by Rose Gordon
“Wages?” he echoed irritably. “Is that how you refer to the generous allowance your husband graciously bestows upon you?”
“No,” she snapped. “I mean wages as in I work for my pin money. My husband has never seen fit to give me an allowance.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even despite the anger that was coursing through him. He’d arranged for her to have more money each month than she could possibly spend.
“I meant exactly what I said. I don’t get an allowance. For some reason my husband didn’t see fit to give me one, so I started working as a companion,” she said defiantly.
He blinked at her. That’s why she was working as a companion? More importantly, where was the money he’d set up for her to have? He remembered creating an account for her at the local bank in Bath the morning after they’d married. They were supposed to draw on his account from London each month and send her a notice of her funds. Why hadn’t that happened? He’d have to figure that out first thing tomorrow, he told himself. Shaking his head, he softly asked, “Why didn’t you say anything to him?” He hoped she didn’t realize that she’d never mentioned to him that she hadn’t asked her husband about it.
She shrugged. “I didn’t wish to fight with him.”
“You mean because you were afraid if you asked for an allowance he’d send you away?” he asked, understanding the situation better.
She ran her fingers up and down the gold chain and nodded. “I heard Papa say he’d had to add my sister’s dowry to mine in order for him to agree to marry me,” she said bitterly, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Wiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb, he lowered his voice and softly said, “I’m sorry. I would have married you without a dowry.” His words were completely honest. Too bad she didn’t know who it was that was really saying them.
She smiled a watery smile at him and his heart squeezed. “That is very sweet of you. You’re a good man,” she said.
“You care for him, don’t you?” he asked before he could stop himself. He didn’t need her to admit to loving him. But if she cared for him, even a little, he knew they stood a chance together.
She shifted her gaze to his open watch, then back to his eyes. “Yes. I think so,” she said before swallowing. “A wise woman pointed out to me a few days ago that I must or else I would have given his watch back to him when I had the chance instead of carrying it around with me.”
He smiled at her as his heart nearly burst out of his chest. Elizabeth was a wise woman indeed. He wanted to pull her into his arms and reveal his identity now more than ever. But the fear he’d ruin everything if he did kept him from acting. “Well, the watch turned out beautifully,” he told her honestly. “Your husband is a lucky man to have you, even if he hasn’t realized it yet.” The last words added only to keep up the disguise, he’d realized long ago he was a lucky man.
“Thank you. Mr. Holler did a beautiful job, didn’t he? I’m just glad the duke had agreed to help me. Apparently Mr. Holler was the only one who could fix some of the pieces and he only does work for titled gentlemen.” She rolled her eyes.
“I should go,” he said abruptly. “I hope everything works out well for you and your husband. Be sure you tell him that you care for him, you might be surprised what he’ll say in return.”
“I doubt it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “But thank you for everything.”
“Everything?” he repeated, feeling his elation slip.
“Yes, everything. But mostly for talking to me and being a friend,” she said sweetly.
Not sure what to say, he just nodded and said, “You’re welcome.”
He walked across the room and was almost to the door when she came up behind him and grabbed his wrist. “Wait. You didn’t tell me why I should be thankful so many women have been intimate with my husband.”
He looked at her curiously. “What?” he asked, wondering what made her think of that.
“Earlier you said I should be thankful my husband had had so many mistresses and then you got sidetracked talking about men’s parts.” Her face flushed and her gaze dropped to his chest.
“Oh, that,” he said, not sure if she’d even see the humor in it now. “I was just going to make a jest really.” When she looked at him like she expected him to tell her, he said, “I was just going to say that at least now you know that someone doesn’t find him boring.”
“Oh.” A simple smile took her lips. “I’d already figured that out for myself.”
He bent down and brushed a kiss on her lips and whispered, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 27
Walking from her room was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He knew he couldn’t stay, he’d let things go too far for that. Now he’d have to play the oblivious husband and wait for her to come to him. He could still go fetch her from Elizabeth’s, he supposed, but for some selfish reason, he wanted her to be the one to come to him.
He walked down the stairs and wasn’t surprised at all to see Liberty’s family anxiously waiting in the parlor. When he’d carried Liberty down the hall to her room, both John and Andrew had seen him from where they were talking at the end of the hall, presumably debating what happened with him and Liberty. Paul had given a terse shake of his head, hoping they’d understand his silent message. He doubted they had, which explained why they were waiting for him.
Not wanting to reveal his private life to them, he just simply told them he’d figured out who “Allison” was within five minutes, but she never discovered his identity, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. John opened his mouth to ask questions and Andrew took pity on him by kindly reminded John that Liberty was Paul’s wife and the best thing was for Paul to handle it from here on out by himself. Thankfully, John accepted this and let him be.
The next morning he leeched the color from his hair and went to his bank in London to straighten out any mess regarding Liberty’s allowance. After speaking to three employees, it was discovered his signature was missing from a release form. He scribbled his name and left feeling slightly better about the money situation.
