What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  “You misunderstand me. Or more to the point you misunderstand the importance I place upon my vows.”

  “So that’s why you look so terribly miserable.” Lucinda gave a contemptuous snort. “I never took you for the faithful type.”

  “That’s because you don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Know you? I’ve committed every part of your body to memory. I know what pleases you, the sounds you make upon your release. I know a virgin bride wouldn’t have the first idea how to satisfy your needs.”

  “Your comment only serves to prove my point.”

  Priscilla put her hand to her heart. What was he saying? Had he found satisfaction in the marriage bed?

  Lucinda raised her chin. “She must surely have the skills of a courtesan if she can keep you from straying. Well, I cannot wait to meet the virtuous creature.”

  “I doubt my wife would enjoy the company of dissolute rogues.”

  “Why not? She married you.” Lucinda shrugged. “I can be patient. It’s only a matter of time before you tire of her and are on the hunt for something more substantial to appease your appetite.”

  Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “Have you not heard? Did the gossips not tell you? We married for love, not out of necessity.”

  “Love?” the woman scoffed. “I am sure you are deeply in love — with her dowry.”

  Hopkins’ heavy footsteps captured their attention.

  “Have John find Miss Pearce a hackney,” Matthew instructed. “It seems she’s leaving alone this evening and I’ll not have her walking the streets.”

  “It has already been arranged, sir. There are two cabs waiting outside. If you’d care to follow me, Miss Pearce.”

  Lucinda inclined her head. “I shall take your courteousness as a sign of hope, Matthew. Indeed, we can continue our conversation at your next gathering.” She strode towards the door but stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “I do so love a challenge. Don’t you?”

  Hopkins escorted Miss Pearce to her vehicle and returned almost immediately. “There was no need for a hackney. Mr Davis and his companion offered to take Miss Pearce home.”

  Matthew sighed. “Wait here and watch the stairs. I’ll take John and Robert and scour the garden.”

  “Billings is waiting outside. He said you have an appointment this evening.”

  “God, is it that time already.”

  Priscilla suppressed a gasp. Was he going out? But it was one o’clock in the morning.

  With a quick glance at the grandfather clock, Matthew said, “Tell him I’ll be along shortly. I’ll not leave here until I know Mrs Chandler is safe. Perhaps it would be wise to let a footman stand watch until I return. Whoever you chose can forgo all duties tomorrow. I won’t expect to see him serving at breakfast.”

  “Of course, sir. I shall make the necessary arrangements.”

  Matthew strode off in the direction of the ballroom while Hopkins hovered near the stairs. Priscilla crept back to her chamber unnoticed. Once inside, she peered out of the window.

  With an air of determination and purpose, Matthew sent the accompanying footmen off to various corners of the garden, and they scampered away like sheepdogs eager to round up the wayward flock.

  While scouring the space beyond the topiary hedge looking for the bare-bottomed gentleman, Priscilla failed to notice the moment her husband glanced up at the window. When they finally locked gazes, his pursed lips and haunted expression conveyed only one emotion — guilt.

  For some reason unbeknown, she placed her palm flat on the glass. It was foolish to think the gesture would bring either of them comfort. He held his hand up to her, not to wave but more a sign of recognition. Then he turned away and marched off in search of his servants.

  Matthew Chandler was an enigma. One minute he was caring, passionate, a man capable of love, or so she believed. Then, in contradiction to what she knew of his character, he was often cold, indifferent, insular.

  She flopped down onto the bed as she considered her dilemma. Something had to be done. If they continued in the same vein — nights spent alone, living separate lives — love would forever elude them.

  Chapter 7

  The empty seat at the opposite end of the dining table drew Priscilla’s attention. Despite struggling with other aspects of married life, she enjoyed spending the first hour of the day with Matthew.

