Visions of teaching her child to bake diminished. “Then what are the mothers supposed to do?”
“They are very busy. Parties, calls, charitable works, especially on properties their family owns, supervising households.” He put his hand on her nightgown-clad thigh. “Pleasing their husbands.”
When she didn’t push it away, he slowly moved his hand higher.
Tired as she was, she felt her body softening and warming under his touch. Despite the early February chill outside, the fire and warming pan kept the room warm enough. When she removed her nightgown, her husband’s grunt of admiration heated her everywhere the fire had not.
He reached for her breasts, whispering endearments and praise.
For the first time, he avidly suckled her nipples, and Alys found a new level of sensual pleasure. He scarcely had to touch her between her legs before she was spiraling into ecstasy. The feel of his erection nudging its way into her body only heightened the feeling, and she rode a wave of delight, circling complete abandon as their bodies moved together.
It was only when they lay together, intertwined, that she wondered what her life would be like. At least there was no thought that she was merely to be an ornament on Michael’s arm. With his mother being so difficult, surely plenty of work existed for her, in charitable affairs if nothing else. She considered what occupations would have filled her time had she been born wealthy.
When Michael’s breathing deepened, she tugged her assorted parts from underneath him and reached for her nightgown, flung on the opposite side of the bed. She went to bathe, feeling sticky from all the heat they had generated.
When she lowered herself into the tub, she saw streaks of blood on her inner thigh. Not this. Her hands shook as she covered her eyes and hunched into the hot water. No babe grew inside her. She pressed her legs together. All of this had been for nothing. What would Michael think of her? She turned her head to the wall and sobbed.
A couple of minutes later, the door opened. She jerked up with a cry, then saw Michael, his hair tousled, fingers struggling with the belt of his dressing gown.
“What is wrong? Did I hurt you?” Looking more awake now, he knelt by the tub.
She sniffled and rubbed her nose.
“What?”
“It’s too horrid.”
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“I have bad news.”
He took a washcloth and wiped her cheeks. “So?”
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m afraid there is no child.”
“You’re not—”
“Exactly. I’m sorry.”
He poked his hand into the water and found her hand. After squeezing it, he said, “It was unlikely, my dear, that you would have that expectation so soon.”
She sniffed again. “I suppose you are right. Thank you for being kind.”
“Of course I am right.” He found a towel and held it out. “The water is quite cool. Come out of there and we’ll go back to bed.”
When she stood, he lifted her out and carried her to the fire, then helped her into her nightgown. Remembering her condition, she went into her dressing room to find what she needed, then joined him back in bed where he held her all night.
He was right. She would navigate the early days of marriage better if she didn’t have to hide a pregnancy. Now, everyone could delight together when it happened and she wouldn’t have to hide anything. Still, a part of her regretted the loss of the child who had never existed.
A couple of weeks later, she was inspecting her wardrobe with her mother and Hortense, her new lady’s maid, when Beth ran into the room, followed closely by Rose.
“Gawain is here!” Rose sang out, then coughed.
Her mother frowned. “I wonder why? I thought he had business in Bristol.”
“It does seem strange,” Rose agreed, her voice croaking. “But I saw him in the hallway. He asked to see the marquess.”
“Not his own mother?” she said, frowning.
Alys knew how attached her mother had been to Gawain since he returned home and didn’t want her to be upset at the slight. “I’m certain he is simply greeting his host to make sure he is welcome, which he is of course. I’ll go and see him.”
Her mother smiled gratefully.
“Beth? Would you ring for Mrs. Hall and make sure a room is prepared?”
Beth nodded. “I know just the room for him, too. It’s quite military. Crossed swords over the mantel and lots of family portraits of fighting men. Judah used to stare at them for hours.”
Alys shared a look with her mother. Gawain would be unlikely to find the sight stirring, but perhaps it was better than one of the many rooms decorated in shades of rose, a color the dowager must have favored in the extreme.
While Alys had no interest in decorating, even she knew something needed to be done with at least some of the rose rooms. She
plucked at the laddered silk on a faded rose pillow next to her on the divan. Starting with this room.
“Mother, this room needs a fresh eye. I’d like to make some changes.”
Her mother’s petulant expression changed immediately. She clasped her hands to her chest. “I do agree, darling. William Morris.
That’s what this dressing room needs, some of his papers. I must make sketches.” She lifted her skirt and ran to a writing desk tucked in the corner like a girl half her age.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Alys said. “And see to Gawain.”
With a wave to Beth, Alys went down the staircase at the end of the hall and headed for the newest part of the house, which looked out over a paddock. Michael’s study was at one corner. She opened the door to the first room, where his secretary worked sometimes, then started toward the open door leading to the inner chamber.
“But when did the War Office say he was killed?”
She recognized Gawain’s gravelly rasp, wondering why he was using that almost belligerent tone with Michael, especially about a death. Judah’s?
“The telegram said January second, nearly two months ago now, but we haven’t received any further information. Our cousin at the War Office hasn’t been able to confirm any details. I believe there has been a great deal of unrest in the area.”
