He rose in a more leisurely way. “We can go via the dower house and collect Gates if you like.”
In sheer panic, she was about to leave him to do that while she simply ran back to the house alone. Except it came to her, she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be with him. Her husband, the man who had kissed her.
“Very well,” she murmured, walking beside him, aware of his easy stride, his every movement, the brush of her skirt against him.
Theirs was a marriage of convenience, she reminded herself, with each free to follow their own hearts. He must never know that her heart seemed to be following him.
*
Christopher didn’t know what had made him kiss her. Except that she had looked so pretty and wounded and brave, and that he’d wanted to do it since last night when they had parted at her bedchamber door. He could have ruined everything with that kiss, and certainly she had jumped up like a startled gazelle when it had ended. But she hadn’t stopped him. It hadn’t been a threatening kiss, merely a moment of impulse, to see…what?
If she could tolerate his advances? He had only won her on a promise of keeping his attention to himself and leaving her free to pursue her own interests. And if she did…if she took a shine to Dudley? Or Letchworth? Or Gates? Or any other man in the country? He’d expire of possessive jealousy.
Dog in the manger, he mocked himself. She’s only your wife in name.
But did she have to remain that way?
He began to smile, reining in his stride as he realized she was trotting to keep up with him. He liked her being there, so close. He liked her partnership. He didn’t want to fall in love with his wife.
Although it might be fun, a tempting voice began to whisper, to see if he could win her…
You’ll ruin everything, idiot, he warned himself.
Or win everything?
Chapter Seven
Aware that his wife was going to find dinner something of a trial, Christopher made sure to go early to the drawing room. He found only his cousin Dudley there with a glass of sherry.
“You’ve brightened this place up, old fellow, I’ll give you that,” Dudley observed.
“Deborah’s doing.” Christopher poured himself a glass of sherry from the decanter and turned to find Dudley looking uncomfortable.
“Sorry about all of this,” Dudley murmured. “But he would come right away, especially when he heard about the scandal surrounding the girl.”
“How did he hear about that?” Christopher inquired, perching on the arm of a chair.
“Might have been me, Chris. Sorry! Never entered my head it was the same girl, only then I had it from a friend that it was…”
“Having met her, you’ll realize it’s a parcel of nonsense.”
“Oh, of course, yes,” Dudley said hastily. “Charming lady, everything that’s proper. But you can’t pretend she married you for anything other than money and position.”
“Same reasons I married her. It may not be a grand love match, but I won’t have her slighted or insulted, and if either of you dares—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, old fellow, I assure you.” Dudley threw up one hand to signify surrender. “And even the old gentleman knows that approach isn’t going to work.”
“Hmm.” Christopher regarded him with a quick frown. “Why the devil are you here at all, Dudley? Not like you to involve yourself in my grandfather’s fights.”
Dudley shrugged. “Wasn’t sure if I should hold him back or let him have at you, to be honest. Don’t bite me, but I heard nothing good about the girl.”
“Hmm.” Christopher frowned. “You mean this scandal at the Princess of Wales’s house? You read the article?”
“I did. Don’t normally pay attention to these rags—full of petty gossip and innuendo—but the women named by initials were all Her Highness’s ladies.”
“But only two of them are on duty at once. Don’t you think it odd that four of them were named as being there?”
Dudley shrugged. “Never struck me, to be honest. Not really privy to the workings of the princess’s household. To be honest, I wouldn’t have paid much attention, but a friend of mine was there and saw them, including Juliet Lilbourne and Meg Winter, and no one would dare name them without some truth!”
“Perhaps, but who would know who Miss D.S. is?” Christopher demanded. “A duke’s daughter is news, but by the world’s standards, the daughter of a country clergyman is not. She doesn’t move among the ton.”
Dudley picked up his sherry once more and sat down. “Someone au fait with Her Highness’s household. Don’t see what you’re getting at, old fellow.”
“The whole thing smacks of malice,” Christopher said bluntly. “Who told you D.S. was Deborah Shelby? My wife?”
“Don’t recall now. Wait, I think it was Grassic, had it from Barden—who may be the Regent’s snake, but at least he knows the princess’s household.”
Christopher thought about that. “And you told my grandfather this?”
“I did when I heard who you had married.” Dudley cast him a defiant look. “Seemed only right.”
“Well, you may take it from me, it’s lies. She was tricked into that house by a false summons purporting to come from the princess, and she spent the night locked in a room with the other ladies for their own safety. Far from participating in the orgy, they had nothing to eat or drink all night and fled when it quietened down at dawn.” He cast his cousin a challenging look. “Willing to tell that to my grandfather?”
“Tell him yourself, old man,” Dudley invited, and indeed the sound of stately footsteps could be heard approaching the door. “But take my advice. Don’t wind him up.”
Christopher had already resolved on civility unless his grandfather lapsed into insult, and so merely welcomed him with a smile and poured him a glass of sherry. There was no further time for conversation since Deborah and Gates arrived then, and he was obliged to introduce the latter.
As he did so, he noticed his grandfather’s gaze flickered to Deborah, and then came back for a second glance.
