“We were just discussing William’s rapid rise from veritable bachelorhood to responsible patriarch, though I’m sure the two of you must have a great deal more to say on the matter, seeing that you’re practically a pair of veterans in that department yourselves. After all, you’ve been married for what…one and two years, respectively? Surely your experience must be vast or, at the very least, vaster than ours,” Andrew remarked.
Ryan grinned as he walked toward the assembled group. “You’re always ready with a quick remark, aren’t you Fairfield?”
“And yet he does make a valid point,” Galensbury said, to which Stanton nodded. “Surely you must have some advice to offer.”
Taking a seat while Trenton headed for the sideboard, Ryan glanced across at William, hesitating only for a second before saying, “It is my belief that all marriages require a great deal of effort from both parties. It is vital to be honest, to listen to each other, and to respect each other’s opinions.”
William watched as Trenton handed Ryan a glass of claret.
Andrew stared back at him. “That’s it?” he asked with open disbelief. “That’s all there is to it?”
Trenton slumped into the last remaining armchair. “Did you think perhaps that there might have been a magic formula?”
“No, but perhaps something that required a bit more…shall we say craftiness?”
“I don’t believe there’s a married man who’d dare attempt such a thing,” Trenton said. William couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “Not unless he desires to find his home transformed into an open battlefield—and don’t be fooled by the inferior size of your opponent, for women are built that way primarily to deceive us. Mark my words, gentlemen: cross any woman and you’ll find yourself opposing a formidable adversary. But be honest with her, listen to her, and respect her opinion on matters of importance, and she will be far more likely to listen to reason and to follow your sound judgment.”
“Ah, so we are talking about being crafty then,” Andrew said with an air of marked relief present in his tone.
“I…” Trenton began. He must have realized that there was little point in discussing the matter any further, for rather than continue he simply shook his head and took a sip of his drink.
“It seems the trick is simple enough,” Stanton ventured after a momentary pause. “Be honest with her ladyship, William. Treat her as an equal, and I dare say you’ll be thoroughly rewarded. Is that the gist of it?”
“It is, ” Trenton said.
“Then I shall endeavor to do the opposite,” Charles remarked, raising his glass in salute. “For I dare say the very last thing I desire is for any woman to conceive of the ill-begotten notion that she can get along with me. I’m having a deuced hard time fending them off as it is!”
William couldn’t help but notice that both Ryan and his father were rolling their eyes. He stifled a grin.
“Anyone up for a game of cards?” It was Charles who’d spoken, no doubt tired of the topic of conversation.
“Sounds like an excellent idea to me,” Stanton remarked. “Perhaps the ladies would like to join us. What say you, Summersby?”
Turning his head, William regarded the man sitting next to him. Like Galensbury, he didn’t know him very well. They didn’t share the same kind of history that had always strengthened his friendship with Andrew and Charles, and then of course there was the age difference. It wasn’t much, but it had been enough to ensure that they had moved in different circles and missed each other entirely during their studies at Eton. “I’m sure they would be delighted,” he said, knowing that his sister in particular would be more than happy to participate. He couldn’t help but wonder if the same would be true of his wife.
As it turned out, Lucy wasn’t the best Bridge player in the world, though she certainly seemed to enjoy the game regardless of whether she won, and William had to concede that this spoke well of her character.
Naturally, Ryan and Trenton had won hands down, much to the annoyance of Alexandra who’d clearly been hoping to best them both—a feat made so much more unlikely by the fact that she’d been partnered with Aunt V, whose interest in card play seemed somewhat lacking. She had continuously interrupted the bidding with all kinds of remarks, most of them pertaining to fashion.
Still, it had resulted in a most entertaining evening, but the hour had grown late, and with most of his guests now in the process of turning themselves in, William walked across to his father who was still discussing some issue or other with his Uncle Henry. None of the ladies remained, not even Lucy who had stayed behind a bit longer than the rest, for when he’d suggested that she go to bed too, the look of exhaustion upon her face had turned to one of relief, and she had quickly said her goodnights.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” he now said, addressing both gentlemen, “but there is a matter of some importance that I would like to discuss with you, Papa. I do apologize, Uncle. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Henry replied. “I’m feeling rather tired myself. It’s been a long day.”
“Why don’t you go ahead, William? Prepare a couple of drinks for us, and I’ll be along in a few minutes.” The stern look in Bryce’s eyes told William that no matter the subject he wished to discuss, it would be quite rude of them both to depart so hastily when Bryce and Henry had been right in the middle of a conversation. William knew that his father was right, of course, so nodding his head in agreement, he slipped quietly out of the door, determined to find his favorite bottle of cognac.
It was a good ten minutes before the door to William’s study finally opened and Bryce entered, his broad frame blocking out the hallway that lay beyond. Acknowledging his son’s presence, he stepped inside the sanctuary and closed the door smoothly behind him. He stood there for a moment as if pondering something then made his way toward one of the deep leather armchairs, took a seat across from William, and drew one of his favorite cigars from his jacket pocket. “It’s been a while since we’ve sat like this.”
