by Lucy Monroe
He didn't know what to say. She couldn't possibly see marriage to him in that light. Yet she radiated sincerity with every fiber of her being. She believed she meant what she said. Yanking her into his arms, he decided to believe her as well.
They did not return to the wedding breakfast for another hour.
When they did, his aunt immediately accosted them. "Where have you been, you naughty children? People have been asking for you, and I've had to pretend to have seen you here and there."
Giving a pointed look to Drake's hastily finger-combed hair, she said, "One would have thought if you could not wait until your wedding night to engage in such activity, at least you would have the foresight to straighten your appearance."
Thea smiled in glee as her thirty-year-old, shipping magnate husband blushed guiltily under his aunt's glare.
She released his arm. "Go fix yourself. You will notice that your aunt finds nothing remarkable in my appearance."
Drake obeyed and went.
Lady Boyle turned to Thea. "You're a saucy gel. I like that. Pierson did remarkably well in choosing you to wed."
Thea felt her own cheeks heat, but for a different reason entirely.
Lady Boyle's praise pleased her. "Thank you."
"Yes, well, you're a definite improvement over the other ladies he has paid attention to. Stuffed prigs, the lot of them."
Thea thought to tease the older woman. "Surely you aren't finding fault with ladies who are more amenable to the rules of the ton than myself."
Not after the hours Lady Boyle had spent drilling Thea on the ways of Society.
"There is knowing the rules and there is being a slave to them."
Thinking of the difference between Irisa and Cecily, Thea had to agree.
"I was sure my nevvy would up and marry one of that lot and then where would the family be? With an inconvenient connection, that's where."
Drake's family certainly was unique among the ton if they believed that a stickler for propriety was an inconvenient connection.
"There was no risk of that, I'm sure. Drake is a very independent sort of person. I cannot imagine him making the mistake of wedding a lady such as you describe."
Truthfully, she didn't want to envision Drake even dancing with another woman, much less courting her.
Lady Boyle shook her head sadly. "You don't know. He dangled after one miss, a pudding head if there ever was one. Thankfully, she married an aging peer and Pierson narrowly escaped making a lifetime mistake."
Thea did not want to discuss Drake's past amour. The only woman he had ever admitted to loving.
"It's all his father's fault, of course. Pierson set himself up to marry a paragon with impeccable bloodlines to prove to his idiot of a father that he is worthy."
Thea couldn't help admiring Lady Boyle's perception. She doubted that many people saw beneath Drake's confident exterior to understand his need for approval from a man who would never give it. Still, she didn't think Drake had actually planned to marry into the peerage. He wasn't so mercenary.
She said so to his aunt.
"Don't you believe it. He had it mapped out. Even convinced me to help him make a list of worthy candidates. He was going to spend this Season finding the perfect wife." Lady Boyle nodded. "I'm so very relieved that he had the sense to marry you instead."
Thea laughed, knowing Lady Boyle did not intend the words as they had come out. Her amusement was short lived, however. The news that Drake had planned to find a wife this Season disturbed her. She tried to tamp down the irrational jealousy it provoked.
Lady Boyle's eyes filled with concern. "Are you well?"
Thea pasted a smile on her face. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"You looked for a minute as if you'd eaten the lobster patties at the musicale. I felt terrible I hadn't stopped you when I heard what a commotion they caused among the guests. But when you didn't come down sick, I thought I must have been mistaken when I thought I'd seen you eat one."
Thea tried to make sense of what the dowager was saying. "Do you mean to say that the guests got ill after eating the patties?"
Lady Boyle nodded. "Oh yes. I told you that hostess was a skinflint. The food made quite a few people ill. Cast up their accounts until their stomachs were empty is what I heard. Good thing it didn't cause anything worse. Nothing more devastating for a hostess than to have someone die from the food at one of her entertainments. Have a hard time getting guests to come after that."
That was certainly one way of looking at it.
But the musicale hostess's future social success was not Thea's immediate concern. If Lady Boyle was right, and she had come to respect the dowager's nose for gossip, then Thea had not experienced morning sickness, was probably not pregnant, and had married without the least need to do so.
How did she feel about that? She couldn't say for sure.
Lady Boyle looked at her strangely. "Are you sure you didn't eat those patties?"
"If I did, they certainly wouldn't be affecting me now," hedged Thea.
"I suppose so. Maybe you should sit down. A wedding is a lot of excitement for a young gel like yourself."
Any other time, Thea would have laughed at the older woman's concern, but right now she thought perhaps Lady Boyle was right. Maybe she should sit down.
"Ah, there you are, nevvy. Looking much more presentable, I might add. You've worn your wife out. Take her to find some food and a place to sit."
"My pleasure."
Rather than showing approval for Drake's immediate agreement, Lady Boyle frowned.
Her gaze focused on something behind Thea. "I thought he was still out of Town."
The dowager's voice came out low, as if she were whispering to herself. Thea could barely make out the words. Who could have upset Lady Boyle so? Was the duke here? Would he be furious his grandson had married a woman in trade?
