by Cheryl Bolen
* * *
His chamber was no longer in darkness, Gregory thought as he lay there, not wanting to move and bring back the searing pain in his head. He began to lift a leg and realized he still wore the shoes he had worn to the assembly the night before. Lying on top the bed instead of in it, he was bitterly cold. The fire had gone out, and he wore but a thin shirt--and it was unbuttoned.
Such were the after-effects of too much drink. He remembered storming to the nearest public house in his rage at seeing Glee kiss the devil Jefferson. He remembered drinking all afternoon and into the night, when he had gone home and hurriedly changed for the Assembly Rooms. There had been a scene at the Assembly Rooms. He'd told Jefferson he would call him out if he ever touched Glee again. Then, with a wave of some unknown emotion, Gregory remembered coming here—to this very room—with Glee. He bolted up in his bed. Good Lord, he had tried to seduce her! He closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what had happened. He had said she wasn't obliging in her wifely duties. . .then she consented to make love with him.
How could he have forgotten? The taste of her. The feel of her eagerly pressing against him. The softness of her exposed breasts. But, try as he might, he could not remember feeling himself within her. He glanced down at his breeches. He had not removed them. Had he, he would be nude now. Which meant. . .the act had not been consummated. Foxed as he was, he must have bloody well passed out! He laughed a bitter laugh.
Relief washed over him as he fell back into his pillows. Thank God he had not impregnated her. Maddening as she was, he did not care to lose her.
A stabbing pain shot across his brow as he lay there thinking of Glee. Making love to him was not part of their bargain. She had his name, his fortune at her disposal. Why, then, had she willingly chosen to give herself to him? Did she feel obliged by wifely duty? Did she consent in order to assuage her guilt over kissing Jefferson? Had she consented because. . .she cared for him more deeply than she admitted?
Damn! Being married was a most complex affair. Now he was faced with deciding how he would act when he next saw her. Should he allow her to believe he remembered nothing? Should he apologize for his behavior? Perhaps he should warn her not to ever give in to his drunken demands.
Closing his eyes as if to ward off the pain, he inched his way off the bed and slowly crossed the room to ring the bell for Stanley. His wretched head hurt like the devil. So did his blasted knee. 'Twas enough to keep a man sober for the rest of his life. His valet would know to bring his special elixir. With that, a shave and clean clothes he would be ready to face his wife. And today, he vowed, he would drink nothing stronger than water.
* * *
An hour later—still not feeling quite the thing—he left his chambers and was making his way down the hall to the top of the stairs when he heard his wife's voice at the bottom of the stairs.
"You're to deliver this letter to Mr. William Jefferson at the Paragon Building," she said.
Gregory came to a dead stop. His unsettled stomach flipped. As fuzzy as his memory was of what had happened the night before, he could have sworn Glee told him she would not see Jefferson again. Surely Jefferson would not be stupid enough to meet with a woman whose husband had threatened to kill him. Gregory's soaring rage and all its violent sparks returned.
Shaking with anger, he tore down the stairs and limped past Glee, who was standing in the foyer beside a demilune table thumbing through the day's post. She looked up at him, color rising in her cheeks.
She looked nothing like the vixen she had appeared last night in the scant scarlet dress. Today, in a pastel sprigged muslin day dress, she looked like the old Glee, the innocent girl who had been his bride. Not the seductress she had been the night before.
"Any ill effects from last night?" she asked with concern.
"A great many, if you must know." He drilled her with an angry gaze. "Why, may I ask, are you sending messages to Jefferson?"
Her eyes widened. "I. . .I wanted to . . .to urge him to heed your ultimatum, of course."
He nodded, then continued on to his library.
Glee had the good sense not to follow him. Had she, he would have thoroughly vented his anger on her.
In his library, he drew open the draperies to allow more light into the room, then sat in a red leather chair behind his massive walnut desk, and with trembling hand penned a note to the Bow Street Runners in London. Since he obviously could not trust his wife to stay away from Jefferson, Gregory would have to impose his will on her without her assistance.
