Wenna

by Virginia Taylor

  “No. I opened the shop to show you who I am.”

  His hands began to shake. Delayed reaction, no doubt. Wenna had been running a business. She thought he needed money. If he had loaded her with the riches she deserved, she wouldn’t have been in a shop that was burning down. Her fault, she’d said about Maisie’s predicament. No, his fault. The day he had married Wenna, he had made a commitment. He should have told her everything, including the size of his wallet. “I know who you are.”

  “Yes. A redheaded servant. That’s why you married me. Admit it.”

  He wet his lips, trying to clear a throat that felt as if he had swallowed a hedgehog. Her words hurt, being somewhat related to the truth. “Strictly speaking, I married you because you wanted to go to Cornwall.”

  “Garn. He’s crazy in love with you. Anyone could see that. Ran into a burning building to get you out.”

  “He didn’t know I was in there, Mr. Snow. He told me so himself.”

  “He thinks the world of you. We all think the world of you. You’re a woman in a thousand. You gave Maisie and a few other women the chance of a better life. We need people like you in the colony. People with ideas.”

  “I almost lost Maisie in that building.” She shivered in his arms.

  “Tell her you’re crazy-mad in love with her.”

  The shouts in the street, the pall of the smoke, and the pelt of the water retreated to a hazy background as he gazed into his wife’s seeking eyes. Her hair hung dark and lank over her face, and her gown streamed with water, but the flare at the hem had died. “I’m crazy-mad in love with you,” he said in a voice gruff with tenderness.

  “I’m soaked to the bone and I need to see how Maisie is.” She dropped her gaze.

  Reminded of the other woman, Dev gave Snow a rueful smile, placed his arm around his wife’s waist, and took her to the stretcher where Maisie lay holding her head. The two hugged, reassuring each other. Maisie squeezed his fingers for a few moments, and finally Wenna took note of her own appearance. She glanced down at her clinging gown, and looked up at him, her face a picture of desolation.

  “It’s only a black uniform,” he said, wondering if any man had ever learned how to understand a woman. Only the Lord knew if she believed her “redheaded servant” comment. “We can afford to buy you better.”

  She flared up in an instant, his feisty, indomitable, beautiful wife. “I’ve just lost everything I own, and you are still talking about new gowns.” Turning, she marched off toward the lodgings.

  At a loss, he followed.

  * * * *

  Though Wenna was upset enough to tear her gown to bits if only she could, she needed Devon to unhook the soaked material first. The moment he loosened her stays, she banished him from the bedroom. He took his fresh clothes with him, saying he could dry himself off in the kitchen. And good riddance too. He thought of nothing but getting under her skirts—always had. After those kisses in the street in front of everyone, she knew he had no scruples. She could tell from the expression in his eyes that he would toss her onto the bed as soon as look at her.

  He had said he was crazy-mad in love with her on order, all for show. He couldn’t love a woman who would rather work than sit at home. He should have left her to die. Then he could marry an aristocratic beauty who would know how to play the role of his wife.

  Tears rolled down her face. She could never love anyone but him, no matter how mismatched a couple they were. He was a gentleman, born and bred, and she was decidedly working class. However, though his motives were truly reprehensible, he had married her. In order to honor her vows, such as they were, she hardened her face, blotted her ridiculous tears, patted color into her cheeks, and donned her floral bodice and russet skirt.

  After drying her hair, she braided a thick coronet. She knew she presented herself well, having had years of practice at presenting others well. Perhaps she could make herself look like a lady, but the thought of living as a lady in an aristocratic household terrified her. England and humiliation awaited her, but she would never let her fears show.

  Despite her intent, her knees wobbled. No one in the aristocracy would accept a miner’s daughter as a suitable wife for the son of an earl. If she thought owning a shop would set up the hairs on her husband’s neck, her mere existence would prickle him in England, and she had made a commitment to live there. She elevated her chin. If she produced the heir she had promised to her husband, likely he would be happy enough to keep her hidden away in the country. A woman who had not even tried to breed an heir deserved her husband’s utter contempt.

