Making up her mind, she summoned Lionel.
“I have decided not to wait. I shall take the Longley coach to London. I know his lordship keeps horses at posting inns. The trip can be done in good time, and Lady Longley has sent outriders. I will be quite safe.”
Lionel clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but should you not wait for your husband to return?”
“I am not sure when that will be, and I don’t want the earl and countess to be without their carriage. Mr. Montague can make the trip faster by horse once he returns.”
“Very well. I shall see that all is in readiness.”
“Thank you.”
Sadie was a little more recalcitrant. “Are you sure you want to do this? His lordship should return in a day or two.”
“I’ve made up my mind. I can look in on Papa while I am there. Mama’s last letter was not encouraging.”
Father had been ill for a long time, but Mama never seemed to worry. Her last letter had a different tone. All was not well.
She stared out at the gray day. A light rain was falling, and the mist was heavy. She remembered her first view from this window on a day bright with sunshine and hope. She’d been giddy with delight until she’d viewed the house, but she’d determined to make it a home. She’d been an optimist then, full of plans and expectations.
Now the view, like her outlook on life, appeared dark and miserable.
How quickly things change.
The coach was loaded, a basket with food items for the trip was handed up, and she and Sadie rolled away. John would be livid, but she didn’t care. He was already angry with her, as if it were her fault she was increasing.
His obsession with not wanting children was troubling. One of the reasons she wanted time with Miranda was to quiz her about it. He’d been told madness was often passed from one generation to the next, but how could that be true? She’d known a few people with batty aunts who were themselves sane and productive. Surely John’s conversations with physicians caring for people who were not of sound mind could not have been so frightening. He’d said he’d been the one who had investigated institutions. How many had he visited, and what were their reputations? Instinct told her the key to the survival of a happy marriage was convincing John he was wrong.
London is a better place to conduct research.
What she needed most was access to Lackington Allen and Company’s Temple of the Muses, her favorite booksellers, where she might find something written on the subject. She loved her village bookshop, but the stock was limited.
Happy with her plan, she tucked herself in a corner and tried to sleep. Sadie, sitting opposite, was already snoring. They would stop at two coaching inns, as she and John had on their wedding journey, and she should be well-rested when they arrived.
A tiny cramp made her shift her position. The leather squabs had good padding, and she moved to the opposite corner and stretched out. Better. Feeling serene, she closed her eyes, trying to shut off the thoughts in her mind. She needed to be in a peaceful place without distractions, a place where her emotions would not engage every time she saw her husband, a place where she could gather her ideas in a logical manner and be better prepared to put forth her arguments.
A knot of apprehension formed briefly, then passed. Perhaps she should have waited another day. Her tendency toward acting in the moment had gotten her into trouble in the past.
Posh. This is something I have to do.
She finally fell asleep, thinking of John.
~ ~ ~
It was done. The ship had sailed on the tide the second day after they arrived, and his tormentors were aboard. Now he must repair his relationship with his wife while dealing with her condition.
He’d dreamed of her holding a babe that screamed, not like a newborn, but like the adult inmates at Bedlam. He was awake now, unable to breathe. He rose from his bed and opened a window. A heavy rain was falling, and drops lit on his head and channeled down his cheek. The air smelled clean. A dog barked in the distance.
Closing the window, he dried his face, lay back down, and stared at the ceiling. How had he come to this? Without a doubt, Gwen was his life. He loved her with all his heart. Her presence in a room gave him peace. Her sunny smile and positive outlook gave him courage to move forward with new ideas. And her compassion for others, and her ability to see beneath the surface of people’s actions, awed him.
He’d promised her they would be best friends, that he would treat her as an equal in a world ruled by men and give her freedom to pursue her own interests. Her dowry had made his dreams possible. It was only fair she be rewarded with respect, trust, and freedom. What he hadn’t counted on was her longing to have children. He’d totally misunderstood what she’d meant by independence. And the tug of lust he felt in her presence, something he’d tried to ignore, was a natural culmination of the deep bond they shared.
If only Mother had not attacked Miranda, he might not have visited the secluded places where the ton kept their mad relatives.
He would have been spared the sights, sounds, and smells now permanently embedded in his brain.
Mother needed constant supervision. Rumors of other misdeeds had convinced them to keep her confined.
Maybe he was overreacting as everyone said. Maybe the doctors he’d talked to at the various private institutions were wrong.
Not all had been as forthcoming as the scholar who’d become his mentor. Dr. Gill had guided him through various rooms at private institutions. John had seen raving patients chained to walls, in one case a father and a son. Most of the physicians had been cautious. But Dr. Gill, the man writing the treatise on the origins of madness, had been sure of his findings, claiming years of research.
John had been decidedly uncomfortable—sick at heart—to think he, Jeremy, or one of their offspring might end up like Mother.
The seed planted that day had taken deep root.
