Anthony rose and crossed the room. He took Trent’s shoulders in his hands. “Trent, it happens. There are plenty of men who bungle their wedding night. Though most of them do it on their actual wedding night.”
“I’m sure you didn’t bungle your wedding night,” Trent muttered before breaking away from Anthony and throwing himself back into the chair. The tufted club chair rocked back on its legs with the force of his weight.
Anthony’s good humor disappeared as he slowly sat in the other chair, looking every inch the powerful marquis that he was. “I think Amelia would have happily accepted some bungling on my part if it meant I came with a purer past, but that’s not of consequence here. Is my experience the reason you came to me, Trent?”
“No.” Trent hated himself this morning. First he’d hurt his wife, and now he’d hurt his friend by unintentionally bringing up his dark past. “Griffith isn’t married, so what does he know about it? Colin and Ryland are married to my sisters, so I’d really rather not have this conversation with them.”
Anthony relaxed and held his hand out, palm up. “Point taken. The thing is, Trent, if you got your information about how last night should have gone from the boys at school, it’s not a wonder that it didn’t go as planned. As for hurting your wife, I’m afraid the first time is difficult for a woman no matter what—a man too, for that matter. How was she this morning?”
Trent didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He avoided Anthony’s gaze but couldn’t bring himself to actually get up out of the chair, as that would be too obvious an avoidance of the question.
“You didn’t see her this morning?”
“I saw her.” He had. He’d slipped in to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully before he left.
“Did you talk to her? Kiss her? I can already tell you didn’t try again.”
“Try again? Are you crazy? I broke my wife last night. She cried out in pain, and I caused it.”
Anthony sighed. “Didn’t your father ever . . .”
“No. I was so young when Father died. I don’t know if he ever even talked to Griffith. It’s not a subject that comes up on a regular basis with us.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Anthony scrubbed his hands over his face. “Awkward though it will be, I promise you I will talk to Griffith before he marries.”
“He won’t have this problem.” Trent grunted.
Anthony lifted that annoying single brow. “He won’t?”
“Do you think Griffith would be foolish enough to be trapped into a marriage? No, he’ll know and love his wife before it ever becomes an issue. I have to think if I’d known Adelaide better, if we’d fallen in love like we were supposed to, last night would have gone better.”
“Maybe.” Anthony shrugged. “But probably not. You aren’t the first man to fudge his wedding night and somehow the human race continues. Which means people get past it. You just have to take your time and learn together. Next time will be easier.”
“Not if she hates me. I should have waited. What if what we’ve built isn’t strong enough to withstand this?”
Anthony sighed. “Do you love her?”
Trent stared at the other man, feeling like the life had drained out of him. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 27
There’s a moment of bliss when the morning arrives, when sleep still clings to the brain and all of the bad memories have yet to awaken.
Then there’s the moment when everything crashes into reality with a heartrending wrench and sleeping until sometime next week sounds like a fabulous prospect.
Adelaide rode through both of those moments before daring to open her eyes. A quick glance revealed she’d somehow gotten back to her room, even though she’d fallen asleep in Trent’s bed the night before. Fallen asleep was probably not the correct term. Cried herself into unconsciousness while he held her and stroked her hair would be a much more accurate description. She wiggled and twisted, verifying for herself that the pain indeed had been momentary and didn’t return with the cold light of morning. The pain had in fact been gone before she’d fallen asleep, but part of her feared it would return.
A frown touched her face as she pushed back the covers and fought her way into a seated position. She had told him there was no more pain before she fell asleep, hadn’t she? It had been uncomfortable and scary, but not as painful as she feared Trent thought. She’d been startled more than anything. And rather disappointed in the whole event, or rather the end of it. Trent had obviously not enjoyed it, and she knew she hadn’t, so the only reason to do it would be in order to gain children. Unless, of course, it wasn’t always like it was last night.
She dressed and then took fifteen minutes to decide if she wanted to have breakfast downstairs or in her room. On the one hand, she was hoping to catch Trent—if he had not already left the house. On the other, she would rather avoid the knowing looks the staff was probably giving each other this morning. As much as she wished she had someone to talk to, this wasn’t the kind of thing she could discuss with her housekeeper. All of her new friends, if they could even be considered as such, were related to Trent, and she didn’t want them to know that she had failed at being a proper wife.
Her mother was out of the question, as she would probably say it was the perfect time for Adelaide to make some sort of outlandish request of her husband. As if Adelaide would use his sense of guilt as shop credit. No wonder her father rarely spoke to her mother.
She could try her sister. Helena had been out from under their mother’s thumb for well over a year now. And they were sisters. That would count for something, wouldn’t it? Adelaide knew it was a foolish hope even as she thought it, but desperate people had been known to cling to slimmer hopes. Unfortunately even an absurdly early call to visit family would have to wait a couple of hours.
She had Rebecca fetch a breakfast tray, but after that her room felt stifling. If she wanted to preserve her sanity, she was going to have to find something to do.
Books had always been a source of solace for her, and the small library Trent had created from the old music room had become her favorite retreat.
