“Come in, come in,” Claire invited, slipping an arm through hers once Mallory had divested herself of her cloak. “I’ve put dinner back an hour so you would have time to refresh yourselves. The family has been arriving all day long, and everyone is here except Cade and Meg. But then that’s only to be expected, what with the long journey they have from Yorkshire. They’ve sent a note that they will be with us by noon tomorrow.”
Claire led her into the drawing room, leaving the others to follow. “You look positively radiant. Marriage must be agreeing with you.”
“Yes,” Mallory said, aware of Adam where he stood only a few feet away. “It is.”
“Unless there’s another reason,” Claire coaxed in a lowered tone. “You’re not with child, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet.”
“Well, soon I expect. Forgive me, but I suppose I am rather preoccupied with babies at the moment, considering how many there are in the nursery at present, including my own dear Hannah. Then again, perhaps my curiosity is due to my own exciting news. You see, I am with child again.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mallory reached out and gave Claire another hug.
Claire beamed. “Edward says he doesn’t care about the sex, but I feel sure it’s going to be a boy this time. The next Marquis of Hartsfield.”
“Ah, so you’ve shared the happy tidings,” Ava Byron said, joining them.
“Mama!” Mallory turned, going into her mother’s arms for an exuberant embrace.
As they moved apart, Ava took Mallory’s hands in hers, then stepped back to appraise her with a shrewd expression in her clear green gaze. After a moment, she nodded and released her hands, clearly satisfied with whatever it was she saw. “You’ll do.”
Mallory’s lips quirked. “I’m relieved you think so.”
“You’ve good healthy colour in your cheeks again, and the old twinkle is back in your eye. Adam is obviously taking good care of you.”
“Very good,” Mallory agreed, glancing toward Adam, where he stood in conversation with Ned.
Her mother’s brows knit. “And this business with your major? I was never so astonished in all my life as when you wrote me with word of his return. How are you faring in that regard, sweetheart?”
How am I faring? She pondered.
Even now it seemed like a strange dream that Michael was alive and well, and that her long months of mourning had been naught but a sad misunderstanding. And yet out of its misery, she knew she’d discovered something wonderful and unexpected with Adam—a love that, no matter her qualms, she could in no way regret.
Glancing over, she met Adam’s gaze. He smiled and raised a quizzical brow, the expression in his beautiful, melting brown eyes sending a shot of warmth through her chest. Smiling back, she shared a moment before turning again to her mother and Claire.
“I am well,” she replied. “And Michael Hargreaves is no longer my major. He is an eligible bachelor once again.”
Ava paused, a slightly arrested look on her face. “You are quite right. You are Adam’s wife and a most beloved one at that.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
For a faintest instant she thought about confiding in them about Adam’s jealousy when it came to Michael but decided against it. Such matters were between her and Adam and no one else. Besides, his jealous feelings were no longer an issue now that she’d revealed her love and reaffirmed her unwavering fidelity to Adam.
“Oh, but you must be dying for a few minutes’ rest and relaxation,” Claire said. “I’ve put you and Adam in your old bedchamber unless you would prefer one of the connecting suites. I can have the housekeeper make other arrangements.”
Mallory shook her head. “My room sounds lovely. And this time no one will huff and bellow when they find Adam in there with me.”
Claire and Ava stared for a second, then began to laugh.
“What has you ladies so vastly amused?” Jack inquired, arriving just then with an obviously pregnant Grace on his arm.
The three of them laughed again, Mallory deciding the holiday promised to be a good one.
Over the next two weeks, Mallory more than enjoyed herself, making merry with an entire houseful of Byrons, including brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and an assorted array of cousins, both young and old.
The rooms were fragrant with the scents of freshly cut holly and pine boughs, the hallways ringing with laughter from morning tonight. Groups gathered to indulge in a steady stream of amusements and winter activities designed to keep everyone entertained. The meals were large and lavish, the formal dining room crowded to capacity each evening. Afterward, the family would retire to the drawing room to drink cups of sweet syllabub or hot, spicy wassail, play guessing games and sing carols.
At night, she and Adam lay snug in her old bed, consummating what they’d once started in that room with none of the earlier restrictions impeding their enjoyment.
Christmas Day arrived amid much gaiety, everyone returning from church services to tear into a literal bounty of gifts. Mallory wasn’t sure who was more astonished at the number of presents piled at her own feet—she or her relations. As she began to unwrap boxes, everyone watched with fascinated smiles as one exquisite piece of jewellery after another was revealed.
“I told you I’d buy you something for every day of the week,” Adam murmured in her ear, grinning as she gasped aloud over a lustrous strand of pink pearls fastened with a ruby clasp cut in the shape of an oyster shell.
There were also an emerald bracelet, a sapphire diadem, amethyst earbobs, a diamond-and-peridot brooch, and an opal ring that sparkled mysteriously in the sunlight. But by far her favourite was the simplest piece of all, an oval gold locket engraved with roses that opened to reveal space for two special keepsakes.
“You’ll have to give me a snippet of your hair for this,” she told him as she held out the locket for him to fasten around her throat.
