Love and Marriage

by Alexandra Ivy

  Her eyes widened at his casual reference to their future children. Then a fiercely pleased glow entered her eyes. It was obvious she had not considered the thought of the inevitable conclusion to their new intimacy. Thankfully, the thought seemed to please her rather than shock her.

  “What if we have only daughters?” she teased.

  He shrugged, not at all put out by the thought. He had enough cousins to ensure the line would continue whatever the sex of his children. “Then the land we purchase will remain unentailed so they can inherit. I do not doubt our daughters will be just as capable as their mother of running an estate.”

  He had hoped to reassure her with his determined words, but without warning, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Oh.”

  Horrified at the thought of unintentionally wounding her, Claredon scooted close to her and cupped her face between his hands. “Dear heavens, what is it, Victoria?”

  Gazing at him with tear-drenched eyes, she gave a small hiccup. “I believe that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

  Amazement battled with surging relief as he gave a choked laugh. Gads, but she had frightened him. He did not ever want to see her cry. “Oh, my dear, only you would be more pleased to be admired for your management skills than to be likened to an angel,” he said ruefully.

  Blithely unaware that she had momentarily terrified him she sent him, a stern frown. “You will not go to Lord Vernon’s alone?” she commanded.

  “No, I will take Peter with me,” he readily agreed, not about to take chances with his life now that he had so much to live for.

  “And you will not take foolish risks?” she persisted.

  Leaning down, he feathered a kiss over her tempting lips. “I promise you nothing will keep me from your bed tonight,” he husked. With a great deal of reluctance, he rose to his feet. Blast, but he wanted to stay—for an eternity. “Now I suppose I should go before that wretched maid makes her appearance. Until later, my love.”

  Her smile held all the promise of paradise. “Until later. ”

  Thirteen

  An hour later, Victoria was aimlessly sketching the roses in the conservatory.

  Despite her earlier determination to devote herself to her guests, she had discovered herself unable to force her reluctant feet to carry her to the breakfast room. Instead she had silently slipped through the halls with a secretive smile and the need to be alone with her thoughts.

  How could she possibly chatter aimlessly with Mr. Humbly? Or listen to Thomas’s endless moaning when all she desired to do was dance about the house, singing at the top of her voice?

  Her eyes slid closed as she allowed the pleasurable memories to rush through her.

  Yesterday in the cottage, Claredon had revealed a tender care that had touched her very soul. Last night . . .

  Ah, last night he had revealed a fiery need that had made her feel utterly desired. She shivered as delicious sensations raced through her.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she could be so wanton, so abandoned, or that her ready response could be so provocative for her husband.

  The very fact that she had even managed to shock herself had made her reluctant to allow others to realize that they were now truly man and wife. It was absurd, she knew. But she could not seem to toss aside years of modesty in just a few hours.

  A rather wicked smile curved her lips.

  Besides, it was decidedly lovely to have her husband sneaking into her room to awaken her with a rose.

  Her heart gave that dangerous quiver, but, with an unconscious toss of her head, she shoved aside the knowledge she was treading in dangerous waters. Perhaps her emotions were becoming hopelessly tangled, but she could no longer conjure up the barriers she had once kept between herself and Claredon.

  The sound of the door to the conservatory opening had her turning about to discover Mr. Humbly walking down the pathway toward her. With an effort, she attempted to disguise the giddy smile she was certain would give her away.

  “There you are, my dear,” he murmured as he settled upon the small bench beside her.

  “Mr. Humbly.”

  He leaned forward to peer at the sketch she had started of the nearby roses. “How very lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  He watched her set aside the sketch with a faint smile. “We missed you at breakfast.”

  A stab of guilt assaulted her at the realization that she had been a poor hostess for this kindly gentleman. Not only had he been shaken out of his wits by a thief, but she had brutally condemned him to hours alone with Thomas. No doubt he would have preferred the thief.

