The Husband List

by Victoria Alexander

  “Does he?” So that explained the slight roughness of his hands.

  Emma raised her chin and met Gillian’s gaze defiantly. “I think that’s all quite courageous.”

  “My apologies, Emma. You’re right, of course. I had no idea.” Gillian shook her head, touched by Emma’s fervent defense of her brother and touched as well by this glimpse of a side of Richard she had no idea existed. “It could be his courage simply fails him when it comes to …” To what?

  “Matters of the heart?” A smile spread across Emma’s face. “What a delightful idea.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Gillian said thoughtfully. Was it at all possible hers were not the only fears that lay between them? “Perhaps it’s time to find out.”

  “I daresay it won’t be easy. Richard keeps a great deal to himself.”

  “We shall have to break him of that habit. It is indeed time to find out the extent of your brother’s courage.” She returned the younger woman’s grin. “And I think it’s past time I paid a visit to Shelbrooke Manor.”

  Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all.

  Gillian’s carriage turned onto the drive that led up the gentle rise to Shelbrooke Manor, and she released a long breath. Uninvited guests were not always welcome, particularly when the host was not merely in residence but possibly in retreat.

  Gillian had wanted to follow Richard the moment Emma had told her he had gone, but it had taken a full day just to arrange to borrow one of Thomas’s carriages and a driver. She’d had Wilkins bring him a note saying she needed the transportation. He’d agreed, but had responded with a note of his own, saying that he’d heard some rather intriguing rumors and should like to discuss them with her at the first opportunity. She wasn’t at all pleased that Thomas was suddenly adopting a newfound role of protective older brother. Still, she was grateful he hadn’t come in person, and he had sent the carriage.

  The vehicle bounced up the rutted drive, bordered by shaggy grasses that crept here and there onto the road itself. A scattering of flowers—too obstinate to know they couldn’t possibly grow without care—nodded over long-abandoned gardens. At the top of the drive, Shelbrooke Manor gazed out over the countryside like a matron who’d seen better days but was nonetheless content with her lot in life.

  Gillian wasn’t certain what she’d expected. Given the family’s history, something ancient and forbidding, perhaps. decrepit with age and neglect. Instead, while it was obvious that prosperity had not visited for some time, it struck her as a rather pleasant place, one that could easily be called home. A place she could call home.

  For a moment, she could see the manor as it once had been. And could be again. Noble and proud. With manicured lawns and well-tended gardens overflowing with spring blossoms. And with her laughing children racing across the grass. Richard’s children. Their children.

  A large, shaggy dog appeared from nowhere and bounded along beside the carriage. Oh, and yes, a dog. There would definitely be a dog.

  The carriage pulled to a stop before the front entry, and Gillian pushed open the door and stepped down with equal amounts of eagerness and dread. What would Richard say when he saw her?

  The creature leaping about her feet was obviously thrilled by her presence. And quite overwhelming.

  “Henry,” a female voice snapped.

  Henry sat at once, his long tail thumping a frantic rhythm on the ground. Gillian bent forward and scratched him under the chin.

  “You shall have his undying love forever now, you know.”

  “So I see.” Henry gazed up at her adoringly. Gillian laughed and straightened. “There are far worse things than undying love.”

  “I would think so.” Intelligent brown eyes gazed at her from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. A mass of pale blonde curls caught the sun and danced around her head like a halo. From Emma’s description, this must be Marianne, the sister rarely seen without a book in her hand.

  “You’re Lady Gillian, aren’t you?” The girl stood in front of the now open door and studied her with frank curiosity.

  Gillian stared in surprise. “How did you know?”

  The young woman shrugged. “I daresay there isn’t anyone else you could be. We’ve heard all about you.”

  “Have you?” From Richard?

  “Well, not all about you, I suppose. Richard never tends to tell us more than he thinks is best. It’s really quite annoying. But he has mentioned your name, and I know Emma is staying with you.” She craned her neck to see around Gillian to the carriage behind her. “Isn’t she with you?”

