Tears slipped down her cheeks, dripping onto the collar of her serviceable brown dress. Drawing a shaky breath, she swiped at them with the back of her hand before heading downstairs. The workmen had finished the conservatory yesterday, and it was time she decide what she wanted to fill it with. Libby would be visiting another type of nursery later in the day.
She wouldn’t go until that afternoon, which left her the entire morning to fill. Libby wandered around the floor level of the house, absently taking in the changes she’d already made and more determinedly taking note of what else she wanted. The dining room, parlor, and breakfast room were completed. The conservatory simply needed to be filled. She made her way to the music room.
Large and wide, with two sets of double doors leading outside, the room should have been welcoming. As it was, it simply seemed hollow. The floors lay rough and unfinished, snagging at her slippers. The walls bore nothing but bare paint, the only furniture a lonely pianoforte in the corner. Even the electric lights cast no warmth.
Libby walked the full length of the room, planning her changes. It wasn’t long before she could practically see the room as it would be, newly laid parquet floors gleaming, a raised dais gracing one end of the room, large enough to hold a string quartet. Silk wall hangings in light green contrasted with heavier drapes in a darker shade, all highlighted by electric wall sconces.
Wanting to make a note reminding herself to consult the electrician, Libby realized she’d left her notepad in her room. It didn’t take long to fetch it and quickly map out the décor for the music room. Done up as she planned, it would serve as a ballroom, too. They’d need whitewashed chairs with green cushions to line the walls. Libby wanted one more look at the dimensions of the room before she went to the shops.
As she descended the steps, the doorbell summoned Jenson from the pantry. She reached the main entry as he opened the door to reveal—
“Tabitha?”
“Libby!” Her sister rushed across the hall to envelop her in a crushing hug. “Oh, Libby, you have to forgive me!”
“We’ll adjourn to the parlor, Jenson.” Libby interrupted Tabitha before she could pour out the whole story in front of the butler, who couldn’t quite hide his interest at the tableau.
Libby ushered Tabby into the parlor, closing the double doors behind them. The moment they sat down, Tabitha was off and bursting out with apologies once more.
“I had no idea Papa’s finances were dependent upon my marrying Captain Royce,” she babbled, her hands fluttering in distress. “That you’d have to take my place … I never thought …”
“Neither had I,” Libby agreed. Nor Gregory, for that matter. “But what is done is done.”
“If you’re not happy, you can come live with Donald and me. We have that lovely little house on Charter Street now—his father gave it to us as our wedding gift.” Tabitha fairly beamed with pride. “It’s not half so grand as this.” She gestured to encompass the surroundings Libby had put so much time and thought into.
“No, I can’t.” Libby shook her head. “We’ll make the best of what we have. Gregory, so far, is rarely home….” She winced at the dull throbbing in the back of her throat, refusing to add that he stayed away because he didn’t want her. “And it doesn’t matter what the size of your house is.” More rooms mean more to be left empty and alone.
“All the same, it’s our home, and we’d be glad to have you.” Tabitha tripped blithely along as one of the doors swung inward. “No one should be trapped in a loveless marriage, Libby. I wouldn’t have fled my own if I knew I’d be condemning you to the same fate.”
“Condemning?” Gregory’s voice thundered from the doorway, his face folded in a forbidding scowl as he strode into the room.
He came to a halt at the side of Tabitha’s settee, not allowing himself to look at her. Instead, he focused on Libby. She’d gone pale then red as he made his way over, raising her chin.
“Is that the way you feel, Libby?” He lowered his voice and raised a brow. “Condemned?”
“No, of course not.” Libby met his gaze, but he saw a shadow of doubt flicker in her darkening hazel eyes. “Tabitha was just being”—she glanced at her sister before finishing—“dramatic.”
“She does have a flair for the dramatic,” he agreed, rounding on the woman who’d jilted him. He refused to be distracted by the light blond of her hair, the wide blue eyes so filled with dismay at the sight of him. When she didn’t respond, he prodded further.
“Leaving a man at the altar certainly qualifies as dramatic, wouldn’t you say?” He loomed over her, turning his gaze back to Libby. Did Tabitha really think I’d be so awful to her that marriage to me is a type of doom? He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch, and he gritted his teeth.
“Oh, Gregory—” Tabitha began, but he wouldn’t let her speak.
“No. I believe we’ve had enough drama in the past month.” He held up a hand in dismissal. “Now, my wife and I have things to discuss. I trust you’ll see yourself out.” Gregory walked over to hold the door wide, refusing her the option of dawdling. Once she’d left the house, he slammed the parlor door shut, covering the distance between himself and Libby at a rapid pace.
“Gregory, that was rude,” she chided as she faced him.
“My apologies.” He sat for a brief moment before bolting up again, his steps eating the length and breadth of the room as he paced. “I suppose I should have been more polite to my fiancée who eloped on the eve of our wedding.”
“You’ve every right to be angry with Tabitha,” Libby soothed, putting out a hand and laying it on his arm in an attempt to stop him. She closed her eyes for a moment when he shook her off.
“Good to know.” He loosened his collar. “It’s always nice to have permission to be mad at the lying woman who betrayed you.”
