Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Have you considered setting up your own establishment?”

  “It is what I would like above all things, but Mother would never allow me to leave her.”

  Not quite certain what Thomas expected her to do about his mother’s interference, she gave a sigh. Surely he could not believe that he could still depend upon her to save him now that she was wed to Lord Claredon? It was one thing to expect her help when they were secretly engaged. It was quite another when her loyalty now lay with her husband.

  Still, Thomas could be remarkably impervious to others when he chose. And it was quite possible that he had not even considered the notion it was highly improper to seek out the company of his former fiancee or to realize she might be offended by the knowledge he had sought her out only to request her help.

  “What brings you to Longmeade?” she demanded in resigned tones.

  He gave a discomforted cough. “Well . . . I fear that I had a rather heated squabble with Mother when she accused me of stealing her jewels.”

  Victoria blinked in sudden surprise. Jewels? What an extraordinarily odd coincidence that his mother would be missing her jewels just when there was a crazed lunatic accusing her of possessing his jewels. “What?”

  “It is all no more than a mare’s nest,” Thomas complained. “She no doubt left them in Derbyshire or had them sent out to be cleaned.”

  “How very odd.”

  “Not really. She will use any excuse to believe I am attempting to sneak away from her. As if I would pawn her jewels for my own pleasure.”

  “Yes.”

  At last sensing her distraction, Thomas leaned forward with a frown. “What is it, Victoria?”

  She gave a sharp shake of her head. Mrs. Stice and her jewels had nothing to do with the mysterious Mr. Smith. “Nothing,” she retorted in firm tones. “You still have not told me what you are doing in Kent.”

  A hint of color washed over the pale countenance. “I fear I became so angered by my mother’s accusations I simply stormed from the house and swore I would never return.”

  Decidedly surprised by the younger man’s rare display of courage, Victoria regarded him in amazement. “Good heavens.”

  He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Unfortunately, I had no notion of where to go. Then, I thought of you and . . . well, here I am.”

  “I see,” she said slowly.

  “Would it be a terrible imposition if I were to stay here a few days?” he pleaded, clearly not at all aware of the unseemliness of his request. Or the danger of facing Claredon. “Just until I have proven to Mother that she cannot speak to me in such a manner?”

  Victoria shivered at the mere thought of her husband’s reaction to having Thomas as a houseguest. For goodness sakes, he had been thoroughly unreasonable at having her speak with her former fiance at all. He was bound to be furious at her request to allow Thomas to remain for an indefinite stay.

  “Well . . .”

  “I promise not to be any bother,” Thomas softly coaxed.

  Victoria gnawed her bottom lip, torn between her reluctance to press Claredon into enduring the company of a gentleman he openly disliked, and poor Thomas’s pleading request.

  It was at last her own inability to turn away a person in need that swayed her decision. Longmeade was as much her home as Claredon’s now, she staunchly told herself. And despite all that had occurred, Thomas was still her friend. It would be unconscionable to turn him away when he was so obviously distressed.

  Still, she could not deny a distinct chill of unease as she gave a slow nod of her head. “Of course.”

  Thomas clapped his hands together in relief. “I knew I could depend upon you, Victoria. You have always been my greatest friend.”

  Wishing that he had chosen another friend to depend upon, Victoria rose to her feet. She would have to find Claredon and admit she had offered sanctuary to Thomas before he could learn the truth from the servants.

  “I will have a room prepared for you,” she murmured.

  Thomas rose to his feet. “And you will not allow Mother to know I am here?”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his anxious tone. The gentleman could not help his weak nature, any more than she could help her habit of commanding others. “I have no intention of contacting your mother,” she assured him in dry tones.

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  Victoria gave a wry smile as she walked out of the door.

  In the first weeks of her marriage, she had often thought of Thomas, foolishly hoping he would suddenly appear to whisk her away from the mess she had made of her life. Even with her disappointment in his lack of determination to make her his bride whatever the scandal, she had thought anything would be preferable to being tied to Claredon for all eternity.

  It was rather ironic that now he had appeared, she realized that his presence would never have solved her troubles. Not only did he not possess the strength to fight for her, but he was far too enwrapped in his own needs to consider her own.

  Utterly unlike Claredon, she grudgingly conceded.

  Had the woman he had chosen to marry been forced to wed another, he never would have meekly stood aside. Instead he would have battled to the death to keep her at his side—a knowledge that made her heart twitch with a sudden ache of loss.

  She had loyally attempted to maintain her shining image of her love for Thomas. She wanted to believe that it had been utterly pure and right. Having seen him today, she very much feared that glowing memory was in danger of being tarnished.

  The notion made her heart decidedly uneasy. That lingering belief, that she still loved Thomas, had been a potent weapon in fighting off Claredon’s charm.

  And she very much feared she needed all the weapons she could muster.

  Nine

  Despite the early hour, Claredon swallowed a large gulp of brandy. He had handled Victoria badly.

  A wry smile touched his grim countenance. Bloody hell, he always handled Victoria badly. For a man reputed to be a master with the fairer sex, he was remarkably incompetent when it came to his own wife. But this morning he had been particularly clumsy.

