Rose shot her an innocent look. “And what do you think I’ve done, Baroness? Is Priscilla not the same as when you left her this afternoon? Though I may have suggested a new way to wear her hair, is that worthy of calling a constable for my arrest?”
The words were spoken so sweetly that the baroness drew upright and harrumphed under her breath. “It isn’t her hair, and you well know it is something more. She—and you—are plotting something untoward and I intend to uncover your secret.”
With that, she left the table. Thomas waited until she was gone before speaking. “Well done, dearest. You have her ruffled and befuddled. One chick has been pulled out from under her wing and she isn’t pleased.”
Prudence rattled her teacup noisily. “I agree with Mother. You have done something to Priscilla.”
Rose considered confessing, but decided against sharing the confidence. Prudence was most like her mother in stuffiness and ill humor, and Rose couldn’t be certain she’d keep the news to herself. In fact, she would most likely speak up to keep in the good graces of her mother. Rose couldn’t take that risk.
“Leave it be, sister,” Thomas scolded. “Let Priscilla be happy. It’s been too long since either of you enjoyed your lives.”
Prudence winced. “I think I shall check on Mother.” She quickly fled in her mother’s wake.
“That was harsh,” Rose admonished softly, her heart constricting from the flash of sadness she’d seen on Prudence’s face. She wasn’t a particularly pleasant person, but she did visit orphans, and that was something to admire.
Thomas leaned forward. “It is past time to lessen mother’s control over them. Priscilla adores Byron and I intend to see her marry him. And if Prudence intends to be Mother’s shadow forever, I want it to be her choice, not Mother’s.”
The forceful words took Rose aback. Her even-tempered husband was showing a darker side. She liked it very much.
She cast him a seductive sidelong look and touched her tongue to her bottom lip. She whispered so the footman couldn’t hear, “I find myself in need of a bath, husband. Perhaps you would care to join me upstairs?”
His brows went up with the invitation. He turned to the servants. “My wife would like a bath. Bring the biggest tub we own.”
* * * *
The house was a-bustle when Thomas returned at noon from a meeting at White’s with a shipbuilder looking for investors. The sound of footfalls from above drew his attention to the staircase. He quickly went up to find several maids carrying his wife’s possessions from her bedroom to his.
“What is this?” he asked when Rose appeared in the open doorway of his bedroom. He sidestepped a maid.
Rose came into the hallway. “I am weary of waking in the morning and finding you gone. The dressing room between us is too far a walk, so I have decided that it is time for us to share a bed.”
There was a hint of mischief in her eyes. His lovely wife loved to flaunt convention whenever she could. “Sharing a bed with one’s spouse is highly frowned upon,” he teased. The idea of sharing a room appealed to him, too. “We will shock the household.”
“The baroness has already called it unseemly,” Rose said tartly. “I think she has taken to her bed with a mysterious malaise.”
Thomas looked around and discovered that the door across the hall was open. He took Rose by the hand, pulled her into the empty guest room, and pushed her gently against the wall behind a silk screen.
“I think the idea is splendid. I would like nothing more than to share a bedroom with you.” He kissed her soft mouth, teasing her with his tongue until she melted against him.
The voices of the maids drew them apart. Rose caressed his chest and met his eyes. “We will continue this later, in our marital bed.”
With a last seductive glance, and sway of her hips, she rejoined the maids in the hallway.
Thomas chuckled. In a matter of a few days, she’d upended his somber household and sent his mother into fits of vapors. She seduced him, laughed with him, and challenged him.
His wife was positively delightful.
With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair. Perchance his worries were for naught. She’d shown no signs of restlessness over the last few days and the hat had vanished. Unfortunately, he could not shake the feeling that despite her wish to share his bed, all was not settled in his marriage.
* * * *
Hyde Park was busy when Thomas, Rose, and Priscilla arrived in the carriage. Priscilla tried to keep poised, but the sight of Byron, bedecked handsomely in a gray coat and trousers, brought a wide smile. When he helped her from the carriage and tucked her hand under his arm, she was fairly gleeful.
“For a woman who just two days ago was embracing spinsterhood, your sister has changed for the better,” Rose said as Thomas swung her down from the carriage.
He tucked her in beside him and followed behind Byron and Priscilla. “Priscilla never embraced spinsterhood. She felt she had no choice. Mother ran off her callers until they stopped coming. My brother and I were away at school and couldn’t intervene, and Father’s illness has kept him from worrying about his daughters. Sadly, spinsterhood was their only option.”
Rose nodded. “Will I ever meet your father?”
Thomas peered up at the sun peeking through the trees. “Possibly, though unlikely. His madness keeps him from socializing, even with family. The last time I was in Dorset, he chased me out of the manor. From what I’ve learned from his physician’s correspondence, he has to be kept locked in his chamber on many days to prevent him from doing harm to himself and others. I fear one day soon we will receive news of his untimely death.”
“How sad.” Rose remembered the painting of Thomas’s father in the library. They resembled each other. “One would think having family close would bring him comfort.”
