by Carol Arens
He wanted this woman, and might even have chosen her of his own free will had their paths crossed in a different way.
Had Lady Guthrie made a terrible mistake?
“I do not believe that she did,” he mouthed silently, while turning his face down the line of well-wishers toward the duchess, who at all times seemed in control of her world.
There was nothing to be gained by denying the truth. It would only make the future harder to face. Besides, not even Clementine, who stood at his elbow, would know what he said. Over the laughter and conversation of dozens of people and the strains of the orchestra playing in the next room, no one else would, either.
“I simply adore weddings,” Lady Guthrie declared, stepping forward and patting his cheek with her gloved fingertips.
Given the way her garden was designed, with winding paths and secret alcoves, one could only wonder how many hurried vows it had been responsible for.
“My dear Lady Fencroft, I welcome you to London society.” With great show Lady Guthrie kissed Clementine’s cheek. She then murmured something in his bride’s ear, but standing so close, Heath heard it, too. “May God help you, my sweet girl.”
Perhaps this show of the duchess’s favor would aid Clementine’s launch into society. If it did not, he only hoped that whispers born of jealousy and gossip in dark corners would not become known to his wife.
She was doing a great good for so many people and he did not want her to suffer for it.
But she was going to suffer—and by his own hand. Or more precisely, the lack of his hand. The thought of the way he would neglect her made him want to leap into the Thames.
Lost in self-loathing, Heath failed to notice the next guest in line.
“My best wishes to you, Lord Fencroft.”
No matter how deeply Heath reached, he could not find an answering smile for Slademore.
Willa...
The man’s mouth might be exhibiting friendliness, but his eyes were as cold and gray as a snake’s. But no, snake eyes were a reptile’s and nothing more. If one looked deeply into Garrett Slademore’s eyes, one saw evil. But the fellow was beautiful in a way that he seemed to disarm people.
Willa... Heath suspected she had never looked deeply enough to see the cruelty. Never looked deeply into the heart of another man, as well. She’d gone to her death without revealing who the father of her baby was.
Because he could do nothing else, Heath gritted his teeth and uttered, “May I introduce Baron Garrett Slademore.”
“May he never darken our door again,” he added by further introduction, but only in his mind.
“It’s a great pleasure, Baron.” Clementine extended her hand. “I’ve heard of the generous work you do for poor children at Slademore House.”
She looked so happy to be speaking to the baron, praising his good work. It bothered Heath that she did not see the heart of the man, no more than anyone else did.
Heath put his hands behind his back and clenched his fists because what he wanted to do was squeeze them around the baron’s neck.
“The pleasure is completely mine, Countess. I do hope you will remember us in your charitable giving. The children are always so very grateful when they are remembered.” The baron bent over her hand for too long, lowering his mouth too close to her fingers.
If he kissed them, Heath was certain he would have to knock him to the floor, causing a new scandal to replace the old one, but fortunately that didn’t come to pass.
“He seemed a pleasant fellow,” his bride declared, smiling after Slademore.
Heath had the strongest urge to rip off her glove and send it to the laundress. With the greatest effort, he nodded and focused his attention on the next guest.
Or tried to. From the corner of his eye he watched Slademore take the arm of an elderly lady and with deliberate care escort her toward the breakfast room. He smiled at her and bent his head as if what she had to say was of utmost importance to him.
Heath could stand on a chair right here in the reception line and tell the world what he knew.
He could—but in doing so he would reveal Willa’s fallen state. After protecting her secret he would not now shame her. Besides, he had no proof.
When he came forward to condemn Slademore, it would be with proof that could not be argued.
What kind of life had he got himself into? Heath was compelled to express neither his budding affection for his bride nor his animosity toward his enemy.
There were times when life made no sense whatsoever.
* * *
Olivia drew open the door of Clementine’s new bedchamber.
“I’ve had the countess’s chamber prepared for you. I hope it suits. It has been slept in by the mistress of Fencroft for generations,” she pointed out while Clementine walked past her. “The master’s chamber is two doors up the hallway, far enough for him to have his privacy but close enough in the event he feels inclined to visit.”
In the event? Olivia had been married, was a mother. Surely she understood that a husband might feel inclined to—well, to linger.