  The moment he had learned of Mr. Stice’s arrival, he had lost all sense. A fury had whipped through him as incomprehensible as it was unstoppable.

  How dare the cowardly fool show his face at Longmeade?

  It was bad enough that Stice maintained a place in his wife’s heart. To actually dare to thrust his way back into her life went beyond the pale. He wanted to rush to the front parlor and physically toss the man from his home. Or, better yet, run him off with a horsewhip for even daring to trespass upon his land.

  Only the knowledge that Victoria would never forgive him for treating her precious Thomas in such a fashion kept him pacing the library rather than relieving the tension knotted in the pit of his stomach.

  Damn it all.

  Why could she not see that the gentleman was utterly unworthy of her loyalty? He had done nothing to save her when she had been embroiled in scandal. He had not once offered his assistance or even his regret that their marriage was not to be. Instead he had fled like a frightened milksop with no thought for his trapped fiancée. Emotions perilously close to jealousy battered his mind as he paced through the library, until a new, startling thought abruptly swept aside his unwelcome broodings.

  Coming to a halt, he allowed himself to ponder the sudden suspicion that bloomed to life, not even noticing that the door to the library had been softly opened and that a short, rotund gentleman was silently regarding him with a shrewd gaze.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Mr. Humbly interrupted his musings.

  Abruptly turning about, Claredon regarded the vicar with an impatient gaze. “Humbly.”

  “I trust you are feeling better?”

  Claredon grimaced, realizing he could hardly disguise his black mood. “I was.”

  As always, the vicar maintained his air of placid goodwill. Claredon wondered if anything beyond a thief slipping in
to the window could manage to rattle the older man. “Has something occurred?”

  “Mr. Stice has come for a visit.”

  “Mr. Stice?” Humbly furrowed his brow. “Why is that name familiar?”

  “He is the gentleman with whom Victoria attempted to elope.”

  Comprehension dawned as Humbly gave a slow nod of his head. “Ah.”

  “She, of course, insisted upon seeing him.”

  Humbly tilted his head to one side and regarded him in a curious fashion. “You did not wish her to?”

  That dark, unpleasant sensation twisted his gut once again. “No.”

  “Why?”

  Claredon’s features hardened at the vicar’s probing. Really, the man could not be that unworldly, he seethed. “I think it would be obvious,” he said in tight tones. “Victoria believes herself to be in love with the man.”

  Humbly frowned with obvious disapproval at his words. “Victoria will not forget that she is now wed to you,” he said in chastising tones.

  Claredon polished off the last of the brandy before setting his glass on the nearby desk with restrained violence. “I do not fear her being unfaithful,” he retorted.

  Humbly slowly moved forward, his gaze watchful. “Then what do you fear?”

  “That she will recall why she desired to wed him rather than me.” There was a stark silence as he grudgingly revealed the betraying emotions that twisted his gut. It was not easy to speak the words out loud. He did, after all, have his pride, and it was not pleasant to accept that his own wife obviously preferred another man. Or that the knowledge gnawed at him in a manner he was not utterly comfortable in examining.

  Thankfully Humbly did not smirk at how low he had fallen, nor attempt to pass off his worries with a flippant response. Instead he seemed to consider his response for a long moment.

  “I certainly am not an expert when it comes to women,” he admitted with a kindly smile. “But I think it is far more likely that Victoria will begin to realize that marriage with Mr. Stice would have been a grave mistake.”

  Claredon frowned at the tempting words. “But she believes she is in love with him.”

  “Oh, she certainly convinced herself that she loved him,” Humbly readily agreed. “But during our discussions, I have noted that she spoke far more of her effort to save him from his overbearing mother than of her emotional attachment to him. Victoria has always been a woman who rushed to the rescue of others.”

  Although the vicar’s words closely reflected his own belief in Victoria’s affection for the hapless Mr. Stice, it offered little comfort at the moment. “I agree that marriage would have been a disaster between Victoria and the bumbling nitwit, but it is impossible to convince my wife of the truth. Believe me, I have tried.”

  “Then perhaps it is best to allow her to discover the truth for herself,” Humbly offered in pointed tones.

  It took a moment for Claredon to follow his subtle hint. When he did, his features twisted with distaste.

  Of course it would be better if Victoria accepted for herself that her feelings for Stice were no more than those of caring woman for a weak man. But to actually encourage her to spend time with Stice made his teeth clench in fury. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, exasperated beyond all endurance.

  Humbly raised his brows. “Pardon me?”

  “You are no doubt right, but I would far prefer the satisfaction of blackening the man’s eye.”

  Humbly regarded him with a steady gaze. “Believe in your wife, my lord. You will not be disappointed.”

  He wished he could believe the kindly vicar. But until Victoria accepted him as her husband, his faith was in short supply. How could he trust her when she had no reason to feel the need to remain loyal to him? Oh, not in the physical sense, he acknowledged. He did not believe for a moment that her own honor would allow her to give her body to another man. But as he had said to the vicar, he could not dismiss the fear that she would allow the arrival of Mr. Stice to drive an even greater barrier between them.

  “I hope you are right, Humbly,” he said in low tones.

