“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“What?” Andrew snapped to attention, suddenly aware that his brother had been speaking to him for some time.
Michael quirked an amused brow. “I suppose I shouldn’t try to hold a conversation with you until after your wedding. Although, I doubt that will solve much.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Andrew wondered.
“I mean you’ve been a complete bore ever since Chloe turned you away. You’re moody and brooding. I can’t believe Elizabeth still wants to marry you.”
Andrew sniffed in response. The truth was, he couldn’t believe she still wanted to marry him either. He’d promised to be more attentive, and he’d certainly been trying, but his heart wasn’t in it. Apparently, that didn’t matter to Elizabeth, though. As long as he was at her side at social functions, she didn’t seem to care that his mind was elsewhere.
“Listen, Andrew,” Michael began, leaning further over the table. “If I could trade places with you, I would. But I think we’ve done enough damage with our activities as it is. You either have to call it off, or resign to a life with Elizabeth as your wife, because this just won’t do.”
Andrew was just about to tell his brother to bugger off when Michael rose from the table and walked away.
Good, saves me the trouble.
Who the hell was his brother to tell him his behavior wouldn’t do? What did that mean, anyhow? And what the bloody hell would Michael do if it were him? The same bloody thing he was doing, Andrew was sure. They were gentlemen, damn it. They had been raised to do the right thing—to follow the strictures of society—and that meant marrying the woman you first offered marriage to.
Andrew slammed his fist down on the table, drawing all sorts of unwanted attention from other club members. He scowled at the beer that sloshed on the table. Blast it, his brother was right. This just wouldn’t do.
***
“How are things progressing at Wexford Hall, Mr. Maltby?”
“Just fine, thank you, sir. Though my father’s health is quickly deteriorating. The doctors do not expect him to live much longer.”
Silence fell over the supper table; the only sounds the scraping of silver against tin and the chickens clucking in the yard. Chloe looked around, noting the down-turned heads of her family members. She had informed Louis of her decision to marry him that morning, and her mother had invited him for dinner.
It was supposed to be a cheerful time of celebration, but now that the conversation had turned to his father’s impending death, no one was quite sure what to say.
“Is the estate in good order, then?” Chloe cut into the silence, curious about the state of her soon-to-be home.
Louis looked at her, his eyes intent. Goodness, she had never realized how serious he was. She gave a smile, hoping for one in return.
But he simply nodded and then answered, “It is, though it needs a great deal of work. Father has abandoned his tenants for so long due to his health that most of their cottages are in ill repair.”
“And what are you doing to help, now that you’re home?” Chloe wondered.
“I am doing a great deal,” he offered. “As much as I can in light of the current circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” Chloe’s mother leaned in curiously.
“My parents’ health prevents me from doing more.” He turned to Chloe with adoring eyes that made her somewhat uncomfortable. “But perhaps I will be able to persuade Chloe to help me, once she is lady of the house?”
Lady of the house. Chloe very much wanted to be “lady of the house,” only it wasn’t Louis’s house she wanted to be lady of. And she certainly didn’t relish looking after his mother and her gout.
Goodness, that was horribly uncharitable of her, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to marry him, but what choice did she have? It was either raise her child as a bastard, or wait on Mrs. Maltby.
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “I am...looking forward to it.”
The table fell silent again and after another quarter hour of awkward conversation, they all stood from the table. Chloe desperately wanted to escape with Gracie to their room and go to bed, but Louis insisted they take a walk together.
“It’s dark outside, Louis,” Chloe pointed out, hoping he would see her point.
“But the moon is full, my dear,” he countered, taking her by the elbow. “We won’t go far. Just to the stream and back.”
He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Chloe could see that, so she followed him from the cottage, throwing her shawl over her shoulders as she did.
They walked in silence up the lane and to the meadow. The stream was just beyond, illuminated by the bright moon, babbling and rippling its way through the countryside.
