by Rose Gordon
“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Paul said, irritated. He crossed his arms defensively.
Andrew sent him a sympathetic look. “Have you given anymore thought to our discussion a few weeks ago?” he asked, tapping his teeth.
Paul’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What on earth was Andrew talking about?
Andrew stretched his lips into an overdone smile.
“Oh,” Paul said, comprehension dawning. “Actually, I have gotten her to smile, but only because she was truly angry and I suggested to her a way to ease her aggression.”
Nobody said anything.
“Not that,” Paul snapped, rolling his eyes. Get a group of men together and all they can do is think about sex. “I told her to pretend the beans on her plate were my head. She smiled for fifteen minutes straight while she stabbed every single one of those beans with so much force it caused the table to shake and the dishes to clatter.”
All four men howled with laughter when he did his impression of what she looked like holding her fork and stabbing it down on her plate.
“Stop! Stop!” John bellowed, bent over holding his stomach. “I don’t think my heart can take much more.”
“Is that the only time?” Andrew asked, wiping his eyes.
“Yes,” Paul said, nodding. “Sad, isn’t it? The only time she’s smiled in the past two weeks was when she was pretending to cause bodily harm to her husband.”
“Have you tried to get her to smile?” Andrew asked.
“No,” he said honestly. He’d thought the key to Liberty was to nettle her enough she’d drop her act, and then he’d work on getting her to smile. He had no idea how to deal with the brittle person she’d become recently. At least if she were full of fire and fury, he might be able to get a genuine emotion out of her.
“You do know St. Valentine’s Day is within the week, don’t you” Andrew said as if that fact was of grave importance.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Alex, the only unmarried man in the room, asked.
“Everything,” Andrew, John, and the baron said in unison.
“Don’t bungle this one, boy,” the baron muttered, “or you’ll be paying for it for the rest of your life.”
“Amen,” John said vehemently. When all eyes turned on him, he said, “I may not know from personal experience like Edward here, but I’ve seen enough happy—and unhappy—couples in my day to know the truth of Edward’s statement.”
Paul nodded. He’d only given a girl a gift on St. Valentine’s Day one time and that was more than eight years ago. Good thing he had a few days to think about something for her.
“You could buy her a book on etiquette. That’s guaranteed to bring a smile to her face,” Alex suggested helpfully.
“Don’t,” Andrew countered.
Paul shook his head. “I hadn’t planned on it. She’s read too many as it is.”
“You have no idea,” John said with a shudder. “When we loaded all her books up yesterday, I almost passed out when I started to think about how much of my salary was spent on books about manners.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance be willing to take all those back to London with you, would you?” Paul asked, begging John with his glance.
“No, sir,” John said, not in the least bit apologetically. “I’ve already dropped them off at your house.”
“Great,” Paul muttered.
“Just think, they’ll serve as great reading material when you can’t sleep at night,” Andrew suggested with a grin.
“Perhaps you’d like a few, then,” Paul suggested.
“I wouldn’t do that,” John said sternly.
“What?” Paul and Andrew asked at the same time.
“Separate them. Liberty has gone through great pains to catalog each and every book. She’ll notice if some are missing,” John said, trying to keep a straight face.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Paul said, his eyes boring into John’s.
“I’m not. Sorry, man,” he answered, giving an unapologetic shrug.
“Damn, John, you’ve got one weird offspring there,” his brother said.
John’s head swung around to face his brother. “And you don’t?” he retorted, his eyes flickering to Alex.
Edward’s gaze drifted to Alex who was rereading his notes on hedgehog mating. “Touché.”
Just then the door swung open and the five ladies walked in. “What have you all been talking about?” Brooke demanded of no one in particular as soon as she was across the threshold.
“Nothing that any of you’d care to hear about, darling,” Andrew said, brushing a kiss on the top of his wife’s head.
“Try us,” Liberty said pertly, pursing her lips and letting her gaze fall on each of the men. When she got to Paul, he flashed her a smile and said, “Nothing so interesting,” he raised one shoulder in a lopsided shrug, “just the mating habits of hedgehogs.”
Chapter 13
“Just how dimwitted do you think I am?” Liberty demanded shrilly, placing her hands on her hips and twisting her lips. “I don’t pretend to know your mind, Mr. Grimes, but even I hadn’t thought you capable to stoop so low.”
“And how low would that be, Liberty?” he drawled.
She ignored his use of her name. “So low you’d make up a ridiculous lie about the…the…” she waved her hand vaguely, her face flaming red, “habits of hedgehogs. As if I would believe such a thing. Who in his right mind would even care about such a thing?” she said with a sniff.
Madison walked up to her and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Dearest, you might want to be careful what you say,” she murmured softly with a pointed glance at Alex.
“Oh, please,” she said with a sigh. “Even Alex has no interest in that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Madison returned quietly.
Liberty’s eyes flew to where Alex sat behind his father’s desk rigid as a statue, clutching a fistful of papers. She walked across the room and thought she was going to die of mortification when she grabbed the papers from Alex’s vice-like grip and saw right before her very eyes a detailed description of the mating habits between hedgehogs. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Alex,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean… Oh, please forgive me.”