“She is my sister.” Libby’s voice hardened. “That hasn’t changed.”
“Everything else has.” He strode toward her, drawing just short of standing on her toes. “You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes.” Instead of shrinking back into the settee, she tilted her chin to look up at him. “And with change must come compromise if things are to work out.”
“Compromise? What am I to compromise on with Tabitha?” He raked his fingers through his hair and thumped onto a nearby chair. “If you’ll recall, she dishonored the last deal we made.”
“This is no longer about Tabitha.” Libby leaned forward. “This is about the two of us reaching a compromise. She just happened to be visiting at the same time you came home.”
“It’s my house.” He glowered. “I’ve every right to be here. She doesn’t.” Not anymore.
“She’s my sister,” Libby repeated slowly. “She’ll always be welcome in my home. We have to find a way to reconcile that.”
“No.” Gregory got to his feet. “Tabitha will never be welcome here.”
Chapter 9
You’re not thinking about leaving?” Libby stood up, hands clenched at her sides. “Because in a month of marriage, I’ve seen you for no more than three days—less, if you want to be particular.” At her words, he’d stopped midstride. She pushed ahead. “So you can see why I’m certain you wouldn’t walk out on our first disagreement after forbidding me to see my own sister. Such a thing would be …”
“Would be what?” He turned and stalked toward her, his voice low and deceptively soft. “My right as master of this house? Your duty to carry through with my wishes?”
“Unconscionable.” Libby met his gaze, refusing to give an inch. “Walking out on your wife now would be unconscionable.”
“Libby—” He drew a deep breath. “I’m not trying to punish you.”
“What would you punish me for?” She furiously blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. For not being the bride you wanted? For not reviling my own flesh and blood?
“Nothing. But as my wife you must support my decisions.”
“Not when your decision cuts me off
from my family.” She shook her head sadly. “I know Tabitha hurt you, Gregory—”
“She didn’t hurt me!” The words exploded with incredible force. “Tabitha came close to humiliating me, it’s true. But she made me furious—it’s a mistake to confuse the two.” His eyes sparked with a barely banked fire.
Recognizing her error, Libby sought to regain ground. “Of course she’s provoked your ire.”
“See that you don’t forget it.” With that, her husband headed toward the door once again.
“I’m the one who’s hurt.” Her whisper sighed in the deserted room as Gregory didn’t even look back.
“I’ve decided to take you up on your kind offer,” Libby announced as she walked into Sarah’s modest home.
“Excellent!” Sarah tugged on the bellpull, summoning a maid. “I’ll need my cloak, Betsy. And please have the carriage pulled ‘round. We’ll have need of it today!”
Libby kept a smile on her face as the maid scurried away, but it didn’t fool her friend.
“But why do you look as though you’re preparing to do battle?” Gregory’s mother narrowed her eyes. “What has my son done?”
“I’ve not come to bear tales, Sarah.” Libby rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension. “Suffice it to say that I’m not doing this for Gregory. I want new dresses and so forth to please myself.”
“Very well.” The older woman didn’t probe. “I couldn’t believe he came home for a single morning before going off on his third trip since your marriage. I’m beginning to think he needs a business partner.”
Libby refrained from offering her opinion as to what, precisely, Gregory needed. She was, after all, a lady. Instead, she made an announcement.
“The study will be finished within a few days. I’ll be sending out invitations for my first dinner party at Cranberry Hill.”
“It’s about time you entertain guests!” Sarah looked Libby over, a shrewd gleam in her eye. “I take it this means you know when Gregory will be back. What is the date to be?”
“A week from tomorrow.” Libby couldn’t help but add, “Though I do not know whether or not my husband will be in attendance.”
“You’re hosting a dinner party without Gregory?” Sarah’s tone was flat, disapproving.
“Yes. I’ve scarce seen my husband for three days out of the past thirty-seven.” Libby pleaded with Sarah to understand her unconventional decision. “I can’t spend all my time alone in Cranberry Hill. Why am I working to make it beautiful if no one will ever see it?”
“Agreed.” Her mother-in-law drew her brows together. “Gregory has always been one to go his own way, so let it be on his head that you’re left to your own devices.”
“Then I can count on your assistance?”
“Absolutely. I know the most charming soloist who should provide your guests with after-dinner entertainment in that lovely music room of yours….” And with that, they began planning the evening.
They ironed out the particulars during the carriage ride to Madame Celeste’s shop, who, Sarah informed Libby, was the most talented hairdresser in these parts.
“Such lovely hair,” Madame Celeste mused, combing through Libby’s heavy locks. “Ze curl must be freed, no?”
“I keep it so long because the curls spring wild, otherwise,” Libby explained. “It ends up looking like a dandelion when it’s shorter.”
“Non, non,” Madame protested. “You use ze pomade to tame ze pouff and is lovely.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” Sarah interrupted. “And a few locks cut shorter around the face to frame her eyes.”
“Exactamente.” Madame nodded her approval and, at Libby’s hesitant nod, rinsed her hair with a shampoo smelling of lemons. “Zis will lighten ze color,” she promised. Then the woman set to her task with comb, shears, and an almost frightening enthusiasm.