Chloe glanced at Louis. He really was a kind person, and she knew that what she was doing to him was not right. She cared for him as a friend, but beyond that she felt nothing. She would never know the all-consuming love and passion she’d known with Andrew, but at least they could be friends. Of course, it was clear Louis would want more, and as his wife, she’d be obliged to accommodate him, but-
A flutter of nausea passed through her stomach.
“Chloe, are you all right?” Louis reached out with a tender hand and steadied her when she swayed.
“I’m fine.” She allowed him to lead her to a nearby tree stump where she gratefully plopped down.
“Thank you,” she muttered once her stomach had calmed. “This baby tends to have awful timing. The nausea hits me at the most inopportune moments sometimes.”
“That’s all right, darling,” Louis said coming to kneel down beside her. “I’ll always be here to help you through it.”
His voice was soft, and his eyes looked on her tenderly. He reached up and stroked her cheek with the intimacy of a lover, and Chloe started in response.
“Don’t be frightened, my love,” he cooed sweetly. “I just want to kiss you.”
“Kiss me?” Not meaning to, Chloe reared back, away from his oncoming lips. She couldn't get the memory of his onion breath out of her nose. Not to mention, kissing him almost felt as if she were being unfaithful. How odd, when Andrew was only days away from marrying another woman. “Wait, Louis!”
She jumped up from the stump and stepped a few feet away. Louis was on his feet immediately, still in pursuit of his kiss.
“Come now, Chloe, you’re to be my wife very soon. You don’t expect our marriage to be platonic, I hope.”
Oh, Lord, she didn’t expect him to ask this of her so soon.
“No, of course not,” she exclaimed, skirting back around to the other side of the stump. “It’s just that it’s...against my beliefs.”
That brought Louis up short. “Your beliefs?” he chuckled. “Am I to believe that you’re the Virgin Mary, then?”
“Louis, stop it,” she begged, her breath coming in short spurts from having to run from him. “I can’t kiss you yet.”
“May I ask why?” He stopped his pursuit and looked at her, hands on hips.
“Why what?” Chloe asked, hoping to drive him in circles.
Louis threw up his hands and bellowed, “Why can’t you kiss me?”
Chloe chewed her bottom lip. Why couldn’t she kiss him? Because she didn’t want to. That was the truth of it, but if she told him that, he’d be crushed. So she came up with a lie that she hoped would be believable.
“Because you remind me of him.”
Louis’s eyes grew wide. “The father?”
“No, you nincompoop! You remind me of Sam. Every time I look at you, I think of him.” She plopped back down on the stump and closed her eyes against the cool breeze. She hated to desecrate her husband’s memory in such a way—it didn’t seem right to use him to fend off suitors—but it was the only thing she could think of in the moment.
She heard the crunch of footsteps nearing her, but then they were passing her. Puzzled, she opened her eyes and swung around to see Louis walking away
.
“Louis?” she called, but he didn’t stop. “Louis, what is the matter?”
He halted and turned just enough to look at her, but not fully around. “I have no wish to compete with a dead man, Chloe. Think about that and I will call on you tomorrow.”
Stunned, Chloe watched him walk away, and not surprisingly, a sense of calm washed over her. Of course, she shouldn’t have felt so calm. Her one opportunity to make a secure life for herself and her baby was walking away, giving her an ultimatum.
Though, what he didn’t realize was that his competition was very much alive and well and living in London.
Twenty-Five
“Oh, good, you’re here!”
Elizabeth rushed into the parlor and ran straight to Andrew, who took her hands in his. She looked harried, her brow furrowed beneath blond ringlets.
“Well, of course I’m here. You said it was urgent.” He searched her blue eyes, wondering what could be the matter, half-hoping she was going to call off the wedding.
“What I have to say to you is rather sensitive.” She blushed slightly and looked away as if she were embarrassed to bring it up.
What the devil is going on?
“Tea?”
