Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  What if ...

  The potential disasters raced through his thoughts with an alarming speed. In all his life, he had never been responsible for another, and he was discovering a fiercely protective instinct stirred to life he never dreamed that he possessed.

  It was rather frightening just how acutely painful the thought of Victoria in danger was to him, and how deadly determined he was to bring an end to that danger.

  Abruptly turning on his heel, Claredon crossed toward the mahogany sideboard. “I believe I can use a drink. What of you, Humbly?” he asked in tight tones.

  “Yes, a brandy would be most welcome,” the vicar readily agreed.

  Pouring two generous measures of the brandy, Claredon moved to hand Humbly a glass, then drained his own with one swallow. The heat of the fine spirit helped to ease the cold fury that gripped him, and he offered the vicar a rueful smile. “A most astonishing evening for you, eh, Humbly?”

  “As you say, most astonishing,” the older gentleman said as he sipped the brandy. “It gave me quite a turn to walk in and discover a man dangling from the window.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.”

  “I do wish, however, I had kept my wits about me,” he admitted with a sigh. “If I had not called out, we might easily have caught him.”

  Claredon gave a wave of his hand. Certainly he would have preferred to have captured the scoundrel the moment he stepped foot upon the grounds, but he did not blame the poor vicar for his instinctive alarm. “Nonsense. Had the villain actually been allowed to enter the house, we have no notion what he might have done. If he were armed, it would have been very difficult to overpower him.”

  Obviously reassured, Mr. Humbly gave a nod of his head. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “I am only relieved you were not injured.”

  Without warning, the vicar gave a sudden chuckle. “To be honest, I believe he appeared as frightened and startled as I when I entered the room.”

  Claredon gave a slow nod of his head. “An amateur, then.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “It still makes no sense.” Claredon set his glass upon the desk with a sharp bang. He did not like the nagging sensation that there was more to this stranger than he could put his finger upon. “Whether the intruder was an amateur or not, he must have realized that the servants would be moving through the house extinguishing the candles and checking the fireplaces.”

  “A mystery, indeed,” Humbly agreed in sympathetic tones. “Perhaps Victoria’s sketching will help us discover his identity.”

  Claredon cast a glance toward the sketch the vicar had left lying upon the desk. He experienced an odd flare of pride in his wife’s sensible approach to discovering the thief. Unlike many maidens, she had not been thrown into the vapors or taken to her bed at learning a stranger had attempted to enter the house. Instead, she had calmly offered her assistance with an enviable presence of mind.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I intend to take it to the tenants tomorrow and then the village. If he is staying locally, then we will track him down.”

  “A very clever notion of Victoria to draw his sketch.”

  An unwitting smile curved Claredon’s lips. “Victoria is always clever.”

  The vicar polished off his brandy and set the glass aside. “I do hope she will not be overset by the disturbance.”

  Claredon gave a lift of his brows. “Victoria? I do not believe I have seen my wife overset by anything,” he retorted, only to realize that he was not being entirely honest. That fateful night she had awakened to discover herself in his arms, she had been decidedly overset. So overset her screams had brought everyone in the posting inn to her door. “Well, perhaps once.”

  With an astute swiftness that was generally hidden beneath his vague air, the vicar gave a sudden cough. “Yes, quite,” he said, fussing with his sadly crumpled cravat. “She is not a highly strung maiden. Very fortunate, of course, considering the trials she has been forced to bear.”

  Claredon could not prevent a wry smile at the mumbled words. “Am I to be considered one of her trials?”

  The older gentleman possessed the grace to blush at the blunt question. “Actually, I refer more to the events that led to your marriage,” he was hasty to reassure.

  Claredon gave a restless shrug, not overly eager to discuss his marriage with the vicar. He did not share Victoria’s confidence that they could manage to hide the near state of warfare they lived in. “It was unfortunate, but we have accepted the situation,” he reluctantly lied.

  The sherry eyes narrowed in an unnerving manner. “Have you?”

  “As well as possible.”

  A taut silence descended before Humbly gently cleared his throat. “Forgive me for prying, but was there another you wished to wed?”

  The gentleman’s perception caught Claredon off guard and before he could halt himself he had already given a nod of his head. “Oh, yes.”

  “I see. I am sorry.”

  Feeling a fool for having revealed his very private hopes for the future, Claredon gave a sharp shake of his head. He could not allow the vicar to believe he was nursing a broken heart. Only broken dreams. “Do not be sorry. I had not yet discovered her.”

  Not surprisingly, the vicar’s plump countenance registered bewildered confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

  Knowing he was bound to appear a ready candidate for Bedlam, Claredon heaved a sigh. “She was merely in my mind,” he reluctantly confessed. “I have always harbored an image of the perfect maiden I would one day wed.”

  “I see,” the vicar at last murmured, leaving Claredon with the uncomfortable sensation that perhaps he did see. All too well. “I did not realize that there had ever been a perfect maiden.”

  Claredon curbed his flare of impatience toward the kindly man. “I meant perfect for me.”

  “Ah.” A rather mysterious twinkle entered the sherry eyes. “And what sort of woman would that be?”

