The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love)

by Vanessa Riley

  He glanced at me, then turned to Mama. “Ma’am, I thank you for your generous hospitality, but I’m partial to walking. I’ve come with the expectation of walking. I don’t want to disappoint my lovely cousin.”

  I took his arm and stared at Lord Wycliff, the man who’d just defied Horatio Croome…and lived. “Mama, the baron is very busy. A walk will suffice.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Do take care of my girl. Her eyesight sometimes makes her nervous.”

  “I’ll protect her, ma’am. She’s all I have left of my dear cousin, her poor husband.” His face sobered, ridding his countenance of the smile he’d borne when he’d entered the room. “I’ll keep her safe.”

  “Good. She’s a good girl. She’s had too many troubles.” Mama put down my yarn. “Mr. Wilky’s son, my grandson, is upstairs. He had a fever last night. Too much outdoor play. You will have to meet him later this week.”

  “Yes, Adam’s son. Soon. I cannot wait to meet the lad.”

  His face remained blank, but his raspy voice sounded confident.

  I tugged on the baron’s sleeve to quicken our exodus from the room. I didn’t want anyone imposing upon Wycliff or having him make promises without having met Christopher. He hadn’t seen my boy’s beautiful spirit. I didn’t want my baby rejected.

  I tried not to push my cousin out of the parlor, but I did.

  He started laughing.

  The low chuckles prickled my skin. “Filled with mirth, Cousin? But do you think you were a little heavy in your praise of Adam?”

  He wove his fingers with mine, blocking me from slipping on gloves. “I take nothing for granted. Nothing.”

  I enjoyed the respect Wycliff’s appearance had brought to my life and the thoughtfulness of a man who brought me daisies. But I wondered what other things he had on his mind.

  …

  Wycliff tugged on his cape and waited for Ruth to slip on her bonnet.

  Her graceful fingers made a slipknot of the shiny celestial-blue ribbon and tightened it under her chin. Elegant, but her gown was so simple, so plain, a washed-out gray that did nothing to draw out the spirited woman he remembered.

  He’d have to fix that when she was his again. Was it bigamy to marry one’s wife twice?

  Swiping at his brow, pushing foolish thoughts from his head, he focused on the first steps. He was very far from winning Ruth. The barrister might be a contender for her heart. His life was less complicated and had none of the baggage of the Wilkinsons.

  Ruth had to want Wycliff, had to marry him again. The squeaky-clean barrister needed to go away. Pity, Lawden had found no vice or scandal on Marks.

  Unfortunately or fortunately, the barrister was a good man.

  “Wycliff, are you well? You look as if your thoughts are heavy. Are you plotting something? Something nosy?”

  “Nothing nosy or deadly today, I can assure you.”

  Her head tilted to the side, but she took his extended arm. “A simple no would suffice. If you are busy, we could postpone this outing. I’m in no rush to be out of the house.”

  “There’s no other place I wish to be.”

  A slight smile graced her mouth. It still needed exploration, deep exploration. To merely gain a light touch of her kiss at the party and then have to wait five days to be near those lips again—torture.

  “So how was your morning, Mrs. Wilky?”

  Ruth didn’t look at him. She seemed very focused on the brass door latch.

  No peep from her when Clancy opened the door.

  A loud breath swept through her lips when they took the first step onto the high stone entry.

  Together, they took one more, then Ruth stopped.

  He tried to nudge her to take one more, but she was frozen.

  He fingered her chin, where soft curls fell. “The day has a gorgeous sun, cousin. The only thing I liked about being on a ship was the noon sun. It was so warm and broke through the endless skies.”

  Her breaths remained loud, lingering like she choked. “You don’t say.”

  This was harder than he’d thought. Ruth used to love walks. They’d chatted endlessly as he’d escorted her from the docks to the warehouse. Her face had brightened when he’d described architecture or talked of poetry. That was what they had done, the first six months of their acquaintance—long strolls, all by themselves, no one staring, nothing stopping them or their dreams.

  He rubbed his stomach. “Let’s go back inside and enjoy those treats your mother talked about. The dining room will be more private. We’ll talk low.”

