The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  He gave a knock before entering. Mr. Hendrick sat at the tutor’s desk, in the same location as it had been when Gray was a boy. Without a word, Hendrick cocked his head toward Rodney.

  Rodney sat at the desk that had once been his father’s. He had a slate and a bit of chalk and was busily writing. He did not heed his uncle’s entrance.

  Gray tossed Hendrick a questioning look. The tutor shook his head and gestured for Gray to go to Rodney. Gray crossed the room and put his tall frame in the small chair that had once been his. Mr. Hendrick slipped out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” Gray asked mildly.

  Rodney did not look up. “Sums.” He wrote numbers on the slate and added or subtracted them. When the slate was full, he took a rag and wiped the numbers away, only to write new ones.

  Gray had little experience addressing young boys. “Did Mr. Hendrick set you to this task?”

  Rodney shook his head. “He said no lessons today.” He scrawled five plus six equals eleven, six minus five equals one.

  “Ah,” Gray said, for lack of anything else to say. He shifted his body, trying to get more comfortable. “Well, he probably hoped to pass the afternoon with Miss Miles.”

  Rodney looked up then. “I have spoiled his plans,” he said mournfully. He slammed down the slate and wrapped his arms across his chest.

  “It is a good thing.” Gray spoke softly. “For we do not pay him to court Miss Miles.” He tried giving the boy a smile. “At least not at the expense of his duties.”

  Rodney stared down at his desk for a long time.

  What the devil do I say? wondered Gray. He ran a hand through his hair and picked out a small twig.

  “I should be flogged,” Rodney finally said.

  Gray looked at him in surprise. “Is that what Hendrick told you?”

  “No,” admitted Rodney. “He refused when I asked.” He looked hopefully at Gray. “But perhaps you will give me a flogging?”

  Good God. If anyone flogged this child, they would get a whole lot worse from Gray.

  “Do not soldiers get a flogging if they do something very, very bad?” Rodney asked, his expression serious.

  “Yes,” Gray admitted. “But there is a trial. The charges are read, and the offender may refute them.”

  “No need for that,” Rodney said firmly. “I’ll not refute them.”

  Gray’s heart was melting. “Might I be told what the charges are, before I go in search of the cat-o’-nine-tails?”

  Rodney squared his shoulders and sat very straight on his stool. His big eyes, so like his father’s, filled with tears.

  “I let go of Sean’s hand.”

  Gray felt as if someone had stabbed him directly in the heart.

  Rodney, not moving a muscle, went on, “Aunt Maggie told me not to let go of him and I did and he ran to the edge and fell in.”

  Being well versed in guilt, Gray knew better than to brush it away. “Well, let us examine this more closely.” He made his voice lower and quieter. “Did you deliberately let go of Sean’s hand?”

  “No,” cried Rodney, the tears nearly erupting. “But I should have held him tighter.”

  Gray reached over and brushed the boy’s hair off his face, but Rodney jerked away. “Did you ever see Sean pull away from your aunt Maggie?” he asked gently.

  Rodney’s eyes widened a bit, but he nodded.

  “Is she not stronger than you?”

  The boy pondered this. “But she is a girl.”

  Gray’s mouth twitched. “I had noticed that. She is strong even so, can we agree? She bent the tree so we could catch on to it.”

  Rodney nodded again.

  Gray reached over and lifted his nephew from the stool, setting him down in front of him so they were eye to eye.

  “Let me tell you something, Rodney.” He kept his voice steady, but with some effort. “I saw in your behavior nothing but bravery. I have served with many men and have fought in many battles, but rarely have I seen a man show so much pluck as you did when you jumped in the water after Sean.”

  Rodney tried to look away, but Gray caught his chin and made the boy face him again.

  “You held on when it most counted. Sean would be dead if you had not. I am as proud of you as a man can be.” His voice broke and he finished in a whisper. “Your father would have been proud of you, too.”

  Rodney fell against his uncle, who wrapped his arms around the boy, his own eyes moist. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let us look in some of these cupboards. I’ll wager I can show you some toys and books that were your father’s.”