  Claredon did not trust that twinkle, nor the unmistakable sense that there was more than a trace of amusement in his tone.

  “Kind. Courageous. Loyal. Intelligent,” he forced himself to retort in a tight voice. No one could possibly comprehend his desire to discover that woman he had nourished deep in his heart—or his reason for seeking her in the first place. “It also would have been nice if she possessed a sense of humor.”

  Humbly gave a lift of his brows. “And you have never encountered a maiden who possessed such qualities?”

  “As I am sure you are aware, I have devoted little attention to encountering proper maidens,” he retorted dryly. “There had always seemed ample time to acquire a wife.”

  There was a deliberate pause before Humbly slowly smiled. “It seems to me that despite the circumstances of your marriage, you managed to wed precisely the sort of woman you desired.”

  Claredon stilled at the soft words.

  Victoria the woman he had dreamed of for so many years?

  Ridiculous, of course.

  She was stubborn, sharp tongued, and ill tempered. She was also bitterly resentful at being forced to become his wife. Not anything at all like the sweet, lovingly gentle maiden he had hoped to discover.

  Still, he could not entirely deny that the vicar had a legitimate argument.

  Victoria did possess courage and loyalty and a shrewd intelligence. She was also beautiful and utterly desirable, if only she would lower her prickly barriers. He could certainly have done considerably worse, he acknowledged with a grudging smile.

  “I suppose,” he murmured, not at all prepared to claim Victoria as his perfect mate.

  Not as long as she was making him batty.

  Easily seeing through his less than enthusiastic agreement, Humbly regarded him with a piercing gaze. “Of course, I would imagine that marriage in the beginning is difficult for all couples, especially when it was not precisely what either of you desired.”

  Claredon nearly choked at the absurd understatement. His marriage to Victori
a had not been difficult, it had been bloody impossible. “You have no notion.”

  “Perhaps I have a small notion,” the vicar surprisingly insisted. “You see, I had no desire to become a vicar.”

  Unable to make the leap between his marriage and choosing whether or not to become a vicar, Claredon gave a faint frown. Perhaps the old boy was a bit more noddy than he had realized. “No?”

  “Certainly not,” Humbly retorted with seemingly sane sincerity. “Being a vicar always seemed such dull work with few rewards, and, of course, it was hardly a career that made the maidens swoon with delight. I was quite set upon joining the military. There are few things more dashing than a gentleman in his regimentals.”

  Claredon felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. The mere thought of the rotund, rumpled vicar in regimentals was decidedly ludicrous. “I presume you had a change of heart?”

  “No, my father simply refused to consider purchasing me a commission.” Humbly heaved a reminiscent sigh. “He also refused to support any other featherbrained scheme I might harbor. I was to become a vicar, or I would be cut off entirely from my family.”

  Having been decidedly spoiled by his own father, Claredon could not help but experience a flare of surprise. “A rather harsh ultimatum.”

  The vicar grimaced. “Yes. And I will admit I was decidedly resentful for a goodly time.”

  “Any young gentleman would be.”

  That unnerving glint returned to his eyes. “It took far too long for me to realize my resentment of losing my dream was harming no one but myself. I had accepted my father’s demands rather than striking out on my own, and it was upon my own shoulders to make something good of my choice or give sway to bitterness.”

  Claredon smiled with cynical amusement at the vicar’s less than subtle jab. He did not doubt the wily old fox was referring directly to his marriage with Victoria. “You make is sound very simple.”

  He shrugged. “It was once I accepted my path was destined to travel a direction I had not anticipated.”

  “And you have no regrets?” Claredon demanded in disbelief.

  “Of course. I should have appeared very handsome in regimentals,” Humbly retorted with a sweet smile. “In the end, however, I am satisfied that I have been the very best vicar I knew how to be. There is a great deal of satisfaction in that. Now I will bid you good night. I believe I have had enough excitement for one day.”

  With a faint bow, the vicar turned to make his way from the room.

  Claredon watched his retreat with a narrowed gaze. Despite his prick of annoyance at being gently chastised by the older gentleman, he could not deny that there had been a great deal of sense in Humbly’s words. His path had irrevocably been altered the day he had wed Victoria. It was past time he laid his childish fantasy aside and the regret he would never know his dream maiden.

  It was the only means of allowing room for Victoria in his heart.

  Six

  It took a considerable amount of courage for Victoria to leave her bedchamber the next morning.

  Despite her grim determination to banish all thoughts of Claredon from her mind, she had spent a long, sleepless night recalling his absurd accusations.

  How dare he imply her love for Thomas was that of a mother for her child? Granted, Thomas was of a far gentler, more easily swayed nature than Claredon. And their love was more one of friendship than passion. But that did not mean she had simply attached herself to him out of some odd desire to have someone to mother.

  It was all utterly ridiculous.

  So why had she twisted and turned throughout the long night?

  Was it because his talk of children has stirred to life a deep ache of loneliness she had tried so desperately to bury? Because he had forced her to truly consider the notion that they were tied to one another forever? Because he promised he would be a faithful husband? Because for just one moment when he had held her in his arms, she had not wanted him to let her go?