“Tea?” Andrew parroted. “I thought the news could not wait.”
“It can’t! That is, it can wait until I ring for tea.”
Without waiting for his answer, she darted across the room and yanked on the bellpull. They waited silently until a maid arrived to take her instruction and then finally, they sat down on the tufted pink sofa.
“Well,” Andrew prodded, “go on.”
“Oh, Andrew, I don’t know how to say this or what we should do about it, but I’ve discovered something...well, rather scandalous, involving your family.”
Oh, dear God. She really was going to call off the wedding. She’d found out some long lost secret that no one knew about—not even the living members of his family—and she just couldn’t live with the shame of being married to one of those Wetherby’s. Andrew tried to calm himself, tried not to get his hopes up too far, but the one thing he’d been wishing for the last four months was about to come true. Elizabeth was going to let him out of his obligation.
“Andrew, are you listening?”
“Yes, of course!” he shouted all of a sudden. “Sorry, you say it involves my family?”
Exasperated, Elizabeth threw up her arms and shook her head. “Not just yours, but mine as well. Andrew, Chloe is...”
The world seemed to come to a stand still at the mention of Chloe. Chloe is what? he wanted to shout, but he didn’t. He remained calm, passive, and waited for her to finish. She opened her mouth again, but a servant entered at just that moment to deliver the tea service. Andrew thought he might die of waiting to hear the rest of the sentence, but Elizabeth took her time pouring the tea, and then offered him a biscuit. They did smell delicious, like the ones Mrs. Finch always made for him, but no! He did not want a bloody biscuit right now!
Finally, Elizabeth put down her tea cup and swallowed the bite of biscuit she'd taken, before turning somewhat wary eyes on him.
“Chloe is...with child.”
Silence prevailed in the overly pink room while Andrew tried to lift his chin from the floor.
With child? She couldn’t be. Did Elizabeth know about him? Dear God, he had surely reached the seventh circle of Hell.
“H-how do you know?” he ventured, hating the sound of his own shaky voice.
“Well, what a silly question,” Elizabeth chirped. “She’s pregnant!”
“Oh, of course,” Andrew remarked absently. “But what has this to do with my family, then?”
Elizabeth took his hands in hers and made him look her in the eye. Lord, but that was difficult. He braced himself.
“The baby is Michael’s.”
Andrew couldn’t speak. He just sat there, gaping, trying to sort out what Elizabeth had said. Michael. She thought it was Michael’s baby. But of course! It was supposedly Michael who had gone to Essex, wasn’t it? Not him. But had she figured it out on her own, or had Chloe lied to protect him?
His gut clenched as a million thoughts flew through his mind. But the foremost thought, once all the questions had stopped swimming around, was that he was going to be a father. And Chloe, dear sweet Chloe, was carrying his child.
It should have been a joyous occasion, one spent with Chloe, holding her in his arms, telling her how excited he was that they were going to have a baby together. Instead, she was in the country, probably trying to bear the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock all alone. And he was here, with his betrothed, trying to make sense of the fact that she was the one to deliver this earth-shattering news.
“Aren’t you going to say something, Andrew?” her voice cut into his thoughts.
“Well...I suppose someone should tell the- the father.”
“Immediately,” she added, a sudden sense of urgency to her tone.
Andrew eyed her curiously. “Why immediately?”
“Because if not, she will marry that droll Mr. Maltby!”
Marry? Andrew snapped to attention, and without thinking grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders.
“What are you talking about?”
“Louis Maltby,” she repeated, looking perplexed. “He was an old friend from her past—a friend of Sam’s, really—and he offered her marriage so that her baby wouldn’t grow up without a father. They’re set to meet with the parson a week from Sunday and while I think it’s admirable and all, I must say, I don’t really like the man. And furthermore, it isn’t fair that the real father doesn’t even know—What are you doing?”