  With her transgressions heavy on her shoulders, she trod down to the sitting room. Devon rose to his feet as she entered. Those sorts of manners were inbred.

  “I used a sponge,” she said, clasping her hands behind her. Pride kept her gaze on his.

  “Fair enough. If you prefer sponges to washcloths, I will buy you an ocean-full.”

  She blinked. “So that I wouldn’t have a baby. It’s a contraceptive device.”

  “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have needed to be so careful.”

  “Don’t you mind?” Eyebrows drawn together, she stared at him.

  “Having a baby seemed rather precipitate, bearing in mind the months of sea travel ahead of us. You might be one of those sickly sorts of females for all I know.”

  She stared at him, at a loss. “We made a bargain. I was supposed to have a child you could present to your father as his heir.” A great lump formed in her throat. “Your father, the earl, who would be appalled that you had chosen a former lady’s maid for that honor. He would be right. I didn’t honor our bargain. You have no choice other than to divorce me.” She squeezed her hands into fists, remembering to stand tall.

  He rubbed his fingers over his jaw. “I have no grounds. You have never refused your favors.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “You had good reason.” He held up his hand to stop her speaking. “I have been the worst of husbands. I deserved to be banished from your bed.”

  She paused, staring at him, puzzled. “Admittedly, you held your secrets tight.”

  “As did you,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t know you were out earning money.”

  “I thought I had to.” Indignant, she placed her hands on her hips, instantly ready to argue.

  He grinned. “I have more to tell you, my love, but the fire is still raging and I must go back to help.”

  “If you are going back, then so am I.”

  “Firefighting is a man’s job.”

  “And a woman’s job is to stay at home, tending to her lord and master. You’re right. I should be confined to the home for life. My father had the same idea about a woman’s place. I thought I could prove him wrong. Instead, I lost my business and put one of my best workers in danger.” Her lips wobbled.

  Devon drew a breath, his expression serious. “Firefighting is a matter of strength. You’ve already seen you couldn’t lift the wall off Maisie. If that had required a brain and a will, the wall would have been flung aside. The wall required mere brute strength, such as a man has. If you want to help, put that brain and will of yours to work. For now, I must go back. Promise me you won’t do anything to endanger yourself. I love you too much to lose you now.”

  Wenna’s jaw loosened. Words of love came easily to his tongue. Hers had tied. “I’ll be careful,” she answered, her voice husky. She stood watching as he turned to the door. “Mrs. Lock, the pie maker—did she get out in time?” Her mouth went dry as she thought of the widow’s children.

  “She and the children are safe,” he called in a fading voice as he sped out the lobby. The door smacked shut behind him.

  Wenna clapped her hands together in front of her nose and breathed through the spaces between her fingers, thinking. Now that her home and business had gone, Mrs. Lock would need accommodation. Mr. Snow would have a room for her upstairs, and he might let her bake her pies in his kitchen. If
not, she could use Wenna’s kitchen. She could even have the useless waste of space that was Wenna’s sitting room for her shop while she found another.

  Her head awhirl with plans, Wenna left for the hotel across the street, wanting to discuss with the waitresses the serving of tea and food to the firefighters.

  In a trice, the women sprang into action. Maisie chalked the hotel’s board outside with the words “Aid for the Firefighters,” and women started pouring into the hotel with offers of help. Mr. Snow was overwhelmed with the largesse, which Wenna organized into plates of food. Before too long, a cart with tea pourers was trundling along Rundle Street toward the fires. While she worked with the volunteers who arrived with bread and cheese and fruit, Wenna’s head buzzed with a single thought.

  Devon had said, “I love you too much.” He risked his life to save a redheaded maid with an uneven temper and a sharp tongue. Her. He loved her.

