A Wicked Pursuit (37 page)

“There’s been damned little progress that I can tell,” Harry said. “Not of late.”

“Now you should be the one who needs hushing,” she said. “Each day you’re getting stronger. I can see it, even if you refuse to. I would not be surprised if he finally gives you leave to put weight on your leg.”

“We’ll see,” he said, noncommittal. He refused to get his hopes up. It was his leg, after all, and while Gus was set on being cheerful about it, he didn’t share her optimism.

“In any event,” he continued, changing the subject back to their newlywed obligations, “after Peterson is done with me, we must begin our wedding calls. I saw that Celia left us a list of all the lady grandees who must be honored with our presence. They all live here in the West End, so I figure we can make four or five at a time. We’ll begin with the duchesses.”

“Duchesses,” she murmured faintly. “Goodness. Are there that many?”

“No more than a dozen are in town at present,” he said. Most new husbands didn’t make wedding calls with their wives, but he wanted to make sure that Gus was properly launched, and he was determined to protect her as much as he could from any casual social cruelty. “Remember that one day you’ll be a duchess, too, so you must not be intimidated. Four of them are in the family, anyway. There’s Celia, of course, and then her daughters—Diana, Charlotte, and Lizzie—who are married to my father’s cousins. I expect you’ll all be great friends.”

“I hope so,” she said faintly.

“You will,” he said. He knew the kind of social warfare that diverted London ladies, and he understood why Gus felt uneasy about plunging into those treacherous waters. “The ladies of our family are a formidable force, sweetheart, and as one of them, you’ll never have better allies. And next week, of course, is the Queen’s Drawing-Room.”

She let out a long, worried sigh, and pulled her hand away from his to clasp hers tightly in her lap. “Could not we go to a later drawing room, Harry? Her Grace said that Her Majesty holds them every month. Could not we wait a bit later, when I feel more—more at ease with society?”

“You can’t send regrets to Her Majesty, Gus,” he said, placing his hand gently over her tightly knotted fingers. “She knows we’re married, and she’ll be expecting me to present you to her.”

“But surely there are other ladies she wishes to see more,” she said, a quiver of panic in her voice. “Surely Her Majesty would not notice if I were not there.”

“I fear she would,” he said, “and others would notice our absence as well. We must appear at court, Gus. It’s expected of us, the responsibility and allegiance that comes along with our titles. I assure you that a great many days I’d rather be anywhere than listening to the drones in the House of Lords, but I sit there because it’s my duty.”

She sighed mightily. “When you explain it in such a fashion, then of course we must go,” she said. “But the thought of curtseying before all those people terrifies me. What if I stumble? What if I fall, there before Her Majesty?”

“Then you will hardly be the first to do so,” he said. “It’s not such a fearsome ordeal. You’ll wear your silver and gold gown from our wedding and stick tall white feathers in your hair like all the other ladies. We’ll walk up to where the queen sits, I’ll present you, and you’ll curtsey. That’s it. The queen won’t expect any wit from you, and besides, her own English is still so atrocious that she wouldn’t notice if you said the cleverest thing imaginable.”

Still she looked miserably uncertain, and he covered her hand with his for reassurance. “I know you’ll be a success, Gus. Be who you are. The ladies who’ll wish you to be otherwise aren’t worth knowing. That’s all you need remember. I can assure you that it’s a great deal easier than running an estate like Wetherby Abbey.”

She sighed. “Truly, Harry?”

“Truly.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek, taking care not to knock her hat askew. “Besides, I shall be with you through it all.”

“Will you swear to that?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. He would, too. He’d do anything she asked of him. “I’ll swear by anything you wish.”

At last she smiled. “I won’t make you swear any terrible oaths, Harry. That would scarcely be wifely of me.”

He smiled, too, but his words remained serious. “You were with me when I needed you most, Gus. The very least I can do is steer you through the rigmarole of calls and court. Ah, here we are at the park now.”

“Look, Harry, look,” she said, turning toward the window. “I’ve never seen so many people parading about!”

The day was a sunny one, and the park was crowded. Carriages of every description, some open, some closed, filled with ladies in extravagant hats, drove slowly up and down Rotten Row. Gentlemen and a few more ladies in riding habits rode on horseback, while a smattering of officers seemed determined to display both their scarlet coats and their spirited mounts.