  “Forgive me,” she murmured with genuine regret. “But I awoke this morning with the urge to make a few sketches.”

  “And no wonder, you are very talented,” he replied, without the least hint of censure.

  His sweet nature only made her feel even more guilty, and she gave a rueful grimace. “Oh, no, I merely dabble. Addy was always the true artist,” she said, referring to her dear friend from Surrey.

  Humbly gave a nod of his head. “She is most remarkable. She recently painted my portrait, you know.”

  “Did she?”

  “It was quite good,” he commended with a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “Although Mrs. Stalwart was terribly disappointed that Addy managed to capture me so accurately.”

  Victoria lifted her brows. “Surely that is the purpose of a portrait.”

  Humbly grimaced. “I believe she thought it would be more dignified if I had been given more hair and fewer chins.”

  “Nonsense,” Victoria loyally denied. This gentleman was perhaps the most gentle, kindly person she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She wouldn’t change a hair or chin. “You are perfect as you are.”

  He chuckled at her fierce tone. “That is very kind of you, my dear.”

  “How is Addy?” she demanded, suddenly realizing just how much she missed the companionship of her childhood friends. Addy could always make her laugh, while her other friend, Beatrice, was the more sensible of their group. Together they had forged unshakable bonds that would last a lifetime.

  “Very happy, I am pleased to say,” the vicar replied promptly.

  “I am relieved.” She gave a small frown. “She was not wholly enamored of the thought of wedding Mr. Drake.”

  Humbly gave a vague lift of his hands. “As with all new marriages, there were a few difficulties in becoming accustomed to one another. Both Addy and Adam possessed expectations of one another that interfered with realizing the truth of their feelings. Once they took the time to seek an understanding, all was well.”

  Victoria knew all too well the difficulties of being newly married. Gads, her own wedding had been a hurried affair followed by months of brittle anger. It would be a pleasure to put such days behind her.

  “I am very happy for her.”

  “As am I,” Humbly said with a smile. “And I am pleased to say that Beatrice is doing quite well.”

  “I did not doubt that she would be very pleased with her marriage,” Victoria retorted, recalling her friend’s near delirious pleasure at having discovered the gentleman of her dreams. “She loved Lord Faulconer very much.”

  Humbly gave a sad shake of his head. “Yes, until she discovered that he was in dire need of her inheritance.”

  Victoria regarded him in shock. Her gentle, shy Beatrice had been duped by a scoundrel? A fierce wave of anger raced through her. “He was a fortune hunter?” she gritted.

  “I believe that was the reason he sought an introduction to Beatrice.”

  Victoria clenched her hands in her lap. To think she had even liked Lord Faulconer. He had seemed so devoted to Beatrice. “Why the . . . lout,” she breathed.

  “Do not be too harsh,” Humbly said in gentle tones. “He is a very fine gentleman and loves Beatrice to distraction. Besides, I believe he was suitably punished for his initial deception.”

  “I should hope so,” she said, not entirely f
orgiving the man who had hurt her friend.

  “Thankfully, they have worked through their troubles, and Beatrice found it within her heart to forgive her husband.” He regarded her in a knowing manner. “Not an easy task, but one that has brought her peace. It is not pleasant to live with anger and bitterness.”

  Realizing he was no longer referring to Beatrice, but to her own relationship with Claredon, Victoria smiled wryly. “Yes, I know.”

  There was a brief silence as he studied her delicate countenance. “How are you, Victoria? You were very quiet at dinner last evening.”

  Despite all her determination to maintain her composure, Victoria could not halt the faint blush that rose to her cheeks. She had barely been able to swallow a morsel during dinner last evening, with her husband sending her those smoldering glances that promised delicious pleasure soon to come. It was a wonder that the dining room table had not been consumed in flames by the heat in his eyes. “I am well.”

  His brow wrinkled at her choked tone. “Is anything troubling you?”

  Knowing that the gentleman was far too wise to be put off for long, she flashed him a dry smile. “Do you mean besides a madman stalking me and an ex-fiance as a houseguest?”