“It’s all right,” Alex said quickly, his bright red, embarrassed face belying his words.
“Perhaps we should be going,” her irritating husband intoned.
She wanted to disagree, but embarrassment usually made a person want to flee the scene.
If the tension in the baron’s study wasn’t bad enough, the hostility in the carriage was. Paul had to ride back in the carriage with her because it looked like it might storm soon and he deemed it too dangerous to ride his horse when there was a chance of lightening.
“How dare you make a fool of me that way,” Liberty burst out once they were out of the drive.
“Whatever do you mean?” Paul asked testily.
She glared at him. “All day today you’ve made a fool of me.”
“Since all you did was rephrase your accusation, allow me to rephrase. How?”
Liberty had been mad before, but now she was borderline furious. Not only had he made her look bad in front of her family, he was now purposely playing like he had no idea what she was talking about. “You made me look bad in front of my family.”
“I did no such thing,” he countered irritably. “You did that all on your own.”
Rage built in her chest. “No I didn’t,” she hissed. “You purposely provoked me and made me look bad.”
“Nobody told you to insult Alex. Your problem is that you’re always ready to believe the worst of me.”
“That’s not true,” she rebutted.
“Isn’t it?” he countered, leaning so close his face was mere inches from hers. His nostrils flared and his eyes looked as hard as emeralds. His stare was hot and intent and undoubtedly full of a challenge.
She’d never seen him look thus, and she knew she’d given him
ample opportunity before now. For some reason he was just as mad, if not madder, than her. Good. They could have their fight now. She was tired of pretending to be some docile creature, not that she’d done a great job of it so far, but the game was up. The rage she felt inside her was similar to an inferno, and she was about to boil over.
“No,” she said haughtily, “I’ve not always thought the worst of you. The problem lies with you. You repeatedly provide me with opportunities to think poorly of you.”
Paul snorted at her words. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice hard as steel. “Tell me, the first night we were introduced, what did I do that made you take an instant dislike to me?”
She didn’t even have to think about that. “You insisted I call you by your Christian name,” she said primly.
“You’re kidding,” he said in a low tone, shaking his head. He fixed his gaze on a sconce across the carriage. “The reason you dislike me so much is because I asked you to call me Paul?” His voice was full of disbelief.
“Well, no,” she said, causing his head to snap back in her direction. “That’s why I took an instant dislike to you. But the reason I continued to dislike you has to do with your pompous attitude.”
“Excuse me?” he snapped. “I have never been pompous a day in my life.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” she replied, with a sharp bob of her head. “Not the very next day you were.”
His lips twisted into something that would pass for a sneer. “Madam, if you refer to the set down I handed you after you so hatefully criticized your sister, then you’re thinking is more skewed than I thought possible.”
“You had no call to say those things to me,” she said sharply. She’d never let him—or anyone—know how much his words had hurt her that day. She’d always worried she’d never marry, and when he said she was well on her way to becoming a spinster, to her, that was as good as confirming her own worst nightmare.
“And if you remember correctly,” he said through clenched teeth, “I apologized to you and your exact response was, ‘apology not accepted’.”
Releasing a pent up breath, she shook her head. “You only apologized because you were afraid of losing my father’s friendship. It had nothing to do with any feelings of remorse.”
“Maybe so,” he allowed quietly. “To be honest, it’s been a long time. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking. However, I do know that I approached you to apologize on my own. I was not goaded into by your father.”
“I know,” she admitted. She knew he’d come to her on his own. She’d been so overcome with feelings when he’d approached her, the most prominent being anger, she’d rejected his apology and sent him away with a flea in his ear.
“Liberty,” Paul said, breaking into her thoughts. “I have no wish to discuss the past with you. Unless you want to tell me the real reason you harbor ill feelings against me, that is.” He gave her a look that was meant to encourage her to spill her secrets, but she held quiet. With a sigh he said, “Since us discussing the past seems to be as effective as trying to win a foot race when your ankles are tied together, please tell me what has set you off today.”
“You!” she yelled. All the anger that had been for the most part banked came flooding back with great momentum.
“How helpful an explanation you offer,” he mused. “Care to elaborate?” His voice was light, but his facial expression hadn’t changed. It was painfully clear he was in a temper. And a foul one at that.
“You were late,” she said impatiently.
Paul’s teeth ground together so hard, she wouldn’t be surprised if soon he started spitting dust on the floor. “I apologized for that. I didn’t expect anyone to wait on me.”
“Why were you late?” she demanded hotly.
He crossed his arms across his chest defensively. “I told you, I lost track of time.”
“Flimsy excuse. Try again,” she said archly like she was a governess and he was a child.
“I don’t have to answer to you,” he snapped. “I’ve apologized for being late. There’s nothing more for it.”
Now it was her turn to grind her teeth. “There was no reason for you to be late. If you were a normal man—which I’ve learned in the past few weeks you’re not—you’d carry a pocket watch with you. But since you haven’t an ounce of normalcy or sanity, I shouldn’t have expected so much from you.”
