Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  A sober butler answered. “Yes?”

  “Where is Wilkinson?” Thomas pushed past the servant.

  “He isn’t here,” the man called after him as Thomas rushed from room to room. The servant hadn’t lied. With the exception of a cowering maid, the small apartment was empty. “He hasn’t been here since yesterday morning.”

  Thomas growled and left. He reclaimed the mare and headed out of London. If his wife had run off with Wilkinson, there was only one direction they’d go to hide—north to the wilds of Scotland.

  He intended to kill Wilkinson before the day was out.

  * * * *

  Rose traveled the Great North Road, the horse making no effort to do anything but plod along at a jolting pace. Her entire body ached and her brain pounded against her skull as the miles crept slowly by beneath overgrown hooves.

  Her heart shattered a piece at a time as the distance between her and the town house grew. Still, she did not turn back, even when a misty rain began to fall and the road turned muddy. As long as the horse kept onward, she would accept the cold rain seeping through her shawl and clothing as her penance for living a debauched life.

  A coach passed, splashing foul water on both her and her mount in its wake. Rose looked down at her soiled dress and burst into tears. The reins went slack as she slumped forward and put her grimy gloved hands over her face.

  Without guidance, the horse meandered off the road before she realized what he was doing. When she finally looked up and brushed away her tears, she realized he was standing in a muddy ditch.

  “Bad horse,” she said, and tried to steer him back onto the road. He was having none of her efforts. She slid down from his back and slogged through the deep puddle to his head. Her boots filled with water and sloshed as she walked.

  No amount of tugging would move him. He was stubbornly happy to stay as he was, his legs buried up to his hocks in watery mud. “Please,” she begged.

  Chilled to the skin, she began to sob, her tears mingling with the rain as it dripped off the narrow brim of her sodden bonnet and down her face and neck. Her patience long gone, she tugged and tugged on the mangy beast until her arms grew weak from the effort.

  “Need assistance?” The voice came out of the rain like a boom of thunder. Rose and the horse startled. She looked up through a veil of water and saw only the dark outline of her rescuer. But she knew the voice intimately.

  “Thomas?”

  He swung down from his horse and splashed over to take the reins. The horse seemed to sense he couldn’t continue his stubborn behavior and let Thomas lead him easily from the ditch.

  Traitor, Rose thought as she trudged silently along behind them.

  Once they gained the road, Thomas faced her. “Where is Wilkinson? Has your lover abandoned you already?”

  Her head jerked up. She stared. “Wilkinson? You speak riddles, husband.”

  His frown turned dark. “Come, wife. I know you have run off with the cad. I need to know his whereabouts so I can find him and break his neck.”

  A shiver overtook her. She wasn’t certain if it was from the cold or the tone of his voice. Either way, she knew he’d misunderstood the situation.

  “I did not run off with Wilkinson,” she snapped. Her teeth chattered. “I despise him with my entire being. I’d rather throw myself into the Thames than let him touch me.”

  Thomas pushed his hat back. “A few minutes in his company and you’d choose death over him. Why?”

  Clutching her wet shawl around her, she refused to answer.

  He clearly wouldn’t accept her silence. He dropped the reins and gripped her upper arms. “Rose, you tell me why you’ve run away, now, or I will leave you here to freeze.”

  Freezing to death did not seem like a remote possibility. She barely had the strength to stand. “He knew me as the duke’s courtesan,” she whispered. “He made threats.”

  Thomas swore under his breath. “A simple threat sent you off on this ridiculous ride on that shabby horse?”

  She slowly shook her head. “There is more. He said if I didn’t go to his bed, he would see your family ruined.”

  Rage burned in Thomas’s eyes. “I’ll kill him.” He released her arms and clenched his gloved hands into fists.

  Rose stepped back. She couldn’t bear the thought of Thomas spending his life in Newgate because of her. “Please let me go,” she begged, her voice rising. “I am not meant to be a wife. It will be best for us all if I disappear.”