  She shook her head and tightened her already-tight grip along his arm. “That’s not a problem for you, is it?”

  “My voice is terrible. I take it you don’t like it.”

  “Very terrible, my lord. But what choice do you have? It’s not like you could sing a wondrous melody. Or whisper my name as if it sounded like a church hymn. Adam sang quite well.”

  He freed his arm from her nails and put a hand to her shoulder. “No, you don’t want me to sing. My voice is gruff, quite rough. More suited to bar brawls than a vicar’s homily.”

  “Adam wanted to be a vicar. Did you know that? Of course you did.”

  He hesitated, then he decided to be bold and place his arm about her, along her middle. “Don’t be scared, Ruth. Let’s go back into the house.”

  She put her hands on his, anchoring him in place. “Your hands are rough, too. And it’s Mrs. Wilky.”

  So formal even though she let him hold her. “My hands? Too much sea salt. Too many decks needed swabbing. Am I not refined enough for you? It seems I’m losing your tally.”

  “What tally, Wycliff?”

  “The one for your admiration. I suppose Adam and now the barrister are smooth in comparison to old, grizzled me.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “But I am losing.”

  She lifted her chin high. “You were going to answer questions for me.”

  “I was, but we have an audience by the window.”

  Ruth squinted and peered around his shoulder. Could she see the ladies staring at them from the large picture frame window of the parlor?

  “Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Daly are looking at us. Mrs. Wilky, that dining room sounds as if it could make for a perfect retreat.”

  “Mama will get them away. I think you are becoming a favorite relative.”

  The curtains closed.

  Ruth was right. But someone could still peek. The question was, did he care to hide his admiration of his cousin?

  “I think no walk today, my dear, or anything that looks like kissing cousins. We seem rather cozy on this step.”

  He tried to turn and lead her inside, but she held fast to his arm.

  “Not yet. The roar in my ears hasn’t settled. Please don’t move. Hold me. Be a holding cousin.”

  “No begging anything of me.” He pulled her tight against him. “Perhaps this does meet my criteria for privacy.”

  “Your standards are low, Wycliff.”

  Oh, her sense of cutting humor had stirred. It warmed him to his bones, like the sun on the deck, like a body pressed against his—warm, curvy. All of her hidden in drab, dowdy gray.

  “Not so low, my dear. I’m standing in the entry with the right cousin. Not Adam’s cousin Nickie. He’s definitely not one to stand beside.”

  “Awful, Nicholas.” She shivered.

  “You remember him? Did you meet him with Adam on the docks?”

  “I want to forget him, all who hurt us.”

  How many stories had he told Ruth of unreliable Nickie, his sometime-friend, sometime-enemy cousin? He hadn’t realized the depth of the treachery between them.

  “I should do something for privacy, Mrs. Wilky.”

  He moved and shared the step with her. He put his back to the window and spun her to face him. “See, my cape comes in handy.”

  “I still have your other one. I like it. I like the smell of it, of you.”

  “Bay Rum? You like?
Doesn’t seem like your fragrance.”

  “Yes, I love that cologne. It was Adam’s.”

  “The man had great taste.”

  She held his gaze and that feeling of the two of them against the world wrapped about him.

  “I think we need to walk, Mrs. Wilky. If we stand like this much longer, I won’t be a good cousin. I’ll be a man who’s fallen for a good woman.”

  She took off her spectacles. Then those wicked, teasing fingers slipped across his chest and put her lenses into his tailcoat. “I’m ready. Escort me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m confused on your orders. Do you want to walk or are you asking me to have at you now?”

  “Walk, my lord.”

  “An order from a woman is an interesting thing. Yes, ma’am, my spirited minx.”

  She shook her head. She was easy again, more relaxed, more old Ruth, his Ruth. Good.

  Yet he was hot and bothered, falling more in want of her.

  Ruth looked as if she could arrange flowers.

  “Do you have anything else for my pocket—a necklace, a handkerchief? Feel free to use me.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Wycliff started down the steps, taking her with him. They made it to the last one, but he did not stop. He kept going, leading her with fingers entwined.

