He glanced over at Maggie, confounded by the expression on her face. Was that concern evident in her eyes? Or guilt at what she knew of her sister’s fickle heart? He crossed to window and stared out at the garden beyond. He wouldn’t seek her out. The last thing he wanted was to argue with her in her parents’ home.
The conversation in the parlor was merely a buzz in his ears as he tried to reign in his anger and growing feeling of impotence. That was when he took note of Lord Templeton’s departure from the room. Without a care to who might notice, he followed him and found both him and Betsy in the sitting room.
She was crying, and his stomach clenched. Templeton spoke to her before Michael could even enter the room.
“Come now, Elizabeth,” Lord Templeton said, causing her to start. “Such tears can only serve to redden your eyes.”
Betsy sniffled and dashed her hands over her eyes. “If you will excuse me,” she said softly, coming to her feet.
He caught her by her arms, his grip most familiar in Michael’s estimation.
“There, there, my dear.” He cupped her chin. “Surely Balsam hasn’t brought you to such depths.”
Michael stepped into the room.
“Betsy, we’re leaving.” He arched a brow in Templeton’s direction. “Unless you wish to remain here in my absence?”
Betsy’s eyes grew round. She shook her head and hurried from the room to bid her family good night. Michael watched her go, and then stepped closer to Templeton.
“You’ll keep your distance from my wife, Templeton.”
To his dismay the earl grinned. “If you cannot keep your wife in comfort, perhaps you can urge her to maintain her distance from me.”
Michael reached out and grabbed the man’s lapels. To his satisfaction Templeton finally showed a bit of humility, gripping his wrists in an attempt to free himself.
“You permit your emotions to overtake you, Balsam.”
Michael released him with a shove, breathing in deeply to cool his ire. “Get out of my sight.”
“You’re just like your father, that fool,” he said. “His thoughts, too, were always clouded with useless emotions.”
Michael was astonished at Templeton’s words but somehow managed to maintain the tenuous hold on his anger. He squeezed his eyes shut as the man carried himself regally out of the room to rejoin the others in the parlor.
Much later, Michael stood in his study, pouring an overgenerous amount of brandy into a glass. The anger he’d felt at Lady Sarah’s blatant overtures faded to nothing when compared to the emotion that overtook him when he’d found Betsy alone with Templeton. Had she been crying on that man’s shoulder?
He refilled his glass. He wouldn’t tolerate this behavior. He shakily set his glass down and left the study, bound for his chamber. She would prove to him on this night that she was his and his alone.
No talking, no arguing. Only her beneath him, welcoming him and showing him he was the one she chose despite another more affluent suitor.
Chapter 27
In the solitude of their bed chamber, Betsy sat at the vanity. As she pulled her brush through her hair, she reluctantly permitted her mind to continue in its maddening circles. Lady Sarah had whispered in her ear yet again. Michael didn’t marry her for her dowry! He couldn’t be so cold and calculating. He loved her. He’d told her so, and had even made such a declaration to her father. Did he welcome Lady Sarah’s attentions?
She suspected they’d been together before. The woman had all but stated as much. Was he once more willing to bestow more than his dazzling smile upon her? Cursing her retched thoughts, she placed her brush on the vanity and hung her head.
Michael entered the room some time later.
“Come to bed, wife,” he ordered thickly, shrugging off his dinner clothes.
Betsy shook her head in answer, finally lifting her gaze. He appeared rumpled and more than a little intoxicated. She shook her head at him as he continued to remove his clothing. When he had stripped to his breeches, he strode to where she still sat and gripped her arm.
“Come to bed,” he said again.
She jerked free of his hold. “No.”
She stood and glared at him, tightening the belt of her wrapper. Michael swayed a bit where he stood, no doubt from the brandy she could smell on him.
“What did you say?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
“I said, ‘no,’” Betsy said, holding her hands in fists. “I’ll ask something of you, however.”
Michael shook his head in confusion, and then swore as he plowed his fingers through his hair.
“Enough of this nonsense,” he muttered, grabbing her arm again. “Come to bed.”
Betsy stood firm. “When did you know of my dowry?”
“What?”
“When did you know how rich you would become if you took me as your wife?”
“Why do you ask this now?” he countered. “You didn’t seem adverse to gifting me with your dowry.” He raked his eyes over her. “Or your luscious little body, if my memory serves.”
Betsy saw red.
“When did you know of it?” she shouted. “Was it before that afternoon in the stables?”
Michael just stared at her.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Betsy sucked in a breath. “You knew of my fortune before you took my virginity.”
“Took your virginity?” He laughed harshly. “As I recall you begged me to rid you of it.”
Betsy waved that comment aside. “Did you know of my very generous dowry before we made love in the stables?”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Yes.”
Betsy’s throat tightened. “You don’t love me, Michael. You lied to me.”
“No.”
“You lied to my father,” she went on. “And all to get your hands on my fortune!”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “How could I ever love a spoiled little girl like you?”
That was all she would endure. It was as if their weeks of tentative peace since Christmas had never happened as she slapped him across the face.
