The Wagered Wife

by Wilma Counts

“After today, I have some idea of what that was like for her,” Trevor added, the bitter memory of his father’s disgust and Gerald’s contempt fresh in his mind. “Told you what my father said.”

  “Yes. That was cold of him, was it not?”

  “True. But if she has saddled me with another man’s brat . . .”

  “You know that for sure?”

  “No. But all indications are—”

  “Trevor, you cannot just desert her. She bears your name, after all.”

  “I know. I have no intention of just walking away from my responsibilities. Not my style, you know.”

  “I do know.”

  “I guess . . .” Trevor said slowly, working it out even as he spoke, “I could see that she has a portion of my allowance until such time as she can decide for herself what she will do. She can stay at Atherton as long as she needs to.”

  “You cannot leave a young girl out there in the country alone.” Theo was aghast.

  “Well, I cannot afford to hire a companion for her.”

  “Perhaps she has some cousin—or a maiden aunt—or someone.”

  “If she does, she has not mentioned such. But, wait—Aunt Gertrude knows the area in which Caitlyn’s father had his last post. I shall check with her tomorrow.” He felt better for having even this much of a plan.

  “Philadelphia, hmm?”

  “I think so.”

  “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, Theo, what is there for me in the colonies? I want to do something worthwhile. I know that has a hollow sound to it, given my recent past. . . .”

  “Something—like what?”

  “I do not know. . . . I actually thought with some help I might make a going concern of Atherton—but that’s out for the present.”

  “There are a couple of lieutenants’ commissions available in my regiment,” Theo said.

  “Go for a soldier? Do you think I could?”

  “Don’t see why not. Just a matter of purchasing the commission.”

  “So long as it is not a cavalry regiment. No horses, please.”

  “You know very well my regiment is the 96th Foot.”

  “Yes-s-s. That might answer. Wyndham would probably agree to part with the ready to buy colors for me.”

  “You will need to decide soon. We leave for the Peninsula to join Wellington in a matter of days.”

  “But I have no training,” Trevor said, coming to his senses.

  “Never mind. ’Tis not unknown for an officer to buy into a position with no military training. You do know how to ride and shoot, and you are in good physical condition. I shall help you as much as I can.”

  “Hmm. I must say, this idea has far more appeal than going off to Phila-damn-delphia!”

  In a matter of days, it was all arranged and Trevor was on board a troopship sailing from Plymouth harbor. Prior to that, however, had come calls on Lady Gertrude and Lord Wyndham. And he had written a rather stiff letter to Caitlyn.

  Aunt Gertrude had welcomed him with sadness in her eyes. She directed him to a settee and took a seat beside him.

  “You should have told me, dear,” she said. “I might have been able to help.”

  “I doubt anyone could have done much. But perhaps you can help me resolve part of the problem now.”

  “I shall try.”

  “Did you know of a curate named Woodbridge when you lived in Monksford? Came originally from the Lake District.”

  “I knew him quite well,” she said with surprise. “His daughter Caitlyn was a student in my dame school.”

  “Caitlyn is my wife.”

  “Caitlyn? Caitlyn is the girl in that dreadful cartoon? It cannot be.” Shock and disbelief registered in her tone and countenance.

  “Believe it, Aunt.”

  “How? Why? I cannot comprehend this. I had heard she was summarily shipped off to some relative when her father died, but I had no idea to whom she had gone. I was here in town by then, of course.”

  Trevor gave her as much information as he knew about Caitlyn, including the knowledge that Gerald had supplied.

  “It is not true,” his aunt said emphatically. “The girl I knew would never be a party to such a nefarious scheme.”

  “Perhaps she changed, for it certainly appears that she was.”

  “Oh, dear. . . . Well, what is it that I can do to help?”

  He explained his plan to take a commission and leave the country as his father had ordered. “But I cannot just go off and leave her alone at Atherton,” he finished. “I thought perhaps you would know of a female relative she might call upon to stay with her until this mess is all sorted out.”