With no other business to take care of in London, he hopped on his horse and rode in the direction home. He made a quick stop by Elizabeth’s. He knew he’d be denied entry, but he wanted to put in an appearance nonetheless.
He tried his hardest not to crack a smile when the maid described Liberty as a lifeless limp lily that needed to rest. He’d felt the urge to play the role of the worried husband and demand to see her, especially when the maid thought to deter him by mentioning she was currently being bathed. Instead, he left his well wishes and went to his house to face an irritated Mrs. Siddons.
Ignoring her and her disapproving looks, he went fishing in the creek. He hoped Liberty be there by the time he came back. Disappointment flooded him when he came in and realized she wasn’t there. He reminded himself it had only been one day and that she may have stayed in London with Brooke for a day or two.
The next day he went about his business, constantly wondering if she’d be there when he got home, and was disappointed again to find she wasn’t.
Late that night, Paul awoke to the sound of loud pounding on the front door. Throwing his dressing robe on, he ran to the front door to see what the racket was. Opening the door revealed a liveried messenger. He recognized the livery right away and snatched the note from the man’s fingers.
He scanned the content. Twice. The words could not be correct, he told himself. He looked up at the messenger who looked just as unsettled as Paul, telling him there was no mistake, the words were correct. He dismissed the servant, went to his study to write a missive of his own, dressed and saddled his horse. It was going to be a long night.
***
Liberty spent the past two days thinking of what she’d tell Paul when she saw him next. She wanted to tell him she cared for him, loved him even. But how would he react when she told him about h
er night with Mr. Daltry? Would he discount her love when he heard what she’d done? She couldn’t keep this from him. He had a right to know. If there was any chance for their relationship she’d have to tell him.
Feeling nauseous at remembering how shamelessly she’d acted that night, she tapped on the roof and asked the coachman to pull the carriage over. A few minutes later she felt well enough to continue her journey.
Brooke and Andrew had returned to Rockhurst the day after the ball and threatened to drag her along and deposit her on Paul’s doorstep. She’d refused and insisted she’d stay with Mama and Papa because she wanted to meet some of the gentlemen that were calling on Madison. That was only partially true, and they all knew it. Fortunately they hadn’t said anything to her, but she had a feeling they knew what happened with Mr. Daltry the night before.
Mama and Papa graciously allowed her to stay and she met several nice gentlemen. Then after two days, Papa all but kicked her out, telling her she needed to go home to her husband. She supposed he was right and she’d never know how Paul would react if she didn’t go. So now she found herself in a carriage less than a mile from Bath, feeling sicker by the minute.
When the carriage came to a halt in front of the familiar cottage, Liberty breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a nervous cry when the front door opened. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the carriage door and descended once the coachman placed the stairs in front. She kept her eyes down, locked on her slippers as she descended, praying he wouldn’t see her transgressions in her eyes when he looked at her. From the bottom of the stairs, she looked up and blinked to see a fitful Mrs. Siddons clutching a piece of paper as if it were a bank note for a thousand pounds.
“Mrs. Siddons,” Liberty greeted, thankful she’d have some support until she had to face Paul.
“Ma’am, I got some bad news, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Siddons said solemnly.
“Bad news?” she echoed. “Is it Paul? Is he all right?” Her voice bordered on hysterical and she didn’t even care.
“I believe so, ma’am,” she said, holding out the letter. “The details are in the letter, I imagine. The house was empty when I got here this morning. I found this in the kitchen.”
Liberty snatched the letter from her grasp and broke the wax seal. With shaky fingers she unfolded the missive and read the lines.
Liberty,
I’m in Cornwall at my brother’s estate. Please come join me.
Paul
“He’s rather evasive, isn’t he?” she said with a frown.
Mrs. Siddons being the ever dutiful servant had already packed Liberty’s remaining clothes and had them loaded into Paul’s carriage before she’d even arrived. With nothing holding her back, she dismissed her father’s coachman to return the coach to London and climbed into Paul’s carriage to begin her journey to Cornwall.
She’d never been there before and was certain that if the circumstances were different she’d enjoy the journey more.
It was the dead of night by the time she reached a far off estate on the outer stretches of Cornwall. There were no torches burning, nor anyone outside to greet them. The coachman bade her to wait in the coach while he went to the stables. She gladly complied and fell asleep waiting for him to come back for her.
She didn’t know how long she slept before she heard a noise that half startled her awake followed by two strong arms lifting her up. The arms felt like strong bands as they firmly held against a warm chest. He carried her out of the carriage and into a dark house. She heard boot heels clank on the floor with each step and she snuggled closer to him. He felt good. Solid. Not sure if she was dreaming, she refused to open her eyes, too afraid she’d wake up only to find herself back in the carriage lying against the squabs. This dream was too good to wake up from.
When she did wake the following morning, she found herself clad in only her chemise alone in a room she’d never seen before. Pulling the covers up to her neck, she took in her surroundings.