Libby closed her eyes as, with the snip of the scissors, locks of her hair littered the floor. It’s time I took better care of myself, took more care with my appearance. She cracked an eye open to see Madame’s gleeful smile and snapped it shut once more. This will be worth it. It has to be!
As the Riverrider pulled into the dock, Gregory argued with himself.
Should he spend the night in his cabin, as he’d done so often over the past six weeks, or go back to Cranberry Hill? Ah, but going back to Cranberry Hill would be perilous enough in the light of day.
Loath though he was to admit it, through much prayer and thought, Gregory had to face the truth. He’d treated Libby horribly. She had every right to flay him with her words the moment he stepped over the threshold. After all, what kind of man deserts his bride directly after their wedding night—twice—before throwing her sister from their parlor?
Granted, Tabitha deserved far worse from him, but Libby did not. When it came right down to the bare bones of the matter, she’d had even less choice about this marriage than he had. He had faced humiliation and a heavy toll on his business image. She’d faced the betrayal of her sister and the financial destruction of her father should she refuse. And, to boot, she was saddled with a negligent, angry groom who disappeared when he should have been seeing to their marriage.
Father, I’ve made a mess of things. Part of me says I should go home immediately and apologize, try to compromise with Libby. The other part of me argues that it would be unfair to arrive at night, expecting her to welcome me when it would shortly be time to go to bed. I cannot expect that of her.
Ah, but I could sleep in one of the spare bedrooms so as not to pressure her. And it would be so good to be home….
No matter what difficulties lay between them, he knew Libby had made Cranberry Hill the warm, welcoming home he’d always intended it to be. His desire to be home, to begin patching things up with Libby, immediately won over.
A short carriage ride later, he pulled up to a house blazing with lights. He let himself in, drawn up short at the sight of a magnificent chandelier, crystal drops of all different sizes capturing the light over the grand staircase. The sight was breathtaking so as almost to distract him from the sweet notes coming from the music room. Almost.
He followed the sound of the pianoforte and a woman’s breathy soprano to find the music room completely transformed—and filled with guests. He stood in the doorway, staring blankly for a moment as he struggled to process what was going on. Surely Libby wouldn’t entertain without his presence? What wife would open her husband’s home in his absence?
His wife. There was no denying the truth of what lay before him. Where was she? Libby had some explaining to do. He silently surveyed the crowd of no fewer than twenty people, scanning for the long, honey-brown locks of his wife.
Gregory recognized his mother first, his gaze slipping past the attractive woman seated beside her until a niggle of recognition made him focus more intently on … Libby?
Chapter 10
Libby’s hair, much shorter now, tumbled from a loose knot in riotous curls. A few soft tendrils framed her lovely eyes, drew attention to the generous curve of her smile as she tapped her gloved fingers in time with the music. She easily outshone every other woman in the room—all save her sister. Tabitha reclined only a few seats away.
His good intentions forgotten, Gregory strode down the side of the room until he was level with his wife. He touched her bare shoulder, scarcely registering the softness of her skin as he jerked his head toward the door in silent command. Her eyes wide, she followed him into the hall.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His hissed question garnered attention from a few of the guests, and Libby ushered him into the study.
For a brief moment, Gregory was nonplussed by his surroundings. A massive mahogany desk stood in one corner of the room, easily large enough for him to draw up a chair. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorned two entire walls, filled with rich, leather-bound sets of volumes and folios. Electric lamps sat on thoughtfully placed tables to cast light in every corner.
Squashy chairs and a lea
ther sofa curled near the cozy warmth of the gas fireplace, cushioned by a rug in shades of deep blue and crimson. The room bespoke a woman’s thoughtfulness to meet her man’s needs, evidence of the type of harmony their marriage should enjoy.
Harmony that didn’t exist. Remembering the reason she stood before him now, Gregory nearly choked on his anger. How could the same woman who made Cranberry Hill the home he’d always wanted stand there so blithely after denying him the pleasure of seeing people’s reactions to it? How could she cheat him of his role as master of the house? How dare she announce to the world that she doesn’t need me?
“Well?” Gregory thundered this time, grinding his teeth. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“It’s good to see you, too, Gregory.” Libby closed the door behind them, shutting out the strains of a lilting melody and ensuring their discussion would remain private. “Good to—” His mouth opened and shut again, giving him an uncanny resemblance to a fish out of water. “What are you playing at?”
“I’m playing at nothing.” She said no more. Let it rest on him to dredge up reasons to argue. Libby was tired of it.
“Then what do you call that”—he gestured toward the music room while searching for the word—“spectacle?”
“A dinner party, of course.” Libby watched as her husband pulled a thick cigar from his pocket. “I’ll have to ask you not to light that in here.”
“Excuse me?” As he shook out the flame of his match, the sparks in his eyes glowed. “Last I checked this was my house.”
“And it still is,” Libby agreed pleasantly. “But since last you checked, I did stock and refurbish this library. I won’t allow Papa to smoke in here—it ruins the books, you see. Makes them musty.” She watched as he looked at the room once more, unable to hide his admiration for the luxurious furnishing.
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