“Bastard!”
Michael recovered swiftly from her blow and reached out, grabbing her to him. “Not again, my love,” he sneered. “You unmanned me this evening with your disgraceful behavior with Templeton. I won’t permit you to do so again, here in our bed chamber.”
“What?”
“Pouring out your great misfortunes to the man while your family, your husband, was in the same house.”
“I did no such thing.”
“And what of his gift? When were you going to tell me of it?”
She pulled in a breath and slowly let it out. “It was a box of sweets, Michael. Unasked for and unwanted. I gave it to the servants.”
“Sweets.” The expression on his face was blatantly carnal now “Don’t you want me, wife?”
“I do not.”
He grabbed her chin and held his face close to hers.
“You bought and paid for me, didn’t you?” he rasped. “Surely you want me now.”
She shook her head.
“Your body tells the truth. Your breath is fast. Your eyes hot on mine.” he said. “Even if your lovely, lying mouth doesn’t.”
She balled up her fist and hit him in the face before leaving their room. She huddled under the covers in the guest chamber, her tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. Would they never get past the disparity in their finances? It was a long time before she found sleep that night.
When she awoke the next morning the nausea she’d felt over the sumptuous dinner at her parents’ house revisited her. Struggling to a sitting position on the small guest room bed, she closed her eyes until the upset in her stomach subsided. There was no great wonder at its cause. Michael’s harsh, hurtful words. She ran her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair and let out a groan of frustration. She rose and reluctantly returned to the room she shared with her husband.
Michael was still
asleep. He was flat on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out toward the edges of the bed. He snored softly as she crept past him on her way into her dressing room. Unwilling to wait for a servant to bring warm water, she made do with the chilled water in her basin. The soap was slow to lather in the water. She stripped off her nightgown and began to wash herself. When she touched the cloth to her breasts she flinched. Her breasts were tender and aching. She stood before the mirror atop the washstand and ran her gaze down the front of her body. Her breasts appeared larger as well. A thought occurred to her. She’d gone without her monthly bleeding since well before Christmas!
Suddenly the queasiness and tenderness in her breasts came to have new meaning. Could she be expecting Michael’s child? She would speak with Maggie. She wouldn’t speak of it to Michael today. Not after all he’d said last evening.
When she was at last ready for the day she left the dressing room. A quick glance toward the bed showed Michael had not moved one inch since she entered the chamber. Mumbling a few unladylike curses, she crossed to the vanity and hastily ran her brush through her hair. Gathering some of her things, she returned to the guest room and rang for Ann.
***
Michael awoke late in the morning. He rolled over in the bed and stretched, slowly becoming aware of a dull pounding in his head. Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face. He froze as a sharp pain assailed him when he touched the left side of his face. Rising, he crossed to Betsy’s vanity and peered bleary-eyed into the mirror. His left eye was a bit swollen but that wasn’t what caused a string of curses to escape him. The skin surrounding his eye was dark purple and tender to the touch.
He leaned closer to the glass. “What the devil?”
The foggy memory of last evening came back to him. Betsy struck him!. The recollection of their argument followed swiftly on the heels of that memory. He could remember few details in the light of day, save for several harsh words. She’d given no answer to him regarding her behavior with Templeton, aside from something about sweets or some such. No matter. He would have his answers today.
He went into his dressing room and saw to his dress and toilette as swiftly as his aching head allowed. He didn’t bother calling for a valet. Dressed for the day at last, he once more peered into the vanity mirror.
“Ghastly.” He traced his fingers lightly over the purple flesh. “Perhaps Betsy has something to cover it.”
He opened the drawers of her vanity. not really surprised to find no cosmetics within. His wife’s flawless skin had little use for such items. It was with much interest he came upon a small stack of letters in the bottom drawer. A quick perusal showed him that several were from himself, written during the separation prior to their nuptials. He cursed as he found Templeton’s letter tucked within. The date written upon it caused his anger to surge anew. It was written on the day of their bloody wedding!
He read it quickly and cursed again. How dare Templeton make an offer of assistance to her on the very day she was to marry him, Michael? And why did Betsy save it? To beseech the man at some future date to make good on his generous offer?
He crumpled the letter in one hand and stuffed it into his pocket. He went downstairs to the breakfast room to learn at last what were her dealings with the esteemed earl.
Betsy wasn’t in the breakfast room when Michael arrived, much to his chagrin. He thought for a moment to seek her out directly, but the inviting aroma of strong tea beckoned. Foregoing his usual breakfast of eggs and meat, he selected a few sweet rolls and set his plate on the table. He sat and poured a cup of tea, drinking deeply of the steaming liquid. Closing his eyes, he willed the pounding in his head to subside even as the action caused his left eye to pain him.
After eating his meager breakfast, he located his wife at last. She sat in the parlor, a piece of needlework laying as if forgotten in her lap. Her face seemed pale to him, and a twinge of guilt tugged at the back of his mind. He cleared his throat to gain her attention. Betsy looked up at him, her eyes widening as she glimpsed his blackened eye.
