Wenna

by Virginia Taylor

  “You have no betters.”

  She gave him an impatient glance. Tonight, clearly, would not be the cheery social event he had expected. Nerves made her edgy and hard to please. When James drifted over and claimed his dance, Devon was glad to escape from his prickly wife. He began honoring his commitments, taking his first dance with the Grace’s oldest daughter, Daphne, a short young lady. He could easily peer over her head and watch Wenna entertaining the enthralled men who surrounded her.

  “Your wife is very popular,” Daphne said, staring at his jacket buttons.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, sighing. “I’ll make sure she is not too popular.”

  Daphne looked at him as if he spoke a foreign language. Wenna would have bitten back, which was one of the many things he enjoyed about her. His smart, independent wife was never lost for words. Apparently some time would elapse before she was lost for new dancing partners. Not keen to line up on the end of the never-ending queue, he joined Hubert and Luke in the card room. For reasons he didn’t want to explore, he couldn’t watch his wife charming other men.

  * * * *

  Wenna now knew the meaning of the word “gentleman.” She could apply the description to every male whose toes she tripped over during the dances. Not one of them as much as winced.

  She couldn’t find a meaning to the word “lady.” Not one had spoken to her, other than Lady Grace at the door. As far as the women were concerned, she didn’t exist. A former maid would never be accepted into Adelaide’s society, not unless she was very rich, and she wasn’t yet rich enough and never would be.

  Faces averted as she made her way to the garden outside. Her head ached, her feet hurt, and she had been deserted by the only man in the room with whom she wanted to be. Once through the French doors, she stopped. Staring at the massed stars in the sky, she twisted her gloved fingers together until her bones ached, trying to build up the nerve to seek out Devon and ask him to take her home—if he could remember who she was. He’d forgotten her name when he introduced her to the governor, and he’d been careful not to identify her as his wife. Was she his wife? He’d only said so to his friends. Other than that, he’d introduced her as Wenna or referred to her as his precious angel or his dear delight.

  “Did you see that redhead in the red dress?” The female voice, a decibel or two louder than the piano and the violins, came from just inside the doorway.

  “Did I? One couldn’t miss her, my dear. You know who she is, of course?”

  “She’s Devon Courtney’s mistress, I believe. This happens every year. Some young man decides to shock society by introducing his light skirt. If the foolish man has to spend a fortune on her gowns, wouldn’t you think he’d have the sense to tell her that she should never wear red with that hair of hers?”

  The first lady laughed indulgently. “If he’s besotted enough to bring her here, he’s besotted enough to let her wear anything she likes. I hear she was a lady’s maid. Patricia Brook says that the sharp little creature is spreading around the story of a marriage.”

  “Those foxy-faced females are always sly. I believe Patricia had thoughts of marrying our Mr. Courtney herself, but she couldn’t now that he’s entangled himself so unsuitably elsewhere.”

  “The match would have been so perfect, too. Patricia’s such a pretty girl and... ahem...the younger ladies find Mr. Courtney very charming. Our former governor thought the world of him. If you want my opinion...”

  Perhaps the second lady did. Wenna had heard enough. Gathering her full skirts in one hand, she dashed across the lawn to the shelter of a large palm in sight of the main gate. Her throat had closed over, completely, and ached so badly she might have swallowed the stone that had lodged in her chest. Before marching home without “our Mr. Courtney,” she stopped to compose herself, swiping impatiently at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Wishing she’d had the sense to bring a handkerchief, she lifted her topmost petticoat to her face.

  When a snowy white, freshly pressed handkerchief appeared through her blurred glance, she reared back in shock. A handsome man some inches over six feet tall stood beside her.

  “How did you manage to sneak up on me?” she asked in a constricted voice.

  “Take it. I won’t be crying myself tonight, and so I don’t need it.”

  Too angry with herself to accept sympathy, she pushed his arm away.

