by Erica Vetsch
“I’m glad you agree, because you’re going to be looked over by a doctor as well,” Marcus said.
The dowager bustled into the front hall, her needlework trailing from her hand. “You’ve been gone so long. I had to take all the guests to church myself and then see them off. I’m positively worn out. The two of you have no idea how to host a party for the ton. Excuses had to be made, and you two could have helped—” Her mouth formed a perfect O, and her lashes flicked as she took in their disheveled appearances and the giant stranger on the stairs. The lace on her cap trembled, and she dropped her needlework on the floor.
“Will someone please tell me what has been going on here?”
“Madam, we have had a trying day. Explanations can wait. Suffice it to say, Charlotte and her sister will be heading up for hot baths, a decent meal, and then to bed.”
The dowager peered at Charlotte. “What brought you to this state? You look as if you’d been dragged down Rotten Row behind a brougham. And that woman is not staying another night in my house.” She pointed up the stairs at Pippa in Partridge’s arms, as he waited to be directed to the right room. “Bad enough she was kept here in secret, but after her tirade this morning in front of my guests, she is no longer welcome in my house.”
Charlotte ignored her mother-in-law. “Marcus, I don’t want to be shunted off to bed like a child. We have too much to discuss.” Though bed sounded wonderful to her, she felt the need to resist. She wanted answers and assurances before she rested.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and addressed his mother first while keeping his arm about Charlotte’s waist.
“Madam, Lord Ratcliffe made a bit of a nuisance of himself toward both Charlotte and Pippa and had to be dealt with. As to your other statements: Pippa Cashel will be staying tonight in my house. She was not kept here in secret, at least not from me, though we felt it best not to burden you with the knowledge. She did not cause a scene in front of your guests. She addressed a serious breach of justice to a particular person in the hearing of Charlotte’s and my guests.”
He turned to Pippa. “I’ll send someone for your mother. She will want to see that you’re all right.”
“She is still here. In the kitchen. She refused to leave until her daughter came to fetch her, but I wasn’t going to have her sitting in here with me.” The dowager twitched her skirts, as if she would pull them aside at the very notion. “She and that Stokes woman and the three others who came to work during the party, I’ll admit they’ve been a great help and even show some promise when it comes to being domestics, but I’m not sure about this venture to reform the … Cyprians … of London.”
Marcus looked as if he wanted to say something, but he pressed his lips together, mastering himself before turning to Charlotte. “Allow me to see you to your room. I promise I will present myself for your questioning when you have been bathed and fed. Will that do?”
As they mounted the steps, the dowager asked, “Marcus, where did you get that awful cloak? It looks like something a footpad would wear.”
Charlotte smothered a smile. A footpad or a spy.
When Marcus tendered her into the care of her lady’s maid, she felt bereft. But soon she was obeying orders and submitting to the ministrations of a bevy of women. She had never been so cosseted, and by the bewildered expression on Pippa’s face, neither had she. The housekeeper and Aunt Dolly took them in hand, setting up two bathing tubs in Charlotte’s dressing room and helping them wash their hair and get into nightclothes. The doctor arrived, and both submitted to his examination. He prescribed bed rest for Charlotte. Pippa’s ribs were wrapped once more, and she was given a sleeping draught.
“You’re to have the guest room across the hall tonight,” Charlotte said to her sister. “No more garrets under the eaves for you.”
Amelia Cashel arrived with hot soup and warm bread, and she took Pippa, whose eyelids were already drooping, across to her room. Aunt Dolly pulled back the covers on Charlotte’s tester bed, and when Charlotte climbed in, the older woman smoothed the blankets and plumped the pillows.
“You eat up, and then rest.” She set the tray across Charlotte’s lap. “I don’t know when I’ve ever prayed as hard as I did today, I was that worried. I’ve got some praising and thanking to do before I sleep.”
“So do I.” Charlotte sipped the beef broth. She was hungry, but she was also anxious to see Marcus again, without an audience. “How is Belinda? Is she all right?”
