“Bea! You are being fanciful. How can Lady Westbrooke still be a virgin?”
“I don’t know, but I mean to find out.”
“You can’t meddle in their affairs.”
“I certainly can. And so can you.”
“What?!” Alton stiffened.
“Yes. You must talk to Lord Westbrooke.”
“He is not going to talk to the butler, especially about personal matters.”
“You were a spy during the war with Napoleon. You can gain his confidence.”
“Spying was different—”
“It was not. You were getting information for a good cause. This is a good cause, too. You’ll be helping continue Westbrooke’s line and make two young people happy.”
“Bea—”
“Please, Billy? We will invite them for an intimate dinner. You will get Westbrooke drunk. Then he will confide in you.”
“He won’t.”
“He will.” Bea shook Alton’s arm. “He looks desperate to me. He needs the advice of a man of your experience.”
“I don’t think—”
“And I will not be idle. I will see what I can learn from Lizzie. Together, I’m certain we can solve this problem.”
“We can’t—”
“We can. We must. Please?”
Billy had never been able to say no when she used that particular note of need in her voice. She was not surprised when he sighed heavily.
“Oh, very well.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
She proceeded to thank him very thoroughly indeed.
“Thank you for escorting me to Lady Beatrice’s dinner party, Robbie.” Lizzie sat, hands folded, on one side of the carriage. Robbie occupied the other.
“You are my wife, Lizzie. If you want something, you need only ask.”
I want you in my bed. Lizzie pressed her lips tightly together. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? No. Robbie was still in his seat. If she’d spoken, he would have leapt from the moving coach.
They’d been married almost a month, and still he had not visited her room. He’d stopped attending most social events with her. She was surprised he’d agreed to come tonight, though Lady Bea’s invitation had quite pointedly demanded his presence.
They were strangers inhabiting the same house.
She’d waited for him on their wedding night, even though he’d hinted he wouldn’t come. Betty had convinced her he would, but Betty had been wrong. She’d waited every night since.
She smiled ruefully. Betty was furious. “It’s not natural,” she said every time she looked at the connecting door. Lizzie was certain Betty had shared her feelings with Collins who must have mentioned the topic to Robbie.
Did he hate her?
She smoothed the fabric of her skirt. She had been twisting it into knots. Betty would castigate her if she came back with her beautiful new dress ruined.
What did it matter? She could dress in servants’ castoffs for all Robbie cared.
She sniffed as quietly as possible, casting a glance at her husband. He had his head back against the squabs, his eyes closed.
And then there were the rumors inundating society all of a sudden. She had never heard a whisper concerning Robbie’s sexual exploits in all the years she’d been in Town, and now she encountered giggles and knowing looks every time she approached a group of women.
Did Robbie really have several mistresses and a few choice widows he visited regularly? No wonder he was tired.
Well, there was only one way to find out the truth of the matter. She must ask him.
Her hands started to shake. She gripped her skirt again.
Perhaps she should wait until they were returning? Then she could flee to her bedchamber for a good cry. If she broached the subject now, she would have to maintain her composure under Lady Beatrice’s eagle eye all through dinner.
No. If she waited, she would lose her courage. She only had a thimbleful in any case.
“Robbie.” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Robbie, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about…about a…” She cleared her throat once more. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about…ack.” Her throat closed up tight.
“Are you all right?”
“No. I am not all right.” She sat up straighter and clasped her hands very tightly together. “I need to speak with you. Well, I’ve been meaning to apologize.”
Robbie smiled wryly. “Lizzie, I’m certain you have nothing to apologize for.”
“No, I do. If I hadn’t been such a flat, so buffle-headed as to go up in the tower with Lord Andrew, you would not have been compelled to wed me.”
“You could not have foreseen that blackguard would attack you.”
“Well, no, I suppose not. But I knew he was not to be trusted. I knew it was unwise to be alone with him.”
Robbie held up his hand. “Enough. Do not torture yourself. It serves no purpose.”
