But just occasionally, nasty little suspicions tried to creep into his mind. Was this man a lover from her past? And if she kept the letter from him, what else was she hiding?
He banished such unworthy thoughts with irritation and distaste, for he had come to know Deborah, her honesty, and her loyalty. She had never said she loved him, but she had given him every hope that she did. He refused to sour his burgeoning love affair with his wife by distrusting her.
She came home about half an hour after the Letchworths’ departure. He, trying to concentrate on his work once more, heard her voice as she exchanged pleasantries with Georgianna. But she did not come into the library.
Respecting her obvious wish for solitude, he gave her the time, forcing himself to concentrate on larger matters and finish his letter. Then, to clear his head, he went out for a walk. For some reason, he would have liked the companionship of a dog as he strode into the woods. If he couldn’t have Deborah.
Returning toward the house, he wandered around the gardens, which really needed long-term work, though the lawn and the terrace garden were largely tidied and cut, ready for the garden party. His heart lifted when he saw Deborah coming down the steps toward him.
He smiled and went to meet her. It was still a delightful novelty when she immediately raised her face for his kiss.
“Was your day pleasant?” he asked, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm and walking with her.
“It is getting better. How was yours?”
“Mostly constructive. Trying to get things in order so that we can leave for London next week. I shall need to see a couple of people there, but after that, we can flee to the continent and do just as we please.”
The flash of eagerness in her eyes was unmistakable. “Oh, I cannot wait! And yet, I shall miss Gosmere, even though I have not been here a fortnight!”
“It will still be here when we return.”
“And that will be lovely, too.” She frowned. “Will we take servants?”
“It will make things easier for us. We can hire you an abigail in London if you like.”
“Actually, I have got used to Anne.”
“Then take her by all means. I seem to have made Jordan my valet, too. They will be ill-trained by the standards of most, but if they suit us, why not?”
She squeezed his arm in agreement.
“How was your mother?” he asked, assuming she had waited for them when she had taken so long to come home.
“Oh, I did not see her. She and Lucy had gone to call on the Copsleys. The children were playing somewhere in the village, but I didn’t see them either.”
“Who did you find to spend your time with, then?”
“No one. I just walked—right outside the village, in fact, and then I had to walk all the way back to the carriage.”
Christopher felt his faint smile frozen on his lips. He had been so confident that she would mention the man Frederica had been so keen to tell him about.
She said, “Georgianna tells me they are all leaving on Friday.”
He forced his flippant response. “Even my grandfather? He must no longer feel you are a threat to the family. Rejoice.”
“Oh, I do,” she assured him. “But I was thinking. You mentioned new gowns some time ago, and I believe I would like to go to Chester with Georgianna and buy one at least for the party—perhaps more if I see anything I like.”
“An excellent idea,” he managed. “When would you like to go?”
“First thing tomorrow, so perhaps you should give me the money this evening so that I don’t need to wake you.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ll have them send the account.”
“They don’t know me. Or you, I imagine. Besides, I can keep a better account if I watch the money go down.”
“How much do you need?”
She seemed to swallow. “Perhaps two hundred pounds?”
As it happened, he had such a sum in the house, for paying the local bills they were incurring with the renovations. Nor did he grudge her it. It just seemed out of character. But then, did he really know her character?
“Of course,” he said. “But I have a better idea. I shall come with you and let Georgianna sleep late as she would prefer.”
Deborah laughed. To Christopher, it had a hollow sound. “Don’t be silly, Christopher. You may have excellent taste, but you are a mere man. It’s Georgianna I need.”
*
His mind was still racing in circles as he changed for dinner.
If he had to choose whether to believe Deborah or Frederica Ireton, there was no competition. He would believe his wife. He neither trusted nor much liked Frederica anymore, and she had clearly set out to sow discord, to hurt, if she could. He would not let her.
And yet, the trouble he still sensed in Deborah, combined with this mysterious man, seemed to disturb him. He did not believe he was a total figment of Frederica’s imagination. She had not plucked him out of the air as a weapon. He had been there, somewhere, connected to Deborah, however innocently.
And now she wanted a large sum of money urgently.
Was she running away from him? With this unknown man? His imagination balked at this. He could not imagine Deborah behaving in such a way. She would not run in secret. And yet, she hated confrontation.
Something was not right. She doubted him. She did not trust him with this secret. Whatever it was.
He had women in his past. He could hardly be angry about Deborah’s previous affections, and he wasn’t. But he did want her to talk to him about them, to understand his love was not so shallow that he would reject her for such a trivial reason as a previous attachment. And it must be previous, or she would have told him at the outset.
He paused in the act of unwinding his cravat. She had never said she loved Christopher. And he had never spoken the words to her. Which was not a conscious decision. He had merely been happy with the reality.
Throwing the cravat on the bed, he strode impulsively toward the connecting door. He didn’t knock, and he found her still in her day gown, examining the gowns in her wardrobe as if she had never seen them before.