  * * * *

  Darkness had fallen before the last of the fires were extinguished. Exhausted, Dev opened the lobby door and trod into the lodgings, not expecting to find his wife awaiting him in the kitchen. Tales of her doings had been related to him all day. She had been here, there, and everywhere, making sure each firefighter had been adequately supplied with food and drink. She had also found housing for people whose homes had been lost. He couldn’t have been more proud of her.

  He had married an outspoken feisty redhead because he had wanted her beautiful body—in more ways than one. Her body was not the whole sum of the woman he now knew and loved. She had a brain, a will of her own, and more than a scrap of ambition.

  Her smile beamed at him as she turned. “This would be a day we would never want to repeat.” She stood in the kitchen, elegant, self-possessed, and utterly confident. “Could you use another cup of tea?”

  “Please.” He sat at the table while she poured hot water into the teapot.

  “I have some explaining to do.” She brought a mug and the teapot over to the table and sat with him. “First, though, I am aware that risked your life for me, and I thank you. If you hadn’t, Maisie would be dead too, for I couldn’t get her out. And do you know why she was in the shop?” She raised her gaze to his.

  “You employ her. Apparently you employ other women, too,” he said in a gentle tone. He could see she forced her words. “I’ll have to ask you in exactly what capacity. The secret was well hidden from me.”

  “I was bored.” She placed her hands on the table, meshing her fingers together. “I couldn’t sit in these lodging with nothing to do when I thought we needed money. I also thought my grandparents needed money. Money controls my life. Yes, I know now it doesn’t control yours, but I’ve been working from a very young age to support myself.” Her gaze flickered and fell to her fingers.

  He reached out and covered her hands with his. “I wish I had known you were worrying about money. I wish I had asked. I wish I had given you enough. But I hadn’t. I wish I had given you a house and servants, but I only saw my own goals.”

  “And so,” she said, stroking his fingers with her thumb, “I’d had an idea years ago of going into business for myself. I worked for rich women who could have their gowns, hats, and hair styled every single day by a personal maid. Poor women can’t afford the same service, but in shops they are given advice. For instance, whenever a hat shape changes, a hairstyle needs to change. I set up a salon to style ladies’ hair in the back of the hat shop.”

  “Which explains why you clung to those black gowns of yours. You’re very enterprising, Wenna. I knew I had married a woman with pluck. I hope you will forgive me for being such a miserly fool.”

  She squeezed his hand. “And then, when I heard you tell Nick that you had married me to humiliate your father...”

  He frowned. “When did I do that? Not, surely, the night he brought me home?”

  “That very night. You said you married me because I was a redheaded servant and your father would be properly paid back for not letting you marry the woman you love.”

  “I thought I told Nick how very lucky that event was, because I then met you.”

  “No, you didn’t say that. Not in my hearing.”

  He kissed her hand. “I love you, Wenna. I loved you then and I love you now. I definitely told Nick so. He said I was lucky to have found you; that I certainly remember. But if, in my drunken state, I said I married you because you were a redheaded servant…no, I didn’t, in fact. I married you because I wanted you. If I couldn’t have you without marriage, then—well, then I saw the irony of your hair and position, and that my father would think I had remained true to character.”

  She glanced away. “I remind you of the woman you love.”

  “Loved. Initially, yes, but you are nothing like Jenny. She accepted marriage to a farmer. You are persistent. If you wanted me, you would fight for me. You are brave and strong.”

  “Brave.” She shook her head. “You’ve seen how I reacted when confronted with the social set. You’ve seen how I avoid them. I’ll be useless in England. I don’t know how to be a countess.” Her gaze again lifted to his.

  “Oh, you’re brave, all right.” He met her gaze and smiled. “No woman has ever given me a direct order. I fell for you the moment you told me to distract Patricia. I knew you could handle my father, and he would respect you as much as I do.”