  Unoffended, he lifted her chin, carefully blotted her face, and gave a smile the angels would envy. “I’ve never been so offended in my life.” His eyelashes looked as thick as a girl’s, and he had a deep modulated voice that would melt a heart of granite. “Until about three minutes ago, I thought I was the answer to Adelaide’s dancing-partner problem, but now I know that you saw me make a mistake in that last polka.”

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” Wenna eyed him in the moonlight. No one who had seen this glorious creature would ever forget him.

  “How embarrassing.” His beautiful lips curved ruefully. “We were introduced about an hour ago. I’m Nick Alden. I think you’ll find that my name is on your dance card for this waltz.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re Dev’s wife, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m not Devon’s wife. I’m his light skirt.” She waited for him to show disgust, or too much interest, but instead he shook his head.

  “You’re no one’s light skirt. Only a fool would think so.”

  “Ask anyone in that room. They’ll all tell you that I’m a sly looking female in a tasteless gown who has trapped our Mr. Courtney into an indecent liaison.” She grabbed his handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.

  He winced. “And what does Dev have to say about this?”

  “How would I know? He disappeared some time ago.”

  “My dear, I think I ought to take you back into that ballroom and make your marital situation quite clear to everyone.”

  “My situation is so clear now, even to me, that...” Her voice cracked, “I’m going home.”

  Nick stared at her and crossed his arms. “Very well. I’ll come with you.”

  “I imagine I’m supposed to be bowled over by that disgusting offer. Just take your pretty face back inside that ballroom.”

  His perfect eyebrows drew together. “I’m one of your husband’s best friends. If you can’t trust this pretty face of mine, I’ll arrange to have my nose broken. I don’t imagine that’ll be too hard. Since I’m intending to take you home without telling Dev, I’m sure he’ll break it for me.”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” she said, eyeing him sideways. “He’s almost impossible to rile.”

  “I have the ability to test the patience of saints. It’s my one true skill.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No good friend of his would take me home without telling him.”

  Nick spread his hands. “We were at Cambridge together. No one could have been kinder to a hayseed from the colonies than Dev was in those days. Now, Mrs. Courtney, I’m going to escort you home because I am unutterably bored here. Shall we take a carriage?”

  She glanced at her feet. Should he turn out to be a person other than he seemed...she didn’t care. “My shoes say yes. They’re new.”

  “I don’t think you can go past shoes when you want good advice.”

  Despite her desperation, she laughed.

  With a hand under her arm, he guided her to the gates. A line of carriages stood in the street. “Which one would you choose?”

  “Isn’t one yours?”

  “No. I came from the club with Luke Worthing. We took a cab. There, that one. It belongs to James Hawthorn. Hi, you,” he called to the nearest idling jarvey. “Find the driver for this coach. We’ve a mind to go home.”

  Fascinated, Wenna watched the man doing Nick’s bidding. In a trice, without Nick being questioned, though undoubtedly the driver knew his own master, Wenna was sitting in a comfortably appointed
brougham being driven to Rundle Street.

  “If I hadn’t bought new shoes, I could have walked. Alone. I’ve walked all my life. I’m the daughter of a washer woman.” She didn’t glance at his expression. She didn’t care what he thought.

  “I’m the son of a carpenter and my mother was a maid until she married,” he said, crossing his legs at the ankle. “But I’ve never seen the need to brag about it.”

  Again she laughed. She had let herself be carried off into the dark night with a handsome stranger, and she didn’t care. Everything he’d said to her could have been a lie, and she had certainly judged him by his looks, but being a responsible citizen had earned her nothing so far.

  “I was a maid, too, until I met Devon.”

  He rubbed his hand over his chin. “He’s a good man. One of the best.”

  When the carriage stopped outside Devon’s lodgings without her giving a hint as to the address, she believed Nick knew Devon. She spent less than three seconds wondering what she might have done if the two hadn’t been friends, and gave a mental shrug.

  She and Nick stepped out of the conveyance, which moved off as Nick opened the side gate for her. Wenna stood on the doorstep and glanced at him. “I can’t get in. I don’t have a key for the latch.”

