Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  “I’m fine. Perfectly calm and quite under control.” She forced a smile. “Besides, Reggie is here and he has strict standards against the seduction of the wives of his friends.”

  “That’s not what worries me,” he murmured.

  “What then?” she said lightly.

  “I have the oddest feeling…” He shook his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” He started toward the door.

  “Marcus?”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “I…” An instant later she was in his arms again, clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. As it did.

  He smoothed her hair. “It shall be all right, Gwen. I promise.”

  “I know,” she whispered. She pulled away and stared up at him. “Apparently I am not quite as calm as I had thought.”

  “I was not fooled for a moment.” The grin on his face belied the question in his eye.

  “I’m being extraordinarily silly. It’s not as if I will never see you again.” The words caught at her heart. She stepped back and waved him toward the door. “Go now, before I become a complete fool. It’s probably nothing more than the fact that we have never spent a night apart since we wed.”

  “And this shall be the last.” He nodded firmly and stepped to the door, then turned back to her. “Forever, Gwen. Say it.”

  She raised her chin and smiled. “Forever, Marcus.”

  A moment later he was gone.

  She stared at the door after him, for a minute or an hour or eternity. He was her heart, her soul, her life. Of course she trusted him to do the very best he could. But the chances were better than good that even Marcus could not resolve this problem.

  He insisted on doing this all properly, talking to the solicitor about legalities and options and any number of things Gwen had absolutely no confidence in. It was the world’s legal rules that had taken her heritage from her in the first place, and she didn’t doubt it would always take the side of a man over those of children and women.

  She wasn’t sure when she decided but at some point in the last few minutes she knew that, once again in her life, she had to take matters into her own hands.

  In a scant two hours, Marcus would be halfway to London and there would be little chance of running into him at that point. She would rouse the girls then and they would sneak out of the house. They would travel by horseback instead of by carriage. It was faster and no doubt easier at night if perhaps somewhat dangerous. But the girls had grown rather good in the saddle since coming to the country. This moonlit dash across the countryside would be yet another adventure for them in their brief lives that had seen so many adventures already.

  She would bring the girls to Colette and Madame long enough for her to arrange her finances. Her inheritance was safe in a London bank. It would be best to avoid Whiting but she could call on Albert to arrange things for her. Thank God she had insisted on keeping control of her funds.

  Marcus’s suggestion was excellent: they would indeed take the first ship to America. But this time Gwen had no need of employment. She had more than enough money now.

  It had taken Whiting five years to find her. Even if Marcus came after her, it might well be years before he found them. By then the girls would be old enough to legally manage their own affairs. They would come into their inheritance and no one would be able to harm them. And they would have grown up happy and wanted and loved.

  It was exceedingly odd; the panic that had always driven her in the past was absent tonight, replaced by an unrelenting determination and an absolute resolve. She had no idea if what she was doing was right. As right was judged by the world, it probably wasn’t. Indeed, it might well be a dreadful mistake. But while she could trust Marcus to do his best, in this particular case she was not confident of success. It wasn’t her husband she had no faith in: it was the rest of the world.

  Right or wrong, she saw no other choice.

  And if it was accompanied by an ache so intense it threatened to tear her apart, so be it. A hurt so deep, it was all she could do to stand upright; well, she would have to bear it. She had to accept as well the fact that she would probably never see Marcus again, hear his laughter, lie in his arms.

  The least she could do was leave him a note. Explain exactly why she had no choice but to run. Again. Besides, she’d promised to love him forever. He should know she meant it. And know as well she would never stop loving him, not until the last breath left her body or the final beat of her heart.

  He would never forgive her, of course. How could he? She would never forgive herself.

  This would destroy him. His heart would snap in two much as hers was breaking at this very moment. He had avoided love as steadfastly as she had. And now…

  She shook her head and slowly started toward the door. This was such a mess.

  She had thought it took more courage to face a problem than to run from it. But this was different. This was not for herself. It took all the strength she had within her to follow the course she knew was best. To sacrifice one love for another.

  Marcus would carry on, he had friends and family and people who cared about him. The girls had no one who truly cared about them. No one to make certain they would survive. Without her, they would grow up exactly as she had.

  And that she could not permit.

  Regardless of the price she had to pay.

  Chapter 18

  There is no power on earth that can equal a man in love. He is a force that even nature cannot conquer.

  Colette de Chabot

  “Godfrey!”

  Marcus strode into the foyer of Holcroft Hall, Whiting a step behind. It was already late morning, far later than he had hoped to return, yet it could not be helped. This whole matter was much more complicated than he had expected.

  “Yes, my lord?” As always, Godfrey appeared out of nowhere.

  “Get Mr. Whiting something to eat and drink and a bite for me as well. Have it brought to the library and have Lady Pennington and Lord Berkley join me there. At once.”

  “Lord Berkley is already in the library, sir, with Lord Townsend—”

  “Excellent.” Marcus started toward the library.

  “Which Lady Pennington did you wish to see, my lord?”

  “As many as you can find,” Marcus said over his shoulder.

