He gentled his hold, because she’d guessed correctly: he was angry, but not at her. “And if you cannot defer to those of lesser insight, Wife? Are you to keep silent and do nothing?”
Another sigh followed by a silence. Silence at least suggested Louisa was considering Joseph’s question, and it meant he could hold her a while longer.
“I used to wish I would wake up one day and be less intelligent,” she said, sounding very weary. “That is, of course, blasphemy, but I don’t like making people feel angry and stupid, and I like even less when they must try to impose those emotions on me in retaliation.”
The resignation in her tone broke his heart. He’d thought Louisa Windham—Louisa Carrington, God be thanked—was bored, and perhaps she was much of the time. She was also bewildered and lonely, and that he could not abide.
“Heed me, Wife: I do not feel angry or stupid because you understand household politics better than I. Watching your mind is like watching a billiards player who knows exactly the force, direction, and trajectory of every possible shot. What husband would not be proud of such a wife?” She went still, even her breathing paused, but she said nothing so Joseph tried again.
“Louisa Carrington, I am proud of you.” And while he’d been a blockhead regarding the state of his nursery, he could be a little proud of himself too, for earning the hand in marriage of such a woman.
Her body shuddered minutely. Joseph braced himself for her tears—she was certainly entitled to tears—but then she smoothed her hand over his chest.
“I am very good at billiards,” she murmured to his cravat. “It’s just physics.”
“Perhaps you’d teach me some of this physics. We could play for kisses.”
She kissed him on the mouth then subsided against his chest, which Joseph took as confirmation that he’d read her situation correctly. Still, he did not want to let her go.
“I used to wish I was not such a reliable marksman,” he heard himself say. He’d forgotten this wish—stuffed it out of mental reach along with the rest of the misery on the Peninsula.
Another slow, smooth stroke of her hand over his chest. “Because,” Louisa said, “when you hit your targets, widows and orphans resulted.”
Her words landed in his heart, near the guilt and sadness every soldier dealt with one way or another, though her tone had been one of sorrow rather than judgment. He nuzzled her hair, fortifying himself with the scent of her.
“The other officers used to stage demonstrations, set up targets so I could impress the new recruits. The officers would tell the men: This is the level of skill Wellington expects of us.”
“Brutal of them, but, Joseph?” She angled back so he could see her eyes, which were steady and serious. “I am proud of you too. He who protected the duke protected the entire realm, which included many widows and orphans. By reputation alone, your marksmanship protected Wellington.”
Those words landed in his heart as well, laying over the guilt and sorrow like a bouquet on a grave, lending peace and beauty to what had been so very difficult.
Whatever words he might have given her back, whatever poetry, would have been inadequate. He framed her face and kissed her with all the tenderness in him, a prayer of thanks for the heart and courage that went with Louisa’s grasp of physics.
This is what it should feel like to be married.
“You don’t need to fight every battle by yourself, Louisa. If there’s a problem in the nursery, we’ll deal with it together.”
This nursery, in any case. Joseph tried not to consider what Louisa might make of the establishment in Surrey. That household boasted four separate dormitories.
“There is a problem in the nursery, Joseph. Trust me on this.” She nuzzled his throat. “I begin to realize now how hard it was for my mother, raising two children to whom she had not given birth.”
“And yet, she managed, and we will manage too, Louisa.”
Another prayer, as fervent as the earlier one.
“I’ll summon the undercook.” Louisa patted his chest and drew away. Joseph let her go, though he had no need to confirm Louisa’s conclusions by interviewing the domestics.
While she spoke to the footman, Joseph missed the feel of his wife in his arms. Holding her, even briefly, had settled down all the battle nerves and uneasiness and tight lungs their altercation had engendered. He prayed she was still willing to allow him the privilege of holding her when she learned of those dozen other children.
If she learned of them.
Twelve
“Shot the bastard’s gun right out of his cheating, dishonorable grasp!” The Regent gestured toward a footman, who made haste to pour His Royal Highness another medicinal tot of cognac. “It’s enough to make Us forget this damned dirty weather, Hamburg. Have you those letters patent?”
Hamburg shuffled a stack of beribboned vellum. “A viscountcy for Carrington, Your Royal Highness, and that bit of land to go with it in the West Riding.”
“Every gentleman needs a grouse moor, particularly a fellow who’s a dead shot.”
His Royal Highness surveyed the proffered document, which fortunately was written in a hand large enough that no glasses need be affixed to the royal proboscis simply to read the words.
A tidy little viscountcy, complete with grouse moor. The boon was… fitting but unimpressive, no more than what a gracious monarch would bestow.
No style to it.
Not like shooting an opponent’s gun from his hand after the wretched vermin had fired early.
“How many urchins has Sir Joseph been supporting all these years on that baronial estate, Hamburg?” Supporting without even knowing it, which rather made a Regent cringe.
Hamburg looked pained but cited a number fairly in excess of the mere dozen the Regent might have hoped for. Urchins as a species seemed to proliferate like rabbits, which they oughtn’t to be able to do on the basis of tender years alone.
“The cousin isn’t doing well?”
