to her stomach and wondered where Williams was with the tea tray.
Concern spread across Theo’s face.
She pressed her palm to the seat of her chair.
“You do like cake?” Violet was bright with hope. “What kind do you have?”
“A sponge, I believe.” The very idea set her throat to close.
“Suzanna likes lemon curd,” Violet said. “Have you any of that?”
“We shall see,” Penn said and hoped to heaven Williams returned soon with the goods. She had to speak of something besides food!
Within a few minutes, he did her proud with a fine display of cakes and little sandwiches, jams and jellies. She piled their little plates high, but not her own. One slice of cake was enough…and even that she did not dare to touch.
She focused on their conversation. Their home north near York and how they liked snow and hated rain. They spoke of Christmas and the gifts they’d received.
“I understand you spent the holidays with your aunt and uncle and your cousins.” She drew them out and their ensuing discussion was one of all the joys of the season.
“Aunt Annabelle had orange cake and taffy,” said Violet. “And plum pudding.”
“Don’t like plum pudding,” said Suzanna with definite distaste.
Penn’s stomach rolled in agreement.
“I gather,” said Theo with his gaze on Penn’s hand at her midriff, “Lady Goddard agrees with you, Suzanna.”
She gulped. “Not my favorite, so true.”
He stared at her with not a trace of humor on his face. “I say, my dears, do finish your tea. We have preoccupied Lady Goddard far too long.”
The children gobbled the last of their cake, used their little serviettes to wipe the last crumbs from their mouths and hopped down to the floor.
“Thank you, Lady Goddard.” Violet spread her skirts and bobbed.
Her sister did her finest imitation.
Soon they were at the front door, Williams offering up
their winter wraps.
When he opened the door and a blast of winter wind rushed in, Theo told his daughters to run ahead. His coachman waited just outside. He did not leave, but regarded her butler with a speaking look.
“My lord,” Williams said in farewell, backed away and left them alone.
Theo stepped to her, wrapping the ends of his cape around her and drawing her against his solid warm body. “Thank you for today. They enjoyed your company. You are natural with them.”
“I like children,” she said about her own merits. “I just haven’t been around many often.”
“They like you.” He got that warm glimmer to his eyes that reminded her of their hours naked and panting, needing and loving each other.
She toyed with a scolding. “You are a devil to spring them on me unannounced.”
“I know. Put that down to my arrogance.”
“I will,” she said, wiggling her brows.
“To what will I put your illness?”
She sighed. Was there nothing this man did not notice about her? “I must’ve eaten something disagreeable.”
He tipped up her chin and examined her as if he were a scientist discovering a rare creature. “Go to bed.”
“I will.”
“Get better.”
She gave him half a smile and a little nod.
“Soon,” he insisted. “I have plans for us.”
She squeezed shut her eyes. “Oh, Theo. This attempt by you to make our friendship a—a—”
“A love affair?” He cupped her cheeks. His beautiful eyes promised tomorrows she must not dream of. “It is what this is. Always has been, my darling. Get well. I return day after tomorrow.”
“Theo, please.”
“The lady doth protest too much! I am returning. You will receive me. I have things to say without Vi and Suzanna in tow.” He kissed her forehead. “I need you. I’ve needed you for twelve years.”
* * *
The next morning, he ordered a bonnet for her from a milliner in Half Moon Street. He’d seen the royal purple confection in the shop window last week. He enclosed a card that wished her a bright day and a speedy recovery from her malady.
The next day in the afternoon post, he had her reply. She was overwhelmed with his good taste and she’d take the opportunity to wear it as soon as the snow stopped. Gazing out his study window at home, he noted that the snow had stopped and he hoped he’d hear from her.
But he didn’t.
The next day, he appeared at the Fortnum and Mason shop and purchased the finest imported chocolate they had. The card he enclosed said he hoped she would try the cocoa powder soon and send him word when he might appear on her doorstep to share a cup of hot chocolate with her.
But one day went by without anything more than ‘Thank you’ scrawled on her calling card.
He told himself he was concerned. Not alarmed.
What in hell had she contracted?
That night, he did not sleep. Ghouls came to visit him, shouting outrageous insults that his two wives had uttered as they passed this mortal coil. They had never said such hideous things. But the words personified his worst fears. He could not lose Penn.
Not now. Not that they were together…or nearly so.
He fought with himself through breakfast. And lunch.
Unable to do a damn thing, he ordered his butler to get his coachman to bring round the town coach.
He was shrugging into his greatcoat when the clatter of horses’ hooves stopped before his home.
He motioned to his butler to see who called.
Running up the walk was Penn.
Her hair hastily pinned up, wisps of it escaped her little hat. Her cheeks were rosy. Her complexion gleaming. She clutched a shawl of all the frigging things and picked her way across the ice in slippers! Satin slippers!
Was she mad?
He was horrified as much by her footwear and what he saw on her face.
She’d been crying, tracks of tears marred her lovely cheeks. Fear widened her eyes as she rushed inside, glaring at his butler.
He motioned for his man to take his leave, then he took her by the points of her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m surprised.”
“What?”
“And shocked.”
“What? What? All right. Why?”