Even Clementine, pure as a newly dawned day, understood that much.
Oh, but the room was lovely, decorated in yellow with accents of red. A vase of tall flowers on the entry table sported the same hues. Even with full dark fallen outside, with only the lamps and the amber glow of the fire in the hearth for illumination, the place appeared cheerful.
The bed looked like a pillow. She guessed it would be like sleeping on a cloud.
“That is the most beautiful window. I’m sure I could sit beside it all day.” Clementine nearly sighed over the inviting spot.
And the chairs tucked into the bay? She feared if she sat down on one of them she might spend all her time gazing at the garden below.
It was especially appealing at the moment since wedding guests had lingered even after the food ran out.
“Mother used to. Oliver and I would sit on her lap and we’d watch the—” Olivia pursed her lips, frowning. “Well, it was a very long time ago.”
“This is the most inviting room I have ever been in, Olivia. Thank you for all you’ve done.” Truly, she could not have wished for a nicer suite.
“It’s the very least I could do.” Olivia’s crystal blue eyes swept the room. “It’s we who should be grateful to you. My brother—Oliver, I mean—he was a good person at heart but he could never resist a good time and in the end...”
Her gaze shifted, settled again on Clementine. “In the end he was a man.”
It was evident that Olivia’s comment was born of personal experience. Since Clementine barely knew her sister-in-law, she did not feel it right to ask further about it.
“I’m sure Heath and I will be comfortable here,” she said instead.
“Yes, I’m sure but...” Olivia sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not my place to give you advice. But you don’t have your mother to do it. Given that I’ve been married, I hope you don’t mind getting some from me?”
“I would thank you for it—I’m rather green at being a wife.”
“Most of us are. We foolishly go into the arrangement with our hearts wide open. But take heed, sister, it’s a risky thing, giving yourself over to a man.”
“Is there something in particular you think I ought to know?” Olivia must certainly know her brother far better than Clementine did.
“I shouldn’t say.”
But she wanted to. Clementine knew a secret on the verge of being exposed when she saw one.
A soft knock rapped on the door. Heath entered the chamber before Olivia could blurt out the thing she should not say.
“Good evening, ladies.” He glanced about the room, seeming to see his sister’s handiwork for the first time. “You’ve done a beautiful job in here, Olivia. I thank you.”
Olivia looked back
and forth between her and Heath, a delicate wrinkle creasing her smooth, fair brow.
“Well,” she declared. “I’ll leave you to your evening.”
She left the door open when she went out.
“I’ve the feeling my sister shared her thoughts on marriage.”
“On men.”
“She has good reason to be bitter. Her husband was often unfaithful—and Oliver? In a sense, he betrayed her, as well, by mismanaging the estate and leaving her and her son vulnerable.” Heath glanced over his shoulder down the darkened hallway and then back at her. “I don’t think she trusts me, either, not completely. Did she say anything?”
“No.” But she nearly had.
Heath closed the door, turned the lock.
The click sent a shiver over Clementine’s skin because somehow that act was more intimate than any she had ever experienced.
She was a married woman, alone with her new husband for the first time. What did he expect of her? What was she willing to give him?
Pivoting on his heel, he smiled while he loosened his collar.
“I don’t know about you, Clementine, but I could use a few hours to sit and just breathe.” He indicated the chairs beside the window with a nod. “May I?”
“I’m sure you are free to sit anywhere you like.” Such as on the bed.
He settled onto the plush cushions, rolling his shoulders while he beckoned for her to sit down across from him.
As soon as she did, her muscles melted against the back of the chair and she realized how weary she truly was.
“Marriage is exhausting business,” she admitted with a sigh.
“And we’ve only begun.”
Something stirred inside her belly, because did he mean—?
She stole a glance at the bed.
Her groom’s gaze wandered in the other direction, to the darkness beyond the window, so she suspected he was not thinking of the pursuit of carnal knowledge.
“Clementine, I need you to know something. I might not be a perfect husband, but I promise you, I will always be faithful. You will not end up hurt the way my sister has been. For all that our marriage was not of our choosing, I will not betray my vows to you, or to God.”
It was good to hear him say so, because Olivia’s attitude had made her a bit ill at ease.
