Would he always be this husband to her, or would he go back?
London had never been kind to him, yet he continually returned. She’d brought that up the other night, but he would not be swayed from it. He wanted her to reap the benefits of the Season, wanted to show her off a little, and wanted her to take advantage of the change in her situation while she could. It appeared he was going back to London for her, yet she had not asked and would be perfectly content to remain at Thornacre.
He was the one who insisted on going back. She couldn’t have cared less about it.
If he wanted to return, she would go with him. London was where they began, where she first began to like him. Surely it could not be that dangerous for them.
Still, without knowing the demons her husband faced, how could she know how they would fare?
Gemma gnawed her lip and glanced out of the window, as if she would see her husband there. Then, before she could question herself, she sprang up from her chair and took the stairs two at a time up to the gallery.
Lucas would be meeting with his solicitor all day. She had hours before his return. He had studiously avoided the gallery since they had visited the first time, but her curiosity had only grown more rampant.
Mrs. Riggle had given her very few insights into the family, and she was not about to divulge anything, which Gemma found rather touching, if frustrating. But loyalty was so rarely to be found when Lucas was about, given his reputation and the general distrust of him, that even the frustration was worth it.
Gemma wandered the gallery with more care than she had done before, trying to absorb the details of every member within it.
She knew from the brief moments that he had spoken of his family that his brother Robert had been older, that they had never been cheerful or friendly children, and that the family had always been unpopular. She suspected that he had been close with his mother, given the way he treasured her diamonds and had shared them with Gemma on their wedding day.
He’d told her that they now belonged to her, but it seemed a trifle awkward when she did not know anything about the woman.
And Gemma had never really been one for jewels.
But that would remain her secret.
And one she felt sure could be persuaded to change with time and practice.
There were very few portraits of Lucas amongst all the rest. Whether that was by design or by providence, she could not have said. There were plenty of portraits of his brother, who was darker in features and perhaps more attractive than Lucas, but she did not like his looks. He was far more of a dandy than Lucas was, finely arrayed in every portrait and smirking dangerously. He was a man that was not to be trusted. Or rather, he had been.
And from the looks of things, Robert had been a favorite of his parents. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed the process of having a portrait done, or several. Robert had died before his father and thus never possessed the title, which, she’d come to understand, had been quite a fortunate thing.
She caught brief glimpses of Lucas’s father, the previous Lord Blackmoor. He seemed a very cross sort of person, but with the same sort of puffed up energy of his elder son. And rather rotund, and quite overbearing. He was a man who was obeyed with precision, and his features seemed to be curved into a cruel sort of sneer.
And this was from whom Lucas had descended?
She shuddered and rubbed her arms as she moved on, glaring briefly at the portrait of the beautiful woman from before. It could only be Lucas’s first wife, and Gemma’s envy of her festered. What was the true story there? She shook her head and moved on.
Older relatives and family members graced the walls, their scowls and excesses the most common thing among them. She could see physical features that Lucas had inherited, and he had perfected the family stoicism, yet he graciously seemed to have been spared the desire for excesses. Given what she was gleaning just from studying these portraits, it was a miracle her husband was as wonderful as he was.
Aside from the occasional family sitting when the boys were very young, she could not find a portrait of Lucas’s mother. She seemed frail and weak, but soft and warm as well. Her eyes were Lucas’s eyes, but she seemed somehow more lifeless in the paint than any other person.
Finally, Gemma caught sight of a very small portrait that was nearly indistinguishable from the grandeur of the rest.
A delicate oval frame around a small watercolor portrait of a young woman, but there was no mistaking the eyes or the soft curve of her cheek. That was Lucas’s mother, possibly from her early days of courtship or marriage to the late Lord Blackmoor. She was a beautiful creature, and a hint of mischief lay in her eyes.
Ah, so that was where he got it, was it?
She smiled at the young woman, sad to notice the discrepancy between this fresh young woman and the wasted creature she appeared in the family portraits. The smile forced, the features more stark, the posture rigid… She had become completely altered from her marriage, from her life.
Gemma fought hard to keep her tears at bay, and reached out to touch the frame gently.
“I’ll take care of him,” she vowed, somehow sensing the connection that had once existed between the sad woman and her stoic son. “I promise you, I will bring him joy.”
Though it was silly to think it, she imagined the girl in the picture smiled just a bit more.
And Gemma returned it, nodding swiftly, then glared viciously at every other portrait. She might not know the history of these people, but there was no explaining the darkness that weighed upon one’s self when studying them.
She would take care of Lucas. None of them ever had, but she would.
Whatever shadows existed in his past, she would chase them away. She would replace them with only good things. She would remind him of the man he had been here with her, and nothing that London or life could hold would change that.
She nodded once more and strode from the gallery, wishing her husband would not be gone quite so long so that she might hold him.
