Her Husband’s Lover

by Madelynne Ellis

  Dear God, she was one of fifteen!

  When she said she’d lost so many children, she’d meant her siblings.

  Glittering blue eyes met his. ‘Amelia and I are all that remain.’ The tears that had choked her earlier were gone now, replaced by a cold, reserved aloofness, as though she had to step back from the raw emotion of her loss and view it from a distance.

  The youngest child had died within hours of her mother. Five had been lost within a few bitter weeks.

  ‘What took them?’ he asked.

  Emma gently chewed her lip. ‘Sickness. A fever.’ She knew more, he could see it in the gauntness of her expression, but it was obviously distressing her just to revisit it. ‘They died one by one beside me in the bed.’

  ‘Emma, I’m so sorry.’ His mother was the only person he’d truly lost, and by that point there’d been little love between them. All his other tragedies had been on a lesser scale, like Lyle the first time around, and giving up Dovecote to Fortuna. His love line had been cut, but those involved remained. They still lived and breathed. Death was rather more final – and to have it strike so close at such a tender age!

  Emma paused before a simple rose cross, over which an iron ring had been looped. ‘Bea.’ She crumpled, crushing her shift on the dewy earth beneath her knees. ‘I fell asleep, when I knew I ought not to.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself. How old were you? Were you sick too?’

  ‘Nine. I was nine.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m never sick. I’m never sick.’

  Darleston soberly covered his mouth with his clenched knuckles. Nothing he said would make any of this right. Still, she’d brought him here. He doubted she’d ever told a soul how deep her pain ran. ‘Tell me about the others.’

  Her pink tongue flicked once across her cracked lips. ‘I was twelve when mama passed. Amelia was only ten months, Abigail two, and Elizabeth three.’ Emma’s gaze swept solemnly over the moss-strewn cross at the end that stood a foot higher than the row of children’s graves. ‘Aunt Maude oversaw most things, and a string of nannies and governesses. William went away to school. I wanted to go too, to get away from the house and the bed and the constant stench of decay, but I was expected to oversee things.’

  She’d known no escape until Lyle had come. It may have been a marriage of convenience but it had hardly freed her.

  ‘I kept myself apart from the little ones, because I knew they’d only be taken. William died in a carriage accident. Elizabeth contracted bronchitis. Abigail drowned when she was five. I’m not sure how Amelia survived.’

  ‘Maybe she’s built of the same stern stuff as yourself.’

  Emma conceded that with a grudging nod, perhaps recognising that both she and Amelia were stubborn and staunch in their own ways.

  ‘I know it’s impolite, but where do you fit into the family tree?’ He’d already guessed her to be ten years Amelia’s senior, and the string of dates before him seemed to attest to that.

  ‘I’m the third eldest. Thomas and Thomas came before me.’

  Thomas and Thomas. One of them was among the five who’d been taken by the fever. A tiny misshapen rectangle in the turf denoted the other’s exceedingly short life. Emma watched him uncover the headstone by stripping away a thick layer of moss.

  ‘Mama was forever plump and round. One babe seemed to arrive and then another was immediately expected.’

  Darleston reached out and pulled Emma tight to his chest. Ramrod-straight, she merely tolerated his hold.

  ‘I can’t abide children. They flout rules. I can’t have them climbing on my lap.’ Tears twinkled in the corners of her eyes again, but they refused to spill. ‘You’re the only person I’ve wanted to touch since Beatrice died and the only person I’ve allowed to touch me. I wanted to run away from you when we met, but I couldn’t. You were like a magnet that drew me. The more I tried to deny what I felt, the stronger the need to be next to you became.’

  ‘I know.’ He pushed his hand into her unbound hair.

  ‘I thought maybe time enough had passed that I could force myself to be strong.’

  ‘Emma, you have been.’ He pressed a fleeting kiss to her brow. Relief washed through him when she allowed him that without pulling away. ‘I’m so sorry about earlier. I should have planned better. There are things that can be done, ways of preventing a pregnancy.’

