Otherwise, life took on a pleasantly full routine, daily growing more familiar with her new role as Darragh’s wife. As countess, she assumed responsibility for managing the household and the servants.
“About time the master took a bride,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Coghlan, declared during their first consultation. “About time he quit roaming and started raising a brood of young ones. You’ll be wanting a large family, I’m supposing?”
To that Jeannette decided it wisest not to reply. Children? Yes, she thought, she wanted children. A brood? Well, raising her own cricket team was most decidedly not in her plans.
When she wasn’t occupied with household affairs, she passed the time embroidering, painting, writing letters and playing piano in the music room. When it wasn’t raining, she enjoyed taking afternoon walks with Darragh’s sisters, who despite their youth proved lively, interesting companions. In the evenings, Finn or Michael would often suggest a game of whist or hearts. She quickly discovered all of the O’Brien men had a clever knack for cards. Especially Finn, who contrary to his large, innocent appearance kept count of the deck like a seasoned sharp.
Despite her worries that she was living in a complete social vacuum, a few visitors did come to call. The local vicar, Reverend Whitsund, and his wife arrived first, spending nearly the entirety of their visit reminiscing about their old life in England, while prodding her for information about “home.” Although glad for the company, she found so much talk of England a painful reminder of her present difficulties with Darragh, her mood sadly blue-deviled by the time they departed.
Then there were the MacGintys, a bluff, horse-mad couple with eight children and a prosperous stud farm that she learned kept Michael gainfully employed. As a wedding present, they brought her an all-black kitten with huge amber eyes, an adorable creature that snuggled instantly into her lap and began to purr. While gazing down upon the small cat, hearing his tiny, adorable mew, something warm and maternal stirred in the vicinity of her heart, and to her surprise, she found herself accepting the gift with a glad smile.
She named the kitten Smoke, and welcomed him into the house. At first, she worried about introducing the little cat to Vitruvius—the wolfhound large enough to bat Smoke around like a ball. But the tiny kitten and the huge hound took one long look at each other and became instant best friends.
Now, nearly two months later, she gently untangled a skein of thread from Smoke’s playful paws before placing the length safely inside her sewing basket, where the kitten could not find it. She didn’t want the little cat accidentally swallowing the thread. She’d just tossed a small, velvet-covered ball made especially for the cat, when a knock sounded on the family drawing room door.
“Come,” she called, smiling as she watched Smoke give chase.
A footman entered bearing a letter. After thanking the young man, she turned over the heavy cream vellum, discovering the red wax seal of the Duke of Raeburn. Slitting open the missive, she quickly read the splendid news that Violet’s babies had been born.
Twin boys, Adrian wrote, delivered after a merciless fifteen-hour labor that he had feared, for a time, Violet would not survive. But his darling wife had pulled through magnificently, as had the babies, who had their mother’s smile. They had decided to name them Sebastian and Noah. Being the eldest by seven and a half minutes, Sebastian was now the new Marquis of Ashton.
With Violet still recuperating, Adrian hadn’t waited for her to write, but had done so himself, wanting to get word to Jeannette as soon as possible. He invited her and Darragh to visit anytime they liked, and sent Violet’s love and his regards.
Jeannette set the letter down in her lap, her mind full as she gazed in absent distraction across the room, with its airy decor and cheery lemon yellow walls. If only she felt as cheery as the room. If only the joyous news didn’t leave her the tiniest bit melancholy.
She had so wanted to be there for the birth. Had wanted to share the happy event in person instead of through a letter. Despite knowing it a fruitless endeavor, she’d tried again, four weeks ago, to broach the topic of traveling to England. But as soon as she began speaking, Darragh had turned frosty and ended the discussion. Now, because of his intransigence, she had missed the birth entirely.
And his moody, dictatorial behavior of late wasn’t helping her resolve her true feelings, the two of them living in an odd limbo of sorts. How long, she wondered, could they go on as they were?
