A Husband's Wicked Ways

by Jane Feather

  “Nothing else at all, love.” Cornelia rose to her feet and leaned over to kiss her. “If you feel like that about him, then you have my blessing and that of all your friends. It seems rather quick, but…” She shrugged. “Love either grows slowly or it hits one between the eyes. It certainly did the latter with Alex and Liv.”

  “Yes, and look at them,” Aurelia said with a soft chuckle. “And, be honest, Nell, how long did it take before you knew in your heart that Harry was the man for you?”

  Cornelia laughed. “A little longer, but not much.” She went to the door. “I’ll leave you to your dressing. I’ll give a small dinner party for you and Greville and some of our close friends, the word will soon spread that there’s an understanding between you.” She blew her friend a kiss and left.

  Aurelia swung her dresser stool back to the mirror. She propped her elbows on the dresser and rested her chin in her cupped hands, looking at her reflection in the mirror. That had gone smoothly. She had been utterly convincing, so convincing in fact that when this sham engagement was concluded, she was going to find it hard to persuade her friends that she was not brokenhearted. She sighed, picked up her hare’s-foot brush, and smoothed a little rouge on her pale cheeks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “SO THAT’S THE WOMAN who’s caught Greville’s fancy,” Lady Broughton observed to her companion, raising her lorgnette as she looked across her drawing room to the double doors, where a small group of guests were congregated. Her butler had just announced the arrival of Lady Aurelia Farnham, in the company of Viscount and Viscountess Bonham.

  “Quite a handsome woman on the whole,” her ladyship muttered, watching her nephew make his way swiftly towards the new arrivals.

  “Yes, indeed, Agatha.” Her companion nodded her vigorous agreement. She was a somewhat impoverished cousin of Lady Broughton’s and made it a point of principle never to contradict Agatha, who could be generous to a fault to those who pleased her. “Quite handsome.”

  “It’s a wonder she hasn’t snagged a husband before this,” Agatha said, still scrutinizing Lady Farnham and Greville through her glass. “She’s been in town for some time, I gather. How long ago was she widowed, Martha?”

  “Four years, I believe. Dear Greville told me she lost her husband at Trafalgar.”

  “Hmm.” Lady Broughton dropped her lorgnette. “I daresay she has no fortune, then. Everything else about her is unexceptionable. Decent breeding, nothing in her appearance to disgust. Fashionable, but not extreme. But if she has no prospects…”

  “Dear Greville has no need to marry a fortune, Agatha,” her cousin put in rather timidly.

  “Maybe not, but if he’s finally decided to take a wife, and he’s not interested in making a love match, why wouldn’t he choose a woman with money? It can never do any harm, you know.”

  “No, I’m sure it can’t,” murmured the impoverished cousin with a sigh.

  “Well, you should know, Martha,” Agatha declared somewhat heartlessly. “Greville’s no pauper, but even so he should be looking to improve his situation like any sensible man.”

  “Perhaps it is a love match, Agatha,” Martha ventured to suggest. “It’s been less than a month since he returned from his army service. Perhaps he’s been swept off his feet.” She uttered a sentimental little sigh.

  Agatha turned her lorgnette upon her cousin, regarding her in astonishment. “Greville! You’re suggesting Greville would throw his hat over the windmill for a woman. Good God, Martha, the man’s thirty-five years old. He’s never lost his head, let alone his heart. He thinks of nothing but duty. It’s always been duty to his country until now, but I believe he’s finally accepted that he also owes a duty to his family. He’s decided this Lady Farnham will fit the bill admirably, and she won’t interfere with his priorities.”

  Agatha nodded her head vigorously, diamond ear-drops swinging wildly. “Trust me, Martha, I know my nephew. Once he decides to do a thing, he wastes no time about it. He decided to find a wife on this trip home, and he went about it in his usual speedy and efficient manner.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Agatha.”

  “Of course I’m right. And the woman has a child, I understand. A girl child.”

  “I believe so.”

