“He has watched your every breath, Your Grace. There is not a step you have taken that he has not taken with you. No mean feat with everything he has on his mind.” Creighton took her hand and bowed over it. He rose, released her hand, and tilted his head in a somewhat affected pose. Adelaide was not fooled in the least.
“And you have been watching him watching me. What do you hope to learn from it, my lord?”
“I daresay I have already learned it, Your Grace.”
Now it was Adelaide’s turn to tilt her head.
“And what would that be?”
“That Julius was right.” He looked over her shoulder and she turned to follow his gaze.
Marcus appeared to be in conversation with their hosts. His eyes, however, were trained on Adelaide and Creighton. Only a duke could get away with such rude behavior. Could his friend be right? Was her husband just a bit jealous? She could grasp onto “just a bit.”
“Lord Creighton, would you escort me to my husband, please?” The gentleman’s dry rumble of laughter was his only response.
Marcus would run mad any moment. Adelaide had danced with two of the most degenerate rakes in England and now was bearing down on him in the company of the worst gossip and gadfly in the entire British Empire. He had been drinking to a point well beyond foxed and was presently being subjected to yet another ode to how fortunate he was to be married. He should have worn his dress uniform. At least then he would have access to a sword on which to fall and end this interminable night.
“You needn’t worry, Selridge,” Lord Fathringham assured him in a congenial tone. “There are plenty of young bucks to keep your lovely bride dancing. Bring her to a few more balls and such and she’ll forget all about your infirmities.”
Marcus wanted to put his fist in the old blighter’s face or at least snatch those feathers from his wife’s hair. She nodded at everything the fool said like some sort of nearly plucked demented chicken.
“Here she is, Selridge, safe and sound.” Creighton strolled up to join them, but kept Addy’s hand firmly in place on his arm. “What are we talking about here? Lord Fathringham. Lady Fathringham.”
A series of bows and curtsies ensued. All the while Marcus stared at his wife’s radiant smile. He thought he detected something false in it, but the brandy he’d swilled all night mashed his thoughts into an angry haze.
“I was just telling His Grace how lucky he is to be married to this lovely creature.” Adelaide murmured what sounded like a protest, but Fathringham continued. “Can’t think how on earth he persuaded her to marry such a ramshackle fellow.”
Everyone laughed. It didn’t strike Marcus as funny. The mix of the night’s pointed stares and sharper comments felt like needles, jabbing at every tender spot he owned.
“Actually, I had to marry her. We went for a drive and fell into a hole and spent the night. So, you see, my lord, it is actually she who is the lucky one. She set a tiger pit and caught a duke.” Why was everyone staring at him? What had he said?
Marcus wondered why they weren’t laughing. He certainly thought it a wonderful joke. At least he did until he saw Addy. Every ounce of color had left her face. Her eyes had an odd glittery look to them. For some reason that look made him even angrier.
“What’s wrong, Addy? Aren’t you having fun?”
Apparently, fewer and fewer people were having fun. People all around them were beginning to stare. The room grew quieter by the minute. Marcus swept the crowd with his eyes. He spotted Clementine suddenly standing behind Addy, smiling. Dylan Crosby was with her. He was not smiling. Neither was Creighton nor any of the others in their group.
“No, Marcus. I am not having fun,” Adelaide said softly. “If you will all excuse me, please. I see my mother-in-law wishes to see me.” She looked at Marcus for a moment and then turned away.
“Can’t see why you’re upset, my dear.” Marcus felt as if the words were coming from somewhere outside his body. He was powerless to stop them. “You have your title and all of these ardent swains to dance with you. What more could you want?”
Her shoulders never slumped. Her steps never faltered. For the space of a breath a shudder seemed to ripple through her delicate frame. Without a backward glance, she glided through the already parting crowd toward the top of the stairs where his mother and Lady Haverly stood conversing, oblivious to what had just happened below.
“Take care who you turn that sharp tongue on, Selridge.” Crosby stared after Addy and then tossed Marcus a venomous look. “The heart you cut out may be your own.” With a quick nod of his head he disappeared into the crowd. The Fathringhams stared at Marcus incredulously.
