The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  “My parents lived here for the first few years of their marriage before purchasing Oak Hall. When I came of age, I took up residence here to be closer to the mill,” said Conrad as they climbed the front steps.

  He divested her of her bonnet and gloves as though Ruby were an invalid, and she supposed it was an accurate description of her current frame of mind. She was hardly in any fit state to make decisions—even something as small as what to do with her accoutrements.

  Ruby managed the appropriate nod at the maid and cook as they came forward to greet her, and they managed to hide their curiosity at the unexpected addition to the household, bobbing and greeting their new mistress as though nothing were amiss.

  “Mrs. Ashbrook is a bit peaked. Perhaps you can prepare a tray and bring it to our room while she freshens up,” said Conrad before leading her up the stairs.

  The interior of the townhouse was no more welcoming than the exterior. The hallways were poky and tight, with only a few small windows allowing in any light. He pointed out a few features of the house as they climbed to the third floor, but Ruby gave them only a passing glance.

  Arriving at their destination, Conrad opened the bedchamber door. It was a simple room, decorated as one expected for a busy bachelor not inclined towards domestic duties. The bed took up residence along the wall through which they entered, and a washing table sat opposite between two large windows. Though the stairs and hallway had felt stuffy, the morning light poured into this room, making the space inviting. Pleasant even.

  Ruby’s trunks were stacked to one side, and she stared at them.

  Knowing a thing is not the same as understanding it. Ruby was well aware of the fact that she was married to the man standing beside her. The wedding was hardly a half-hour ago, after all. She’d been there and signed her name next to his on the registry. But it wasn’t until she stood in this very room that she truly understood it.

  His dressing gown was draped across the bedcovers. His shaving brush and blade sat on the washing table. His mementos sitting on the selves. This was his bedchamber. Theirs. The bed they would share. She and this stranger.

  “I had Mrs. Seymour clear space in the armoire and dresser,” said her husband, glancing around the bedchamber. “I don’t know how much you need, but I can procure more furniture should you wish it.”

  His eyes darted to her and then away. Tucking his hands behind him, he stepped carefully around the room, as though inspecting it. “I thought you might prefer to unpack your things yourself, so you can choose where to place everything, but you can have Fanny do so if you’d rather.”

  Hands clutched before her, Ruby gave a shake of her head. Conrad nodded in return and rocked back on his heels, casting his gaze around once more. The silence stretched, yawning like a gaping maw as she watched her husband. He fidgeted, his eyes darting around to look at anything but her.

  “I suppose I should leave you to it,” he said with a nod, shutting the bedchamber door behind him.

  Ruby did not move from her spot. Her eyes wandered the bedchamber, and she struggled to make the barest of movements. This was her bedchamber in name, but it was Conrad’s in actuality. Standing there alone felt like an invasion, no matter that he had invited her into it. This was not her bedchamber. Not her home.

  Time ticked along as she stood there, though Ruby had no notion of how much passed. A knock came at the door, and a moment later a maid came in with a tray of food and a bob.

  “Some refreshments, ma’am,” she said. When Ruby made no move to indicate where the girl should place it, the maid set it on the bed and left with another bob.

  And still, Ruby did not move.

  The tray was filled with rolls, slices of beef, a warm teapot, and even a pastry or two, but the sight of it set Ruby’s insides churning. The babe inside her made itself known, and her throat clenched. Turning away from the tray, Ruby breathed in through her nose. Luckily, the food was not pungent, and she was able to ignore its existence, but the moment made her remember something she had tried to forget.

  Bringing her hand to her growing child, Ruby ran a light touch over the swell. Though most did not mark the change in her figure, she’d already begun letting out her gowns.

  Lucas’s baby.

  With a jerking breath, Ruby covered her mouth to stifle the sob that broke free, and she collapsed onto the edge of her trunk. She opened the nearest portmanteau in search of a handkerchief or scarf or any piece of linen that would stem the tide of tears, but what she found only made them flow more.

  The christening gown.