  “Actually, she preferred to stay in town.” To work is what she’d said, and she was of age and well chaperoned by Wilkins and his wife, but Gillian wondered if there wasn’t more to her desire to remain behind.

  “Alone?” Marianne considered her for a moment. “You’re letting her paint, aren’t you?”

  “Paint?” Gillian said cautiously. She had no idea if the other members of the household shared Richard’s views on Emma’s secret passion. “Why do you say that?”

  “It simply makes sense. I’ve always thought the moment Emma was out from under Richard’s nose she’d do exactly as she wished. And that’s very likely the only reason Emma wouldn’t accompany you.”

  “So you know about her painting?”

  “Of course. Emma and I are very close. Becky knows, too. I’m not entirely certain about Jocelyn, but then, one never knows if she is ever aware of anything that has nothing to do with her. Even Aunt Louella knows. She doesn’t particularly like it, but she tolerates it because she knows Richard would disapprove.” Marianne paused. “I’m Marianne.”

  “I guessed as much.” Gillian smiled and stepped up the broad stairs.

  “It’s the spectacles, isn’t it?” Marianne heaved a resigned sigh and pushed them back up a nose a shade too pert to support them properly. “I couldn’t possibly be Jocelyn because she would rather perish than wear spectacles. I would rather see. And Becky is much too young to be me.”

  She hooked her arm through Gillian’s and started toward the door. “I can’t wait to see their faces when they meet you. Richard never mentioned a word about your visit.”

  “It was rather an impulse on my part.” The weight in Gillian’s stomach returned. “Richard doesn’t know.”

  Marianne halted, her eyes wide. “He doesn’t?”

  Gillian shook her head. “Do you think he’ll mind?”

  “I have no idea. I long ago gave up trying to guess anything whatsoever about what my brother might or might not do. He’s never really been one for surprises, though.” Marianne’s brow furrowed. “He’s been unusually reticent since his arrival, as if he has something rather pressing on his mind. Indeed, he’s thrown himself into all sorts of jobs around here, not that there isn’t plenty to be done.” She started back toward the door. “At this very moment he’s trying to fix one of any number of holes in the roof.”

  Gillian stopped and stared. “Good Lord, he’s not on the roof, is he?”

  “How else would one fix it?”

  Gillian glanced up, half expecting to see Richard peering over the edge of the eaves three, no, four stories tall. The knot in her stomach twisted. “It’s rather high, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my yes.” Marianne grinned. “We can get him down if you’d like or you can go up—”

  “How lovely,” Gillian said under her breath.

  “—there’s a ladder in the back, but I think Richard used the trapdoor from the attic. Odd to have one, I know, but I suspect it was originally to serve the needs of spies or pirates—”

  “Pirates?” What was this woman talking about?

  “—years ago, but that could just be my own imagination. I do read a great deal. Do you read?”

  “I do on occass—”

  “Wonderful. Now then, you must meet the rest of the family. Aunt Louella and Jocelyn will want to know all about London and the season. And Becky will no sooner say good day than she’ll be out here to mee
t your horses—”

  “Well, they’re not really—”

  “—and of course we shall all want to hear how Emma is getting on. Do you think there’s a chance she could really make a good match?” Marianne paused for breath and looked at her curiously. “Are you going to marry Richard?”

  Gillian choked. “Am I—”

  “I am sorry, that was extremely rude of me. You see, we’ve discussed this quite a lot and it simply makes sense that anyone willing to take in his sister would only go to such trouble if she cared a great deal about him.” Marianne beamed. “And now you’re here to surprise him and, well, it’s altogether delightful.”

  “Delightful,” Gillian said with a weak smile. Apparently Henry wasn’t the only member of the household who had a tendency to be overwhelming.