  Like a boat in still waters, she floated alongside him. In silence, they walked a block and then another.

  They were in step. It was like old times, except it wasn’t. Her face was pinned to his chest, her knuckles had become white within his palm.

  “Tell me how to make this better, Mrs. Wilky.”

  “Do you truly wish to meet my son?”

  Wycliff loved a turn of phrase, the punniest puns. Something stung when she said her son, not theirs, not hers and Adam’s.

  Was this her way of admitting the truth, that Christopher Wilky wasn’t…

  He pushed questions of the boy’s paternity to the back of his mind. Ruth thought him dead. Whatever had happened, what choices she’d made, even if she’d found comfort in her grief—none of it mattered.

  Wycliff was here now, and he’d take on any responsibility that made Ruth happy. He owed her that. “I do wish to know Christopher Wilky. It will be my pleasure to meet him, to be a part of his life, Ruth.”

  She started to free her finger, flicking at his knuckles. “It’s Mrs. Wilky.”

  Wait. That was now the concern, familiarity? He let go and stopped.

  She crossed her arms but stayed close to him. “Truth is what I want. Things that no one can say are lies. You were going to tell me the truth about you.”

  “I did say that.”

  “Well, Lord Wycliff?”

  He felt his legs bracing, preparing for exactly what she wanted to know. Maybe she’d caught his clues—the daisies, the walks, the cologne. Let her ask now if he was Adam. “Yes, ask anything.”

  “Are you a mulatto like Adam? Or just blessed with fascinating lips.”

  The tension in his limbs fled and a good laugh came out. But Ruth wasn’t chuckling.

  “You like my mouth? Perhaps you need a better tasting to be sure?”

  “Are you passing like Adam? He believed passing was part of his power.”

  “Yes. It’s kept me alive on more than one occasion.”

  “Your world, even as a peer, is just as dangerous as Adam’s?”

  His world wasn’t Adam’s. Wycliff understood how things worked and how things turned on charisma and charm, finesse and finance. “Were you considering my world, being more a part of it than a walk-mate?”

  “I don’t know what to think when I’m with you.”

  “Then that’s good. You shouldn’t have to think or fret when you’re with me. I’m in control of my life, more than Adam ever was. I allow people to assume what they want. If they want to do business with a white man, that’s fine if their gold is true. Your father uses solicitors to conduct his dealings. I like a direct hand.”

  He smoothed her fingers within his palm. “A direct hand with everything.”

  “You know so much about my family. You’ve studied us. That’s very nosy of you.”

  “It’s part of the effort I put into things I want. The Croome family is mine now.”

  “We’re not possessions or pawns.”

  “Aren’t we all playing games? Pretending when necessary. Ignoring things that don’t suit our purposes. Going full-bore at what we’ve determined is good.”

  “What a pretty way to put being manipulative, my lord.”

  A chuckle fell from his lips.

  He didn’t want it to drop, but Ruth had that way about her, sticking pins in his arguments when he took on airs. “Fine. I’m nosy. I need to make up for lost time in knowing the Croomes. I’ll use my means and any charm this raspy soul can muster.”

  “I’m at such a disadvantage, Lord Wycliff. I’m not traipsing about to find secrets. How can I trust you, implicitly?”

  He looked down the street and saw his carriage and Lawden’s watchful eye. It was very open, very attention-seeking to stand here. “You trusted me to take you on a walk. You can trust me with more.”

  “Adam never trusted so easily. Not even me. Look at the things he kept from the woman he married.”

  “Mrs. Wilky… Oh, horse feathers, Ruth. Adam was stupid, as you often said. He didn’t realize that you were all he needed, more than power, more than the respect he craved. I trust you, and I’m willing to tell you anything, if I can call you by the name my tongue wishes to possess.”

  Her lip trembled, and a smile perched upon her lips like a delicate dove. “That’s a pretty sentiment. A fine begging, even with your voice. Yes. Call me Ruth, but only when we are alone.”

