“Is that him? In the corner?” She blinked her eyes twice. “He looks mean.”
“He only does that so no one will come talk to him.”
“An excellent idea. Let’s accommodate him.”
“He’s not actually going to do anything. Not here, anyway.” Trent grinned, remembering the time Ryland had snuck into Trent’s house and rearranged everything in his study in exchange for Trent’s trapping him into spending an evening discussing the merits of the latest opera. There was still a log book Trent hadn’t found.
“No, really. I think I’ve a mind to indulge his preference.” Adelaide stopped walking entirely, forcing Trent to stop as well unless he wanted to bodily drag her across the floor.
“We’ll simply greet Miranda, then, shall we?” Not that he was going to pass up an opportunity to try to haul Ryland into a conversation. It was so rare for Miranda to force him out to large parties that Trent couldn’t resist having a little fun whenever it happened.
Miranda was talking to Amelia, which meant Anthony, Marquis of Raebourne, was around here somewhere as well. The gossip papers would certainly have something to say about the attendees of this party tomorrow.
As Trent rounded the refreshment table, he noticed that three large curls were about to escape Adelaide’s coiffure. He gave them a gentle tug, freeing them the rest of the way and draping them over her shoulder. Fortunately he’d left his gloves with his coat and he could feel the soft slide of the dark strands across his fingers, the weight and length making them feel so different from his own hair.
She looked at the black tresses lying in stunning contrast to the bright blue of her gown before blinking up at him.
“I like it,” Trent said with a small shrug of one shoulder. “You’re beautiful. I don’t know if I remembered to tell you that earlier. I think I forgot to speak at all.”
A soft pink touched her cheeks, and she looked a little flustered by his statement. He’d meant every word he’d said, but he’d wanted her that slightest bit distracted as well so she wouldn’t notice when he pulled her to Ryland’s corner.
“Your Grace, may I present my wife? Lady Adelaide, the Duke of Marshington.”
Her momentary glare was more welcome than she would have believed. Over the years Trent had learned that women only showed their ire to people they felt safe with, close to. If Adelaide was willing to glare at him, even for a moment, it meant they were getting to know each other, that she cared about him and felt she could trust him. Of course, he’d just betrayed that trust a little bit, but not enough to damage it.
He hoped.
Ryland pushed off from the wall and executed a perfect bow, causing Adelaide to rush into her curtsy. This was a notorious and powerful duke after all. Probably someone she’d never expected to meet even though she was the daughter of an earl. “Your Grace.”
“Please call me Marshington, or Ryland as the rest of the family does, or Duke in public, if you prefer.” The scowl lifted from Ryland’s face, proving it was a habitual affectation more than true irritation. “And may I offer felicitations on the union?”
His grey eyes swept toward Trent, making him wish he hadn’t insisted on coming over here after all. With his connections, Ryland probably knew more about the marriage circumstances than Trent did. “Thank you.”
The three of them fell silent, all trying to figure out how to get around the unspoken topic Ryland had just dropped into the circle. How was it that they had graciously accepted numerous congratulations already tonight, but the way Ryland said it made it obvious he knew the marriage had not been planned? And there was nothing Trent could say. He certainly couldn’t address the unspoken question, and he knew he couldn’t broach another topic without receiving smug looks from Ryland for the rest of the evening.
In the end it was Ryland who came to the rescue, though Trent had no doubt it was more for Adelaide’s sake than for his. “Have you played a game yet this evening?”
Trent shifted his shoulders so that his coat would settle more comfortably across them as he relaxed. There was no doubt Ryland would eventually pin him down and make him share the story, but at least it wouldn’t be tonight. “No. We were making the rounds before sitting down to a table.”
“Well, then, shall we play? It’s why my wife chooses card parties. I grumble less because there’s actually something to do.” Ryland, nearly as tall as Griffith but not quite as broad, cut through the small gathering of people next to them to collect his wife. Miranda left her conversation with a smile, and the four of them made their way into the drawing room to find an empty table.