  Gray glanced toward the doorway and saw Hendrick standing there. The young man smiled.

  Gray stood up, and with Rodney’s hand in his, they walked over to the cupboards.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Sean slept nearly two hours, and Maggie held him the whole time, silently repeating thanks over and over. Thanks to Rodney for risking his young life. Thanks to Gray, who brought both boys safely to shore. Thanks to God, who again delivered Gray to her when she most needed him. And thanks to God that the stream had not carried Gray away from her.

  If she closed her eyes, the scenes returned. Rodney jumping in the water. Gray going in after him and disappearing in the current. Sean gone. Rodney shouting, holding Sean for so long she had been certain he must let go. Gray rising from the water and bringing them all to safety.

  So she kept her eyes open and gazed at the wonderful gift that was her son, the gift Gray had given her twice.

  Sean woke and rubbed his eyes. “Where is Wodney?” He squirmed off Maggie’s lap. “Where is Miss Miles?”

  Maggie combed his hair, no longer damp, with her fingers. “Rodney should be with Mr. Hendrick.” Sean knew he was not to disturb Rodney when he was with his tutor.

  “I want Miss Miles. Tell Miss Miles I fell in water!”

  Sean had apparently not noticed Miss Miles doting upon him the moment he was carried to this house.

  He pulled at his mother’s hand. “Find Miss Miles!”

  “I cannot, Sean, I am not dressed.” Maggie wore only the dressing gown her maid wrapped her in after removing her wet and torn clothing.

  Sean was undaunted. Though in a nightshirt himself, he ran out the door, shouting, “Miss Miles! Miss Miles!”

  She hurried after him, but when she opened the door, she saw Miss Miles in the hallway, lifting Sean up in her arms and carrying him off, probably to her room where she would undoubtedly have some sweets.

  Maggie smiled, giving more thanks, this time for the quiet young woman who cared so much for her son.

  She closed the door again and glanced around. Every object in the room looked dearly familiar, but somehow more vibrant in hue. She walked over to the little room where Sean slept. From the doorway, she gazed at Sean’s small bed and at the little pair of shoes tucked in the room’s corner. Sean was alive to wear those shoes. She had not lost him. Because of Gray, she had not lost her son. She swung around to the door connecting her room with Gray’s. Her heart swelled in her chest at the thought of him.

  She loved him.

  This feeling was more than the yearnings of her body. She loved him. Maggie felt giddy. Joyous. Like she should dance up and down the room.

  Kitt entered the room to help her dress for dinner. Maggie tried to maintain a sober appearance. This love for Gray must be kept secret, like all her other secrets. It would change nothing between them. It certainly did not mean his feelings for her had changed. Still, she needed to see him. To fill her eyes with his masculine perfection, to see his strength and his kindness.

  “Oh, do hurry, Kitt,” she exclaimed when the maid put too much fuss into arranging Maggie’s hair.

  When her toilette was finally complete, she rushed out of the room, almost colliding with Decker. “Do you know where Mr. Grayson is?” she asked breathlessly.

  Decker always knew where Gray would be. It was his job to know, lest his services be needed. “Last I saw he was
bound for the children’s wing.”

  To Rodney. Maggie had almost forgotten. She hurried off in that direction.

  The sounds of male laughter and banging furniture came from the schoolroom. Maggie cautiously peeked in. Like three little boys instead of one boy and two grown men, Gray and Hendrick and Rodney, battledores in their hands, knocked a shuttlecock about the room, bounding over furniture to hit it. Hendrick caught sight of her and immediately froze. It took Gray and Rodney a moment longer to see her in the doorway.

  Her heart melted at the sight of Gray, hair disheveled, neckcloth totally askew, looking like a recalcitrant schoolboy. She loved him.

  She pretended to be shocked. “What goes on here?”

  Rodney was first to burst out laughing. “Lessons!” he finally managed, making the two men join in the laughter.

