When a Lord Needs a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  “Oh God. You . . . It’s not what you think.”

  “Tell me why she thanked you. Tell me,” he said, slamming his palm against a table, making her jump.

  “She thought I had planned it all. That I planned to get caught with you.” Tears filled her eyes, but this time Graham was immune to them.

  “Now, it seems to me that if she did believe you planned it all, she would have been quite angry. Livid, to have been humiliated not only by her fiancé but also her good friend. But instead of getting angry, she thanked you. And embraced you. Why did she thank you?” he asked, ending on a shout.

  “Stop shouting,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

  “I apologize,” he said with a mocking bow. “And while we’re on this topic, you should know I had a conversation with Lady Summerfield and her daughter. It was quite enlightening.”

  “With Lady Summerfield,” she repeated, sounding muddled.

  “Oh yes,” he said pleasantly. “It seems Lady Marjorie was quite upset about what happened at Rufford Abbey. So upset, in fact, she felt compelled to tell me about a conversation the two of you had. Let me think,” he said, tapping one finger against his chin. “I believe it had something to do with your hoping to get caught in a compromising position. With me.”

  “Oh my God.” Katherine looked at him blindly, shaking her head back and forth. “It’s all misunderstandings. All of it.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Stop being that way. It’s hateful.”

  He tilted his head as if in commiseration.

  “I was joking with Marjorie. She was angry with me for being alone with you by the lake. She told me it was dangerous and could have led to a forced marriage if we’d been caught doing anything untoward. I joked that it wouldn’t be so bad being forced into a marriage with you. That’s all it was, a joke between friends.”

  She pulled out a handkerchief, the same one he’d given to her on their wedding day, and blew her nose rather indelicately. At one time, he might have been charmed, but today he found her display of tears not quite believable.

  “Fair enough, you were joking. And, after all, it was my idea to lead you into the clearing. But it was not I who manufactured the meeting at Rufford Abbey.” He stared at her, wishing with all his being that he was wrong about her, that she hadn’t planned to be caught with him. But she’d offered nothing to make him think otherwise. “You planned that meeting in the library. And there they were, a neat little crowd to bear witness. How did you pull it off? Or was it your mother?”

  “I didn’t plan anything. I truly only wanted to tell you that I—” He held up his hand, his head jerking to the side, eyes briefly closing, stopping her because hearing her say those words again was unbearable. “Then why did Miss Von Haupt thank you? Why, when we were first discovered did she happily say, ‘She actually did it.’ Why, Katherine? Why?” He didn’t care if she heard the agony in his voice or saw the pain in his eyes.

  “Because she didn’t want to marry you,” Katherine said, sobbing now.

  “And you did.”

  “Yes, I did,” she shouted. “Though now I realize what a fool I was.”

  Katherine spent that night in her room, quietly crying. The evidence against her was damning—and all true, except for the most important fact: She hadn’t meant to force a marriage. She had led him to that room. She had said—and even thought to herself—that being forced to marry Graham wouldn’t be so awful. She’d longed for a way for them to marry, even though she’d known they could not. How had all her silly, girlish dreams turned into this nightmare? He would never believe her, not having witnessed Claudia embracing her and thanking her. No wonder he’d seemed so angry. And hurt. No one could have been more shocked than Katherine when the silly goose had done that. Claudia had actually believed Katherine had gotten caught with Graham on purpose simply to save Claudia from an unwanted marriage. Oh, why hadn’t she pushed her away and set her straight?

  And what must Graham have felt to have seen that embrace, to hear Claudia say, “Thank you”? No wonder he was angry. It was like being caught standing over a body with a knife in one’s bloodied hands and then claiming innocence. Even the fairest person on earth would think her guilty of subterfuge.

  “Now he’ll never love me,” she said aloud, wincing at how pathetic she sounded. She didn’t even have Clara to cry to. And she felt as pathetic as she sounded, so why not give in to her misery for just a little while?