As soon as he had drafted the letter, a rap sounded on his library door.
Was that blasted Glee coming to use her charms to coax him from his anger? "Come in," he snapped.
Hampton presented himself. "Mr. Appleton to see you, sir. May I show him in?"
"Yes, do. And here, discreetly post this letter for me." Hampton, being a well-trained servant, knew that Mrs. Blankenship would never see the missive.
Gregory got up to greet Appleton. He owed his friend an apology for the way he had acted at the Assembly Rooms the night before.
He bowed when Appleton entered the library. "So glad you've come, old boy. I fear I owe you an apology for my abominable behavior last night."
Appleton smiled and dropped into the chair nearest Gregory. "It's your poor wife who’s owed the apology."
At least Appleton had refrained from calling her Pixie. Still, Gregory could not like Appleton butting into his marital affairs. "What happens between my wife and me is no concern of yours."
"Be that as it may, I don't like seeing her get her head snapped off when she cares so deeply for you."
Glee care for him? He burst out laughing.
"What's so humorous?"
He couldn't tell Appleton the reason for his bitter mirth, no matter how close they were. "I was merely thinking how adorable my wife is when she's in one of her deeply-attached-to-me modes."
"I think you're deuced lucky to have her for a wife."
Gregory sent Appleton a quizzing glance. "You mean you no longer abhor the idea of marriage?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to be like Sedgewick. The man lives and breathes for that wife and babe. It's different with you and . . .Mrs. Blankenship. She allows you complete liberty. She told me so yesterday when we was racing phae---" Appleton clapped a palm to his mouth.
Gregory's brows drew together. "You raced with my wife?"
"'Twasn't a real race."
"Where did this faux race take place?"
"On the road from Bath to Winston Hall. And we didn't wager. Told her as how you wouldn't like it above half."
Gregory rolled his eyes. "Then I can deduce that my wife wished to wager?"
"She ain't been out much. She doesn't know it ain't the thing."
"Then I must rely on your good character to steer her away from any such behavior." Gregory leaned forward. "And to keep her away from William Jefferson."
Appleton's eyes narrowed. "Depend upon it. The three of us have already warned her about the bloke."
"And her reaction?"
"She heartily agreed with us about his low character."
"That is reassuring news, to be sure."
"Speaking of news, I wanted to let you know me brother's in town. He signed the book at the Pump Room this morning. And the demmedest thing. . .I saw Miss Aggremont glance over the book, then she comes up to me like we were the oldest and best of friends. You must make me known to your brother she purred. All because he's Lord Appleton, if you ask me."
"I don't doubt it at all. She's rather a schemer." Gregory was perversely pleased at Glee's perception of Miss Aggremont's unflattering character. A pity her perception did not extend to Jefferson.
"A pity our joke on Miss Aggremont last night was not successful," Appleton said as he got to his feet. "I really must go visit with me brother. I wanted to assure myself you weren't still mad at me."
Gregory smiled and stood up. "Never that, old fellow."
After App
leton left, Gregory sat at his desk, staring out the window and wondering how long it would be before he could expect the runner.
Chapter 22
"Hello, Timothy," Glee said as she brushed past him in the hallway, neither meeting his gaze nor slowing down.
He turned around to look after her. "Good afternoon, P--Mrs. Blankenship."
Glee had been too upset to wait for a groom to bring around her phaeton. Running along to the livery stable would save time.
Her phaeton was hitched and ready when she arrived at the livery stable a block away, and the groom assisted her onto the box. Trotting off, she had no idea where she was going. She wanted only to be by herself, to think on the baffling occurrences of the past day.
She crossed the River Avon at the Pulteney Bridge, cantered down Great Pulteney Street and found herself once more at Sydney Gardens. Unlike the day before, the sun now brightened the sky, and many people took the air in the park. A complete contrast to the previous day's dreariness. A pity her spirits were so low now, for she would have excessively enjoyed a drive on a day like this.
