Marriage of Inconvenience (17 page)

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, facing her. “That makes me very happy.”

She had not seen such a look of pleasure on his face in a very long time. “Then my previous abhorrence to nobility displeased you?”

“I was not happy about it, but it was one of those compromises that are part of any successful marriage.” He continued on toward the library.

Only the fire and a single wall sconce lit the cool chamber when they entered it. “I should like for us to go stand by the fire,” she said.

Near the fire the temperature was comfortable, the fire’s warmth welcome. As the two of them stood there in the dark room, he thought of another night the two of them had stood before a fire in a dimly lit library. “Do you know what this reminds me of?” he asked.

“Of course. That’s why I wanted to walk here straight away, why I didn’t want you to light the lamp.”

He drew closer to her and spoke in a low, husky voice. “And why would that be, my lady?”

“I don’t know that I can put it into words. I believe we both discovered that night in Lord Warwick’s library that there was a connection between us which could grow and flourish—under the proper set of circumstances.”

“Yes, it was the same for me.” He came even closer and gathered her into his arms. He liked the feel of her head nestled into his chest and her arms encircling him. “I want to thank you.”

“For using your title?”

“No. Yes.”

They both laughed.

“What I meant was, while I am delighted that you’re no longer ashamed of my title, I wish to thank you for everything you’ve done to make tonight one of the best nights of my life. I cannot remember when I’ve enjoyed anything as much as the play.”

“It was wonderful, but Emily deserves all the credit. She has such amazing vision and tenacity.”

“I was proud of her.” He dropped soft kisses into her hair, which smelled of rose water.

“Weren’t the lads adorable?”

“Yes, and despite the costumes I had no difficulty recognizing them.”

She pulled away and looked into his face, grinning.

“Where are your spectacles? I know you were wearing them during the play.”

“They’re in my pocket.”

“And what, may I ask, are they doing in your pocket?”

“I hardly need them to stand here with you in this darkened chamber.”

“Why did you remove them?”

She shrugged.

“Come now, Rebecca. I know you don’t do anything unless you have a good reason.”

“If you must know, I wished to look pretty.”

His pulse accelerated. She wished to look pretty for him. She had circled her arms around him. She must be falling in love with him, but he would not press her. She would reveal her feelings in her own time. He lifted her chin and kissed the top of her nose. “You’re always pretty to me. With or without your spectacles. Now, pray love, put on your spectacles. I’ve become accustomed to seeing you in them, and I find the image much to my liking.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. There’s something magical about tonight, and I want to believe...”

“That you’re beautiful,” he murmured, “because you are.” His head lowered to brush his lips across hers for a sweet kiss. “In fact, my lady, I find you are much to my liking.”

It was one of the disappointments in his life that he’d never told a woman he loved her. Neither he nor Dorothy ever pretended that theirs was a love match. After four decades of life, he’d come to believe there would never be a love match for him. Dorothy had told him he was a bore, yet Rebecca truly enjoyed being with him. She did not seem to find him dull. Why could he not bring himself to utter the words
I love you?

“I did not realize how much I liked you until that morning you told me you had to leave. I felt as if I were losing my best friend.”

“That’s because we have become best friends.” Why, then, would she not share with him her P. Corpus identity? Now that she had no aversion to his title, her concealment was the only obstacle to this becoming a blissful marriage.

But it was a formidable obstacle. He had learned with Dorothy that if truth wasn’t the cornerstone of a marriage, its very foundation would crumble. His chest tightened. He didn’t want this marriage to crumble.

“Yes, I discovered that when you left.”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Me, too.”

“I am very happy to hear that. When you did not even ask if I wished to join you in London, I thought perhaps that...you might be tired of me.”

He broke out laughing.

“I fail to see what’s so funny.”

“You, my dearest. How can one get tired of one who shares one’s thoughts?”

The door to the library banged open, and Chuckie came strolling in, rubbing his eyes.

“Why are you not helping your brothers take down the sets?” Aynsley asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized something was wrong.

Rebecca moved to the child. “What’s the matter, love?”

“My ear hurts.”