  Now, with her father withdrawing her dowry, they would have nothing. How Graham must hate her. Even though it was unjustified, she still understood it. She vowed she would tell him the truth, every detail, in hopes he would believe her. She didn’t know how she would convince him, but convince him she would.

  Chapter 17

  Graham felt like death. At least if he’d drunk himself silly the night before, he would understand why, but he hadn’t touched a drop. He was too depressed even to drink. His general feeling of fog and the raging headache that made opening his eyes to the dull morning excruciating could only be explained by one thing: regret.

  What sort of cad treated his wife so? One who believed she had betrayed him, he thought stubbornly. The evidence be damned, he just didn’t believe it of her, not entirely. But the doubts that plagued him made his head and heart hurt in equal measure. He almost wished he’d never made love to her. That way he wouldn’t have the tortuous memories of how she felt, how hot and tight she was, how her nipples puckered when he sucked them. The sounds she made when she came. Just thinking about it made him unbearably hard—which did little to help his pounding head.

  Chase was shuffling around his room pretending he wasn’t trying to wake him, no doubt unsurprised to find him in his own bed. Alone. The old coot should be happy, but he looked worried, casting surreptitious looks his way every few minutes.

  “Just say it,” Graham said, his voice still raspy from sleep.

  “Say what, sir?”

  “Whatever it is that is making you skulk around my room hoping I’ll wake up.”

  Chase neatly folded a towel. “It wouldn’t be my place, sir.”

  “Since when has that stopped you?”

  He put the towel aside and turned toward Graham. “I believe I was wrong about your lady, sir. And I am filled with remorse that I ever said a word against her.”

  “Oh God,” Graham groaned, pulling a pillow over his head.

  “I know it does appear that she schemed to marry you, but I am convinced it was simply an unfortunate series of events that led us to draw the inevitable, but mistaken, conclusion.”

  Graham pulled the pillow from his head. “I am quickly coming to the same conclusion,” he said. He sat up, wincing slightly.

  “Do you need headache powder, sir?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “I didn’t notice any brandy missing,” Chase said as he busied himself getting the powder and a glass of water. He handed Graham a small spoonful of the white, bitter powder, looking over him like a mother hen as he took the headache remedy.

  “I didn’t drink. I came by this pain naturally. Or perhaps God is punishing me. I just hope this powder doesn’t make me even more ill as it did the last time.”

  Chase took the spoon and now empty glass from him. “You simply have to decide which is worse, a headache or stomachache.”

  Graham lay back down, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to relieve the pain. “Chase?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “About Miss Wright, no, it’s Lady Avonleigh now, isn’t it? Good God. Lady Avonleigh. My question is, Chase, why did you change your mind about her?”

  “Because she so obviously loves you, sir,” Chase said offhandedly, as if such a thing were common knowledge.

  Graham tried to control his heart, which found those words remarkably uplifting. “Even so, she still appears guilty of manipulating me into marriage.”

  “No sir.”

  Graham dropped his hands to look at Chase.
“No?”

  “No.”

  “And you say this because . . .”

  “Because she was so very angry with her father. You know I’m not one to eavesdrop,” Chase said with utmost dignity. “But the lack of furniture and carpeting in this home allows sound to carry quite well. And I happened to overhear enough to convince me that even though she loves you, sir, she is deeply unhappy that you were unable to marry Miss Von Haupt.”

  “Oh? Pray tell, what did she say?”

  Chase cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable to be repeating something he’d overheard. “Something to the effect that she had little need of pretty dresses when you so desperately needed money to help your people. I believe it was during the conversation in which her father informed her there would be no dowry forthcoming, but that he would provide for her to have pretty things.”

  Graham smiled slightly. “She was angry, was she?”

  “Yes sir. She . . .” Chase paused, and his voice was suddenly filled with a strong emotion. “She said her father could never know what you’d gone through and that you deserved to be able to help your tenants.”

  “She said all that.”