  “Sir, I should tell you that might be a bit difficult,” the butler called after him.

  “Do what you can, Godfrey.” Marcus threw open the library door and stepped aside, gesturing Whiting to enter before him. In truth, it might be somewhat easier to speak to Townsend without Gwen’s presence or his mother’s either, for that matter. She too adored the girls.

  Townsend and Reggie sat in chairs facing one another, each with a glass of brandy in his hand, sharing what was obviously a strained silence. Marcus wondered how long they’d been alone in here together. Both men leaped to their feet at his appearance.

  “Did you find them?” Reggie stepped forward, concern on his face.

  Marcus pulled up short and stared. “Find who?”

  Reggie and Townsend traded uneasy glances.

  “Find who?” Marcus said again, fear pooling in the pit of his stomach.

  Reggie winced. “You didn’t get my message, then? I sent a servant after you the moment—”

  “Find who?” Marcus snapped.

  “My cousin and the children,” Townsend said. “They have gone. Apparently they left sometime in the middle of the night.”

  “We didn’t discover they were missing until an hour or so ago.” Reggie shrugged helplessly. “We had no idea where they might have gone and thought it best to wait for your return before going after them.”

  “Bloody hell.” Marcus grit his teeth. He wasn’t surprised. Not in the least. He’d probably known last night that she’d had something like this in mind and simply hadn’t wanted to accept it. Or perhaps he couldn’t believe she would be that foolish.

  “She left a note.” Reggie nodded at the desk, hi
s manner apologetic, as if this was somehow his fault.

  Marcus stepped to the desk and snatched up the paper. He unfolded it and quickly scanned the message.

  In a scant three lines Gwen explained that it wasn’t him she didn’t trust but the rest of the world. That she was doing what she truly thought was best. And that she would love him forever.

  He stared at her perfect hand for a long moment. An odd sort of emptiness gripped him, and he was hard-pressed to focus on her words.

  She had left him? Done what she’d always done when she could see no solution: run. Only this time she’d taken his heart with her.

  Before he had so much as a twinge of regret or a modicum of sorrow or a sharp stab of pain, fierce determination swept through him.

  “I don’t think so, Miss Townsend.” He crushed her note in his hand. He’d waited his entire life to find love. He’d be damned if he’d let it walk out on him now.

  “Marcus?” Reggie stepped closer and laid his hand on his friend’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  “No. I am exceedingly tired, and the last thing I wish to do is chase across the country after my wife. But Reggie”—he met his friend’s gaze directly—“I am about to do just that.”

  “Are you certain that’s wise?” Reggie said carefully. “She’s left you, Marcus. It’s difficult to face, but there you have it. It’s the landing, old man. I know you’re upset—”

  “Upset?” Marcus’s voice rang with anger. “I am bloody furious. From the moment I met that woman, absolutely everything has had to be her way and I have given in to her. She’s kept her money, her house, and her independence. She has kept secrets from me—”

  “Just three,” Reggie murmured. “Not so bad really. I’ve known women—”

  “I’m the one who was forced to first confess my feelings without the least bit of encouragement from her. Then I had to get her to admit hers so that she would stop moping and be happy. Happy! Can you believe that?” He shook his head. “She should have been bloody happy long before then.”

  “She is a woman, after all,” Reggie said. “They are very odd creatures.”

  “She’s led me around as if I’ve had a ring through my nose. I am the Earl of blasted Pennington and I’ve been acting like a smitten schoolboy!”

  “Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.”

  “No?” Marcus raised a brow. “On our wedding night, she had a list of what I was supposed to do and precisely when I was supposed to do it!”

  “I wouldn’t go around mentioning that if I were you,” Reggie said under his breath. “It doesn’t look at all good.”

  “There has not been the least bit of compromise in this relationship up to now, and I am damn tired of it.” Marcus snatched the brandy from Reggie’s hand and downed it in one swallow. “As soon as I catch up with her, things are going to be decidedly different.”

  “Well said, my lord.” Townsend grinned.

  Marcus had forgotten Gwen’s cousin was in the room. There were matters right here that needed attending before he could follow his wife. Starting with this man.

  He turned toward Townsend. “You lied to us.”

  Townsend’s chin jerked up defiantly. “I wouldn’t say lie, exactly.”

  “My God, it runs in the family.” Marcus rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “Would you prefer the term deceive?”

  “As you apparently already know”—Townsend shrugged—“this was not exactly my choice. It was not how I would have done things.”

  “What is he talking about,” Reggie said in an aside to Marcus.

  A brisk knock sounded at the door, and at once it swung open. A maid carried in a tray bearing meats and breads and pitchers of what Marcus hoped was tea, or better yet coffee, strong and hot. His stomach growled at the sight. His mother followed a few steps behind the maid.

  “Jeffrey.” Her eyes widened with obvious delight.

  Jeffrey?

  Marcus’s gaze followed his mother’s.

  Whiting nodded a greeting. “Helena.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Lady Pennington.”

