Dark Angel 5 - The Ideal Wife

by Mary Balogh

  “Ger.” The earl rubbed at his jaw with one hand. “I need to be alone. I have to think this out. Her brother will be at the picnic this afternoon. Maybe I will talk to him first before tackling Abby. I'll see you later.”

  “Lord,” Sir Gerald said, “I don't know if I have done the right thing. Priss would have known. But she isn't here.”

  “One thing,” Lord Severn said. “Did you agree to give her the money, Ger?”

  “I would have,” Sir Gerald said, “but she went rushing away before I had given her my answer. There was no apparent reason—there was no one coming, nobody much in sight. But she just turned without a word and went hurrying away, right through the middle of a puddle. I think maybe it was that, Miles. I mean, I think she wants help. Not only needs, but wants, but doesn't quite know where to turn. You haven't been harsh with her, have you?”

  “Nothing beyond beating her every morning,” the earl said irritably. “I'll see you later, Ger.”

  And he strode away while his friend watched him out of sight with troubled eyes.

  It was the brother. Boris. It had to be, the earl decided. But seven thousand pounds to pay off his gambling debts just so that he could keep playing in the hope of winning enough to pay off their father's debts? They were insane, the pair of them.

  But why had she not come to him? He had begged her just the morning before never to be afraid of him. He had told her that it was a marriage he wanted with her. He had not told her that he loved her. It seemed an absurd thing to say after only a week of marriage and such a very short acquaintance. But she must have known that his feelings were involved in their relationship. There had been the night before that with its magical lovemakings.

  But she had not come to him. She had gone to Gerald instead. The thought made him angry. If he had her there with him at that moment, he would probably have stopped in the middle of the street to shake her until her head flopped on her neck.

  Was that what had made her ill—the need for more money? She had been pale and listless and absentminded the evening before, and when questioned, had explained that it was the end of her month and she was always ill and out of sorts for a day or two. She had even chosen to sleep in her own room the night before and had given him a restless night as a result. He had kept waking and reaching out to the empty bed for her. He had missed her head butting and burrowing its way into the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

  One of his former mistresses had always suffered cramps and headaches during that particular week of her month. Perhaps Abigail was the same, though doubtless a worry over money and an inability to confide in him had made it worse. She had not joined him for breakfast that morning, but had been sitting quietly in her sitting room—doing nothing—when he had gone up to her before leaving the house.

  Damnation! he thought. He did not need this. He had married her because he wanted a peaceful life, because he had wanted to preserve his freedom and independence while enjoying all the advantages of being a married man. He did not want to be involved with a woman who had quickly become addicted to gambling or one who had the foolish notion that she could save a brother from ruin by paying off his enormous gambling debts.

  If he were wise, he would go home, give her a sound beating, and pack her off to the country—preferably not to Severn Park.

  Except that the notion was foolish. For one thing, he had never been able to see the logic of beating one's wife—or one's children, for that matter—merely because one was of superior strength physically. For another, he would not be able to pack Abigail off to the country without going with her. He had been mad enough to fall in love with her.

  Besides, marriage was not as he had expected it to be. There was no way of preserving one's freedom and independence once one was married. It was a contradiction in terms. Like it or not, his life was now bound up inextricably with Abigail's, and hers with his. A beating and banishment might momentarily soothe his anger, but it would solve nothing in their marriage.

  If Gerald was to be believed, she had not glibly asked for money. Her behavior had suggested that she was quite distraught.

  Poor Abby!

  His steps hastened in the direction of home.

  Abigail was sitting in an open barouche, twirling a sunshine-yellow parasol above her straw bonnet, smiling brightly at the gentlemen of the party, who rode alongside, and chattering with great animation to Laura, Constance, and Miss Lestock, Constance's friend.

  No one looking at her would have guessed quite how wretched she was feeling. Or how embarrassed.

  She had walked home from the park the day before, having sent the carriage home earlier, eager to find her husband, bursting to tell him the whole sordid story. Everything. He must take it as he would. Perhaps there would be grounds for divorce in what she told him. Perhaps it was possible for a man to obtain a divorce if a lady—a female—married him under false pretenses. Perhaps she was heading for the worst scandal the decade had known.

  But whatever the results were to be, she was going to tell him.

  If only he had been there when she had arrived home. If only! The nightmare would now be over. Instead, he had been from home, but his mother and Prudence had been upstairs in the drawing room, awaiting her return.

  They had been most gracious. Prudence had hugged her and told her how happy Abigail's visit had made her—and her children—that morning, and Lady Ripley had told her that she and Miles must join her party at Lord Sefton's concert that evening.

  “You have conducted yourself with a good deal of spirit in the past week, dear,” she had said. “And if it is true that you were forced to work for a living, it is true also that you have done nothing to hide your past, but have held your head high and been quite frank about yourself. And Miles is fond of you. That is clear to see. I am proud of you.”

  Abigail would have been delighted by the new state of amity with her mother-in-law had it not happened at quite such in inopportune moment.