  “No problem.” He wrapped his wet and crumpled handkerchief around his hand, swung back with his fist, and broke the glass on the door.

  She gasped and covered her mouth with both her hands. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered to herself, and she squared her shoulders. She had gone along with him so far, and backing out now would clearly be too late.

  After he reached inside for the latch, he waited for her to pass inside ahead of him. “I’m going to stay with you until Dev comes home.”

  After lighting the lamp, Wenna took him to the front room, the sparsely furnished former surveyor’s office. She drew a deep breath. “Would you be interested in a cup of tea? I can fire up the stove in an instant.”

  He glanced at the two chairs, the bare walls, and the carpet square. “Do you have any brandy?”

  “I’m afraid not. We don’t do much more in these lodging than sleep and bathe.”

  “I’ll duck across the road and buy a bottle.”

  She stripped off her gloves, placed them neatly over the arm of a chair, and went off to find two cut crystal glasses on the shelves in the kitchen. She couldn’t be ashamed of these fragile and very precious offerings.

  He returned almost instantly, with the bottle uncorked. “Ah, good, glasses. Very civilized. Please sit.” After pouring a bare inch into one of the glasses she held, he took the other from her and filled the bowl to the rim. Then he settled into an armchair, the bottle on the floor beside him, and carefully hooked one ankle over one knee while sipping. He emptied half his glass in a couple of swallows.

  He shouldn’t need drink to sustain him. A man with his looks had the world at his feet. Somewhat disappointed in him, she said, “You should go back to the ball. I imagine someone is waiting there for you.”

  His gaze left the contents of his glass. “No, I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not a marrying man. Dev is. He is not the sort of person to take a tart to a respectable establishment. Anyone would be a fool to imagine otherwise.”

  She stared at him. “Are you saying I’ve confused the fools?”

  “I think you have. I heard the gossip about you the moment I entered the room. It’s your gown, of course. It’s outrageous, it’s beautiful, and it’s clearly not bought from the rack. With that hair of yours, you look stunning. You look like a lady, but no one knows who you are, hence the speculation. I don’t know why Dev didn’t end it. He could have, easily.”

  “Yes, he could have, but perhaps he has an aversion to lying about his marital status.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “As soon as he arrives, we’ll find out.”

  “We could have a good long wait until the ball has ended.” She took a tentative sip of her brandy.

  “I don’t think we’ll need wait longer than half an hour.” He tossed off his drink with an upward tilt of his head. “Only two armchairs, though. Either he or I will have to stand.”

  “The room is not yet reader for callers. I’ve only just begun the furnishing. If I had the money, I would put a table over there...sorry. I’m being a boring housewife, aren’t I?”

  “Not at all, though I don’t think you should waste your time. Dev should have set you up in a proper house.” Audible footsteps beat down the path outside, and he glanced toward the lobby entrance. “I imagine that’s him right now.” Rising to his feet without another word, he strolled into the lobby and raced up the stairs two by two.

  She stood, blinking in confusion that quickly turned to trepidation when the lobby door crashed open, the office door slammed into the wall, and Devon appeared in the doorway.

  With his fists on his hips, and his lips compressed, he stared hard at Wenna. She’d never seen him angry before, and she gasped in a nervous breath while butterflies smashed themselves against her rib cage. She cleared her throat, unable to speak a word, but Nick walked down the stairs and into the room, concentrating on the front of his shirt.

  In a voice of overdone relief, he said, “Thank the Lord I found my shirt stud before Dev came home.” He raised his gaze to Devon. “Oh, you are home.”

  Wenna watched him take his time replacing the stud.

  Devon’s face compressed with fury. He stepped forward and grabbed Nick by his jacket lapels. “If you’ve touched my wife, I’ll kill you, Nick.”

  “Your wife?” Nick drew down his eyebrows, looking confused or sozzled, or both. “She’s not your wife. Everyone knows she’s your fancy piece. Don’t be so damn possessive.”