“Not well at all. The man’s affairs are thoroughly in order, and he’s leaving a good deal to Sir Joseph as his only heir.”
Well, then. Sir Joseph was to be quite, quite wealthy, and a canny Regent did not make unimpressive gestures toward loyal subjects who had served bravely on the Peninsula, acquitted themselves masterfully on the field of honor, earned Wellington’s praise, and the hand in marriage of no less than Moreland’s most exotically appealing daughter.
Much less those fellows who achieved the foregoing in addition to knowing how to raise a very tasty pig.
“A marquessate might be a bit too much,” the Regent reflected. “It wouldn’t leave Moreland enough room to maneuver on behalf of family, in which the old boy delights.”
“No, Your Royal Highness.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Hamburg. You’d think I was asking you to bring the damned plague back to London.”
“But that leaves only an earldom, Your Royal Highness. Surely, for a gentleman pig farmer, regardless of his acumen with a pistol, surely…” Hamburg trailed away, eyes downcast. A few beats of martyred silence went by, then, “I’ll see to it.”
“An earldom and a grouse moor, and perhaps Baconer to the Regent. That has a nice ring to it. We like that last bit, about the baconer. Indeed We do. Fair puts Us in a holiday mood, it does.”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness.”
By the time Hamburg had backed from the Royal Presence, the Regent had heaved himself to his feet and started on a progress about Carlton House, noting all the locations from which a kissing bough might still be hung.
***
“You don’t hold with the tradition of keeping the greenery out of the house until Christmas Day?”
Joseph cast a dubious eye on the kissing bough above the entrance hall. Louisa planted a smacker on his cheek. “That isn’t greenery. It’s mistletoe. Her Grace says it’s good for morale among the staff, and His Grace says traditions ought to be upheld where they don’t impede progress or contradict
common sense.”
She kissed him again.
“Was that for morale or tradition?”
“Both. Will you stay more than the night in Surrey?” Louisa was trying to be brisk and unsentimental, trying to tell herself that being left in charge of their home so soon was a sign of Joseph’s trust in her.
“That depends on the weather. You’ll manage?”
“We’ll be fine, won’t we, girls?”
Amanda and Fleur popped down from the step where they’d perched. “We’ll be good, Papa. Stepmama says we’re to have a tree with decorations, and we’ll make snowflakes of gold paper, and bake stollen if we can winkle Aunt Sophie’s recipe from her.”
“Winkling.” Joseph’s brows drew down. “I do not believe winkling can be regarded as a ladylike pursuit. Perhaps I will remain in Surrey for a bit after all.”
“If you’re in the vicinity, I’m sure Westhaven would make you welcome.” Louisa had sent a note to her brother just to make sure. “Say good-bye to your papa, ladies, and then I’ll walk him to his horse.”
Joseph knelt awkwardly and held out his arms to the girls. They ploughed into him like a pair of small whirlwinds, clinging to his neck with ferocious affection. “Good-bye, Papa. We’ll be good, and we’ll save you some stollen.”
He kissed two little noses. “You’ll eat all the plum pudding, turn Lady Ophelia loose, and no doubt polish the banisters in my absence. Wife, send to me if the mobile vulgus threatens to overrun the house.”
The girls thundered off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Louisa to slip her arm through Joseph’s and escort him from the foyer. His horse was being held at the mounting block by a groom, which disappointed Louisa just a bit.
Time to steal a few more kisses would have been nice.
“You will catch your death, Wife.” Joseph opened his cape and enveloped her in its folds, which—happily for her—necessitated that he hug her to his chest. “I will be back as soon as possible.”
“We have much to do in your absence.”
“I’ve never seen this house so thoroughly decorated for the holidays. I can’t believe there’s another thing to be done.” Louisa felt his chin come to rest on her temple.
“We have a great deal of baking to do if we’re to send baskets to the tenants and neighbors. I must write to the agencies to find us another governess, and you’ve set me the task of finding a charity worthy of your coin. Then too, I am behind on my correspondence, and if all else fails, I have your library to explore. I will stay busy.”
“While I will freeze my backside off, haring about the realm without you.” He did not sound joyous to contemplate his peregrinations, which pleased Louisa wonderfully.
“I could go with you.”
He drew away, taking the warmth of his cloak with him. “I’ll travel more quickly without you, and I think you and the girls will benefit from a brief time without me. And Louisa?”
He tugged on his gloves and turned to face the drive.
“Husband?”
“When I return, it will be next week.”
“Two or three days does not—” Louisa felt a blush creep over her cheeks as the implication of his words sank in. She went up on her toes and kissed his mouth this time. “Safe journey, Husband, but swift journey too.”
“Indeed.” He tapped his hat onto his head and left her standing there at the foot of the front steps. Louisa remained where she was until Joseph had swung up onto Sonnet’s back, set the horse into a careful bow in her direction, then cantered off down the snowy drive.
Being married was difficult in many ways, ways not even your mother or sisters warned you about. You worried for your husband when he was doing nothing more than checking on a property an hour’s brisk ride to the east. You worried for your daughters, watching day by day to see them recalling how to smile and laugh in their father’s presence.
