Scandal's Bride

by Gibson, Pamela

  “I have become quite fond of gardening. I would adore having daffodil bulbs. Shall I send the groom to collect them?”

  “If you like.” She sipped her tea. “Or you could accompany your husband next time he visits the vicar. Then I could show you my flower beds, although nothing is in bloom at the moment.”

  “That’s right. John visited you quite recently to thank your husband for recommending tenants for the farm cottages we are refurbishing. I’m glad there were families looking for farms. The land has gone too long without being in productive use.”

  “You sound like a farmer’s wife, my dear.”

  “I do, don’t I?” The thought made her smile. She and John were a team, and they’d accomplished a great deal. She picked up her cup and examined the pattern. A border of birds fluttered around the edge of the cup. Unusual, but pretty.

  The tea was hot and sweet, and her companion was charming. She must ask John if they could visit the vicarage soon. He’d said something about church on Sunday, but Sundays would be busy for both the vicar and his wife. Perhaps she could visit the garden another day.

  “Did your husband find what he was looking for when he visited us?”

  Had John lost something?

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “He did spend quite a long time going through those old marriage, birth, and death books. I believe he quizzed Mathew about the woman, but she’s never attended services in the village, at least not while we’ve been here.”

  “Woman?” Gwen’s joy in the evening plummeted. John had been quizzing the vicar about a woman, and she had a sinking feeling she knew who it was.

  “Why yes. Elizabeth Addersley. I believe her father was one of your tenants. Apparently, he’s passed away, and the young woman is alone there now.”

  “She’s grieving and needs to remain until she makes plans.” She kept her voice steady and bland.

  “Grieving? I saw her two days ago, driving past the vicarage with a gentleman. She was not wearing black.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “She wore no bonnet, and her hair is unmistakable.”

  The tea was cool, but she gulped it down too fast, sputtering as she choked. Lady Livesley brought her a clean, folded handkerchief to swipe at a spot on the skirt of her gown. John had gone into the village two days ago to purchase the curricle. Surely he would have told her if he’d seen Miss Addersley and given her a ride.

  “Please return the handkerchief after you launder it.”

  “Of course.”

  The doors opened, and the gentlemen filed in. John hurried over to her. “Are you ready to depart?”

  “I am.”

  She forced a smile, promised to visit the vicarage soon, found her sour hostess, and bade her good night. John escorted Gwen to the courtyard where they’d left their conveyance, helping her up.

  The horse’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the portico where lanterns set on both sides lighted their way. The gate was open, and they crossed the bridge over the stream and headed home.

  She adjusted the blanket over her lap. Stars twinkled brightly in the sky, but there was no moon tonight. Cold seeped through her pelisse straight into her bones. She longed to be home in front of a warm fire.

  Home.

  John helped her alight, and she twisted away, heading for her room. He gave instructions to the groom, who drove the conveyance toward the barn.

  “I thought we’d stay up and rehash the evening. But if you’re tired, it can wait.”

  She swallowed and pulled her pelisse closer. “Not at all. I believe it would be beneficial to discuss the evening. I’ll join you in the sitting room as soon as I change into a warm nightgown and robe.”

  “I’ll make sure the fire is stoked.”

  They went to their separate rooms. Sadie was waiting for her and took her stained gown away to be laundered. Wrapped in her oldest nightgown and warmest robe, Gwen made her way to the sitting room. John wasn’t there, but the kitten was awake, leaping at an imaginary bug in the corner of the room. He tired of the game and scampered off into John’s room.

  Gwen’s nose twitched, and she sneezed. Lord, she hoped she wasn’t going to be ill, but she’d shivered with cold all the way home.

  Lord a mercy, an ague is all I need.

  She spotted her reticule on her writing desk and extracted the handkerchief Lady Livesley had loaned her.

  Be sure and launder it.

  Hah! As if she’d send something back soiled.

  She unfolded the dainty square, put it to her nose, and stopped. Lowering it, she spread out the cloth, searching for what had caught her eye. Tiny stitches formed an unusual design in the corner. Simple in execution, the figure was done in black threads.

  It was the beak and eye of a bird.

  Chapter 25

  Eager to share her discovery, Gwen hurried into her husband’s bedchamber. He stood naked to the waist in front of a bowl, splashing water in his face. He grinned. “Did you wish to try out this bed tonight?”

  She backed away and averted her eyes from her husband, gazing instead at a black lump in the middle of the bed. “Romeo, what are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be in my room.” The lump turned over on its back and raised four paws in the air.

  “He’s pretending to be dead so Ranaleigh won’t notice him.” John grabbed his velvet robe and belted it tightly at his waist. “I have a feeling you didn’t come in here for romantic reasons. Shall we repair to our private sitting room and share our impressions of the evening over glass of port?”

  “We shall. I have something to say.”

  He grimaced. “I thought you might. You seemed quiet on the way home—not your animated self.”