  “Come along then.” Marianne pulled her toward the door. Henry trotted into the house in front of them. “Did I tell you how very much I like your hat? It’s quite lovely and what a wonderful—”

  “I thought you were the quiet one?” Gillian blurted.

  “Oh, Emma is much more reserved than any of us, but in truth,” the girl’s eyes danced with laughter, “at Shelbrooke Manor, there are no quiet ones.”

  Chapter 12

  Gillian drew a deep breath, gathered her skirt tight around her, and climbed up the wide slats of the slanted ladder leading to the roof. Richard’s sisters had assured her it opened onto a flat surface running the length of the roof. She stepped out cautiously and stood with care. There was indeed a flat area and of a good size, but it was far too small for the comfort of anyone with a sensible aversion to heights.

  She took a tenuous step away from the opening. It wasn’t as if she was terrified of heights, she simply preferred to be closer to solid ground, where words like plummet and plunge did not linger in her mind. Still, greeting Richard here, where she was no doubt risking her life, was far more desirable than with an audience of four curious females. Not one of which could be considered quiet.

  She glanced around, taking care to avoid looking past the edges of the manor. It would take a bit more courage than she had at the moment to admire what she was certain would be a stunning vista of rolling green meadows and woods and fields. She was not quite ready to appreciate scenic beauty.

  The level surface occupied about a third of the area. From here the roof sloped downward to the eaves. Several evenly spaced chimneys dotted the flat portion. Others, taller and wider and more decorative in design, sprouted from the slope.

  Hammering rang from the back of the house, obviously coming from the slanted section of the roof. She inched toward the noise. The pounding continued, then abruptly stopped, halted by a long string of creative curses. She grinned.

  “Richard?”

  The obscenities stopped.

  She bit back a laugh and tried again. “Is that you?”

  “Gillian?” Astonishment rang in the word.

  She pulled a steadying breath and stepped quickly toward the sound of his voice. She drew close enough to spot him over the edge. “Richard, how lovely to see you again.”

  He sat on the side of the roof, one foot braced on a chimney. He stood and shifted to stare up at her. Her insides fluttered at the precarious nature of his position. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “Here on the roof or here in the country?”

  “Both.”

  What was she doing here? She really had no idea what she’d expected to gain by following him. “Why, Richard, London was simply unbearable without you.”

  “Was it?” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “Unbearable and quite, quite boring.” She sat down, perching on the flat surface and gingerly resting her feet on the roof’s downward slope. At once she felt a bit more secure. “I couldn’t tolerate it one moment longer. Why, I had nothing to do but contemplate the threadbare nature of my carpet.”

  “I had no idea it was that bad.” He pressed his lips together as if trying not to grin.

  “Oh, my yes. Extremely worn. Rather a hazard, in fact.”

  “A hazard?”

  “Indeed, someone could trip or …” Heat flushed up her face.

  “Or?” He raised a brow.

  She shifted uncomfortably on the hard surface, a painful reminder of skin scraped raw by the blasted rug.

  “Or?” he said again. Amusement shone in his eyes, and she ignored the warmth in her cheeks and elsewhere.

  “Or,” she met his gaze directly, the level of his eyes slightly below hers, “suffer some other kind of painful injury. I should be happy to show you exactly how such a thing could happen.”

  He stared for a stunned moment, then burst into laughter.

  She grinned back and savored the look of him. Richard’s stance on the roof was as relaxed as a goat on the side of a mountain. A gentle breeze teased strands of his dark, just a bit too long, hair. Faded breeches molded to his form so closely that she wondered they didn’t tear at the slightest movement. A leather pouch filled with nails hung from a strap at his waist. His shirt, too, was well worn and open at his throat, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms strong and already a bit browned by the sun, evidence of a man who did indeed work out of doors. Why hadn’t she noticed before?

  He raised a curious brow. “Are you staring at me?”

  Whether at a ball or on a rooftop, he was a handsome devil. “Yes, actually, I am.” She nodded at his clothes. “I’ve never seen you attired like this before. It suits you.”