She glanced from Chuckie to him. “Has he had this problem before?”

He frowned. “He gets beastly sick when it happens.”

Tears began to roll down Chuckie’s chubby cheeks. “Mawk said when he was little one time when he was sick he got to sleep in the big bed in the countess’s room with our other mother.”

Her voice softened. “Did you want to come sleep with me tonight?”

Nodding, he burst into sobs and fell into her arms.

Aynsley’s heart swelled as he watched them together.

And he knew he loved his wife deeply.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he gusty winds whistling relentlessly outside her bedchamber that night reinforced her deep sense of contentment as she lay warmly snuggled in the darkness with Chuckie beside her and the velvet curtains enclosing their bed. He had gone to sleep soon after his head hit the pillow. She prayed her thanks to God for sending her to John and his family.

As she did every night, she continued to pray the Bible verse from Matthew that had guided her relations with Emily during these past several weeks.
Bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.
Not that Emily hated her. Rebecca knew there was much good in her stepdaughter. She could well understand how difficult it must be for Emily not only to have a complete stranger supplant her as mistress at Dunton but also to steal away some of her father’s affections. In time, Emily would come to understand Rebecca would be her champion, never her enemy.
Please let it be so.

Before she dropped off into sleep, she decided that the next day she would find a way to tell John she had fallen in love with him. She was quite certain she was smiling when the blanket of sleep rolled over her.

Her sleep, though, was short-lived. Chuckie awakened, crying from the pain of his earache. How she wished it could have been she and not this sweet child who had to endure the pain, and how she wished she had an inkling of what could be done to relieve his pain. It was times like this she felt totally inadequate to be a mother.

She fleetingly thought of how miraculously laudanum relieved pain, but she remembered a horror story back in Virginia of a two-year-old girl who died after her mother gave her laudanum when she was sick. Though the mother had blamed her child’s death on the sickness, Rebecca’s papa insisted that no child should ever take laudanum, that it was too potent. The very notion of losing Chuckie caused Rebecca’s heartbeat to quicken, her stomach to clench.

Why did he have to get sick late at night? Were it daytime, she could have sent for a physician. Was there even a physician near Wey? She would find out first thing in the morning. If there wasn’t, she would send someone to an apothecary in Birmingham.

But what to do now? She drew him into her arms and was terrified to discover he had fever.

While Rebecca was only too aware of her own limitations, she realized the nurse had more experience than she at such matters. “Come, my love, we’ll go see what Beaver thinks. She’ll know how to make you feel better.” Carrying him in her arms, she went to his bedchamber and tapped at the door. A moment later, Beaver opened the door. She stood there in her nightcap while tying a wrapper around her ample waist.

“I’m beastly sorry for disturbing you,” Rebecca began, “but I thought you might know some way of relieving Chuckie’s ear pain.”

The old woman nodded. “Indeed I do. All the Compton children ’ave suffered with ear complaints. Just you wait ’ere. Beaver will be right back with some warm mint oil to put in me laddie’s ear.”

Rebecca went to the rocking chair and began to rock the whimpering child. “I’m so sorry, my love. We’ll help make you feel better.”

“Then can I come back to the big bed with you?”

She held him a bit closer while thanking the Lord for the gift of this child. She thought at a time like this Chuckie would naturally prefer the nurse who had been with him all his life over the stepmother he had known but for a few weeks. How very blessed she was to have earned his affection. “Of course you can, my little love, if that’s what you want.”

Minutes later Beaver returned and administered the drops into his sore ear. When she finished she asked if he wanted warm milk.

He shook his head, tears trickling down his cheek. “Me hot.”

Rebecca gave the old nurse an imploring look. “Any advice for combating fever?”

“I hates for your ladyship to have to worry with this. It’s me job to take care of me laddie.”

“No matter which of us he’s with, I would still worry about our lad. I rather fancy looking after him when he’s sick, but I will need guidance from you, my dear Beaver.” She truly did not want to offend the poor nurse, whose feelings were already bound to be bruised because Chuckie had chosen Rebecca over her.

