No Ordinary Groom

by Gayle Callen

  She had not gone more than a few paces when she saw her betrothed staring at her from across the room.

  Chapter 2

  William Chadwick met Miss Jane Whittington’s startled gaze across the crowded drawing room and for the first time saw naked emotion in her usually cool expression. Something had panicked her, but she quickly submerged the feelings and began to walk toward him.

  He gave an inward sigh, then pasted on his usual glib smile. For some reason, tonight it was hard to be “Lord” Chadwick, newly a baron, and a sudden court favorite of the queen. He just wanted to be Will—whoever that was. But Jane Whittington was approaching, and as usual, good old Will didn’t have the first idea what to say to her, let alone how to behave in London society. But “Lord” Chadwick did, and Will slipped him on like a fresh suit of clothing.

  Just looking at Jane made speech unnecessary. She had a lithe, slim beauty that was elegance personified: narrow waist leading up to breasts not large and overflowing, but just right for her. He couldn’t see her hips beneath her crinoline-supported skirt, but he had a good imagination. She would be perfect there as well.

  Her coal-black hair lay smooth and shiny against her head, tucked back in a chignon that made other women’s ringlets look girlish by comparison. She had a pale, classical face with a delicately pointed chin and a straight nose saved from severity by the slightest tilt upwards. He supposed there would be men put off by the cool intelligence evident in her startlingly green eyes, but he was not one of them.

  He still couldn’t believe that Colonel Whittington had so easily offered Jane to him. She was the perfect solution to his plan for a normal life—a woman of society, able to entertain and run a household with equal ease.

  Jane stopped before him. “Staring is quite rude,” she said.

  He took her hands in his. “Staring is the right of all besotted bridegrooms.”

  She arched an elegant eyebrow. “Besotted? Such strong words, my lord, for a man who has spent mere hours in the presence of his betrothed.”

  “But I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime.”

  And it was true. Colonel Whittington had spoken often and fondly of his daughters, but there had been a special regard for his youngest. The colonel didn’t believe she fit in well with other society women. Will had worriedly expected a hoyden but had been greatly relieved on meeting the classically beautiful Jane, who seemed every inch the demure, perfect wife.

  “A lifetime?” she responded, with another one of those polite smiles. “And how would you know me so well?”

  “Your father is very proud of you and talks of you often.”

  Will thought he detected tears in her eyes, gleaming in the candlelight, but just then Lady Whittington rang a tiny bell for her guests’ attention.

  Will turned to face his future mother-in-law, noticing that Jane disengaged her hand from his. He glanced down at her, but she was looking at her mother with a resigned expression. As Lady Whittington spoke of the joy her daughter’s marriage brought the family, he realized the reason for Jane’s resignation.

  What he’d worried about had come to pass: she didn’t want to marry him.

  As Lady Whittington continued, he smiled at the correct moments, even offered gracious words of gratitude for being welcomed as a member of the family. Those things came easily to “Lord” Chadwick. But underneath the façade, Will’s mind was racing.

  Jane had accepted the marriage out of duty and obligation, of course, as any well-raised woman would. But he wanted more than resignation. He wanted a real marriage—one like his parents had, full of love and affection. In his youth, he hadn’t understood what a gift his parents had in each other. All Will had wanted was to escape, to live his life in freedom traveling all over the world. He’d craved adventure and excitement—and had received more than he’d ever imagined or needed with a commission in the army of the East India Company.

  But he was home now in England, after thirteen long years. His parents were dead, severing his connection to his old life. Jane was his chance to be normal again. Maybe she didn’t see it right now, but he would make her the perfect husband. He would make her fall in love with him.

  He just wasn’t certain…how. But it would come to him.

  When the toasts and the applause were done, he escorted Jane downstairs to the dining room. The table was set with the usual elegance of flowers and crystal and china, and he had Jane on his right. Using his monocle—an extension of “Lord” Chadwick—he pretended to scan the menu in its silver holder set between them, but he was really looking at her smooth hands, the curve of her breasts, the delicateness of her shoulders. There would be many pleasant ways he could persuade her that marriage to him was not to be dreaded.

