Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718)

by Merrill, Christine; Burrows, Annie; Justiss, Julia

  Never mind it, then. Let it beat. It was not as if she’d taken it with her when she’d gone. Nor should there be any harm in addressing her, if he saw her in public. They might be no longer be sharing a bed, but that did not mean they could not speak with civility when they saw each other on the street.

  Or so he’d assumed. Apparently, their separation meant something quite different to her. If she saw him at all, it was impossible to tell. He’d sworn she had started in surprise as he’d called her name and glanced in his direction.

  But that look lasted only a moment. Her eyes continued to roam, looking beyond him as if she had not seen him at all. A look of puzzlement had crossed her face, as if she had thought she’d heard her name, but decided she was mistaken. Then she looked directly at him with the unfocused gaze of someone searching empty air.

  Once she had assured herself that there was truly nothing of importance to see, she turned away again, raising her parasol and giving it an indifferent turn in her hands before signalling her maid to take up the packages and walk down the street, away from him and out of sight.

  For a moment, he was stunned by the enormity of it, unable to move from the spot, as if her directionless glance had turned him to stone. She had delivered the cut direct: the subtle and most perfect insult that one gave when a person ceased to exist in one’s world.

  She had cut him, just as he had done to her when they’d first met. It had been a frivolous move on his part, a few months ago. He’d thought himself worldly and well mannered. He had wanted discipline in all things and all people. And he had been sublimely confident that the silly little girl would never become the very cog upon which his universe turned.

  Now, his hubris was clear. She had turned the slight he had delivered back upon him, a thousandfold. He had opened his home, his arms, and his heart to her. And after a brief inspection, she had decided that she did not want to know him or see him, ever again.

  It should not matter. He had been quite satisfied with his life before he’d met her. Now, he could return to it, just as he had intended. Everything was fine. He was fine. And he was not about to allow a foolish little girl to call him a coward around women and to rub his nose in his illogical fears of betrayal.

  But if he was so sure of himself, then why had he nearly been overcome by the desire to run down the street after her, demanding that she acknowledge him? If she would listen, he could tell her that he had been a fool to doubt her.

  He had resisted the urge, but just barely. No one had seen his weakness.

  None but he and Sargent, perhaps. What had come over him to make him bring the dog? He had never given a thought that the dog might be lonely during his absence. But suddenly, he was sharing his house and his bed with the creature as if he owed it consolation for the loss of its mistress.

  When he had returned home, the dog had been looking out the window, paws upon the glass in a most disobedient manner.

  ‘Off.’ At one time, he’d have had to give the command but once to have the dog respond. Today, Sargent would not listen. He continued to stare staring out into the street as if he’d assumed Georgiana would be returning with the master and must simply be dawdling in the road.

  When he’d realised that was not the case, he had turned to look at Fred in a most accusing way, as if demanding an explanation for the loss of his friend.

  ‘She is not coming back,’ Fred had said, annoyed that once again he had been reduced to talking with an animal that could not possibly understand him. ‘And you are my dog, not hers.’

  This was answered with a low whine, as if begging him to reconsider.

  ‘I cannot just apologise. She does not want me.’

  The dog cocked his head to the side as if he could not quite understand this sudden change in affection. Then he wagged his tail, hopefully.

  ‘I am sure you are right. She still likes you. In fact, she always liked you. You are a noble animal and loyal as well. There is nothing to dislike about you.’

  The dog still did not seem reassured.

  ‘She will be back to see you, I am sure.’ He crouched down and patted the dog on the head. ‘But it is probably for the best that I not be here when that happens.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It had been three weeks since the night she left Frederick. That meant that she had been apart from him even longer than they’d been together. It made no sense that it still hurt as much as the day she’d written her letter of goodbye. It made even less sense that she was obsessing over a man who did not love her.

  Rather, he’d treated her as a possession, or, worse yet, a pet. Dogs were not allowed in the house and wives were not allowed at Vitium et Virtus. Not that she really wanted to join his silly club, anyway.

  Gambling was much the same anywhere one did it. Wine tasted the same no matter where one was when the bottle was opened. Perhaps the entertainment was wilder. But it was not as if she’d never seen a naked woman, since she owned a mirror. The artwork and statuary all seemed rather silly, once one got used to breasts carved into door handles and phalluses for coat hooks.

  As for the sexual escapades offered? No matter what he thought, she did not want to be with anyone but her husband. Nor did she want him tempted to visit others, while using the excuse that he was under some obligation to be there as an owner. If that made her prudish, there was little she could do to change.

  Little she could do other than to leave him alone, just as she’d planned. She’d spent a fitful night in the town house, then arisen early to arrange for rooms in Mayfair. Her belongings had been transferred without need of another awkward scene.

  Things had been going well, until she’d seen him in the street while shopping. He had called to her. She had wanted to go to him, of course. Perhaps, after a time, she would be able to talk to him without feeling that rush of desire to go back to him and obey and behave, only to be crushed by his irrational disapproval. She’d had more than enough of that from Marietta. She did not need more from him. But for the moment, she was too weak to acknowledge him.

