The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  Even the weather cooperated with his mood. Three days of rain: bone-chilling, relentless rain, as dismal as the depths of his depression.

  Decker hovered about like a mother hen, but refrained from criticism, which was good, because in this mood Gray would not have hesitated to give him the sack. The fledgling valet dared, however, to skirt the boundaries of Gray’s goodwill by insisting he eat, bringing trays of warm bread, rich cheeses, the sorts of food as easy to consume as they were to digest.

  The young man worried about him, as well. Gray heard Decker’s voice outside the room asking, “What should I do, ma’am? Should I send for the physician?”

  Fool, Decker. A physician did not have the means to heal a disease of the spirit.

  It was Maggie’s voice who answered. “He will come around. I am sure of it. Keep him comfortable and give him as little drink as you can contrive.”

  Limiting his drink. Managing even his own dissipation. The devil with her! He wanted to forget her as well. Forget the sympathy in her eyes. Forget the comfort of her hand upon his back, the taste of her lips against his.

  He drank port, the dark red wine of Portugal, and sometimes its haze made him think himself back on the Peninsula. Campo Mayor, Los Santos, Membrillo.

  Orthes, where Rosa died.

  He liked it better when the port made him forget.

  He wallowed in his misery, indulging himself in every moment of total self-pity, but after three days he was sick of it, as disgusted with himself as would be everyone else. The family. The servants. Tenants. Village. Some war hero, he was. Some prodigal son.

  He forced himself to sit up in bed, rubbing the three days’ growth of beard on his chin and scratching his head. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, cotton fouled with cow manure, that is. He slid himself off the bed and stumbled across the room to the pitcher of fresh water Decker provided every day.

  Gray rinsed his mouth and splashed the cool water on his face. That felt better.

  The room had no air. He wove his way to the window and opened it wide, breathing in the cool fresh air of dawn. He gazed out and saw clouds threaded through the sky, but in between there was a promise of blue as clear as . . . as clear as Maggie’s eyes.

  He groaned.

  Maggie. His wife who was not a wife. She might be some sort of temptress, though. Teasing him by popping up throughout his reverie, fading in and out of the mist, interrupting gory scenes of battle, the horror of Rosa’s death, and memories of his father ringing a peal over his head.

  The pounding in his head made him nauseous. He took another big gulp of air, but lost his balance and banged his head against the wall.

  It was a good thing he had not fallen out the open window. Or perhaps that was a bad thing. One long plummet to the shrubbery below and his broken body would bring eternal oblivion.

  No, he was not quite ready for that level of forgetfulness.

  A wave of nausea hit him again, and he nearly lost his balance once more, grasping the windowpane in time. He practically crawled back to his bed. Collapsing on the rumpled linens, he closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.

  “Bang!” A cannon fired next to his ear.

  No . . . no . . . it was a door slamming against the wall. It merely felt like a cannon. Small feet pounded across the room and something propelled itself on top of him.

  He opened one eye a tiny slit.

  “Papa!”

  A little boy bearing the weight of about ten grown men bounced on his chest. Sean.

  “Papa, wake up!” Sean squealed, the sound ricocheting in his cranium.

  Pain! His head had never hurt so much.

  Yes, it had. The last time it hurt like this, a baby had been born. This baby.

  Sean grabbed hold of Gray’s hair and tried to pull him up.

  “Ahhh,” Gray cried. Words were still a bit beyond him.

  Sean giggled and tugged some more.

  Maggie rushed into the room. “Sean, no!” Her voice was nearly as piercing as the child’s.

  Through his barely open eyes, he saw she wore only a thin, loose nightdress. Her luxurious hair was unbound, tumbling down her back like some silken wave.

  She grabbed Sean and pulled him off. Gray used the opportunity to breathe.

  “Noooooo!” cried Sean, fighting her with flying fists and feet.

  The child’s struggles pushed the wide neckline of her gown off her shoulders. Gray watched as it slid down inch by tantalizing inch, revealing more and more of her full rounded breasts. Closing his mouth, which had dropped open at the sight, he reminded himself it was nothing he had not seen before.