“Oh, Harry, people are waving at us!” Gus said, flustered. “What shall I do? How do I reply?”

“You smile and wave in return,” Harry said. “There’s no other trick to it. They recognize the carriage, and they’re eager to see you.”

“Me,” she said in wonder, her eyes wide. “I still cannot conceive of anyone taking that much interest in me.”

“I fear it’s the curse of becoming my wife,” he explained, even as he hoped she wouldn’t come to think of their marriage in that way. “Ah, here are several of my acquaintances.”

Three gentlemen and a lady rode close to the carriage, clearly peering in at Gus as they nodded in greeting.

“Good day, my lady,” called one of the gentlemen as they passed by. “So good to have you back among us, my lord!”

“That
was
easy,” Gus said with such genuine surprise that Harry laughed again.

“By sunset the entire town will be praising you to the veritable skies,” he promised. “Your beauty, your gentility, the quality of your dress.”

“Goodness,” she exclaimed again, but she was smiling now, and as other carriages and riders passed them by she enthusiastically waved and returned their salutes.

By the time they’d driven back and forth along the King’s Way three times, he was quite sure he’d never enjoyed an afternoon in Hyde Park as much as he did with Gus.

“One last pass, sweetheart,” he said, “and then home. We needn’t begin dressing for evening until five or so, which should leave us time for a swift, ah, interlude, if you can be persuaded.”

She blushed and chuckled. “How exactly do you mean to persuade me, Harry?” she said, sliding her hand along the inside of his thigh. “If it’s the same way that you—”

“By all that’s holy, it
is
Hargreave!” exclaimed a young man on horseback, his leering face suddenly filling the window, with his friend behind him. “Risen from your Norfolk grave to return among the living?”

“Cobham!” Harry said, delighted to see so old an acquaintance, both from school and as a more recent partner in many late-night adventures, even as he regretted how quickly Gus’s hand had retreated from his leg. “Sweetheart, this is Lord Cobham, a very old friend, and there behind him is Lord Walford. My wife, Lady Hargreave.”

“Most honored, Lady Hargreave,” Cobham said, his gaze boldly wandering across Gus’s breasts—a bit too boldly for Harry’s tastes. Gus wasn’t another of their casual lady-bird conquests; she was his
wife
. “I say, Hargreave, we’ve heard such fatal things of you, that you’re quite the wreck. Happy to see they’re false.”

“Base exaggerations from the mouths of rogues and dogs,” Harry declared, striving for the same old familiar bravado. He was thankful he’d stowed his crutch below the seat, away from view, and that his leg with the brace was hidden by Gus’s voluminous skirts.

“Do you know there’s even a betting book open on you at the club?” Cobham said, as if this were the best jest in the world. “Greatest odds were that you’d knocked your head and lost your wits, and had been committed to an asylum in the north. Second greatest was that the surgeon had taken your leg outright and that you’d have a peg leg when you came back to town for entertaining the whor—ah, for walking.”

He glanced uneasily at Gus, mindful of what he’d just nearly said.
A peg leg
, thought Harry with disgust. At least the reality wasn’t that bad, but trust a dolt like Cobham to only see the lubricious possibilities.

“I suppose no one expected me to return with a wife,” Harry said, purposefully taking Gus’s hand.

“Not at all,” Cobham said soundly. “After Miss Wetherby returned without you and took up with Southland, we all believed you were done.”

“I did not lose my senses,” Harry said lightly. Apparently Cobham hadn’t heard that Julia and Gus were sisters, more fool he, and the longer Cobham lingered, the more he wondered how he’d ever been friends with the man. “I came to them, and chose the right sister to marry.”

“Oh, indeed,” Cobham said, embarrassed by the show of affection. “Tell me, Harry. Would you be up for sport on Wednesday? There’s a small wager involving some of the usual fellows, to see how fast we can cross the west corner of Hampstead Heath. You’ve always been the very devil in the saddle. Are you game?”

Harry’s smile stiffened. He hadn’t expected this today, not as long as he kept safely in the carriage. Yet the word would be out soon enough. He might as well put the truth out with it, too.

“I fear not,” he confessed. “Truth is, my leg still vexes me too much to ride.”