Leaning back in his own seat, the leather squeaking, William raised his glass to his father before taking a sip. “It truly has,” he replied a moment later then paused as if contemplating what to say next. “I’m having a difficult time determining whether my marriage is destined to be a disaster.”
Bryce, his large frame leaning toward the candle on the table in order to light his cigar, stilled momentarily at his son’s declaration. Returning to his task until it was completed, he then leaned back, settled himself comfortably in the armchair, and took a deep puff. “Why do you say that?”
William practically had to fight not to roll his eyes in response to such a question. “Why indeed? Because she seems to be completely wrong for me.”
“Oh? And you’ve decided that after a mere week, have you? A bit soon, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think it’s at all too soon. I know the sort of woman I would have been happy with. Lady Annabelle was that sort of woman. Lucy…” William raked his hands through his hair in open frustration.
“You may think that you made a mistake by marrying her, William, but the truth of the matter is that you didn’t have a choice—not after such a public display of affection.”
“Something I should have prevented! I never should have allowed her to take such liberties.”
“Perhaps not,” Bryce agreed. “Still, I think you’re being dishonest with yourself in one regard.”
William hurled a dangerous scowl in his father’s direction.
“I think Lady Annabelle would have bored you to tears. She’s too sedate, too proper, too ordinary, the exact sort of woman you’ve always claimed you wished to avoid. You need a bit more of a challenge and adventure, William—someone to match you as an equal. And I dare say that your wife shows great promise as far as that is concerned.”
William stared at his father in disbelief. “She’s a charlatan, Papa. When she speaks, I have no idea if the words leaving thos
e pretty lips of hers are a lie. A marriage ought to be based on trust, respect, and loyalty, yet I cannot trust her or respect her, for she’s given me no cause to do so, and as far as loyalty goes…she may be loyal, but if so, then her loyalty doesn’t lie with me. If you ask my opinion, the woman is up to no good.”
Bryce didn’t bother to stop himself from grinning. He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip before saying, “The Summersby women generally are, you know. Consider your sister and your sister-in-law, Mary—strong women, both of them, but I dare say they gave their husbands a hard time on their way to the happily ever after that they now share. If I were you, I wouldn’t give up on Lucy too quickly. She may surprise you.”
“Ha! You are certainly correct in that regard. Indeed, it does appear as though she’s full of surprises, doesn’t it?” The bitterness in William’s voice was almost palpable. “That aside, I’m more concerned with who she might turn out to be. Not only did Lucy make it clear she had a reason for trapping me into this marriage, but she herself actually hoped to eventually escape. When I told her that lack of consummation was most assuredly not grounds for an annulment, she actually seemed quite desperate, however offensive that might have been to me.” Bryce raised a mocking eyebrow, which William chose to ignore. “However, that is the reason why I’ve asked you here. I need to know whom it is that I’m married to and if she poses a potential threat to our family. What do we really know about her?”
Bryce frowned. “Not a great deal, I suppose. After all, she’s been secluded in the country for all of these years.”
“And you don’t think that’s strange?”
Bryce shrugged. “Consider your sister. Few had ever set eyes on her before she showed up in London a couple of years ago to claim the most eligible bachelor on the market. I’m sure a lot of young ladies must have frowned at that.” He got up and walked across to the sideboard. “Another glass of cognac?”
William nodded, rose, and strode across to his father, offering him his empty glass for a refill. “Mary made a similar point, and in light of the fact that Lucy and I are married…forever…I do feel as if I ought to give her the chance to prove herself. In fact, it was Lucy’s suggestion that we ought to try and start over—get to know each other a bit better and so on.”
Bryce nodded as he proceeded to fill their glasses. “I think that’s an excellent idea, William.” He handed William his glass. “Did you consider asking Lucy directly about her motivation for seeking you out? It could save you a lot of time and trouble, you know.”
“Of course I have, Papa, but she and I have scarcely spoken since our wedding night.” He saw the look of surprise on his father’s face and, having no desire to offer any further explanation, hurried on with, “Whenever we happen upon each other, it always seems awkward and tense. Eventually one of us makes an excuse to hurry off and hide. It’s really quite awful.”
“I see,” Bryce muttered, returning to his armchair. “I can’t say I’m not surprised by this new revelation, for I rather thought that whatever attraction you might have for each other would help resolve your differences. You are attracted to her, are you not?”
William groaned. He’d tried as best he could to avoid the subject, but his father was clearly determined to address the issue. “It would be odd if I weren’t. One cannot deny her beauty, but, before you say anything else on the matter, you and I both know that beauty means nothing if the woman reveals herself to be a snake. I merely wish to determine whether or not she is.”
Bryce nodded. “Quite right. I’ll send a letter to Percy first thing in the morning—see if we can’t set your mind at ease.”
Including the first secretary of the Foreign Office in their investigation did seem like a good idea. “Thank you,” William said as he leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees. “I especially want to know of her heritage. Who were her parents? Do you know?”
“I’ve no idea,” Bryce admitted.
“For all we may discover, she’s merely a servant’s by-blow, hoping to live out the remainder of her days in a lap of luxury.”