  ‘’Twas I who invited myself to your room. You couldn’t plan for that. And I did it knowing you meant me to stay away. Why did she come? Why does she have to be here?’ Emma did turn away from him then. ‘Lord, she makes me feel so sordid and grubby, as if my skin is tainted with this unholy deceit that I can’t wash off. She’s your wife and I know what she’s done to you, and that there’s no love left between you, but still …’

  ‘Forget Lucy,’ he said, taking her in his arms once more. ‘Forget Lucy and forget the past. Think of the future we can have together instead. You and Lyle are all that I want.’

  Emma pressed her lips tight together. Then she rested her cheek against the soft wool that covered his chest. Her arms wound tight around him and squeezed so hard that it pinched. No matter, he didn’t try to release himself. It was contentment itself to be cradled thus by her. ‘You turn me into a giddy fool,’ she whispered. ‘I want us to be together too.’

  ‘We will be.’ Somehow he’d make it happen.

  ‘We were poor,’ she said into his coat, and he understood that she trying to find a reason for the deaths. ‘That’s why it happened. They were never given the opportunity to thrive. The fight money came too late.’

  * * *

  By the time Emma and Darleston returned from the churchyard, thick golden rays were striping the roof of Field House. Everyone would be up, all buzzing with excitement over Jack Johnstone’s fight. Emma had no wish to attend, though as hostess for her father it was her duty to do so. At least this time she might find a spot in which to stand behind Lyle and Darleston, so that she could block out the grisly smacks of fists meeting flesh. The hollers and stench of the crowd were oppressive enough, without having to watch as well. Lyle always tried to shield her, but two men would make a far more robust barrier, and at least her smiles would not have to be entirely faked, for what better view could a woman ask than her lover’s pert and lovely rear? She would imagine Darleston surreptitiously touching Lyle. Images of their lovemaking would sustain her through the fight. No one would push her forward. They all knew she couldn’t tolerate the press of the crowd.

  Emma squeezed a practice smile onto her lips. Explaining, sharing her grief with Darleston, had diminished the weight upon her chest, but the initial cause of her distress remained. After keeping herself apart and safe for so long, how could she have acted so irresponsibly? She knew well enough the facts of life. One could not live in the countryside and not know them, even if, until Darleston’s arrival, she hadn’t comprehended the true depth of the act. Yet, thinking back to that point where she’d been astride him, riding his cock, her thoughts had been concentrated on seeing him climax, feeling the pulse of his cock inside her, and knowing that it was her actions that were bringing him such bliss. No other thought had entered her silly head, and, even if it had, she did not think it would have entirely changed things. Lord help her, she deserved to be on edge until her flow resumed.

  Robert Darleston affected her in ways she could hardly comprehend. He squeezed her hand, reminding her of his presence. Emma looked up at his sharp profile and knew beyond doubt that she not only trusted him, she loved him. It had come to that. The notion of being parted from him was simply unbearable. She had no idea how things would work out, but somehow they must.

  She and Darleston had walked back from the graveyard as any man and woman might do, her hand resting lightly upon his arm. Now, within sight of the windows, Emma relinquished her grip. Folks would be about, likely at breakfast, but Darleston had impressed upon her the continued need for discretion, at least until her ladyship departed the house. Emma did not see how she could po
ssibly keep their relationship closeted for ever. People would see the closeness between them. They’d recognise the fact that she didn’t flinch in the same way when he reached out to her. It’d start as whispered observations, but the gossips would put two and two together. Perhaps that was better than them realising the truth about her husband and his lover. The possibility of Lyle’s preferences being discovered had always worried her. Now she had double reason to fret.

  ‘We ought to try and slip in unnoticed,’ Darleston said.

  Emma nodded her agreement. ‘You go in the front. They’ll think you’ve been for an early morning stroll.’ In his enveloping, caped greatcoat, Darleston at least passed for respectable, save for the oversight of a hat. His lack of proper attire beneath could easily be concealed until he’d reached his bedchamber. Not so her. Grass stains marred the front of her shift, beneath which her legs were bare and chilled. Additionally, without her stays, Amelia’s pelisse constituted an extremely ill fit.

  ‘Where will you go?’ he asked. The sun glinted off his burnished copper hair.

