by Jane Lark
He looked at her. She was extremely pretty in the dusky pink muslin she’d chosen today. It had embroidered rose buds at the hems.
“You did not have to be rude to my mother.”
“She came here to spy.”
“She came to see if I was well. Which I was, until yesterday.”
Until she’d met his parents, and known him for who he really was, a worthless bastard. He would not wish to be married to himself. He shrugged and opened up the paper, deliberately covering his face.
“And now you hide from me.”
Coward. “Persist and I will go out,” he responded from behind the paper.
“Again?”
“If I wish to, yes. I can do as I please, Mary, as can you.”
He heard her rise, and then the paper was crushed down before his eyes and she leaned down, her blue eyes sharp and flashing with fire like her mother’s and her aunt’s earlier. “So that is it. You do not love me anymore.”
Oh, I love you, but I know you cannot love me. “No.”
She rose up to full height, hands on hips, eyes flashing, his little fire cracker. Not his, some other man’s. God it hurt to think it, but he had to think it.
“And if I love you?”
“You have no business doing so,” he held her gaze, schooling his to be cold. He had to shut her out. “Your father and brother are right. I am a bastard, Mary. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“And you discovered this yesterday?” God the woman could be clever when she wished.
“I discovered it last night.”
“Because I let your friend who only the night before you told me I should trust, escort me to a ball in your stead and dance one dance with him! And that means you will not even pretend to love me.”
He threw the paper aside standing as he did so. She took a step back. He wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him. “I was only ever pretending, I see no point in keeping on. I will go out then, seeing as you are determined to pursue an argument.”
He walked about her.
Coward. Bastard.
“You have a letter too, Joseph brought it up!”
As he turned back she threw the thing at him. Better paper than pottery.
Having donned his coat he bent and picked it up. It was from Caro, his younger sister’s hasty handwriting formed his name in sharp strokes. It had no seal. Gripping it in one hand his other collected his hat and gloves and then he left.
In the street he stopped to read the letter. Kilbride had beaten her again, she’d lost his child, for the third time.
Drew was never sure which came first, the beatings or a child’s loss.
He sighed.
He’d never been in a position to help her, but he could help her now and as he seemed unable to help himself it would be good for one of them to have a happy end.
He gave Timmy another ha’penny when he crossed the road and told him to give it to his younger brother seeing as he’d had the Duchess’s largesse.
Chapter 27
Two weeks later Drew wandered down an aisle in the House of Millard, a warehouse in Cheapside, which sold Bengal Muslins and flannels. His sister gripped his arm. Despite the obscurity of their meeting place she wore a fine gauze veil over her face. Although it could be to cover bruises.
Kilbride had banned her from maintaining bonds with her rakehell brother, but when she asked, they met, even if only for minutes.
He’d been her shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen since they’d been children. She was illegitimate too and had been excluded and ill-treated in their childhood; he’d comforted her then, as he did now.
The Marquis, the man whose name they’d been given, had sold Caro off to the highest bidder as soon as she’d reached six and ten, disposing of his second embarrassment.
None of their family acknowledged her in public, or even in private. She was ostracized like Drew.
But Caro was in a worse state, she had no friends. Kilbride forbade it.
But then Drew had no friends either, now; since he’d hit Peter none of them had been in contact.
And Damn it, the thing that cut most was the fact his family had seen him punch Peter. He hated the possibility that they knew how much they’d dislodged his self-control or rather his self-worth. That was what they’d wished. They’d succeeded. He had no wife to turn to now either.
Pain gripped tight around his heart. He’d been living with an invisible metal band wrapped about his chest since he’d punched Peter.
He leaned to his sister’s ear. “I have found a house for you. You are leaving him.”
“I cannot, Drew, you know I cannot.”
Drew stopped and sucked in a breath, trying to dispel the tension in his chest. He could not let her stay with Kilbride, the man would kill her. “You can, Caro. The house is in Maidstone, it is not far from London. I’ll visit you frequently. It’s small, only a cottage, but I will employ a woman to manage it, cook and clean and such. You can be out of Kilbride’s reach in hours.”
“What if he finds me?”
“Why should he, he has no reason to go to Maidstone and you may change your name.”
She gripped his arm as two women walked past them.
“Sorry you will not be able to take much—”
“I cannot, Drew.”
His fingers lifted her chin. “Caro, if you do not I will call Kilbride out and then where will we be.”
“With us both dead…” Her forehead tipped to his shoulder.
She was a tiny slender woman, fragile but not weak, he’d always admired her bravery she had never fought against her fate, merely coped. But they had both learned stamina and endurance as children.
He patted her shoulder. “How can I let you know the date?”
She lifted her head and he could see her smile through the gauze veil and a slight flinch as it touched a swelling on her lip. “I’ll send word to you, when I can.”
She glanced along the aisle as though she expected Kilbride to appear. “I have to go. I need to get back.”