  He sat up and became suddenly aware of his own state of undress, having tumbled into bed naked. He hurriedly covered himself toga-style with the bed linens.

  “I do apologize, Gray.” She tried to keep hold of the flailing Sean, pull up her gown, and back out of the room at the same time. “He escaped before I knew it.”

  “Noooo!” Sean raised his voice a brain-shattering octave. “Ride horfe!”

  “Ahhh!” Gray grabbed again for his head. “Not the damned horfe again.”

  Well, horfe was almost a coherent word.

  “He has been talking of nothing else for three days,” she said, panting with the effort of keeping a grip on the whirligig who had been his tormentor. “Ever since he learned you took Rodney on a ride. We put him off because of the rain.”

  And because Papa was drunk as an emperor, no doubt, but Gray figured, somewhat gratefully, she’d not have described him this way to the boy.

  She finally reached the door, gown nearly below the dusky rose nipples he’d seen through the thin fabric. She took one hand off Sean to reach for the doorknob, and the boy squirmed out of her grasp, galloping across the room back to Gray. Maggie ran after him.

  This time Sean clamped his chubby arms around Gray’s legs. As Maggie and Gray both tried to pry him loose, the bed linens fell away and Gray’s line of vision looked straight down Maggie’s nightdress. Their eyes met in mutual shock. Both let go of Sean and covered themselves.

  “I’ll take him riding,” Gray said, feeling his face go red, double-checking to make sure his lap was covered.

  Maggie held the neckline of her nightdress in her fist. “Are . . . are you able?”

  He ignored his pounding head. “Am I fit, do you mean? Not at present, but give me an hour or so. Decker must have some remedy. Maybe some breakfast will do it.”

  “You are not obliged to indulge Sean.”

  Obliged? He was obliged in everything, was he not? Why not in indulging little Sean?

  “I need to get outdoors. Do not fear. I’m not fit to ride at anything but a walk.”

  “Ride?” Sean perked up.

  “Are you certain?” She tilted her head.

  Sean looked from one to the other, his eyes wide. “Ride?” he asked, his voice pitifully infused with anticipated disappointment.

  Gray’s mouth twitched. He glanced at Maggie, who smiled back at him. It was a moment of connection between them, the sensation of time stopping.

  He looked back at Sean, who regarded him with big, hopeful eyes. Gray could not resist another glance at Maggie. The time-stopping moment repeated itself.

  “Ride, Maggie?” He mimicked Sean.

  Her expression softened. “Oh, very well.”

  Sean started jumping up and down, still holding on to Gray’s legs just in case. “Wodney too,” he declared.

  Gray looked to Maggie.

  “He means he wants Rodney to come with you.”

  “Ah.” He nodded in understanding and looked back at Sean. “Very well. Rodney, too, but be off and mind your mother first.”

  Sean’s little face broke into a huge joyful grin. “Wodney!” he cried at the top of his lungs. “Wodney! Ride!” He ran out of the room yelling, “Wodney! Ride!”

  Gray grabbed his head.

  Maggie giggled and Gray discovered he liked the sound. “Shall I sen
d for Decker?” she asked.

  He smiled at her, enjoying for this one moment the sight of her, the feeling of connection with another person.

  “I suspect he is right outside the room waiting to enter.”

  She smiled back at him and the connection held a moment longer.

  “Let me meet the boys in the kitchen in an hour. We can beg breakfast from Cook before heading to the stables.”

  “It is kind of you, Gray,” she said, turning and breaking the connection. She walked back to her room and closed the door behind her.

  The riders were long gone when Maggie met Lord Summerton in the breakfast room. She could not help wondering about them. Would they ride far? Would they ride near the stream or toward the village? Would Gray stick to the paths and road or take them over the hills?

  She would be restless until they returned. She told herself the restlessness was due to worry about Sean.

