Dorothea cupped his cheek, and he moved into it, using the caress to help him tell her the rest. He gathered strength from her touch.
“Mary followed me everywhere, telling me how much she loved me, insisting on being with me. When I had to work, she came to me. She clung, Dorothea, and I could not bear it. When Jeremiah—her father—sent me away on business I was relieved, even though it meant fighting bears and the natives. When I came home, I discovered that my wife had miscarried of our first child.
“We conceived again, although the doctor said that was unwise. But what Mary wanted, she usually got. I was as patient as I could be. This time the pregnancy went better, but she continued to cling. I was ashamed because I nearly lost patience with her so many times. She was spoiled, indulged, and she did not know what not being that way felt like. I had to continue as we were, but I determined to talk to her after the baby arrived. Mary behaved more like a child than a woman. I told myself she was afraid, and I consoled her, but I knew that I would never survive her dependency. When she grew larger with the child, she accused me of taking lovers. I did not.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.” Dorothea’s soft words humbled him. “You’re too good.”
He pushed her hair back, relishing that touch of silk against his skin. Instinctively, he wanted to avoid her gaze, and for that reason he did not. Because he wanted to see her every response. He would spare her nothing. “I lost my temper with her, I was unkind.” He dropped his gaze and swallowed, but determinedly lifted his eyes again. He would see this through. “I upset her, but when I apologized, she accepted my words and returned to adoring me. I held myself back from her, didn’t encourage her, because she showed signs of getting worse. She wouldn’t leave me alone. I did my best. Perhaps her mind was disturbed by her condition, I told myself. I couldn’t speak about it to anyone. Her father’s people surrounded me. They acted as if she was fine, I thought, so it must be me. I was oversensitive, this was normal for expectant mothers. Everyone indulged her, smiled at her, thought this was usual. So I did, too.”
He swallowed. Remembering this time was so hard, but harder on poor Mary. He hadn’t told anyone because of what happened to her. And his guilt, which had accompanied him like a living thing, his constant companion. Until recently, it had been with him always. “I was wrong. I should have taken her in hand. Perhaps then, she might have...” He forced himself to say it. “Not died.”
“No, no. How can you say that? She was tiny, you said.”
He turned his head and kissed her palm. “After the doctor told her no more children, I insisted on separate bedrooms. But it did no good. I still weakened, I should have been stronger. I had a lot to do, since my father-in-law had decided to retire and allow me to conduct most of the day-to-day business. I had to win over the men he dealt with, many of whom were suspicious of me, so I worked hard, keeping long hours. Mary was with me every moment of every day.”
A fine tremor shivered through her body. “I don’t think that’s normal. Not in anyone.”
Relief poured through him. She understood. “One evening I lost my temper. She ran off in tears and later that night went into labor. We called the midwife, and later, the doctor. She didn’t call for me at first. Not until she was dying.” He paused, gathering his words. “I went to her, and I lied. The physician had already told me we would lose her, but I didn’t tell her. I told her I loved her, that she would be fine after she’d slept. I told her our son was healthy and with his nurse. She believed me.”
“And she died,” she said softly. “You did the right thing, Ben. You could have done nothing to change what happened. I believe that. And I know you. You’ve shown me who you are, and that is the man I fell in love with. Who I will always love. A lesser man would have told her the truth to assuage his own conscience, to make himself feel better. You did not. I admire you for that, Ben.”
He closed his eyes. “My father-in-law said something like that. ‘Thank you for making my little girl’s last moments happy ones,’ he said, but I could not accept his words at the time. He died shortly after, declaring himself content. That I was a son to him.”
His tears no longer shamed him. She held him while he wept for the lives that were uselessly wasted, and his inability to do anything to help them. And the old man’s grief that killed him not long after. Leaving Ben to continue their legacy, alone and certain he was better off that way.
He could say no more. He was exhausted, completely worn out, but a seed of peace rested inside him. He’d made his confession, and while he still thought he’d made some serious errors, the woman he loved more than life had accepted him and what he had done.
* * * *
Hearing about her husband’s first wife in her marriage bed might not be every woman’s idea of a satisfactory wedding night, but Dorothea was glad he’d told her. She’d known something had been wrong with his first marriage, but it had lain in territory she couldn’t breach on her own. He slept peacefully after that, as if she’d absolved him, and she followed him into slumber shortly after.
She woke up as the clock chimed eight. She was lying on her back, her husband snuggled up close to her, and they were both naked. They had left the drapes around the bed open, such was their haste to make love. Someone had cleared up the mess they’d made. And seen them here. Her face heated with embarrassment, but she took care to lie still because she didn’t want to wake him.
Every time Ben breathed, a puff of air skimmed her shoulder. Turning her head, she watched him, her big, clever husband. His brutish build hid a kind and loving nature she was selfishly glad no other woman had discovered before her. They had troubled days ahead, but together they would come through it, one way or another.