She stumbled through the door, making the unpleasant discovery that the library was being cleaned by Lydia. A pregnant Lydia. Proof that the maid and the valet had managed to muddle through what Adelaide and Trent had not.
Of all the servants to receive that knowing smile from, Lydia was probably the worst.
“Good morning, my lady.” Lydia smiled, but any veiled suggestion behind it could only be put there by Adelaide’s imagination. She hadn’t expected the young woman to be that discreet. Surely everyone knew Trent had stayed the night last night.
Assuming he had stayed the night. What if he’d retreated back to Hawthorne House after taking her back to her room?
“I can finish later, if you’d like.” Lydia packed up her dustcloth and cleaning supplies in a small bucket. “No one normally uses the room this early.”
“No, no. Now is fine. I’m simply getting a book.” Adelaide grabbed for the closest shelf and pulled off the first volume her fingers could find. “This book.”
Now came the smile that said Lydia knew too much. And given her current situation, she probably did know too much. She certainly knew more than Adelaide. If things didn’t go well with Helena, would Adelaide possibly be desperate enough to seek advice from the parlormaid?
“That’s an interesting choice, my lady.”
Adelaide glanced down to discover herself holding a book on animal husbandry. She slammed it back onto the shelf as if it were made of burning coals. Why was such a book even in a library in Town? That sort of thing belonged in the country.
“There’s several novels over there.” Lydia pointed to the larger bookcase on the other side of the room from Adelaide.
That would certainly be better than a manual on mating animals. Adelaide tried to hurry across the room without looking like she was hurrying. She was tempted to simply grab a book and run but that hadn’t w
orked well for her a few moments ago, so she made herself look long enough to at least be sure she wasn’t picking up a volume of love poems or the latest romantic gothic novel.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lydia squatting down to dust the bottom shelf.
“When is the baby coming?” Adelaide really didn’t want to know, but at the same time she did. It was rather fascinating, having a servant with child who was not trying to hide it, as she’d heard of other servants doing. Besides, asking after the baby seemed to be one more way to immerse herself in this household where everyone else seemed to know each other’s business.
Lydia stood and stretched her back. “This summer.” She ran a hand over her belly. “We’re hoping to be settled in Hertfordshire before then. We were going to go next month, but Lord Trent asked if we could stay a bit longer. I think he wants to be a bit more settled before finding a new valet.”
A wash of pink touched the maid’s cheeks, as if she realized she might have said a bit too much. Did all the servants talk about them like that? Had Lydia simply forgotten she was talking to Adelaide and not Mabel or Eve?
Adelaide snatched an innocent-looking book from the shelf. “I’ll take this one.”
Lydia said nothing but gave a tight smile as Adelaide scurried out the door.
The morning crawled by until Adelaide couldn’t take it anymore. Even though most of London’s inhabitants were probably still in their dressing gowns, she dressed for the afternoon, gathered Rebecca, and departed from the house within the hour. The ride to Marylebone didn’t take long, though they had to take more than one detour to avoid some of the areas under heavy construction. Soon Adelaide was marching to her sister’s door, new calling card in hand. She ran her thumb over the name.
Lady Trent Hawthorne.
It was strange to think of the aversion she’d felt when first seeing these cards. Nothing could be further removed from her current sense of pride.
The butler took her card and admitted her to the hall but had her wait there while he went to see if Lady Edgewick was home.
Adelaide prayed Helena was home. They’d never been particularly close, but who else could Adelaide turn to?
The butler returned, showing her into a drawing room and showing Rebecca to the kitchen, but it was another fifteen minutes before Helena arrived.
“Sister!” She entered the room with her deep red skirt billowing around her, arms extended as if she were greeting a long-lost friend. In a way she was. Adelaide and Helena hadn’t really spoken since Helena’s wedding. Nothing beyond a handful of increasingly brief letters.
Adelaide stepped into the hug with some confusion and not a little bit of relief. She’d been afraid her sister wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Was it possible that marriage to a viscount had settled her?
Helena led them over to a sofa and sat, still clasping Adelaide’s hands in hers. “Have you come to extend an invitation to the Duchess of Marshington’s ball?”
Adelaide blinked. “Miranda is throwing a ball? I had no idea.”
The sour turn of Helena’s mouth killed Adelaide’s budding hope that her sister was going to be of any comfort. “The paper this morning said she was undergoing preparations for such. Some even assumed it was in honor of you.”
Adelaide sighed. She didn’t think Trent’s sister would be honoring her anytime soon. Not if he had anything to do with it. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Helena’s shoulders slumped a bit. “Do remember us if she asks you about the guest list. Oh, and Mother told me she asked you to give a hint or two about sponsoring Lord Edgewick for your husband’s fencing club. He’s simply dying to get in there.”
“I don’t think I have any say in who Trent sponsors.”
A frown marred Helena’s smooth, pale face. “Why did you come, then?”