  “Best for whom? My mother?” He shook off his great coat and settled it around her shoulders, then he took her arm and led her beneath a nearby tree. Once they were sheltered from the rain, he faced her. “I do not care that you were a courtesan. How many times must I assure you of my feelings?”

  “Saying such is easy when you do not consider your family. They will not be so generous when they find out the truth. You cannot hide my past from them forever.”

  Thomas wanted to both shake her and kiss her, his bedraggled wife. She’d risked everything, even freezing rain and possible death, to keep him from ruin.

  “I can assure you Wilkinson will say nothing of your past,” Thomas said. “He will risk his life if he does so.”

  Rose turned away, looking small and fragile. Somewhere during her flight from London, she’d lost her spirit.

  “Oh, Thomas, please free me. Find a more suitable wife.”

  The dejection in her voice took him aback. For a woman who claimed she’d never love him she sounded lost.

  He walked around to face her. “Is that truly what you want, Rose?” She said nothing. He pushed back her bonnet and lifted her chin. “Do you love me, Rose?”

  There was no need to ask, for he saw it in her eyes. Still, he wanted her to say the words. “Tell me.”

  Wet, shivering, and on the verge of collapse as she was, Rose’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded slowly. “I love you desperately.”

  With a clipped snort, he hugged her tight. “Why then do you sound so miserable?” Cupping her face, he dipped his head until their noses nearly touched. “There will be no more talk of running away. We will face our future—bumpy as it may be—together.”

  Rose pushed away. “Do you not see? Do you think Sir Alistair would have issued an invitation if he knew I was a courtesan?” She did not wait for an answer. “He would not. Being a baron’s son would not protect you or your family from the taint of my past.”

  “Rose—”

  “No, do not tell me again that it does not matter.” She stomped a foot.

  Thomas rubbed his forehead. “You are correct. Your past may cause difficulties for some. And love will not always conquer everything we face. But I am willing to fight for you. And if we have to run away, I own a plantation in Virginia, in America. It will be an excellent place to raise our dozen children.”

  Shaking her head, she snorted. “You are impossible.”

  “And still, you love me.” He pulled her close.

  Rose wasn’t completely ready to concede. “Your mother could find out. She may be worse than those venomous societal matrons.”

  “She will say nothing,” he said. “It will be too shameful to admit her son married a courtesan.”

  “And drive her mad to be forced to accept me.”

  He kissed her trembling blue lips, smiling against them as her arms slipped into his coat and around his waist. He could feel her icy hands through his waistcoat.

  “We need to get you warm before you take a chill.” He swung her into his arms and settled her on the back of the mare. He secured the elderly gelding to the saddle and they were off in the direction of a nearby inn.

  He left the horses in the care of a groom and hurried inside with Rose in his arms. He secured a room and bath and soon she was settled into the hot water. It
took a good half hour before she regained her color and her shivers subsided.

  Satisfied that she had not fallen ill, he helped her from the bath, dried her off, and tucked her beneath the quilt. For the next several hours, he watched her sleep, confident in her love.

  * * * *

  The staff was pleased to see their mistress returned safely and Priscilla hugged her until Rose was certain she’d lost some stuffing.

  “I was so worried,” Priscilla said, releasing her and stepping back to examine her face. “What made you go away?”

  Rose sighed and plucked at her still slightly damp clothes. “I will tell you my story, later, when we have a private moment.” If she were to be true friends with her new sister, she wanted Priscilla to know the truth. About everything.

  Weary, Rose climbed the stairs. She still wasn’t completely certain that Thomas could keep Wilkinson from telling the world her history. Truthfully, the only thing she was confident in was her husband’s love.

  Would that be enough to carry through each marital storm? Could she be happy living in Virginia if Wilkinson made good his threats?

