So she’d remained in bed, sleeping most of the time, rising only when absolutely necessary, and returning to bed as quickly as possible.
Stalemate. Or limbo. She wasn’t sure which as she closed her eyes and drifted back into fitful sleep.
He stormed her bedroom just before noon on the third day. He knocked once—powerfully loud—then simply shoved open the door. She was sitting in bed, looking balefully at her breakfast tray. Nothing looked appealing, though she’d managed some tepid tea. Then suddenly, he was in her room, his hands on his hips as he glared at her.
“You are many things, Irene,” he said. Then he raised his fingers and ticked off his descriptions. “Beautiful, maddening, brilliant, but I never thought to call you a coward.”
“What?” she snapped, feeling her spirit rise for the first time since he’d left her three nights ago. Damn the traitorous thing.
He gestured angrily. “You’re hiding,” he said, his disgust plain. “I’ve spoken with your girl, Carol. Says she’s been downstairs eating tarts for two days. Says you’ve canceled your appointments and lain in bed. Your mama says you’re in a decline again and glares at me as if I caused it.”
Irene looked over his shoulder to where she saw her maid and Mama hovering anxiously in the hallway. She hadn’t thought to see them looking that way ever again. Not since she accepted Helaine’s job offer not quite a year ago. And yet, here she was again, hunching into her bed as if it was three years ago when she’d first learned of Nate’s death. The very idea made her shrivel in shame.
That was inside. Outside, she folded her arms and glared right back. “Did it ever occur to you that I had a fever? That I might be ill?”
His expression paled, but then he narrowed his eyes. “Has a doctor been summoned? Do you have a cough? A putrid throat? What hurts?”
She looked away. Mama had offered to get a doctor, but Irene had steadfastly refused. “Food tastes strange,” she said loudly.
“Then talk to your cook. Later. Right now, you have an appointment.”
She lifted her chin. “I do not. I canceled everything.”
“Un-cancel it.” Then his voice softened. Not in the way of compassion, but in the way of a man more dangerous when he whispered than when he shouted. “Or not. But I suggest you read this first.”
He pulled a letter out of his pocket and tossed it onto her lap. She looked down, seeing Helaine’s handwriting.
“It’s from Lady Redhill,” he said. “She told me what she wrote, so if you aren’t going to open it, I shall recite it. It says simply this: the shop needs a purchaser. If you are unable to perform such duties, then she needs to know immediately, so she can set about hiring a replacement.”
“She did not!” exclaimed Irene as she tore open the envelope. “She would never say anything so cruel!”
And indeed, reading the missive, she was right. Helaine had written solicitous questions about her health and ability to bear up at this difficult time. She said nothing about sacking her as a purchaser, though she did venture a question. It was simple and elegant, much like the woman herself. “If the current situation is too much of a strain,” she wrote, “perhaps we should think of hiring an assistant buyer for the time being.”
She had signed it, “With love, Helaine,” but Irene heard the message clearly, even if Grant hadn’t been underscoring it. Irene needed to perform her duties or release her job to someone else.
It was a logical perspective, but Irene couldn’t help but feel abandoned by her oldest friend. Meanwhile, she fussed with the edges of the pristine linen. “Why didn’t she come tell me this herself?” she asked the coverlet.
Lord Crowle answered. “I told her not to. She had appointments this morning at the shop, and I said I would deliver the letter. And that you would give her an answer this afternoon at your fitting.”
Her head jerked up. “Fitting? What fitting?”
“For the ballgowns you’ve ordered.”
“But I didn’t—”
“But you did!” inserted her mother-in-law from the door. Her voice was high and tentative, but the words were clear. “Don’t you remember? You said that you would attend the balls with me, but you needed more gowns. Wendy and Helaine know exactly the styles that suit you, and they already had your measurements.”
Irene twisted so she could shoot a baleful look at her mother-in-law. “You ordered them for me?”
“You seemed so busy.”
She hadn’t been busy. She’d been lying in bed. “I have been ill,” she said sullenly, speaking to herself. It was a lie, but one she wasn’t quite ready to release yet.
Meanwhile, Grant crossed to her bedside. He pulled up a chair quickly, his strong arms easily moving the heavy thing. Then he sat and possessed one of her hands. She didn’t want to give it to him, but the moment she felt his warmth stroke her skin, all her resistance melted. She let him hold her hand, and she relished the experience.
“Irene,” he said softly. “I have been here every day inquiring after you. I have been told that you were tired, that you were ill, that you were suffering all sorts of ailments.”
She blinked. He’d been here that often? Really? She hadn’t realized, and how silly was that? To mourn a man who had been here the whole time? She looked away, the pain cutting through her heart like a physical rip. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. He couldn’t marry her. She couldn’t be a countess, not like he needed. So visit or not, nothing had changed.
Exhaling in frustration—and despondency—she flopped back against her pillows. “Just go away, Lord Crowle.” She made his title a curse. She hadn’t meant to, but it came out like that anyway.