  Perhaps it was a good thing he’d chosen to remain in bed. The dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep were hardly attractive. And her mind was too preoccupied to partake in conversation. Besides, did it matter if she ate alone? Did it matter if she slept alone? She’d been doing both activities unaided for the best part of twenty years and needed no encouragement or advice.

  The clock on the mantel chimed ten.

  Scoundrels never rose before noon. Or so she’d heard. By the time Matthew had returned home from his mysterious appointment the birds were busy chirping their morning song.

  The burning question was where in heaven’s name had he been?

  Priscilla drew in a breath. After his promise to be faithful, she had to trust his outing had nothing to do with bedding Lucinda Pearce. Then again, perhaps their definition of faithfulness differed. It seemed they had conflicting opinions on other matters too. When he’d agreed to come to her bed on occasion, she’d simply not realised how infrequent that would be.

  After taking numerous sips of her tea, counting the flowers on the china plate, and drumming her fingers to a military tune on the table, she decided to take action.

  “Right.” Jumping to her feet, she stared at the portrait of a lady with windswept hair and a sultry grin. “The best things in life are worth fighting for. And every battle needs a plan.”

  A light rap on the door disturbed her mutterings, and Hopkins entered.

  “Did you call, madam? Is everything to your satisfaction?”

  Priscilla couldn’t help but be amused by his lofty tone. Just like her husband, Hopkins behaved differently during the day. “I was thinking aloud. But now you’re here will you inform Billings that I wish to go out.”

  “Out, madam?” Hopkins cleared his throat. The lines between his brows grew decidedly deeper. “Mr Chandler did not mention an outing.”

  Could she not make a decision on her own? Must she have her husband’s permission to breathe? Perhaps he considered it just as unsafe outside the house.

  “I am to go out alone. Mr Chandler is still in his bed, and after such a late night I do not wish to disturb him.”

  Hopkins inclined his head. “May I be so bold as to ask if you’ll be shopping? Mr Chandler will want me to advise him of your whereabouts when he rises.”

  “I’m to take tea with …” She could hardly visit her aunt and uncle. Neither were qualified to offer advice to a lady whose husband refused to share her bed. “I’m to take tea with Lord and Lady Morford.”

  Well, they had insisted she call round should she need anything. And by all accounts, Isabella’s relationship with Tristan had been fraught with problems. The lady was friendly, approachable, the ideal person to act as confidante.

  Priscilla glanced at the clock. It was far too early to make a social call. But she could not risk Matthew waking as he would insist on accompanying her to visit Tristan.

  “Tell Billings to be ready outside in thirty minutes,” she instructed firmly. It would not do to have the servants think she lacked authority. “I shall be with Lady Morford for an hour or two should Mr Chandler have any concerns.”

  Hopkins appeared placated. “I’ll summon Billings at once, madam.”

  They parted company at the bottom of the stairs. She waited until Hopkins was out of sight before rushing to her room to wash her hands and put on her bonnet and pelisse. It would not be a surprise to find that the loyal servant had woken Matthew to inform him of her plans, which was why she hurried back downstairs to wait in the hall.

  When Priscilla arrived at the Morfords’ townhouse in Bedford S
quare, Ebsworth welcomed her into the hall with his usual air of indifference. Tristan’s mother had invited her to tea numerous times during the last few months, her determination for Priscilla and Tristan to wed being the motivating factor.

  The thought of seeing the meddling matron again sent a shiver running from her throat to her navel. Thank the Lord the woman had been shipped off to Ripon. Matthew was right about one thing: falling prey to her lies and deceit made Priscilla feel like a fool. And yet, given the option, she wouldn’t change a thing.

  “If you would care to wait in the drawing room, madam, Lady Morford will be with you momentarily. She insisted you make yourself comfortable.”

  Priscilla inclined her head. “Thank you, Ebsworth.” She handed the butler her pelisse, gloves and bonnet and followed his measured steps to the drawing room. The servant walked with the grace of a duke, but she doubted he was as handy with his fists as Hopkins.