“It would take more than that evil man to unsettle Belinda. She’s mad as a scalded cat and looking for revenge.”
“She won’t have the opportunity. Lord Ratcliffe is no longer in this world.” Charlotte felt cold just thinking about it. She didn’t wish any man dead, and she wished she hadn’t witnessed Lord Ratcliffe’s demise, but he had made his choices, and if Marcus hadn’t killed him, Charlotte would be a widow, or a corpse, herself right now.
She laid down her spoon, suddenly no longer hungry.
Aunt Dolly took the tray. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Charlotte shook her head. Aunt Dolly couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most. She leaned back against the pillows, studying the luxurious room by the light of the fireplace and the candle beside the bed.
She had so much for which to be thankful. So many good gifts God had given her. Her work at Aunt Dolly’s had slowly opened her eyes to all the blessings God had showered upon her. She’d never gone hungry, always had a roof over her head, clothes to wear. An education, health, a good mind. She’d been blessed to marry a duke, to have all that went with her position. All good gifts.
Was it wrong for her to want one more?
A tap sounded, and Marcus slipped inside. She drank in the sight of him leaning against the closed door. He’d bathed and changed his clothes, looking every inch a duke of the realm now.
A wave of love and uncertainty flowed over her.
“I thought Aunt Dolly would never leave.” He crossed the room, sat on the side of the bed, and took Charlotte’s hands in his. His skin felt warm against hers.
“You didn’t have to wait. You could have come in.”
“No, I don’t want an audience. This is just between the two of us.” His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands, sending ripples up her arms. “So much has happened in the last few days, I hardly know where to begin.” The uncertainty in his eyes—the first time she’d seen him so vulnerable and unsure of himself—warmed her heart.
“Then perhaps I should.” She squeezed his fingers. “I owe you an apology. I was wrong to doubt you. I believe you when you say you are an agent for the Crown. I should have believed you right away. It was not wrong of you to withhold that information from me, especially since we didn’t know each other well when we married. I hope that in other circumstances, you would have come to trust me and eventually told me the truth of who you really were.” She heard the longing in her voice and swallowed hard.
Some of the tension smoothed out of his features. “Charlotte dearest, I am new to this husband lark, and I entered this marriage with a lot of ideas of how it would work and how I would protect myself and my secrets. I even spouted nonsense to my friends who knew better than I what an idiot I was being.” He shook his head. “Whitelock tried to tell me. Sir Noel tried to tell me. Even Aunt Dolly tried to give me some wisdom on the subject. But I wouldn’t listen. I knew best.” He released her hands and rubbed his palms down his face. “You see, I’ve always kept my life so compartmentalized. Maybe it was the way I was raised. Not the firstborn son, so I didn’t really matter. I grew secretive as a child, keeping my feelings and thoughts to myself. Keeping the ‘real me’ segregated from the one everyone else saw. It became a habit and a way of thinking that felt comfortable to me.
“I was that way at Oxford, in the army, and certainly in my government work. One face for society, another for family, another for work. I thought I could marry and keep that part of my life in a box too.” He sent her a ruefu
l smile. “But things aren’t that simple, and they aren’t that tidy, are they? It was easy enough to keep up the walls with my mother, because she’s only interested in the world as it pertains to herself. And society often only sees what it wants to see.” He paused. “But you’re different. Too smart and inquisitive and interested to be relegated to the edges of my life. You kept wandering into parts I was trying to keep separate.” His smile broadened as he shook his head. “I was distracted by you everywhere I turned. Where before I had always had pinpoint focus, I found thoughts of you intruding. It was disconcerting, to say the least.”