  “Hmm. Well, you can be sure he took that into account. Proven childbearing is an asset greater than a fortune, and he can have every hope that she’ll give him an heir. I’m sure he weighed the pros and cons thoroughly…Greville is nothing if not thorough.”

  Lady Broughton began to move towards the group at the door. She presented a magnificent figure in a clinging gown of striped-crimson-and-turquoise satin that showed off her ample curves to best advantage. She wore the Broughton diamonds, her throat encircled by a scintillating collar, long drops dangling from equally long earlobes, a tiara fastened to her pearl-encrusted black lace mantilla, her wrists gauntleted with gems.

  “Lady Farnham,” she declared, extending her white-gloved hand. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Aurelia fought to maintain a neutral smile as she took the hand. Greville had prepared her well for this encounter, and she had been expecting no surprises. But he had not prepared her for Lady Broughton’s appearance, which was striking to say the least. It was impossible for the gaze not to linger on the ample bosom spilling from the low décolletage of her colorful gown, or the wide swell of her hips accentuated by the hourglass shape of the dress. The gown fitted snugly over her thighs and knees, then flared into a train at the hem. The cut hobbled its wearer, obliging her to teeter on her impossibly high-heeled, diamond-studded satin slippers.

  Greville had told Aurelia his aunt was generally well-meaning but tended to be overbearing. He’d told her that Lady Broughton was firmly of the opinion that she knew better than anyone, Greville included, what was best for her nephew. And he’d advised Aurelia that as long as she ventured no opinions of her own, responded modestly to all inquiries, however impertinent they might seem, and gave every impression of being thrilled at her good fortune in attracting the attention of Colonel, Sir Greville Falconer, then Aunt Agatha would approve the connection. Such approval, while not necessary, would make life a lot simpler. But he had not prepared Aurelia to be struck dumb by the lady’s costume.

  She found her tongue at last. “Good evening, Lady Broughton.” She inclined her head in a courteous bow. “I’m honored to be here…. Are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Bonham?” She fought to avoid Cornelia’s eye, knowing that one shared glance and they would both be lost.

  “Only by name,” her ladyship said, turning to greet the couple. “Of course, you young people move in different circles from those of us in our dotage.” She laughed, and after a stunned moment, her guests joined in the laughter with appropriate disclaimers. No one could call Lady Broughton in her present guise in her dotage.

  “But I do know the Duchess of Gracechurch,” her ladyship declared, tapping Harry on the arm with her fan. “Your relative, I believe, Lord Bonham.”

  “My great-aunt, ma’am,” he responded with a bland smile.

  “Yes, I knew her when I was but a slip of a girl myself,” her ladyship said. “Of course, the duchess can give me at least ten years, but we moved in similar circles when I had my first season.” She turned her attention back to Aurelia. “I understand you reside in Cavendish Square, Lady Farnham.”

  “Yes, in the house of some friends. They are at present in the country. Princess Prokov gave birth to a healthy boy three days ago.” Aurelia smiled. “A matter for great celebration amongst her friends, as I’m sure you understand, ma’am, but they will remain in the country until the princess is deemed fit to travel. Until then, I’m staying in Cavendish Square.”

  “Oh, rather in the manner of a caretaker,” her ladyship said, frowning a little. “Do you not have a London residence of your own?”

  Aurelia’s smile was unwavering. “No, ma’am. I am very fortunate in my friends.”

  Lady Broughto
n nodded. “You would be anxious for your own establishment then.”

  “I own it would be agreeable, Lady Broughton.” Aurelia’s smile remained cool and composed.

  Lady Broughton looked at her sharply. Aurelia regarded her with the same composure. Greville’s aunt was accusing her of being a gold digger, but she would find it very difficult to discompose Lady Farnham. She held the elder woman’s stare and suddenly Agatha chuckled and nodded. “Yes, yes, of course it would be, my dear. Well, if you can make this wandering nephew of mine stay home once in a while, we shall all be grateful to you.”