“Mostly what I know about fevers is they always just have to run their course. They say the fever’s what gets the bad stuff out of the body. The pity of it is, they always seem to come at night.”

“Is it best to cover him—or not to cover him?” Rebecca asked.

“Let him be your guide, milady. When the chills come, pile on the blankets. When the heat sends the vapors flowing from the body, allow the coverings to come off.”

Rebecca stood, with a limp Chuckie still in her arms. “Thank you. I sincerely hope I won’t have to awaken you again.”

“Don’t you worry none about that.”

The mint oil did seem to relieve his suffering, and not long after they returned to the big bed he went back to sleep—as did she.

When she awakened and parted the bed curtains, she was surprised that Chuckie had slept through the night. Surprised and thankful. Curious to determine if his fever had passed, she set a gentle hand to his forehead and was relieved to discover it felt normal.

His blond lashes fluttered, then his big blue eyes opened, and a smile transformed his face when he saw her.

“Good morning, love. How do you feel?”

He bolted up in the bed. “Good.”

She fully opened the bed curtains. “Shall we go see if your papa’s awake?”

“Will you carry me like you did last night?”

“You little goose! All right, if you’d like.”

As soon as she got to her husband’s chamber door, she paused. She had to prepare herself for the fact he would probably be in his nightshirt. Having Chuckie with her would lessen any embarrassment and would make them seem more like a family. If she was ready to be a true wife to him, she should not be embarrassed over the sight of her own husband in his nightshirt.

She drew in her breath and rapped at the door.

* * *

Aynsley came awake, suddenly realizing that Rebecca stood on the other side of his chamber door. He sat up. “Come in.”

Seeing her with Chuckie in her arms nearly took his breath away. Rebecca had never looked so lovely. She wore a thick, snow-white night shift, no spectacles, and for a moment did not look old enough to be Chuckie’s mother. Not that she was, actually. “I must say Chuckie looks vastly improved from last night. How do you feel, lad?”

“Good. Can I get in your bed? I slept in Mother’s last night.”

His son was sure to have his stepmother twisted about his baby finger. “Get over here, you little scamp.”

The child scurried over and climbed upon his bed. Aynsley pulled him onto his lap and smacked a kiss on top his fair head.

“Chuckie was in much pain last night, and was feverish. I was a bit bewildered as to what to do so I was obliged to awaken Beaver.”

“She’s had enough experience with such matters. Did she help?”

“Yes. She warmed some mint oil and put a few drops in his ear. That seemed to ease his discomfort.”

He felt guilty that she’d had to face what must have been a fearsome situation alone. “You could have awakened me, you know.”

Amusement on her face, she cocked a brow. “Would you have known what to do?”

He shrugged. “Probably not, but I would like to have lent you support.”

She favored him with a smile. “Tell me, my lord, is there a physician hereabouts?”

“As a matter of fact, we’ve got one in Wey.”

“Should we not have him take a look at Chuckie today?”

“If he were still feverish, I’d send for him, but look at the boy! Who would believe him sick? He seems to be well on the road to recovery.”

“Beaver said these fevers always come at night. If it should return tonight, should we summon the physician at that time?”

“I’d rather not call him out in the middle of the night for what is likely a routine childhood fever.”

Her face grim, she nodded.

“Can we play the tickling game, Papa?”

“In a minute.”

“After you play the tickling game, my lord, would you like to join me in the morning room?” his wife asked.

“Indeed I would.”

“I should be dressed and there in twenty minutes.” She started for her own chamber.

“Then that gives me five minutes for the tickling game.”

* * *

On the way to the morning room Aynsley picked up the post, which had been stacked upon his desk in the library. He would bring along yesterday’s
Morning Chronicle
—just arrived from London—to read over while he took his tea and toast. He liked to stay abreast of parliamentary occurrences.

He had not made it out of the library when a headline arrested his attention. And made him feel as if he had been kicked in the gut. Lords Sethbridge and Aynsley Form Pact to Extend Franchise Next Year.

Anger as corrosive as acid slammed through him as he began to read the article.