He nodded once, took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“And your wife, Mary? I’ve not even asked how you are? How is she?”
“Miserable.” A roguish grin caught at his lips, although it was not at all amusing. You’re not amusing, Lord Framlington. No I am human wreckage, and I must either laugh or… He shrugged. “The poor girl married me and I am a bitter, twisted bastard. As you know.”
She hugged him. “No. I know you are not.” She pulled away. “Do not spoil what you have, make it good, Drew.”
“Too late I’m afraid, I’ve ruined it. You were at the Caldecotts’ so you know, you saw. How much worse can it get?”
“A lot worse, Drew. Do not lose her, she is from a good family, they are good people.”
“Exactly why I can never fit with her.”
“You should not have married her then,” Caro whispered.
Women always saw the woman’s side. But she was right, he knew that now.
“But it has paid my debts and it will allow me to help you. The deed is done. She’ll find happiness some other way, without me.”
“You’re going to let her go?” Caro’s brow furrowed.
He sighed, he’d thought about it, he’d sat up the last two nights thinking about it, but he could not do it, not yet, he’d not worked up the courage. He could not bear never to see her again. Not yet. He needed more time. More time to set her in his memory and keep her there, but evict her from his worthless heart. He forced a smile, giving Caro no answer.
“Drew, do not. She is good for you.”
“No, Caro. Mary is bad for me, and I am very bad for her. She makes me lose control.” She makes me face who I am and hate myself. I care too much about what she thinks.
“Have you apologised to Peter?”
“I have not seen Peter to be able to…”
“Are you avoiding him? Drew stop running. I am grateful that you’re helping me but do not destroy your
own life in return. I will never forgive you if you do.”
He laughed. “You will simply have to join the crowd already calling for my blood then. Which is our own family, and now every kin of Mary’s and my friends. Oh and let us not forget the whole of society who have always disliked me.”
Her fingers touched the nearly faded bruise by his eye. “Bruises heal.” The outer ones.
“You had better go, Caro. You are wasting time worrying over me, save your concern for yourself. Contact me as soon as you can and promise me you will not renege.”
She nodded. “I promise,” she said, quietly. He had waited years to hear those words – to hear her agree to flee that monster. Thank God he need no longer worry about her soon.
She smiled before pressing a kiss on his cheek, then she turned and left him.
Drew saw the two women in a far aisle looking. He didn’t recognise them, their faces were covered by wide brimmed bonnets. But Caro’s veil had been so heavy he doubted they could have recognised her.
Chapter 28
“Mary, show me where the stitches should go…” Jennifer leaned closer holding out her embroidery.
“She is reading me a story,” Jemima complained.
“I can do both,” Mary took the cloth and quickly pointed out the next stitches to Jennifer, then passed it back and recommenced the story, her fingers rubbing at her temple.
She had the headache. They had been a frequent complaint ever since Andrew had withdrawn from her.
He’d been true to his word she had a carriage, a driver and groom, a lady’s maid who came in daily – and a husband who did not love her, and did not touch her, nor speak to her, nor even look at her.
He avoided her when he could, and when he could not he acted as though she was not in the room. If he spoke to her it was only to say, “I am going out.”
So she now spent her days with her parents, living much as she’d done before they were wed, apart from the fact she returned to sleep in Drew’s bed. He did not lay in it. He had been sleeping in a chair.
She would even change at her parents to join them at evening entertainments and then in the early hours of the morning they would drop her at Drew’s door, and her father would walk her up to his rooms.
Sometimes when she got home Andrew would be there and sometimes not.
She had no idea what he did with his days, he never spoke.
She did, she shared a continual inane chatter as she called for the woman to help her undress. But then she would disappear into the room while the woman helped her, and when she climbed into bed there would be only silence.
She never spoke of Andrew to her family, and they never asked.
In the beginning when she’d called more frequently and gradually lengthened her stays she’d told her father that Andrew was busy finding a property for them. She did not actually know if he had even looked. Her father had not asked since. She thought he was simply content that Andrew was excluded. She was not.
Her heart was breaking and she did not know what to do.
She hung on to the cliff of her marriage by her fingernails, about to fall.
She’d been tired and listless for days as well as nauseous. She had barely eaten and she could not sleep. She longed for home, but neither here with her family, nor Andrew’s rooms, felt like home anymore and so often when she was here she hid. Like now. A large group of her aunts, uncles and cousins had gathered downstairs, so Mary had come up to the nursery with some of the children.
“Mary.”
She jumped, startled as her aunt Jane pressed a hand on her shoulder.
Jemima had fallen asleep and Mary had not even noticed, although she’d stopped reading…lost in thought.
“The others are still downstairs, don’t worry, but there is something I need to tell you.” Her aunt’s green eyes were bright with concern. She bent and then lifted Jemima from Mary’s lap. She looked to one of the nursery maids. “Please put Miss Jemima to bed.” Then she looked at Jennifer and the other children who were there. “Why do you not go down, there is tea and cake being served…”
Jennifer smiled, and stood, leaving her embroidery on the sofa while the boys deserted a game of soldiers they’d been playing on the floor and ran out.