  Thankfully put off the track, the vicar gave a low chuckle. “Troubles, indeed.”

  “It will all pass,” she said with a shrug.

  Humbly tilted his head to one side. “Well, there is little I can do to help with the madman, but I would be quite willing to keep Mr. Stice occupied until he leaves.”

  Caught off guard by the generous offer, Victoria gave an instinctive shake of her head. “Oh, no, I could not ask that of you.”

  He merely smiled. “I do not mind.”

  “That is because you do not fully comprehend what you are offering,” she said before she could halt the impulsive words.

  Humbly gave a cough, a twinkle in his sherry eyes. “I have discovered that Mr. Stice can be somewhat . . . smothering.”

  She grimaced at the hours she had been forced to endure Thomas’s self-pity. “That is a polite means of describing him.”

  Too late she realized that she was revealing far more than she had intended. Humbly gave a lift of his brow as he studied her with a narrowed gaze. “May I presume you are no longer so disappointed that your elopement with Mr. Stice was halted?”

  Her gaze dropped to hide her sheer horror at the thought of being trapped with Thomas for the next fifty years. Dear heavens, she would have been miserable within the first week.

  “I cannot deny that I had been foolishly impulsive,” she admitted in cautious tones. “I did not know Thomas nearly well enough to have contemplated marriage.”

  With his usual kindness, Humbly reached out to cover her hand with his own. “It is not so surprising, Victoria. You are a woman with a great need to reach out and help others. It is quite simple to mistake pity for love.”

  It was what she had told herself, but a lingering sense of fear remained lodged deep in her heart, a fear she could not possibly speak of with Claredon. “That is truly not a comfort, Mr. Humbly,” she said in wry tones.

  Perhaps sensing her inner vulnerability, Humbly leaned forward to regard her with an encouraging smile. “What is it, Victoria?”

  She paused for a long moment before giving a restless shrug. “If I could be so mistaken in my feelings once, how can I trust them again?” she questioned in low tones.

  His hand tightened upon her fingers as his expression became somber. “There are no certainties in life, Victoria, and it can be frightening to make yourself vulnerable to another.”

  A faint tremor raced through her body. She had already made herself more vulnerable to Claredon than she had ever dreamed possible, and at the same time exposed her heart to disappointment.

  She might have learned to trust Claredon, but he had never offered her more than his passion. How could she possibly give of her heart if he could never return her emotions? Surely it would be unbearable to fall in love with a man who would never love her, who might even be discomforted by the burden of her attachment. “Yes,” she breathed softly.

  He gave her hand a last pat before he sat back and offered her a reassuring smile. “All I do know is that love should be about two people placing the other’s happiness above their own, not one person taking and the other always giving.”

  Her features abruptly softened. “That is what my parents possessed.”

  “And what you will one day possess, Victoria. Of that I am certain.” Raising himself to his feet, Humbly folded his hands across his protruding stomach. “Now I believe I shall go in search of Mr. Stice. Enjoy your morning, my dear.”

  * * *

  Nearly two hours later, Victoria went in search of her husband. She knew it was ridiculous, but she felt distinctly uneasy at the thought of him galloping across the countryside, even with a groom at his side. She would not be at ease until he returned safely.

  Knowing he would more than likely seek his library once he reached Longmeade, she briskly made her way through the house and entered the book-lined room. It came as a decided shock to discover Thomas already there, standing beside the desk and frowning down at a piece of paper in his hand.

  Cowardly considering slipping out before she was noticed, Victoria was halted as Thomas abruptly lifted his head and regarded her in surprise.

  More or less trapped, she forced a stiff smile to her lips. “Oh, Thomas, good morning.”

  “Good morning, Victoria,” he murmured, although his gaze strayed back to the paper.

  Curious at his odd distraction, she put aside her reluctance to spend a moment longer in his company than necessary and crossed the room. “Is something the matter?”