He didn’t say anything for a time. Then he squeezed her hand. “Throw me over for your precious job if you must,” he said softly. “Don’t then forgo your job just because you’ve thrown me aside.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” she said, the words all the more heated because it was a lie. “Damn it!” she threw his hand away, the curse at herself and her weakness. One man left her in death, the other because of his titled heritage. Neither was reason to lose herself in a decline, but here she was, undressed and unwashed for three days. “What is the matter with me?”
“Perhaps the same thing that has been the matter with me,” he offered quietly. “I cannot walk down the street without thinking of something I wish to say to you. I cannot search for our assailant without worrying if you are well. And I cannot close my eyes that I don’t ache for…” His voice trailed away, and she saw the hunger in his gaze
She closed her eyes, and without the distraction of tenderness in his expression, she was able to think of the words she needed to say. “I cannot lose another husband. It is too hard. I cannot give my heart and my hand to someone again. Not when society will be allied against us. Again. It is too hard.”
He exhaled a breath of understanding. “Everyone fought your wedding before. Said you were lowering yourself to marry a cit?”
“They said Papa sold me. Nate paid a bride-price. Did you know that? It was the only way I could get father to agree. He never knew that I was in love. Or, if he did, he didn’t care.”
Grant muttered a low curse. “Your father sounds like more of a cur than mine. And that’s saying something indeed.”
She flashed him a wan smile. He understood. He always did. It only took a sentence or two, and he understood everything she was feeling.
Then he suddenly exhaled and tapped the back of her hand with startling good cheer. “Well, you needn’t worry about that happening again, my dear. Marrying down to Nate, marrying up to me, it doesn’t matter. I have retracted my request. I no longer am offering you marriage.”
Gasps of outrage rang out from the doorway where Mama and the maid still hovered. But it was nothing less than the sound that escaped Irene’s lips as she stared at Grant’s smug face.
“That’s right,” he said firmly. “If simply asking for your hand has sent you into a decline, I retract
it all. Now get up, get dressed, you have an appointment with your employer.”
“Two days is not a decline!” she snapped. “I felt ill!”
“And how do you feel now?”
She huffed out a breath, trying to decide how exactly she felt. Annoyed. Angry—at herself, as well as at him. And still a little nauseous, but that might be because she’d gone so long eating so little.
She grabbed a piece of toast off the tray and bit into it almost savagely. Then she chewed in sullen anger. She was a child. In truth, she was more childish than she’d ever been when she’d been little. Back then, her mother had been the one to sink into the doldrums—for days on end—leaving Irene to manage the daily tasks, or they would both starve. Just because she had people and money to serve her whims now was no reason to sink into the exact same weakness her mother had exhibited.
“I am stronger than that,” she said to the memory of her frail parent. Then she turned to shoot a glare at the man tormenting her. “Get out. I need to wash and dress. You may tell Helaine that I shall see her in an hour.”
He pushed to his feet, his expression maddeningly happy. “I shall send the message. Then I will wait downstairs with my watch in hand. We will see if you make your hour’s promise, or if I will come back up here to drag you out of your bath.” Then he waggled his eyebrows at her in a lascivious gesture. “Your choice.”
She shot him another glare in answer, but her belly quivered in delight. It could be fun for him to visit her bath, but that was not an option. Certainly not in her in-laws’ home. So she gestured with both hands, shooing him out.
He gave her a polite bow and withdrew, though she would swear his eyes were sparkling with mischief. And as the door closed, she found herself smiling as she mentally lingered over the image. Then she remembered what she’d promised.
An hour? For a bath and a proper dressing? Not to mention the time it would take to travel to the shop. She scrambled out of bed. What had she been thinking? But she’d be damned if she was one minute late if he was downstairs with a watch in his hand!
Twenty-five
It turned out that Irene liked parties. And musicals, and even walking in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. She liked pretty clothes, and she liked having a very attentive gentleman on her arm. A lot of attentive gentlemen, it turned out, because as the news of her “wealthy widow” status became known, she found herself at the center of a great deal of masculine attention.
Against her explicit request, her father-in-law dowered her with an impressive sum, and the party invitations started to arrive. She understood his intentions. He told her quite explicitly that he was buying an entrée to the world for herself and his wife that had hitherto been denied. A large dowry brought invitations, but she’d only attend if her mama and Mrs. Schmitz were invited too.
He also told her that she’d wrapped herself in mothballs long enough. They loved her like a daughter, and it was time for her to get married again, have babies, and live the life she should have had. It had brought her to tears and had her swearing that they were the best parents she’d ever had. She would never ever cut them from her life. Then they had a great big cry before dressing for the first of what would soon be many outings.
They were always accompanied by someone. Grant was usually in attendance, but occasionally, his brother Will or Lord Redhill made up her entourage. With such delightful company, Irene found herself enjoying life more than ever before. She was popular. She was dressed in gowns that made her feel beautiful. And she had male attention everywhere she turned.
All in all, it made life busy. She was still working. The shop was in desperate need of ivory buttons, and she was on a hunt for the best bargains. Grant didn’t stop her from speaking with captains or shopkeepers. He just remained nearby—along with Mr. Tanner and her father’s “footmen”—as she went about her search.
No one attacked. And even little Carol was working out splendidly. The girl kept better track of her schedule than Irene ever had.