“You’re speaking out of anger now, William. You know as well as I that a woman like Lady Ridgewood would never have sanctioned the marriage if her ward were of inferior birth. What you’ve just suggested is an insult to both ladies.”
“Forgive me,” William said as he frowned. He hesitated a moment before saying, “I don’t suppose you’d want to have a little chat with Lady Ridgewood…see if you can unearth anything?”
Bryce automatically arched an eyebrow. He might be old, but he wasn’t too old to recognize a beautiful woman when he saw one, even if she was past her prime. And though the memory of Penelope still made his heart ache, he’d also begun to acknowledge that he wasn’t quite dead yet. It had been twelve years, and now that all of his children had flown from the nest, he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind a bit of companionship from time to time. “I’d be happy to, though I doubt she’ll say anything to implicate her charge.”
“Probably not,” William agreed, “but it’s still worth a try.”
Bryce snuffed the remainder of his cigar in a nearby ashtray. “In the meantime, I do recommend that you give Lucy a chance. She’s a pleasant enough girl, William, and intelligent to boot. You could certainly do a hell of a lot worse.”
Reassuring words indeed.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Having said goodnight to his father, William made his way upstairs to bed, taking the steps two at a time as he went. He needed the reprieve that sleep offered, an escape from the troubling thoughts that were presently cramming his brain to such a degree that he felt a sharp headache coming on.
Reaching the top of the landing, his eyes immediately found Lucy’s door, only to discover that there was a soft, flickering glow visible beneath it. He cursed under his breath. She must have fallen asleep with the light still burning. Foolish woman.
Tipping the door handle, he quietly eased the door open and peered inside, his eyes settling on the massive, four-poster bed that Lucy occupied. He could barely make out her figure in the dim lighting, though a sharp movement beneath the covers made him pause. “Lucy?” Another sharp movement responded, coupled with a soft groan.
Realizing that she must be asleep and probably in the middle of a dream, William closed the door carefully behind him and stepped forward, his path a straight line leading toward the oil lamp that stood on Lucy’s nightstand. But the closer he came to her bed, the more agitated she became. He could see her head now, occasionally tossing from side to side as she mumbled a succession of incoherent words. She slowly quieted, and William continued on his way, moving gradually closer, his feet padding softly against the plush carpet. He’d almost reached her bedside when she suddenly muttered a loud, “No!” Her agitation swiftly increased. “No, Mama…no!”
“Lucy?” William voiced her name again in the hopes of urging her back to a more blissful slumber.
She didn’t respond but cried out instead, “Mama!”
This was not the reason he’d come—to soothe away the nightmares of his wife. Their relationship was far too strained for such a task. But as he looked at her now, his face set in a mask of stone, he unwillingly felt his heart stir at the sight of the troubled look upon her face.
Expelling a low sigh of surrender that was tinged by aggravation, he did what came naturally. He slumped down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping a little under his weight, and gently brushed his fingers over the crown of her head. “Lucy,” he whispered. “Lucy, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
She shrugged her shoulder and shook her head as if to rid herself of his touch, but he persisted until all of a sudden her hand whipped toward him from seemingly out of nowhere. She must have sought to push him away, but he caught her just in time. “No,” she said, her voice more forceful than before. “I won’t let you!”
Hardening his own tone in the hopes of breaching the wall that separa
ted her from reality, he told her sternly to wake up as he gave her shoulders a hard shake.
Lucy was no longer twelve years old. She was a grown woman standing in a dark alleyway, her feet bare upon the hard, gravelly dirt and her knee aching from the fall. Looking up, she saw her mother—her profile perfectly framed by the arched window. And then her back was suddenly toward her, and a man was there, a man so elegantly poised and all dressed in black, his face covered by an ugly, black mask. And then there was blood…lots and lots of thick, dark blood. It was flowing out of the window and down the wall toward her. “Mama?” she called out again, but all she heard in response was laughter, hideous and mocking laughter. Her mother was no longer there, but he was. He was looking down at her, and she realized that he’d taken off his mask. It made no difference though, for he had no face, this man who’d so often turned her dreams into nightmares. There was just a blank head.
She wouldn’t run this time, she told herself—would not allow him to chase her away. This was her chance, her moment. She could hear him calling to her. “Lucy…Lucy…” Turning toward the sound, she spotted him. He was alone now and in the alley coming toward her, still holding the blade that he’d used on her mother, except she somehow had that blade now, and…oh, she could see his whole body grow tense as she served him a menacing smile. He’d already taken everything she cherished and loved away from her. She had nothing to lose, and so help her, if this was the last thing she ever did, she would put an end to this vile abomination of a man.
Running toward him, with her arm raised and eyes squeezed shut, she lunged at his neck, the blade sinking deep. Her eyes sprang open, and he was somehow there, unscathed, and shaking her, his hands tight about her arms as he spoke her name.
She immediately screamed and began to struggle, the bed sheets twining their way about her legs in a jumbled mess, but her attempts at escape made him grip her only harder than before. “Shh…shh…it’s all right, Lucy. It was just a dream, that’s all. You’re safe now.”
The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda: A Summersby Tale Page 7