  After breakfast, she cajoled Lord Summerton into taking a turn around the garden with her, getting him in the sunshine and fresh air and away from his study.

  The earl could spend whole days in his study, looking at the papers she and Murray had pulled out for him. Papers that appeared important, but would cause no problem if lost or misplaced. They used to leave books on his desk, on agriculture or horse breeding, but lately Lord Summerton’s powers of concentration could barely sustain perusal of the latest newspaper from London. Since Gray had been out of the earl’s sight for three days, Maggie was not certain if he remembered his son’s presence. He certainly did not know of Gray’s intention to remain at Summerton. It would be best for Gray not to mention this decision, but rather simply be present until the earl became accustomed to him, if he ever would.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Gray. What did it mean for him to stay at Summerton? She’d spent the last three days in an agony of uncertainty. If he stayed at Summerton, would it mean she and Sean must leave? How could he bear to look at her each day, knowing what she had done to him? Of course he would wish her to leave.

  She thought of the glimpse she’d had of him. Magnificently broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and as muscular as the Roman statues. The sight of him had reawakened desires she could not even damp down while they’d been circling each other like angry cats. She remembered the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, the exhilaration of his kiss.

  Heat rushed through her, reaching that secret part of her as if he were touching her now, as if he were kissing her as he had in the parlor just three days ago. This excitement inside was meant for marriage. If they had been truly married she could feel the thrill of mating with him, could feel him fill the emptiness inside her, driving her to the very pinnacle of delight.

  Maggie fanned herself with her hand, though the day was fairly cool for midsummer. The earl plodded along next to her, apparently not noticing anything amiss.

  She could not allow herself to be unsettled by such carnal thoughts, even if Gray had looked so unkempt, unshaved, and disheveled, like her first sight of him in the doorway of his rooms in London.

  She must not think of that day any more than she should think of him unclothed. Thinking of that day brought back the despair and desolation of being friendless, penniless, and homeless. He would not totally abandon her and Sean, would he?

  She forced herself to think of something else.

  She thought of Sean. How happy he was to be riding a horse! Giddy and uncontrollable in his excitement. She did hope no harm came to him on this ride. He was so little and the horse was so tall. She shook her head. Gray would make sure he was safe, she was certain of it.

  Lord Summerton stopped in midstride in the center of the path bordered by pink and white rhododendrons. He thumped his cane against the damp earth. “Enough of this frivolity. I need to get to work. There is much to do to run this estate, I’ll have you know.”

  “You need exercise as well, my lord,” Maggie told him. “And it is a lovely day to take a walk. See how pretty the flowers are.”

  “Hmmph,” muttered Summerton. “She spent a bundle on these fool gardens. Waste of blunt. Better used for crops or livestock, something to make a profit.”

  The “she” was Gray’s mother, Maggie knew. The earl never spoke kindly of his departed wife. It made Maggie sad for her.

  “The gardens make Summerton beautiful.”

  He gave a snort in response.

  She would not pursue this conversation and risk taxing his fragile temper. She sighed. “Very well, my lord. Shall we return to the house?”

  She led him to a path that took longest to lead back to the house. When he was securely ensconced in his study, she did not tarry indoors. The day was too glorious. She grabbed a basket and walked back to the garden, strolling to the lavender bed that was thick with blooms.

  Humming “Sally in Our Alley,” she filled her basket with piles of lavender. The pleasant scent enveloped her and clung to her skin. She savored the sense of peacefulness it brought, fleeting though it might be. What more could she do than try to enjoy each day as it came? She’d done no less since arriving at Summerton. When the basket overflowed with the fragrant lavender, she put it on her arm and started back to the house, choosing to cross the park where the breeze was strongest and the sunlight brightest.

  She heard a shout from behind her.

  “Mama!”

  Sean came running across the park, laughing as he went. Rodney followed close behind. Gray trailed after them at a distance, his pace a bit more sedate.

  “Mama! Mama! Horfe jumped!” Sean cried as he collided with her skirts, causing a rain of lavender blossoms to fall from the basket.