No nearer an answer than ever, she reread Raeburn’s letter, then folded it and tucked it into her sewing basket for safekeeping. She would write to Violet directly to wish her happiness and congratulations. Of her own difficulties, she would continue to say nothing. Now was not the time to concern her sister with anything but the babies. Doing so in person might have served, depending upon Violet’s health, but letters would only frustrate the matter and leave her twin to worry. So, Jeannette decided, saying nothing would be best.
A gift would need to be sent, she mused. But what? And where to purchase something suitable? It wasn’t as if she could buy from the shops in London—well, not with ease anyway. Perhaps she would consult with Mrs. Coghlan to see if she had any ideas. Mayhap there were some native products, a beautifully woven set of blankets or lace-trimmed christening gowns whose handicraft Violet would admire.
Jeannette sighed. She’d just risen to go pen her reply to Violet, Smoke having vanished off into another part of the house, when a footman tapped again on the door. “My lady, a visitor has arrived asking to speak with you.”
“Did this visitor give a name?”
The footman opened his mouth to reply when a disturbingly familiar voice, one she had never thought to hear again, did the honors for him. “He did provide a name,” the voice declared, “though as I told this boy, there is no need for introductions, since you and I are old and dear friends. Is that not right, cara mia?”
Jeannette’s lips parted on a surprised O, as Toddy Markham, the man who had once stolen her heart along with her virtue, strode into the room.
Lean and dangerous as ever, Toddy stopped before her and executed a bow stylish enough to impress the Queen. Catching up her hands in his, he dropped a pair of warm kisses onto her knuckles. Overly warm, overly intimate kisses that made her pull her hands aside, aware of the young footman looking on with overt interest.
“You may go, Steven,” she informed the boy, waiting until the servant withdrew before turning her attention to her former beau. To look at him, one would never guess he was often one sovereign short of insolvency, his attire impeccable, immaculate, the height of fashionable good taste.
Today he wore precisely creased buff pantaloons, white shirt and starched cravat, buff waistcoat and a bottle green coat she was sure had been cut by no less estimable a personage than the great Weston himself. His Hessians were polished to a high gloss he’d once boasted of achieving by using a mixture of boot blacking and twenty-year-old French champagne. A sapphire signet ring she knew he’d won in a long-ago card game winked on his right hand.
His hair was brown, well cut and well styled, his pleasant, patrician features not what one would ever describe as handsome. Yet he possessed a magnetism, an aura that drew people in, men and women alike. Once he had been able to draw her in using those penetrating amber eyes. But never again.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He had the effrontery to look amazed. “Well now, that’s a fine greeting, isn’t it? And after I traveled all this way to see you. Jeannette, my love, this backwater is obviously having a deleterious effect upon your spirit.”
“My spirit is fine, and I am not your love. I’ll thank you to remember that, Mr. Markham.”
“So formal. You were warmer the last time we met.”
“We were in Italy. Of course I was warmer.”
His lips quirked. “You know what I mean. Now, now, I know you’re vexed with me and justifiably so, but I’ve come to make amends.”
“Why? What happened to
your contessa? This time of year, the two of you should have been making your way south.”
A wry glint flickered in his gaze. “Carlotta and I decided to part ways.” At her continued stare, he shrugged. “If you must know, her brothers apparently took a dislike to me, and persuaded me to rethink my affections for their sister.”
“They threatened you?” Toddy wasn’t the sort of man to back down from a fight. “How many were there?”
He laughed. “Eight, and a pair of uncles. I could have handled them, but the Italians have a nasty habit of starting vendettas. Seemed more trouble than it was worth.”
He was also nothing if not pragmatic. “So you sailed away and came here to me.”
“Actually I stopped off in London first. You might imagine my amazement when I heard you had gone off to Ireland. I decided I could not leave you to suffer a moment longer.”
“Perhaps you did not hear the whole of it. I am married now.”