His lips curved in an indulgent smile before he dropped a kiss against the nape of her neck. “And what shall you put inside the other half?”
She paused, rubbing a fingertip over the engraved cover. “Hmm,” she mused, “I believe you will have to wait and find out.”
Chuckling, he tipped back her head and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss. “Merry Christmas, Mallory.”
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
The next few days slipped past at a pleasant pace for Mallory, New Year’s and Twelfth Night celebrations close at hand. Along with the festivities came the usual talk of fresh starts and resolutions, which reawakened thoughts of Michael.
She wondered how his own holidays had been and if he’d shared them with his family. She hoped so. She also worried what he must think of her and whether he despised her now. There’d been no contact between them at all since that one contentious meeting the day of his return. Yet in spite of the apparent finality of their parting, she still couldn’t help but feel that nothing had been resolved between them, no true good-byes had been said.
Seated alone now in her bedchamber—Adam having joined the men in a snowy ride across the estate—she found her old concerns rising once more. This was the season when all things began anew, and yet so much old business remained, she thought.
This was a time for forgiveness and understanding, and yet none of that existed between her and Michael. Her conscience plagued her like a crow picking carrion, guilt looming as if it were a dark shadow stretched across her soul.
She realized that until she made peace with her feelings of guilt and with Michael, she would not rest properly. Until she offered some explanation for what he must see as her betrayal, she would never be completely happy.
Of course, there was her promise to Adam. She’d vowed not to see Michael again, and she would keep that vow. And yet, she hadn’t said anything in regard to writing to him.
Worrying the edge of a fingernail between her teeth, she considered the idea. She supposed some might argue that she w
as splitting hairs if she wrote to him. Then again, what harm could one letter do, especially if it was intended merely to put things right, to end matters properly between her and Michael.
She needed her treatment of Michael off her conscience.
She needed to say one last and final good-bye.
Without giving herself more time to consider, she stood and crossed to her rosewood escritoire. Taking out paper, pen and ink, she sat and began to write.
CHAPTER 25
Mallory and Adam returned to Gresham Park soon after Twelfth Night, leaving the family behind with fond farewells and promises to visit again soon.
Once they arrived home, Mallory exited the coach, then stepped over the threshold into the comforting warmth of the newly refurbished front hall with its wide walnut-and-gilt entry table, Sheridan side chairs and delicate cream wallpaper with crystal wall sconces.
After handing her mantle and muff to Brooke, she exchanged greetings with the butler, who showered her and Adam with happy tidings for the New Year and their safe return home. She could tell the servants had been busy in her and Adam’s absence. Everything was neat and gleaming, the air redolent with the harmonious scents of beeswax polish, bayberry soap, and sweet ash from the well-tended fireplaces.
“I trust the staff enjoyed a good holiday?” Mallory asked, drawing off her gloves.
“Yes, your ladyship. Quite excellent. Everyone was most appreciative of the fare you provided for the Christmas feast, especially the wild geese and the oysters.”
Mallory smiled. “And all was quiet otherwise?”
“Very quiet, save for the usual revellers come to call. A few others paid their respects and left a number of gifts and calling cards. In fact, today’s post has just arrived. Shall I sort through now, then bring it up to you in the drawing room?”
“That’s all right,” Adam said, reaching out a hand. “No need for any bother. I shall take it now.”
With a nod, the butler went to retrieve a stack of mail waiting on the sideboard.
Adam accepted the offered missives and began flipping through. Pausing, he drew out a pair of envelopes that looked suspiciously like invitations and a magazine that Mallory recognized as La Belle Assemblée. “Yours, I believe,” he said, passing the items to her.
She smiled her thanks before the two of them moved away from the butler. “I believe I shall retire upstairs and change out of my traveling clothes,” she told Adam. “Are you coming as well?”
He shook his head. “I think I’ll stop by my study first and see what has been piling up while we’ve been away.”
“Just don’t get too busy and forget the hour.”
“Never fear, I’ll be along soon.” Bending down, he kissed her. “Maybe if I time things right, I’ll find you in your bath.”
She shot him a saucy look. “Mayhap you shall.” Trading another smile with Adam, she walked to the stairs, then made her way up.
Inside his study, Adam retrieved a silver letter opener from his desk and applied it to a missive he’d kept carefully tucked out of Mallory’s sight.
After perusing the contents, he crushed it in his hand.
Hargreaves.
The bald-faced nerve of the man. So he wanted to meet with Mallory when she was next in Town, did he? Well, the major could wait and go on waiting, since he was never going to see Mallory again—in Town or out. As for the major’s letter, there would be no more of those. He would see to that as well.
In regard to Mallory, he supposed he ought to show her the note and discuss the matter with her. She had given her word she wouldn’t contact Hargreaves again and to his knowledge she was honouring her pledge.
Yet he couldn’t help but recall her initial concerns about cutting Hargreaves off without an explanation, how she’d wanted to put things “right” between them. She was simply too tender-hearted for her own good, unable to see that matters could never be put right, not given the circumstances. Michael Hargreaves had lost her and despite the major’s sterling reputation as an honourable man, Adam’s gut warned him that Hargreaves would use every advantage to win her back.