He threw off the covers and paced the room in the dark. He’d broached the subject with other doctors he’d met, and no one had disputed the idea. Most said the mind was complex and there was not much research done yet. A few theories were put forth, but no idea could be discounted until evidence proved or disproved it.
Jeremy and Miranda had shaken their heads, not believing him and trying to dispute his apprehension. But he couldn’t help how he’d felt at the time. They hadn’t seen or heard the poor souls locked up for the rest of their lives.
He left the inn at sunrise. He had to get back to Gwen, discuss his fears with her, and listen—really listen—to what she had to say. She was his rock, the one who grounded him when he went off half-cocked, the one who coaxed him to apply logic and reason to his ideas.
He set out early knowing the ride would take all day. He rode as quickly as he could and smelled the difference in the air when he reached Yorkshire.
Woodhaven was home. Gwen and his future were here. The horse was tired, but he kept riding. He passed the tower and the ruined walls of the abbey, rode by the steward’s house which would soon be occupied by the Trevelyans, and stopped in front of his home.
The weather had turned cold. Winter would soon be upon them. The temperature reminded him to make sure there was wood and peat for the fireplaces and hay for the stable.
After handing his horse to a groom, he ran up the stairs, not waiting to remove his hat, coat, and gloves. He wanted to tell Gwen he was ready to listen, to make sure all was well for her during her confinement.
To tell her I love her.
He threw open the door of his suite and raced into her room.
The bed was made, and no fire burned in the hearth.
Was she up already then, or had she slept in his room? His heart thumped in his chest. Could she have missed him as much as he’d missed her?
The cat was on the bed, but Gwen was not there. He took off his outer clothing, as Ranaleigh was not expecting him. He’d gone without a valet for the brief trip, knowing it would be faster by horse when he returned.
Traipsing to the kitchen, he encountered Mrs. Bertram at work, her arms covered in flour. “Is Lady Gwen about?” he asked. “Her bed is already made, and no fire burns in her room. Surely she hasn’t gone to the tower on such a cold day.”
She dropped her dough and slanted a glance at the scullery maid behind her.
“Lionel is in the dining room polishing silver. Best you ask him, sir.”
Gwen was not with Lionel, but when he entered the dining room his old retainer peered at him with sad eyes.
“Is my wife about, Lionel? I cannot find her.”
“Oh sir, she has gone. Lady Longley sent a carriage, and Lady Gwen decided to take it to London and not wait for your return. Mary asked her to pen a message, but she said there wasn’t time.”
His heart plummeted.
Mary entered the room, her face somber. “I heard your voice and came right away. Lady Longley sent the earl’s coach, and milady took it. She said to tell you she thought it would be more comfortable for the trip and”—she looked at her hands—“it is not necessary for you to join her.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
He’d change, sleep, and be on his way at first light.
She was his wife, and he had to make things right between them.
He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 36
Gwen thought her legs would buckle beneath her as the groom helped her from coach. Her body ached from every lurch, every bump, and her limbs had numbed from sitting so long.
“Welcome, Mrs. Montague.” The butler bowed and escorted her up the front steps. “His lordship is not at home, and her ladyship is in the nursery at this hour. She said to take you straight to your bedchamber to rest, and she would see you at teatime.”
“I would welcome a rest. Please inform her I have arrived and look forward to seeing her.”
“I shall do it immediately, my lady.”
Maybry escorted her up the stairs and into the bedchamber she’d used to dress for her wedding. For a moment, sadness overwhelmed her. Had it been only a few months ago they’d said their vows in the garden? She’d been full of hope.
What happened to us, John?
Her throat closed as a tear slipped from her eyelid. She wiped the drop away with her gloved hand. Her chest felt heavy, like it was being squeezed between giant hands. She couldn’t breathe.
“Let me help you out of your traveling dress.” Sadie came behind her, took her bonnet, gloves, pelisse and set them on the dresser. Gwen let Sadie deal with the buttons and sleeves, and after removing the corset, she breathed better. Soon she would leave it off entirely. If it was unconventional, so be it.
“Shall I bring you a cup of tea?”
“No, Sadie. I wish to lie down. I’ll take tea with Lady Longley later.”
“Very well.”
Sadie departed, and Gwen lay with her eyes open and heaviness in her heart. John had wanted her to wait for his return, but she needed time to decide how to go on from here. Even though he didn’t want the child, he would never harm it. But harm could come in forms that were not physical.
She swore she would be a good mother, giving her children the same kind of attention Miranda gave James and her own father had given her. Papa had always been there for her and Reggie. She remembered her delight as a child when they’d been allowed to ride on Papa’s back. When they were older, he’d patiently taken them to museums and art galleries, and he’d taught them to appreciate the world of books.
John had not been given the same upbringing.
The chill in the room settled about her, but the cold came from dread. What would the future hold for them? They couldn’t go on like this, practically strangers in their own house. Now that the accidents were accounted for, Woodhaven should be their sanctuary, not a place where two people merely slept and ate and engaged in their own pursuits.