“Thank you for your help, Mary.” Jennifer said before curtsying to their aunt. Then she left too.
A tingle of apprehension – wariness – ran through Mary; whatever her aunt wished to say, was clearly not for the ears of the children.
Jane moved the embroidery frame and took the seat Jennifer had vacated as the maids tidied up.
She said in a quiet voice, “I wish I did not have to tell you. I knew a few days ago but I have been warring with myself over whether or not to speak. Yet, you should know.” She sighed, looking at a maid. “I would never forgive myself if you hear it from someone else.” She looked back at Mary. “But let us go out into the garden, to the summerhouse, to talk.”
Mary’s hands shook as she rose. She swiped them over her dress to hide it, pretending to clear the creases. It could not be good news, and Mary guessed it was about Andrew.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach, a million of them.
Her aunt kept looking back as Mary followed her through the house.
Mary wished she could just disappear.
When they stepped out on to the terrace, the sunshine touched her face.
Jane slipped her arm about Mary’s and led her down the steps and on through the arbour.
Mary had a painful memory of walking with Andrew here, and when they reached the summerhouse the pain constricted like a vice about Mary’s heart.
She had stopped believing Andrew would come about and like her again, days ago. He would not. He’d shut her out. He had not loved her. What had happened here and after – had been lies.
Jane drew her to a cushioned seat beside the one on which she’d first lain with Andrew, and let him truly touch her.
Jane took one of Mary’s hands in both of hers and held it on her lap as Mary focused on the current time, on the truth, and met Jane’s emerald gaze. “Mary, there is no easy way to tell you this, but…”
Just tell me. Please tell me? How worse can things be?
“A friend of mine, a good friend, Violet, Lady Sparks, who you know and would trust as well as I, saw Lord Framlington last week. He was with a young woman who was veiled. Violet said they were whispering and they looked… affectionate… Violet is no gossip, you know that, she only told me because she felt you should know. We have told no one else, not even Robert because he would tell your father.
“Violet was with her sister-in-law but she believed her sister-in-law was out of town when the announcement of your marriage was published. She saw Lord Framlington but did not appear to make any connection to you and of course you are never seen together. If Violet is right, this woman is—”
Mary lifted her head. She’d listened in silence, numb… She’d thought the distance between them was her fault because she’d insisted he visit his parents, because she’d accepted Lord Brooke’s kindness. But there is someone else. “A mistress…” she said on a pain-filled breath.
Jane squeezed her hand and went on. “If this woman is his mistress, and they were in a draper’s, Mary, so it is very likely that she is, then the story will break at some point, there are too many people in society who hold a grievance with Lord Framlington, they will dine on the news.
Mary, wanted to press her palms over her ears. But she could not hide.
Tears gathered in her eyes, clouding her view of the garden. “Funded by my dowry…”
He’d said he could not afford a mistress before.
He’d loved her for less than one month.
“It’s up to you what you do, of course it is, and there’s no definite evidence she is his mistress. But perhaps your father, or Robert, or John, would have him followed? If you wait too long then the rumours may begin and if they do it will be far worse for you, I know.”
“It is your choice. But you are not happy with him. We can all see it. You barely spend an hour at his rooms. Your home is here. There is no shame in it, Mary. The family will protect you, the whole family. You may sue for divorce, you will have grounds.”
But it was not that easy, not now.
“I need to think. Do not tell anyone, please.”
Jane gave her a warm sympathetic smile.
‘Don’t pity me!’ Andrew had yelled.
Why, because she ought to pity herself? Her entire family did. Everyone looked at her with grief in their eyes.
“Aunt Jane, would you take me home.” Home? Had she been that silly girl who laid down with him here?
“Will he be there?”
“I doubt it.” At least now she knew where he went.
“Will you pack today?” Jane urged.
Mary lifted her gaze, which had fallen to their joined hands. “I need to think. I don’t know what to do. What do I do when I love him, but he does not love me?”
“Oh, my dear.” Jane held her, and Mary longed for the tears which had clouded her vision earlier to fall, but now they would not come. There was too much pain.
“I was not at all sure of your uncle’s love when we met again after years of separation, I’d lost him when I was very young. But fate will always run its course. Someone will love you as you deserve, Mary. The right man will come along.”
Mary, let go of her aunt. “But I love Andrew. I do not want anyone else.”
“Oh, sweetheart, come, I will take you home. Do you wish me to tell everyone you’re unwell.”
“No, I will say goodbye, Mama will know something is wrong if I do not.”
When they arrived at Andrew’s rooms an hour later, he was not there, and the luncheon he’d had delivered for her stood on the table uneaten.
Jane had insisted on coming up with her, probably to ensure Mary was safe, proving again how much her family feared for her.