  Ruby’s breathing shuddered, her lips trembling as she pulled it free and looked at the lovely dress. It truly was her best work. The stitches were her finest. The design was a sight to behold. Hours of labor had gone into crafting it. Yet, as she stared at it, Ruby felt another turn of her stomach.

  This was the gown for Lucas’s child. Ruby had imagined the day when she would dress the babe in this delicate confection and present the child to the vicar to be baptized. She and Lucas would stand together. Husband and wife. Their precious child. Their family.

  But Lucas was gone. Their marriage was naught but a bit of amusement for a bored gentleman. Their child was no blessing; it was an unhappy byproduct of a lie.

  Ruby’s insides gave another sickening turn that had nothing to do with the tray of food or the babe and everything to do with those days she’d spent in Lucas’s arms. The back of her throat tickled, her mouth watering in warning as memories played through her mind. She’d thought those moments were bliss, but Lucas had used her like some light-skirt for his own pleasure. And she had let him.

  Now, she was married to his brother. Irrevocably bound for the rest of their lives.

  Tears fell freely, and Ruby buried her face in the gown.

  “If” was a terrible little word. It was easy to lie to oneself when couched with “ifs.” Anything was possible in the realm of the hypothetical, and Ruby found herself lost in it. She knew it was unlikely that her fate would have changed—baby or no—but if not for the child, she might not be married to a stranger and living in a home never intended to be hers. Her history with Lucas could have been overlooked. Ignored.

  If she had never met Lucas. If she had never allowed herself to be lured into eloping with him. If. So many decisions had led to this moment, and each one had a dozen different ifs tied to it.

  The tears slowed, and Ruby looked at the droplets spotting the fabric. She had spent countless hours staring at that gown, thinking of a future that would never come. Lucas’s lies tainted the past, coloring those hopes in a black haze. They tainted her. And the child.

  Standing, she stepped to the fireplace. The autumn chill was not enough for all the fires in the house to be lit yet, but the maid had laid one in preparation for their return. The flames were small, but large enough for her purpose. With a flick, she cast the christening gown into the center. The white fabric filled the space, but the layers were thin and flimsy, and within moments the edges were curling and blackening. A minute later, and it was ablaze. Ruby only wished that the memories tied to it were so easily destroyed.

  Chapter 6

  Conrad did not have much experience with weddings, but he knew they were happy affairs. Dottie, the eldest of the Ashbrook children, had married when he was naught but twelve, and though he had few memories of the occasion, he remembered the fuss made over the bride and groom. Dottie had always been lovely, but that day she’d been radiant. Celebrations and good cheer abounded as the family celebrated her plunge into matrimony.

  When examining the full breadth of history, Conrad knew there likely had been more somber and morose weddings than the one he’d just attended, but for his part, he could not think of an example.

  Leaning back in his armchair, Conrad stared at the rows of books along the library shelves. The windows at his back allowed the morning light into the room, warming the space. Or was it afternoon? The tick of the clock above the fireplace mantle told him
that time was marching forward in its steady beat, though his thoughts were too caught up in the tangled mess of his life to countenance it.

  With his face turned to the walls, he couldn’t see the shadows stretching around him, and Conrad didn’t bother to shift himself enough to see. Instead, his eyes tracked the spines of the books. It was a motley collection of subjects, ranging from ridiculous gothic tales to heavy treatises on history, science, and the world as a whole. One shelf contained those books he’d gathered over the years, but the majority were ones deemed unworthy of remaining among his parents’ prime repository in Oak House. Though he had made his way through many of the titles, he knew his parents had read each and every one.

  If Conrad had to choose any particular sight that typified his home life, it would be his parents sitting in the library as Mother read aloud, her voice bringing the author’s words to life. Their library had always been the heart of their home, and Conrad only wished he could lay hold of some of the peace he usually found when sitting in one.

  Married.

  The word didn’t terrify Conrad, but when tied to his present situation, it was difficult to feel anything but bone-deep fear. Though that was not entirely accurate. He was finding it equally easy to feel angry, disappointed, frustrated, and a myriad of other unhelpful emotions.