  “It is the oddest thing.”

  “What is?”

  He glanced upward at her approach and waved a vague hand toward the nearby desk. “I was searching for wax to seal my letter to Mother when I happened across this sketch of Andrew. I did not realize that the two of you were acquainted.”

  Sketch?

  Victoria’s breath froze in her throat as she moved to view the paper he held in his hand. Dear heavens, it was the sketch she had drawn of the villain, she acknowledged in dazed disbelief.

  Licking her dry lips, she studied Thomas’s baffled expression. “Andrew?”

  “Yes. Andrew Banfield, my cousin,” he readily responded, unaware of her sudden tension. “Is this not him?”

  With hands that suddenly shook, Victoria took the sketch from his grasp. “I made this sketch from a description of a thief who attempted to sneak into our library window.”

  “What?” Thomas frowned in disbelief at her implication. “That is impossible.”

  Realizing that it would be unwise to leap to conclusions, Victoria attempted to calm her racing heart. Thomas could very well be mistaken. It was, after all, only the merest sketch made from the fuddled memories of Mr. Humbly.

  “Tell me of your cousin. You never mentioned him before.”

  Thomas gave a shrug, regarding her as if he feared she might be a tad noddy. “I fear that Mother does not truly approve of him.”

  Victoria swallowed a smile. Mrs. Stice did not approve of anyone who could not be used to further her aspirations in Society. “Why not?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “You know Mother. She did not approve of his gambling or his habit of consorting with actresses.”

  It was certainly not much to go upon, but Victoria did at least know that Andrew was a gambling man, the sort of man who might easily be in need of quick profits. “And now your mother’s jewels are missing,” she muttered, beginning to believe Claredon’s insistence that this could not all be a coincidence.

  “Yes ...” Thomas suddenly appeared thunderstruck. “I say, Victoria, you cannot mean to imply that Andrew stole the jewels?”

  She knew it must sound absurd. What proof did she have? Nothing more than a vague sketch and a vague intuition.

  “It is the only thing that makes sense,
” she retorted, as much to convince herself as her companion. “But why would he believe that I now possess them?”

  Thomas gave a petulant pout, clearly not desiring to discuss such an unpleasant subject. He far preferred to turn his head from such matters and let others deal with them. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you are speaking about,” he complained.

  She thinned her lips with irritation, not about to allow him to avoid her questions. It was too important to worry over sensitive nerves. “When was the last time you saw your cousin?”

  He gave a restless shrug, shifting his feet as if considering bolting from the room. “I do not know. Perhaps three weeks ago.”

  “Did he mention anything of your mother’s jewels?”

  “Of course not,” he huffed, thoroughly out of charity with her probing questions. “Andrew knew nothing of Mother’s missing jewels. Indeed, he spoke only of his ill luck at the tables and . . .” He stammered to a sudden halt, his brow furrowed as he recalled his conversation with his cousin.

  “What is it?” she demanded in sharp tones.

  “Well, he did seem particularly interested in the figurine I had purchased for you. He said he wished to have it duplicated for a gift to his latest mistress,” he admitted slowly. “He seemed rather put out when I said I had already sent it to you as an engagement gift. I thought it odd at the time. Andrew has always assured me that my taste is horrible. Take this coat, for instance . . .”

  “Thomas,” she firmly interrupted, not about to become distracted. “You are certain he was interested in the figurine you sent to me?”

  Thomas gave a shrug. “I suppose it caught his fancy when I showed it to him earlier that week.”

  Figurine?

  It made no sense. Although she had not examined the gift closely, she was certain it was not worth stealing. It was indeed a rather ugly figure of a woman attired in one of the wide gowns preferred years ago. There were no jewels or ...

  Suddenly she was struck with inspiration.

  Perhaps there were jewels—only she had not yet discovered them.

  Grasping Thomas’s arm, she tugged him impatiently toward the door. “Come along.”