He nodded to a passing couple. “Father was a hard man. He never showed interest or affection toward Mother, or to my siblings and me. Now he doesn’t recognize us anymore. When we do visit, our presence seems to agitate him further, so we seldom make the journey.”
Rose squeezed his arm. She watched Byron and Priscilla enjoy each other’s company and dropped the maudlin topic.
They talked and walked, keeping pace with the others, yet maintaining enough distance for them to talk privately.
“I think we should start a family,” Thomas said abruptly. “If we are to have ten children, we need to move along before I am too old to father them all.”
Rose stumbled to a halt, her eyes wide. “Ten children? Please tell me you are jesting.”
He shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer twelve. A full dozen would be nice. Six girls and six boys. Excellent idea, love.”
She placed a hand over her heart. “If you think I will bear that many children, husband, you need to rethink that decision.” She scowled. “Or find yourself another wife.”
Thomas’s laughter stopped Byron and Priscilla on the path. He took Rose’s hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. “I am teasing you, dearest. A dozen children would exhaust you.” He held her gaze. “I want you awake in our bed.”
Cheeks burning, she glanced around. “Someone might hear.”
“Let them.” He tucked her hand under his arm. “All women should have such a devoted husband.”
Sighing, Rose shook her head and looked at him sidelong. She could not fault his argument. He was devoted and she was very lucky to have found him.
“Four children.” she said with a second sigh. “Perhaps five, but no more. You must satisfy yourself with five.”
Amused, Thomas nodded. “Five it is.”
Time passed by as they strolled along the Serpentine and enjoyed the pretty park. After two hours, Thomas indicated an end to the visit and led them toward the carriage.
“This was lovely,” Priscilla said
as Byron kissed her hand before helping her into the coach. She settled on the seat, affection clear in her eyes as she looked at him.
“May I call on you again?” Byron asked.
“You may,” Priscilla replied happily. “Soon.”
Thomas snorted and settled Rose on the seat. He frowned as Byron bowed over Rose’s hand, nodded to him, and walked off, whistling an unrecognizable tune.
“Oh, brother dear, must you scowl?” Priscilla scolded. “Byron has been entirely proper. Why shouldn’t he visit?”
“Why indeed?” Rose pressed her husband. “The poor man knows your mother and still chooses to court your sister. You should be pleased.”
He walked around the carriage. “As head of this family in Father’s stead and Fredrick’s absence, I am the one he should be asking when he can call. He presumes much.”
“Do not be so stuffy,” Rose said. “If Byron wants to spirit Priscilla off to Gretna Green tomorrow, I shall gladly help her pack her trunk.”
Priscilla giggled and Thomas looked up to encompass them both with a glare. “You two will be the death of my sanity.”
“Hello, Stanhope.” The call stopped further argument. Thomas spun around. Rose saw a tall man approach, limping slightly and leaning on his cane. “I thought that was you. It’s been weeks.”
Thomas smiled, though the effort appeared forced. Rose stared, curious about the stranger.
“Wilkinson. I see you have yet to recover from your fall,” Thomas said. “You might want to try a less enthusiastic nag for your illegal races down Rotten Row.”
The man laughed. “There was a time when you would have joined me in a lively race.” He tipped his head up and looked at Rose. “Though from what I hear, you now have something more interesting to occupy your time. This must be your wife.”
Rose shivered. There was something familiar about the man, though she couldn’t settle it in her mind. What she did know was a feeling of instant dislike for him, as serpentlike eyes raked boldly over her.
Thomas nodded and made introductions.
“I can see why you have given up a bachelor’s life, Stanhope,” Mr. Wilkinson said, without breaking contact with her eyes. “Your Mrs. Stanhope is a beauty.”
There was something dark in him and Rose jerked her gaze free. Thomas must have sensed her unease, for he stepped between them. “I do not mean to be rude, but the day has been long. We must return home, for my wife is weary.” Climbing into the carriage, he took up the reins. “Another time, then.”
The carriage pulled away and Rose took one last glance back. The man grinned and tipped his hat. She turned quickly around, dismissing him.
“I do not like him,” Rose said, rubbing her bare arms. The encounter left her eager for a bath.
“No one likes him, love.” Thomas clicked his tongue and the horse quickened its pace. “He is not the sort of man a husband wants near his wife.”
“Why then do you associate with him?”
“He is as rich as Midas and has power in Parliament,” Thomas said. “It is best to stay in his good graces.”
Rose suspected there was more to the stranger than Thomas hinted at. A flirtatious cad would not be worth the subtle warning. Mr. Wilkinson looked at her as if he knew her, and she was certain she’d seen him before. But where?
* * * *
Rose spent the evening in Thomas’s arms and woke up the next morning a more confident wife. She went down to the kitchen and planned the day’s meals with the cook and instructed the housekeeper on the duties she wanted finished for the day.
The next few days were filled with activity as Rose spoke to every member of the household and familiarized herself with the town house from the eaves to the cellar.
“I need to speak to Ackers,” Rose said one evening, referring to one of their footmen. “I smelled ale on his breath this morning. I’ll not have him drinking while on duty.”
Thomas leaned back in his chair. “I’ll look into the matter. If there is a problem, the reprimand should come from me.”