“Shall we take on our men, Adelaide?” Miranda asked as she took one of the seats at a table set up near the front-facing windows. The noise of the horses and carriage drivers could be heard from the other side of the window, but it wasn’t loud enough to make conversation difficult.
Trent was more than happy to partner with Ryland since it meant Adelaide sat to his left instead of across the table. He already missed the weight of her hand on his arm and shifted his leg under the table until his knee rested against hers. That light contact seemed to settle something in his chest, something that was beginning to accept that he and this woman were united.
Ryland shuffled the deck of cards while Trent distributed the pile of fish.
“Shall we play for dinner?” the duke asked.
Adelaide blinked at him, the candlelight from a nearby candelabra reflecting off her spectacles and framing her eyes in light. “Dinner?”
Trent shook himself from his fanciful thoughts and looked at the cards he’d been dealt. “Yes. Whoever loses has to have the entire family over for dinner. It’s not the actual hosting that’s an issue—it’s the fact that the winner usually spends the evening taunting the loser.”
“But if I’m partnering with Miranda, who will host the dinner when we lose?”
Miranda coughed. “I have no intention of losing.”
Adelaide fingered the cards she had yet to pick up from the table. “I’m afraid I’m not very good.”
Trent thought of everything Adelaide had missed out on in life. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her at gatherings, even as children. Her sister Helena had always been there, decked out in bows and curls and other frippery that a child should never be subjected to. In later years he recalled seeing her brother, Bernard, though he was quite a bit younger than Trent and they’d never spent any time together. But he’d never seen Adelaide.
Adelaide, who hadn’t been brought to London for a Season even after her oldest sister was married off.
Trent tapped his cards into a stack and leaned toward his wife. “Adelaide, do you know how to play whist?”
Her eyes darted around the table, her gaze flitting from person to person but never landing on anyone long enough for her vision to actually focus. “I’ve read about it.”
Without a word, Ryland and Miranda began laying their cards face up on the table, sorting them by suit and rank. Trent helped Adelaide lay hers out before doing the same with his own.
They played three hands with the cards down, Miranda calmly explaining the rules and basic strategies that went along with the game. By the fourth hand, Adelaide felt confident enough to try it on her own.
Trent smiled almost as wide as she did when she took her first trick, even though she’d thrown a low trump on top of one of his kings.
“Well done, Adelaide.” Miranda smiled and gathered up the cards. “We really should circulate a bit more. No one is seeing you together in this corner.”
Ryland grunted. “Is that why we had to come tonight? Then let’s plop them on top of the table and be done with it.”
Trent sat back in his chair, still pressing his knee to Adelaide’s. When his leg had followed hers the first few times she’d shifted, she’d finally relented and stopped moving it. “I thought the point of these outings was for Adelaide and me to get to know each other.”
Ryland sighed. “How is it I understand Society b
etter than you do?”
“Because I haven’t spent the past ten years dissecting it for weaknesses,” Trent grumbled. He’d never had to think about the consequences of his actions that deeply. Until a few months ago, he’d only had to consider the immediate ramifications of a deed upon himself. His reputation was nearly untouchable because he never did anything to endanger it, but he didn’t think about it like that. He tried to do what was right and then moved on with his life.
The fact that everyone else seemed to know how to see life beyond that made him feel like a child.
Miranda frowned with indulgence at her husband and then turned her annoyance to her brother. “Courtship is as much about declaring yourselves a couple to everyone else as it is about getting to know each other. It’s possibly even more important in your case, as . . . well, the men who like to get to know unhappily married women aren’t very principled.”
Adelaide’s face lost all signs of victory. “I don’t have to play whist with someone else now, do I?”
Trent shook his head and covered her hand with his. “No. There’s enough people standing about that we can move around without much notice.” He stopped and turned to his sister and her husband. “We can do that, can’t we?”