  She appeared to consider this request for some time. Finally, she said, “I am sorry, Trevor. I can think of absolutely no one. I seem to remember her father’s brother emigrated to Canada years and years ago. I really think the Fiske connection was the only one she had. The poor dear.”

  “I just do not know what to do,” Trevor said. “I know this is probably as much my fault as hers, but my father refuses to budge from his decision.”

  “Encouraged, no doubt, by his precious Gerald,” Lady Gertrude said, her voice harsh. Then it softened as she asked, “Have you no feeling for Caitlyn, then?”

  Trevor shifted uncomfortably. “I . . . I hardly know her. She is pleasant enough. I even liked her, I think. But she . . . well . . . she is not . . . I don’t . . .”

  “You do not find her attractive? Is that it?”

  “Well, yes—rather. It is just that I never would have been drawn to such a girl, you see. And now that I know . . . I just cannot deal with her—at least not now.” He knew this sounded lame.

  “But you do care enough to want to provide for her properly?”

  “Well—yes. She bears the Jeffries name, after all. I cannot engender additional scandal. It would reflect on Melanie—and Marcus. They do not deserve that. And—in all honesty—Miranda Morton probably does not deserve it either.”

  “You are a good sort, Trevor. Oh, yes, misguided a bit, but basically good, I think.” She patted his hand.

  Trevor felt a warm glow at this rare praise from his opinionated relative. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “And I may be able to help you.” She paused. “How would it suit you if I were to go and stay with your bride until such time as she finds a suitable relative of her own to join her? Or until matters are handled otherwise?”

  “You would do that?” Trevor asked in wonder.

  “Certainly. As I think on it, I like the idea even more. I have grown somewhat bored with life in town. Not that I would forgo it completely, you understand.”

  “Aunt Gertrude, I would be so grateful—”

  “Never mind. I shall enjoy the country.”

  The visit with his father had had a much less amiable tone, especially as Gerald was a party to the interview. In the end, however, the earl agreed to the purchase of a commission.

  He would also continue his son’s allowance, half of which would go to the unwanted bride until Trevor’s return and a divorce could be quietly effected. However, the earl wanted nothing to do with “that girl”—the business would be handled through a solicitor.

  Trevor departed, saddened by what he perceived as the defection of his family. Offsetting this despondency, though, was a feeling of purpose and direction he had not felt since the deaths of Terrence and Jason. He was also heartened by another visit with his sister. Melanie would, in all probability, marry Sheffield and follow him to some foreign post with the diplomatic corps.

  He knew that writing Caitlyn a letter was rather cowardly, but time was of the essence if he was to ship out with the regiment. Secretly, he was glad not to deal with her directly. Best not to encounter pain in those aquamarine, teal-colored eyes.

  Caitlyn was furious—actually trembling with anger. In fact, she had been annoyed for several days at her husband’s continued absence. Married less than a month, and her husband had been away
for over half of that time! And there were estate matters he should be seeing to. Mr. Felkins, the steward, had brought them to her, but what did she know of running an estate?

  Heavens. She barely knew anything of running a household. Had not Mrs. Bassett kept her keenly aware of that shortcoming?

  But now—not only was her blackguard husband absent, he had no intention of returning! She reread the letter several times, her anger increasing with each reading.

  Caitlyn,

  This will undoubtedly come as a surprise to you, but I shall not be returning to Atherton—at least not in the foreseeable future.

  Having at last learned the details of the circumstances which led to our marriage, I have elected to abide by my father wishes and leave England for an indeterminate period of time. As soon as may be appropriate, my family will take the necessary steps to procure the dissolution of our marriage.

  Assuming you do not lodge an objection, a divorce can be handled discreetly, but it will take time and is somewhat dependent on your continuing to live quietly and avoid bringing notice to the Jeffries name. I am confident that you will agree to this course of action.

  Trevor

  “Details of the circumstances” indeed! And just what details were there that he did not know previously? After all, it was he, not she, who had been aware of—party to—that infamous wager.