  “Then we shall have to be alone often.”

  Her laughter was easier. She took a step, leading him down the pavement, bold like old times. Yet, Ruth couldn’t see that far in front of her. Then it hit him. She trusted that he’d keep them safe.

  He put a hand to her waist to guide her, to keep her from cracks or uneven places. “We’ll go to the end of the street and back. If you feel nervous at any point, claw my arm. Demand I take you back. I’ll do so immediately.”

  Her steps became shorter, the closer they came to the end of the street. “A hundred and fifty steps. Wow. That’s far.”

  Distract her.

  That was what he used to do walking her from the docks to her father’s warehouse. “So many because you have delicate feet. What about we get you larger boots?”

  “No gifts. Your flowers are enough.”

  “Do you feel better earning things?” He stopped and put his hands to her cheek, brushing lightly until her eyes opened. “See, there can be a benefit to my coarse hands. You’ll be more aware of me.”

  “That could be a benefit, but your footfalls are too silent.”

  Ruth peered up. No hiding. No coy fluttering of lashes. No labored breaths. It was how she’d looked at him that moment at the blacksmith’s when she’d promised to be his. The world had been just theirs. It must be theirs again.

  “Lord Wycliff, what do you see when you look at me?

  “The answer to my prayers. Dreams I didn’t know I wanted. We are nicely matched, surely you see this?”

  She dug into his pocket. Touching him, stirring up all manner of things in his chest. She might as well have reached in and given his dark, bruised heart a shine.

  “I want my spectacles to see you, Wycliff, as you look at me.”

  He caressed her chin. “You could just kiss me and gain the rest of the answers you seek. If it’s a good one, you could get account numbers, invoices, anything. I can be easy like that.”

  Her eyes, soulful, dark orbs with swirling hints of henna and questions, focused behind her lenses.

  “Say it, Ruth. Say what’s on your mind.”

  “I met Adam on the docks, close to my father’s warehouse. He stopped some men from bothering me, then walked me back to the warehouse. He stayed wi
th me until I was safe. I asked him if he wanted something to eat. He said my friendship, if he could earn it. The way you just said this, you could be easy like that, the way you tilted your head, I hear him saying it in his sweet voice. Why do you have to remind me of the good of him?”

  The good?

  That meant there was bad, more than what she’d already said.

  How had Adam become the villain?

  Those beastly women in the Croome household were the ones persecuting her.

  He started them walking again, remaining quiet until they’d made it to the corner.

  Fournier was vacant. No carriages, no children playing, no lovers walking about.

  Just them, a man escorting his wife, a woman that didn’t know him, who didn’t want to because he’d failed her. His throat tightened, but he forced his words to be said. “Adam was good, a good person. He loved you with all his heart.”

  “You say that like it’s a consolation, Wycliff. If I’d truly known the danger, I wouldn’t have eloped. Five days of marital bliss do not equal four years of pain. Maybe he’d have lived. He’d still be that sweet young man in want of a meal by the docks, and still alive.”

  “Not being able to prove the validity of your marriage to Adam has wrought this much suffering? How can you forgo the love that he said was so strong?”

  “I have a son, Lord Wycliff. He bears a false surname. His name should be Wilkinson.”

  That would only be Adam’s fault if the boy was indeed his or born within a year of his death. He clasped her arm about her waist and left no distance for evasion. “Is the boy Adam’s?”

  “Adam’s dead. Christopher’s mine, all mine.”

  That wasn’t an answer.

  But the calm she’d had before disappeared. She was shaking. He put his arms about her and kissed the scar on her temple. “Christopher is my concern now, too. He’s mine, Ruth. I claim him like I’ve claimed the Croomes.

  “You claim my boy?”

  “Yes. I’m going to take you back to the house. Trust me. I’ll get you there safely and swiftly.”

  “No. Not yet. Prying eyes can’t see us. Neighbors are working. We are sort of alone.”

  They weren’t. His grooms had patrolled earlier and would again in an hour. Lawden sat in Wycliff’s carriage out front of the Croomes’, trying not to look their way, but failing.