Ryland bent his head in a poor attempt to hide his ensuing laughter. Miranda jerked and Ryland’s laughter only got worse, a clear indication she’d attempted to kick him beneath the table. “Of course you can. Only take care not to stay in one room too long. People might start to notice you aren’t playing.”
With four rooms to wander through, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Trent rose and offered Adelaide his arm again. They worked their way from conversation to conversation until Adelaide asked for a moment to collect herself. They stepped to the side of the library, sipping at glasses of punch and discussing some of the books on the nearby shelf. Actually, it was more like Adelaide discussed them and Trent tried to come up with questions to keep her talking. Was there anything the woman hadn’t read?
The crowd around them began to thin, but Trent didn’t think about what it meant beyond the fact that he could hear Adelaide better.
It took Amelia’s husband, Anthony, tapping him on the shoulder to break him free of the conversation.
“Were you planning on spending the night? I’m sure it wouldn’t put out Lady Lyndley too much to make up a guest room for you.” The marquis leaned against the library shelves and crossed his ankles. “Although this is a splendid library as well. She might just let you stay in here all night.”
Amelia didn’t say anything as she stepped forward to place a hand lightly on Adelaide’s shoulder. “I’m going to come by tomorrow, if that’s all right. Caroline arranged for several pattern books to be brought by so you could be making plans for the drawing room. I thought I’d take a look at them as well, since I’m thinking of redoing our upstairs parlor.”
One dark brow lifted over one of Anthony’s blue eyes. If Trent needed any more convincing that he would make a horrible titled aristocrat, the fact that he couldn’t do the arrogant single brow thing solidified it.
Anthony cleared his throat. “We’re redecorating the parlor?”
“Yes. We are.” Amelia looked over her shoulder, and the marquis and marchioness stared at each other for a long moment, communicating in the way that only people completely connected to each other could do.
Jealousy churned in Trent’s gut. That was what he wanted, what he’d always wanted in a marriage. And while he was coming to respect and even enjoy his growing relationship with Adelaide, he didn’t know if it would ever become what he saw in the couple before him or what his sisters had found. He’d spent the past hour listening to Adelaide talk about educational books, something he’d avoided as much as possible. He didn’t want to be any better at numbers than he had to be, and philosophy made his head spin. He enjoyed certain scientific texts, but he always felt guilty for reading them. Fiction hadn’t been something emphasized as he was growing up, but he’d turned to it in order to stay away from the more learned texts. After hearing about Adelaide’s favorite titles he was willing to consider the practice for its own merit.
At the very least it would give them something in common, because what else did they have? That they took their tea the same way? It was hardly the kind of connection that built the unspoken communication before him.
Finally Anthony shook his head and gave Trent a bland look. “We’re redecorating the parlor. I hope you enjoy it.”
Trent gave Anthony a quizzical look. “Why would I—”
“Our parlor windows face the same way your drawing room does,” Amelia broke in. “So the lighting will be the same. And it’s ever so much more fun discussing decor with someone else instead of debating with yourself over everything.”
Adelaide looked as if she didn’t know what to say, but she agreed to have Amelia come to the house.
Trent didn’t know if he liked his mother being so high-handed about the decorating, but he did feel better knowing that Amelia would be there if anyone else decided to come calling.
Chapter 22
A low grunt ripped from Trent’s chest as he felt the pressure of Anthony’s blunted foil tip press against his shoulder.
Again.
The marquis laughed as he pulled off his protective mask and grinned at Trent. “Either I’ve gotten exceptionally better at this in the last few months or you’re a bit distracted.”
Another, deeper laugh came from the door to the terrace. “I believe even I could beat him today.”
Trent glared at his brother from behind the shield of protective mesh. “I’m sure Anthony would let you borrow his sword.”
“And have to trust you to avoid taking advantage of my lack of protective clothing? I think not.”