  Thomas had gone off to confront Wilkinson and Rose knew she would worry every minute until he returned. As she stepped onto the second-floor landing, she nearly stumbled into the baroness.

  “Pardon me, Baroness,” she said politely, and moved to pass. The baroness stepped in front of her.

  “You have returned.” The woman’s face was so pinched that Rose was certain she’d just come from dining on a bowl of lemons. “Pity.”

  Shocked by the outright insult, Rose could not come up with a single biting retort. In fact, the baroness had gotten all the way downstairs before Rose’s spine stiffened, her stomach burned, and her fists closed so tightly, her nails bit into her palms.

  Her home was supposed to be her sanctuary, and she’d almost lost it all. In those rainy moments on the back of the swaybacked gelding, she’d realized how much she loved her life, and this house. She wasn’t about to take one more moment of abuse at the hands of the bitter woman, not under this roof.

  Spinning about, she lifted the hem of her dress and stalked down the stairs, caught a glimpse of the baroness heading for the library, and stalked off in that direction.

  “Baroness,” she said, her voice so full of anger that the older woman stopped in midstride and turned to face her.

  Rose stepped close enough to punch the baroness in the nose, if she were so inclined. Good sense won out over that temptation. “I have spent almost three weeks with your ill humors and veiled insults until I cannot take any more. You have been rude and condescending and have questioned everything I do here. I do not expect your love or even hold out hope that you’ll ever like me. However, I do expect civility in my home.” She leaned forward. The baroness leaned back. “I have decided that if you cannot behave, you will be packed up and sent to an inn, back to your husband, anywhere but here. Do you understand me?”

  The baroness’s eyes were wide, and her face white. Rose was convinced no one had ever stood up to her before. She only hoped Thomas would accept the ejection of his mother in the name of making his wife happy.

  “Yes.” The single word came out sounding like the baroness expelled it while being strangled.

  Rose nodded. She had won the battle . . . and the war. “We will be having partridge for dinner, your favorite.” She really hoped the cook had a partridge lying about. Extending a small token of peace was the least she could do after threatening Thomas’s mother. She took a step back down the hallway. “Oh, and one last thing. Priscilla is in love with Byron and we will soon have a wedding. I think we, as her mother and sister, should help her plan the happy event. It is high time she got on with her life.”

  Leaving the baroness gaping, Rose smiled all the way up to her room.

  * * * *

  Thomas found her there an hour later. She was humming as the maid put the finishing touches on a tidy twist at the back of her head. He sent the maid off and took a seat on the bed.

  “I have some grim news. Wilkinson has been severely injured in a fall and may not live through the night.”

  Rose spun on the stool. “Thomas, you didn’t?”

  He rolled his eyes up and smirked. “No, love. I did not have the pleasure of wringing his neck. He injured himself in a fall, running from an outraged duke who found him abed with his duchess. He tripped over his trousers and tumbled headlong down the staircase.”

  “Oh, dear.” Though she hated Wilkinson with everything in her, she hadn’t wanted him dead. “I cannot believe His Grace did not cover up the incident. What a scandal.”

  Thomas nodded. “He tried. It was the servants who spread the gossip. Apparently, they are not fond of the duke or his spoiled and unpleasant wife.” He leaned back on the bed. “Wilkinson is under the care of a physician. His back is broken. It will take a divine hand to help him now.”

  “Then I shall pray for him,” Rose said.

  Silence fell between them for a moment, then Thomas smiled. “I understand you took Mother to task and threatened to send her back to Father. She would rather be dragged behind a coach than suffer that fate.”

  Rose smiled sheepishly. “I hope I have not overstepped?”

  He stood and walked to her, pulling her to her feet. “If you have saved us all from her scowls, then you have done well, love. My sisters and I thank you.”

  Bright laughter followed as Rose slipped from his arms. “I have one more matter that needs taking care of.” She walked to her dressing table and pulled the hat from beneath the shawl. She held it up. “This is my last connection to my past. Truthfully, I do not know why I kept it. Perhaps because being a courtesan was the only life I knew. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown.” She smiled. “After all, I married a stranger.”