At his entrance, her face lit up, banishing all his suspicions in one smile. He went to her and took her into her arms for a long, thorough kiss. Her eager, almost desperate response melted his heart and his body. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she pressed herself to him almost convulsively.
He drew back only enough to look into her beautiful, grey eyes, which were not calm at all. “You do know that I love you?” he whispered. “With all my heart.”
She gasped and buried her face in his chest. But she had not been quite quick enough to hide the expression in her eyes, which was not the joy he had hoped for, but something that looked terribly like dread. Still, she clung to him, maintaining his hope.
He waited, straining to hear his words returned. But she was silent too long, and his hope began to shrivel.
The outer door opened, and quick footsteps sounded across the sitting room.
“It’s Anne,” she mumbled, pulling away.
And there was nothing for him to do but let her go.
The maid stood aside for him in the doorway, but he paused long enough to say, “Georgianna knows nothing about your expedition tomorrow.”
“Well, no, I have not told her yet. I wanted your permission before I asked her.”
“Of course you did,” he murmured and went out.
*
Never had Deborah imagined she would feel pain at words of love from her husband. Somewhere, perhaps, she rejoiced, wallowed in his love, but the knowledge of her secrecy, which amounted, surely, to betrayal, drowned everything in sheer misery. Nor could she speak of love when she had just asked him for money. What if, when he learned the truth, he thought she had only said it to soften him up for fleecing?
Perhaps he would never forgive her for any of this. And yet, she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t put him in this much danger.
While walkin
g in the environs of the village that afternoon, she had made her plans that would hopefully save all of them and be rid of Barden once and for all. She hoped to rid Hazel, Lady Julianna, and Lady Meg of him, too, but she wasn’t sure that was within her control.
But, dear God, to stay silent when he confessed his love, tore her apart. If it hadn’t been for Anne’s presence, she would have collapsed on the bed in a heap of anguish. As it was, she stared blindly ahead of her, letting the girl dress her as though she were a doll. Only as Anne left again did she pull herself together and force her mind to think, her ears to listen.
She opened the outer door to the sitting room a crack, then sat and waited until she heard Christopher’s door opening and closing, and his rapid footsteps fading toward the stairs.
She rose slowly, for she wasn’t sure if his new valet lingered in the rooms. It didn’t matter if he was there. She could easily be looking for her husband, just as if she hadn’t known the precise moment he left.
She knocked casually on the connecting door and went through. The rooms were empty, so it was simple to walk through and open the cabinet. She took down the beautifully polished and inlaid box and opened it to reveal the two ornately carved dueling pistols. Removing one, she closed the box and returned it to its proper place before closing the cabinet and returning to her own chamber.
There, she placed the pistol in the drawer of her bedside table, on top of Barden’s crumpled, threatening letter. She closed the drawer, then straightened with grim determination. This would be the hardest dinner she had ever taken in his company.
Of course, she had no intention of going to Chester tomorrow. For one thing, she would have no money. But as soon as she entered the drawing room, she made a point of asking Georgianna for her company on the morrow.
“Of course,” Georgianna enthused. “Oh, I have such ideas on how to dress you! We shall transform you from merely beautiful to stunningly so!”
Startled, Deborah laughed. “I wish us both luck with that. It will involve an early start, I warn you.”
“I will summon my maid,” Georgianna said bravely. “With copious amounts of coffee,”
“Don’t want an escort, do you?” Dudley said uneasily.
“I have already been rejected,” Christopher reassured him.
“We’ll take one of your footmen,” Georgianna said as though bestowing favor. “He will complain less.”
The rest of the evening felt like agony. Although Deborah was tempted to flee to her rooms, where at least she could stop pretending, she did not wish to arouse suspicion. So she sat on in the drawing room, pretending to read while Georgianna chattered over her embroidery, and Dudley and Christopher talked about Rupert.
“I’ve asked my man in London to look into it,” Christopher said. “I’m hoping he will have definite answers by the time I go up to London next week. If they are what we seek, we can have the arrest warrant rescinded, and Rupert may come home at last.”
“I have written out a signed statement as to what he said to me afterward, and why I did not then act upon it,” Dudley said.
“Good,” Christopher said. “It can’t have been easy,” he added, and Dudley smiled gratefully.
“Then how in Hades do we let Rupert know it’s safe to come home?” Lord Hawfield demanded.
Christopher considered. “There’s an inn that I suspect knows how to reach him. But if we are out of the country, I should let my man handle that part of the matter, too. He is more used to the—er—seamy side of life.”
“Who is this low fellow?” Hawfield demanded.
“Not as low as you might imagine.”
Deborah closed her book. “I think I shall retire early before our expedition. Good night, all.”
As he often did, Christopher accompanied her to the door and opened it for her. Beyond, the gallery was deserted, and to her dismay, Christopher stepped outside the room and took her hand.
“Allow me to join you later,” he murmured, his eyes full of promise.
He had joined her and slept in her bed each night since they had returned from the adventure with Rupert. His presence as much as his loving had become as necessary to her as breathing. For that reason, she had hoped simply to lock the connecting door to discourage him.