  By the tune Miles had arrived home she had been feeling quite literally ill and suffering from verbal paralysis. Instead of rushing into his arms and telling all, as she had planned to do, she had said nothing at all except to make up a whole depressing arsenal of lies about her afternoon with Lady Beauchamp.

  She had told him she was ill. And she had used that excuse to spend the night in her own bed, unable to face his lovemaking with such a burden on her conscience. But she had tossed and turned and cried a little all night long.

  “I would change places with you in a trice, sir,” she said now with a laugh to Lord Darlington, who had been teasing the ladies about the comfort in which they were traveling, “except that I would not look quite the thing on your man's saddle and I would not know quite what to do with my parasol.”

  “But I could shade my complexion with it, ma'am,” he said, laughing back at her.

  “Its purpose is not to shade me from the sun,” Abigail said, “but to make me look lovely and alluring.” She gave the parasol an energetic twirl.

  “This is the moment at which you are to bow from the saddle, Darlington, and assure the lady that she needs no parasol to achieve that effect,” Sir Gerald Stapleton said.

  They all laughed, and Lord Darlington leaned forward to address a remark to Constance.

  She could die of embarrassment, Abigail thought, looking at Sir Gerald and feeling her eyes slide away again. She had always had an alarming habit of speaking first and thinking after, but the afternoon before had taken the prize. How could she have asked him for a loan? It was unthinkable that she had done so. He was a virtual stranger to her even if he was Miles's friend. She was going to have to find a moment during the afternoon to explain the episode satisfactorily to him, though she had still not decided exactly what she would say.

  She turned her head to look at her husband. It was difficult not to keep staring at him when he looked so splendid on horseback. She smiled when she caught his eye, and dipped the parasol.

  Another major emba
rrassment! How was she going to explain to him in a week or so's time that she was bleeding again? Would he believe that a recent marriage and unaccustomed sexual activity—but would she find the courage to say just that to him?—had sent her system awry? Why, oh, why had she not simply told him that she had the headache the day before?

  It was a relief to arrive finally in Richmond Park and to be able to busy herself organizing everyone for a walk along the rolling lawns and among the ancient oaks. She soon had every­thing arranged to her satisfaction, and Sir Gerald was strolling with Laura, Boris with Miss Lestock, and Lord Darlington with Constance. Abigail slipped her hand through her husband's arm.

  “You must be feeling very proud of yourself, Abby,'' he said. “Everyone is behaving like a puppet on a string—so far.”

  “Don't laugh at me,” she said gaily. “I will take no credit for Constance and Lord Darlington, but I will claim all the glory for Laura and Sir Gerald—you see how compatible they are in height and how easily they converse together? And I shall be observing Miss Lestock and Boris to see if a match can be promoted there. Of course, Boris will have to be more eligible first. Have you found a suitable cheat yet?”

  He had been very quiet all through luncheon and had not smiled or conversed a great deal during the journey to Richmond. But he smiled now, and she felt a twinge of relief.

  She had been wondering if he resented having to attend her picnic.

  “I have been interviewing them in the morning,” he said. “There are a dozen men eager for the job, not to mention the women.”

  “Are there?” she said, smiling at his teasing. “And have you chosen one?”

  “I think so,” he said, touching her hand. “I hope that in a couple of days' time, everything will have been settled. And then you will be able to relax and enjoy your new life.”

  She smiled a little but said nothing.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “That indisposition does not last long, you know. One day and I am myself again.”

  “Shall I call in a physician?” he asked. “Perhaps he could prescribe something that will help you.”

  “No, thank you,” she said, feeling wretched. “I am not always unwell.” She hated the lie. She had never ever felt ill as a result of her monthly cycle.

  “Well,” he said, moving his fingers lightly over hers, ' 'perhaps we can arrange it by the time the next one is due, Abby, that we will give you nine months free of even the possibility. Would you like that as much as I would?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Do you mean . . . ?”

  But of course he meant. She flushed. And remembered his reasons for marrying her. And thought of what he would hear from Rachel long before that month was over unless she could suddenly produce two thousand pounds within the next six days. And she wound up her resolution to tell him the truth even then.

  Except that then was a quite inopportune time.

  “Yes, I do,” he said, smiling. “There is a very cozy nursery at Severn Park, Abby, just crying out to be occupied.”

  At Severn Park. Yes, of course.

  “Boris.'' The Earl of Severn got up from the blanket on the grass and the remains of a banquet spread on it and patted his stomach. “Would you care for a stroll to work off some of this feast?”

  Boris Gardiner looked up from his conversation with Laura and scrambled to his feet. “A good idea,” he said. “My horse may sag in the middle if I mount it as I am now. Your cook is to be commended, Abby.”

  “I shall be sure to give her your message,” Abigail said. “She will be pleased.”

  The earl clasped his hands behind his back and made remarks about the weather as he strolled away from the group with his brother-in-law.

  “It would not be fair to the ladies if we were away for long,” he said as soon as they were firmly beyond earshot. “Do you mind if we dispense with small talk and get straight to the point?”

  Boris looked at him in some surprise. “Not at all,” he said. “But the point of what, pray?”

