by Rose Gordon
Liberty nodded.
“Nausea?”
Liberty nodded.
“Are you hungry?”
Liberty nodded.
“Been crying a lot recently?”
Liberty nodded.
Elizabeth smiled knowingly at her. “In the family way, eh?”
“No!” Liberty shouted, coming to her feet. “That is, no,” she said much softer this time.
“No?” Elizabeth asked, cocking her brow the same way her son was prone to.
“No,” she said firmly, crawling out of bed. “It’s not possible,” she mumbled after she sat up. “Paul and I, well, we…um….we have an in name only marriage.”
“Ah,” Elizabeth said as understanding dawned. “Sometimes I wish that was the way of mine. But then I remember I wouldn’t have had my son.”
Liberty stared at Elizabeth. The woman could be so blunt sometimes.
“It was a beastly experience,” she said, waving her hand. “Thank goodness I only suffered the travesty once.” She shuddered. “Some women, like your sister, seem to enjoy the activity, but I did not.”
“Perhaps it depends on the partner,” Liberty offered weakly. She knew Brooke loved Andrew more than most wives love their husbands, and the love was most clearly returned. Maybe that was why they both enjoyed bedroom activities so well.
“Of that,” Elizabeth said, her voice full of conviction, “I have no doubt. My husband was atrocious. That, and he had no great affection for me.”
“Exactly so,” Liberty agreed, wanting this uncomfortable conversation to end soon.
“The man treated me like I was a broodmare and he was the stallion only doing the deed to achieve his goal: an heir.” The hint of disgust in her voice spoke volumes about how much she detested her late husband. “I doubt he even knew how to treat a lady in the bedroom. Brooke should be thankful that even for all of his peccadilloes, at least Andrew learned to treat a wife better than a tavern wench.”
“Peccadilloes?” Liberty repeated in confusion.
“You know, the wild oats that all young men seem so interested in sowing before settling down,” Elizabeth said with a wave of her hand. “While we women are expected to be sweet and innocent when we marry, men are supposed to have had past sins and a lot of experience,” she explained with a wink.
Liberty felt her face heating up. What would Elizabeth think if she knew just how extensively Paul had sown his oats?
“I can just be thankful Andrew didn’t give me any bastard grandchildren,” she continued without seeming to sense Liberty’s unease. “I must confess, being a bastard myself, I don’t know that I could have not gone to see them.”
Liberty’s jaw almost hit the floor.
“Which part shocked you?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes twinkling with laughter.
“Both,” she said, ashamed she’d been so obvious.
“At least we can be thankful that one of those two situations was avoided,” Elizabeth said, coming to sit by Liberty. “You don’t look sick, you know?”
“I was,” she said weakly, looking at her hands.
“And now?” Elizabeth asked, a hundred questions in her eyes.
Liberty looked at her friend. She knew she could trust Elizabeth with anything. She’d proven to be a great friend to her these past few weeks. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Apparently Paul wasn’t quite as responsible as Andrew.”
Dawning lit Elizabeth’s eyes. “So you’ve found out your husband has a bastard and you’re embarrassed,” she mused, her voice not condemning or unkind.
Liberty nodded. “Actually, there’s more than one,” she said numbly.
“How many?” Elizabeth asked, rubbing her hand up and down Liberty’s back in a motherly way.
“Fourteen,” she mumbled.
Elizabeth’s hand paused for a split-second before continuing on its trek down Liberty’s back. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say four?”
“No,” Liberty answered, shaking her head. “Fourteen.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, looking a little shocked. “Perhaps it’s best you have a marriage of convenience,” she added dryly a minute later.
Liberty smiled at Elizabeth’s jest. “I just cannot face him. That’s why I’ve been holing myself up in my room.”
“I understand.”
“He comes several times a day and tries to talk to me, but I just can’t bear to look at him. He tries to be all sweet by fluffing my pillows or rubbing my back and he brings me flowers and books. And all I can do is wonder if this is how he seduced all those other women. As soon as he leaves, I pull the petals off the flowers and shove the books under my bed.” A new wave of tears started to form and she tried to stave them off. She didn’t want Elizabeth bear witness to her fit of vapors. But the inevitable happened anyway, and a few tears slipped out.
Elizabeth wrapped her in a hug.
“I’m sorry I’ve become a watering pot,” she said, swiping at the offending tears.
“It’s all right,” Elizabeth assured her. “In light of this unsettling news, I doubt this will be of any comfort,” she said, withdrawing Paul’s pocket watch from her reticule.
Liberty’s traitorous hand reached out and picked it up. She struggled for a few minutes to snap it open, noting that the latch was most definitely fixed. When she finally got it to flip open, she was also pleased to find the hinge worked and the lid stayed on.
She looked at the face and watched in awe as the second hand ticked off the seconds and the minute hand followed suit once the second hand reached the top. She flipped the lid closed and ran her thumb over the gemstones and crest that was etched on the top. “Tell His Grace thank you for me when you bring him his ring back,” she said, gulping past the new round of emotion that was tearing through her. She’d wanted this watch to make amends for their past and now she couldn’t give it to him without feeling there was still a wedge between them.