How much would it take to bribe Griffith’s valet into shaving off that irritating eyebrow? Just the image of Griffith walking around with only one eyebrow drew a grin to Trent’s face. He pulled the mask from his head, feeling the flop of sweat-soaked hair against his forehead. “Scared?”
Griffith scoffed in big-brotherly disbelief. “Smart.”
Trent stacked his gear on the table on the terrace and began pulling the protective arm and chest pads from his body. “Weren’t you planning on fencing this morning when you invited Anthony over?”
Anthony inspected the tip of his foil before jabbing it in the duke’s direction. “You did tell me to bring my gear.”
“Foresight on my part, I’m sure. I wanted the two of you to be able to entertain yourselves should I be delayed for our meeting.”
Trent narrowed his eyes at his older brother. Had he noticed that Trent had been avoiding his fencing club? Every time he went he ran into Mr. Givendale or Sir Durbin, who couldn’t seem to stop themselves from making snide comments about the state of Trent’s marriage. Blunted tip or not he was ready to run the both of them through with his foil. It didn’t help matters any that Givendale had dropped his card by the house yesterday. Trent had wanted to give Adelaide a Season, but he wasn’t about to let her entertain other gentleman callers.
“Did your wife mention if anything unusual happened while she was visiting Adelaide yesterday?” Trent’s attempt at nonchalance didn’t fool either of the other men.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Anthony began peeling off his own protective shirt. “Your housekeeper sat down to tea with them, and the entire household took luncheon together in your dining room.”
Trent frowned. “I said unusual, not odd. That happens all the time when Amelia comes to my house.”
“Something that is considerably more acceptable for her to do now that it is no longer a bachelor residence.”
The men fell silent as a footman carried out a tray of lemonade and biscuits to the terrace. Trent wasn’t particularly hungry, but he wasn’t about to turn down the lemonade.
Griffith contemplated one of the biscuits while he waited for the servant to depart. “You know, it’s still a bachelor residence.
Just one of the female variety.”
“She’s not unmarried.” Trent gripped his glass tighter.
His brother shrugged. “Might as well be.”
Anthony stepped between the brothers but couldn’t contain his laughter. “Griffith, I’m going to have to step in for Trent here. Until you’ve treaded the waters of love yourself, you should avoid throwing stones at those who are.” He glanced at Trent. “Even if they are drowning.”
“I hope Amelia redoes your entire house in shades of puce,” Trent grumbled.
“She won’t.” Anthony crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of male confidence. “She’s never liked that color much.”
Did Adelaide like the color puce? Did anyone? Was Trent going to return home to discover his drawing room covered in drab linen? These were the moments Trent hated the most when it became so glaringly obvious how little he had connected with his wife. “What is Amelia’s favorite color?”
Anthony thought for a moment. “Pink? I think? Although she used a good bit of yellow when she redecorated her bedchambers.” Then he shrugged and bit into a biscuit.
Trent tried to look casual as he fell into a nearby chair. Anthony and Amelia were as in love as anyone Trent had ever seen. They’d braved the displeasure of Society to be together, and while there were many who still whispered about them behind their fans, everyone enjoyed a good love story. But Anthony wasn’t sure of his wife’s favorite color?
The other men sat in chairs around the table as well.
Trent wished he had a better relationship with Anthony at that moment. In the four years they’d known each other they’d become friends, but friends of the athletic variety—fencing often with both foils and words, but never going much deeper than that. He and Griffith were closer . . . but he was unmarried. Right then, more than anything, Trent would have liked to feel comfortable enough to ask, if love wasn’t knowing and appreciating all the little things about a person, what was it?
After three days it became very obvious what the ladies Hawthorne, or formerly Hawthorne, were doing. Each day a different one came up with an excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon in Adelaide’s drawing room. They would stay until Trent arrived to take her for a ride, which he did at the end of each afternoon. After Trent brought her back, she’d prepare herself for the evening’s activities and then await his return.
An Uncommon Courtship Page 19