The Wagered Wife

by Wilma Counts

  Six

  May, 1814

  In the aftermath of Wellington’s successful campaign against French forces in the Iberian Peninsula, the British army was sent home. London’s citizenry threw themselves into victory celebrations. Every ball or rout—the streets themselves—boasted a sprinkling of uniforms.

  Among the soldiers returning to civilian life were Major Ruskin and his friend Captain Jeffries. Nearly five years of warfare had toughened them, turning naive youngsters into men, incompetent officers into seasoned leaders. Among Peninsula veterans Ruskin and Jeffries were quite well known—and respected—as a formidable team.

  The journey from Portsmouth, where their ship had landed, had been long and tiring, but they had dropped into a gentlemen’s club briefly. Prior to their Peninsula campaign, other club members had barely tolerated them as encroaching puppies. As returning veterans, they were accorded accolades, their company actively sought by others. Now, at the end of their first evening back in London, Theo and Trevor sat in Theo’s father’s study.

  “Here’s to us. We survived the misery, the rotten food, and enemy shot.” Theo raised his glass.

  Trevor returned the salute. “And to absent friends.”

  “And to absent friends.”

  As they sat in silence for a few moments, Trevor contrasted the elegant luxury of the modest Ruskin town house to the hardships he and Theo had endured as the army fought its way through dust and heat in Spain, and mud and cold in the Pyrenees.

  Theo broke into his reverie. “What will you do now that we are home, Trev?”

  “I hardly know. For five years, I have thought about this—and suddenly I have no answer. How about you?”

  “Derbyshire calls. My father wants me to take over running the textile mills and the pottery so he can devote himself to being a gentleman farmer.”

  “Going to turn you into a cit, is he?” Trevor grinned.

  “Perhaps.” Theo laughed and held up his hands. “But as the heir to a title, I have to keep these pristine hands above the stench of trade—”

  “Even as you grow increasingly rich on the produce of such.”

  “Does not make much sense, does it?” Theo shrugged. “So—do you think you will return to Atherton?”

  “Eventually, I expect to do so. Probably not while Caitlyn is still there.”

  “She is still there, then?”

  Trevor looked up, mildly surprised. Theo had carefully refrained from probing into his friend’s marital affairs in the years since the initial fiasco, but now Trevor himself had introduced the subject.

  “Yes. She adamantly refused to go along with the divorce when my father’s solicitor approached her—about two years ago, I believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Sent him away with a flea in his ear about how such an action would be damaging for the child.”

  “Mothers in any species get mightily protective.” Theo sounded deeply philosophical. “So what now? Will you pursue a divorce?”

  “Perhaps—in time. No hurry for that. I have no desire to remarry any time soon.”

  The conversation then turned to other matters, chief of which was a huge celebration the Prince Regent was planning to honor Wellington. But later, Trevor lay awake a long while thinking of the wife he had known for less than two weeks over five years ago.

  He had never heard from her. Now, there was proof—if any was wanting—of her supreme indifference. He had received rare bits of information about her—mostly afterthoughts and asides in very infrequent missives from his family.

  Thus he had learned about three months after his departure that, yes indeed, the gossip had been true. The girl was definitely breeding. Then, several months later, his mother had added a postscript to a letter. “By the bye, I suppose you have heard your wife was delivered of a babe—a girl—several weeks ago. ”

  Despite his determination to remain nonchalant about the whole affair, these bits of news came as blows. Somehow, he had been hoping it really was all a lie.

  There had been little else—besides the news from the solicitor about her refusing either a divorce or legal separation. Well, eventually . . .

  Eventually, he told himself firmly, he intended to resume living at Atherton. She would simply have to move to town—or wherever else she wanted to go. It made no difference to him.

  Finally, he slept And dreamed of aquamarine eyes that changed to teal. He arose early the next morning, shaking his head over that dream—one that had not troubled him for many, many months now. Why had it suddenly returned?