She stood up to go get Gateway’s ring when Elizabeth’s gentle hand encircled her wrist. “Why don’t you tell him yourself,” she said with a smile.
“He’s not here, is he?” she asked, feeling panic settle in her chest.
“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “But he’ll be at my cottage tomorrow and so will you.”
“Oh,” Liberty said dumbly. Apparently Elizabeth wasn’t going to let her wallow in self-pity any longer.
“Now, pack your things. You’re coming to stay with me,” Elizabeth said authoritatively.
Liberty smiled. She wasn’t going to argue with that pronouncement. It seemed like a good idea to her.
She quickly packed up her things and scribbled a note to Paul informing him of her new living arrangements.
***
Another week later
“We have to do something,” Brooke said to her husband as she brushed her long brown hair.
“Do something?” he echoed, coming up behind her and taking the brush from her.
“Yes. About Liberty and Paul. She cannot live out the rest of her days in your mother’s cottage,” she said as he gently pulled the brush through her hair.
“No,” Andrew agreed, setting the brush down. “But I don’t think it’s our place to get involved, Brooke.”
She looked into his cobalt blue eyes, searching their depths for a simple signal of understanding. He knew as well as she did that something was not right between the two. Liberty hadn’t said a word, good or bad, about the man since she arrived. That alone was worrisome. In the past she hadn’t given a second thought before flaying him with her words—no matter who was present, including the poor man himself.
“I know you don’t want to get involved, but we need to,” she urged.
“No, we don’t,” Andrew said with conviction. “What he needs to do is introduce her to St. Peter.” He pressed his chest to his wife’s and ran a large hand up and down her back, gently pressing her more firmly against him.
“St. Peter?” she asked, twisting her lips in confus
ion. “What good is telling her about a dead saint going to do? They’re not even Catholic, Andrew.”
Andrew clucked his tongue. “Not that St. Peter, my dear.”
She looked at him even more confused than before. “What are you talking about?” she asked, exacerbation filling her voice.
His eyes full of amusement, he smiled at her and said, “You’ve been introduced before, but if you need another introduction, I’d be happy to oblige.”
Thirty minutes later, a breathless Brooke opened her eyes and met her husband’s loving blue eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows to look at his wife’s face. “Yes, she definitely needs to meet St. Peter. He is the answer to all their problems.”
“Told you,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
“But unless you want to go into his study and tell him he needs to enforce his husbandly duties, I suggest we do something else,” she said, pushing some of his black hair off his brow.
Andrew groaned. “All right, you win,” he conceded.
“Good. Here’s what I’m thinking…”
Chapter 22
Paul read her note for what must have been the thousandth time in the past fortnight. She’d as good as left him, he thought sourly. And the worst part was he had no idea why. Her note had been nothing if not vague. He read it again.
Going to recover at Elizabeth’s.
What on earth type of disease had overtaken her that she felt the need to vacate their home and take up permanent residence with Elizabeth? He’d gone to go see her every day, just as he’d done when she was still at home. But every time he went, he was informed she wasn’t well enough to allow visitors. He hadn’t believed that for a second. He’d been a minister long enough to know doctors typically informed the family of the bad news if there was any. No doctor had contacted him about bad news. He even doubted she was sick in the first place because he’d never seen a single doctor’s bill. He may be a vicar, and she his wife, but no doctor was going to accept an extra prayer in their favor as payment.
He’d graciously accepted the excuses made by the timid maid that answered the door. At first because he didn’t want to get her in trouble with her employer by pushing past her and searching the house for his wife. But after the third day, he accepted her flimsy excuse because he was afraid he might throttle Liberty when he did find her.
Paul brought his elbow to the table, made a fist and rested his head against it. Closing his eyes, he sighed. Did it even matter if she was gone? Even when she’d been here he hadn’t broken all of her defenses. He’d come close a few times just to have them reconstructed even stronger. As long as he lived he’d never understand women.
Perhaps it was better this way, he decided. Without her here he didn’t have to put a tight rein on his feelings when he saw or heard her. Ever since the night he’d kissed her in her room, he’d been more guarded around her. The realization that he was besotted with her and she may never share the feeling was painful enough. If he let her any closer to him, she could have the ability to devastate him.
But out of sight didn’t necessarily mean out of mind. No, not at all. He’d thought about her every day. He’d tried to evaluate every aspect of their relationship. He’d long ago figured out she hadn’t liked him from the start. However, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Not at first anyway. That came the next day.
He knew without question he hadn’t carried a torch for her before they married. And the more time he thought about it, the more he decided his feelings had developed in the first few days they were married. All the things he’d done to get a response from her were done not only because he couldn’t take the brittle façade she’d presented, but because he wanted to know and see the real her. This realization rocked him to the core.
He wanted her to smile because she was happy, not because she was coerced into it. He wanted her to say what she wanted not because he couldn’t stand her acting as obedient as a trained animal, but because he wanted to hear what she had to say. He wanted the real woman hidden under all the rules and expectations. He wanted to meet the woman John claimed had a heart of gold. He hadn’t believed it when John said it, but he believed it now.