Though feeling like a craven coward, Thea did not wish to turn around and face the wrath of Drake's family. Instead she stepped nearer to her husband, seeking the security of his presence. He put his hand out to steady her, and she felt her heart constrict.
He looked into her eyes, his filled with concern. "It's going to be all right, sweetheart."
Rather than reassuring her, his words filled her with dread. Why hadn't he told her his family would be unhappy? He had implied that they would be thrilled at his choice in wife. Perhaps Lady Boyle was the only unconventional one among them.
Refusing to be intimidated by an unseen menace, Thea turned to face the newcomer.
And nearly fainted.
She heard a roaring in her ears, so could not make out the words exchanged between the man and Lady Boyle. All warmth drained from her body, and she clutched the air desperately behind her, seeking the solid form of her husband. His hand grasped her own, and some warmth seeped back into her. He pulled her near until she was standing close enough to feel the heat radiate from his body. Still, she did not speak. She couldn't.
The man was rather handsome in a cold sort of way. His black hair was sprinkled with gray, and there were lines around his mouth and eyes. From frowning or laughing? His eyes held polite interest and something else, annoyance maybe, as he spoke to Lady Boyle.
"I've come to be introduced to the guests of honor." He looked around the room with slight disapproval. His gaze had not yet settled on Thea and Drake. "Lady Upworth has gone to a tremendous amount of expense and trouble for Mr. Drake and his new wife. I thought I should meet them."
Lady Boyle nodded, still looking a bit peaked in Thea's opinion. "Yes, of course."
She turned toward Thea and Drake. "May I present my nephew, Pierson Drake, and his wife, Althea Drake?"
The man's cold gray eyes settled on Drake first as he offered his hand in greeting. Then they slid to Thea and he froze. His eyes grew wide, and for a moment all coldness left his face to be replaced with disbelief.
Did he recognize her? How could he? But she would know him anywhere. Lady Upworth had sent coun
tless sketches of him over the years. They were the only ones that Thea had never thanked her for, had never commented on.
Because she truly had no desire to know her father.
As he looked at her, his face lost all color. His eyes filled with fear and something that looked like longing.
His voice came out a croaked whisper. "Anna? Could it be you?"
"Anna Selwyn is dead." The words dropped like heavy, jagged stones from her lips.
The man, her father, blanched. "Yes, of course. She died after the birth of our son." The words came out as if memorized and uttered many times, lifeless and without meaning.
She refused to accept the lie. "On the contrary. She died several years ago from a fever that often kills Europeans in the tropics. She died with her son's name on her lips."
Her father—but she refused to think of him thus—Langley's knees buckled and he grasped blindly at a nearby table for support. "I…" His eyes burned with intensity. "You knew her?"
"Yes, I knew her."
His mouth opened again, but nothing came out.
Lady Boyle intervened. "I believe this conversation would be better conducted in a more private location." Although her eyes were filled with understanding, there was steel in her voice.
Drake placed his arm around Thea, pulling her into his side. "Perhaps later. It is time my wife and I left."
Thea did not resist as he led her from the room.
"Wait." Langley's voice was desperate. "I need to talk to you, Mrs. Drake. When can I call upon you?"
She did not turn around. She couldn't.
Drake answered for her. "If my wife wishes to speak with you, she will send word."
His voice did not invite further comment and Langley subsided. Or at least she assumed he had. He made no more attempt to prevent her and Drake from leaving.
She and Drake did not speak as he led her to the carriage and settled her against the cushions. He gave instructions to the coachman and then stepped up into the carriage and sat across from her. He must have sensed that she needed space to breathe. She felt as if her lungs could not get enough air.
The carriage had been making its slow progress through the London streets for several minutes before she spoke.
"He thought I was my mother."
"You must look like her." Drake's voice was soft, comforting.
"But my mother would have aged since he last saw her. How could he have thought I was her?"
"The shock of seeing you, looking so like her, after all these years would have done it."
"Twenty-odd years. He hasn't seen my mother since I was a baby. How strange. Although she died ten years ago, sometimes I feel as if I've seen her just yesterday. Is it the same for him, do you suppose?"
Drake didn't answer. He just looked at her as if waiting for something.
"What?"
"It must have been difficult to see him like that."
She drew her gloves off, focusing on each finger as if it mattered. "It was unexpected."
"It was a bloody disaster."
Her head came up at his harsh tone. "Why are you so upset? You've been pushing me to meet him all along."
He flinched as if her comment hurt. The truth sometimes did. She should know.
"You should have had the opportunity to meet your father for the first time in private. Your aunt should have left instructions for him not to be admitted."
"She could hardly do that to her own nephew."
"She bloody well could have."
Something triggered in her memory, and she felt herself staring at Drake as if seeing him for the first time. "You knew."
He raised his brows in inquiry. "Knew what?"
"Who he was. You knew he was my father before I said anything. You told me it would be all right."
His expression turned wary. "Yes."
"How?"