  Priscilla glanced around the richly furnished room. A pianoforte stood proudly in the corner next to a golden harp. A fine collection of sporting paintings graced the walls. An impressive crystal glass chandelier acted as a focal point, the large gilt mirror on one wall capturing the reflection.

  Had Matthew not offered his hand this could have been her home. She could have been Lady Morford. An image of her husband flashed into her mind. Matthew Chandler oozed a raw masculine energy that heated her blood. His wicked hands scorched her skin whereas the thought of kissing Tristan was akin to being wrapped in a frozen blanket.

  “Mrs Chandler.” Isabella rushed forward and took hold of Priscilla’s hands. “What a pleasant surprise. You should have sent word, and I would have been better prepared to receive you.” Isabella released Priscilla’s hands, brushed the creases from her dress, and tucked a few stray tendrils of hair behind her ear. “I must look an awful fright.”

  In all honesty, Isabella looked as though she’d been tumbled in a barn. Indeed, the lady’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips added weight to the theory that Priscilla had interrupted a private moment.

  “Not at all, you always look splendid.” Embarrassment made it impossible for Priscilla to maintain eye contact. “If it is inconvenient, I can call another time.”

  “No. No.” Isabella waved her hands. “Please sit, and I shall send for tea.”

  “I do not want to impose.”

  Isabella pursed her lips. “It must be important else you would not have come.” Pity flashed in her dark brown eyes. “And I would dearly like to become better acquainted.”

  Days of suppressed emotion burst forth in a long weary sigh. “I … I need to talk to someone else I shall go out of my mind.”

  Unperturbed by the hint of desperation in Priscilla’s voice, Isabella tapped her affectionately on the arm. “Then you have come to the right place. Tell me your troubles, and I shall do my utmost to help.” Perhaps it was the sight of Priscilla’s trembling lips that caused Isabella to add, “On second thoughts, let us forgo the tea and have a drop of Madeira. I know it’s early but … well … who’s to know?”

  Priscilla flopped down onto the red damask sofa whilst Isabella hurried to the side table and returned with two glasses of Madeira.

  “To the goddess, Venus.” With an amused grin, Isabella raised her glass in salute. “Let her wisdom guide us through the challenges we face when attempting to control our husbands.”

  A snigger burst from Priscilla’s lips. “Is my dilemma so obvious?”

  Isabella sat in the chair opposite. “You married Matthew Chandler. I did not expect things to run smoothly.”

  Priscilla raised her glass. “To Venus. May she give me the courage to succeed in my endeavours.” She took a sip of Madeira but swallowed more than she intended. The amber liquid warmed her throat. “Heavens. Why does it taste more potent during the day?”

  Isabella laughed. “I think it has something to do with having an empty stomach. But I agree, it seems stronger than usual.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I came.” Priscilla held the crystal glass in her lap, cradled between her palms. “After all, I have only been married for a matter of days.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you knew little of your husband before you married. I am not surprised you’re finding it hard to settle. It will take time to grow accustomed to one another. Until then, you must bear it as best as you can.”

  The point was she didn’t want marriage to be bearable. She didn’t want to live with a stranger and pass pleasantries. As ridiculous as it seemed, she wanted Matthew to enjoy her company. Perhaps fall in love.

  “I understand. I don’t know why but I hoped things would be different.” After their passionate encounter on their wedding day, Priscilla had been optimistic about the future. “It’s foolish of me, naive even, to expect more than he can give.”

  “You judge yourself too harshly. We have all found ourselves in regrettable situations. But our choices do not define us. We must learn to make the best of a bad situation. The fact you’re sitting here, seeking advice, shows a certain amount of maturity and insight.” Isabella offered a reassuring smile. “I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Mr Chandler is obviously attracted to you else I doubt he would have offered marriage.”