  “Does it?” He chuckled wryly. “Well then, perhaps I should abandon this earl nonsense altogether and hire myself out as a jack-of-all-trades.”

  “And would you prefer that to being an earl?”

  “I must confess I’ve never considered such a thing. However, there is much to be said for honest labor. For working with one’s hands. Particularly when one works out of doors. I quite enjoy it.” He hefted the hammer in his hands thoughtfully, then grinned at her. “On occasion. I rather doubt I would relish it as much if I had no other choice.”

  She pulled her feet closer and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Then you like your position in life?”

  “Again an intriguing question, and again one I have given little thought to. Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity.” She shrugged. “It strikes me that I don’t know nearly as much about you as I thought I did. We have never really discussed matters like this.”

  “No, I suppose we haven’t. Very well then.” He paused for a moment to consider the question. “I do not, in general, dislike my position in life. I am rather proud of my title, and, for the most part, proud of my lineage. I am the fourteenth Earl of Shelbrooke, you know.”

  “And today the fourteenth Earl of Shelbrooke is patching holes in a roof,” she said mildly.

  He chuckled. “It does seem somewhat absurd. I’m certain my ancestors are turning over in their graves at the very thought. No doubt they were far better at wielding a sword than a hammer. What a pity I have no invaders to fight off, only rot and neglect to do battle with.” His expression sobered. “It is not my lot in life that I dislike, merely the circumstances surrounding it.”

  “You must resent it a great deal.”

  “Resent it? How could I not? Still …” His brow furrowed in thought. “I have come to realize that the loss of my family’s fortune and good name has perhaps been the best thing to happen in my life.”

  “Really?” She rested her chin on her knees and studied him. “What do you mean? It sounds quite awful to me.”

  “It has not been altogether pleasant.” He shifted the hammer from hand to hand absently. “Do you recall years ago when we first met?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Then perhaps you don’t remember the type of man I was then?”

  “Not directly. But I remember your reputation. You were quite a scoundrel, according to gossip.”

  “Oh, I was a magnificent scoundrel. A rake and a rogue of the first o
rder. There was no game I did not play, no wager I would not make. I left no bottle undrunk, no woman untouched.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I had a great deal of fun.”

  “I can imagine,” she murmured.

  “There are moments when I quite miss those days.” He flashed her a grin. “However, they are gone and I am here, on the roof of the home of my ancestors trying to keep the rain from the heads of my sisters because, Gillian, there is no one else to do it.” He gazed out over the countryside. “This small patch of England has been in my family for generations. I never truly appreciated it until I was faced with the very real possibility of losing it all. I am the only one left who can ensure it remains for those generations yet to come.”

  He fell silent, and she studied his handsome profile, the determined set of his chin, the resolute gleam in his eye. She had chosen well.

  “Look at it from up here, Gillian, how could I possibly let it go?”

  “It’s very … nice.” Even to her own ears she did not sound entirely convinced.

  His gaze shot to hers and his eyes widened with realization. “You haven’t looked around at all have you?”

  “Well, I did see much of it on the drive here,” she said weakly.

  “But from this vantage point one can see forever.”

  “No doubt.” She grimaced as she spoke. “However, I’ve avoided looking at anything other than my feet and where to place them since I stepped onto this roof in an effort to avoid any horrible accidents. Plunging to my death and the like.”

  “You are not fond of high places?”

  “Apparently not.”

  He laughed and held out the hammer. “Here, take this.” She steeled her nerves and bent forward cautiously to grab it, trying not to look down. He scrambled up the slope of the roof to stand beside her and reached out his hand.

  She hesitated.

  He smiled down at her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Her gaze caught his. Her heart leapt, and she knew she had nothing to fear. She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. For an instant she could do nothing but stare up into his dark eyes. Did a thousand unsaid words pass between them at that moment? Or did she only wish they had?