Christopher didn’t blame him. She wore a simple evening gown of dusky pink silk with a single string of pearls at her throat. Her shining blonde hair was becomingly dressed to emphasize the delicate features of her face. Her calm, gray eyes and pleasant smile concealed whatever turbulence went on beneath.
Christopher swelled with pride in her. She looked ladylike, dignified, and beautiful. The contrast between this reality and whatever harpy his grandfather had imagined was complete. And only Christopher could have known what it cost her.
Without asking, he took her a glass of sherry, which she accepted gratefully with a fleeting smile, but she did not cling to him. Instead, she sat near his cousin and asked him if his chamber was comfortable.
“Perfect, I assure you, ma’am,” Dudley replied.
“We’ve begun redecorating some of the bedchambers,” she explained. “In fact, a large part of the house, so I’m afraid you will find it all a bit chaotic and inconvenient.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “It is visitors who must be inconvenient at such a time.”
Normal social politeness had been restored, Christopher thought wryly. His cousin’s words acknowledged her as lady of the house and placed his grandfather firmly in the role of visitor. Which was sensible, for there was really nothing anyone could do to change matters. Although there were endless possibilities for unpleasantness if his grandfather chose to take them.
In fact, over dinner, his grandfather seemed to be biding his time where Deborah was concerned and chose to pick a quarrel over the school instead.
“So you’re the poor dupe my grandson has roped in to run this ridiculous school?”
“I shall be running it, yes,” Gates said with a faint smile. “Although I don’t consider myself a dupe, and I respectfully take issue with the description of ridiculous. In fact, it was I who laid the idea before Mr. Halland.”
“Well, it’s a dashed
silly one,” the old gentleman retorted. “Waste of time and money. There may be merit in teaching the lower orders to read, write, and count, though most of the time, even that isn’t necessary, to educate them beyond that is pointless. For one, they have no aptitude, and for another, even if they did, there is no opportunity for them to work. What gentleman would employ a laborer’s son to educate their children? Or have such a person ordained in the Church? Who would trust a quack with such a background?”
He smiled thinly. “Even if you manage to educate these people—and I take leave to doubt you will—all you will achieve is a group of over-educated young men, unemployed and unemployable. Too discontented to go back to laboring and so with nothing else to do but foment trouble among their own class and threaten the proper order of society.”
“That is speculation and opinion, sir,” Christopher pointed out. “Not fact. We hope to have the evidence to prove you wrong before too much longer.”
“Having run through your entire fortune in the effort,” his grandfather said with contempt. “And you won’t do it. The very idea is flawed, and I very much doubt you will ever get it off the ground. What poor man is going to give over his son to be educated for years when he could be working and contributing to the family?” Without warning, he swung on Deborah. “You want to tell him this, my dear, before he spends your pin-money along with all the rest on this foolish enterprise.”
She may have felt like a hunted deer suddenly facing a gun, but she showed no sign of it, merely looked up from her fish, and smiled faintly. “Oh, I believe the finances of the project are already calculated. Besides, I am quite in favor of the school. It seems an excellent idea to me.”
The old man’s lip curled. “You will be advocating for them to take in girls, too, next.”
“Actually, I believe that would be an excellent idea. Although, practically speaking, it would require more change in society’s attitudes. And those of the universities.”
The old man stared at her, and Christopher tensed, ready to step in before the outburst. Then his grandfather broke into laughter. “It would,” he agreed between gusts of mirth. “I don’t know whether you’re unworldly or just being humorous, but either way, I thank you for the joke. What do you say to that, Chris? Educating girls, sending them to university?”
“There’s no real reason why not,” he said mildly. “Though I don’t see it happening in my lifetime. Pity, but there it is. However, I’ve never really seen reason in condemning clever women like Deborah to learning little more than accomplishments to attract husbands.”
“Is that what you learned?” his grandfather shot immediately at Deborah, and Christopher almost bit his tongue at his own stupidity.
Deborah said calmly, “No, not really. I was educated by a governess to be a governess.”
“Then what happened? How did you end up with the Princess of Wales?”
“My father’s friend, who became a bishop, put my name forward when there was a vacancy. We were surprised when I was accepted.”
“And how did you then meet my grandson?”
“He nearly rode me down on the path from the village to Coggleton House.”
Lord Hawfield’s eyes gleamed as he turned to Christopher. “Immediately after quarreling with me over your inheritance?”
“Exactly,” Christopher said. “I was in an ungovernable rage and had to apologize for my recklessness the following day. When we decided we should suit very well.”
The old man’s smile did not reach his eyes as he glanced at Deborah. “I won’t wish you joy, my dear, but I do wish you luck. You’ll need it.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Christopher murmured, laying down his knife and fork.
It was not in Deborah’s nature to draw attention to herself and become the life and soul of a party, but her calmness and her agreeable conversation eased the family tensions. He noticed a puzzled expression on his grandfather’s face more than once, for she did not fit any of his “categories” of women. She was not an empty-headed girl or a grasping woman. She did not flirt or demand adulation. She made intelligent contributions to any topic of conversation, often with quiet wit, and yet never interrupted or disparaged her guests’ opinions.