So why wasn’t Irene happy? Why wasn’t she bursting at the seams with giggly joy, even as she rushed from one event to another? Why did she take long moments to stare silently at the landscape without saying a word? She just sat. And she longed… for something. Or perhaps, it was someone. Her thoughts—or her gaze—would inevitably find Grant, and she would see exactly what she’d known would happen.
He was becoming Lord Crowle in every sense of the word. While she was enjoying the pleasures of dancing nearly every dance at a ball, he was enjoying masculine discussions with the financial men. Not quite a political, Grant was a man who understood money. Banking, investing, and management were his favorite topics lately. Not much with her at first, but eventually, some of his thoughts bled through. All too soon, they were talking about work and politics in a manner she’d never expected with anyone.
Which would be lovely, if she didn’t see the women attached to the financial men. Every one of their wives was a well-born conservative. They’d likely been virgins on their wedding night, and not a one had ever been impoverished. If the ton could be critical of her status, she shuddered at what Grant’s new friends thought. Bankers, as a rule, were not men who embraced social flexibility.
And though Grant never failed to dance a waltz with her, he began taking virginal girls to the floor as well. Daughters of his new friends, rosy-cheeked and so young it made Irene hurt to look at them. They were courtesy dances, he told her, but she could see the girls blush and smile as he escorted them. He was charming then, and he was Lord Crowle, a newly crowned financial. One day, one of those girls would walk down the aisle to him.
And that thought soured Irene’s stomach so much she couldn’t find the wherewithal to eat. He was slipping away. She’d known it would happen, but the ache of watching him walk bit by bit closer to some dewy-eyed girl chilled her to the bone. It hurt deep inside—a bitter coldness in places she’d thought already dead. Had she grieved for Nate as deeply? She knew she had, but this pain was fresh, this loss new, because she suffered it again and again every night when he danced attendance on yet another virgin.
Then came the afternoon when Grant stepped into her carriage and asked Mr. Tanner to take Carol home. She had just come from a fruitless negotiation with one of Papa’s ship captains. The man hadn’t been able to keep any of his cargo for her. Her needs were simply not a large enough purchase. But they had discussed other options and then separated early, which is when Grant had hopped into the carriage.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice short as weariness tugged at her. But even so, she felt warmth in her belly at his presence. No matter what the future was, right now, her body was thrilled. Especially since they would likely be alone in a dark carriage.
“Carol tells me you have nothing planned for this afternoon. So I am rudely commandeering the rest of your day, if that is acceptable. I have need of your feminine advice.”
She arched her brows, intending to be curt. He could not just “commandeer” her afternoon. But the words that left her mouth were soft and yielding. Her perpetual state around him, it would seem.
“Well, I am definitely female, and I am told I enjoy giving advice.”
“Then I will be eternally grateful if you would share it with me.” He rapped on the coach partition. Apparently, he’d already told the driver of their destination. Then he sat across from her, dropping into his seat with a loud exhale of relief. “You keep the most incredible schedule of any woman I have ever known. I don’t know why you aren’t dropping with fatigue.”
“I am rather tired,” she admitted. “I would cut back on the parties, but Mama loves them so. She has found some friends now, other matronly hens who love to cluck.”
He gave a mock shudder. “That image leaves me terrified.”
She laughed, and the feel of such a breezy sound lightened her heart. When was the last time she’d last made that girlish kind of giggle? Years, perhaps—before Nate’s death, certainly.
“I was just thinking that too,” she said as her eyes lingered on the curve of his mouth. “You make me smile, my lord. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”
He blinked, but far from smiling in return, his expression tightened. “That sounds suspiciously like a farewell.”
“No, no!” she lied. “Of course not. We still have that mysterious, completely absent villain to apprehend, remember? You cannot be rid of me until you finally declare this ridiculous hunt at an end.”
He grimaced, and she could see the way his shoulders stooped. “I know it is hard to be hedged in on every side.”
Actually, she’d been surprised at how easy it was to handle. At this point, her protectors functioned as easily as her maid: moving through her environment as if she’d always been protected like the crown jewels.
“The expense must be crippling you,” she said softly.
He snorted. “As to that, your fond Papa is bearing the brunt. He is still worried.”
“And you?” she asked quietly. “Have you realized that whatever it was—it is now over? There is no threat.”
He was silent, as if listening for something. What-ever it was, he didn’t hear it. So he leaned forward, his expression troubled as he touched her hands. “I cannot say that, Irene. I… I don’t know what to think. At one time, I was sure. Now, I begin to doubt myself.”
“No one can remain vigilant forever. Especially without reason to continue.”
“A little longer, Irene. Please.”
She nodded. What choice did she have? Even if Grant stopped his protection duties, her father-in-law would keep the “footmen” around.
Meanwhile, the coach stopped, and her two extra protectors leapt off the side, presumably to scan the area. A moment later, one opened the carriage door, proclaiming that everything looked “right as rain.” Grant stepped out first then extended his hand to help her alight. A second later, he escorted her up the steps of a comfortable home in a neighborhood she recognized.
Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] Page 25