“I told you, it’s broken,” he bellowed so loud she was certain he could be heard all the way to London.
“That’s not my fault,” she said hotly.
He looked like he was going to say something further, but instead he leaned back and pressed his head against the squabs, raking his fingers through his hair.
She wanted to yell at him again. She wanted to tear him to shreds. She was mad he’d been late. She was mad he’d teased and goaded her into making herself look bad in front of her family. She was mad he’d made a joke out of her. But if she were being honest with herself, she knew she was most mad quite simply because he’d forgotten her. Twice.
He’d forgotten about her this morning when he neglected to bring her water for a bath and had left with only a one line note telling her he’d see her at her uncle’s. Then, he’d forgotten her again when he was two hours late getting to her uncle’s. And as petty as it might sound, she was hurt.
Chapter 14
They next few days were nothing if not hazy. Liberty enjoyed spending time with Elizabeth. She could not have picked a better person to act as a companion to. She and Elizabeth got along better than she’d gotten along with anyone in recent weeks.
The dowager countess was friendly albeit blunt. Liberty nearly jumped with surprise the first time she’d heard Elizabeth refer to Mrs. Whitaker, one of the women in her village, as a “crotchety old bitty whose drawers are too tight for her own comfort”.
Liberty agreed that Mrs. Whitaker was a crotchety old bitty, but she didn’t know, nor did she want to know, the state of anyone’s drawers. Nonetheless, Liberty was still stunned to hear Elizabeth say such a remark. “Get used to it,” Elizabeth told her. “Despite my title, I’ve been on the fringes of society my whole life. Therefore, saying whatever pops into my head—whether nice or not—is my privilege.”
Though Liberty didn’t know the entirety of Elizabeth’s situation, she was soon informed of enough of it to render Elizabeth’s declaration valid. She was also told enough things about Mrs. Whitaker to take Elizabeth’s assessment of her as gospel truth.
Mrs. Whitaker, Liberty was quickly learning, was one of the most vicious creatures in the country and the crack about her drawers being pinched too tight was the nicest thing Elizabeth had to say about her.
During their visits, Elizabeth treated her as an equal and within only a few days she knew she’d made a friend she’d be able to turn to for life. That felt good considering she had so few of those to start with.
Mrs. Jenkins, the leader of the sewing circle, was extremely nice, somewhat bossy and slightly overbearing all at the same time. She conducted her sewing group like a small factory. She’d tell everyone what they needed to make and supervise their stitches. Liberty wasn’t the greatest seamstress, but she seemed to pass Mrs. Jenkins inspection all right.
The only negative about the sewing circle was the gossip that flew around the room. Much to her dismay, Mrs. Whitaker was self-appointed as second-in-command of the sewing circle. But instead of supervising the sewing, she was the ringleader of the gossip loom.
Nobody could weave gossip like Mrs. Whitaker. Thankfully Liberty hadn’t learned this the hard way. She took notice of the other women in the room and the way Mrs. Whitaker interrogated them as if she were an investigator for the Watch. When she got to her, Liberty put on her best bland expression and said, “I haven’t been in the district long enough to know anything about anyone.”
Her words were true enough. But that wasn’t the real reason she’d not wanted to gossip. She’d learned long ago what gossip can do to a person and dec
ided she’d never gossip or give people a reason to gossip about her.
So far she’d had a little trouble with the second part, case and point being Paul. But she’d firmly held onto her vow not to gossip.
Bringing food to the sick and elderly was not a bad way to pass her days, either. She always felt good about it afterwards—no matter how many miniatures she’d had to feign interest in.
The only activity she was still uncertain about was helping the illiterate read. Most of the pupils were children, but there were a few adults. Helping them read was not the part she didn’t like. In fact, she enjoyed the faces of pure joy when one of them was finally able to read and write their name, no matter if they were five or thirty five.
There was a special little boy that was about six or seven named Seth that had taken a very strong liking to her. Though he struggled with his goal to learn to read, he always had a bright smile and adored Liberty in a way she’d never have imagined. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the boy had a tendre for her. It didn’t bother her that he clung to her skirts and was always trying to be near her. She found him quite enchanting and couldn’t help smiling every time he did. She’d even gone so far as to stay and play games with him while he waited for his usually late mother.
The part that was unsettling to her about going was the meetings were conducted above the local tavern and there always seemed to be a great deal of drunken men hanging about when she arrived. Though she’d only gone a few times, she knew this was something she could expect every week.
At night she’d occupy her time with organizing or reading her books. Since their fight in the carriage last week, she’d barely seen Paul. He didn’t speak to her when they took breakfast together. Instead, he’d hold a newspaper in front of his face and only drag his eyes away from it when he went to refill his coffee from the carafe. Typically he was gone for lunch. As for dinner, that meal would be considered tolerable at best. He’d insisted they take their evening meal in the formal dining room now. He barely spoke to her during dinner, and when he did, he'd address her as “Mrs. Grimes”. Then, after the meal, he’d vanish. He’d lock himself in his study, or if she was already in there reading one of her books, he’d retire to his room.