  Maggie smiled. “So I see. I do apologize for interrupting, but might I borrow your uncle for a moment, Rodney?”

  Hendrick and Gray sobered. Gray handed his battledore to Hendrick and crossed the room to her. “Is something amiss? Sean?”

  “Everything is splendid.” She suspected sunbeams must be radiating from her smile. “Sean is at this moment being fully indulged by Miss Miles. I merely wished to talk with you for a moment.”

  Gray glanced back to Rodney.

  “Go, Uncle. Mr. Hendrick and I will straighten the room.”

  Maggie and Gray left the schoolroom and walked a few paces in the hallway before Maggie, feeling childish and giddy, grabbed his hand. “Come to the ballroom with me.”

  They hurried down the stairs to the ballroom, looking about them as if engaging in a mischief. Maggie could not even feel her feet touching the ground. She suddenly wished for music, to dance the scandalous waltz up and down the room with him. When they reached the room, she contented herself with throwing her arms around him, laughing.

  He held her. “What is this?”

  Her arms twined around his neck and she pulled his head down close to her lips so she could whisper in his ear. “I wanted to thank you in private.”

  Gray felt her curves mold to his body. He could still smell the river on her. He pressed her against him, wishing for a much more private place than the ballroom. His lips sought hers and she returned his kiss eagerly, as if they’d both been starving and the other was a waiting feast. His hands sought to explore her as he tasted her sweetness. But they were in the ballroom with its many windows and doors, where anyone might enter or walk by.

  He made himself pull away, made himself become serious. “Maggie, your thanks are undeserved. It is I who should beg your forgiveness for endangering the children.”

  She waved her hand as if sweeping his words away. “You saved them, and the water did not take you under. That is all that signifies.”

  It felt as if she were speaking of something more than their episode at the stream. He remembered her earlier words. “Maggie, before you said, ‘This time.’ You said, ‘This time the water did not take them.’ What did you mean?”

  She stiffened and withdrew.

  “Tell me, Maggie. Who was taken from you?”

  She gave him a panicked glance, growing smaller before his eyes, like a flower closing its petals.

  “Tell me,” he repeated.

  She took a step back and shook her head. She sought his eyes, hers pleading. “Not now. Not when I am so—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  Happy, he finished for her. She’d seemed so happy, so free of care, like a bird suddenly freed from its cage. He felt like a cad for spoiling the moment between them.

  He opened his arms to her and she rushed into his embrace. “All right,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “Today is not a day for revealing secrets.”

  He’d be patient, but not for long. He planned to discover what she guarded so closely inside her.

  At the far end of the room a clock chimed. “Come.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “It is nearly the dinner hour. I must don my dinner clothes or face my father’s sharp tongue.”

  He was rewarded by her glowing smile. Offering her his arm, they walked to the ballroom door. Before opening it, Maggie hugged him again.

  Desire flared within him. He suspected he could open that door connecting their bedchambers this night and she would come to his bed, in gratitude, if nothing else. But when their bodies finally joined, he wanted nothing between them. No secrets. No barriers.

  He would wait.

  After another quick kiss Gray left her at the parlor door. Maggie watched him head for the stairway, off to dress. Her giddiness had mellowed, though his request to hear her secrets almost washed it away entirely. How wonderful of him to release her from that demand, but he was a wonderful man, was he not? She blushed, thinking of how she had flung herself at him, but she also felt the secure heat of anticipation warming her flesh. In time he would accept her invitation to make love to her. At the moment, she was content to merely love him.

  She opened the parlor door. Olivia sat on the settee, sniffling and looking through her latest issue of La Belle Assemblée.

  When Olivia looked up, tears were glistening in her eyes. “I did not think to see you this evening. I thought I was to be alone.”

  Maggie’s brow wrinkled. She did not wish to worry over anyone this moment. She wished only to be joyous. “There is no need for me to be above stairs. But why are you crying, Olivia?”

  “I shall compose myself in a moment.” Olivia’s chin trembled and she dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I suppose it is merely the fright of this day’s events still plaguing me. Do not credit it.” She gave Maggie a brave look, one Maggie did not believe at all. “Is Sean still sleeping?”