She would let herself fall in love with him, being more than halfway there already. She would trust him to share the private details of his life with her when he was ready. And when he did, she would help him to carry the burden and lighten his load.
He took such care with her, and of her. She would do the same with him.
He might think all of the care ought to be on his side, thinking little enough of himself. But that was her job now, as his wife. He was hers to nurture and take care of, to see to his wellbeing, to make his happiness and peace her chief concern. He needed her as much as she needed him, and probably more.
And he would realize it himself before long.
He had been counting the hours since breakfast, and every passing one had felt an age. He fully expected to see Gemma graying and wrinkled when he returned home, and he had no doubt she would be just as lovely to him as before. But he’d rather she remain young a while longer.
He craned his neck painfully as he returned to the house, pleased they had finished earlier than expected, and determined to take advantage of the few hours before dusk.
Matters of business were never so irksome as when they kept a man from his wife.
But it had been necessary, and things were now in fine order, which meant he could return to London without fear.
Well, without worrying over his estate at any rate.
London would always be fearful for him.
He paused as he caught sight of his wife out in the garden, free of bonnet, wandering with a basket half-filled with flowers. She had won over Mr. Chase, which was a miracle of truly biblical proportions, and while he would not condone her altering the gardens, he let her pick from it and offer suggestions.
It seemed Gemma had magic over them all.
She seemed at this moment as though she had been brought up in that garden, a flower in her hair and her countenance easy and gentle, her gown the exact shade of blue as the blooms in her basket. She could not have been more char
ming or pretty, or more enchanting. She smiled softly as she bent to smell a fresh bloom, and he found himself smiling with her.
Had simple pleasures ever stirred him so?
Was there a simpler pleasure than looking at his wife?
He doubted it, but he was apparently biased, and growing more so by the day.
He waved down a passing servant and gave instructions to her for the kitchen staff, then ventured out into the gardens to his captivating wife.
Gemma beamed at his approach and kissed him with enthusiasm in greeting.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he mused when she relinquished him, wrapping his arms about her waist.
She smirked a little and leaned against him. “I missed you,” she said simply.
He kissed her head and rested his chin there. “I missed you more. It was the longest day of my life, I am sure of it.”
Gemma snorted and whacked him lightly on his good hip with her basket, pulling away. “You are tiresome,” she teased.
He shrugged and took her arm to walk the garden with her. “You will get used to that.”
She snickered and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.
“What did you do while I was away?” he asked politely, picking another flower for her.
“I consulted with Mrs. Riggle about some of the rooms,” she recited, toying with the flower in her hand. “I wandered the house looking for mysteries. I stared at portraits of you in the gallery.”
He frowned and glanced at her. “There aren’t many of those,” he said carefully.
“Yes, I know,” she huffed with impatience. “We need to get a fresh one. When I want to think on my husband in his absence, I would much prefer an adult portrait rather than child one. It just seemed wrong to pine after the young version of you.”
He barked a laugh and brought her hand to his lips. “Fair enough. Though I hate standing for portraits. What did you do to make up for the inconvenient lack of proper portraits?”
She lifted her chin with a proud smile. “I walked to Beverton.”
He stopped and turned to look at her. “That is four miles,” he marveled, looking her over and expecting to find her tired or injured.
“I know. But it is such a pretty walk.” She frowned in disappointment. “Moira was not in, she’s stayed in London. Nathan is only here for a few days and then he returns, but it was good to visit all the same. And don’t fret, he made me take a coach back.”
That settled him some. He would have to remember to thank Beverton for that. Gemma was independent enough to do as she pleased, and he would not stop or restrain her, but another protector in the area would set him at ease.
“Oh, and someone wished for me to give this to you,” she said suddenly, pulling a sealed note from her apron. “I tried to get his name, but he did not seem to hear me. I didn’t recognize him from our visits, but he was headed towards the tenant farms.” She shrugged and handed it to him. “It did not seem important to him, so I have no idea what it could be about.”
Neither did he, but he took the note all the same, the handwriting unfamiliar, and tucked it in his pocket.
Gemma quirked a smile. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Not now,” he said with a shake of his head, returning her smile. “I am going to have a picnic with my wife in our garden.”
She grinned broadly. “Really?”
He nodded, thinking he could do some very astonishing things for that smile. “I’ve already had directions given to Cook. Shall we see to it?”
In short order, they were seated on a blanket in the middle of the garden with an array of food around them, and Lucas, having filled himself with the excellent fare, sat back on his hands and watched his wife steadily, every movement and nuance, every hint of expression fascinating to him.
“Lucas,” Gemma suddenly murmured softly, her tone inquisitive.
He tilted his head, wondering at her averted gaze. “Yes?”
“Tell me something about your family.”
He stiffened and his jaw tightened, his hands tensing against the ground. “Why?”