She bit her lips. “Oh, Theo.”
“What, my love?” She looked marvelous. She looked like the hounds of hell were after her.
“I’ve had the physician.”
My Christ. She hated them to a man. “What’s wrong with you, darling?”
“I can’t eat. Just your biscuits.”
He looked her over. She seemed thinner. Except for her breasts. Were they bigger? But what in hell was wrong with her? “And?”
“Oh, Theo!” She could barely whisper. “Theo!”
“Whatever it is, my darling, you will come here and live with me and I will take care of you.”
“Oh, Theo!” she wailed and tears cascaded over her chubby cheeks. “You’ll have me?”
“I will, my love, today.”
“But I refused you,” she complained.
“I have a license. I’ve had one, you know.” He laughed like a Bedlamite, hoping he could make her laugh. But his joy was hollow. “You’ll come here—”
She grabbed the wool of his cape as if it were a lifeline over rushing waters. “You’ll marry me, Theo?”
“I will. I will. Are you asking me?” He did smile at that. Wait. Was he dreaming?
“I am. I am. You’ll marry me?”
“I will.” He hauled her closer. She was so precious to him and if he was to lose her to some horrendous disease, he’d have her for the days she had left. Christ, what was his curse that all the women he touched died?
“Oh, marvelous, Theo. I—I worried so.”
“You mustn’t ever. My one true love, you mustn’t ever worry that I won’t—”
“I’m pregnant, Theo. I’m pregnant. The doctor says—”
“Dear god.” He couldn’t clear the fog in his mind. Blind with it, he clutched her closer. “What?”
“I’m pregnant. Can you believe it?” She was bubbly with disbelief.
He was…quite…speechless.
“I’m pregnant.” She beamed.
He brushed her hair back from her cheeks. “Of course you are, my love. Who wouldn’t be after all the time we spent in each other’s arms?”
“Oh, you joke, but isn’t it marvelous?”
“That you will marry me, yes. That you’re pregnant, yes. Oh, yes.”
Oh, Jesus. No.
He caught her up in his arms, she chuckling, he putting on the best act of his life. He strode into his parlor and sat down with her in his lap. She kissed him and he kissed her a thousand times. His mind whirling, he had to steel himself for the next nine months. Or eight. Or whatever his time was to be with her before…
But he would not think on that. He’d treasure her. Treat her. Take care of her as if she were made of glass. Or chiffon. Or the pure refreshing air of life that she’d always been to him.
They spoke of a wedding.
“In a few days,” she said. “I did feel much better this morning which is why I took the chance to have the physician in. I hoped of course, he’d tell me I suffered some dietary malady and was recovering.” She giggled and nestled close to him, petting his cravat and planting little kisses on his jaw. “Shall we do Saint George’s? And we can write to Marsden Hall. I bet Gertrude will be thrilled at this. Will your father, do you think?”
“Yes, that I am most assured of.” The Duke of Harlow knew how to forgive, forget and now as well, he knew how to change.
“He won’t believe that I am with child, will he?” She made funny little faces at him.
“No, but he will be thrilled.”
“As you are.” She pressed her soft lips to his. “Imagine. This time, we may have your heir!”
“We may indeed, my lo
ve.” He curled her close and tucked her head against his shoulder.
For the next few hours, they talked not of their past. But of their future together. What they’d do. Where they would live and travel. How they would take their children with them everywhere they went.
And they spoke nary a word about the subject that plagued him like a ghoul.
Dear God. How would he live for the next months with the joy that should fill him now that she would be his loving wife?
Because if she’d believed that she had put a hex on the men she married, he believed he’d put one on the women he’d wed. And they’d both died in childbirth.
And now he’d kill her in that same way.
Chapter 11
The tranquility of his days gave counterpoint to the ecstasy of his nights.
He loved her with an ardor that seemed to multiply each day, each hour. In so many ways, she was incomparable. He could barely keep count of her assets. Her good humor despite her unease in the mornings. Her gaiety with his daughters. Her lavish affections upon them. Her willingness to sit with them for their tea parties with their new Christmas dolls. Her courtesy with staff. Her open houses and her generosity with his tenants, especially their children.
Penn was a true treasure to live with. She was not grumpy. She was not petty. She was not peevish. Or fascinated with fashion or flowers.
But she was very enthralled with him. At any hour of the day or night. Astonished at her appetite for him, he welcomed her ardor. Her addiction to him. So unlike the two women whom he’d wed before, she was all refreshment and a profound relief. She had simple tastes. Good food. Good wine. Good books. Good conversation. She was unaffected by the foibles associated with the women of her class. She was unbothered by the little oversights of the staff. Unimpressed with her power or position or title. Most of all he loved her for her lack of female posturing about intimate relations. She had no megrims. No complaints about their love-making. No excuses to ward him off. On the contrary, at any hour of the day, she often took him by the hand and led him to their suite. There she closed and locked the door, disrobed with speed and his help, then giggling, removed his clothes with alacrity and teasing. If she were not pregnant when he wed her in March, she would have been a thousand times by June.
The Marquess's Final Fling: Christmas Belles, Book #4 Page 8