Charlotte lowered her eyes. “At first, when I heard you say those things at the wedding breakfast about how being married to me wouldn’t change your life that much, and said with such conviction …” She picked at a seam in the coverlet. “I never thought ours was a great love match. As you say, we barely knew each other, but I had hoped that over the course of time, we might at least grow fond of each other. To have a certain amount of affection or understanding … perhaps camaraderie? … between us. I was never going to trust you. After all, look at my father. When his secret came to light, my mother acted as if it were the lot of every society woman to have a husband who strayed, and a woman would be foolish to expect anything else.” Vulnerability wrapped her like a cloak. She wanted to dive into his arms, to have him to hold her, to comfort her, but she needed to tell him the truth. If she wanted more than lukewarm companionship in her marriage, she would have to ask for it. “But in spite of my mother’s warnings, in spite of my warnings to myself …” Warmth crept up her neck and cheeks. “I fell in love with you.”
He took her hands again. “Ah, darling, you’ve stolen a march on me. I never should have made you declare yourself first, but I admire your bravery.” He took a deep breath. “Heart’s darling, I love you. And because I am an idiot, I have been slow to realize that loving you, rather than weakening me or causing me to lose focus, gives me a strength I’ve never known. I am a better man for loving you. A better peer, a better son, and yes, a better spy.”
Her heart leapt, and her vision wavered. Not one given to crying, she ducked her head and laughed. “I hardly know where I am. I hardly know who I am. I’ve been so miserable, thinking that I would be alone in our marriage, loving but not being loved in return—”
He cut her words off with a kiss, leaning forward, gathering her into his arms, crushing her to him. He slanted his head, deepening the kiss, and she savored every moment, tunneling her fingers in his hair, loosening the tie at his nape until his hair fell over his cheeks and hers.
With pulses thrumming, heart brimful, she surrendered to him, pouring out her love, returning caress for caress.
This was real, no lies, no secrets, no masks.
She loved him. He loved her.
Trust, respect, and so, so much love.
At last, breathless, they withdrew in increments, reluctantly, gently. Marcus rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, and she breathed in the scent of him. He nuzzled her nose with his own, kissing her again.
Gently, he scooped her up and moved her to the middle of the bed before joining her there, wrapping her in his arms and tucking her head into his shoulder. She melted into his strong, lean body as he stroked his hand down her spine.
God really had given her this good gift. As Aunt Dolly said, she had some gratitude to express.
“There’s one more thing we need to talk about.” His voice rumbled under her ear.
“What’s that?” She pressed her palm to his chest before moving her hand up to tangle in his hair once more.
“I’ve been a spy for a long time, risked my life more times than I can count. I think now I was trying to prove something to myself. That I somehow mattered. You see, being a second son and not highly regarded by my parents, I thought if I excelled at something, even in secret, that I could prove to myself that I had value.” He spoke slowly, as if reluctant to admit his thoughts. Charlotte’s heart broke for him, reading between his words the self-doubt. She knew in part how he felt, never having been valued by her father.
She said nothing, stroking his hair, giving him time.
“Now, being the duke, and more importantly, being a husband, I know that my life matters, not just because of the responsibility but because … I am loved.” He said it with a touch of wonder in his voice, and Charlotte burrowed deeper into his side, her hand coming to rest over his heart.
“I am wondering if I have done enough for my country as far as the spying goes and if I should retire. Close the door on that compartment for good.” He hugged her tight. “You should never have been put at risk because of my work for the Crown. When I think of how close I came to losing you …”
He was willing to give up his work for her? Sacrificial love. The gift she had asked God for. A wellspring of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Thank You, God.
“I don’t want you to quit. The nation needs you, and you need to be doing work you feel is meaningful. What happened with Ratcliffe was a unique instance that won’t be repeated. There’s too much at stake with our country at war for its best agent to quit because he’s afraid of what might happen to his family. Anyway, now that I know the truth, I can be of assistance. I think I would make a very good spy.”
Laughter rumbled under her ear, covering the steady sound of his heartbeat.
She raised her head to look into his slate-blue eyes so close to hers, and he kissed her again. “I can see it now. There will be no boundaries, will there? You’ll be invading every part of my life …” He gave her a teasing grin. “My mother warned me. She said I should have chosen someone more pliable, more willing to be guided, and above all, someone who would know her place.”