  When she glanced up at him as the first course was served, he saw the troubled doubts in her eyes. Now that he knew what he was looking for, how had he ever missed it? He had been rated the best agent in the Political department at reading people, at understanding what they were thinking by every twitch of a facial muscle. If necessary, he would use every skill he possessed to win over Jane Whittington. He owed her father too much to turn his back on Jane now. But it would take skill to show her the kind of man he could become, for surely here in England he could never let anyone know what he’d been doing the last five years—least of all his wife. That dangerous life was behind him.

  He knew the rules for creating a new disguise, since he’d done it so often before: stick as close to the truth as possible, so as not to get tripped up in lies. He could use his own name, his own childhood. The rest he would have to work on, for what kind of man was William Chadwick, baron, knight, ex-spy?

  Without realizing at first what he was doing, he used the old “Lord” Chadwick routine of delicately mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Perfectly acceptable on a hot summer night, but the handkerchief also allowed him to take surreptitious glances about the room. He had to stop these old habits. Even though they used to save his life, there was nothing to see in the Whittington household but the silent communication between footmen, the stiff muscles of people forced to talk to people they didn’t want to be with—including his own betrothed.

  Maybe he was reading too much into her behavior. She wasn’t an operative used to concealment—only a young woman who found herself suddenly engaged to a stranger.

  As Jane watched Lord Chadwick pat his forehead with a handkerchief, she found herself silently agreeing that the heat was intense. Every layer of petticoat and crinoline lay heavily against her legs. Her corset dug into her ribs until she thought she couldn’t breathe enough air. Oh, she knew she was panicking, sitting beside her too-silent groom. Here was a man she thought never stopped talking!

  When the footman appeared behind them carrying a large tureen, Lord Chadwick politely spooned a helping of cold pheasant pie onto her plate and then his own. The servant bowed and stepped back, and Jane found herself looking into her betrothed’s eyes.

  “Your mother has prepared a wonderful evening, Miss Whittington.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He waved at the table with his monocle. “The flower arrangements have quite the touch of elegance, especially the use of the Michaelmas daisies with the white roses. Did you do them yourself?”

  “No, my lord,” she answered, never having met a man who cared about table decorations. “I leave that to my sister. She and my mother claim that I can’t tell weeds from flowers.”

  He laughed as if she were joking. “Your sense of humor is refreshing, Miss Whittington. I have greatly regretted that business has kept me from your side this last week. Might I remedy that situation? Would you perhaps care to ride with me tomorrow in Hyde Park?”

  “My lord, you know that I cannot go riding alone with you.”

  “Of course not. I assumed you would bring a groom from your stables. But since there is a certain…awkwardness between us, I thought if we spend time together, to understand each other’s passions—”

&nbs
p; She let out an involuntary gasp, and Lord Chadwick actually reddened.

  He mopped his brow again. “Heavens, that is not what I meant—not how it sounds, Miss Whittington. Oh dear me, do not think me so crass as all that. Please accept my sincere apologies if I offended you.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “I meant that there are things we don’t know about each other, our favorite pastimes, for instance. I thought tomorrow we could have a lively discussion about horsemanship.”

  Horsemanship.

  “You do ride, do you not?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Of course, my lord. Do put your fears to rest.”

  “And what manner of horses does your family own?”

  She answered his questions patiently. Then his conversation switched to dogs, and his eyes almost sparkled in the candlelight.

  “I would enjoy introducing you to my pet, Miss Whittington. You two will get along superbly, I am sure.”

  It would be too impolite to tell him that dogs drooled and shed and ruined carpets. Many a man had tried—and failed—to impress her with a dog.

  “And what is your dog’s name?” she asked.

  “Killer.”

  Killer.