  And leave her to fend for herself, would he? Oh, yes, the letter had included a postscript with news of his providing for her from his allowance and that some aunt of his was coming to look after her. She did not need looking after and would soon enough send some meddling busybody on her way.

  A divorce? He would have her tainted with such a smear for the rest of her life? True, divorce was not unknown, but only persons of the very highest echelons of society could weather the disgrace. Even then, it was rare for a woman to be accepted after such a scandalous action. And for a female of Caitlyn’s status? Impossible.

  When she finally calmed down enough to think about it rationally, she wondered what had precipitated Trevor’s decision. There had to be something more than the wager—bad enough in itself, but Trevor knew of that. Then she had the answer.

  Mrs. Bassett set a newspaper at Caitlyn’s place at breakfast one morning. “Thought you might be interested in this, madam,” she said with a rather peculiar twist on the term of respect.

  Curious, Caitlyn leafed through the journal twice before the cartoon caught her attention. She drew in her breath. Yes, two of the card players were clearly meant to represent her uncle and Trevor. She did not recognize any of the other figures. The artist had apparently had no inkling of characteristics in her that would be clearly identifiable. But he did not need a personal trait to do his damage. One look at the female figure long gone with child was more than enough.

  Now Trevor’s behavior had an explanation, even if it did not excuse him. And Trevor actually believed . . . She had not felt much like breakfast this morning anyway, and this item sickened her. Idly, she wondered just what it was that Mrs. Bassett had intended by showing this to her.

  Caitlyn spent the rest of the morning in her room—the one she shared with Trevor—pondering her options—or rather, the lack of them. In the end, she simply did not know what else to do but carry on as before.

  Three days later Caitlyn was in the library, located in the front of the house on the ground floor, when she heard carriage wheels on the driveway. For an instant, she wondered if Trevor had changed his mind. She went to the window and peeped through the drapery. An older woman in a huge hat with fluttering ostrich feathers shielding her face was handed down from a smart traveling carriage. Another vehicle loaded with luggage drew up behind hers.

  Caitlyn’s first thought was a small prayer of thanks that at least one of the guest rooms had been prepared, for it looked at though this traveler planned a stay of some duration. It had to be Trevor’s aunt. She waited for Merrill’s announcement, which came immediately.

  “Lady Gertrude Hermiston, madam.”

  “Lady Gertrude?” Caitlyn fairly squeaked in surprise and wonder. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  “Did that infernal boy not tell you I was coming?”

  “Infernal boy?” Caitlyn thought her wits were surely deserting her.

  “Trevor. My scapegrace nephew.”

  “Oh. No. I mean—yes. He did write me that his aunt would come, but he neglected to tell me who she was. Oh, Lady Gertrude, I cannot tell you how glad I am to see a familiar face. I have dreaded meeting Trevor’s aunt—and here it is you.” She smiled and extended her hands in greeting, aware that she was babbling foolishly.

  “Dreading me, were you?” Lady Gertrude smiled as she removed her cloak and handed it over to Merrill along with her oversized hat.

  “No. Not you. Just an unknown aunt Trevor said would come.” Caitlyn paused to ask Merrill to bring a tea tray and see to the disposition of Lady Gertrude’s luggage, then went on, “Actually, I am extremely happy to see you. It has been a long time since I have seen a truly friendly face.”

  “But—I understood that Trevor left here only a fortnight ago.”

  Caitlyn felt herself blushing. “You must know that Trevor and I do not know each other well. . . .”

  “And I gather he is not in your good graces now, either.”

  “No, he is not,” Caitlyn said in a tone that she hoped would eliminate further discussion on this head.

  “You and I will talk about it all later, my dear,” her ladyship said as Merrill produced the tea tray. “I have brought you a small gift.” She handed over a gaily wrapped packet.

  “A gift? For me?” Caitlyn could not remember the last time anyone had given her a gift. She accepted it eagerly.