Andrew debated telling Elizabeth the truth, but he thought better of it. He had to find Michael and figure out a plan. But there was one thing that was for certain: He was not going to let Chloe marry this Mr. Maltby. Whoever that was.
***
“Well, congratulations, brother! Shall I bring out the cigars and the good port?”
“This is hardly a time for celebration!” Andrew shouted at his brother, his nerves getting the better of him. “I’ve got to stop that wedding!”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Michael asked, sitting cool as an April breeze in the leather armchair.
“What?”
“Ah, you have your own wedding in just a few short days. And you’ll be honeymooning in Scotland by the time Chloe walks down the aisle to her Mr...what was it again? Murphy?”
“Maltby.”
“Ah. Doesn’t ring a bell. Do we know him?”
Andrew turned a scowl on his brother. “I don’t give a bloody rat’s bum if we know him!”
Michael put his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry,” he muttered and then, “So, what do you plan to do?”
“I have to get to Chloe,” Andrew said, taking a seat opposite his brother.
“And what of Elizabeth?”
Andrew sighed and dropped his face into his hands. What of Elizabeth? He had no choice, really. He wasn’t about to let Chloe marry some other man. And he certainly wasn’t going to let his child call that man Father.
Resigned, he stood and leveled his brother with a dark gaze. “I have to tell her the truth. She has to call off the wedding.”
A calculating gleam appeared in Michael’s eyes and Andrew was almost afraid to ask what he was thinking. But curiosity got the better of him.
“What?” he asked simply.
“Maybe you don’t have to tell her.”
Andrew snorted. “In which case I would have to marry her, and we’d be right back where we started.”
Michael leaned forward in his chair, his energy heightened. “No, Drew...what if I married her?”
Andrew’s mouth fell open. He loved his brother—they’d always gotten along and been there for one another in difficult times—but this went beyond brotherly devotion. One did not leg-shackle themselves for life without an ulterior motive. The sap really did care about her, didn’t he?
�
��You? You want to marry Elizabeth?”
Michael nodded. “That is to say, I wouldn’t mind marrying her.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes on his brother until Michael broke.
“Fine! I want to marry her. Are you satisfied?”
Andrew shook his head, trying to make sense of things. “Why didn’t you say anything before? I had my suspicions, but I would have—and will still—gladly step aside.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Michael leaned back against the leather armchair. “Of course you would, but it was you she chose. Not me. It’s frustrating. I’ve come to care for her. Deeply,” he admitted. “Actually, I’ve always cared for her. You just beat me to the punch when it came to proposing. Secretly, I was thrilled to take your place, and equally thrilled that your relationship with her was...well, chaste is probably the best way to put it. When I chased off Lord Edgmond—”
“Edgmond?”
“Yes, Edgmond. Benjamin was serious when he told you about him. And Elizabeth was awfully close to running off with the blackguard. It wasn’t until you—I—started showing her due attention that she ceased her flirtation with him.”
Andrew stared back at his brother dumbfounded. Why hadn’t he told him any of this? They could have saved themselves months of heartache and frustration. They could have told Elizabeth long ago, rather than on the eve of her wedding. Good Lord, they had to do something, or else all four of the parties involved would be miserable for the rest of their lives.
***
Saturday morning, Chloe woke to torrential rainfall outside her window, and in her house as well. The slats in their ceiling were in ill repair, and little puddles had formed on the floor throughout the cottage. She lit a candle to cut through the gloom—knowing her mother would be vexed with her for wasting them when it was light out—and glanced around the room.
Gracie still slept on the other side of the bed, but it sounded as though the rest of the house was already awake. Her little brother and sister could be heard dragging their wooden toys across the kitchen floor, while her mother hummed softly. She was preparing breakfast, if the wafting smells were any indication.
Chloe’s stomach grumbled as the scents of eggs and ham and toast mingled in the air and invaded her nose. She seemed to be hungry almost constantly these days.
The Wary Widow Page 20