  Chase nodded. “You told her about your father.”

  Graham looked up at Chase, and then blindly at the foot of the bed. “Not all of it, but yes.”

  Chase nodded sharply, then tugged down his waistcoat. “If that will be all, sir?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Chase.”

  Katherine spent the morning alone, wandering the grounds and trying to imagine what the garden had looked like when it had been kept up. No matter where she was on the estate, whenever she looked up to the house, she smiled at the beauty of it. Even if Graham abandoned her in Avonleigh and returned to London, she would be happy here. Alone. Wandering the grounds like a ghost from a gothic novel.

  Mr. Chase had told her Graham was ill—too ill to go down to breakfast, but Katherine was fairly certain that was just an excuse. He simply couldn’t stand to be in the same room as she. For the first time since their marriage, he hadn’t come to her the previous night. Even though she’d convinced herself she’d feign sleep again, she was still bitterly disappointed he hadn’t even tried.

  Mr. Chase had been quite apologetic; the old man had been so kind to her of late. She thought of Chase’s new attitude as The Great Thaw of 1874. She didn’t know why Mr. Chase was now so agreeable, but she was glad he was. If only she could have the same effect on her husband.

  Katherine stayed out of doors for as long as possible, even though it was a dull and misty day, until her stomach began some strident grumbling, forcing her back inside for luncheon. She’d worn a warm coat and sturdy boots, and had been quite happy traipsing about, feeling the cool, fresh air fill her lungs. She loved the rolling green hills, the tall evergreens that surrounded Avonleigh, and especially the lake that attracted all kinds of water fowl. A folly stood at one end of the lake, but that was a trip for another day.

  With a frown, she wondered what Mrs. Alcourt was preparing. If her father did send her an allowance, she vowed to spend it on a cook. Certainly, having sampled Mrs. Alcourt’s cooking, he couldn’t complain about that expenditure—even if it meant Graham would also benefit from good cooking.

  As she had for breakfast, Katherine sat alone at the dining table, which had been rescued from the attic along with the extra beds. The table itself was an ancient pockmarked affair that had been once used in the servants’ quarters. It did nicely with a new cloth on it, and no one was the wiser when a piece of fine linen was draped across it. Still, the table was far too small for the large dining room, and the fact that such a poor table had been saved made it clear this was a house with frugal servants. With the sky so overcast, it hardly looked like day outside, and the maid had lit candles to lend some brightness to the otherwise dark room.

  Luncheon was cardboard-like pork covered in thick, brownish, floury paste that Katherine assumed was supposed to be gravy. She adored a nice succulent pork loin, but alas the meal on her plate was only a poor relation. She did her best, because she didn’t want to see the look of worry on Mrs. Alcourt’s face when she saw the still-full dish. The day maid, for they had no footmen and Mr. Stanfield was likely napping, removed the plate.

  “Is there anything else you’ll be needing, my lady?”

  My lady. Goodness, that sounded silly. “No, thank you, Sarah. And please thank Mrs. Alcourt for a wonderful meal.”

  The maid looked at the plate skeptically for a moment, then gave her a quick curtsy before disappearing into the shadows of the room.

  Katherine was about to leave the dining room when she stopped dead. A strange and quite lovely woman stood at the entrance, her hair the color of pale gold.

  “Hello,” Katherine said, trying to recall if she’d met the woman before. But instead of returning the greeting, the woman stared at her, her cold gray eyes assessing her without a trace of warmth.

  “You are the American who forced my brother into marriage.” Katherine was slightly taken aback by this greeting from her new sister-in-law. “Well, I don’t recall holding a gun to his head,” Katherine said, smiling uncertainly. “But yes, I am Katherine Spencer, your brother’s wife. You must be Juliana.” Despite the cold greeting, Katherine decided to be pleasant and welcoming.

  “Lady Spencer, yes.”