She shrugged, suddenly looking very small. “I don’t know anything about them. I’m curious.”
He wet his lips, wondering what she had heard, what she knew, if she knew anything at all. Carefully, he cleared his throat. “What would you like to know?”
She peered over at him, her clear eyes wide and entreating. “Tell me something about your mother.”
He stared her for a long moment, then exhaled. His mother was a relatively safe topic, all things considered. And if she did not ask for the story, he did not have to share it. “She always smelled of lavender,” he said quietly, his eyes losing their focus as he thought. “I never knew why, but she always did. And she loved roses. White ones. Mr. Chase used to take extra special care with those every year.”
Gemma smiled and reached out her hand to cover his. “What was she like?”
“Gentle. Soft. And sad.” He swallowed and shook his head. “I…”
She suddenly squeezed his hand, cutting him off. “It’s all right. That is enough.” She smiled and pulled her hand back. “Do you have any family at all, Lucas? I know you have that idiot cousin who will inherit if I don’t do my duty.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, making him smile. “Is there anyone else?”
He hesitated, considering revealing another secret, this one that hardly anybody knew. But this was his wife, and this secret was harmless.
He could tell her.
“Do you remember my full name?” he asked with a hesitant look.
Her brow furrowed in thought. “Lucas James Riverton Sin…” Her eyes widened and she looked at him in shock. “No…”
He nodded, his mouth forming a firm line. “Yes.”
“The Rivertons?” she squeaked. “As in… the Rivertons?”
He nodded, amused against his will. “The very same.”
“How?” she cried, smiling. “How and how does no one know?”
He shrugged. “My mother was the sister of Lord Riverton. The match with my father was not a favorable one, but she was in love. She was practically cut off after the marriage, as no one wanted to associate with the Blackmoors. Things got better after… well, she could at least correspond with her brother. But we’ve never publicly acknowledged the connection. And with everything else that happened, it seemed best to leave things as they stood.”
“Do you see them often?” she asked, her voice small and careful, as if she knew he was nearing the end of his willingness to speak.
“Sometimes.” He gave her a bland look. “But in private. I rarely go to their events. It is easier that way. They came to the wedding, you recall, but sat on your side, as your mother invited them. But they would like to know you better, so we are invited to dine when we return.”
Her grin was quick and mischievous. “Really? I’ve never been to the Rivertons.”
“It’s quite the ordeal,” he said with a sigh, looking away.
Again her hand covered his, and squeezed softly.
For a moment, nothing was said. And then she cleared her throat.
“When I was a child,” she began, her voice a little husky, “I used to romp and play outside on fair days. Just in the garden, nothing too extreme. But we visited some cousins one summer, and it was a fine day, and I went out to play with the other children. We started hiding and seeking, laughing and running, and getting further and further from the house.”
She swallowed suddenly and her hold tightened on him.
“I began to explore on my own, and was so engrossed in it that I did not notice the others leaving. It started to grow dark and I became quite lost.” She shook her head, her voice quivering as if she were still the little girl lost on an unfamiliar estate. “I tried to find my way home, but it was impossible. I sat down amongst some rocks in a makeshift cave, knowing my family would come searching for me, and I ought to remain in one place.”
A feeli
ng of dread welled up within him and he turned his hand so he could hold hers.
“Darkness fell completely,” she continued, “and I realized that no one was going to find me. My little cave suddenly became oppressive and terrifying, and I fled from it. I had never been so frightened in my entire life, and I think that fear carried me back, for I did not have the energy myself.”
Unsure why she was sharing this story, but sensing it mattered a great deal to her, he remained silent and kissed her hand.
She cleared her throat and tossed her head. “The house was soon in sight and I wept with joy and relief, my fear finally fading. I knew they would be relieved at having me back and all would be well.” Her voice broke and she frowned at it. “I made my way back inside and found that no one had left to look for me. They were going about their usual business as if I had been there. Then my father saw me, and he said… He said ‘Oh, I forgot all about you’.”
Lucas closed his eyes, a flash of pain spreading across his chest.
“I’d been lost for hours,” she whispered. “Terrified and alone, and a child. And no one knew I was missing. No one was looking for me.” She sniffed and looked over at him with a small smile, despite her tears. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Understanding dawned on him and he couldn’t manage to speak. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, burying his face in her hair. He had shared details with her, hardly his most unpleasant but against his nature all the same, and she had revealed secret details of her past as well, and probably her most unpleasant. The amount of trust that placed on him was immeasurable and he felt the weight of it. More than that, he felt honored and touched by it.
“How long were you scared for afterwards?” he whispered, stroking her hair.
“A while,” came her soft response. “Darkness was difficult for a time. Now… well, I still prefer to avoid dark enclosed spaces. Can’t abide them.” She tucked herself more securely against him. “And I hate being alone,” she admitted in a half whisper.
A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7) Page 12