  Conrad’s life was set. He was married in that farce of a wedding.

  Scrubbing at his face, he gave a shuddering laugh that held more disbelief than humor—though there was something perversely humorous about the fact that he now found himself married to a lady with whom he’d never spoken. He was certain his wife could speak, as she’d exchanged the marriage vows, but to date, she’d never exchanged words with him.

  Though, he supposed, that would change. They were married now. Bound husband and wife. In all the times Conrad had pictured himself married it had never been accompanied by a sick twist of his stomach.

  A knock sounded at the library door, and Conrad straightened as he called for the maid to enter.

  “The missus is asking for you,” said Fanny with a bob. “She was wondering if you were joining her for dinner.”

  Conrad twisted in his seat to look at the window and noticed that the sun was setting. When he turned his gaze back to the maid, his eyes finally recognized how dark the room had grown.

  “I’ll be right down,” he said, getting to his feet as Fanny moved to relay his message.

  He knew it would do no good to avoid the coming evening. It was simply the first of many to follow. Yet still, Conrad hesitated as his sanctuary’s threshold. He rubbed his clammy hands against his trousers and then straightened his jacket.

  Stepping through the door, Conrad followed Fanny’s path and made his way down to the dining room. He found it empty, though the table was laden with their repast. Mrs. Seymour had outdone herself, no doubt looking to impress her new mistress. Perhaps it was her form of congratulations, which would count as the only well-wishes offered that day.

  Turning on his heels, he went to the parlor and found his wife seated on a sofa with a bit of sewing on her lap. She glanced up at his arrival, and it pricked at him to see her dark eyes stained red, which made the dark marks beneath her eyes stand out all the more. Though she held little other sign of distress, her eyes could not hide the toll the past few days had taken.

  “Good evening…Ruby,” he said, wincing as he tripped over what to call her. Miss Jeffries was no longer her name. Mrs. Ashbrook would forever sound like his mother. Ruby would do, though the lady in question looked as startled at hearing him speak her name as he was in saying it.

  Her lips moved, but Conrad could not hear a word of her reply. Putting aside her sewing, Ruby stood, stepped towards him, and paused.

  “You needn’t have rushed down,” she said. “Though dinner is waiting, there is time for you to change.”

  Conrad’s brows drew together, and he glanced down at his clothes. Casting a look at her gown, he could see that she had donned a fresh and much decidedly dress. “I had not thought to change for dinner. It is just the two of us, after all.”

  Ruby’s own brows pinched together as she examined him with a worried gaze.

  “I do not see the need to waste time primping when it is of no consequence what I am wearing as we eat,” said Conrad.

  Clasping her hands before her, Ruby gave a silent nod, though she looked no more pleased with his answer than he was with her desire for him to dress for dinner. Company demanded such finery, but it served no purpose when dining en famille. Perhaps she dressed to mark the day, but he doubted she viewed their wedding as a reason to celebrate. Of course, there were plenty who demanded such pomp and circumstance regardless of the situation, but Conrad was not about to start adopting such a rigid manner of living.

  Ruby stood as though waiting for something, and it wasn’t until Conrad was about to prod her about their cooling food that he realized she was waiting for him. Coming to her side, he offered up his arm, and she took it before the pair walked into the dining room. Ill-mannered he might be for not dressing for dinner, but Conrad assisted his wife into her seat.

  His wife.

  The words elicited a jolt of panic that swept through him. His wife, the stranger. His expectant wife, bearing his brother’s child.

  Placing those thoughts aside, Conrad took his own seat and the pair began filling their plates. His cursory examination earlier had not been thorough enough, for Mrs. Seymour had not only prepared a feast but the array featured all of Conrad’s favorite foods. Roast turkey breast with lemon, venison pie with gravy, boiled potatoes, preserved apricots, asparagus and parmesan tartlets, boiled dumplings with candied oranges topped with a butter and sugar sauce, and an apple spice cake that smelled so heavenly Conrad was tempted to forgo the meal proper and begin with dessert. The selection was nearly enough to bring light to the dark day.