  They were troublesome thoughts that she possessed no desire to ponder.

  Instead, she had risen from her bed and sternly turned her mind toward the strange intruder who had attempted to sneak into Longmeade. No doubt Claredon had already begun his search for the culprit, and while a childish part of her longed to remain in her chamber and hide from the disturbing companionship of her husband, the more sensible side of her nature realized she should offer her assistance.

  This was her home as well as Claredon’s, and she had no intention of allowing villains to waltz in and out of her windows. With that thought firmly in the forefront of her mind, she had gone in search of Claredon.

  It came as rather a surprise to discover he was not at all anxious to allow her to accompany him as he questioned the tenants or when he was preparing to travel to the village to speak with the local merchants. He ridiculously claimed it was his responsibility to protect his household. Only because she was quite as stubborn as he did he grudgingly allow her to ride in the carriage with him.

  Really, she stewed as she awaited his return from the posting inn, one would think he suspected that the entire countryside was littered with dangerous rogues. For a woman unaccustomed to anyone concerning themselves with her welfare, it was a decidedly odd sensation to suddenly be treated as if she were a delicate object.

  Odd and not entirely unpleasant, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  Not that she intended ever to allow Claredon to order her about or to dictate what she could or could not do, she swiftly assured herself. But there was something rather nice about having someone who actually considered her as a vulnerable woman rather than the invincible Victoria.

  With a shake of her head at her ridiculous fancies, Victoria peered through the window toward the bustling posting inn. The mild summer weather had shifted overnight, bringing in a gray drizzle that blanketed the small village. Through the tenacious tentacles of fog Victoria at last spotted the tall, elegant form of her husband.

  A strangely familiar tingle of recognition inched down her spine as he neared, as if her body possessed a special connection to him that went beyond her rational mind.

  It was a recognition she had realized early in her marriage and why she had so determinedly fought his seduction. She might not be able to control the unruly response of her body, but she was wise enough to know that passion without love would be a shallow affair.

  With a fluid grace, Claredon stepped into the carriage and closed the door behind him. He carefully removed his wet coat and set it on the opposite seat before lowering himself beside her.

  “Well?” she demanded impatiently, as much to distract herself from the warm clean scent of him as to discover what had occurred in the inn.

  Surprisingly, a satisfied smile curved his lips. “Success at last.”

  Victoria widened her eyes in astonishment. “Someone recognized the sketch?”

  “The innkeep. He said the man arrived two days ago and signed in as Frank Smith.”

  Victoria shivered. Perhaps ridiculously, the knowledge this man had been recognized was rather disturbing. Suddenly he was no longer a vague form conjured by Vicar Humbly, but a flesh and blood villain boldly residing at the local inn.

  “Hardly original,” she muttered.

  “No, he does not appear to be a very clever criminal.”

  “But what could he possibly desire?”

  “That is what I intend to discover.”

  There was a dangerous edge to his voice that brought a frown to Victoria’s brow. “What are you going to do?”

  As if sensing her concern, Claredon gave a dismissive shrug. “The innkeep noted Mr. Smith slipping out of the inn earlier this morning. He will eventually have to return, and I intend to be waiting for him.”

  Victoria gave an instinctive shake of her head at the notion of her husband so openly exposing himself to the criminal. “I do not think that is wise.”

  His brows raised in surprise at her sharp tone. “Why?”

 
“He could be dangerous.”

  An undeniable emotion rippled over his countenance before he offered her a reassuring smile. “I will await him in the public rooms. There is little he can do if surrounded by others.”

  “You cannot be certain.”

  He regarded her for a long, silent moment before slowly shaking his head. “You surprise me, Victoria.”

  “Why?”

  “I should have thought it would suit you very well to have me conveniently disposed of.”

  Victoria’s momentary shock was swiftly replaced by a flood of fury at his carefully bland words. “How dare you accuse me of something so horrid?” she breathed in shaken tones.

  He grimaced, his hand reaching out to cover her clenched fist. “Forgive me, that was unkind.”

  She abruptly dropped her gaze to where his hand engulfed her own. She was angry and oddly hurt he would think her capable of such a ghastly desire. “I would not wish harm upon anyone.”

  “Of course you would not,” he said in low tones. “I did not truly believe you would, but I fear a gentleman’s pride can be an unpredictable thing.”

  Her head lifted at his baffling explanation. “What?”

  “Never mind.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It is time for you to return to Longmeade.”

  “Without you?” she demanded, her frown returning as she recalled his determination to confront the thief.

  “I will have Johnson drive you home and return to fetch me later.”

  She unconsciously squared her shoulders in determination. “No, you cannot stay here on your own.”

  “I have assured you there will be no danger.”

  “Then allow me to remain,” she swiftly countered.

  His hand lifted to softly brush a curl that had escaped from beneath her bonnet. “Victoria, you cannot remain in the public room.”

  “Then I will remain here in the carriage,” she retorted, attempting to ignore the sheer pleasure of his fingers as they trailed over her cheek. “If I spot the man entering the inn, I can send in a groom to warn you.”

  He was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. “And if he manages to recognize the carriage, he will most certainly bolt.”