He obviously had very few feelings for her.
All her belongings had been packed. They’d barely been unpacked from Dunmore’s Townhouse and here they were being loaded onto Cam’s carriage for the trip to Southwark Street.
With furniture scarce at the women’s house and no need for elaborate hairstyles and fancy gowns, she had arranged for Fiona to be sent to Lady Dunmore’s estate in the country. Mrs. Dressel had been happily pensioned off. For herself, she would make do with what had been left behind by the previous owners. It was a good thing she knew how to cook so she wouldn’t starve.
She looked around the room that she barely knew, searching for anything she’d forgotten, and then went down the stairs. Fenton opened the front door with a nod, and she stepped outside. The day was as dreary as her mood. She looked through the slight mist to the carriage at the end of the pathway.
Cam stood in front of it, his body stiff, his face pale.
So, he was here to see her off. Probably anxious to make sure she left.
Her heart hurt.
My, aren’t I full of self-pity today?
He looked uneasy as she approached the vehicle. “I am sending two armed footmen with you to stay there. I don’t want you in that neighborhood without protection.”
She wanted more than anything to throw herself into his arms and cry, demand that he forbid her to leave. Well, not forbid, that would only annoy her. But at least try to discourage her from leaving. But he stood straight as a flagpole and opened the door for her.
Well, then.
“Bridget…”
She stopped with her foot on the bottom step, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yes?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He bent and kissed her on the cheek and stepped back as the door closed. He clasped his hands behind him as the carriage rolled away. She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks and slowly drew the window curtain.
This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have done something so rash and foolish. Perhaps if he’d shown some inclination to stop her…but he’d just let her go. However, now that she had, and he seemed to be quite comfortable with her decision, there was nothing to be done except follow through. At least she would have her work with the women to keep her busy and not be thinking about the husband she loved with her whole body and soul, who was willing to let her go.
…
Cam watched the carriage roll away with a heavy heart and the urge to chase it down the streets of Mayfair like some loon. Bridget had not come down for breakfast, and the first time he’d seen her all day was when she’d walked down the stairs and out of his life.
What the hell was he doing? He should have insisted she stay. They should have at least talked it over, but he’d been so surprised and then hurt that she’d left their bed to announce she was leaving him right after he’d had the best sexual experience in his life. His stubborn side had kicked in, and he’d spent the night tossing and turning in his bed, not really believing she would leave him.
As the carriage disappeared into the mist, he turned and made his way back to the house.
Even though he’d lived alone all his adult life, and Bridget had spent only one night here, the house now seemed empty. Even when Bridget had been living in his sister’s house, she had seemed near. He could call upon her mostly any time he wanted and escort her to the theater, the museums, on rides in the park, dinner parties, and soirees.
Rather than wallow in self-pity, he grabbed his umbrella and took a walk to White’s. The carriage would be tied up for a while with Bridget’s move, and he needed the exercise afforded by walking the few miles to the club.
He shook out his umbrella and handed it and his hat and greatcoat to the man at the door. Pleased to see Mr. Harris, third son of the Earl of Grisham and the physician Cam had spoken with about abused women, he headed in his direction. Harris was a pleasant man, happily married with several children, and someone with whom Cam would enjoy sharing a drink or two.
Although they had been in school together, they had never really socialized until Mr. Harris stood for Parliament’s House of Commons and had worked with Cam on his veterans’ bill.
“Well, if it isn’t the new bridegroom. Word has quickly traveled through London that you married yesterday.”
“Yes. Lady Bridget MacDuff.”
“Your ward?”
“Yes.”
Harris raised his coffee cup and grinned. “Felicitations. One would think you had better things to do than spend time with this sorry lot.”
Cam shrugged and settled into the seat across from Harris.
The physician placed his coffee cup in the saucer. “What’s wrong?”
Cam waved to the footman to bring him a cup. “Why do you think something is wrong?”
“Perhaps the arrival of the new husband the afternoon after his wedding, and in not so great a mood.” Harris studied him carefully.
Taking the cup of coffee from the footman, Cam said, “She left me.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
Cam stiffened. “I can’t imagine saying that any other way to clarify the statement. Lady Campbell rose this morning, ordered the carriage, packed up her belongings, and left.”
“Left for where?” the physician asked, not unkindly.
“She and I have been working on a project to provide a safe place for women who are being abused. I believe I spoke with you about it before.”
Harris nodded. “A wonderful endeavor.”
“Purchasing the house was a requirement from my wife before she would consent to be married. She decided to move there.”
Harris let out a slow whistle. “I am no great reader of minds, my friend, but there is definitely more to this story than what you are telling me.”
He waved his hand. “There is no reason for your concern. I will work it out.”