“If you’ll excuse us, my lord? My lady?” Creighton took his leave of the older couple and latched onto Marcus’s elbow.
Marcus tried in vain to free his arm from his friend’s crushing grip. “Leave off, Creighton. Where are we going?” He stumbled as they bumped into several matrons and chaperones seated at the edge of the ballroom. “I do have a bad leg, you know.” Creighton continued to ignore him. “I think I need to go after my wife.”
They stopped so sharply Marcus nearly slammed into the wall next to the card room. Creighton seldom looked anything other than bored. He did not look bored now. He looked… angry.
“I think if you want to avoid earning another bad leg and perhaps worse, you had better let your wife calm down a bit before you speak with her.”
“I know how to handle my wife,” Marcus assured him.
“I doubt that. I very much doubt that at all.” Creighton took up his grip on Marcus’s elbow and propelled him into the card room. The last thing Marcus saw before his friend dragged him out of the doorway was Addy leaving the ballroom with his mother, Lady Haverly, and Dylan Crosby.
Chapter Thirty-Three
From her spot in the fern-bedecked alcove, Clementine listened as her sister and Dylan Crosby argued in hushed whispers. Lady Haverly and the dowager duchess had gone to retrieve their wraps and send for their carriage. Her head was still reeling with delight at Marcus’s sudden confession of the circumstances of his and Addy’s marriage. She knew her mother’s tale of a sweeping romance did not wash. Marcus was trapped into marriage with her plain, hoyden sister, and he was none too happy about it.
“I’ve already said I’d go, Dylan.” Addy’s voice finally rose to a level Clementine could hear, although not well. “But this is the last time. I mean it.”
“After what he just did? Addy, you can’t possibly mean to…” Dylan stopped speaking so quickly Clementine had to peek through the fronds of the foliage to see why. The look Adelaide gave him was definitely enough to make anyone reconsider the value of voicing their thoughts. There was something more, however, something Dylan would never see. Her sister was hurting. Badly. It almost made Clementine want to comfort her. Almost.
“I will go with you tonight. This is the last time, Dylan. Marcus is my husband.”
“Yes, I know.” Dylan gave one of his patented petulant sighs. Many women succumbed to them, but Clementine and Adelaide had long been immune. “For better or worse, and all that rot. So,” He leaned in closer. “Where do we meet?
Clementine would like that little bit of information herself. Unfortunately, Lady Haverly chose that moment to call Adelaide to the waiting carriage. Dylan followed and offered his escort to the ladies as far as Lady Haverly’s. They disappeared out the front door. Clementine hurried down the stairs, but arrived in time to see the carriage pull out of the drive onto the street. When she turned to go back to the ball, she was startled to find a portly red-faced man peering around her into the night.
“Was that the Duchess of Selridge I saw leaving?” he asked as he mopped his brow with his handkerchief. “And that disreputable Mr. Crosby with her?”
Clementine gave the man a polite cursory glance. “Yes, it was. Why do you ask, sir?”
The gentleman gave her a brief bow. The creak of his stays and the short bob of his bow, like a cork on the water
, almost made her laugh.
“Sir Delbert Finch, at your service, ma’am. I am acquainted with the duchess. I met her in Yorkshire just before she married His Grace.”
“Ah, and Mr. Crosby? How is it you know him?”
“Not nearly as well as I would like,” he assured her. “I have been trying to question him since the duchess’s wedding.”
“Question him?” Clementine liked the sound of this more and more. She took the gentleman’s arm and began to stroll back toward the ballroom. “I am the duchess’s sister, Sir Delbert. And I have known Mr. Crosby as long as dear Adelaide. What on earth could you want to question him about, I wonder?”
Clementine turned on him her most radiant smile. She was well aware of its effect on men. It made them quite simply… hers. What an interesting night it was turning out to be.