Alys peeked around the door and saw her brother pull a letter from his coat. He unfolded the pages.
“I think the facts are wrong,” her brother rasped. “Look at this.”
Michael frowned. “What is it?”
“A letter from an herb trader I befriended. I’m working on an import business of my own.”
“What about your father’s factories?”
Alys could just see the sneer on her brother’s face from the side view she could catch from her angle. “That’s his business. Only Alys ever cared about it. I have my own plans.”
“And what? You want me to invest? This trader has something of value?”
“No man, you aren’t listening. It’s about your brother. Here.”
Gawain pointed at the top of the first page. “Look at the date.”
“January sixteen,” Michael read. “That’s the day I received the telegram from the War Office.”
“I just received this letter last Friday,” Gawain said. His voice rose to a command. “Now read it, this paragraph here.” He pointed again.
“I had the pleasure of conversing with your old comrades in arms.
I took tea with Captain Shield and Lieutenant Cross in Lahore, after we met at a market where they were purchasing dried fruit. This city has very fine fruit, though it is best known for carpets. Perhaps this merchandise may be of value to you? I have good contacts in this city, better than in Kabul. The captain bought some very fine silk, another specialty of the region. He hoped to ship it to his sister to be made into gowns. Since you have so many sisters this may be of interest to you as well.”
Michael set down the letter. “That is all very well, but it doesn’t mean Judah is alive.”
“Read further,” Gawain said impatient
ly.
Michael picked up the sheet again, muttering his way down the page. “Wait.” His index finger poked the page. “January fourteenth.
He says he arrived at Lahore on the fourteenth.”
Gawain nodded. “Exactly. Zahir Khan, the trader, mailed this letter from the city on the sixteenth. You probably were notified of Captain Shield’s death within a day of Khan meeting him at the market.
Since I received my letter on Friday you might see something from your brother soon.”
“He’d have sent it straight to London, but my family is here,”
Michael muttered. “I’ll write my butler and see if anything has arrived from India.”
“An excellent notion.”
Michael started to crumple the letter in his fist, then handed it to Gawain. “What if this has all been a mistake?”
“It does happen.”
Michael thumped the desk. “Everything, a mistake?”
Alys stumbled as her hand slid from the door, then, instinctively, she turned and ran. All a mistake? Not just Judah’s death, but the marriage too. After all, she wasn’t carrying his child. He was a marquess who’d married a baker, all for nothing.
Now what? He didn’t need her after all. But he couldn’t ask for an annulment. The marriage was consummated. Had he ruined his family for nothing? She knew it was his opinion that mattered, not hers.
He’d been sanguine when told of her courses. But they didn’t love each other. The marriage had been a convenient one, and not ap-
proved by his mother. They had made no attempt to enter society in the weeks since the wedding.
Good heavens. The dinner party tomorrow would be her first attempt with a local family since the wedding. Would Michael even attend her dinner, or would he head to London to try to find out the truth?
If she were him, she’d leave for the train station immediately.
Chapter Sixteen
When Alys rose the next morning, she saw Michael’s side of the bed had been slept in at some point during the night, though she had missed his entrance and departure. The news about Judah’s possible survival had given her a terrible headache on top of the stress she felt, and a strong cup of willow bark tea had allowed her to sleep, though very heavily.
When Hortense came in with her tea tray, she asked the young woman about the marquess’s whereabouts.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but I am so new to the Farm I don’t pay much mind to the toings and froings yet.”
“How have your first five days been?”
“Oh, I’m very happy for the work, my lady, and in such a fine house too.” Hortense turned to pull open the heavy wool and silk curtains of dark rose. The view displayed gray skies obscured by rain.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Alys’s hearing, sharpened from years of dealing with employees, noted that Hortense left out any commentary about her fellow servants.
“Would you like me to check for you?” Hortense asked.
“Perhaps you could ask Mrs. Hall to come to my study after breakfast,” Alys said. “We need to review the final details for the dinner tonight.”
“That should be lovely,” Hortense said. “I understand there is a greenhouse with flowers here. So nice to have flowers during the winter, I always think.”
“Did you hear talk about bringing in flowers?” Alys asked. That might make Rose feel worse. They never had flowers in the family rooms in London in case they aggravated her asthma.
“I heard talk of a display on that big table in the front hall,” the maid said.
“That is very well,” Alys said. Rose wouldn’t be in the hall.
“And something for the dinner table too. I believe the dowager marquess ordered a display, as she always had flowers on the table for parties.”
So Michael’s mother was trying to give orders for Alys’s first dinner party? That would not do. Alys’s left temple throbbed in distant memory of yesterday’s headache. Well, she’d suffered through worse, like when she had three society weddings the same day and a new employee put rose water into the buttercream rather than the orange flower water ordered for all three cakes. Her ladyship could decorate the house as she liked for her own party, but not for Alys’s.
She pushed back her quilt and took a sip of tea. “It will be a busy day. At least we don’t have to fret over what I’m going to wear today.”