  She returned to the warm room, plopping in front of the fireplace. Although covered from head to toe, she drew a light blanket over her lap and tucked it around her. A loud sneeze had her reaching for the handkerchief.

  “Are you ill, Gwennie? Shall I send for a tisane? Or perhaps some elderberry wine?”

  “Perhaps if this sneezing persists. I got chilled in the carriage and haven’t quite recovered yet.”

  “I’d offer to play ladies maid and tuck you up, but if you are feeling not quite the thing, I shall leave you be. Although I love teasing you, my dear. You blush so prettily.”

  “Not tonight please. I want to show you something.” She unfolded the handkerchief and handed it to him.

  He frowned. “Where did you get this?”

  “It belongs to Lady Livesley. Remember when I told you I’d seen the design before but couldn’t remember where? It must have been the day I paid a morning call. She had an embroidery ring and was stitching. I must have glimpsed the bird visage when she set it down.”

  He narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin with his forefinger. “I wonder if she is connected to the Hawksbury family. I believe the baron’s surname is Wentworth, but I could be wrong. Hawksbury could be a family name on his mother’s side.”

  “Lady Livesley is a proud, arrogant woman. She is also fastidious. She cannot be the one who left the button in the room where the fire started.”

  “No, but someone left it.” He poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to her.

  She gazed at the tawny liquid, sniffed it, and wrinkled her nose. “I thought we were having port.”

  “Sip it slowly, Gwennie. It will burn going down. But if you are chilled, it will make you feel better.”

  She eyed the liquid and took a small sip. Letting it warm her mouth, she swallowed. “’Tis bitter.”

  “An acquired taste. Consider it medicinal.” He watched her for a moment and shifted his gaze to the fire. “What did you think of the baron’s children?”

  “The elder son seem
ed pleasant enough. He sat next to me before we went into dinner and made polite conversation. Lady Charlotte seems to take her direction from her mother. I do not think I saw her smile once during the meal. As for the younger son, he is as sour as a lemon. You were across from him. What did you think?”

  “He was decidedly unpleasant, angry even. If looks could kill, my body would be rotting in the churchyard. Several times he made rude remarks and didn’t even try to hide his animosity toward me. Except for the incident with the phaeton, which his father claimed to be an accident, I do not believe I have ever seen him before.”

  “It was the first time I’d met the brothers. Neither attends church.”

  “I wonder which of the brothers is acquainted with Miss Addersley. During one of my visits, there was a phaeton behind the cottage. I suspect it did not belong to her.”

  Gwen set down her glass. “Speaking of Miss Addersley, why did you not tell me you researched the Addersley family when you went to see the vicar? I thought we were not going to keep secrets from one another.”

  He winced. “I was afraid you’d find out.”

  “But why, John? Surely you know I am as interested in our mysterious tenant as you are.”

  He sipped his brandy and seemed to come to a decision. “The day I first encountered Elizabeth, she told me she thought we were cousins. My mother was an Addersley.”

  He persists in calling her Elizabeth.

  The tightness in her throat wasn’t from her illness. Her husband was all too familiar with the beautiful tenant, even though they might be related.

  “And is she?”

  “I’m not positive, but I did discover both Elizabeth and her father were born in this house. Remember I told you an ancestor won the estate in a card game, and when it became my grandmother’s property, she left it to me? I think Elizabeth’s family must have occupied it until my grandmother died and they discovered she had bequeathed the property elsewhere.”

  “How old were you when she passed?”

  “I believe I was ten or eleven. Jeremy used to tease me about being a landowner before he was.”

  “Have you asked Miss Addersley about all this?”

  “I haven’t seen Elizabeth since before the fire.”

  She averted her eyes and twisted her fingers in the blanket on her lap. “I heard you gave her a ride in the new conveyance on the day you went into town to buy it.”

  He gulped his brandy and set the glass down hard. “I don’t know who told you that, but it isn’t true. Even if I had offered her a lift, it has nothing to do with you or our relationship. Do you not trust me?”

  “Trust once broken is hard to regain.”

  He stood and towered over her. “I’m going to bed. Do you wish the cat?”

  “Don’t disturb him if he’s comfortable.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He stalked out, his back rigid.

  Oh Lord, I’ve done it now.

  ~ ~ ~

  John moved his feline lordship to the foot of the bed, shed his robe, and climbed in. Why did Gwen persist in thinking he had an interest in Elizabeth? Since his marriage, he’d had no interest in any woman other than his wife.

  He thought of her now—sad eyes, twitchy nose, bundled up like it was snowing outside, her hair in a long braid. She seemed genuinely hurt that he’d failed to tell her about the Addersley connection, but he’d been afraid she’d ask questions about Mama, and he didn’t want to answer them.

  One day soon you have to tell her. If she discovers yet another secret . . .

  He shuddered, folded his hands under his head, and stared at the underside of the bed canopy.