*
Tillie plucked nervously at the buttons on his waistcoat. Marcus glanced up at him and then back at the cards in his hand. Two things were certain. Tillie wouldn’t go away and these cards were beyond improvement. Another thing that was not going to improve was his mood. After an hour of cards and Creighton’s cryptic remarks, Marcus was very nearly sober. Sober under these circumstances was not good. As the lovely fog over his thoughts cleared he realized he’d done it again. He’d lashed out at someone he cared for, the last person he wanted to hurt. The wounded look on Addy’s face, that last shudder of pain as she left the ballroom hovered at the edge of his mind, haunting him. How he hated himself.
“What is it, Tillie? As you can see I am busy losing the family fortune.” A round of laughter from the other card players followed Marcus’s remark. Creighton put down his cards, and unlike Marcus, gave Tillie his full attention.
“You sent me to find your duchess, Selridge,” Tillie replied. “Don’t you remember?’
“And?”
“She’s gone.” The torture of his waistcoat buttons increased as Tillie eyed him expectantly.
“What do you mean gone?”
“She’s left. About an hour ago. With your mother.” The man actually twitched at the mere thought of Marcus’s mother. “And Lady Haverly.” Another twitch. “And Crosby went with them.”
Marcus was instantly completely sober and ice cold. He placed his cards on the table and turned to gaze at Tillie’s nearly seizuring form. It didn’t matter he’d practically shoved Addy into Crosby’s arms with his unforgivable behavior. He’d end the man’s little game once and for all. He felt a hand on his arm as he rose from his chair. Tillie stepped back a few steps.
“Going somewhere, my friend?” Creighton asked as he stood and gripped Marcus’s elbow with a restraining hand.
“I’m going to find my wife.” Marcus shook off Creighton’s hold and pushed past a white-faced Tillie to exit the card room. As they passed him, Creighton grabbed Tillie and dragged him in their wake. Marcus didn’t care if they came along as long as they didn’t get in his way. Wessex was going to need a new heir.
*
Adelaide wished only to go home. As they stood in the foyer of Lady Haverly’s townhouse and said their goodbyes, she wanted nothing more than to tell Dylan to find his own way home and let her travel back to Selridge House in her mother-in-law’s carriage alone. Wounded animals did not need company. That is exactly how she felt, like some poor animal, wounded and incapable of doing a thing about it.
She loved Marcus with an aching need and in spite of their bickering she felt certain they were making progress. She was obviously wrong. He regretted marrying her. Worse, he resented it. The need to cry was almost as powerful as the need to rip her husband limb from limb. Adelaide dared not start either as she knew she would never stop. As a result, she’d made her foolish decision to go with Dylan one last time. Perhaps she was lying to herself when she said this last foray into the dark world of bear baiting and fighting dogs had nothing to do with revenge. It didn’t bear contemplating.
“Adelaide, dear, are you sure you won’t stay the night?” Emily interrupted her thoughts to put an arm around her waist and give her an affectionate squeeze. Adelaide looped her arm through her mother-in-law’s and walked towards the door.
“No, thank you, Emily. I need to go home.” Dylan waggled his eyebrows at her and she shot him a quelling look. “Marcus will be there soon, no doubt spoiling for a fight.”
“Well, I certainly hope you give him what for, my darling. I have never wanted to smack him more than I do now.” The thought of Marcus taking a good walloping from his mother made her smile.
“Perhaps I should simply sit and listen to him rant. My outspoken ways have not endeared me to him at all.” Adelaide smiled in jest, but her heart was not in it.
“Oh no, you mustn’t. Your outspokenness is good for him. It is one of the reasons he married you.”
Adelaide rolled her eyes. “He married me because we fell into a…”
“Great bloody hole. Yes, I know.” Emily scowled at Dylan’s bark of laughter at her blue language. “But deep down Marcus is grateful for that accident and very glad he married you.”
Adelaide felt her eyebrow rise of its own volition. “How deep down, Emily?” They looked at each other and laughed. Emily kissed her cheek.
Once they were alone in the carriage Adelaide and Dylan stared at each other in strained silence. Finally, Dylan spoke.
“You don’t have to do this, Addy.” His voice was uncharacteristically solemn. “Your husband is a real bastard, but I would never use that to persuade you to…”
“Of course, you would, Dylan.” Her cynically brittle voice surprised even her. “But that isn’t why I’m going with you. I am fulfilling my vow to you.”