“Yes, I know. Countess Mulholland, is it not? I also know you did not wish to wed, that it was a hurried match to avoid yet another unfortunate scandal. How horribly disconsolate you must be.”
Reaching for her hands again, he graced her with his handsomest smile. “My darling, I am so sorry. I should never have abandoned you as I did. Truth to tell, I’ve missed you. Adore you still. Foolishly, I let greed stand in the way of true love. Please forgive me and let me make things right between us again. Let me take you away from this heathen wilderness. We’ll go back to the city, to London, where you can shine again as you so rightly deserve.”
A year, even six months ago, she might have fallen for his blandishments, believed his lies. With very little additional persuasion she would likely have fallen into his arms. But no more. Now she could see him for exactly what he was, a cad and a user.
She could see another truth as well. Despite his practiced, winning ways, his power over her was done. She did not love him anymore. She did not love him because she loved another.
“Toddy, I—”
“Steven tells me we’ve a visitor.”
Her gaze flew to the doorway where Darragh stood.
Zounds, how long had he been there? More to the point, how much had he heard? Enough, she surmised, to put a vicious gleam in his usually genial eyes.
She winced imperceptibly as Darragh’s gaze lowered to her hands, hands still held inside Toddy’s grasp. Loosening them quickly, she took a hasty step back, hating the fact that her withdrawal must make her appear guilty, when she had nothing about which to feel guilty.
Darragh stalked into the room, moved to stand beside her. “Introduce us, then, love, if you’d be so good.”
Masculine possessiveness and animosity arced through the room like chain lightning, the two men inspecting each other the way wolves from rival packs size each other up before a fight. She almost expected them to snarl.
“Allow me to present Mr. Theodore Markham. Mr. Markham, my husband, the Earl of Mulholland. Mr. Markham is an acquaintance of mine from London, Darragh.”
The men nodded, but did not shake hands as amiable politeness demanded. Then again, there was nothing amiable between them.
“Acquaintance, you say?” Darragh asked.
“Yes, old friends, actually.” Toddy flashed her a warm smile. “Much too old for tedious formalities. What’s this Markham business, my dear? I was Toddy only a moment ago.”
“Well then, Toddy, what is it brings you to Ireland?” Darragh said, his tone like steel covered in silk. “And why travel all the way to the West at such an unlikely time of year? Englishmen don’t usually have the stamina to withstand our bluff, raw winters.”
“Oh, I have plenty of stamina,” Toddy drawled. “Haven’t I, Jeannette?”
Darragh’s entire frame tensed beside her, barely veiled fury streaming off him in an invisible wave. She shot Toddy a look of reproof, unable to believe he would make such an indelicate and overt innuendo.
Deuced take him, what was he about? Was he deliberately trying to make Darragh believe there was still a relationship between them? Was he trying to provoke Darragh into issuing a challenge?
As insane as it might be, another glance convinced her such a result could indeed be his plan. Toddy might dress the part of a clothes-conscious fop, but he was lethal with a sword and equally deadly with a pistol. As for a bout of fisticuffs, she couldn’t easily pick a winner, since she felt sure Darragh could scrap with the best of them. Suffice it to say, she had no interest in finding out.
Determined to stem any potential bloodshed, she stepped between the two men. “Mr. Markham, you must be weary after your long journey. Why don’t I call one of the servants to escort you to your bedchamber, then I’ll send up tea. You can rest for a few hours before dinner. We keep country hours here and dine at six.” She crossed the room, pulled the bell.
“I remember when you and I dined at ten, sometimes later for a midnight supper dance.”
“Yes, well, we are no longer in London.”
“More is the pity.”
A housemaid arrived.
“Please show Mr. Markham to the red bedroom. He will be staying with us for the night.”
“He can go to a bloody inn,” Darragh growled.
She glanced at Darragh, keeping her voice deliberately gentle. “There are no inns, as you well know.” She turned back to the servant. “Nora, show Mr. Markham to his room, please.”