In short, without even realizing it, she was the perfect hostess. He told her so in a quiet murmur as she left them to their wine, and she sent him a quick smile of relieved gratitude.
Thanks to Gates’s presence, even his grandfather didn’t feel able to make comments about the new Mrs. Halland over the brandy, and so Christopher was almost relaxed as they joined Deborah in the drawing room.
She was reading a book, so lost in it, that she actually jumped when Christopher opened the door. Immediately, she cast the book aside and rang for tea.
Christopher strolled over and, from curiosity, picked up the book. It was Marcus Dain’s description of his travels in the east. It gave him a moment’s thought, as a memory slipped into his mind—Lucy Shelby asking about wedding trips. He had never even thought of such a thing and had asked Deborah if she cared for it in the full assumption that she would not. And she had shaken her head.
It had been enough for him, then. Now, he knew a twinge of shame, for he had seen and heard only what he wanted to.
His grandfather had paused by the pianoforte and now looked toward Deborah. “Do you play, my dear?”
Christopher noted that he never called her by name, not even the formal “Mrs. Halland”. Either would have acknowledged her as family, whereas my dear allowed him an air of amiable condescension and distance.
“A little,” she replied. “But the tuner will not come until Monday.”
“Oh, come, no excuses! It cannot be so very badly out of tune. Indulge me.”
“If you wish,” Deborah replied.
Without fuss, she sat down at the instrument and began to play.
A few of the notes were very slightly out of tune, but somehow it did not detract from her performance, which was both sensitive and charming. He found himself gazing at her, rapt, from her slender fingers to her expressive face. He felt as if he was a youth again, enraptured by the accomplishment of some beauty who had caught his erratic attention.
But Deborah was no air-headed debutante. Nor would she have been regarded as a beauty by Society’s opinions. But she was beautiful. He had never appreciated the difference before.
He blinked, realizing he was in danger of being caught spellbound by his own wife, which would only embarrass them both. Instead, he glanced at his grandfather, who looked, if anything, slightly chagrined. No doubt, he had wished to show her up, but he should have known that anyone who intended to be a governess would have had at least some skill on the pianoforte.
Dudley led the applause when she finished. Even his grandfather clapped politely. Deborah, however, flushed and looked embarrassed by the praise. She seemed relieved by the arrival of tea and occupied herself with pouring it out.
He could not help being glad when their guests chose an early night, so he could only imagine how Deborah felt. He was just pleased she didn’t immediately run off to her own chamber.
He went to the decanter and poured two glasses of brandy, bringing one of them back to her.
“I expect you need it,” he said wryly, and she took it with one of her quick, oddly charming smiles.
“I don’t believe I have ever drunk brandy.” She sipped it warily. Her eyes widened, and she licked her shapely lips before taking another.
He dropped into the chair next to hers. “You deserve it. Well done. You managed them beautifully. I hope it wasn’t too much of an ordeal.”
“Actually, no,” she said, sounding surprised. “I find it easier to be with strangers when I am the hostess. I understand what I’m meant to do, and I just kept reminding myself that I was your wife with not only the right but the duty to look after them.”
“Did you suffer at the princess’s?”
“No. But it was…different. I had other duties, and I was alw
ays with a more senior lady. Lady Meg was most helpful.”
“Meg Winter?”
She nodded. “Do you know her?”
“A little. I know all the family. If Meg is a friend, has she written to you?”
“No, not since we parted in London. Why?”
“I was just wondering about this scandal at the princess’s house.” He sipped his brandy, then said abruptly, “There is some spite afoot there that has included you, though I can’t work out who would do such a thing or why. Whoever did it has made enemies of at least two powerful families, and no one would do such a thing lightly.”
“The Prince Regent might. He need not care about mere dukes or earls, and he would not regard our lost reputations as anything important if he could humiliate his wife one last time.”
“Barden,” he murmured thoughtfully. “The Regent’s snake.”
“Lord Barden was there,” Deborah said. “Hazel thought he saw us leave the house in the morning. Perhaps he thought knowing such gossip made him important.”
“Perhaps.” Christopher wasn’t convinced. He sipped from his glass, considering it. “Do you know him well? Does he have any reason to dislike you?”
“He never spoke to me. I think I conducted him once into the princess’s presence. Beyond that, I never spoke to him.”
“And yet you were brought there that evening as the others were.”
Deborah thought. “The princess did not like Lord Barden. In fact, shortly after I began there, she refused to speak to him and insisted the prince send a different gentleman when he communicated.”
“Did she say why?”
“She told me he insulted Hazel Curwen, another woman of the bedchamber, who was with us that night. But if Hazel spurned him and caused the princess to complain about him, why would he involve the rest of us? Including the daughters of important noblemen?”
“I have no idea,” Christopher admitted. “In any case, let us not worry about what we cannot change. I expect our marriage will make him look silly. I meant to send a notice to The Morning Post, but I will certainly do so tomorrow.”
Married to the Rogue Page 8