Sudden anger flashed through Adelaide. Her chest actually warmed with the emotion, her fingers curled in to her palms, nearly cramping as they threatened to poke a hole in her gloves. She had done everything ever asked of her growing up. She’d worn Helena’s castoffs. She’d been Helena’s dance partner, even learning the male steps for a dance or two. She’d waited quietly while every other girl her age took their bows and started finding husbands. But never, not once, had Helena thanked her for it or considered that maybe it hadn’t been what Adelaide wanted to do. The bitterness of it all felt thick on her tongue as it coated her words with sarcasm. “I don’t know. Perhaps I thought I’d come see my sister since we were in the same county for the first time in a year.”
Helena waved a hand in the air. “We barely saw each other when we lived in the same house. Sentiment is for fools, Adelaide. Though I must congratulate you on having the nerve to trap the duke’s brother. Such a shame you weren’t able to land the duke himself.”
The smirk on Helena’s face indicated she didn’t think it was a shame at all. Adelaide guessed that if it had been the duke who tumbled through the old wooden floor, Helena would have been beside herself with anger that her younger sister now outranked her. The truth was Adelaide still outranked her, but not by a significant amount.
Now, however, the only question that remained was how soon Adelaide could leave without being rude. Any notion of confiding in Helena had been obliterated by the unshakable feeling that her older sister would gladly trade the personal gossip for a voucher to Almack’s.
The conversation fell flat then, though they did each manage to say a few things about the weather and the traffic. Even that topic brought another sour turn to Helena’s lips because it only served to remind her that Adelaide was living in Mayfair while Helena was in the very respectable but not as exclusive Marylebone.
Helena plucked a stray thread from Adelaide’s skirt. “You are going to get me an invitation to that ball, aren’t you? We are family, after all.”
And with that Adelaide didn’t care about being rude anymore. She stood to her feet. “Sentiment is for fools, Helena.” Nothing was going to mend the rift between the sisters, at least not anytime soon. Helena’s mouth dropped open as Adelaide pushed past her and left the drawing room.
Her grand exit was spoiled a bit by having to wait in the front hall for her maid to be collected from the kitchen, and her sister did nothing but glare as she left the drawing room and stomped off.
Despite the indignation, which Adelaide decided she had every right to wallow in, sadness threatened to overwhelm her as she watched her sister’s bold red skirts disappear. The difference between her relationship with Helena and Georgina’s relationship with Miranda was stark and revealing. And it made Adelaide feel too many things at once, particularly on top of the confusing tumult of emotions from the night before.
Restless and tense, she didn’t want to return to the house on Mount Street. When she was in the country, she’d taken long walks to sort things out in her mind. There weren’t any rolling hills or rambling forests in London so she went for the next best thing.
She went to Hyde Park.
Chapter 28
Despite Anthony’s assurances, Trent retreated to Hawthorne House instead of returning to his own lodgings.
Griffith looked up from his desk and grinned before looking back at the ledger in front of him. “Someone didn’t come home last night. Or should I say someone finally went home last night.”
Trent grunted and walked to the dart board to pick up the handful of darts. Griffith had installed the board several years ago, after he and Anthony became friends. No matter how much Griffith practiced, though, Anthony could still beat him soundly. Trent wouldn’t admit to any aspirations of beating the marquis—at least not until he was considerably more proficient than he was now—but it was nice to have something to do when he came round to bother his older brother.
Juggling the darts in his hands, Trent walked across the room until he was even with Griffith’s desk. The heavy fragrance of Griffith’s preferred morning tea still hung in the air, letting Trent know he really was disturbing the normal w
ay of things with these morning visits.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
He let the first dart fly, frowning when it embedded in the outermost ring of the board. “I saw Anthony this morning.”
Griffith glanced at the clock. “You’ve been busy. Rough night?”
Only a brother would dare to give a duke the look Trent gave Griffith. Even then it probably wasn’t as scathing at Trent wanted it to be. His experience at giving strong, harsh looks to people was rather limited. “You could say that. Anthony’s decided you’re probably as woefully uneducated as I was so he intends to have a talk with you before you marry.”
“Sounds delightful. Why are you here, then?” Griffith ran a finger down a column of numbers in the ledger before dipping his quill in the inkpot and jotting the sum at the bottom of the page.
One more reason Trent would make a terrible duke. Numbers took him forever to deal with. Though they might not if he spent as much time with them as Griffith did. He wasn’t willing to find out.
He threw another dart, pleased when this one landed a bit closer to center. “I’m here because I think he’s wrong.”
“And you’re basing this on . . . ?”
Trent threw two more darts in quick succession, one of them pinging off the metal hanger and the other one smacking into the wooden wall below the dart board. “He thinks I love my wife.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Griffith set the quill down on the desk. “And you don’t?”
The remaining two darts clattered across Griffith’s desk as Trent dropped them so he could pace. Considering the frequency with which he had been indulging in the habit lately, he was going to need new boots by the end of the week. “I don’t know. How can I? I’m not even sure I knew she existed two months ago. And now she’s here and she reads and hates carrots and would rather be living in the country. And I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’ve actually considered taking her there. I don’t know if that’s love or a sense of obligation because I’ve muddled the only marriage either of us will ever have.”
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