“Addy, I…”
“After tonight my vow is paid.” She settled into the squabs, wrapped in misery. “Tomorrow I am going to start honoring the vows I made to Marcus. Especially the one to obey.”
Dylan’s laughter echoed into the night.
*
“And I have to say at this moment I am ashamed to be your mother, you dunderhead.” The Dowager Duchess of Selridge was not one to mince words, but even Marcus flinched at her complete disregard for his title and position. Then again, it was no wonder she’d discarded decorum when what she really wanted to do was box his ears. Tillie and Creighton stood behind him, not in support, but in deference to his mother and Lady Haverly’s outrage.
“Really, Selridge, are you completely foxed? Is that your excuse for treating that wonderful girl so shabbily?” Lady Haverly’s voice grated on Marcus’s already tightly strung nerves. He came to fetch his wife and go home. Well, perhaps it would be better if he apologized to his wife and then fetched her home. That was, if he could get past her two avenging angels.
“Yes, Lady Haverly, he is foxed,” Tillie said from his safe position behind Marcus and Creighton. “Been in his cups all night.”
Before Marcus could say a word to silence his friend, Lady Haverly did it for him. “Benny Tildenbury, is that you? Does your brother know you are out this late? And with these two reprobates?”
“Y… yes, my lady. I mean… no, my lady.” Creighton and Marcus turned to see Tillie, looking like a bloated whitefish, scurry out the door. Marcus started to laugh until he turned and saw his mother’s face.
“Mother, I have come to fetch Addy and take her home. Lady Haverly, if you could send someone up to get her I will…”
“She’s not here, boy. She went home hours ago. Where have you been all this time?” Lady Haverly crossed her arms under her substantial bosom and glared at him. “Playing cards with this one, I’ll wager.”
“How did she go home?” Marcus’s patience with the women was wearing thin. Creighton cleared his throat in warning, but he chose to ignore him. “Did Crosby take her?”
“Mr. Crosby was kind enough to escort your wife home,” his mother offered. “You weren’t here to do so and frankly, I think it is a good thing. You have certainly made a mess of this marriage, Selridge.”
Now she called h
im Selridge and in a tone that made his title sound like the worst kind of insult. Was there some sort of mothers’ school where they were taught to make their thirty-year-old sons feel like worms? Of course, the clearer his head became, the more like a worm he felt. How could he have hurt Addy so? Then he thought about her riding alone in a carriage with Crosby and the red haze returned. He turned to leave and nearly ran over Creighton.
“Going somewhere, Lord Dunderhead?” Marcus hated Creighton smug and self-satisfied. Or arrogant and condescending. Or nearly any way when the man was right.
“Get out of my way, Creighton.”
“Creighton, will you take my son into the study and drown him with several cups of tea so that he doesn’t make a complete arse of himself?” Marcus’s mother made the order sound like a request. It wasn’t, and Creighton, ever a clever fellow, looked as if he knew it. He put his hand in Marcus’s back and began to push him down the hall.
“Third door on the right, as I remember, isn’t it, your ladyship?” his friend asked as they passed Lady Haverly.
“That’s right, boy. Selridge, there is someone in there your mother and I think you should consult before you try to win back your wife’s affections. Listen to him.”
The ladies actually giggled as they ascended the staircase. Marcus glanced over his shoulder, but was forced to move forward by Creighton’s persistent shoves.
“What do you think she meant by that?”
“No idea, but I suggest you listen, Your Grace. In your present temper, you are likely to kill Crosby, and then your wife will kill you, and I will be the one who has to come and tell your mother. You are too good a friend to do that to me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m an abysmal friend and an even worse husband, but I am not the sort of man to be cuckolded by the likes of Wessex’s heir.”
The door to the study was at the end of a narrow, sloped hallway. The parquet floor was worn smooth by the passage of time. Marcus hesitated before he raised the polished door latch and stepped inside. To his surprise the room was brightly lit for the middle of the night. A fire burned in the hearth and a number of lamps and candles illuminated what had been the late Lord Haverly’s refuge from the storm that was his wife.
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 34