“But I feel badly for having ruined your life.”
“You have not ruined my life, for God’s sake.”
“But…that is, I meant to ask…do you love someone else, Robbie? Is our marriage keeping you from her?”
Robbie’s voice was tight. “I do not love someone else.”
“And your mistresses and widows? I realize…I mean I…well, I have heard rumors recently and I would prefer to know the truth. Not that I have any grounds to ask you to stop frequenting the women—”
“There are no mistresses or widows. I have heard the rumors, too. They are ridiculous—and just began circulating after our marriage. I suspect Lady Felicity and Lord Andrew are the authors of the tales.”
Lizzie nodded. “That thought had occurred to me also, so why…” She took a deep breath and grabbed her courage tightly in both hands. She would never get this close to an answer again. “So why do you not visit my bed?”
Robbie made an odd noise that sounded like “gaag.”
“Are you all right?”
He grunted.
“I’m certain I should not be raising the issue, but I can see no benefit in roundaboutation. You need an heir, do you not?”
Robbie made another odd noise. Lizzie took that as assent.
“Exactly. And I am completely willing to assist you in that endeavor.”
“Lizzie.” Robbie ran a finger under his cravat and cleared his throat. “Lizzie, I told you I could not have children. That is why I did not offer for you before.”
“Well, yes, I know that is what you said, but you never explained how you had ascertained that fact. Is it because your mistresses have not conceived? I am not sure that is conclusive evidence. I think you should try again.”
“Lizzie!”
The light was too dim to be able to say for certain, but she thought Robbie had turned a bright shade of red.
“No, this is too important a subject to ignore.” Lizzie looked down. Her skirt was a wrinkled mess. Part of her wondered what Lady Bea would say when she saw it. The other part was in full out panic. Her heart was beating so wildly, it felt like it would leap from her breast.
She had to get an answer now. She would never have the courage to revisit this subject.
“I have spent many hours recently considering the topic. I know you did not choose me—”
“Lizzie, for God’s sake—”
“—but you are, unfortunately, stuck with me. I know, also, that I am not a great beauty, but neither am I a total antidote. Couldn’t you just close your eyes and pretend I was someone else? Couldn’t the task be accomplished that way?”
“Lizzie!” Robbie grabbed her shoulders and shook her so hard her head flopped back. “Don’t say such things. You are lovely, beautiful, a diamond of the first water. You are all any man—all I—could want. If I could have chosen, I would have chosen you.”
“So why…?”
“Because—”
“My lord?”
Lizzie turned. Robbie’s footman stood at the open door of the
carriage, waiting for them to descend.
Thank God Thomas had opened the carriage door when he had. Robbie smiled at Lady Beatrice as he stepped into her drawing room. Still, it was only a temporary reprieve. He had to talk to Lizzie soon—sooner now he knew she was blaming herself for his behavior. God! Hearing her denigrate herself…. The words had stabbed him through the heart.
“Are you feeling quite the thing, Lizzie?” Lady Beatrice inspected Lizzie through her lorgnette and then turned the blasted thing in his direction. Her beady little eyes studied his face.
He kept himself—barely—from running a finger around the top of his cravat.
“I’m fine, Lady Beatrice.” Lizzie’s voice was subdued.
The black fog of melancholy that had enveloped him since his marriage thickened.
“And you, Lord Westbrooke?” Lady Beatrice lowered her lorgnette and raised an eyebrow. “You seem a trifle down pin as well.”
“I am perfectly fine.” He tried to inject some ice into his tone. Lady Beatrice did not look impressed.
“Hmm. You sound as if you’ve caught a chill. Have some brandy. Alton, give the man some brandy.”
Robbie could have sworn Alton threw Lady Bea a sharp look before he poured.
“Might as well fill three glasses. I’ll have one, and I’m certain Lizzie here could do with a little liquid warmth, heh, miss?”
“I, um…” Lizzie glanced at Robbie. “Well, yes, all right. Thank you.”