After a few moments, Cam leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs, his cup of coffee forgotten. “Actually, to tell you the truth, I really messed this one up. I don’t think there is a solution here.”
“Can I help? I’ve been married ten years, and we still speak with each other.”
Leaning back, Cam rested his booted foot on his knee. “This will never pass your lips, and I am asking this only because I trust you and figure, with your medical training, you might know the answer.” He took a deep breath. “Have you ever known, or heard of, a woman not possessing her maidenhead except for the obvious reason?”
“Of course,” Harris said immediately, frowning. “’Tis more common than most know.”
Cam’s brows rose and his stomach sunk. “Indeed?” He dragged his hand down his face, feeling as if he’d been smacked over the head with a board. Which is probably something that needed to be done. He’d messed things up horribly, had made sure his wife knew he didn’t believe her, or trust her, and then let her sail out the door as if he didn’t care at all.
So far from how he actually felt that he was sick to his stomach. He broke into a sweat at the thought of Bridget never forgiving him, of living her life without him. He sucked in a deep breath. “I am apparently one of the most.” His shaky laugh fell flat.
“Yes. Women who ride, especially like my wife, who rides astride in breeches, can lose it in that way.” Harris regarded him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Your wife, too?”
Harris nodded. “Or a woman could be born without one.”
Cam dropped his head back and cursed at the ceiling. “Bloody hell.”
“Don’t tell me that is the basis of Lady Campbell vacating the premises this morning?” Harris looked at him as if Cam were without a soul.
He hesitated, but there was no reason to make himself appear any better than what Harris’s opinion of him must be at the moment. “Yes and no. I think that had something to do with it, but also
my high-handedness about other things might have made the situation worse.”
“High-handedness? Surely you jest,” his companion said with a grin, apparently in an attempt to inject some humor into the conversation.
Cam scowled at him and cleared his throat. “I sort of told her I would no longer support the women’s house she is so devoted to unless she married me.”
Harris stared at him with a pitiful look and groaned. “Not well done, my lord. It appears you have some significant groveling to do.”
…
It was three days after Bridget had moved into what she’d named The Sanctuary. She’d just finished drawing sketches of each room, noting where furniture would be placed. She’d also made a list of staff she would need when the renovations were finished. Because the women worked long hours every day, it would make their life easier if they had to take care of only their own spaces, which kept her from having to hire more than one maid.
She’d already had two women knock on the door, asking about the house. One of them inquired if she would accept women with children, which she had planned on doing, but after it had been brought to her attention, she realized she would need a nanny or governess for the little ones.
It was difficult turning them away with the news that it would be a while before she could accept boarders. There was still so much to work out, and she still needed to consider how to keep the women safe and their husbands unaware of their location.
All things to think about, which was good. Because it kept her mind off the disaster her marriage had become.
Here she was away from her husband, who seemed to be quite content with the arrangement. She’d been foolish, no doubt. Rash and childish. She should have demanded they talk it all out. His threat to deny her the women’s house if she did not marry him had angered her, but the main reason she’d left was to protect her heart.
She truly did not want to live day after day with a man who resented her, or who felt as though he had to direct every moment of her life. But was she so certain he did resent her? Could he grow to love her?
And then there was the matter of him not believing she’d never lain with a man before. What it had come down to was a lack of trust.
She looked up from where she sat on the floor, going through the sketches again, when Marvin, one of the footmen Cam had sent with her, entered the room. “My lady, Lord Campbell has arrived and requests a few minutes of your time.”
Dumbfounded, Bridget just sat there staring at the man. Cam is here?
Before she gathered her thoughts enough to answer, her husband strolled into the room. “Good morning, wife.” He grinned in the way that set her heart to pounding.
She didn’t even scramble to rise from her very unladylike position, still trying to process the idea that Cam stood here right in front of her. “What…what are you doing here?”
He gave her a curt nod. “I have come to make notes to send to the man I have hired to begin renovations.” He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered the room, looking at the walls and ceiling, checking the windows and shutters. She twisted and turned to follow him with her eyes.
“I will add to my list to bring in painters and secure some furniture.” He continued his perusal as if everything between them was perfectly normal and she hadn’t walked out on him the day after their wedding.
She shook her head, still trying to understand. When she shifted to stand, he was by her side in a flash, reaching out to help her up. His grip was strong, warm, and solid. She studied his face, but nothing showed there. His mien was as blank as a poorly done portrait.
“Why are you really here, Cam?”
“I told you. As your husband, this is my investment as well as yours. I imagine you have not had a great deal of experience in setting up a household from nothing.” He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. “I want to help.”
She hated the fluttering in her stomach and the increase in her breathing at his nearness. The arrogance she was so very familiar with was missing. He looked almost contrite. Very un-Cam-like.