  The muscles in Priscilla’s throat grew tight. “What I tell you now, I tell you in confidence.” When Isabella acknowledged the comment with a nod, Priscilla blurted, “Matthew married me for my dowry and because he owes Lord Morford a debt of gratitude, though I have no notion why. I’m certain my physical appearance had no bearing on his decision.”

  Isabella put her hand to her mouth, her wide eyes revealing her surprise. “You're mistaken.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “The one thing we have in our favour is we’re open and honest with one another. Matthew told me he needs my money to settle a gambling debt.”

  “No, I mean you’re mistaken about his failure to find you attractive. I saw the way he looked at you on your wedding day. I think he admires you a great deal.”

  “My husband admires most women.” Well, that was not entirely true. He had declined Lucinda Pearce's invitation. “He has already grown tired of me.”

  What had she done wrong?

  Isabella sat forward. “Then you have been … intimate.”

  A blush warmed Priscilla’s cheeks. “Matthew insisted it was necessary, from a legal perspective.”

  “He actually said those words? How odd. The wedding night should be about more than getting one’s affairs in order.”

  “Well, our relationship differs from most. After all, we married out of necessity, spent our wedding night in separate rooms.” Noting Isabella’s blank expression, Priscilla added, “We … we consummated our … our alliance in the afternoon, once the guests had departed.”

  Isabella jerked her head back. “You make it sound like a business transaction.”

  “It was nothing like that at all.” The moment would be forever ingrained in her memory. Never had she felt so complete, so happy. “It wasn’t planned. One minute we were talking about our living arrangements, the next … well … I’m not sure how things progressed as they did.”

  With an excited gasp, Isabella clapped her hands. “Such impulsiveness only occurs when one harbours an intense passion. Your husband wants you, Priscilla, regardless of how he tries to pretend otherwise.”

  While his touch caused a fiery heat to course through her veins, she doubted a man with her husband’s experience felt the same. “Matthew is a skilled seducer. He knows how to make lust appear as something more meaningful. If what you say is true why has he not touched me since? Two nights ago, he paced the floor outside my room for half an hour but failed to knock the door.” It was time to acknowledge the truth. “Perhaps I proved to be a disappointment. Perhaps he finds my innocence unsatisfying and prefers someone more accomplished in the bedchamber.”

  Isabella shot off the chair and came to sit at Priscilla’s side. “But w
hat if he feels the opposite? What if he’s scared by the depth of his affection?” She patted Priscilla’s hand. “What do you want from your marriage?”

  A dull ache filled her chest. She wanted more than would ever be possible. “I want to learn to love him. I want him to love me in return.”

  A confident smile touched Isabella’s lips. “Love is within your grasp. Do not underestimate your power as a woman. There are but three simple steps to make a gentleman fall in love with you.”

  The comment forced Priscilla to focus. “Three steps?” Oh, if only it were so easy.

  “Would you like me to tell you what they are?”

  “Of course.” The desperation in her voice was unmistakable.

  “Well, the first is lust. Matthew must feel the physical tug in his gut whenever he sees you. Bedding you must become his priority. You must seduce him without making it appear obvious.”

  “But I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Think of it as a game. Have faith. The second is attraction. He must find you as fascinating out of the bedchamber. You must be the first thing he thinks of in the morning, the object of his dreams at night. The third is attachment. Matthew's emotional connection to you must be strong enough to suppress all fears and doubts.”

  Isabella made it all sound so simple, but the tasks were monumental.

  “While I am desperate to make my marriage work, I cannot pretend to be someone I am not. Many of the women who attend his scandalous parties are eager to bed him. Only last night I witnessed one such lady offering her services. While I might appear desperate, I refuse to degrade myself in such a manner.”

  Isabella narrowed her gaze. “I hope you put the harlot in her place.”

  “They had no idea I was listening.” She squirmed in her seat. “Matthew insists I remain in my bedchamber when there are guests in the house.” The comment made her husband sound ruthless, possessive, controlling. “He says the gentlemen are unpredictable, might assume I am keen to play their games, that I will be out of my depth.”