  ‘I’ll walk around and come in through the back.’ She regularly left the latch open on the window in the Dog Parlour. The room stuck out from the back of the house so that it wasn’t overlooked, and with any luck she’d be able to shimmy through the gap without attracting attention. From there she could slip up the back stairs to her room without anyone making assumptions as to what she’d been about. The worst she might expect was a few questions from Lyle.

  ‘Very well.’ Darleston briefly enveloped her in his embrace. She breathed deeply, basking in the musky scent of his body, as she committed his strength and heat to memory until they could be together again. His lips buffed her brow. ‘Go now. We’ll speak later.’

  Emma relinquished her hold and scuttled away, staying out of sight of the frontage by hugging the line of conifers until she had rounded the left-hand side of the building. Rather than head upstairs, she lingered in the stuffy warmth of the Dog Parlour, where she dressed her hair to the best of her ability without a hairbrush. Although unlikely to meet anyone on the way to her room, if she could pass muster from a distance it would mask her attempted deceit should she be unlucky enough to happen upon one of the servants or guests. She had not forgotten Amelia’s assumptions of the previous day, when their paths had crossed and she’d seen Emma’s hair unpinned.

  Thankfully, the route remained clear. Lyle had already dressed and left by the time she reached their bedchamber. Emma performed a quick toilet and chose a conservative gown in cream, with a high-waisted, thigh-length caraco jacket of nightshade blue. The colour reduced the sallowness around her eyes due to lack of sleep, although it did emphasise the pink tinge of their whites. She could only pray that with all eyes on Jack’s performance her pallor would pass unnoticed.

  Halfway down the stairs, Lady Darleston rudely stepped in front of her, blocking the way. Emma immediately recoiled from the fierce white wraith to cower against the banister. ‘Good morning,’ she muttered, not really wishing to speak, but determined not to appear rude.

  ‘Hmph!’ Lady Darleston snorted. She had dressed in white satin, from the tip of her head, where a feathered sailboat perched atop a white tricorn hat, to the floor, where the train of her heavy skirt dusted the boards. Such starkness might have drained the colour from some faces, but not hers. Lady Darleston’s cheeks glowed crimson. ‘For some perhaps, but I do not perceive it so.’

  ‘Oh. Does something ail you?’ Emma enquired. Social manners were ingrained in her makeup, though she felt like kicking herself for asking. ‘I expected everyone to be in good cheer this morning over Jack’s fight. Was your room not to your satisfaction?’

  Her agreeableness met with a chilling glare from Lucy. ‘How dare you?’ the Lady hissed. ‘My room was tolerable, unlike the reception afforded me by my hostess.’

  Lucy’s words might as well have been slaps, for they brought blood rushing to Emma’s cheeks as readily as any blow would have done. ‘’Tis bad enough my varmint of a husband treats me so abominably without having his doxy flaunting her good spirits in my face. Don’t think I don’t know of your actions. I know my husband, Mrs Langley, and his pitiful attempts at subterfuge are just that. You should hang your head in shame.’

  More taken aback still, Emma clutched the banister for support. In truth, she could not deny Lady Darleston’s accusation, but she had not been prepared for such a direct or immediate assault. How had the woman come to know? Had her sister betrayed her? Amelia had certainly been peevish over the last few days, but surely she wasn’t that spiteful. Her embarrassment swelled further when she realised there were other guests milling about the hall below and that Lady Darleston’s words had almost certainly been overheard.

  ‘Can’t even utter an apology?’ Lucy remarked of Emma’s gaping response. ‘Well, know this, you little fool. I don’t tolerate anyone meddling with my husband. He is mine and, if you are wise, you will desist in your liaison at once. There’s many who’ll pay a handsome price for tattle, even about a country bumpkin.’

  Would this have been worse if Lady Darleston had come upon them abed and torn Darleston from her side? In her mortification, Emma didn’t think so. She had no way of lulling the woman’s fury, nor could she feign contrition and beg forgiveness. Artful deception was not a trait she’d ever acquired.

  ‘Leave her be, Lucy.’ Darleston’s voice preceded him as he strode over to meet them. ‘She’s done you no ill, and you have no right to label any woman a whore without first labelling yourself as the biggest one of all.’