Last night had given her a power and strength she was barely aware of before. He loved her, and he trusted her with every last secret. From the stern, forbidding man who had first entered this house to this moment meant they had come a long way, but they had further to go. Telling her about Mary had taken a lot of courage. If she had not accepted him, he’d have kept quiet and never mentioned his concerns again. And their marriage could have slowly deteriorated into one that functioned well but had no heart. A working partnership would have suited her a month ago, but she’d learned so much since then, mostly about herself. He’d helped her find the woman she’d buried deep, shown her what she could be.
And Angela and the SSL. Teaching her how to be herself, how to use what she had to make her life the best possible one. Even better than she’d imagined.
She could live with the ghost of Mary. Even remember her with fondness. The woman didn’t deserve what had happened to her. But if she, Dorothea, had the good fortune to give birth to a healthy child, she would find a place for the name of his first wife. Mary would be remembered.
They’d made love again, waking and reaching for each other in the kind of wordless union that acknowledged they both wanted the same thing, and they’d find it only here, with each other. Nothing could destroy their bond now. Not even death. They’d taken their time, caressing, loving with their hands before they joined their bodies. She’d taken charge, sitting astride him, her hands on his chest, and he’d gazed up at her, smiling. In the thin, silvery light of a new day, she memorized what he looked like, so open to her. No secrets left.
The door behind her opened softly, and she braced herself to face whichever servant had come in. Closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep belonged to the past.
A housemaid walked softly across the room, a large can of steaming water in her hands. It made barely a rattle as she placed it on the washstand before plucking up the used towels and replacing them with the ones laid across her arm. When she turned around, she caught Dorothea watching. Their gazes met, and to Dorothea’s utter delight, the maid blushed, from her neatly wrapped fichu up to the roots of her hair. “You can bring us some tea,” Dorothea suggested.
The
maid curtsied and left, closing the door a little louder than she’d opened it.
“You handled that well.”
Dorothea hadn’t noticed her husband’s steady breathing had changed. His eyes were open, bright with amusement. “However, in future, I think we’ll tell them to stay out of the room until we call for them. They can leave the fire laid and put the water can outside the door.”
He raised himself up on one elbow, smiling at her. She’d never seen Ben like this, his features unshadowed, eyes sparkling. Had he been this way as a boy? Without the bunched muscles, of course.
Reveling in her right to do so, she stroked his arm, letting her palm flow down the hills and valleys of sinew and muscle and satiny skin. He made a noise suspiciously like a purr. “If you carry on doing that, the maid is going to see a lot more than one naked shoulder. But if you’re game, so am I.”
In a swift lunge he had her, pressing her down, kissing her passionately. She curved her hand around his neck, holding him close, responding to him. Already he’d trained her body to react to his loving. Wetness gathered in that place between her legs. She should really ask him what the names for their private places were, because the last thing she wanted was to be coy.
But he was reacting to her, his shaft rising to press between them like an unspoken promise.
With a groan, he tore himself away and swung out of bed, erection and all. He strode across the room and picked up his breeches. “I will not impose myself on you this morning, sweetheart.”
“Impose?” she demanded indignantly, but she had to suppress her wince when she sat up.
He laughed, but his brow creased when he spotted her reaction. “I’ll order a bath for you. For us both. The servants will probably hate us for it but let them. You need it. Soak there, my sweet, because I’m not keeping away from you any longer.” After pulling up his breeches, he fastened his falls. “I’ll order Rougier to bring one of my robes here tonight. And you need something sumptuous to wrap yourself in. That I can unwrap.” He smiled. “There is nothing wrong with what you have, but I’d enjoy indulging myself. Ivory silk, perhaps, a shade lighter than your hair.”
“Do you have plans for the day?”
“Only for a few hours. I want to conclude the business of the estate, from my brief tenure. I’ll ensure a good man is put in charge until William can sell out and come back. The accounts are in as good a state as they’ll ever be, but I’ll ensure they’re stored properly, and everything is locked. Then I’ll come looking for you, so be warned, my lady. What do you have in mind?”
“Probably the library. I’ve left some books out there, so I’ll put them away.” That part of her life was over.
He came back, leaning over her. “Take a footman with you. Don’t go alone. Promise me?”
She would not insult him by pretending not to understand. “You think someone may come for me?”
“Yes.”
“Lady Honoria?”
He swallowed, dropping his gaze. “I cannot discount it, not until we discover who killed my cousin. I’m sorry.”
She caught his wrist, his pulse throbbing reassuringly against her fingers. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I had no notion of her character before I came home. It is as if there is a lack in her, an inability to believe other people exist outside her head. She cares for nobody but herself. I had no idea how deeply that went until she confronted me in the corridor. I honestly believed she cared for both Louis and myself, but she does not.” He lifted his chin, his gaze burning into hers. “But I am not so care-for-nothing, and I want you safe.”
“And that day in the garden? She did not want you dead.”