“Why?”
He brushed a wisp of a curl that had come loose from her hastily arranged hairdo behind her ear.
The back of his warm hand brushed her cheek. “You are my wife. It is my duty…”
She pulled her hand free and walked out of the room, mumbling under her breath. Botheration. He was still concerned with his duty. Would that always be the motivation for everything he did for her? Duty?
Cam chased after her and caught her arm as she reached the first step of the staircase. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to say that. I want to help because I am as anxious as you are to see this project finished. As I told you, I have already introduced bills into Parliament to help the downtrodden.”
She was so confused. He looked sincere, but that word “duty” always popped up. “I don’t want to be your ‘duty,’ my lord.”
He shook his head. “No. I want to do this because I…because I want to help.”
What was that hesitation? Was he about to say something else? No matter, he had at least come to her. “Very well. I must admit I feel a bit overwhelmed.”
He looked around the bare space, and once again he took her hands in his. “There doesn’t seem to be a comfortable space here. Shall we return to our house and go over some suggestions? I do have a few ideas.”
She stiffened. Was he here only to get her back to his house? Was all this a plan to undermine her leaving?
Almost as if he read her thoughts, he put his hands up in surrender. “I have no motive other than to help you. We decided to do this project together, and I want to carry through. I want to carry through. I don’t feel like it’s merely a duty.” He extended his hand to her, a slight smile on his handsome face.
She gazed at his hand. Since she was miserable without him and wondering if she’d made the right decision to leave without trying to talk it over, everything inside her screamed to place her hand in his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cam released the breath he’d been holding when Bridget placed her delicate hand in his large one. First battle won.
And a battle it would be. He’d been so adamant about doing the right thing, the honorable thing, that he’d totally ignored Bridget and her desires, treating her more like a possession than the wonderful, loving woman she was.
Everything he’d learned about women from the time he’d been a youth flew out of his muddled head when she was around him. Most likely, if he’d handled the idea of them marrying a bit more like a lover and less like a gaoler, she might have been more amenable to the idea.
A fool, him.
Now that he’d gotten her to agree to accompany him to their townhouse he felt a bit more settled. But not so settled that he would make the same mistakes again. She needed to feel cherished and cared for, not smothered and ordered about like a servant.
He assisted Bridget into the carriage after locking up the women’s house. He wanted more than anything to sit alongside her and pull her onto his lap, but common sense prevailed, and he took the seat across from her. Take it slow. He had all the time in the world. They would be married for the rest of their lives and, depending on how this went, it could be wonderful or horrific.
God, how he’d missed her. Why had he ever imagined that marrying her would be a duty? Merely a responsibility and a way to restore his good name? He’d been fooling himself for quite some time.
“You are an ass, Cam.” Harris’s comment had broken the silence when he’d gone into more detail with the physician about the problems he and Bridget were having. “Yes, an ass. And a dunderhead, a muddleheaded featherbrain,” the good doctor had added.
“Well, thank you so much, my friend. Perchance you might be a bit clearer in your observation. Don’t hold back on my account.” He ran his palm down his face, knowing he was correct
.
“Time to get down on your aristocratic knee and beg your bride to take you back. Grovel, my man. Grovel. Works every time.” Harris grinned, obviously enjoying Cam’s distress. Blast the man.
“Go to your wife. Make up. Say things she wants to hear, not the numbskull things you’ve been tossing at her.”
Harris had been right, and he’d wrestled with the idea on the soggy trek home. He needed to make the first move. It was during that long walk that it had smacked him in the face like a wet cloth.
He loved her. He truly did.
It was that simple, and amazing how it all fell into place after he admitted he did not want to spend his life without her. She was his wife, but instead of ordering her to return home, he would woo her. Show her how much he cared and wanted her for his marchioness.
All the reasons he’d given himself as to why he didn’t want to marry and have children seemed like excuses to avoid the commitment when he’d dug deep enough to be honest with himself. His sisters showed no nasty streaks, and he had every reason to believe any child of his would be loved and cared for, because he was nothing like his father in any way. He even found it in his heart to forgive the man. He’d been a miserable human being and had foisted all his anger and disappointment in life on his family. The late Marquess of Campbell was to be pitied.
As they rode through the heavy London traffic, he remembered the curiosity in her face at his sudden arrival at the house. He smiled at the memory of her puzzlement, feeling more lighthearted than he had in days. Hell, in weeks.
Once they came to a stop in front of their townhouse in Mayfair, he jumped from the carriage and turned to assist her. He took her arm and then ascended the steps to a smiling Dobson, who held the door open. “Good afternoon, my lord, my lady.”
His Rebellious Lass Page 20