  “Are your debts heavy ones?” the earl asked, looking straight ahead across the wide lawn.

  His brother-in-law stiffened. “They are my concern,” he said. “They were my father's, my only inheritance, as it happens. They are not Abby's and they are not yours, Severn.”

  “Those are not the debts I referred to,” the earl said. “My question related to your gaming debts.”

  Boris sounded annoyed. “I have none,” he said. “Do you think I would gamble beyond my means when I already burdened with another man's obligations? I don't know what Abby has told you of our family, but we are not all totally without principle. As it is, I am well aware that I am head of the family yet quite incapable of supporting my sisters.”

  “I did not mean to touch on a raw nerve,” the earl said. “I had better approach this matter from another angle, it seems. Why would Abby be visiting Mrs. Harper? And why would she have a sudden need of approximately seven thousand pounds? Do you have any idea? Does she have a weakness at the tables?”

  “Abby?” Boris sounded incredulous. “Abby has an even greater abhorrence of gaming than I do. How could it be other­wise when she kept our family together almost single-handed while our father gambled everything away and even more than everything? And is it not obvious why she is visiting Rachel? Oh, Lord, she hasn't told you, has she?”

  “No, she has not,” Lord Severn said quietly. “For some reason, I think Abby is a little afraid of me. You had better tell me, Boris.”

  “In awe more than afraid, I would guess,” Boris said. “It always bothered Abby that we are not quite respectable, that our father frequently made an ass of himself in public and made us all suffer disapproval and even some ostracism as a result. She showed it by loving us all quite fiercely and managing us and caring for us all like a mother. And by raising her chin in public and saying frequently outrageous things so that people would think she did not care. But she did—does. More than any of us. I think she cared for our father more than the rest of us did.”

  “Your father drank?” the earl asked.

  “Like the proverbial fish,” the other said. “He drank himself to death. Abby had to feed it to him like medicine at the end. She was as gentle with him as if he were a baby, despite every­thing.”

  “Despite everything?” the earl asked.

  “He was not a pleasant man,” Boris said. “And that is a polite way of saying that he was selfish and brutal. Abby and I were fortunate that he was not quite so bad when we were young children. When he did fly into rages, it was our poor mother who bore the bruises. But in later years Abby had to work hard to protect the little ones. He was usually crafty enough to go for them when I was not around. And I am afraid I played irresponsible brother for many years and kept myself from home as often as I could. Abby did it all even before Rachel left. She held everything together afterward.”

  “Rachel?” the earl said.

  “Abby should have told you before she married you,” Boris said. “I scolded her for not doing so, and I think I gave her the notion that she had played a dastardly trick on you. She has obviously been afraid to tell you. Maybe she has good reason. Who knows? But you are going to find out anyway, aren't you?''

  “Yes,” the earl said.

  “Rachel is our stepmother,” Boris said, “mother of Clara and Beatrice. She married our father in defiance of her own and lived to regret it almost from the first moment. He gave her several severe beatings. She finally ran off with someone else and surfaced here as Mrs. Harper.”

  “I see,” Lord Severn said. “I thought the lady was dead.”

  “Well, she is not,” Boris said, “and Abby should stay away from her. She is not like she used to be. She used to be a poor abject creature. Bitterness has changed all that. Rachel has learned how to look after herself at everyone else's expense.”

  “You know nothing of seven thousand pounds?” the earl asked.

&
nbsp; Boris shook his head. “It went to Rachel?'' he said. “Black­mail, maybe? Would Abby be foolish enough to pay the woman to keep all this from you? Is it that important to her that you have a good opinion of her?” He looked candidly at his brother-in-law for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it could be. Abby never did expect much out of life for herself. When everything came apart after our father's death, I was afraid for her. She looked as if she had been turned to marble. I thought perhaps everything had died in her. Don't hold this against her, Severn. She cannot help anything that has happened. Indeed, for as long as she could, she gave all of herself for the sake of the rest of us. Even for my father, damn him.”

  “I love her,” the earl said quietly. “You don't have to plead her cause with me, Boris. I love your sister.”

  “Well, then,” Boris said, “perhaps there is some justice in this world, after all.”

  “The question is,” Lord Severn said, “how much do you love her?”

  His brother-in-law looked at him sharply.

  “We have been too long away already,” the earl said. “I will make this brief. Abby has concocted a masterly plan whereby I am to hire a card cheat, pay him to see to it that you win a fortune, and then watch you pay off your father's debts with part of it and live happily ever after with the rest, quite unaware that you do not owe your happiness to Lady Luck.”

  Boris's jaw hardened. “You know what my opinion of that ridiculous idea is likely to be,” he said.

  “We would never have got away with it,” the earl said. “But Abby does not know that. She thinks it a quite splendid scheme.”

  “She would,” Boris said. “Have you discovered yet that she is somewhat lacking in common sense?”

  “Sometimes her heart rules her head,” Lord Severn said. “It is the quality in her that I love above all else, I believe. Her scheme is going to work, Boris, down to the last detail.”