He shook his head. “We cannot be sure. I’m a means to an end, just as Louis was. Eliminate me and Louis would have the title. Eliminate him and she was free to claim me. Either way, it did not matter to her. But if she was behind that attack, then she must have an accomplice. So beware, sweetheart. Do not go anywhere on your own. Always take a witness, and someone to protect you. Promise me?”
She nodded.
He gave her a tender kiss that threatened to become something more passionate, before pulling away with a rueful laugh and taking himself off.
Leaving Dorothea feeling well and truly married.
Chapter 27
Dorothea had breakfast brought up to her, ravenously tucking into a plateful of chops, kidneys, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes, surprised when she finished the lot. Although she didn’t stint her appetite, she never overindulged. Who knew that married love was so tiring? When they’d first made love, he’d taken care with her, but last night they’d feasted on each other like barbarians. A celebration of love. May there be many more.
He was right about Boston, too. She would miss her family, but what woman had the opportunity to start a completely new life and explore new ways? The adventure had only just begun. But for now, she should concentrate on concluding this adventure. She would draw a line under it and look forward to married life with a clear conscience. With the man she loved by her side.
The gown she chose to wear was a vivid grass green with stripes of white, and flowers embroidered over the whole, thicker at the hem, tapering to her waist. She’d bought this one new this season, but who said new gowns had to be saved for special occasions? It rustled beautifully when she moved, and she enjoyed the shush-shush sound as she headed down the main stairs in the direction of the library. The only somber note was the band wrapped around her upper arm.
In the hall, she motioned to a footman. Ben had asked her to keep one with her for protection, and although she doubted she was in danger any longer, she would accede to his wishes. She had no desire to upset him over so small a matter.
The man followed her without speaking.
Murmuring from downstairs told her that a few people were still at breakfast. It was served at ten and cleared up an hour later. But she had eaten enough in her room. While she was not exactly shy about her changed state, she was a little on edge at meeting people. They’d know. She’d prefer them to leave, but failing that, she and Ben would leave instead. Last night, Ben had suggested a trip abroad, perhaps to Paris.
She met a few guests. Lady Steeping was gracious, and back to her patronizing self. “If you need a sponsor for court, pray don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Dorothea thanked her and continued on her way, closing the library door behind her and leaving her footman outside with orders to remain there. She leaned against the door with a sigh of relief. A little solitude would be more than welcome. No doubt she would have to be cool and collected at dinner, but that was hours away.
The books she’d consulted yesterday still lay on the table running down the center of the room. After Angela had taken her ledgers away, Dorothea had pulled out the family histories again, wondering if she’d missed something. In a better-managed household, someone would have put them away after checking with her. Instead, Dorothea would replace them on the shelves herself. In their proper places.
As she stacked the first volume of family history, the door opened to admit Sir James. He paused, smiled at the footman, and left the door open. Sir James bade her good morning, but he didn’t use a name for her.
“Mrs. Thorpe,” she offered.
Smiling, he wagged his finger at her. “You do not trick me that way. I have made my decision, but I will tell the two interested parties first. If your husband wants you present, I will not gainsay him.”
Her husband. How good that sounded. Whether she was Mrs. Thorpe or the Marchioness of Belstead, she was married to the right man.
“Did you find any sign of a second marriage between your husband’s parents?”
Ruefully she shook her head.
He sighed. “Lord Hardwicke is extremely particular about marriage. Irregular unions pain him.”
So, he was telling her tha
t she wouldn’t have a title. Her heart lightened. Since she’d already made up her mind to it, the news did not come as a blow. “So William is the new marquess?”
He spread his hands helplessly.
“William will be a worthy marquess, I’m sure.” She turned to put another book back on the shelf. With the decision made, she could look forward to her new life. Indecision had made her nervous. She was done with it.
Sir James strolled to the table and turned a page in the fourth volume. The family history had been compiled by the third marquess, the man who had built this house, or rather, reconstructed it from the property already in place. He’d gone on to make Belstead a prosperous and notable title. Titles had two ranks: the formal order of precedence, and the wealth and influence wielded by each title. The order was completely different. A baron, if he had the connections and the interest, could wield more power than a duke. As could a mere commoner, as Robert Walpole showed a generation ago. With the estate reckoned up, Ben could count himself at least as wealthy as the Marquess of Belstead. In the colonies they had a new world to make, with challenges aplenty.
Sir James inclined his head. “I’ll go up to write the letter to his lordship, then I will call the two principals and inform them of my decision.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me?”
“Of course.”
He left Dorothea alone, and she got on with closing the volumes, lingering over a couple as she daydreamed about her future.
About ten minutes later, someone else came in. Dorothea looked up with a bright smile, convinced Ben had finished his task and was coming to find her. But it was his cousin.
After closing the door, William bowed, and gave her his smile. The action revealed the similarity between the brothers, and her heart ached for him.
The Making of a Marquess Page 29