The Earl of Aynsley has been credited with successfully championing Lord Sethbridge’s bill to raise taxes, the passage of which was secured early this week, despite initial resistance from members of the venerable House of Lords. The Chronicle has learned that the two members of the House of Lords have formed a pact. Lord Sethbridge, who has always opposed any new law that would give the right to vote to the masses, has now changed his mind. In exchange for Lord Aynsley’s help in passing the tax increase, Lord Sethbridge has pledged to help Lord Aynsley get votes for a franchise-expansion bill next year.

It has been reported that Lord Aynsley plans to spend the next year gathering votes for a bill to give the right to vote to more men.

How could the newspaper have gotten hold of such information? Only three people knew. He was certain Lord Sethbridge, who was only focused on the current session right now and who was only reluctantly planning to endorse Aynsley’s voting-expansion bill next year, would never have let the cat out of the bag.

Rebecca!

What a fool he’d been to trust her! She was just as deceitful as Dorothy had been. He still stung from Dorothy’s deceit. She, too, had gone behind his back. The duke’s daughter whom he had married had lied to his colleagues in Parliament, telling them he endorsed her father’s bill. His wife’s painful betrayal had authored an estrangement that had not been repaired until she’d drawn her final breath.

He should have known when Rebecca refused to reveal her P. Corpus identity that she did not really look upon this marriage as a true partnership, that she was unwilling to be truthful with him.

He had thought her different from others of her gender. He had thought their marriage united two like-minded souls for the rest of their days. He had come to believe that she cared about him. Romantically.

Had he so thoroughly longed for a woman to love and share his life with that he’d been duped by a conniving female?

Even knowing that Rebecca had to be the one who had betrayed him, it was hard to credit her with such deception. He thought he had come to know her. Had he imbued his wife with worthy qualities she did not possess? Had he been blinded by what he thought was her sweetness and intelligence? How could she have played him for such a fool?

A blistering anger strummed through him. Even more than the fury, he felt a deep sense of loss. Almost as if a loved one had died.

He supposed the Rebecca he had grown to love
had
died. Because she had never existed. His neediness had conjured up a perfect wife, and he had credited his bride with all the qualities he sought in a life’s mate.

At his age, he should have known better.

He stormed to the morning room and stood in its doorway, glaring at her. He had no desire to even be in the same room with the woman who had betrayed him almost as surely as an adulteress.

She spun around to face him, her face lifted into a bright smile, her spectacles absent. For a second he could not believe her betrayal. She looked so very sweet, so sincere. “What is the matter, my dearest?”

He clutched the newspaper in his hand so hard, his knuckles turned white. “This!”

The smile on her face crashed as she leaped to her feet and came to pry the
Morning Chronicle
from his hand. After she read it, she looked up at him with an expression every bit as angry as his own. “Who could have betrayed us like this?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “
Us,
indeed! You have played your charade long enough.”

“Whatever can you mean?”

“I will never believe that Lord Sethbridge would even consider addressing such a topic until the end of the current parliamentary session.”

“Then who?” Her hand came to cover her mouth. “Surely you cannot believe it was I!”

He studied that pretty face of hers. How innocent she looked. He harrumphed. “Can you look me in the eye and claim that you’ve always been completely honest with me since the day we married? Have you ever perhaps omitted to tell me something?”

“I have never lied—” The words froze on her lips, and a wild, frightened look leaped to her eyes. “I may have omitted to tell you something. What is it you wish to know?”

“What things have you concealed from me, Rebecca?”

“Please, my lord, I beg that we go to your library for this discussion.”

He was so angry with her, he did not want to be in the same chamber with her, but he had no desire for the servants or his children to hear them arguing.

“Very well.” He stormed off to the library.

Slamming the library door behind them, he faced her. “Explain yourself.”

“Please, my lord, let’s sit and discuss this like rational adults.”

His body rigid, he went to his desk and sat, his fiery eyes never leaving hers as she went to the sofa and sat down facing him. He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting.”

“I confess I’ve felt wretched for withholding information from you.”

“And what information would that be?”

A grave look on her face, she met his gaze. “I am the essayist P. Corpus.”