  “If you had planned to show me off as your wife, you would have given me a wedding ring.”

  He turned over her hand and kissed her palm. “I’m a fool. I should have given you a token, but my mother’s jewelry wasn’t sent to me, and I have to retrieve it. When I do, you will have the perfect ring, her family ring. She was the last of her line, but for me. We will be the first of hers.”

  “And you love me, or so you said.”

  Leaning back, he tried to read the expression on her face. “But for you, I wouldn’t be planning to stay in England. I would come back here as soon as I’ve settled my affairs. But you want to live in England because of your grandparents.”

  She shook her head, her smile wry. “You can’t come back here if you are the heir.”

  He scraped his chair out from the table and took her hands. “Sit on my knee. I want you close. I have quite a bit of explaining to do, and I will feel better confessing all if I have you in my arms. Pity me, my love. I’ve had a wretch of a day, so far.”

  “I’ve had an unusual day too.” Her expression demure and her mouth soft, she stood, allowing him to pull her onto his lap.

  He wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. His chest expanded with his first deep breath. “My father died last year. I didn’t know this until last week. At the same time I found out that my brother didn’t die, after all. I’m his heir, but as he is only thirty-two, you can bet he’ll marry as soon as he can, even if only to cut me out of the succession. The moment he does and produces a child, I’m free.” He toyed with her fingers. “I need to go to England to settle my properties—but I love this land, Wenna. I could still support your grandparents if we could come back here.”

  “I thought we were going because you wanted to be in your own country.”

  “Are you hinting you might compromise?” He held his breath.

  She cupped his cheek with her palm. “My grandparents died last year, too. I found out not long after we married, but because we had a bargain, I didn’t see the need to tell you. You might have thought I had changed my mind about going.”

  “Your grandparents died?” Air whooshed out of his lungs. “So, have you changed your mind about living in England?”

  She nodded. “If we could leave very soon and return very soon, that would suit me well. Being plain ‘Mrs. Courtney’ will also suit me very well. I don’t know anyone in England. I would be happier here.”

  “I wish we could leave tomorrow.” Scooping his arm under her knees, he rose to his feet, pressing his sweat-stained face against her soft and fragrant skin. “But first—if we’re n
ot making babies, what is my excuse for throwing you into bed right now?”

  “I’m sure you can think of one.” She circled her arms around his neck. “But you should put me down. I don’t want to exhaust you before I’ve had my way with you.”

  He let her feet drop to the floor, but kept her body tight against his. “Lord, I’m tired,” he said into her neck “I haven’t the energy to make babies tonight. We’ll just have to make love instead. Well, I will. I don’t know if you love me.”

  Her breath whispered on his cheek as she leaned forward. “You’ll know if I do or don’t, very soon.”

  * * * *

  Although most of the firefighters had gone home, people still gathered in the street. Murmurs of conversations drifted through the window with the stale smoke. Wenna lay on her side in bed, one arm across Devon’s naked chest. “I thought you said you were tired. I thought you would fall asleep straight after, as you usually do.”

  “I’m waiting for the announcement.”

  “Take it as said.” She leaned over his and kissed his neck.

  “I want to hear you say ‘I love you.’”

  “I love you. There. That’s done. Oh, dear God, I love you so much Devon, probably from the first time you laughed at me instead of being offended by my words. I do offend people, I know. When can we see inside your—our house? Why don’t we move our things there until the ship arrives? I could set up this place for Maisie to run as a business while we are in England—”

  “Wenna, Wenna. I appreciate your forward thinking, but let’s discuss this in the morning.” He loomed over her and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Our ship should be here in a couple of weeks. We can move out of here, but I don’t think you will have time to get a new business running before we go.”

  “If I don’t, I’ll be leaving too many people in the lurch. If you help me, we can do it.”

  “You don’t need to earn money, sweetheart. We’re rich. When we come back, you can busy yourself with charities and sewing circles, like the other ladies.”