Charlotte stroked his cheek, a day’s growth of beard rasping against her palm. “Is that so? I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a wife who speaks her mind, wears her emotions and opinions openly, and who knows that her ‘place’ is by her husband’s side. I will never be the ideal society wife. I won’t wear a mask or merely fill a role when it is convenient for you.”
His lips twitched. “And I don’t want you to, whatever I might have thought when we wed. I figured I could keep everything in my life separate, but you’ve taught me that nothing is that simple. I’m a duke, a son, a spy, a friend, but most importantly, I’m a husband. And not one at a time, but all at once.” He lay back against the pillows, tucking her into his side once more.
“I wouldn’t have you any other way … Hawk.”
EPILOGUE
CHARLOTTE TOOK HER place in the House of Lords Chamber beside Diana in the small seating area reserved for wives of peers. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“Nor I. Evan is so nervous, he barely slept last night. He was sponsored and presented at the beginning of this session back in January, and he’s sat through many days of debate, but this is the first time he has proposed any legislation himself. I’m glad Marcus is giving the speech.” Diana looked serene, but she tapped her foot and her eyes were never still.
Charlotte no longer felt dowdy and frumpy next to her friend. She wore a dress of jade green—Marcus’s favorite color on her—and she touched the gold-and-emerald locket at her throat, grateful that Marcus had found it and returned it to her. Yanking it off her neck and leaving it on the warehouse floor in the hopes that he would find it had nearly broken her heart.
All around them, men in crimson robes found their seats, and masculine voices filled the room. Above them, the gallery was half filled, but she spied the dowager on the front row. Aunt Dolly and Pippa sat on either side. The change in the dowager over the past week was remarkable, and Charlotte prayed it would last. All it had taken was a bit of praise from the rector at St. George’s for her charitable attitude toward the working women for the dowager to act as if the reforming of prostitutes had always been her idea and to throw her considerable influence behind the project.
Marcus and Evan entered together, wearing crimso
n robes. They differed only in that Marcus’s robe had four white and gold bars, and Evan’s had three.
Duke and earl.
Diana grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. “Evan complains that he has to dress up like a ‘celebration barge on the Thames with bunting and flags’ every time he comes here, but I think he looks wonderful.”
Charlotte thought the same of Marcus. So distinguished and regal.
And he was hers. Truly hers, heart, soul, and body. No secrets, no masks. Or at least if there were secrets, she was privy to them now. Though how much longer his work with Sir Noel would last, she didn’t know. Wellington had prevailed at Toulouse and ended the Peninsular War, and the Sixth Coalition had taken Paris. Napoleon’s capture couldn’t be far away. When that happened, would Marcus be out of work, or would his work merely change in focus?
Whatever transpired, she would be at his side. But for now, she sought to change the topic. “Are you making plans to return to White Haven?”
“Yes, now that Easter Sunday is behind us, it will be time to go back to the estate and plant flowers and crops and see the new calves and lambs. I’ve missed my country home.” Diana had a wistful look in her eyes. “I want to take the boys outside and let them play in the grass and soak in some sunshine and clean air. It’s been so cold. I’m ready for spring. What about you? Will you be going to Marcus’s estate?”
“Yes, in about a week. I’m looking forward to it, but it’s odd all the same. To be the mistress of a house I’ve never seen. I had thought to arrive quietly and not make too many changes right away, to get a feel for the place and not disturb the dowager too much, but Marcus has other ideas. He was very interested in my thought to have Aunt Dolly bring women from the rescue house to the country to train as domestics, and he wants to start right away.”
“What about Marcus’s mother? Was it my imagination, or did she seem more cordial toward you today?”
Charlotte laughed. “She is moving into the dower house on the estate, and she has embraced the plan to train these women in useful skills. Marcus says it’s because she wants to have people to instruct and boss about, but I hope it is that she has realized that they aren’t evil or somehow flawed, but a victim of their circumstances. That ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ As to her being nice to me, well, she suspects that I am already carrying the heir, and she’s been very cordial and maternal about it.”