It’s what I would do, Adam thought, were our roles reversed. Marriage vows or not, nothing would keep me from her side.
No, he decided, it was better if Mallory knew nothing of the major’s attempts to contact her. When Hargreaves received no reply, he would cease his efforts—eventually. Until then, Adam would do whatever was required in order to keep the major away from Mallory, including censoring her mail.
Beginning today, Brooke would have explicit instructions to bring all correspondence to him first before passing it along to Mallory. Nor was the butler to discuss this minor epistolary detour with anyone else in the household, most particularly the countess.
A niggling twinge of unease rose inside him, but he ruthlessly pushed it aside. Very probably he was acting like a jealous idiot, but he couldn’t take the risk. Nothing seemed too extreme if it meant preserving his marriage.
Crossing to the fireplace, he picked up an iron poker and gave the logs a good, sharp stir, red embers flying upward as white ash crumbled away. Replacing the tool in its holder, he tossed the major’s letter onto the fire, watching with silent satisfaction as it curled and blackened in the hungry flames.
Only when the missive was fully consumed did he turn away, walking back to his desk to browse through the post once again.
Tossing the other correspondence aside soon after, he went to the stairs and started up, savouring the notion of not just finding Mallory in her bath but joining her.
Ten days later, Mallory pulled the edges of her green-and-rose-embroidered cashmere shawl closer around her shoulders before snuggling deeper into the comfortable width of a library high-backed armchair. A cheerful fire snapped in the nearby hearth, the room pleasantly warm despite the frigid nature of the late January day.
Concentrating on her novel, a deliciously lurid tale of murder and romance that she’d borrowed from Meg at Christmastide, she paid little heed to the occasional burst of snowflakes swirling in the air beyond the mullioned windows.
With Adam away for an afternoon meeting with one of the local squires, she’d decided to spend a few quiet hours reading. It was a luxury she rarely enjoyed these days, given the callers who often dropped by and the demands of running the household. But she and Mrs Daylily had already met this morning to review the accounts and plan the week’s menus, and it was unlikely that anyone would be calling on such a raw, inhospitable afternoon.
Nearly twenty minutes later, she’d finished one chapter and was beginning the next when a rap came at the door. Glancing up, she discovered Brooke on the threshold.
“Your pardon, milady, but a gentleman has arrived. May I announce him?”
So much for my quiet afternoon, she thought with an inward sigh.
“Yes, of course, please show him in.” Marking her place in the book, she set it aside, then rose to her feet. She brushed her palms over the skirts of her winter white day dress to smooth them into place, wondering as she adjusted her shawl which one of her neighbours had decided to venture out into the cold after all. She hoped whoever the gentleman was, he hadn’t come to see Adam, or he would find himself sorely disappointed over a wasted trip.
Then Brooke was at the door again. “Major Hargreaves to see you, my lady,” he announced.
Her fingers tightened abruptly against her shawl.
“Michael!”
Hargreaves strode into the room, attired in trousers and jacket of dark brown superfine rather than his uniform. His thick blond hair lay tousled around his head, as if he’d run impatient fingers through it while he’d been waiting. His keen grey eyes met hers, suppressed agitation clear in their depths.
“That will be all, thank you, Brooke,” she said, dismissing the servant, who withdrew on silent feet.
Leaving a polite distance between them, Michael executed a bow. “Lady Gresham, thank you for receiving me. I was not entirely certain of my welcom
e.”
She paused, remembering the last time they had been in the same room together, remembering as well her promise to Adam not to see Michael again. Yet what was she supposed to do under the circumstances? She couldn’t very well have him tossed out of the house, not without allowing him a chance to tell her why he’d come. Though why had he come? Surely her letter had said everything that needed saying.
“Of course you are welcome,” she said with a false brightness that masked her concern. “Have a seat, and I will ring for refreshments. The…um…weather being what it is, I think a cup of hot tea would not go amiss.”
With an abrupt nod of agreement, he took a seat while she crossed to the bellpull.
Returning, she resumed her own seat.
Only moments after she did, he sprang to his feet once more to pace the length of the room and back. He stopped, briefly met her gaze, then made another circuit. “You are well?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, quite well.”
She wasn’t sure she could say the same for him, his complexion still too pale, his long body far too thin.
“And your family?” he continued.
“Everyone is in excellent health. And your own?”
“Fine. Well. Everyone is well.” He raked a set of fingers through his hair, pacing once more before he stopped, his shoulders sinking. “Forgive me, I know I should not have come. I waited until Gresham departed, and even then I hesitated to call on you.”
“Why have you called, Michael?” she asked in a soft voice. “Did you not receive my letter?”
“Yes, I received it and read your explanation. And yet I could not help but wonder why you have refused to answer my reply.”
A tiny frown creased her brows. What does he mean? His reply?
He paced a few more steps. “I suppose you feel I’ve overstepped coming here today, and yet given everything we once meant to each other, I could not leave things as they stood.” Stopping, he locked his gaze with hers, his grey eyes searching, beseeching. “Do you truly wish to sever all future connection between us, or do I recognize the work of someone else’s hand in this? Your husband’s perhaps?”
Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed Page 28