Wasn’t that the foundation of your marriage?
She sighed, turned over to face the wall, and tried to sleep.
Her eyes shot open as someone knocked. “Come in.”
Miranda stood framed in the doorway. “I expected you to come down for tea, but if you wish to remain abed, I certainly understand. Travel is tiring.”
Was it that late? Rubbing the tears from her eyes, she sat up and dangled her feet over the side of the bed. Her hair had come undone, and a few pins lay scattered on the pillow. “I shall need a few minutes to put myself to rights, but I certainly do not want to miss tea. I’m famished.”
Miranda crept forward, her mouth set in a frown as if she knew something was amiss. When she reached the bed, her gaze was unflinching. “I was surprised when Maybry told me John wasn’t with you. Is he well? Have you had more trouble at Woodhaven?”
Gwen attempted a brief smile, trying to put Miranda at ease. “The mystery of our accidents has been solved, but I’ll tell you everything at tea. Is Longley here?”
“Not yet. He has a series of meetings with the abolitionists today. They are trying to get every aspect of slavery abolished. It is a fine endeavor, but I suspect it is an uphill battle.”
“Then you have much to tell me as well.”
Miranda reached out and smoothed a tendril of Gwen’s hair. “I shall go back to the drawing room then. Shall I summon Sadie?”
“If you would.”
“It’s good to have you here.” Her arms closed around Gwen in a quick hug. “I shall save the berry tarts for you.”
She closed the door, and a few minutes later, Sadie entered to help Gwen to dress.
“Do you wish to leave off the corset, my lady?”
Gwen sighed. “If you would. I do not expect to see anyone but Lady Longley, and it would be much more comfortable.”
Dressed and refreshed, Gwen followed one of the chambermaids down the regal staircase to the blue drawing room. Miranda sat behind the tea table, pouring a cup. An array of sweets filled a nearby tray.
“You look wonderful. The rest did you a lot of good.” Miranda handed her the cup, and Gwen took a seat.
“I feel much better. Thank you for the use of your carriage.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes and sat back a bit on her side of the sofa. “You seem different . . . glowing. Your cheeks have wonderful color. I’d say marriage must agree with you except for the droop to the corners of your mouth and the sadness in your eyes. What’s wrong, Gwen? Why didn’t John come with you?”
Gwen placed her tart on her plate and faced her friend.
“I am increasing.”
Miranda reached over and wrapped her arms around her. “You are? That’s wonderful. Finally, someone has disabused John of his silly notions of generational madness. If anyone could do it, my bet would have been on you. When is the baby due?”
“Early summer.”
“How do you feel? I know you are an independent woman, and I was not quite sure if you wanted children.”
A soft, molten sensation swept over her. “I adore children and want my own above all else. But you are mistaken about John. He still holds his views. I . . . I don’t know what to do.” She was embarrassed that her voice quavered. She must be strong and resolute, not a watering pot in front of Miranda.
“That bounder! He sent you here alone? I shall not mince words when I see him next.”
“No, it was not John’s wish for me to depart without him. He was away and asked me to wait.” She hung her head. “I need time alone. I need to think. I cannot leave him. Our only place of residence is Woodhaven.” She hoped to see compassion in Miranda’s face. “Might I remain here until my confinement?
I promise not to be a burden.”
Miranda’s palm flew to her mouth. “My dear, is it that bad? You haven’t hit it off then. The marriage was a mistake. I am sorry. It seemed like you two were made for each other.”
“It is not that at all. We are best friends . . . or we were.” How could she explain this? Tell the truth. “I have an extra burden to carry.”
She faced Miranda squarely. “I have fallen in love with my husband. But I cannot live with him in name only, and that seems to be what he wants.”
It was the first time she’d spoken the words out loud. In her heart, she knew they were true. She ached for him, ached for the evenings of lively discussion, the silly games they sometimes played, the laughter they shared over nonsense. She missed the special treats he sometimes brought her. She missed their quiet evenings before the fire, both of them reading. She missed looking up and catching soft expressions on his face. Most of all, she missed the coupling, the passion, even though it had only happened twice. He’d awakened her to the delights of the marriage bed, then renounced it. Renounced her.
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and promised her friend she would not speak any more about this now. Instead, she retold the story about the origin of the fire, her tower accident, and other small occurrences she and John had finally traced back to Geoffrey and Elizabeth.
“What a horrifying story. To think you and John might have been killed if it hadn’t been for your bravery. I would not have ventured alone to an upper floor in the dead of night to investigate a strange noise.”
“More foolishness than bravery.”
“You’ve always had a more curious mind than most of my acquaintances, Gwen. I think that’s what drew me to you the first time I met you in the bookshop in London. You didn’t seem to care about rules. You were the epitome of kindness and answered only to yourself.”
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