  Rodney caught up, laughing. “Not a big jump, Aunt Maggie, but he thought it quite daring.”

  Dear Rodney had read her worry. Maggie gave him a relieved smile. She put down the basket and stooped to Sean’s level. “The horse jumped? What excitement!”

  “Jumped high!” Sean cried, stretching his small arm up as high as he might.

  “High,” she repeated.

  “Real high!” He jumped himself to show her.

  “Not that high.”

  She looked up to see Gray towering over her. His neckcloth was a bit askew. He wore his coat with a casual ease and his eyes were shaded by his tall hat. She felt dizzy looking at him.

  His expression was unclear. “A little jump,” he explained to her. “Nothing to signify.”

  Maggie’s feeling of ease fled, but it had nothing to do with Sean on a horse. “Rodney has assured me, sir,” she said to him.

  “Tell Miss Miles!” Sean cried, still at full volume.

  “Yes, my darling.” Maggie gave him another hug. “You must do so.” She stood up and looked to Rodney. “Will you see him to Miss Miles?”

  “Yes, Aunt Maggie,” Rodney said agreeably. He took Sean’s hand. “Come on, Sean. We’ll tell Miss Miles and Mr. Hendrick, too. Is that not a capital idea?”

  “Capital idea,” repeated Sean as they walked to the door.

  Maggie turned back to Gray. “I see he has had a high time. I do thank you for it.”

  Gray gave a small shrug, but his mouth turned up at the corner. “Unstoppably good.”

  She laughed. “Oh, dear. I gather the ride was longer than you might have wished.”

  He cocked his head, and she found her heart was beating quite rapidly. He leaned down and picked up the basket.

  Unsettled, she reached to take it from his grasp. “I must put these in the still room.”

  “I’ll carry them.” His large, strong hands already gripped the basket’s handle.

  She resisted the impulse to touch them.

  As they walked side by side, he was silent, and she could not reconcile the feelings of exhilaration at being in his presence with fright at what he might say to her when he did speak.

  They made their way to the still room off the servants’ wing. It was a large, tiled room with a long table and dozens of glass basins of all sizes and shapes on the shelves.
On other shelves various flowers and fruits were laid for drying. The room held the scent of generations of fragrant oils, jams, and jellies.

  Maggie placed the basket upon the table and set about removing the flowers, placing them next to each other in neat rows.

  “Do not tell me you also distill spirits,” Gray said.

  She gave him a wary glance, bracing herself for another barrage of chastisement for all her work at Summerton. “No, I shall tell Mrs. Thomas I have gathered the lavender. She will attend to it.”

  He leaned against the wall. “I am pleased there is at least one thing you do not do.”

  He would mock her instead. “Yes, Captain.”

  She headed for the door, but he caught her arm. “Forgive me.” He released her and folded his arms across his chest. “That was unnecessarily churlish. I ought to be grateful to you for your assistance to my family.” He gave her a level gaze. “I cannot quite manage it, however.”

  Her sense of foreboding increased. She met his eye. “I do not require your gratitude.” She proceeded to the door.

  “Maggie?”

  She stopped, but did not turn around.

  “I am resolved to stay at Summerton.” His voice was firm.

  “I did not doubt it.” The words she dreaded to hear were about to be spoken and suddenly she could not bear it. She could not bear that this man would send her away.

  She reached for the doorknob.

  “I can assure you there will not be a repeat of the last few days.” His voice rose. “I am over that.”

  “You owe me no assurances.” She turned the knob.

  “Wait,” he commanded.

  Her shoulders sagged, but she stood tall again when she turned to face him, as if facing an executioner. She’d often thought of what that would be like.

  His expression was stony. “You and I must come to some arrangement.”

  She lifted her chin. “Assure me the means to support my son and I will do whatever you require of me.”

  His brows rose. “Are we back there again? I thought we had settled all that.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “What I require of you is to be my wife.”

  She gaped at him. “I do not precisely understand.”