The sparsely decorated room was bigger than half the cottage she lived in with Paul. The furnishings were curiously elegant for a man as harsh as the viscount. She stepped out of the bed and walked to where her belongings were waiting for her across the room. Her trunk was placed to the right of the wardrobe and her reticule was resting on top. She opened the wardrobe and her nose was assailed by the scent of fresh cedar. Not sure how long they planned to stay, she decided not to unpack and make use of the wardrobe.
She walked around the room, opening drawers, peeking in cabinets, inspecting the furniture, all in an effort to delay the inevitable. Looking at the clock, she sighed. She could wait no longer, it was time to talk to Paul.
Finding a dress that didn’t require a corset, therefore, making it possible for her to put it on unassisted, she dressed. While she was dressing, she thought of what she’d say to Paul. He’d most likely be waiting for her in the breakfast room. She frowned. Was the breakfast room of his brother’s estate the best place to have this conversation? No, she decided with a shake of her head. Perhaps she should wait until they went back home. That would be the better time. That way he could rant and rave at her all he wanted without having an audience.
Resigned to her choice, she opened the door and walked down the long hall. Not sure which way to go, she picked a direction and started walking. She stopped every few feet to view the portraits that hung on the walls. They were mostly of landscapes during a storm. One had lightening striking a tree in the middle of a field. Another was of a ship in the middle of the ocean during a heavy rain storm. Further down the wall was of a horse and rider riding through the forest during a lightning storm. A shiver ran up her spine at the image.
At the end of the hall was a stairwell with a servant standing at the top. “Excuse me, can you tell me where the breakfast room is?” she asked the impeccably dressed man.
“You must be Mrs. Grimes. I'm Ludwig,” he said with a low bow. “I was asked to show you around. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”
Ludwig took her to the breakfast room where she ate a magnificent breakfast in complete solitude. After the meal, Ludwig took her for a tour. He showed her where some of the common rooms were located and explained the routine around the estate. She was still curious as to why she was here in the first place and wanted to ask him where Paul was so she could ask him, but before she could, he led her to the portrait gallery and told her to look around, he’d catch up with her later.
Frowning, she turned to the portraits. There were so many she could hardly see any empty wall. She scanned the faces and read the plaques on the bottom so she’d know their names. She walked from one end to the other until she got to two teenage boys holding rapiers and froze. Without having to look at the plaque she knew it was Paul and his brother. She smiled at the different expressions on their faces. Sam had a loopy grin and Paul looked terrified. She would be, too, she supposed, if her attacker looked so giddy about it.
Further down, she saw a more recent picture of Sam. His hat was askew, shirt half buttoned, one side of his shirt untucked from his breeches and a smug look on his face. It seemed like he enjoyed making a mockery of his title and position. She shook her head at his idiocy and looked at the last portrait on the wall. It was Paul. He was riding his stallion. He was in his shirtsleeves with the top button undone, the way she’d seen him so many times when he was relaxing in his study or when he’d come to her room to read her entries. His hair was whipping in the wind and his face was split with the biggest grin she’d ever seen. He looked truly happy.
Staring at the portrait so intently, she didn’t hear footsteps coming up behind her and nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice said, “That was painted just last spring.”
Her body froze in place. This was it. The time had come for her to see her husband for the first time since she’d left. She slowly turned around and swallowed when she looked at his sandy haired, clean-shaven appearance. He looked just the opposite of Mr. Daltry, yet for some reason
, she found him just as handsome. She shook her head to clear it. “You looked like you were enjoying the ride,” she said easily, gesturing to the portrait.
“I suppose I was. Thankfully the artist was good enough that I only had to keep my face like that for thirty minutes while he made the outline. Any longer than that, and I'd probably refuse to ever smile again,” he admitted with a quick grin. “I see you’ve recovered nicely from your illness.”
She flushed. “Yes, thank you,” she said, looking at the floor.
“Would you care to go on a walk?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“I’d be delighted,” she said, slipping her hand through his proffered arm.
He flashed her another quick smile before leading her down the hall. “Did Ludwig show you about, then?” he asked, steering her into a dimly lit hallway.
She was about to answer when suddenly he brought his hand up to cover where hers was holding onto his sleeve and gave her hand a light squeeze, sending a thrill of excitement up her arm. “Not here,” she said abruptly.
He looked at her, cocking his head. “You mean he didn’t take you here?”
“Right,” she agreed, slightly flustered. Why was his touch affecting her so? Was she such a wanton it didn’t matter whose hands were on her she’d react this way?
“Do you ride?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Brooke and Madison do, but I never learned.”
“Pity, that” he said, twisting his lips. “Would you like to learn?”
“Of course,” she readily agreed.
He looked down and grinned at her. “Excellent.”
She tore her gaze away from his. She’d promised Mr. Daltry she’d be herself, and for the past few days she had. Hopefully Paul wouldn’t be annoyed by her unabashed excitement. This was her. She wasn’t holding anything back anymore.
Outside, there was a chestnut mare saddled and ready. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?” she asked, coming up beside the beast.