  Theo had not risen yet, so Trevor decided to take a walk before breakfast. Ruskin House was located near Hyde Park. At this hour, there would be serious riders on Rotten Row—people whose interest in good horseflesh and skillful riding counted for more than the desire to see and be seen which motivated the ton’s elite dominating the park later in the day.

  Despite his vow to give up owning, riding, or driving excellent horses for sport and pleasure, Trevor had never lost his interest in them. As an army officer, he had been mounted much of the time—soldiers needed to be able to see the men leading them. He had a reputation for knowing horses, and was often consulted about purchases or problems with the animals. Still, he adhered to that vow—and became something of an anomaly among his companions.

  It was a fine morning. The sun had been up long enough to disperse the night’s dew and promised a lovely day. War and death were a world away, and Trevor found himself happy just to be alive. There were a few people in the park, mostly grooms clearly charged with the duty of exercising blooded horses. Trevor watched idly, mentally weighing the merits of the animals paraded before him.

  Then he saw her.

  Actually, he noticed the horse first—a sleek black going at a hell-for-leather pace. Then his attention went to the rider, drawn there by the fluttering skirt on a riding habit. A woman. A very attractive woman—and in total control of her mount. She was dressed in a dark-blue habit designed in the popular military style. Her hat was a silk top hat with a blue veil, its ends fluttering behind her as she rode. Having let the horse run for some distance, she pulled it up, apparently waiting for someone. The horse was spirited, frisky, but the rider seemed to control it with ease. Finally, her companions caught up with her—a gentleman in the ultra-fashionable dress of a veritable “pink of the ton” and a man who could only be a groom.

  Trevor was too far away to distinguish what she said to the fashionable one, but he heard clearly her throaty laughter. He caught a glimpse of shiny brown hair with a reddish glow and noted a proud, confident air about her. Unexpectedly, he found himself envying the gentleman. As they turned to leave the park, he noted again how in tune with her mount she seemed.

  He stood aside as their horses trotted toward him. When they were almost upon him, the woman seemed to look at him directly, though he could not be sure that she did so because of the veil on her hat. Her mouth formed a round O. Then she was gone.

  For a moment, he could have sworn she seemed to recognize him. Throughout the day, the image of the woman in the park stayed with him. That night he dreamed of her—only this time he accompanied her. The next morning he made sure he was in the park at the same time. However, she did not appear and he felt foolish for even anticipating she might present herself.

  In the evening, he and Theo attended the opera, accompanied by two other officers with whom they had served in the Peninsula. From their box on the second level, they were able to observe a good deal of the audience as well as the stage. One of the other men had been jokingly checking out the women in the audience with his opera glasses.

  “Ooh! Found one!” he said with a note of triumph. “How would you like to storm that fortress?”

  Trevor and the others followed his gaze to a neighboring box occupied by three women and two men. Two of the women were young, as were the men. The other woman, older, was turned away from Trevor and his friends.

  There was no doubt about which of the
women had caught his friend’s attention. Trevor drew in a breath. The beauty from the park! Instantly, he wondered how he could meet her—and just as instantly he told himself what a foolish notion that was.

  A woman like that was probably married anyway—as was he, he reminded himself. There was something oddly familiar about her. Her head was uncovered tonight, and that glorious hair was arranged in a stylish manner that complemented her features. She was dressed in a gown of deep iridescent green of what he thought must be silk. He glanced at the other people in the box. He recognized none of them. Wait. The older woman was turning her head.

  Aunt Gertrude? Could not be. But it was, indeed, Lady Gertrude Hermiston. He looked more closely at the beauty.

  “Here, give me those,” he said, grabbing the glasses, too agitated to be polite.

  “Hey! I saw her first,” the other fellow said.

  Just as Trevor focused the glasses on the woman, she looked in his direction. He knew the instant she recognized him. Those distinctive eyes—aquamarine darkening to teal—registered surprise and shock.

  He lowered the glasses and sat stunned as the orchestra stopped their discordant tuning noises and the conductor made his appearance.