  When Aurelia said nothing, her ladyship turned aside, putting up her lorgnette. She swept the room, declared, “Oh, my goodness, there’s Dorrie Garfield. She’s looking remarkably well for someone rumored to be on her deathbed.” She teetered off, managing her heels and her train with practiced dexterity.

  “Nicely done,” Greville murmured, speaking for the first time since his aunt had borne down upon them. “You handled her very well.”

  “What did you expect?” said Cornelia. “Lady Broughton accused her of marrying you for your money. You didn’t really think Ellie couldn’t handle such an impertinence? Actually it was more than an impertinence.” Cornelia’s blue eyes were flashing with indignation.

  “You must forgive my aunt…she’s not accustomed to considering the feelings of others,” Greville said, glancing at Aurelia, his gaze as always penetrating, seeing much more than the surface. “She’s been indulged her entire life.”

  Aurelia laughed. She had read Greville’s scrutiny easily. He was anxious to see if she had in any way been distressed by his aunt’s outrageous if covert accusation. His concern warmed her and she said, her eyes smiling at him, “She doesn’t trouble me in the least. There’s no need to look daggers, Nell. I’m not upset.” Aurelia had ostensibly spoken to Nell but the reassurance was for Greville.

  Cornelia looked unconvinced but allowed herself to be carried away on her husband’s arm.

  “Let’s move away from the door.” Greville took Aurelia’s arm, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Do you care for some refreshment…champagne, perhaps? I believe it to be pink. Although the significance of that escapes me.” He smiled down at her. “You do look utterly delectable in that gown, my dear. Emerald is a wonderful color for you. I must remember that.”

  Aurelia smiled her pleasure at the compliment. The emerald green gown of flowing crepe was new, one of her few extravagances, bought specially for the evening, and she knew how well it suited her. It was confined beneath the bosom with a band of gold lace, matched by the edging to the flounced hem. She wore a fragile gold fillet in her hair, the gold gleaming against the pale corn-silk ringlets, and a simple gold chain at her throat.

  “Why must you remember it?” she asked playfully. Tonight they could be as publicly affectionate and flirtatious as they wished because tonight they were to show the intimacy of a betrothed couple. Notice of their betrothal had been sent to the Morning Post and the Gazette. It would appear in print in the morning, and it should come as no surprise to those of the ton who’d witnessed the couple at Lady Broughton’s rout party. It was a relief for once to behave naturally in public in Greville’s company. There was no part to play at this function, what their fellow guests saw was all there was to see.

  “Oh, I might find the urge to buy you a present from time to time,” he said with an airy wave, releasing her elbow. He took two glasses of pink champagne from the tray of a passing footman and handed her one. “A toast,” he said softly, his gaze holding hers as he touched her glass with his. “To our partnership.” He raised his glass to his lips, his gray eyes still holding hers, and they drank, for a moment seeming to stand alone in the crowded room. It felt as if people had moved back to give them space.

  Aurelia sipped her champagne, aware of many eyes upon them. There could not have been a more public declaration. “Partnership,” she agreed as softly as he. For a moment she was filled with a yearning, an overwhelming wish that it was a real declaration. That there was no charade. The air around her seemed brittle as crystal, and she had to do something before it shattered.

  Deliberately she sipped her champagne with a critical frown. “It tastes just like the ordinary stuff…but I daresay my palate is not sufficiently discriminating.”

  “There really isn’t much to distinguish it.” His eyes sharpened at this abrupt change of topic and mood. “Do you care to dance?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Her smile was slightly strained, but she was regaining her equilibrium and looked around her, nodding at acquaintances, murmuring greetings, as they walked into the next room where a set was forming for a country dance.

  Her feet performed the steps of the dance automatically, and she was only slightly surprised that Greville was a good dancer. He was surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man, or it would be surprising if one didn’t know what else he was. In their games of pursuit in the country she had seen him move through a thicket as stealthily as a cat, spring from the roof of a byre to the roof of an outhouse, landing with barely a sound, crawl on his belly through a ditch. He had not expected such tricks from her, but he had been teaching her to look for escape routes, to see her surroundings with fresh eyes, to look for and find opportunities. And she had watched his maneuvers with helpless envy, wishing she could emulate them.