  Ruby took dainty bites of each, giving the dishes equal attention, and Conrad wondered if she liked them as well as he. In truth, he knew so little of the lady—other than that she had willingly married Lucas, which did not speak highly of her good sense.

  “You hail from Derbyshire?” asked Conrad. It was an insipid question to which he already knew the answer, but he grasped for anything to break the silence.

  Ruby paused as she cut through a slice of venison pie. Her golden-brown eyes rose to meet his, and though her expression did not change, it felt as though she stiffened. The only reply she gave was a nod.

  “Has your family lived there long?” he asked, but Ruby merely stared at him as though he were speaking Latin.

  Reaching for the napkin on his lap, Conrad rubbed at his clammy hands and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Hoping that perhaps a bit of levity might ease the worried pursing of her lips, Conrad smiled at her. “I give you my word that I mean you no harm. With all the lovely food Mrs. Seymour has prepared, I am hardly in the mood to bite.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at humor, but the tension around her lips and eyes eased. However, Ruby still did not speak.

  “Have I offended you?” asked Conrad, and he wondered if it mightn’t have been more prudent for him to dress for dinner if this was to be her reaction.

  Ruby’s eyes widened and she gave a shake of her head, abandoning her fork and knife. “No, sir. It is simply unwise to speak during the meal.”

  Conrad blinked at that. Of all the words he’d anticipated her to speak, those had not been among them. “Unwise?”

  His wife nodded and turned her gaze back to her plate, though she made no move to continue eating. “Conversation is bad for digestion.”

  The world was full of unusual and varying theories about health, and there were new ones appearing every day. For every aspect of life, rules and strictures were created to guarantee a long life free of a doctor’s interference, but of all the ones Conrad had ever heard, that had to be one of the silliest.

  “Bad for our digestion?” he parroted.

  Ruby gave another nod. “
It allows air in where it should not be and leads to discomfort and illness. Papa was always quite insistent on silence during meals.”

  Conrad nearly laughed at that, but her expression was so earnest that the mirth died as surely as their conversation. Ruby remained seated, her hands not touching her silverware as he watched her. Only after another drawn-out silence did she retrieve her utensils and continue to nibble on the food.

  And so, they continued their dinner with only the clink of china and silverware breaking the silence. His wife hardly looked up from her plate, preferring to examine the food rather than him; as she was so determined to find fault with his behavior, Conrad thought it was for the best.

  He took another bite, but it was naught but flavorless mush.

  *

  Peeking from under her lashes, Ruby watched Conrad. Where before he’d attacked his meal with gusto, her husband now picked and poked at the dishes, leaving her regretting that she’d spoken at all. Yet still, she could not wish the words unspoken. ‘Twas better than suffering from a bout of indigestion. Her stomach had only just settled, and Ruby could not face another long night struggling to keep her dinner down. Besides, without conversation, the meal passed quickly, and they would be free to spend the evening speaking then.

  The minutes wore on, and Conrad seemed more and more disinterested in his meal. There were still a few bites left on her plate when he finished, but Ruby abandoned her silverware and waited for him to stand. He hardly glanced in her direction as he did so, but he did offer her his arm and escorted her back to the parlor.

  How did one become acquainted with a husband? Ruby was not a prime conversationalist, but she felt she ought to be able to broach some topic of discussion. The world was full of questions to pose, but Ruby could not think of one. Empty chatter was not her forte, and Conrad walked silently beside her as he helped her to the sofa in the parlor.

  The lamps in the room were lit and ready for them. Though the room was smaller than the one at her parents’ home, there was a quality to the space that made it comfortable. Inviting. Cozy. The furniture was arranged in a rather awkward configuration with the sofas placed too far from the fireplace and at the wrong angle for conversing, and the walls were sparsely decorated, but Ruby saw past the surface issues to the potential the chamber presented.