“No, my lady, your mourning dresses are very much alike.”
“Save the cleanest one for tonight and bring me one of the others for now.”
“They are all clean, my lady,” said Hortense, her mouth rounding into a horrified O. “You and I are too careful for any troubles of that sort.”
Alys took another sip of tea. “I’ll take your word, but I am afraid my habits may disappoint you in future. Bring one quickly.”
Hortense curtsied and went to the dressing room to select a gown.
Alys wished she could wear cakie attire today but the days of that being acceptable were over.
Michael entered the drawing room rather late for that evening’s family dinner, but he was followed in, to Alys’s surprise, by Matilda and Theodore Bliven.
“Is Father coming?” she whispered to her mother.
“I had a letter from him this morning saying he’d caught a chill and was sneezing too much to leave the house,” her mother said.
“Matilda looks well, at least,” Alys said. So did Mr. Bliven, though she thought his expression too coy.
“I do hope she brought Lucy with her,” her mother fretted.
“Surely she wouldn’t have come alone on the train with Mr. Bliven.”
“I can’t imagine she’d be so foolish,” said Alys. Matilda had been trained to be a lady.
“I did wonder if you’d want to take Lucy with you, but then you found the local girl. Is she suitable? Edith said there was talk.”
“I’m very happy with my choice.” Alys wasn’t about to gossip about her maid to her mother. For one thing, she didn’t know what her mother would think about a lady’s maid with a bastard child.
Hortense was so eager to please, so much friendlier than an imported maid from France or the like, that Alys felt quite comfortable with her. She didn’t want a maid who put on more airs than she did.
Her mother rose and gave Matilda a hug while Gawain pulled away from the Dickondell brothers to shake Theo’s hand and introduce him around. Matilda soon joined Rose, Beth, and Maud Wilson, the Dickondells’ pretty cousin, while young Adela Dickondell sat with her parents, and stared at Gawain’s eye patch. Lady Hatbrook conversed with the Dickondell aunt, whose name Alys had missed.
Michael’s aunt stayed in her room, but Alys had taken Mrs. Dickondell for a brief visit earlier.
As soon as Alys had greeted her sister, she caught her husband’s eye and joined him under a large portrait of three cocker spaniel puppies in a ribbon-trimmed basket, favored pets of a previous marchioness.
“You look very somber,” she observed. “Some news?” She couldn’t reveal the extent of her knowledge, though her head fairly throbbed with it.
Michael held himself so tightly in check that he was white around his lips. “I do not know if you’ve spoken to your brother today, but he presented me with some evidence that the report of Judah’s death is incorrect.”
Thankfully, Gawain had shown her the letter today. After he’d shared the news about Judah, he’d gone on to explain that the trader
had a line on an Indian herb reputed to do wonders for vision problems. She had not realized her brother dreamed of restoring the vision in his damaged eye. She was so glad he was trying to help himself. He’d been angry and grim when he first arrived home, so unlike the boy she’d known.
“Were you able to learn more today?”
Michael scratched under his nose with his thumb. “I sent a telegram to Lieutenant Cross’s family. I was at school with his older brother. You may recall the younger brother, who fought with Lord Mews at the ball last year.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, yes,” she said, remembering with sickening clarity the blood and smell of burning flesh. “Did they know anything?”
“They were also mourning the death of their soldier.”
“They received the telegram as well?”
“Yes.” He tapped the nail of his thumb against his teeth.
Normally, his control over himself was absolute. He was a still man in general, not tending to all these small movements, but at least she saw his hands were steady.
“How very strange. Was anything reported in the papers about a battle or skirmish or anything last month?”
“No,” he said. “Nothing new. It is very strange. The War Office has been most unhelpful. I have had thoughts of leaving for India myself.”
“Good heavens,” Alys exclaimed. “It is so savage there. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gawain returned to India on business someday but I’ve never understood you to be a traveller.”
“Any thoughts I’ve had of adventure were in trade,” he said, “which is surely as savage as any Asiatic tribe. But I must know the truth about my brother.”
“Of course.” Alys agreed instantly. “I will go with you, if it comes to that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”
She nodded. He regarded her for a moment, still as an untamed beast considering his prey. She had forgotten he probably didn’t want her anymore, not now that he had an heir again. They must find out the truth before they could plan their future.
“I didn’t think you’d appear tonight,” she said, ignoring her mother’s gesture to come.
“It is our first dinner party as husband and wife.”
“You must prefer to be with the Cross family, storming the War Office or some such.”
“I believe they have an assault planned tomorrow,” he said with wry humor. “I shall await their news. I do wish we had a way to reach your brother’s trader friend.”
“There must be some way, if he hopes to provide goods to Gawain. He showed me the letter.” Good, she’d managed to mention that.
“No doubt he will attempt to become a businessman on a large scale if Gawain can provide the capital, but until that time, he sounds rather itinerant. Gawain sent a telegram to a shop in Lahore who takes messages for this Zahir Khan chap, offering financial incentive to learn more.”
The Marquess of Cake Page 22