  No wonder she looked familiar. Caitlyn. A very different Caitlyn, but it had to be she with Aunt Gertrude. There was no mistaking those eyes.

  Dumbly he handed the glasses back to their owner and sat unseeing and unhearing through the first act. At the interval, he and Theo rose at the same time. Theo gave him a questioning look.

  “You all right, Trevor?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Seem distracted—or something.”

  “I . . . uh . . . saw someone I know. Going to pay my respects.” He walked away hurriedly to discourage Theo’s following him.

  When he reached the other box, it was occupied by only one of the gentlemen and the other young woman.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I thought Lady Gertrude Hermiston was in this box. I intended to pay my respects.”

  “You just missed her. She and Latham left to take her niece home. Mrs. Jeffries was feeling unwell.”

  “Oh. Another time, then.” He bowed and left without giving his name.

  Caitlyn said barely a word on the return to their London residence and on arrival she bade Latham a hurried good night. When they had divested themselves of gloves and cloaks, Aunt Gertrude steered her into the drawing room.

  “Now—would you mind telling me what, precisely, is going on?” the older woman said, taking a seat beside Caitlyn on a settee.

  “N-nothing. I told you. I am not feeling well.”

  “You were fine earlier. Something has upset you. In fact—now that I think on it—you have not been your usual self for a couple of days. What is it, love? Perhaps I can help.” Her companion squeezed Caitlyn’s hand affectionately.

  “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, I am so frightened.”

  “Of what? Or whom? Surely Lord Latham has not—”

  “No. No. Bertie has been kindness itself.” She took a deep breath. “Trevor is back.”

  “Trevor? But he has not called.” Caitlyn thought this a foolish statement of the obvious, but surprise did that to people sometimes.

  “I saw him in the park two days ago. Tonight he was there—at the opera.”

  “And he said nothing to you? Nor has he called. How strange. I have heard nothing of his being in town. And I saw Lydia only yesterday at the Seymours. Believe me, had she known he was about, she would have said something, hoping thereby to hurt you.”

  Caitlyn caught the hint of protectiveness and loved Aunt Gertrude all the more for it. “I—I do not think he recognized me until tonight.”

  “Well, you are much changed from the girl he married.”

  “I am—thanks to your efforts to turn an ugly duckling into a swan.”

  “And such a swan!” Aunt Gertrude smiled, then sobered. “But why are you afraid of Trevor?”

  “I am afraid of what he might do.”

  “Do?”

  “He may be angry that I refused to agree to the divorce.”

  “I am sure he will understand that you could not allow it because of Ashley. A divorce would label our darling a bastard—all of society would be assured she is not Trevor’s—which she is!” This last was added in a most vehement tone.

  Caitlyn smiled and kissed her companion’s cheek. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, you are a love. You are probably the only one in all of England who believes that.”

  “No. I hope you believe it,” she said with a laugh. “And I am sure Melanie believes it, for when she visited prior to going to India, she noted that Ashley looked exactly as she herself did at that age.”

  “There was a striking resemblance. What a shame Melanie is not here now.”

  “Oh, but she will be. Did I not tell you? Sheffield is being posted to Vienna when the Congress convenes, but they will be here for a few weeks at any rate.”

  “Still, I do not know that her presence will make any difference. Trevor believed the lie. He did not respond to any of my letters.”

  “I know. That was not like the boy I once knew.” Aunt Gertrude’s voice held a curious blend of wonder and regret.

  “People change,” Caitlyn said abruptly. “I never knew him well. I can judge only by what he has done in regard to me—and Ashley. And now I am afraid . . .”

  “But why? Surely you would like to be free of such uncertainty. You have lived in limbo for five years.”

  “I am afraid he will not recognize our child—and I fear he will.”

  “That does not make sense, dear.”

  “I know. But consider. If Trevor does not accept her—if he goes ahead with a divorce—he brands Ashley an outcast. A boy might have weathered such scandal, but a female cannot. And . . .” She breathed deeply.