  Katherine walked over to her but stopped short of offering her hand in greeting. Juliana seemed more statue than woman. Her hair was flawless, her perfectly fitted gold silk gown only made her look even more inanimate, and her cold stare was beyond disconcerting.

  “I am curious about you. What did you hope to gain by marrying my brother?” Though her words were like shards of glass thrown with precision, Juliana’s face was completely devoid of expression. How did one master the particular art of aristocratic disdain quite so well? Katherine wondered.

  “I beg your pardon, but you don’t even know me. How can you say such a thing?” Katherine asked calmly, even though inside she was raging.

  “I know your type. I don’t need to know more.”

  Katherine had never in her life been the target of such calmly delivered venom. Juliana used the same tone of voice Katherine had heard some women use with their beleaguered servants—dismissive and demeaning but cloaked with civility. “And I’m very much afraid I know your type, as well. And as such, I don’t believe we have anything more to say to one another.”

  Juliana lifted her chin slightly. “You didn’t answer my question. What did you hope to gain?” Juliana’s eyes swept over her form, her nose wrinkling in distaste, and Katherine was suddenly made conscious of her wind-mussed hair and mud-stained hem. “It must have been quite a shock when you saw Avonleigh for the first time. What did you think? That you would become some sort of princess? That everyone would be bowing and scraping before you? You Americans. You think you can marry a title and you magically become one of us.”

  “I wanted nothing else but to be happy with Graham. Since I cannot convince you that I am anything other than what you believe me to be, I won’t waste either of our time.” Katherine was proud that her voice was so steady, for it felt as if her entire body were trembling with anger—and no small amount of hurt. “Good day, Lady Spencer.” She started to leave, then stopped. “I had been so looking forward to meeting you. I had to leave my younger sister in New York, and I miss her desperately. I was hoping to have a sister here. I see now that I was terribly mistaken.”

  Katherine fled, leaving Juliana staring after her, the smallest furrow appearing between her eyes.

  “I think I’ve made a grievous mistake,” Juliana announced. Graham, who was trying desperately not to vomit, carefully nodded at his sister. Not only had the headache powder not taken away his pain, he was terribly nauseated and not in the mood for conversation. “And what mistake was that?”

  “I met your new wife,” she said, as if that were enough explanation.

  “Oh God, what did you say?” Graham presse
d his hand against one eye. One side of his head throbbed incessantly, and he could hardly keep his eyes open even in the gloom of his room. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with the pillow over his head—in complete silence.

  “Of course I based my opinion on what I’ve heard and your own letter to me. I must say I was expecting Miss Wright to be far different from the woman I met.”

  “Lady Avonleigh,” Graham muttered.

  “Oh really, Graham. Fine. Lady Avonleigh.”

  “What did you expect her to be like?” He pulled the pillow over his head.

  “Like Miss Von Haupt, I suppose. Silly and vain. It’s not how she looked,” she added, “but rather what she said. I asked her what she’d hoped to gain by forcing you into marriage. I must say she didn’t like that, but she seemed as hurt as angry. I thought that a bit strange, to be honest with you. And then there was her answer.”

  “What did she say, Jules?” Graham said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

  “She could be lying, but I don’t see why she should at this point. I mean to say, she managed to marry you and get the title. She told me she only hoped to be happy.”

  Graham let out a low groan.

  “Are you quite all right?”

  “Other than the fact my head feels as if it might explode and I’m trying not to vomit, I’m just ducky,” Graham said. “Also, I fear I was wrong about my wife and am now regretting some things I said to her. And the way I’ve treated her. If I am wrong, I’m the worst sort of husband a girl could want.”

  “Oh dear. If we’re wrong about her, I fear we both need to apologize,” Juliana said. “But, Graham, how can you be wrong about her? Based on what you wrote to me, it seems fairly likely she did trap you.”

  “I know it seems that way, but I’m beginning to think it’s all circumstantial, horrible bad luck.” He pulled the pillow from his head, wincing at the dim light. “And she’s won Mr. Chase over.”