She’d stepped into so many positions since becoming his wife and he never doubted for a minute her charitable works were her superficial way of doing what she thought was expected of her. She wanted to do them. She may not have enjoyed the women in the sewing circle—who would?—but she’d suffered their painful company to make things for others. She’d taken food to the cranky old shut-ins, and they’d done nothing but praise her kindness whenever he went to check on them. She’d volunteered to help illiterate students learn to read. And when she wasn’t doing those things, she was either with him at his church or acting as a companion for Elizabeth. Contrary to what he initially believed, he now knew there wasn’t a selfish bone in her body.
And yet, for all his musings, he still didn’t have an answer. What had he done to drive her away this time? Sure he’d been guarded around her. But he hadn’t done anything to purposely push her way. Perhaps he should just ask her. Now that was a brilliant idea. Tomorrow he would find her and ask what he’d done. As painful as it was to see her everyday knowing she held no regard for him, it was far less painful than not seeing her at all. Perhaps it was time to think of earnestly trying to woo her. He’d dismissed the idea initially because he wasn’t crazy about her, nor she about him. Now, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem so miserable.
Mrs. Siddons stomped into his room and he started. “Forgive me, I was woolgathering,” he said with a smile.
“’Tis quite all right, Mr. Grimes. I have a message, just delivered,” she said, tossing a folded missive on his desk.
Fingers shaking, he quickly picked up the missive and broke the seal. He gave a dismissing nod to Mrs. Siddons who had taken to treating him coldly since Liberty’s departure. He unfolded the paper and read the message.
Paul,
It appears I need another favor. Can you meet me at my townhouse tomorrow about noon? I promise this favor will be nowhere near as demanding as the last.
John
Paul groaned. He had no desire to go to London and see John. Likely the whole family had heard about the separation by now and he had no wish to discuss the details with any of them.
***
Paul looked at the clothes laid out on the bed, then swung his gaze back to John. “You want me to do what?” he asked in disbelief.
John shrugged. “It’s nothing really. Just go to the ball, dance a few dances with her, take her for a stroll of the gardens and such. It couldn’t be simpler. You’ll have a good time.”
“Except you’re forgetting one thing: she’s not my wife,” Paul said irritably. He could not believe he’d been dragged to London to go to attend a pre-Season masquerade ball thrown by Brooke and asked to entertain one of Liberty’s cousins. He should be home trying to woo his wife. “Why not get Alex to do it?” he suggested.
“Alex?” John echoed, rolling his eyes. “Are you insane? He’d either bore her with ‘fascinating’ details from his latest issue of Popular Plants, or shock her with information about the mating habits of his equines. He won’t do. As for your complaint about her not being your wife, perhaps I should ask you where your wife is currently residing,” he said shrewdly, his clear blue eyes daring Paul to lie about the state of their relationship.
“You know very well where she is,” Paul responded angrily, crossing his arms. The realization that she’d still rather be anywhere other than with him felt like a knife to the heart. And knowing her family knew all about it only made him more sour about the whole situation.
“Yes. She’s ill and you’re not taking care of her, are you?” John asked coldly.
“No,” he agreed. “But not for any lack of trying on my part. I’ve taken care of her before when she needed it.” He knew his words sounded bitter, but he couldn’t care enough to change his tone.
“I know,” John con
ceded softly.
“I even have Mrs. Siddons there to help her with a bath this time,” Paul said wryly, uncrossing his arms and falling into a chair. “I just don’t understand what she finds so offensive about me. I honestly thought we’d been making good progress. Then one day she just closed up tighter than a clam; and a week later she disappeared.” He shook his head.
“So then take a break. Just for this one night. Go out and have a good time. Go dance with this young woman and talk to her until midnight. Forget your problems with Liberty. Have a good time,” the older man urged again, picking up the clothes. “Nobody will recognize you in this getup. Plus, we’ll change your name. You can be ‘Mr. Daltry’. Come on, Paul. Please do me this one last favor.”
Paul eyed him warily. Would it really be this “one last favor” or would there be another one day? Did it really even matter? John had helped him more times than he could count. What was one more favor? “All right,” he agreed. “However, I want it noted this is the last one.”
“Agreed.”
Paul stood up and with an inaudible mumble, he dressed for the masquerade. John had left nothing out when considering his disguise. By the time he finished dressing and looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself. The black walnut oil in his hair had turned it so dark brown it bordered on black. The fake mustache served to harden his facial appearance and make him appear older. The rest of his costume was a bit awkward but he wouldn’t have expected anything less from John.
He was dressed head to toe in black. He wore only a shirt, trousers and leather boots. Tied around his neck, he wore a ridiculous black cape. A small, and thankfully dull, rapier lay across the bed, still waiting for him to slide it into the sheath that was attached to his belt. He considered leaving that part of his costume here, but knew John would question him about it and he didn’t relish the idea of trying to talk his way out of wearing it. So with a sigh, he picked it up and slipped it into its sheath.