  “And . . . ?” Aunt Gertrude prompted.

  “And if he does accept her, he could . . . he might keep her from me. Aunt Gertrude, I would simply die if I lost her.” Caitlyn’s voice caught on a sob.

  “Now. Now.” Gertrude opened her arms, and Caitlyn laid her head gratefully on the older woman’s shoulder. “He was never so cruel. Why, he left you with Atherton, did he not? And part of his allowance?”

  “That was to be a temporary arrangement only.”

  “You have done wonders with it.”

  Caitlyn straightened and wiped at her eyes. “But—but that, too, is frightening.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Atherton belongs to Trevor. Everything I have achieved is his legally. I did it for Ashley, but I love Atherton. Now he can take everything. Good grief, he can dispose of me—and Ashley—just as he would a . . . a mare and her foal.”

  “I am sure Trevor would never—”

  “How can you be so sure? Just look what happened before. He did exactly as his family demanded. And they hate me. They refused to acknowledge Ashley’s birth.”

  “Still, I cannot believe . . .” Gertrude’s voice trailed off.

  Caitlyn stood and extended a hand to the other. “Come. Let us both retire. It is bound to look better in the morning.”

  But after a nearly sleepless night, the situation did not strike Caitlyn as significantly rosier. If anything, she was more frightened and more upset than she had been the evening before. She arose earlier than usual and went directly to the stables, where she found the black gelding to be extremely frisky.

  “Ah, you need to work out some kinks, too, don’t you, boy?” she murmured to the horse, which merely pricked its ears in response and swiveled its head for the lump of sugar or an apple she was sure to have. This brought a smile. “You are a spoiled child, are you not?”

  She and Black Knight had soon left her groom far behind. She allowed the horse to run at will for perhaps twenty minutes, then slowed him to a walk, waiting for the groom to catch up.

  “He’s lookin’ real fine, ma’am,” the groom said, a bit out of breath.

  “Yes,”
she agreed, patting the animal’s neck. “I think he is almost ready. Lord Carstairs will be pleased with our noble Knight.”

  “Ain’t none of our horses but would please the most pa’tic’lar of gentlemen, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Your loyalty is most appreciated, Henry.” She gave him a smile and glanced across the field over which she had just ridden. Yes. Over there—near the gate she usually used—was a figure she knew instinctively to be her husband.

  “We shall use this gate to return,” she said to the groom, gesturing to another entrance. Henry gave her a glance of curiosity, for they both knew this route would increase the horse’s exposure to street activity and likely be unsettling for an animal of Black Knight’s sensibility. “Knight must become accustomed to traffic,” she explained.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Seeing her departure, Trevor cursed his luck. Had she seen him, then, and deliberately avoided him? She must know they would eventually have to meet. He had thought to have their initial meeting in this relatively private location. Well, nothing for it but he would call on his wife and his aunt this afternoon, for he had learned that Caitlyn rented a house for the season.

  Distracted during breakfast, Trevor gave a start when Theo called to him.

  “I beg your pardon,” Trevor said.

  Theo laughed. “And well you might. I have spoken to you three times with no response. Where were you?”

  Trevor shrugged and avoided the question. “I am here now. You were saying . . . ?”

  “It occurs to me that I need a good mount. I plan to check out offerings at Tattersall’s this morning. Would you care to come along?”

  “No, I think not. I intend to see my solicitor and then pay a couple of calls.” When Theo said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow, Trevor added, “I must begin to sort myself out sometime, you know.”

  “You have not forgot about tonight? Wilson is expecting us.”

  “I know. I shall be there.”

  Trevor did not elaborate on his plans. For some inexplicable reason, he had not shared with Theo the news of seeing Caitlyn. The shock of seeing her. Before discussing anything with his friend, he would see her—after calling on his solicitor and his mother. He was quite sure his father would not be in town. He would pen the earl a note later.