  “A book. Poetry! Oh, thank you so much.”

  “A slim volume by one of your former neighbors in the Lake District—Mr. Wordsworth.”

  “I remember seeing him a few times. Mama knew his sister. Oh, how exciting to have one of his books. Thank you again.”

  Eventually, they did turn to the topic of Lady Gertrude’s stay, and Caitlyn learned that Trevor had not been quite as impervious to his wife’s needs in his absence as she had thought. Still, he had deserted her.

  “I shall never forgive him,” Caitlyn declared. “What is more, as I see it, the only reason to approve a divorce would be to remarry. I never want to marry again. So Trevor—and his family—can just wait until pigs compete with the birds for room in the sky before I shall agree to blacken my name so.”

  “You were sorely used,” Lady Gertrude agreed. “But you may change your mind one day.”

  “Never.”

  “In any event, I am here until you no longer have need of me.”

  “Then you shall be here a very long time, I am thinking, my lady.”

  “Perhaps you could be persuaded to call me Aunt Gertrude as Trevor does.”

  “I should be most happy to do so.”

  In the next few days, Caitlyn could hardly believe her luck in discovering a relative who seemed so genuinely concerned about her welfare. She could not help drawing a comparison with the last woman she had addressed as “Aunt.” Gertude Hermiston was a far cry from Sylvia Fiske.

  Aunt Gertrude’s presence brought an immediate change in the attitudes of certain members of the staff. Mrs. Bassett became positively obsequious, and it was apparent that Perkins took greater care in preparing meals.

  Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude actually reveled in each other’s company. Gertrude confided that she had always wanted a daughter, and Caitlyn had missed much in losing her mother at such a young age. She became more and more fond of Lady Gertrude.

  Then their happy amicability encountered a serious rupture.

  Caitlyn was with child.

  The two women discovered it almost simultaneously. Caitlyn had not felt well for several days. When she abruptly left the breakfast table two days in a row, Aunt Gertrude followed her to her bedchamber, where Caitlyn lay on the bed after losing her br
eakfast again.

  Aunt Gertrude’s expression was grim. “So. You are in an interesting condition. I did not believe those rumors, but it appears I was wrong.”

  “I . . . I do not know what you are talking about.” Then Caitlyn remembered that cartoon. “Oh. Oh, no. You have it all wrong. I am not with child—I cannot be. Trevor and I . . . we . . . Well, we were only together for a week or so.”

  “And before that?” Aunt Gertrude’s voice was distant, unrelenting.

  “Before . . . ? There was no ‘before,’ ” Caitlyn said. “Please. You must believe me. I just have a touch of the flu.”

  “The nine-months variety. I would stake my life on it.”

  “Oh, no. It cannot be.” It came out as a wail of utter despair. Caitlyn, caught up in her own emotions, did not immediately notice Lady Gertrude’s reaction. Later, when she considered the scene again, she thought there was a softening in the older woman’s demeanor.

  “Well, my girl, you must know it takes only once.”

  “Truly?”

  Lady Gertrude looked at her in surprise. “Truly. When was your last monthly?”

  Embarrassed, Caitlyn told her and watched as Aunt Gertrude’s face registered the mental calculation she was doing.

  “Well. If you are telling the truth—and I must say I am inclined to believe you—the babe must be Trevor’s.”

  Caitlyn felt anger and indignation rise at this. “Of course it is Trevor’s. I went to my marriage bed a virgin—and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

  “What about that Latham lad? Your name was linked to his in London gossip.”

  “Bertie? Bertie never touched me.” Then she blushed and added, “That is, not beyond a few very innocent kisses. Even I know it takes more than a kiss to make a babe.”

  “Well, now. Calm down, my dear. Strong emotion is not good for the babe. This situation puts a new twist on matters.”

  Eight months later—give or take a few days—Caitlyn Maria Woodbridge Jeffries was delivered of a healthy baby girl whom she promptly christened Ashley Gertrude.