  But she was a lot more at home on the floor of a ballroom moving gracefully to the strains of the orchestra, smiling, conversing, never worried for a moment about where to put her feet. And this, after all, was the arena in which she was to operate. She needed no lessons here. She smiled the smile of a woman who was about to announce her betrothal to the most attractive man she had ever met. The man who twirled her beneath his arm and moved her on down the dance with practiced ease.

  As the music ended, she curtsied to her partner’s bow, and he led her off the floor. “Come and join us at supper,” Nell invited, waving them over to where she stood with Harry. “Harry’s famished for some reason.”

  “I had no dinner,” her husband murmured plaintively.

  “And whose fault was that?” Nell retorted. “You weren’t home in time.”

  Harry grinned. “True enough. I was riding with friends in Richmond and we stopped on the way home for ale, and…well, time passed…you know how it is, Falconer.”

  “Indeed,” Greville said easily. “All too well, Bonham.”

  Aurelia very much doubted that. She couldn’t see Greville idling away an afternoon in an alehouse with friends unless he was there for some other purpose. But then she had similar doubts about Harry. It was easiest with these men to accept their explanations and move on. “Shall we go to the supper room then?” she suggested.

  “We’ll join you in a moment,” Greville said. “I have something I wish to show Aurelia.”

  Cornelia looked as surprised as Aurelia, but said only, “Of course. We’ll see you in a minute.” She linked arms with Harry and they moved away in the direction of the supper room.

  “Show me what?” Aurelia asked, looking at Greville in puzzlement. “Is there something in the house I should see?”

  “No,” he said with a wicked smile. “No, it’s on my person actually.”

  Aurelia’s eyes widened. “That sounds almost indecent, sir,” she murmured. “And I can’t believe you would venture…in your aunt’s house, no less.”

  For answer he eased her ahead of him with a hand in the small of her back into the corridor. She obeyed the pressure as he guided her into a small, deserted ante-chamber. “The picture over there is of one of my more disreputable ancestors,” Greville pointed out casually. “He was a pirate, I believe. But that was probably putting it politely. Handsome devil, though, don’t you think?”

  Aurelia was feeling quite out of her depth, but obediently she looked up at the portrait of a perfectly attired Elizabethan gentleman. “Oh, he has a gold earring! Was that usual in those days?”

  “I have no idea,” Gre
ville said from behind her. Something about his voice made her turn around.

  “Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. He held a small box on the palm of his hand, outstretched towards her. “What is that?”

  “Open it. I can’t believe how clever I was.” He sounded very pleased with himself.

  She took the box, looking at him in a mixture of puzzlement and alarm.

  “It won’t bite,” he said, watching her with a curious little smile.

  She opened the box. A perfect square-cut emerald ring rested against the black velvet. “Oh, oh, it’s beautiful…what a perfect stone.” She took it reverently from the box and held it to the light. The stone glowed deepest green against its surround of tiny diamonds set in white gold.

  “How perfect that you should be wearing that color tonight,” he said, taking the ring from her. “Give me your hand.” He took her left hand and slipped the ring onto her ring finger. “Good, I sized it correctly.”

  She turned her hand this way and that as the emerald caught the light. “I hadn’t thought…”

  “Hadn’t thought what?”

  “Oh, that we would…would do things properly, like this,” she finished, shaking her head.

  “We don’t do things by halves in my business, Aurelia.” He was still smiling, but the comment had an underlying note of seriousness.

  “Yes, but a counterfeit stone would do the job just as well, and I know this is not counterfeit.”

  “No, it’s not.” He took her hands in his, holding them tightly. “I would not disparage you or your contribution to this work by such an insult. You are my partner, and I respect and honor you as such.” Then his eyes took on that sensual glow and he said softly, “And you are far too beautiful a woman to wear anything but perfection.”