Robbie took a glass from the butler. Where were all the other invitees?
Suddenly he had a very bad feeling about this dinner party.
“Whom else are you expecting, Lady Beatrice?” He sipped his brandy. Hopefully it would steady his nerves. “Where is Meg?”
“Meg went to the theater.” Lady Beatrice smiled coyly. “Didn’t I tell you? You and Lizzie are my only guests.”
The sip had been a bad idea. The liquid shot up his nose. He choked.
Alton kindly pounded him on the back.
He wiped his streaming eyes. When he could see again, he saw Lady Beatrice grinning at him.
“I merely wished to spend some time with the newlyweds. Frankly, as I say, neither of you is exactly glowing with joy. Why?”
Fortunately he did not have anything in his mouth now, though he might strangle on his tongue. Instinctively, he looked for support from the only other male in the room. Alton gave him a commiserating smile. The man had shared the same household, if not the same bedroom, with Lady Beatrice for over forty years. He must be used to her odd starts.
“Lady Beatrice, please.” Lizzie sounded quite fierce. She was glaring at the woman. “Our marriage is none of your concern.”
“Now don’t get on your high ropes, girl. Of course it is my concern. I was your chaperone. I feel responsible. Something obviously is not right between you two.”
Robbie was going to expire of mortification right here in Lady Beatrice’s drawing room. “You are to be commended for your concern, ma’am, but I really must protest your intrusion into our private affairs.”
“Hmm.” The woman stared at him. He kept his face politely blank. He had had years of perfecting his society mask.
Suddenly she smiled. “Very well. I’ll change the subject. Alton, is dinner ready?”
“I shall inquire.” The butler gave Lady Beatrice another speaking look. She grinned back at him.
Bloody hell, they looked like an old married couple.
“I have heard a number of unpleasant rumors recently,” Lady Beatrice said. “Ridiculous mutterings about you, Lord Westbrooke. If one believed them all, one would think you never got out of bed—and never slept either.”
His ears were red, he knew it. “But of course the rumors are ridiculous—and I am not certain you have changed the subject.”
Lady Beatrice shrugged. “We are now discussing the latest on dits, a perfectly common society topic.” She turned to Lizzie. “Do you think the stories groundless?”
“Of course. We just discussed them in the carriage coming here. There were no rumors before we married. To have so many spring up after we wed—it is rather obvious that Lady Felicity and Lord Andrew are behind them.”
Lady Bea nodded. “My thoughts exactly. And, if you’ll pardon my saying so—”
“Do we have a choice?”
Lady Beatrice frowned at Robbie. “Stop muttering—and no, you do not have a choice. As I was saying, the rumors are really too outlandish to be believed. Those two would have done much better to have chosen one tale to spread. That would have been much more believable.”
“Thank you.”
“I told you to stop muttering, sir.”
Robbie gritted his teeth. Growling would be equally unwelcome, he assumed.
“So it is not these foolish stories coming between you?”
“No!”
Robbie and Lizzie spoke together as Alton opened the door.
“Dinner,” he said, “is served.”
“Splendid. Come along.”
Lady Beatrice took Alton’s arm. The man froze and glowered at her.
“Oh, don’t be such an old stick, Billy. It’s just family, after all. You will join us for dinner.”
Robbie swore he could hear “Billy’s” teeth grinding.
“My lady, I am the butler. A butler does not sit down with the mistress—and, as to family, neither Lord Westbrooke nor Lady Westbrooke is the least bit related to you.”
“Pshaw.” She shook his arm. “I need your help. I’m certain Lord Westbrooke will welcome another male at table.”
Lady Beatrice was one hundred percent correct about that.
“Join us, Alton,” Robbie said. “It is a trifle irregular, but I dare say most things about Lady Beatrice are.”
Instead of glaring, the old harridan grinned at him.
“Exactly. You may as well get used to eating with company, Billy, since I do mean to marry you.”