  “But it is a humorous name, to be sure,” he continued. “A friend suggested it as a jest, but I quite took a fancy to it.”

  Smiling painfully, she glanced down the table and found her mother watching her with an encouraging gaze. Jane sighed.

  When dinner was over and the men had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Jane realized that the men must have continued drinking their port when they’d been alone. There was much merriment, although she noticed that Lord Chadwick did not seem to be in step with every joke. Perhaps that was simply because he had not overindulged in liquor, something she could at least feel relieved about.

  Gradually the guests began to depart, until after another half hour, only Lord Chadwick, Sir Albert and Mr. Roderick remained with the three Whittington ladies. Jane and her sister sat on a sofa, while their mother stood by helplessly, watching the antics of the men. Mr. Roderick had imbibed far too deeply, and beneath his twitching mustache, his red face glistened with perspiration. Though Sir Albert tried to restrain him with an arm wrapped around his chest, Mr. Roderick was leaning unsteadily toward Lord Chadwick, shaking a finger in his face.

  “Chadwick, I insist you come to White’s with us. Don’t give me this nonsense about hating cards. Gad, you played willingly enough the other night.”

  Lord Chadwick smiled tolerantly and studied the other man through his monocle. “You’re embarrassing yourself before the ladies, old chap.”

  Jane’s eyes widened as Mr. Roderick struggled to break free. Her mother was wringing her hands and glancing repeatedly at their butler. Shaw, an elderly man who’d been serving their family since her father’s youth, waited nervously for his mistress’s command.

  “Chadwick, ye took all my money. Now I need the chance to win it back!”

  Mr. Roderick broke free, and a collective gasp rose from the women as he lunged forward, one fist cocked and aimed at Lord Chadwick. Surprisingly, Lord Chadwick stepped forward as if to meet the punch, then at the last second stumbled and fell heavily to his knees just as Mr. Roderick launched his assault. His flying fist missed its target and smashed into the marble column with a solid thud. The man howled and fell backward, hitting his head on the elbow of Lord Chadwick, who was just rising.

  Mr. Roderick landed hard on the floor and lay still. In the momentary silence, Jane quickly glanced at Lady Whittington’s horrified face. Jane knew instantly that her mother feared the scandal of brawling in her own house—and God forbid Mr. Roderick be seriously hurt.

  Lord Chadwick put his hands on his hips and loomed over his opponent. “I say, that didn’t seem quite fair, did it?”

  Sir Albert laughed and shook his head. “Well, he got what he deserved.”

  “Is he…well?” Lady Whittington asked, a hand to her throat.

  Sir Albert nodded. “Worry not, madam. He’ll have a bump on his head and perhaps a broken hand, but nothing worse.”

  “Come, man,” Lord Chadwick said, taking one of Mr. Roderick’s arms. “Let’s be of service and escort the poor chap home. I always was a clumsy fool—didn’t mean to hurt him.”

  “Of course not, my lord,” Jane replied, standing up to take her mother’s trembling arm.

  “Sir Albert and I will make certain no one knows of this,” Lord Chadwick added, “and I doubt Roderick will even remember what happened.”

  Between the two men, they lifted Mr. Roderick up and slung his arms across both their shoulders. He slumped between them, legs dangling.

  “Oh, do be careful of his hand!” Lady Whittington called.

  Lord Chadwick glanced at Sir Albert with a wicked gleam in his eye that caught Jane’s attention. “What shall we tell him about his injuries?”

  The other man laughed. “That he made a fool of himself over some doxy—ah, forgive me, ladies, I mean—I meant—”

  “We understand,” Jane said, trying to hide her smile. “Thank you for your kindness—and your discretion, gentlemen.”

  Lord Chadwick grinned and hefted Mr. Roderick further onto his shoulders. “Not the way I would have chosen to end the evening with you, Miss Whittington. I shall see you on the morrow.”