  Helena’s gaze shifted from the solicitor to her son and back. Her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “He’s here because I asked him to come.” Marcus studied his mother. There was something decidedly odd about her manner.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Whiting said mildly.

  “I see.” Helena chose her words with care. “Why exactly is that?”

  “Why?” Marcus glanced at the other men, then addressed his mother. “I gather you have no idea what’s happened here.”

  Her eyes widened. “Something has happened?”

  Marcus blew a long, exasperated breath.

  “Allow me, Marcus.” Reggie stepped forward. “It all began last night, my lady, with the arrival of this gentleman, Lord Townsend. He is the cousin of Lady Pennington—the young one—”

  The older Lady Pennington raised an annoyed brow.

  “What I mean is the current countess. Gwendolyn,” Reggie said quickly.

  “Delighted to meet you, Lady Pennington.” Townsend smiled politely.

  “As am I,” she murmured.

  Reggie continued. “He claimed he had the right, thanks to a letter from the girls’ father—”

  “My girls?” Indignation sounded in her voice.

  “I thought that letter looked odd.” Marcus glared at Townsend.

  “—to guardianship of the children,” Reggie finished. “Marcus rode to London—”

  “To speak with me,” Whiting cut in. Helena cast him a grateful smile. A bit too grateful and definitely too…personal.

  “But my wife decided not to wait for my return.” Marcus grit his teeth. “She took matters into her own hands and left with the children.”

  “Left?” Helena shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean, left?”

  “She’s gone, Mother,” Marcus snapped. “Fled in the middle of the night apparently.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Helena said staunchly.

  “It’s true, Lady Pennington,” Townsend said. “My cousin was extremely overset last night. Quite frankly, I considered her to be rather irrational and somewhat unstable. Her actions bear that out. She is obviously not suited to be the guardian of defenseless children, and I understand she was not especially adequate as a governess either.”

  “Why you—” Reggie moved toward Townsend in a threatening manner.

  “Not now,” Marcus said coldly.

  “Perhaps Gwendolyn was never suited to be a governess.” Helena’s tone matched her son’s. “She was very young, and it’s been my experience not all women are right for such positions. However, Gwendolyn and these children care for one another, and that, Lord Townsend, can neither be measured nor disregarded. As for the instability you seem to see in her…” Helena squared her shoulders. “I don’t care if she’s mad as a March hare, I like her a great deal. Indeed I have come to regard her with considerable affection.

  “Marcus.” She turned to her son. “I have done far too much to see it all end this way. Gwendolyn is the best thing to ever happen to you, and you would be a fool to let her get away.”

  “I have no intention of letting her get away, Mother.” He studied his mother carefully. “What do you mean: you have done far too much?”

  “Did I say that?” A look of panic flitted through her eyes and her gaze slipped to Whiting. An amused smile curved his lips. “I suppose it scarcely matters now.” She wrung her hands together. “Indeed, all has worked out so nicely. And it’s really rather an interesting story, I should think. However, you probably should know”—she braced herself—“you never actually had to marry her.”

  “Of course I had—” Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Explain yourself, Mother.”

  “Jeffrey?” She cast another hopeful glance at the solicitor.

  “This was not my idea,” Whiting said firmly. “In truth, my dear Helena, I was as much an unwitting dupe in this
as your son. And I shall not rescue you now.”

  My dear Helena?

  “Very well.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “Marcus, dear.” She paused, obviously searching for the right words. It did not bode well.

  “Do you remember how I used to assist your father in business matters? Most notably his correspondence?”

  “Yes,” Marcus drew the word out slowly.

  “He had notoriously bad penmanship, almost illegible.” She shook her head. “It was a shame really. He had a lovely way with words; they were simply impossible to read.”

  Marcus clenched his teeth. “Get on with it, Mother.”

  “You have to let me tell it my way or it will make no sense,” she said with a huff. “As I was saying, even in the beginning of our marriage, I would assist him. Eventually, I took over virtually all his writing even”—she winced—“his signature.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Marcus held his breath.

  “This is rather difficult…” She paused, apparently for courage. “The letter between your father and Gwendolyn’s arranging your marriage, and the documents that accompanied it, well, I wrote them.”

  “What!” Marcus stared in shock.

  “I signed your father’s name and Lord Townsend’s as well. I had Lord Townsend’s signature on something, a bill of sale I believe, and I simply copied it.” She glanced at Reggie. “It was exceedingly easy. The man’s writing was scarcely better than a scrawl.”

  “That is interesting,” Reggie murmured

  “Oh, I’m certain he would have approved,” she said quickly. “Indeed, he and Lord Townsend had spoken of such a match, and I do not doubt would have come to an agreement at some point. That was precisely why your father sold him the old dower house in the first place. Unfortunately, specific arrangements were never actually made before your father and then Lord Townsend died. And, well…”

  “You’re telling me,” Marcus said slowly, trying to grasp the import of his mother’s confession, “I did not need to marry Gwen to keep my fortune?”

  “You could interpret it that way…” She gestured helplessly. “If you wish…”