by Cheryl Bolen
A tear trickled down her cheek.
His brows plunging, he moved to her and spoke in a gentle voice. "I swear it's a lie about Miss Avery's. I've never set foot inside the place." As he reached Sally he hung his head and spoke in a throaty voice. "Everything else is, unfortunately, true." He removed his handkerchief and dried her tear. "There now," he said gently. "How long have you been getting these wretched letters?"
"Every day since last week."
He muttered another oath. "I'd love to get my hands around her whoring neck."
Sally's mouth dropped open.
"Pardon me, my dear, but it's the truth. Betsy Johnson lifts her skirts for any man who wants her used goods. Never men of the ton, you understand. She likes her men—and boys—coarse. Like her father."
Sally had never been so shocked in her life. "How do you know this?"
"It's something all the men know. Was she not known to regularly climb from her window while you girls were at Miss Worth's?"
Sally's eyes widened. "How did you know about that?"
"Males have a network about that type of female."
"I can't believe it," Sally said, stunned.
"Believe it. She's no better than the women who are employed at Susan Avery's. In fact, she's a great deal worse. Those women are there because they need the money. Miss Johnson wants for nothing but a good reputation."
"You know Miss Avery's first name."
"I swear to you, Sally, that kind of woman is not for me, but I do have friends who are regular customers there."
"Is Blanks?"
"Never."
She was enormously relieved. For Glee.
He gently patted her cheek, then restored the handkerchief to his pocket. "Have you saved all the letters?"
"I burned the first, but I've kept all the others. Why, I don't know. Sort of a self-torture, I suppose."
He settled gentle hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry for any pain I've caused you."
She couldn't face him for what she was going to say next. "The letters claim you make love to your lover nearly every night."
"So that's why you think you're a laughingstock!" His head lowered and he brushed his lips over the limp curls on top of her head. "I give you my word, Sally, I've not been with another woman."
Wasn't this what she had longed to hear him say? Yet she did not know if she was relieved or crushed over his words. If it were true that he had not been with a woman, that meant no woman appealed to him. Especially not the woman who lay beside him nearly naked every night. Did Diana still reach from the grave to grip his wounded heart? Oh, but Sally was beginning to wish Diana had died in the womb. No, she didn't really wish that. For then there would be no Georgette and no Sam, and Sally loved them far too much to begrudge their birth.
But was he telling her the truth? What man would ever admit to a wife that he had been with another woman? She tilted her face to him, and their eyes met and held. For some inexplicable reason, she believed him.
"May I see the other letters?" he asked.
"They're in your desk drawer. If you were ever home, you would have had the opportunity to read them."
He angrily stalked to the desk and found them in the second drawer he opened. Sally watched as he read, cursing under his breath. He cursed even more when he read the second. When he got to the third, he uttered an oath and wadded all of them up and flung them toward the fireplace. They fell three feet short.
He slowly looked up at Sally. "Except for the references to the women, every word is true," he said, incredulously. "Someone's following me."
"Miss Johnson has a great deal of money. She's obviously hired someone to report on your activities." Sally tried to sound casual. "I daresay her goal is to hurt me."
He winced. "By all that's holy, I'm sorry, Sally."
Her tears once again threatened.
He rushed to Sally and settled his arms about her, pulling her close. "Let's see what Miss Johnson will do if I'm in my dear wife's pocket. I shall escort you to the Assembly Rooms tomorrow night and dance attendance upon you all night."
"No card room?"
"No card room."
Sally squeezed out a meek smile.
* * *
George played his role as doting husband so well the following night, Sally thought he could rival Edmund Keen. Her husband danced with no one but her, and when she was dancing with one of his friends, he stood beside Thomas or Blanks watching her. He stayed at her side as they took their tea, which was the strongest drink he consumed all night. When Appleton expressed an interest in meeting later at Mrs. Glenwick's, George declined.
Sally enjoyed herself enormously. She hadn't even had to face the odious Miss Johnson, who was absent from the activities. She was happy for Glee, who danced almost every dance with Blanks and cuddled next to him on the carriage ride home. All in all, a most pleasurable evening.
It wasn't until she and George were mounting the stairs of their town house that she realized this would be their first night to actually go to bed at the same time. The night before George had insisted upon staying in the library, ostensibly to peruse the wicked letters. Tonight her heart began to race, and she suddenly could not find her voice, and she knew that if she were to find it, it would quiver horridly.
When they got to the door of their chamber, her hand was trembling so badly she chose not to reach for the knob and give herself away.
He reached for it and opened the door for her. After she entered the room, he said, "Go on and change into your shift and all of that while I go down to the library." Then he leaned toward her and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Daresay I won't be back before you go to sleep. I have many papers that demand my attention."
Though she knew he was speaking the truth, she held out hope he would change his mind and return while she was still awake. She dabbed on her scent and wore her prettiest night shift to bed. She lay in the darkened room awake for more than two hours, hoping George would come before she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
The following morning, she found him asleep in the library, the Madeira decanter empty beside him.