  So she turned, pretending she had not seen him. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking that she had seen his look of shock out of the corner of her eye, as she had moved on. She did not intend to hurt him. But if it was necessary to do so that he might understand she was not returning, then so it must be.

  ‘You have a visitor, ma’am.’ Polly came into the sitting room, smiling more broadly than she had since moving to the rooms George had taken to begin her exile.

  For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Frederick had come. Then she remembered that she would simply have to send him away if he did. ‘Well?’ she said, still waiting for the maid’s explanation.

  ‘Lord Grimsted.’

  Father.

  George stood so fast that the book she had been reading fell to the floor. ‘Bring him to me, immediately.’ As the maid went back to the hall, she smoothed her damp palms on the front of her skirt. Polly had not said visitors. That meant that she did not have to face Marietta again. But why had he come to her without any notice at all? Was it bad news, or simply a social call? It did not matter. It would still be a chance to see him alone.

  Her mind eased somewhat when her father came into the room smiling. It was a tired smile, but all the same, he was not frowning as he so often had when she was still at home. ‘Georgiana.’ He held out his arms to her, offering an embrace.

  ‘Father.’ She came forward quickly, hugging him and kissing his cheek. The reason for the visit did not matter. She would have a few minutes’ uninterrupted time with him, which was a gift more precious than gold. She pointed to the sofa she had just occupied and the tray of cakes on the table in front of it. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’

  He smiled and nodded, taking the seat she offered. Then he looked at her and sighed happily. ‘It is so good to see you again,
my dear.’

  ‘And you,’ she assured him.

  ‘You have not visited us since your marriage.’

  ‘I thought the object in my marrying was to remove me from the house,’ she said and immediately wished she hadn’t. There had been no spite intended in denying him.

  ‘It was time that you married,’ her father said, as gently as possible. ‘I wished to see you happy. And it was clear that you were not happy where you were.’

  ‘I was not happy because… Marietta and I do not get along.’ She had nearly announced that she hated her stepmother. But the truth was hurtful and did not need to be spoken. ‘I have not visited because we are not likely to get along any better, now that I am gone.’

  Her father did not try to correct her. ‘But your stepmother is not the only one in the house.’

  ‘I wrote to you,’ she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. ‘Each morning. When you did not answer, I assumed…’

  ‘So I have been told,’ he said, with another sigh. ‘But I did not receive the letters. When I did not hear from you, I thought perhaps you were happier without me.’

  ‘No,’ she said, unable to contain her sob. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘And I you, my dear.’ He reached out and clasped her hand. ‘I had hopes, when Mr Challenger offered for you, that you would be better off in your own home. He is a fine gentleman, despite what is often said about his family.’ He glanced around at her apartment. ‘It concerns me to find you here and not with your husband.’

  ‘We have decided it was simpler to maintain separate households,’ she said, wishing that she could sound more convincing.

  ‘So he told me,’ her father said.

  ‘You have spoken to him?’ She picked a biscuit from the tray and put it carefully on her plate, pulling nervously at the edges of it, until it was little more than a pile of crumbs.

  ‘When he came to enquire as to why I had not answered your correspondence,’ her father said, his look turning grim. ‘I have reminded Marietta about the importance of my receiving all my mail and not just the parts she considers important. There will be no further problems.’

  She had not been forgotten after all. But that was not the most important thing he’d said. ‘Frederick came to you?’

  ‘This morning,’ he replied. ‘He encouraged me to come to you. And reminded me that one does not know how vital a person’s presence is to one’s wellbeing, until they are gone.’

  It was a curious thing for him to say. There was no reason that she should apply it to their relationship, since it had been directed to her father. And yet…

  ‘That is very true,’ she agreed. ‘If you see him again, tell him that is very true.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was another night at Vitium et Virtus and the crowd was overcome with the excess of their revels. And, as usual, everyone was having a better time than Fred. He stood at the back of the main room, admiring one of the latest additions to the entertainment staff, a Titian-haired singer that Oliver had brought back from Paris. The girl was a stunner, with an impressive bosom, all but tumbling out of her gown.

  It was not her figure that fascinated him. It was the smile and the twinkle in her eye. She stopped between verses of the bawdy song she was singing to throw back her head and laugh as if she found the words as naughty as the audience did. He had never seen anyone so glad to be alive.

  At least, he hadn’t seen anyone so happy in over three weeks. How would he ever forget the past when everything about the girl on the stage seemed to remind him of Georgiana? His wife was nothing like the red-headed singer. She was shorter and with a body more boyish than buxom. She was blonde, not ginger. He had heard her sing and it was nowhere near as good as the woman on the stage. But when she laughed it was as if she had not a care in the world.

  ‘Do you fancy her?’ Snyder was standing behind him, looking not just intimidating but threatening.