  “She’s my wife.” For the first time, Devon looked straight at Wenna. “Tell the bastard you’re my wife,” he said, his lips barely moving.

  Wenna swallowed.

  Nick laughed and shot his cuffs. “She’s already told me she’s not. Let’s be civilized about this.”

  “Civilized?” Devon said in a dire tone. “I won’t accept anyone touching my wife, and that includes you, Nick. You’re the last person I thought would do this to me.”

  “You’ve both had your fun.” Wenna rose to her feet. “I’m not your wife, and Nick didn’t touch me.”

  Nick found his glass and the bottle where he’d left both on the floor. “Do you want a drink, Dev? I’ve left a few drops. My, this is an interesting situation. You say she’s your wife, and she says she isn’t. Who’s speaking the truth, I wonder?”

  “Why are you denying it?” Devon shot a flaming glance at Wenna.

  “I’m not a fool, Devon. Men like you don’t marry women like me, even for the sake of an heir.”

  Nick refilled his glass. “Everyone knows you’re together, but no one was invited to your wedding. No one saw a mention in the paper. Besides, you wouldn’t live in a place like this if you’d married.” He passed a scathing gaze around the room. “No, you can’t fool me. You haven’t married this little flame, which you made quite obvious tonight. At least three people told me you had trouble remembering her name.”

  Devon ignored Nick. “He’s the friend who applied to the courts for our wedding license. He knows we’re married. You are my wife, Wenna, and you can’t shame me by leaving a ball with one of my former friends.”

  “Former?” Nick inspected the edges of his jacket sleeves. “I’m one of the few people who knew she was your wife, but I couldn’t convince her. You’d think everyone else would realize that you’re such a toff that unless she was your wife, you wouldn’t be seen with her at the governor’s ball. But you’re so bloody arrogant that you expected everyone to accept her with no explanation from you.”

  “I didn’t forget her name.” Devon shot a sidelong glance at Nick. “I almost used her rightful name, which is irrelevant in this country.”

  “I saw The Honorab
le written on an envelope. But I’m sure I wouldn’t be Mrs. Honorable.” She queried Devon with lowered eyebrows.

  Both men stared at her.

  Looking nonplussed, Devon said, “No.” His shoulders relaxed.

  Nick said, “Unfortunately, because to hear that would make my life complete. However, that doesn’t excuse what happened. You should have stayed by her side tonight, Dev. You’ll have to make amends.”

  Devon shoved his fists into his pocket. “Who asked your opinion?”

  “She shouldn’t be living in this place.” Nick threw back his head and tossed off his second glassful. “You can afford a real house, and a cook, and a couple of maids.”

  Devon clamped his lips.

  “Or do you want to carry on like a bachelor?”

  “I still don’t know why you were coming out of my bedroom, and I still don’t know what you were doing with my wife. Are you attacking me to disguise your actions? I ought to break your nose, you bastard.”

  “See?” Nick said with an amused glance at Wenna. “I told you it would be easy.”

  Wenna drew a long deep breath. “He didn’t touch me. He’s been an absolute gentleman.”

  “It’s an interesting bed you have,” Nick said, glancing at his fingernails.

  His face tight, Devon stepped toward Nick, grasping his lapels. “It’s time someone dealt with you.”

  Wenna pushed between the two, one hand on Devon’s chest. “I’ve known Nick less than an hour, and even I can see he’s having a lend of you.”

  Nick grinned nastily. “No need to protect me, sweetheart. He couldn’t hit me if I had both my arms tied.”

  “And you couldn’t run to the end of the street,” Devon said, his jaw jutted. “You’re not going to explain yourself, are you?”

  “No,” Nick smoothed the front of his evening jacket. “I think you ought to get rid of that bed before you have children because when they see it, you’re going to have to explain yourself. I’m going back to the ball. Coming?” He raised his eyebrows at Wenna.

  She found her dance card tucked into her gloves on the chair and she tilted the cardboard to read. “Nicholas Alden, you disgusting liar. Your name is not on my dance card.”