Robbie could almost see the steam coming out of Alton’s ears. So the rumors were true about them. He wasn’t surprised, not after seeing them together. And much as he’d love to witness Lady Beatrice getting a blistering set down from her butler, he’d much rather have another male at the dinner table. At this point gender meant much more than class.
“Please, Alton. Perhaps you can keep Lady Beatrice in line.”
The man sighed. “I have not been able to do so heretofore.”
Lady Beatrice patted Alton on the arm. “Don’t take it to heart, Billy. My brother George said the same, though nowhere near as civilly.”
The meal was torture. Alton sat stiffly, clearly uncomfortable. Lizzie spent most of her time studying her plate. Robbie clutched his wine glass as a drowning man would cling to a handy piece of flotsam.
Without warning, Lady Beatrice speared a bean and pointed her fork at him. “Before you wed, Westbrooke, you scandalized society with the longing looks you cast at Lizzie.”
Robbie’s mouth dropped open. Fortunately it was empty at that moment.
“He did?” Lizzie halted her fork’s progression from her plate to her lips. She blinked at Lady Beatrice.
“You mean to tell me you didn’t notice?”
Lizzie blushed and shook her head. “No, I never did.”
Lady Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Well, you were the only member of the ton who didn’t. But that’s beside the point. The important thing is now everyone is noticing the lack of those looks. They are beginning to speculate. You do not want the ton speculating, I assure you.”
“Oh.” Lizzie began to mutilate her lobster patty.
Damn. Robbie hated to see Lizzie unhappy.
“Lady Beatrice, for God—”
Lady Beatrice raised her eyebrow.
“—goodness sake. We are married now. Longing looks are quite inappropriate.”
“Indeed. I completely agree. They should be replaced by lustful looks, by I-can’t-wait-to-get-back-into-bed-with-you looks.”
“Lady Beatrice!”
> “Don’t ‘Lady Beatrice’ me, Lord Westbrooke. Have you two been to bed?”
Robbie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He felt, he was sure, just like a beached fish.
“Hmm. I wouldn’t think you’d need pointers, boy, but if you do, ask Billy. He’s quite the virtuoso between the sheets.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Let’s leave the men to their port, Lizzie.”
“Surely that isn’t necessary, Lady Beatrice? We are such a small gathering.” Frankly, Lizzie felt it was time to go home. Robbie and Mr. Alton had been imbibing rather freely. She gave Robbie a speaking look. He grinned drunkenly back at her and took another swallow of wine.
“Go ’long, Lizzie. Billy and I’ll be fine, won’t we, Billy?”
Mr. Alton nodded carefully.
“See?” Lady Beatrice leaned over and whispered in Lizzie’s ear. “We’ll leave ’em alone. Give Billy a chance to talk some sense into that cod’s head you married.”
“I don’t know….” The odds of either man formulating a sensible thought at this point were remote.
“I do.” Lady Beatrice stood. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen?”
The men lurched to their feet.
“Cert’ly.” Robbie hiccupped. Mr. Alton inclined his head.
Lady Beatrice led Lizzie back to the small drawing room.
“Have a seat by the fire, dear, and I will get us something to drink.”
“I don’t see the tea tray.” Lizzie perched on the edge of her chair. Did she want to have this conversation? Surely it would be better to collect Robbie and call for the carriage.
But what if Lady Beatrice could help?
No, she couldn’t discuss her marital troubles. She’d be betraying Robbie’s confidence.
If only Thomas hadn’t opened the coach’s door when he had. If they’d had five more minutes—not even that—one more minute, Robbie might have told her why he’d been avoiding her bed.
Could she get him to talk to her again?
“Blech! Who wants tea? Brandy’s what we need.”
“Lady Beatrice, I really don’t think….”
“Good. Don’t think.” Lady Beatrice handed her a glass of brandy and settled herself into the comfortable chair across from her. “Feel. Talk. Tell me what the problem is between you and your new husband.”
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