  She only nodded and found, as he turned away, that she was quite amazed at how easily he held the awkward weight of a grown man. Perhaps he was stronger than he looked. Oh, but he’d simply tell her that gardening gave him strength, or some other such nonsense.

  The butler hurried to follow the men to the front door, then opened it and held it for them, passing out top hats to both men, and a walking stick to Sir Albert. With a last wave, they went out into the night. When the door slammed behind them, the three women were silent, standing still in the hallway as Shaw bowed his head and retreated from the room.

  “Mama,” Jane began, but her mother burst into noisy tears and fled up the stairs. She turned to her sister. “Charlotte—”

  “We’ll talk later. I must go to her.”

  Then she too was gone, leaving Jane to follow at a slower pace. She returned to her bedroom to find her maid, Molly, fast asleep in an upholstered chair before the bare hearth, a single lit candle on a table at her side. Feeling melancholy and on the verge of a change she didn’t want, Jane wandered the room as if she were a ghost who no longer belonged there. She lit the candles on her bed tables, and on the writing table at the foot of the bed. The heavy draperies had already been closed, so as she began to undress, she looked about her at the ornate wardrobe and the dressing table with its heart-shaped glass. Her father had bought that for her when she was young, and though it was girlish, she could not bear to part with it.

  Eventually she had to awaken Molly for help with the fastenings at the back of her gown. The plump, curly-haired girl was the daughter of the chef, and she took great joy in hearing about the parties her father prepared food for. Jane answered a few of her questions, but Molly must have sensed her mood.

  “I’ll let ye sleep in peace, miss,” Molly said, taking up a candleholder and walking to the door. “Ye seem tired.”

  Jane belted her dressing gown over her nightdress and smiled. “Thank you for understanding, Molly. I’ll be happy to tell you everything in the morning. Sleep well.”

  Jane splashed her face at the marble washstand, then began to slowly braid her hair. At last she took a seat at her writing table and opened up her journal to record the day’s events. She had always kept a journal so that whenever she wrote her father a letter, she could remember everything she wanted to tell him. He always said she had a vivid way of telling a story.

  But what to write about Lord Chadwick? She didn’t know what to make of him. She hadn’t enjoyed speaking to her betrothed, and part of that had been her own fault for not bringing up her own favorite topics. She supposed she’d been testing him, discovering what he would say to her. At
least he’d been polite enough not to fight in her home even when provoked. She had to admit that he’d been very good-natured about it all and had seemed to take little offense, which she appreciated. There was nothing worse than a man who thought too highly of himself.

  But why had she never heard of him? Oh, her father was convinced she had, but even the rest of society had seemed oblivious of him until two months before. A baron, who did not come to London for the Season?

  There was a soft knock at her door, and after Jane called out a welcome, Charlotte leaned her head inside.

  “Mama asked to talk to you.”

  “How is she feeling?” Jane said as she rose to her feet and walked swiftly to the door.

  “Better. But don’t upset her, please.”

  Jane frowned irritably. “What do you think I would do—cry because two men got into a disagreement at my betrothal party?”

  “Mama already is, so please don’t make her feel badly about her female weakness.”

  As if Jane wasn’t a true female if she didn’t cry as often as her mother and Charlotte? She gritted her teeth and made no reply as she lifted up a candleholder and followed her sister into the hall. Charlotte murmured, “Good night” and slipped into her old chamber, which she still used when she spent the night. Jane continued on down the stairs.

  The master suite occupied the entire second floor of the town house, with two dressing rooms and a large bedchamber in between. Her mother slept alone here, and had for years. Much as she loved her father, Jane had always been determined not to live like this, using dinners and balls to substitute for a man who came home so seldom. She wanted to be her own person and depend on no one.

  She found her mother curled up in a window seat looking out over the dark courtyard behind their town house. She looked pale, and with her black hair let down, it was easier to see the gray threaded through it.

  “Charlotte said you wanted to see me, Mama,” Jane said and sat down beside her.