She turned into the gardens and, with flushed cheeks, thought about the intimacy that had occurred between her husband and her the night before. Why, he had actually put his mouth to her breast! And, with a liquid surge low in her belly, she remembered feeling that part of him pressing against her. She had been so close to truly belonging to him.
It couldn't have just been the liquor he'd consumed that made Blanks desire her. Was it not said that liquor brought out the truth? On the other hand, liquor released inhibitions. That much she knew from her own experience drinking wine. Or arrack tea. And she knew for a certainty that, when in their cups, gentlemen went to molly houses. As a girl she had secretly read a letter Timothy Appleton wrote her brother when he was up at Oxford which referred to the night they were in their cups and visited a molly house.
Blanks's behavior today gave her no indication if he remembered last night or not. She had thought she would be able to tell by his words or mood what his reaction to last night was. Did he—or did he not—remember? If only she could have been able to tell. Were she to guess, she would say he did remember and was angry with her because of her seductive ways. He certainly had not been angry last night! It had been the first time she had truly felt as if she were his wife.
Then again, if he was so foxed he had passed out, he could have been too bosky to remember anything.
A pity it would be inappropriate to quiz him. Or would it? she thought boldly, turning her phaeton around to leave the park. Perhaps it was something she ought to discuss with him.
Not now, of course. She had set fire to his fury one too many times in the last day.
She re-crossed the River Avon and directed her phaeton along Upper Borough Walls and past Queen Square, unclear what her destination was. She grew repentive every time she thought of Blanks's raging anger. If only she had never kissed the disreputable Mr. Jefferson. And why had she been so dim witted as to write him a letter this morning?
She had been so focused on her hungered-for union with Blanks she had given no thought to him discovering that she had written to William Jefferson. And the letter was so pitifully harmless! She merely demanded the return of her earrings. She yearned to wear them for Blanks, to show him how much they meant to her.
Now her temper seared. Why had the wretched William Jefferson not returned her earrings? She had kept her part of the bargain. She had kissed him. A terribly dull kiss, to be sure. Not like with Blanks. She thought of the potency of Blanks's heated kisses. Why had William Jefferson been so eager to claim so innocuous a kiss? He knew she loathed him, yet he still demanded the kiss. It was as if he took perverse satisfaction in embarrassing and angering Blanks. The odious man!
She turned onto Royal Avenue, then trotted along the Royal Crescent, then through Crescent Fields. The sight of an unaccompanied woman driving a bright red phaeton garnered a great deal of attention. Everywhere Glee turned, curious stares followed her. She could not be faulted for not trying to impress Blanks with her forwardness. Today, of course, she looked quite simpering in this virginal dress. Why had she not worn something more flamboyant? A pity Carlotta had already claimed purple as her own.
Glee's temper scorched at the thought of Carlotta. She would wager Blanks had never gone to sleep waiting for Carlotta to change clothes! Then a wicked thought struck her. Perhaps Carlotta wore nothing at all when she became intimate with Blanks. Fury pounding in her breast, Glee felt certain she loathed Carlotta as much as she loathed William Jefferson.
Glee had so very much to learn about pleasing Blanks and no idea of where to start.
Another matter causing her consternation was Blanks's complete reversal since they married. To please him, she had tried to be fast, then he acted as if he did not like fast women. When she knew better. The unwavering Blanks persisted in acting as if he were her brother. He grew angry when she addressed his friends by their Christian names. He would not allow her to wager. He forbid even the mildest flirtation with William Jefferson. And he abhorred her seductive red dress at the same time he delighted in removing it!
The offending red dress, though she had never told him, she had copied exactly from one of Carlotta's purple creations. And he most assuredly had liked it on Carlotta Ennis. Try as she might, Glee could not please the man she had married.
All of her battle strategies had failed. It was time to bring out a new arsenal. But what?