Wide-eyed, the girl stared between the three of them, as if they were a prime carnival act. Recovering, she curtseyed. “Aye, my lady. Sir, if you’ll follow along with me.”
Amber eyes gleaming, Toddy came forward, took Jeannette’s hand. “Until dinner, my dear.” Bending, he once again pressed a warm, far too familiar kiss upon the top. She pulled her hand away before he could give Darragh even more reason to complain.
Toddy straightened, angled his chin toward Darragh. “Mulholland.”
Darragh showed his teeth. “Markham.”
The instant the other man exited the room, Darragh swung around to confront her. “He isn’t staying.”
“Of course he’s staying. You said yourself it’s winter. We can’t very well turn him out to freeze in the cold.”
“He can sleep in his coach. With that fine, inflated ego of his, he’ll stay more than toasty.”
“And what of his servants and his animals? Would you condemn them to a night exposed to the elements?”
He glared. “Considering the man, it might be worth it.” He set his fisted hands onto his hips. “Fine, let him stay, but only for the night. In the morning, out he goes.”
“We shall see,” she said, irritated by Darragh’s overbearing command.
He froze, set narrowed eyes upon her. “There’s no seeing about it. He’s going, at first light if I’ve my way.” A pronounced silence fell. “He’s the one, isn’t he?”
Her heart took a leap. Devil take Toddy for running his mouth, and quite deliberately too. “The one what?” she repeated, deciding to pretend ignorance.
“The one. The blackguard who took your innocence, then left you to deal with the aftereffects. You told me it was over.”
“It is over.”
“Then why is he here? Why would that blighted knave travel across two countries and a sea, if not for good reason?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you not?” His eyes narrowed. “Or do you simply not wish to say?”
Stricken, she countered his cold look with one of her own. “I have nothing to say, if you are indeed implying what I believe you are implying. Retract your statement, my lord.”
“I’ll retract nothing until I’ve a satisfactory answer. Did you, or did you not, write and ask him to come here?”
His accusation drove into her heart like a dagger. After everything, he would now accuse her of deceiving him, cuckolding him? Before she knew what she intended, her hand flashed up and she slapped him across the face.
The scarlet imprint of her palm mottled his cheek. His ga
ze afire, he covered the burning stain with his hand, rubbing the spot. “I’ll not have him in the house above the night, and if I catch him anywhere near your room, he’ll be dead. You tell that to your lover.”
He spun and stormed out of the room.
Shaking, she went to the sofa and collapsed upon it. Her lips quivered and she pressed her fist against them, fighting to stem the tide of her misery.
Dinner was a tense and unpleasant affair.
Toddy spent his time flirting with her and regaling her with the latest on-dits from London, remarking on who did what and had she heard about so and so? and do you remember when?
After five minutes she wanted to strangle him. She toyed a time or two with the idea of jabbing the tines of her dinner fork into his hand to watch him yelp and make him shut up. But other than resort to violence or an outright scene, there was little she could do to stem what she knew to be his deliberately provocative behavior.
And all the while the others looked on.
Darragh’s siblings were arranged silent and watchful as spectators at a very taut tennis match. She and Toddy presided at one end of the table, while Darragh sat at the other, brooding darkly into glass after glass of bloodred Bordeaux.
Darragh wasn’t given to heavy drinking, as a general rule, and to her recollection this was the first time she had ever seen him get slowly and thoroughly inebriated. Dangerously foxed in a way that had even Michael minding his tongue by the conclusion of the meal. Luckily, this being a casual family dinner, there was no need for the ladies to leave the gentlemen to their after-dinner port and cigars. Instead, Darragh stalked off to his study while the girls made their way upstairs.
The prudent action would be to retire as well, she mused, but the evening was young and she refused to scurry away like some timid mouse, cowering beneath Darragh’s displeasure. He wasn’t the only one displeased tonight, her emotions abraded by his obvious lack of faith in her.
The Wife Trap Page 32