"George!" she shouted.
He wriggled, then slowly lifted an eyelid. When he saw her, he jerked up.
Though she was hurt that he would rather sleep in a chair than with her, she was more angry than hurt. "What a fine picture you make, sprawled out drunk on a chair for all the servants—and even your children—to see."
His only response was to put the stopper back on the bottle and to come to a standing position. "I'll go clean up now."
After he had shaven and dressed, he left the house without saying a word to her.
No vicious letter came that day.
Nor did George come home until the wee hours of the following morning.
The following day urchins began delivering the notes again, and the notes became increasingly critical of George. Though Sally kept them, she chose not to share them with her husband. She was becoming completely out of charity with him and his immature behavior. Another confrontation was called for.
In the privacy of the bedchamber the following morning, she challenged him. "I think you should return to Hornsby, especially now with the new equipment being delivered. You need to be there."
George stretched his muscled arms far above his head. "Willingham is a most competent steward. I'm not needed."
"Oh, but you are."
He gave her an I'd-like-to-wring-your-skinny-neck look. "You, madam, are not my master."
"No, I'm not. A pity. Even though you don't know it yet, you need me, George."
He laughed a bitter laugh. "I credit that my children need you, but I don't need you or any woman."
"I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about restoring your life to what it was three years ago. That's what I want for you. And for the children. I can help you rebuild. If only you'll leave Bath."
He glared at her. "I'm not leaving Bath."
"Then
the children and I are."
"They're my children!"
"You said yourself they would now be mine, too. The city is no place for little ones. And they especially don't need to find their drunken father sprawled in the library with an empty wine decanter. The children need to be in the country, and I'm taking them to Hornsby tomorrow."
He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and shimmied into his breeches in front of her, even though he was stark naked. Then he shrugged into his shirt.
This time she made no move to turn away, nor did she offer to fasten his buttons. Once his shirt was buttoned, he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
Appleton was not at his lodgings, but the twins were at theirs. "I beg that you will enable me to get completely foxed," he told them after their man answered his knock.
"What's the matter, fellow? Her ladyship turn you out?" Elvin asked, walking to the silver tray that held a decanters of port and brandy. He poured George a glass of port.
"Actually, I'm glad you've come," Elvin said. "I might need you to speak to the magistrate with us."
"Whatever for?" George asked.
"Haven't we told you about the poacher?"
"What poacher?" George responded.
"The vile man who had the audacity to bag a dozen prime grouse on our property!" Elvin said.
"The fellow, I'm afraid, has a very large family to feed," Melvin defended.
George winced. "Can't you make allowances for the poor fellow?"
"You sound just like my bleeding-heart brother." Frowning, Elvin harrumphed. "And I had hoped you'd help plead my case in front of the magistrate."
George shook his head. "Not I! I think you should give the poor blighter a job."
"Me?" Elvin asked in outrage. "Why, the bloke stole from me."
"It's not like he walloped you over the head and took your money," George said. "For God's sake, the man was hungry. Have a little compassion." George's gaze shot to the milder twin, whose eyes twinkled in mirth.
George wasn't altogether sure he approved of old Elvin. Oh, they'd been friends since before their voices had changed, but the man really was a bit shallow. Now, his brother was a much finer person but because of his shyness tended to be led on a merry chase by the more outgoing twin. Still, neither of them displayed much maturity. Fact was, they were a bad influence on Blanks. Blanks needed to return to Sutton Hall, to get away from his bachelor friends. He needed to sire a bevy of the healthy babes George knew Glee could present him.
George could not say anyone was a bad influence on him. He was a grown man who was able to make his own decisions. The problem was the decisions he had been making these past two years were bad. They were immature.
And, the devil take it, his sensible wife was right! Sensible Sal.
"I've actually come to say farewell," George said.
Four identical eyes focused on him. "Why?" two sets of voices asked at the same instant.
"I'm returning to Hornsby."
Chapter 16
The children rode in the carriage to Warwickshire with their parents. Bouncing from one seat to the other, Georgette bubbled with comments and questions. "Will my puppy be waiting for me?"
"Your puppy is now a very large dog, I've been told," George answered.
"Even though I was such a wee one, I still remember the purple flowers on the walls in my bedchamber," the little girl said.
"I expect the same wallpaper will still be there," Sally replied. "Did you like it, love?"
"Ever so much."
It suddenly struck Sally that Sam wouldn't even have a chamber at Hornsby. He had been but a few weeks old when his father fled the house that was filled with Diana's memories. Sally glanced up at her husband. "Does the young master have his own chamber at Hornsby?"
"Actually, no," George said. "He was still with the wet nurse when we came to Bath."
"Then we'll just have to decorate a very special room for him," Sally said, trying to make it sound exciting and not really knowing how much of what she said could be understood by Sam.
"I daresay he can occupy the room that was mine when I was a lad."
As was only fitting.