  Fred reached into his purse and tossed the man a gold coin. ‘Give this to her, with my compliments on her abilities.’ Then he found a second coin for Snyder. ‘And bring a bottle of the good claret to the office for me. Then lock the door and see that no one bothers me, especially not her.’

  * * *

  His glass was empty and he could not seem to recall how it had happened. Fred reached across the table for the brandy bottle to refill it, to find that was empty as well.

  Had he eaten? A better question would be, when had he eaten? It had been several days since he’d even bothered to go home, sitting in the private suite at night and sleeping alone during the day in a bedroom upstairs. He’d brought the bird with him for company, but it seemed to have forgotten anything Georgiana had taught it.

  He could remember meals, but not the taste of them. And his body was sending mixed messages on the subject, as if trying to convince him that he was both empty and full at the same time.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Eh?’ Clearly things were worse than he thought. By the look on Jake’s face, he had been speaking for some time, but Fred had not even noticed he had entered the room.

  ‘I said, are you well?’ Jake spoke again, slightly louder this time, to drag him back to conversation.

  ‘Of course I am.’ His friend had no right to ask. By the shadow on Jake’s cheek, he had forgotten to shave again.

  ‘Then I suggest you begin to act in a manner that proves it. You spend far too much time at this club and you do not appear to enjoy any of it.’

  ‘Physician, heal thyself,’ he grumbled. ‘You are here almost as often as I am.’

  ‘Then, at least take the damn bird away,’ he suggested.

  ‘Damn bird! Damn bird!’ the mynah cried.

  ‘It reminds me of Georgiana,’ Fred said, feeling like an idiot for admitting it.

  ‘Then you have been away from her too long, Frederick,’ Jake said, shaking his head.

  ‘Frederick!’ announced the bird.

  Fred grabbed a cork from the table and tossed it in the bird’s direction, making it flutter off its perch. ‘I can’t go to her. She no longer wants me.’

  ‘Then make her want you again. Buy her a necklace. Say you’re sorry. Tell her you love her.’

  Had he ever done so?

  It had not seemed urgent, when he’d had a lifetime in which to say the words. And then, she’d been gone.

  ‘I love you,’ the bird called.

  ‘And that is no consolation at all,’ he replied.

  ‘I love you, Frederick.’

  He turned, searching for something else to throw.

  ‘Frederick. I love you. I love you, Frederick. Pretty bird, have a grape.’

  When he’d taken it away from his sisters, it could do nothing but curse. There was only one person who could have taught it the words it spoke now.

  He lunged across the room and grabbed the bell pull to ring for Snyder. When he did not appear immediately, he grabbed the door and threw it open, shouting into the main room until the porter appeared at a run.

  ‘Mr Challenger?’ Snyder searched the room for the problem.

  ‘Send someone to my house for fresh linen.’ Fred rubbed his cheek. ‘And find me a razor. Then have them bring the carriage around front.’

  ‘I love you, Frederick!’

  He smiled and blew a kiss towards the cage in the corner. ‘And get that bird some grapes.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  If Frederick had been here to see her, he would have been impressed.

  And if she was truly to live independent from him, she must stop thinking that, whenever she had a success. Progress was something that should be made and appreciated for itself, and not measured against the expectations of others.

  But an invitation to a musicale at the home of th
e Dowager Duchess of Leddington was proof that, in the eyes of society, one had arrived.

  George meant to use the opportunity for all it was worth. The gown she was wearing cost more than her last three ball gowns combined. The violets that trimmed the sleeves and the deep lace ruffle on the hem were as unusual for evening as they were for late summer, and each one had a real diamond at the centre, lending a sly sparkle to the skirt. They were a perfect match for the amethysts Fred had given her.

  And there he was again, interfering with her placid thoughts. She took a deep drink of the champagne she was holding, trying to wash him away.

  ‘You are so much better than I expected.’ The hostess patted her hand condescendingly. ‘The Challengers, you know.’ She shook her head in disapproval.

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ George tried to keep the question out of her voice. It was not truly a compliment when someone assumed that your entire family was incorrigible, but was surprised that one of you had proved passable after all.

  But she was more than passable. She was perfect. Or trying to be. Truly she was. Her dress was immaculate and the height of fashion without being gaudy or immodest. As she moved about the room, her pace was sedate, her step confident. Her manners excellent. She did not speak overly loud or out of turn. She listened to gossip, but did not spread it. And she did not gaze out of the window when others spoke to her, as if she wished to be somewhere else.

  On the occasions when she saw Marietta at a gathering, she spoke with at least the illusion of cordiality and did not allow herself to be goaded into argument. Even if she was out of sorts, she would not be the one to rip her skirt in a closed door and run away with her gown in tatters.

  It was not precisely boring. None of the society events she went to had ever been. But neither was it fun. For all the dancing, food, and happy talk, there was a strained indifference about it, as if all around her were holding their spirits in check until they could leave.