  “No.” Maggie crossed the room, keeping a concerned eye on Olivia. She rearranged the vase of flowers on the table. “He woke with his usual energy, yelling for Miss Miles. I suspect she will get more than an earful of his adventure in the water and will not be able to make one bit of sense out of it.”

  Olivia attempted a teary smile. “I am glad he feels so well.”

  Parker came to the door. “Sir Francis, my lady.”

  Olivia sprang to her feet. “Oh, show him in.”

  Parker stepped aside. Sir Francis, who had been standing right behind him, rushed up to Olivia. “My dear lady, the news reached all the way to Rosehart. I took the liberty of returning. How is young Palmely?”

  Olivia’s face crumbled. Sir Francis took her hand, but Olivia leaned against him, so there was no choice but for him to close his arms around her.

  “I have had such a fright, Francis.” His ready comfort made mincemeat of her attempt at bravery. She wept against his lapel. “Rodney almost drowned! Gray and Sean, too!”

  “There, there.” Sir Francis patted her back, a look of bittersweet bliss on his face. “I am told they all are unhurt.”

  He finally noticed Maggie. “Oh! Bless me, I did not see you there, Mrs. Grayson.” Red-faced, he released Olivia, handing her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose with it, even though her own was within reach.

  He strode over and shook Maggie’s hand. “How do you fare, ma’am? And your little boy?”

  She smiled at him. “I assure you, we are unharmed.” Her legs were crisscrossed with scratches from the under-brush and her hands raw from hanging on to the tree, but she did not credit that.

  He’s in love, too, Maggie thought happily, feeling suddenly as if she and Sir Francis were kindred spirits. She wanted Sir Francis to hold Olivia as Gray had held her, wanted him to feel that same sense of floating about the ceiling for the sheer joy of it.

  Olivia recovered her manners. “Do sit down, please.” She invited Sir Francis to share the settee with her. He took her hand again and she squeezed his. “Oh, Francis, my nerves are quite shattered.”

  He gave her an expression of genuine concern.

  A tentative knock sounded at the door. Rodney stood in the doorway, Hendrick behind him.

  “May I c
ome in, Mama?” the boy said.

  “Rodney!” Olivia sprang to her feet again and rushed over to her son, hugging him against her bosom. Sir Francis stood.

  The boy pulled away. “Mr. Hendrick suggested I visit you before my dinner to show you I am all right.”

  “Dearest Rodney!” Olivia exclaimed, hugging him again. She turned to Sir Francis. “I have quite decided to forgo the house party next week. I cannot leave my son after that horrid accident!”

  Sir Francis displayed the very briefest of disappointed looks before saying, “I quite agree.”

  Rodney’s face fell, and as one round cheek was again squeezed flat against his mother, the corners of his mouth turned down. Olivia finally responded to the boy’s efforts to push away, and he met her anxious countenance with a hastily transformed smile.

  “Do not worry so, Olivia,” Maggie said. “Rodney is undamaged by his ordeal.”

  Rodney gave her a grateful look. Sir Francis looked hopeful.

  “Surely you do not think I might leave him?” Olivia whispered, aghast.

  Hendrick stepped forward. “If I may presume, ma’am, it would be best at such a time if young Lord Palmely kept to his routine. In fact, we must keep him busier. With more lessons.”

  “Do you think so?” Olivia looked from one to the other.

  Maggie regarded Rodney’s tutor with amusement. The young man, who had so recently been bounding about the schoolroom after a shuttlecock, now sounded so serious, he could not be contradicted. Rodney seemed barely able to keep from bursting into laughter.

  Olivia gave a deep sigh. “Oh, very well.”

  “May I be excused now?” asked Rodney, his lips twitching.

  His mother smothered him to her breast once again and kissed him on the cheek besides. “Good night, my love.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Good night, Mother.” He bowed very correctly to Maggie and Sir Francis, and left the room.