She drove on mindlessly until she found herself on Broad Quay, the street where Blanks's solicitor's office was located. She came to a stop in front of Mr. Willowby's office and saw Archie sitting on the steps to the building. He looked up and recognized her, a smile covering his thin face as he leaped to his feet. "Can I be of assistance to ye today, madam?"
"You certainly can. Oblige me by taking these reins, first." She handed him the reins as she climbed down from the phaeton, then she turned to him. "Mind my rig and there'll be a crown in it for you."
He smiled cockily at her as she swept toward the building. She had to climb to the third floor before she located her quarry. There, she found the young woman who had to be Archie's mother.
The woman looked up at Glee with inscrutable hazel eyes, then went back to mopping the wooden hallway.
"I wondered if I could have a word with you," Glee began, walking up to the woman. From three feet away, Glee could smell the gin.
The woman stopped mopping and propped her thin frame on the mop handle, hitching a brow in Glee's direction. Blanks had been right. She was not much larger than her son. And she did so look like little more than a child herself.
"I'm Mrs. Blankenship," Glee said. "My husband is a client of Mr. Willowby's and has done business with your son on, I believe, several occasions."
"The bloke what gives me boy all them crowns?"
Glee nodded. "In fact, my husband offered your son a job as a groom, where his room and board would be furnished, in addition to making a decent salary.
"And what did Archie say to that fine offer?"
"He said he couldn't leave his mother."
A slow smile crossed the woman's dirty face. "More likely, the lad wonders why 'e should work six days a week for a small salary when 'e earns such grand fees from yer 'usband already."
"But my husband has other residences. He's not always going to be in Bath."
"A pity," the woman said, picking up her mop again.
"What's your name?" Glee asked softly.
"Me name's Mildred Agnostinio. Mrs. A. they calls me."
"Agnostinio's Italian, is it not?"
Mildred nodded.
"But certainly your lad's not Italian. He's as fair as you."
"Mr. Agnostinio was me second 'usband."
"But. . .you could hardly be more than twenty, and you've already been married twice?"
"I'm three and twenty," she said proudly.
"You had Archie when you were but fourteen?"
The
woman's eyes went cold.
Glee decided to press on. "Where do you and Archie live?"
She shrugged. "What's it to you?"
"My husband and I would like to offer you a position in our household. You would have a fine roof over your head, all your meals and a . . ."
"A decent compensation," Mildred snapped. "It so 'appens I make a decent salary right where I am."
"And you live in a fine dwelling?"
"Where we live suits us just fine. We can go and come as we please and don't 'ave to answer to no one."
"If you won't care for yourself, can't you at least care about Archie?"
Mildred lifted her chin. "Archie's free to go live with yer 'orses, if that's what 'e wants."
"But all he has is you," Glee whispered somberly. "You can't wish for him to be lonely. He's only a child."
"Me Archie's older than 'is years."
"Because he's had to take care of you all these years. How long have you had your drinking problem?"
The woman whirled at Glee. "Leave me alone. Yer just like all them other do-gooders. I'm 'appy the way I am. Archie's 'appy." Then she picked up her pail and thundered down the stairs.
Glee followed. "Mrs. Agnostinio? Would you mind if I ask Archie once more if he would like to come into service with us?"
"For all I care, ye can take him," she snapped.
Oh dear, this interview had not at all gone as Glee had planned. She silently followed Mildred down the stairs but made no more attempts to engage her in conversation.
Glee left the building, reaching into her reticule for coins for the lad. "Here, Archie," she said, placing five shillings in his grimy palm. "You've done another fine job. You know, my husband still would like you in service to us. Have you given it any more thought?"
He studied his shoetops. "Me mum needs me."
Glee ran a steady hand over his head. "You're a good lad, Archie."
All the way back to Queen Square, Glee thought of Mildred Agnostinio. The woman obviously was letting her obsession for liquor rule her life. And ruin her life. That was the only explanation for why she would turn down the security of a position in their household, where she would be expected to keep regular hours, to be clean--and not to smell of gin.