You worried a little for yourself too, particularly when there were still two-dozen little red books to be located, and you were now under your husband’s watchful eye, making retrieval of those books a great deal more difficult.
Louisa marched back into the house, intent on catching up on her correspondence before she took the girls over to call on Sophie and her baron at Sidling. To that end, she went to the library, deposited herself in her husband’s chair, put a pair of his glasses on her nose, and withdrew the packet of correspondence she’d brought down from Town.
The first epistle was several days old, having arrived the same night as Valentine’s warning regarding Grattingly’s crooked pistols. Seeing no return address and no franking, Louisa slit the seal.
How much will you pay to keep your champion ignorant of your facility with filthy verses, once you’ve wed him and become his lady?
Dread lodged in Louisa’s middle, a tight, cold brick of anxiety that obliterated the warmth Joseph’s parting reminder had created. She crumpled the letter up in a small, tight ball and pitched it into the fire, hard. Twenty-seven books was not so very many, but she wished Joseph were there in the library with her. As frightening as that letter was, as much mayhem as it threatened, not just for Louisa but for her family, she wished Joseph were with her.
Not that she could confess her folly to him yet. Please, God, let her find the books first, and maybe then… Certainly then. But not yet.
***
“They are notoriously resourceful, the womenfolk.”
One of Sonnet’s black ears flicked back, as if he were considering his rider’s conversational sally. Joseph had been having a one-sided discussion with his horse since turning off his property more than an hour ago.
“They won’t miss me. That’s as obvious as the nose on your face, old boy. They’ll contrive. Witness how my daughters contrived to bear up under the tyranny of a vindictive witch.”
Sonnet flicked his ear forward and then back again, while Joseph silently pushed away a mental deluge of rage. To think that dreadful woman had been depriving his children of food and warmth… and worse, undermining the mutual regard of father and daughters.
Guilt and anger tore at him, so he urged his horse into a rocking canter. In the crisp winter air, Sonnet seemed all too happy to comply.
“I’m going to tell Louisa she has not two stepchildren, but fourteen. She’s pragmatic, and her own father wasn’t exactly a saint prior to his marriage.”
Though Moreland had only two illegitimate children. Two was considerably fewer than twelve. Louisa, being good with figures, was likely to note this.
“Stop leaning right. You’re as bad as a crooked pistol.” He had the horse execute a series of flying changes of leg, and still the damned beast leaned on the right rein.
“Surrey is that way, you fool. At least pull in the direction of your next meal. London is dirty with coal smoke, devoid of proper company, and no place I want to be without my wife—and daughters.”
Sonnet didn’t even flick an ear, nor did he falter in his pace.
Rather than wrestle with his horse, Sir Joseph fell to musing again. “I did not get her a morning gift. This is remiss of me.”
A quarter mile later: “Very remiss. I intend to consummate the marriage thoroughly, and I do apologize for bringing such a matter up to a fellow who’s in want of his ballocks.”
Though the lack hardly seemed to bother the beast. “I could not have spent one more night with that woman driving me mad, and nothing to be done about it. I shall have my revenge on her, see if I don’t.”
Thoughts of erotic revenge were not comfortably pursued when a man occupied a saddle, much less a cold saddle.
“And something else has been bothering me. Lady Ophelia had no insights to offer on the matter: Why does my wife have three copies of the same little book of naughty verse I found in Westhaven’s possession? A remarkable little volume, if I do say so myself.” A very remarkable volume. Long study had told Joseph that to call it naughty in no way did it justice.
He could find his wife a book of poetry in London
.
The thought crystallized in his busy mind like the Concert-A tuning note of the oboe, around which an entire orchestra organized its performance. A detour into Town didn’t necessarily mean an extra day away from home, but it meant a fellow needed to make haste.
London lay off to the right. At the next crossroads, Joseph set his horse in the direction of Town, whereupon Sonnet commenced leaning on the left rein.
***
“What are you doing, Stepmama?” Fleur was trying to shuffle a deck of playing cards with little success.
“Do you want to play the matching game with us?” Amanda asked from their playing field on the hearth rug in the library.
Louisa eyed the foolscap before her on Joseph’s desk. “I’m looking over a list sent to me by my sister Sophie.”
Fleur passed the deck to Amanda. “She’s our auntie now, isn’t she?”
“We have lots of aunties now,” Amanda observed. “Is it a list of presents?”
In a manner of speaking, it was. Sophie had kindly listed the charities she knew of that met Louisa’s criteria: not too geographically distant, without substantial patronage, and devoted to children.
“I’m choosing a charity for your papa. When you’re done playing cards, shall we try Aunt Sophie’s stollen recipe?”
Fleur was on her feet in an instant. “Can we, Stepmama?”
“May we?” Amanda chorused, organizing the cards into an untidy pile.
Louisa glanced at the clock on the mantel, wondering where Joseph was at that moment. She missed him. She missed him, and she enjoyed that she did.
She’d never had a husband to miss before, never had a husband expecting her to maintain the household in his absence before, never been tasked with selecting a charity before.
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