“Does it now?” Cobham said, craning his neck to try to see for himself. “Sorry to hear it, very sorry indeed. You know Harper at the club thought he saw you put down at Mildenhall, and said you were a proper gimp now. Never knew he’d be right.”

“Forgive me, Lord Cobham,” Gus said sharply, the first words she’d spoken. “But I am surprised one gentleman would describe another as a ‘gimp.’”

At once Harry put his hand on her sleeve, even as Cobham’s words sliced through his good mood like a knife.

“It’s well enough, Gus,” he said, praying she’d understand and say no more. “I
am
a gimp, a cripple, whatever Cobham wishes to call me.”

“I meant no harm nor disrespect, my lady,” Cobham said contritely. “It’s only to hear such unfortunate news of a fellow who once led us all—well, it’s a damned shame.”

“It is,” Harry said curtly. “If you’ll excuse us, Cobham.”

“Yes, of course,” Cobham said, wheeling his horse away from the carriage. “Good day, my lady.”

“Why did you tolerate that, Harry, when he so clearly insulted you?” Gus demanded furiously as soon as Cobham was out of hearing. “How can he pretend to be your friend and speak to you so?”

“Because Cobham can be an ass,” Harry said bluntly, then took a deep breath, struggling with both his temper and his frustration. “If you did not care for how he addressed me, then I did not care for how he looked at you. I have known him for years, but perhaps the time has come that our acquaintance will be, ah, of less importance to me than it once was.”

“I would never want you to break with a friend because of me, Harry,” Gus said, her eyes wide with concern. “If you wish to join him at that race, or whatever it was, you should go, and not worry about—”

“I have no wish to go,” he said, surprising himself. Only a few months ago, he would have been the first on the heath with Cobham and the others. Now their company held little appeal, and even if he could have ridden with them, he realized he would not have gone. He had been blaming the changes in himself on his injured leg, but perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps it was love that had changed him, and for the better, too.

Love, and Gus.

“I’ve no wish to join them in the least,” he said, more firmly. “I find I’d much prefer the company of my wife.”

“You are certain?” Gus asked warily. “I refuse to be one of those dreadful scolds who tries to dictate her husband’s affairs.”

“I cannot imagine you ever becoming a henpecking scold,” he said, smiling. “You’re my love, my wife, my countess, my champion, but never my scold.”

She lowered her chin, peeking out at him from beneath the ribbon-covered brim of her hat. “I am also your minx,” she said. “You mustn’t forget that.”

“I don’t, not for a minute.” He yawned dramatically. “I find I am weary of the park, wife, so weary that all I can think of is our bed.”

She grinned. “Then take me home, husband,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Take me home, and to bed.”

With a
sigh of pure happiness, Gus sank back against her chair in the theater box as the performers took their final bows, and finally left the stage. People in the other boxes were already rising from their seats and gathering their belongings to leave, but she wanted the magic to last just a little longer.

“That was
perfect
, Harry,” she said. “Poor Prince Hamlet! I knew from the beginning that he was cursed, and doomed to die, yet still I’d dared to hope he’d somehow be saved.”

Beside her, Harry smiled, sharing her pleasure. “I’m afraid old Hamlet never will be saved, sweetheart,” he said. “Not even Mr. Garrick would dare change Shakespeare’s ending, especially one that’s been popular for so long.”

“I suppose not,” she said, considering, as she tapped her fan on her knee. “But if it were left to me, I would have kept both Prince Hamlet and Lady Ophelia alive, so they could have wed.”

He laughed. “
Hamlet
was never meant to be a love story, Gus.”

“I know that!” she said, swatting his arm with her fan even as she laughed with him. “But it’s not just the play that has been perfect, Harry. It’s—it’s been everything about this entire evening.”

Her laughter faded to a smile as she gazed at Harry. He promised that they’d come to the theater as often as she liked when they were in London, but this first time would always be special in her memory. The candlelit playhouse, the music, the brilliance of the audience, and the wonder of the play had made it that way, but best of all had been having him beside her, her handsome, perfect love of a husband. Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him, a long and leisurely kiss, by way of a thank-you.

Afterward he smiled, so wickedly that she couldn’t wait for them to be home again.