  Lucy turned towards her husband and met him eye to eye, he at the bottom of the stairs and she three steps up. Darleston remained dressed as he had been when Emma had left him, in his greatcoat and boots and with his fiery hair curling gently upon his shoulders.

  ‘Are you denying she’s your tart?’

  ‘Of course I am. What trouble are you hoping to stir by even suggesting it? Mrs Langley is happily married and not the sort to dally behind her husband’s back –’

  ‘Dull, you mean.’

  ‘– so you may keep her out of your attempts to destroy my good name.’

  ‘Your good name! What name?’ Lucy jabbed Darleston square in the chest with two of her heavily jewelled fingers. ‘Your perversities are bandied about town as synonyms for unnaturalness. What have I to do with that?’

  Darleston maintained a curiously stoic air of resilience throughout his wife’s response, leading Emma to wonder if they had played out this particular scene before. Despite Darleston’s coolness, Lucy hammered on at him as if greatly maligned. ‘What have I done?’ she howled, while she fanned herself furiously. She had become quite red about the face, and seemed likely to be overcome by a fit of the vapours. Emma wondered if she ought to call for some smelling salts before the woman expired.

  ‘How have I displeased you in such a way that you’d leave me bereft while you gallivant about the countryside pursuing such vices, and when I am quickening with your child?’ Lucy smiled rather maliciously as she spoke the last words, and cast Emma a particularly hateful glance.

  For just a moment Darleston’s urbane façade slipped, which transformed his coldness into the most dreadful fury. If she hadn’t known him to be most gentle and tender, Emma would certainly have quailed at such intense wrath.

  ‘It is not my child,’ he growled and brushed Lucy’s hand aside a lot less gently then he might. She staggered as though he had struck her, though he had not, and began to shed piteous tears. Darleston took a further step back from her and clenched his fists by his sides. He spoke rather more calmly when he addressed her again. ‘As for your accusations of abandonment, as I recall it, madam, you left me. You climbed out of a window and ran into the night after I caught you being swived by another. Not content with that, you launched a campaign of terror upon me and my friends, spreading scandalous rumours for which there is no sound evidence at all. I find it incomprehensible that you should come to me seeking rec
onciliation only to immediately launch into yet more rumour-mongering.’

  ‘’Tis untrue,’ Lucy wailed, but the protest lacked sincerity.

  ‘Is there some problem?’ Mr Bathhouse strolled over to them. He’d shown some adeptness at dissolving minor quarrels over the course of his stay, which made Emma grateful for his involvement. Her relief didn’t extend to Mr Aiken and Mr Littleton, who appeared in the doorway of the dining room, their faces full of morbid curiosity.

  ‘Only one that perpetually ails me,’ Darleston replied. He did not to turn to address Bathhouse, choosing instead to deliver his response with an artful turn of his wrist.

  ‘My husband is an unconscionable cad,’ bemoaned her ladyship. ‘I am quite the most unfortunate of wives. Why must you deny your future heir?’ She jabbed at her husband again, at the same time as seeking Bathhouse’s hand to clutch in support.

  ‘It is not my child,’ Darleston repeated in a more conversational tone, though the purr of his former anger still rumbled deep in his throat.

  ‘Who else’s do you suppose it to be?’

  ‘That is a very good question, and one for which I shall endeavour to find an answer. What I do know is that you are not above two months gone and until your unwelcome arrival yesterday I had not set eyes upon you for four. So explain to me how the babe could possibly be my son?’ Darleston turned and looked questioningly at the assembled guests, who raised their eyebrows in unison.

  ‘I repeat my comments of yesterday when you first presented me with this nonsense, that you should make your doe eyes at the child’s real father. Petition him for money, for I will not support you. Your bastard will never lay claim to the earldom. I will not acknowledge the child.’

  ‘Perhaps this dispute might be better resolved in private,’ Mr Bathhouse interjected. He seemed most uncomfortable, having come to smooth things out and instead found himself forced into the thankless role of Lady Darleston’s protector. She would not release his hand, no matter how many times he sought to withdraw it. ‘Milord, the library might afford you such.’