And tomorrow, she could tell him all.
But for now, he awaited an answer.
She forced a bright smile. “Not this night, Christopher. I need to sleep before my hectic day’s shopping.”
“I will let you sleep.”
She swallowed hard. “I will sleep better alone.”
The hurt in his eyes almost broke her heart, but she had to be strong, had to inflict this wound to keep him safe. Tomorrow, she would explain. Tomorrow.
“Goodnight,” she said cheerfully and tripped along the gallery toward the staircase, hoping he could not see the shame and anguish that crushed her spirit.
Chapter Twenty
Oh, yes, something was going on.
Christopher closed the drawing room door on his wife and paced back across the floor, forcing his mind to think beyond blind hurt. Was she keeping him away because of him, the man at the inn? Because she had some secret assignation, or some trouble to resolve?
Had she discovered she was mistaken and his loving, in fact, disgusted her?
No, he didn’t believe that. No one could fake such instinctive response, such wonder, as she had with him only hours before. She might not yet love him, but she enjoyed his body as he did hers. This trouble was rooted in something else, something he knew nothing about. And he needed to find out what.
Abruptly, he swung around to face the others. “Goodnight.”
Although aware of their surprise at his suddenness, he did not explain it, merely ran up to his chamber and changed into riding breeches and coat. He seized a cloak in case the night turned cold and strode out.
A light still shone beneath the doors to Deborah’s rooms. But he would not disturb her, would not distress her by asking further questions until he had more understanding.
The grooms had all gone to bed, so for speed, he saddled Nightshade himself, collected a lantern for his return, and rode off in the thickening dusk.
*
The maid who opened Mrs. Shelby’s front door did not look pleased to be disturbed at this hour of the evening, although her face quickly smoothed as she recognized him.
“Mr. Halland! Come in, sir, and I’ll tell the ladies you’re here.”
That turned out to not be necessary, for the parlor door opened, and Stephen and Lizzie spilled out. “It’s Chris!”
“Forgive the intrusion, ma’am,” he said as Mrs. Shelby appeared anxiously behind the children. Lucy and Giles squeezed in beside her, which in any other circumstances would have been funny.
“Is Deborah well?” Mrs. Shelby asked in alarm.
“Yes, she is quite well, but I’m afraid she doesn’t know I am here. Might I beg half an hour of your time?”
“Of course, come and sit down. Giles, light the other lamp. Would you care for a glass of sherry? We seem to have rather a lot of it…”
Christopher’s lips twitched, but he accepted gratefully and sat down. Lucy presented him the glass and joined her mother on the sofa. From stools and cushions on the floor, the children all gazed at him as expectantly as the adults.
And now that he had their attention, he had no idea how to begin.
He took a sizeable mouthful of sherry. “Deborah is well,” he repeated. “But I am worried that she is…unhappy.”
“Oh, no,” her mother said positively. “I have never seen her so content. Have you, Lucy?”
“No,” Lucy agreed.
“She didn’t look happy this morning,” Lizzie said flatly.
Giles scowled at her.
“Well, she didn’t,” Lizzie insisted.
“You saw her this morning?” her mother demanded.
“Yes, in the village,” Lizzie replied. “We saw the carriage, but she didn’t notice
us, just walked straight into the inn.”
“And she was unhappy then?” Christopher asked, although his heart sank at mention of the inn.
Lizzie exchanged glances with her brothers.
“I thought she looked determined. Brisk,” Giles said reluctantly.
“But unhappy when she emerged?” Christopher prompted. “How long was she there?”
“About half an hour,” Giles said, shifting uncomfortably. Clearly, he didn’t like talking about her like this, as though he’d been spying or was telling tales. “And yes, she was unhappy then. She walked like an old woman. Lizzie tried to run after her, but I stopped her. I could tell Deb wanted to be alone.”
“Something did happen at the inn,” Christopher said, frowning into his glass. He raised his gaze to Giles’s. “Do you know if she spoke to anyone there?”
Again, the children exchanged glances.
“She was in the coffee room with someone,” Giles said.
“We saw them through the window,” Stephen explained, and Giles glared at him.
“I shan’t be angry about her speaking to someone,” Christopher said. “I just want to know why she is unhappy. Who did she meet in the coffee room?”
“A man,” Giles said reluctantly.
It was like a knife in the heart, but Christopher kept his gaze and his voice steady. “Did you know him?”
The children all shook their heads.
“His name is Mr. Crosse,” Lizzie piped up. “And he’s a fine London gentleman.”
“How do you know that?” Christopher inquired.
“We asked Mrs. Briggs, the innkeeper’s wife.”
Christopher was silent, drumming his fingers on his knee as he thought. Whoever this man was, either seeing him or listening to him, had changed Deborah from brisk to thoroughly unhappy. But the trouble he had sensed in her had not begun this morning, but when she had received the letter she immediately concealed. He suspected this letter was from this Crosse.
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