  The vicar opened his mouth, no doubt to insist that Claredon agree that Victoria was above suspicion, but before he could speak, the door to the library was once again pushed open, this time to reveal the hesitant form of Claredon’s wife.

  Claredon ridiculously found himself closely inspecting her slender form, as if attempting to discover some sign of distress at having come face to face with the man she professed to love. He could discover nothing, however, beyond a certain pallor to her countenance and an uncertainty in her manner.

  “Come in, my dear,” he said in what he hoped were reassuring tones.

  She stepped forward and glanced toward the silent vicar. “Good morning, Mr. Humbly.”

  “Good morning, Victoria. I was just on my way to breakfast. Shall I see you later?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” she readily agreed.

  “Good.” With a meaningful glance at Claredon the older gentleman politely slipped from the room, leaving him alone with his wife.

  Claredon forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking. “Has Mr. Stice taken his leave so soon?”

  Her hands clenched together as she determinedly lifted her gaze to meet his own. “No, he is still in the parlor.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Actually . . .” Her words trailed away, and she visibly gathered her courage. “He has asked to remain for a few days.”

  Sharp disbelief raced through Claredon. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  Unable to accept that even Stice could possess the audacity to request to remain beneath the roof of his former fiancée and her new husband, Claredon abruptly turned to pace toward the window that overlooked the tidy gardens. “I see.”

  “I realize that you do not particularly care for Thomas,” she said in carefully controlled tones, “but he truly does not have anywhere to go.”

  Claredon had several suggestions as to where the annoying twit could go, but the memory of the vicar’s stern warnings held his tongue. “And you believe that I should allow the gentleman you claim to love remain beneath my roof?” he said in chilled tones.

  There was a discomforting silence before Victoria cleared her throat. “I am well aware that Thomas can never be more than a friend.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “Feelings are not so easily controlled as that.”

  She gave an impatient click of her tongue at his mocking tone. “You are determined to make this difficult, are you not?”

  He was making this difficult? He turned to face her with an expression of annoyance. Damn and blast. How the devil would she feel if he requested that a former mistress become a houseguest?

  Perhaps the vicar was right in that she should learn the truth of her emotions toward Stice on her own, but he was not above pointing out a few pertinent details she had seemed to overlook. He planted his hands upon his hips and stabbed her with a steely gaze. “Tell me, Victoria, has it occurred to you that it is rather odd that Mr. Stice has decided to make an unexpected appearance at this precise moment?”

  She gave a bewildered shake of her head. “What do you mean?”

  His lips twisted at her innocence. “First a scoundrel attempts to slip into our home. Then he threatens you and takes a shot at me. When it is obvious he has not been able to frighten us into giving him these mysterious jewels, Mr. Stice arrives upon our doorstep requesting to stay for a few days.”

  Not surprisingly, she stiffened at his blatant accusation of her beloved Thomas. “Are you implying that Thomas is involved with Mr. Smith?”

  “Perhaps he is Mr. Smith,” he retorted in silky tones. “The sketch you drew bears a resemblance to him.”

  Expecting anger, he was rather surprised when she instead appeared almost wary. “Absurd.”

  He stepped closer, resenting her ready defense of Stice more than he cared to acknowledge. “It makes perfect sense. He could not discover these jewels by f
orce, so he has decided to slip in under the disguise of friendship.”

  “No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The man who accosted me in the carriage was not Thomas.”

  “How can you be so certain?” he persisted with a relentless expression. “You said yourself he was hidden by a scarf and cape.”

  Stubborn as ever, she refused to admit that Stice could be capable of such a nefarious plot. “I would have recognized him had it been Thomas.”

  Realizing he would be wasting his breath to insist that she had been too startled and frightened at the time to recognize her own mother, he gave a vague shrug. “Then perhaps he is using an accomplice.”

  “You are being ridiculous.” Twisting her fingers together until he feared they might become irretrievably tangled, Victoria abruptly turned to pace away from his piercing gaze. “In the first place, there are no jewels to be found here, and in the second, Thomas would never be involved in anything remotely criminal.”

  Battling the urge to damn Thomas Stice to the netherworld, Claredon watched his wife with a growing suspicion. Her defense of Stice was almost too fierce. “Are you quite certain that he never gave you any jewels as an engagement gift?” he demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “He never gave you any gifts?” he persisted.

  She gave an impatient lift of one shoulder. “Only a trifling figurine.”

  Claredon frowned, refusing to accept that he was completely off the mark. Perhaps he did wish to think the worst of the annoying gentleman, but there was still the fact that he had arrived at the same moment that the trouble at Longmeade had begun. That could not be simply dismissed.

  Or at least he did not desire to dismiss it.

  “There must be something,” he muttered. “This cannot be a mere coincidence.”

  “It cannot be Thomas. It cannot be. I will not believe it.”

  Suddenly certain that Victoria was hiding something from him, Claredon moved to lay his hands upon her shoulders and firmly turned her about. “Victoria, look at me,” he commanded softly.

  There was a moment’s pause, as if she were debating ignoring his words. Then, with obvious reluctance, her long lashes fluttered upward to reveal troubled emerald eyes. “What?”