  “And now?” Thomas asked.

  Clutching the hat, she walked to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames. The fire crackled as the feathers went up in smoke. “Now I know that I no longer need to fear the unknown, for we will meet our challenges together.”

  With that, she ran across the room and threw herself into his arms.

  * * * *

  The wedding of Byron and Priscilla was small yet happy, as the union was blessed by all. Even the baroness, though grudgingly, had helped with the flowers and the preparation of the trousseau.

  The idea of having grandchildren almost put a smile on the baroness’s face. Almost. Rose hoped the woman might discover that unused part of her expression someday.

  A week after Priscilla and Byron’s wedding, she and Thomas received an invitation to the wedding of Miss Eva and her duke. There was a flurry of preparations for the travel to Highland Abbey, where the ceremony was to take place. Exhausted by the time the coach rolled out of London, Rose slept nearly the entire way.

  “You are a very dull traveling companion, dearest,” Thomas teased as she finally roused when they turned up the drive to the abbey. “I should have brought a book.”

  Rose’s eyelids narrowed. “And you are a selfish husband. After days of planning every detail of this trip, you can certainly allow me a few hours’ rest.” She yawned when he helped her from the coach, into the waiting arms of Miss Eva. Though the courtesan rescuer kept her work with the courtesans separate from her private life, an adventure to save a kidnapped courtesan had turned Miss Eva and a small party of former courtesans, Rose, Yvette, Pauline, and Sophie, into friends.

  The wedding on the Saturday afternoon was lovely and the bride and groom blissfully happy. During a small party following the ceremony, the women had a chance to visit with each other and catch up on news. They chattered happily together while the men watched, bemused, as men often were in the company of the fairer sex.

  As the evening closed, Thomas had to all but carry Rose to their room. The maid helped her c
hange into a nightdress and get into bed. “I do not know why I am so fatigued. I have slept well the last few nights.”

  “Are you ill?” Thomas waited for the maid to depart before undressing himself. He blew out all but a bedside candle and climbed in beside her. Rose snuggled against him.

  “I do not think so.” Her lids drooped and she felt the pull of sleep. It was the tug of a thought, rooted deep inside her mind, that snapped her eyes open and caused her to scramble from the bed with wide eyes.

  Startled, Thomas sat up. “Rose, what is it?”

  She rubbed her hand over her flat stomach. Could it be? “Lud, I think we are having a baby.”

  He rolled from the bed and kicked aside the sheet that was tangled around his foot. Stepping, naked, around the bed, he bent and took her hands. “Are you certain?”

  “My last course was three weeks before we wed and I haven’t had one since.” Rose bit her lip and nodded. “I believe you are about to become a father.”

  Thomas stood stock-still. Rose wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. She knew he wanted children, playfully insisted on a dozen.

  “I’ve gone from courtesan to wife and now to mother.” She smiled sheepishly, hoping he would say something to ease her tension. “What do you think of the name ‘Nathaniel’ if it’s a boy?”

  The comment seemed to snap him from his shock.

  With a whoop that rattled the rafters of the old abbey, Thomas lifted her high and spun her around until she pleaded for mercy. “Thomas, please. You are unsettling my stomach.”

  He reluctantly released her. But it was the sound of the door banging open and the alarmed faces of the duke, duchess, and their friends, all in various states of dress that brought Rose and Thomas to laughter.

  Snatching up a sheet to cover his nakedness, Thomas grinned. “We are expecting a baby,” he said, beaming.

  He gave no time for anyone to recover from the surprise as he walked to the door. “There will be time for all the particulars tomorrow. Tonight I plan to celebrate alone with my wife.” He closed the door tightly in their faces and crossed to lift Rose back into his arms. “I love you, Rose Stanhope.”