"Your aunt told me when I went to speak to her about marrying you."
He had gone to speak to her aunt?
Things started slipping into place in her mind, and although she was not morning sick, she certainly felt nauseous. "Lady Boyle said that you planned to find a wife this Season."
Although he did not smile, his eyes grew warm. "Yes, but you saved me the trouble."
"She said you wanted to marry a well-connected paragon."
He shrugged. "One's plans are not always reflective of the eventual outcome."
She nodded. "That is true. I am not a paragon." She met his gaze, her heart feeling battered. "But I am well connected."
His eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"
"Simply that you got what you wanted in a wife. Your insistence that I make amends with my father is beginning to make sense. You married an earl's daughter and want the ton, particularly your father, to know it."
"Bloody hell. What crackbrained notion has a hold of you now?"
She looked down at her hands. Why had she taken off her gloves? She couldn't remember. Her fingers were cold, like the rest of her. She started to slide her gloves back on her hands, carefully pulling each wrinkle in the silk flat.
Her ring fell into her lap and she slid it back on, over the glove.
She raised her gaze to him. "It isn't a crackbrained notion. You want to prove to your father that you are as good as he is, even better maybe."
Drake said nothing, his mouth set.
"You built a shipping empire until you could buy and sell him several times. That wasn't enough, so you made plans to marry high in the ton. You believed that would prove the circumstances of your birth did not matter. That although your parents had not been married, you were still considered above reproach."
His eyes had lost their concerned softness and now burned with angry disbelief. "You think I married you to prove something to my father?"
"Why else?"
He stared at her as if she'd gone mad. "What about our child, or had you forgotten that tiny fact while creating this ludicrous scenario in your head?"
She rested her gloved hand against her abdomen and felt grief. "The lobster patties at the musicale were bad. Several people got sick from them."
He didn't look like he understood what she was saying. She spelled it out for him. "I wasn't morning sick. I'm not pregnant. I did not have to marry you."
"Morning sick or not, you could still be pregnant. The fact is, we behaved irresponsibly and marriage was our only alternative."
She wanted to refute his words, deny that marriage had been a necessity, but what would be the point? They were married now, and a small voice tormented her with the knowledge that, necessary or not, it was what she had wanted.
"Believe what you will. Why didn't you tell me your plan to marry well?"
His laughter was harsh. "You make it sound as if I betrayed you. It is an accepted practice for both ladies and gentlemen of the ton to marry well. My plans to seek such a wife this Season are certainly nothing to upset you now. I married you."
"Yes, you married me. But you intended for me to take my place in Society. You tried to convince me to on enough occasions that you cannot deny it now."
He expelled a frustrated breath. "I believed that you would be happier knowing your family." He leaned forward, intensity shimmering in the air between them. "I did not marry you in order to fulfill some underhanded desire to prove to my father that I am worthy."
She couldn't maintain eye contact, so she dropped her gaze to her lap. "I didn't say it was underhanded."
He tilted her chin up with his finger and wouldn't let her look away. "You think I only want you to know your father so that you can be recognized as an earl's daughter."
"Yes, I do believe that."
He dropped his hand away from her face and sat back.
His face lost all expression. "I know my reasons for marrying you, and I thought you did, too. Apparently I was wrong."
"I suppose there is my half of Merewether Shipping. It makes a sizable dowry, does it not?" she accused, reckless in her desperation for
him to deny such paltry reasons for marriage.
"Believe what you like."
He tossed her words back at her with cold precision, and she wanted to weep. She needed him to convince her that she was wrong, that he had married her for something other than a plan calculated to prove his value to the rest of the ton.
However, he remained broodingly silent for the remainder of the carriage ride to his town house. Their town house, she corrected herself. For better or worse, they were married.
When the carriage stopped, Drake stepped out and then turned to help her down. As soon as her feet were safely on the ground, he pulled his supporting hands away.
She wanted to protest. Where had the intimacy they had shared in her aunt's sitting room gone? She had to acknowledge that its disappearance was her fault. Drake wasn't the one accusing her of nefarious motives in marrying. She sighed and followed him into the house.
It was a new structure, built in the current architectural style. She liked the simple lines and balanced proportions very much. She turned to tell Drake so, but her words died in her throat at the coldness in his eyes.
He introduced her to her household staff, instructed the housekeeper to show her to her room, and disappeared. He did not reappear for dinner, and she discovered he had left the house. When he had not returned by midnight, she gave up waiting for him and made ready for bed.
Although the events of the day had exhausted her, she could not sleep. Too many things competed for attention in her mind.
She had met her father for the first time. He hadn't looked like a monster, but then she knew he wouldn't. The thing that surprised her, the thing she couldn't get past, was the vulnerability she had seen in his eyes when she spoke of her mother. As if he had a wound that hadn't healed.
In his concern for her, Drake had rushed her out of the town house before she'd had a chance to see if her brother had attended the breakfast with Langley. Had he been there? The thought she had been within touching distance of her brother and not known it tormented her.