  The cat crept up to settle next to his head. He reached up and stroked the soft fur. “What shall I do, Romeo?”

  What he wanted to do was fold his wife in his arms, tuck her head under his chin, and assure her he was there to keep her safe and happy. He was her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from locked towers and unwanted suitors. If a fire-breathing dragon thumped along the lane, he’d slay it.

  He smiled to himself. He sounded like a man in love.

  Love. There was that word again.

  He did love Gwen. She was his best friend, his rock, his confessor. She’d bandaged his hand when he’d cut it on a sharp piece of metal. She bandaged his soul when he became discouraged. Did he walk around spouting poetry and other romantic nonsense? Of course not. That kind of love was for idle gentlemen who paid morning calls and didn’t have calluses on their hands or a stack of bills to be paid.

  The kind of gentleman I once was.

  He blew out the candle and turned over, careful not to roll on the small ball of fur next to him. He’d like to get up right now, go into her room, and apologize for his churlish behavior.

  What he really wanted was to invade her bed, rip off her nightgown, and make love to her until dawn. He loved the soft mewling sounds she made when his tongue stroked her nipples. He loved the way she squirmed and thrust when he laved the sensitive nub at her core.

  Instead of a knight, I sound more like a ravisher.

  He’d forgotten to include lust when he’d been analyzing love. Oh yes, he lusted after his wife. Just the thought of her hardened his cock. He seemed to lose his reason once he was in her bed, and the protective devices he used were not foolproof.

  Especially when you forget to use one.

  He thrust the covers aside and got up, walking over to the window. Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he peered into the black night. Answers about the Addersley connection might be found at Longley, but he would have to go there without taking Gwen. The deed to the property might shed light on past owners. He hadn’t found it among his papers.

  Sleep eluded him tonight. He put on his clothes. Making as little noise as possible, he trooped down the stairs and out the door, stopping on the front steps to put on his boots. When he was restless, he walked. The exercise helped clear his mind.

  A cold wind bit into his cheeks, and a night bird called in a nearby tree. Stars were still out, and he could see well enough to make his way down the lane. He would keep to the road and go only as far as the tower, near the junction with the road into the village.

  Hooves pounded dirt in the distance. John moved off the lane into the shadows as a lone rider galloped past.

  Who could be out this time of night? Someone else who could not sleep?

  The rider took the fork in the road toward the cottages. When the hoofbeats faded, John turned and walked back toward the house. Perhaps one of his newer tenants had passed the time in the local tavern and was late returning.

  But it was puzzling. Most were family men who began their day at dawn.

  He scratched his head and picked up his pace. Yawning, he could sleep now, but he’d made a decision.

  He’d find a logical excuse to go to Longley, see what he could find in those old crates full of Father’s papers he and Jeremy had carried to the attic. He’d wait for one of her good days and try to get Mother to talk about the Addersleys who had occupied Woodhaven Abbey. Perhaps she even knew something about the Hawksburys.

  If there was a connection between the two families, he would find it. He could not rid himself of the uneasy feeling that the mishaps that had befallen them at Woodhaven were not accidents.

  But why? And who?

  Surely not Lord Livesley. He’d been more than helpful, selling him sheep, recommending workmen, inviting him to dine.

  He must find the answer.

  It was the only way he and Gwen would find peace in their new home.

  Chapter 26

  “Why can’t I accompany you? You know I like to travel.” Gwen tilted her head as if waiting for his response.

  She was suspicious, but he couldn’t relent. This was too import
ant. “I told you. I must go to Longley for a few days to go through some old papers of Father’s for Jeremy.”

  “Why can’t your brother do it himself?”

  “Parliament will soon be in session. He’s preparing to take his seat in the Lords.”

  “Does this business have anything to do with your search for illegitimate siblings?”

  “No. I’m searching property records.”

  “Something to do with Longley then.”

  “Yes.” And the Addersleys of Woodhaven, but if he told her that, she’d insist on accompanying him.

  She folded her arms, her bottom lip protruding. “It’s less than a two-day journey. Once there, I could visit with your mother while you conduct your search. I still haven’t met her.”

  Thank God.

  “You’ve been sniffling. I don’t want you to go out in the cold until you are well. Besides, Mother is ill. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make her worse.”

  “Bugger it.” She stomped her foot.

  Her pout was adorable, and he wanted to laugh but kept a straight face. “What did you say?”

  She lowered her eyes. “I beg your pardon. I should not swear. It is a decidedly unladylike trait.”

  He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you even know what that epithet means?”

  She grimaced. “No. But Reggie said it often enough.”

  “I suggest you do not use it again.” He turned to her. “I’ll only be gone a few days. When I get back, we’ll go to York. You said you wanted to visit the town.”

  She considered his words and seemed to brighten. “All right then. But I still don’t know why I cannot go with you to Longley. Mary says it’s beautiful there.”