“Oh!” she gasped, coming to her feet. The handkerchief she was embroidering fell to the floor. She crossed to him and reached up to lightly touch her fingers to the injury. “Did I do that?”
Michael smiled ruefully as he grasped her hand. The shock and regret that was clear in her demeanor sent all thoughts of brandishing Templeton’s letter from his mind.
“I deserved it.”
At his smile Betsy dropped her hand and turned away. She bent to retrieve the piece of needlework.
“I’ve given some thought to the events of last evening and I feel I must say something,” he said.
Betsy let out a breath and straightened to face him again.
“Oh?”.
He nodded. “I forgive you.”
“You forgive me?”
“I don’t blame you for being alone with Templeton, Betsy,” he went on. “The fact you did so in your parents’ home vexed me, however.”
“You forgive me?” she cried.
“Now see here,” he began. “I realize our argument last night was unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?” she repeated in shock.
Michael’s anger made its inevitable reappearance. He chose not to hear what she was saying, only that she was not accepting his very generous offer of forgiveness.
“You’re my wife,” he snarled. “I come to you on this day to set aside our disagreement, and you attack me yet again?”
“Disagreement? Unreasonable accusations, you must mean. Get out of my sight. And quickly, before I blacken your other eye!”
“Fine!” He reached into his pocket and withdrew Templeton’s letter. “But know this, wife,” he went on, waving the paper in her face before throwing it to the floor. “You will not contact this old fool and tell him of our difficulties.”
He turned on his heel and stormed from the room.
The next day he learned that Betsy settled her belongings into the guest room. She must give little care to the servants’ knowledge of the rift between husband and wife, and he supposed it was because his solicitors had only secured their services for the short period of time they would have need of them in town. He would take a page from her book and ignore the entirety of the situation himself.
A servant came to the study and announced that Philip and Maggie had arrived. He headed to the parlor with little enthusiasm. Philip let out a low whistle as he entered.
“Balsam!” Philip exclaimed. “Tell me you didn’t go brawling without me.”
Michael scowled at his friend. Betsy spared a glance at him, and unless he missed his guess she was quite pleased to see his injury was still so visible.
“What is it you want, Wilton?” Michael asked coolly.
Philip was visibly taken aback at Michael’s demeanor.
“I was in contact with Tratham,” he said. “He wishes to forge ahead with our discussions regarding breeding Gusty to a stallion from his stables.”
Michael nodded and turned to leave the room. “Come into my study.”
He left Philip to follow him and fled. He wouldn’t let his wife revel in his discomfort. Not to his face and not to his mood.
In Michael’s study, Philip regarded him closely.
“Are you going to tell me who made that colorful addition to your handsome face?”
Michael narrowed his eyes at Philip. “Leave it alone, Wilton,” he muttered.
Philip disregarded his words and walked around the desk, leaning closer to Michael’s blackened eye.
“It’s not overlarge,” he mused aloud. “It almost looks as if a small fist… No! Your delicate wife could not have marked you so.”
“Enough!” Michael said in exasperation. “I won’t discuss this with you.”
Philip held his hands in front of himself. “It’s not my place to advise you on your marriage, Balsam,” he said. “Although I can’t imagine what would anger Betsy to the point of violence.”
“It’s none of your
concern,” he said firmly. “I will set matters to rights, do not worry.”
Michael withstood Philip’s close scrutiny for several moments. To his relief Philip nodded at last and turned his inquisitions to the subject of horseflesh.
Chapter 28
“Much is not well, Maggie,” Betsy said.
“Did you do that to his face?”
Betsy nodded.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Maggie asked.
“The hateful words he threw at me caused far worse discomfort, though I don’t sport any visible evidence.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Maggie soothed, taking her hand. “Do tell me. All of it.”
Betsy sniffled and shook her head firmly. “No. It doesn’t matter at present. But I’m afraid there is yet another complication.”
“What, pray?”
“I believe I’m with child.” At Maggie’s stunned silence she elaborated. “I’ve been feeling ill,” she said. “And I haven’t had my monthly since before Christmas.”
Betsy was unprepared for Maggie’s shining smile.
“A baby!” she said, hugging Betsy close. “That’s wonderful news.”
Betsy shook her head and slowly pulled out of her embrace.
“How can I take pleasure in this, Maggie?” she asked. “I’m not even speaking to my husband.”
“That won’t continue for long, I’m certain,” Maggie assured her. “You can’t harbor animosity toward your husband, Betsy. You love him.”
“I do,” Betsy said. “But that can’t change all that he said.”
“But sweetheart, Balsam will surely see the changes your body is undergoing. You can’t hide that from him.”
Betsy shook her head. “Believe me, Maggie,” she said. “I have no intention of letting my husband close enough to see any changes.”
Michael’s notice of any changes proved immaterial as the following two weeks passed without any sort of reconciliation. They shared no further meals together and made no calls upon friends or relatives. Michael took to frequenting the pubs, apparently having little taste for drinking himself into a stupor within his study. Just this very evening he’d taken himself away from the townhouse for what? She could scarcely imagine.
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