The first hour of the journey through the hilly area around Bath, Sam was content to peer from the window. After that, he grew solemn, climbing upon Sally's lap and shoving his thumb into his mouth. She held him close and stroked his golden hair. She sensed that he was frightened by the strange new environment.
"Isn't the lad a bit old to still be sucking his thumb?" George asked.
"George, he's still a baby." Sally sent her husband a disapproving glance.
He sighed. "That's what you keep telling me, but I remember distinctly how very well Georgette spoke when she turned two."
Sally glared at him. "You can't compare any two children—especially when they're of a different sex."
"I'd feel a lot better if he'd only talk," George lamented.
"He may not talk, but Sam knows everything we say, and I'll not have you discussing this in front of him again," she said in an authoritative voice.
George began to chuckle.
"What, pray tell, do you find so amusing?" Sally asked.
"There are those poor, unenlightened souls who think I married a meek little spinster who jumps through my hoops. Little do they know it's I who do the jumping."
Sally smiled. At least he didn't seem bitter. Sally knew she could be rather vexatious.
"Papa?" Georgette said.
"Yes, love?"
"Will my new mama sleep in my other mama's bedchamber?"
Sally's pulse quickened. She had forgotten that the vastness of Hornsby Manor allowed for separate chambers for its lord and lady, a realization that displeased her excessively. First, she had no desire to inhabit the room which would most strongly evoke the personality of its previous occupant. But even more disconcerting was the cessation of her special, intimate mornings with her husband. Were they to reside in separate chambers, they would likely never have a private minute together again. She must find a way to insure there be a time and place where just the two of them would discuss their days.
George forced Sally to meet his gaze. "You do wish to reside in the viscountess's chambers, do you not? After all, you are the new Lady Sedgewick."
Sally knew she should be pleased that George was now able to allow her to replace the woman he had loved so desperately. She was relieved that he never mentioned Diana by name. He was surprisingly cognizant of the fact Sally did not wish to be compared to Diana. She was especially relieved at his perceptiveness since she was loathe to verbalizing her feelings on the matter.
Upon reflection of the matter of bedchambers, she decided she did deserve to live in the same chamber where every Viscountess Sedgewick had resided for the past one hundred and eighty years. She shouldn't have to be asked. Yet, she couldn't move into rooms the elegant Diana's death had left empty. "Since I haven't seen how the rooms are situated, it's hard for me to say. I expect the lord and lady's chambers are adjacent?"
George nodded.
"And they're not far from the children?"
He nodded again.
"The prospect does sound desirable. However, I'm afraid my usurpal of my predecessor's chambers could make you or Georgette uncomfortable. I propose not to inhabit them until they have been completely redecorated in a style that will not bring to mind the former owner."
She could almost hear George's sigh. She knew it would have been difficult for him to see Sally occupy rooms that bore Diana's unmistakable stamp. And she understood that.
"Papa?" Georgette said again.
"Yes, love?"
"How much longer before we're at Hornsby?"
"We'll be there long before dark."
"I was wondering. . ." Sally began.
George raised a brow.
"Would it be possible, do you think, for a pony to be procured for the children?"
Georgette's eyes widened.
"That would be ever so much fun!"
"Do you not think Sam's too little?" George asked Sally.
Sam sat up straight and shook his little head.
"He is too little to just take off riding. I had in mind a gentle mount, and one of us—or Miss Primble or a groom—could walk beside him when he rides," Sally said.
"Miss P.," Georgette corrected.
Sally directed her gaze at George. "Miss Primble has instructed the children to call her Miss P. It's a great deal easier to pronounce, especially for Sam—when he starts talking."
Georgette bounced from her father's side of the carriage to Sally's and poked her face into her brother's while proceeding to speak in baby talk, "Would you like a baby horse, Sam?"
His thumb still in his mouth, Sam nodded, his wide eyes shifting to his father.
A grin eased across George's face. "Very well, we shall get a pony."
A short time later, Sam buried his little face into Sally's small bosom and went to sleep. She continued to stroke his hair even as it grew moist. She did not think she could ever grow tired of holding him in her arms. A pity he was soon to outgrow wanting to be held.
She smiled as she watched Georgette climb upon her father's lap, and she experienced a deep contentment so vast she clung to a foolish wish that this journey could last forever. For she had not been this happy since the day she married.
She was as proud of George this moment as she had been when he had begged her hand in marriage. Yes, he had been immature. He had also been selfish. Yet she completely understood. Coming to Bath and engaging in the kinds of activities he had pursued there had been part of his healing process. Hopefully, he was now healed and could regain a productive life.
* * *
Betsy Johnson was not finished with Lord Sedgewick and the upstart he had married. No, not by a long shot. She had vowed that he would pay for his mistreatment of her, and, by God, he was going to pay.
When Ebenezer had informed her that Sedgewick had returned to Warwickshire, she had bleated a string of curses and raced back to her house without so much as giving Ebenezer what he surely deemed his payment.