“Thank you, husband.”
The staff warmed to her with her genuine interest in them. The maids no longer looked at the baroness before filling Rose’s requests, and were eager to please their new mistress.
The baroness was as grim as ever. However, Rose made a point of speaking to her only in a cheerful manner. If they never became civil, so be it, but it would not be because Rose did not attempt to ease the tension between them.
It was a quiet morning almost two weeks after Rose became Mrs. Stanhope when she was left alone for the first time, without the family somewhere in the house. The baroness and Thomas’s sisters were out and Thomas was meeting with the family solicitors. Once a month they discussed estate issues and how to expand their holdings.
With shrewd investments, Thomas had grown the estates, both the family’s and his own. With her husband at the helm, the family wealth had flourished in the recent years. Rose was proud of his astute mind.
Sitting in the upstairs parlor, she was attempting to do some needlepoint when the housekeeper announced a visitor. “A Mister Wilkinson is here, Mrs. Stanhope.”
Wilkinson? She grimaced. Her first thought was to refuse him. Then, upon remembering Thomas’s wish to stay in his good favor, she nodded. “See him in.”
Rose’s stomach tightened when Mr. Wilkinson strolled into the parlor with a cocky air. She wondered if the visit had been timed for a moment when he knew she’d be alone.
Had he been watching the house? The idea left her chilled.
Given the feral look in his eyes, she was confident his presence had nothing to do with Thomas and everything to do with her. She was as sure as she knew her own name that he had somehow scheduled the call to his benefit.
“Leave the doors open, Mrs. Black,” Rose directed.
“Yes, Mrs. Stanhope.” The housekeeper withdrew, scowling at the visitor. Clearly she had the same negative feeling for the man Rose did.
Wilkinson grinned. “You do not trust me?”
Rose had spent enough time in the presence of men, as the duke’s courtesan, to know how to read the signs of a man on a hunt. She’d not be trapped into a scandalous situation in her own home by a stranger bent on mischief.
“I do not know you well enough to make that judgment, sir.” Her voice was ice cold. “State your business and be gone.”
His smile wavered. “You need lessons on how to act as a hostess, Rose. You have not made me feel welcome.”
The back of her neck prickled with his use of her name.
Thankful for the open doors, Rose stood. “I know I’ve seen you before but cannot figure out where. I sense you have a nefarious purpose in mind and think it better for us both if you’d tell me what it is, and then leave. I am not interested in playing games.”
The stranger lost all traces of humor. He walked toward her. She held her ground as he came within arm’s reach.
“Then we shall skip the preliminaries.” He raked his dark eyes down her body. “I want you in my bed, Rose.”
Rose gasped and slapped him. Hard. “How dare you come into my home and make such a vile insult.”
Wilkinson touched his gloved fingertips to his face. His eyes darkened. “You crawled into His Grace’s bed for payment. You may be a wife now, but you are still a whore.”
Gasping, Rose stumbled back. “H-how . . .” How could he know about her past? Her stomach recoiled.
The evil grin was back. “I saw you at a courtesan ball last year. You were stunning in gold silk.” He paused. “His Grace was parading you around like a prize nag. You had the attention of every man in the room, not the least my own. I suffered through many frustrating nights thinking of all the ways I could have you. Then you vanished.”
He raked a heated gaze down her b
ody.
“You are despicable.” She remembered that ball. There had been so many faces, she didn’t remember his, though obviously it had stuck somewhere in her memory.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the park with Stanhope, and then discovered he’d wed you.” He snorted and reached out a hand. “However did you manage to escape His Grace, and snag yourself a baron’s son?”
She stepped back. “Leave me alone, you bastard.”
The weight of knowing he could potentially hurt Thomas was almost more than she could carry. Thomas was a respectable man with a respectable family. If this beast chose to make her past public, he could ruin Thomas in the eyes of society.
Thomas cared nothing about her past. Still, society would not be as welcoming of a courtesan in their ranks. Doors would be closed to him and his family. Rose would be shunned. She knew this, even if he chose to ignore the reality of his choice to marry her. She had to save him from facing this as his future.
As if knowing he had her trapped, Wilkinson stepped forward. “I will keep your secret, dearest, in return for one day a week in your bed.”
Sickened and weak-kneed, Rose dropped into a chair. “I cannot.”
“You will.” He smirked. “We will begin our association next week. I will leave the details to you. Send around a note with the where and when and I will come to you.”
Without warning, he jerked her to her feet and kissed her. Shocked, she stood frozen. Just as quickly, he released her and left, clearly smug and confident she’d do his bidding.
Her knees wobbled and she felt heartsick. In a few minutes he’d turned her from respectable wife back into a courtesan.
It did not matter if she wore proper clothes and had learned how to be a proper wife, beneath everything, she was, and always would be, a courtesan in the eyes of men like Wilkinson. And in her heart, she knew he was right. She’d been fooling herself to think otherwise.
Scrubbing her mouth on her sleeve, Rose ran from the parlor, up the staircase to her room, and emptied her stomach into the chamber pot.
Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband Page 5