“Nor will I.” She nodded. “I’m exceedingly loyal by nature.”
“I’m sorry for getting you into this, Clementine. I know this marriage was not what you wanted and that you expected to have a choice in the matter.”
He could not possibly know what she wanted, since she, herself, did not.
“It remains to be seen whether this is what I want or do not want,” she said but his gaze slid away from the window, his blue-green eyes seeming troubled. “It might prove to be that I do not, but it might also prove to be that you and I will find happiness in our situation. Our marriage is less than a day old, after all. Far too soon to know anything for certain.”
Rain tapped lightly on the window, carried by a gust of wind. Water drops rolled down the glass. It was interesting to see how they hit the glass singly, rolled for a bit and then melded with another drop. Mingled, the drops became one and moved together.
She didn’t point it out to Heath, but she thought it a perfect analogy to marriage. Tomorrow she would write it in her journal.
“And yet I would expect you to resent me for compromising you. It was unconscionable for me to take away your choice.”
“I wonder, Heath, if I only had the illusion of a choice. Eventually a man would have married me, and very likely it would have been for my grandfather’s fortune. I’d rather it be this way than to believe I’d made a love match and then later find I’d been duped.”
The fancy concoction of curls on top of her head felt suddenly heavy, and itchy. Carefully, she removed Heath’s mother’s comb and set it on the small table beside the chair. Then she made quick work of plucking out the hairpins. The mass plopped upon her shoulders and she shook her head to loosen it.
If the locking of the door had felt intimate, this felt more so. Without a vow, this was something she would never—even under dire circumstances—do in front of a man.
Perhaps, rather than being trapped, she was liberated. Apparently one could be quite free with a husband.
No doubt it would even be acceptable to loosen the top buttons of her wedding gown. What a shame they were located on the back of her gown.
If she reached around, struggled with them, he might help her—the backs of his fingers would brush the skin on her neck. He might take the gesture as an invitation.
Did she want it to be? Her thoughts lately had certainly led that way—but did she truly want to do something she could not go back from?
She did not know.
Clementine set the hairpins on the table next to the comb. Unbound hair was enough familiarity for the moment.
For some reason he was staring at her, mute as a bug, so she picked up the conversation.
“It seems to me you have had less choice in the matter than I had. From the moment you lost your brother, you have been bound by duty.”
“And so here we find ourselves.” Reaching across the distance between their knees, Heath cupped her hands in his and squeezed. “Once again, I thank you. Olivia and I are so very grateful.”
“You are hardly alone when it comes to gratitude. In case you failed to notice, Grandfather is beside himself with joy. He’s convinced that his grandchildren for generations to come will be secure.”
And there, so swiftly that she nearly missed it, he glanced at the bed. Perhaps it had been bold to bring up children. She hadn’t done it by accident. Of the many issues needing to be settled in their marriage, this was a rather big one.
He let go of her fingers, settled back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest.
“Given our circumstances, I will not press you on the physical aspect of our marriage. If there is to be no heir, I can accept it. You didn’t choose me and I would not force myself...” Another glance at the bed. “It’s not as though—at any rate, there is my nephew, Victor.”
* * *
Damn the bed! He ought to have had this conversation somewhere else.
He ought to go to his own room. It was not as if he could not come up with a reason to—Such as, as—Dammit! He couldn’t come up with a single thing that made sense.
No doubt it was because the last thing he wanted to do was go to there. It was a big lonely room.
This one was cozy, and his wife was here.
Heath yanked his gaze away from the inviting piece of furniture only to have it settle upon the cascade of red curls falling across Clementine’s chest.
The sight of it was no less tempting than the bed had been, so he focused his attention on the slippers peeping out from under her pearl-embedded gown.
But the pearls reminded him of his mother’s comb and how lovingly his bride had touched it when she took it out of her hair.
Intimate emotions for her were dangerous. He needed to guard against them—but when she smiled at him the way she was doing now? Was there any kind of defense for that?
“I caught a glimpse of the boy crawling under the food table at our wedding breakfast.” She said this with her gaze focused on the fingers of flame leaping in the fireplace. “No doubt he’ll make a fine earl one day.”
“He’s a sweet child and I suppose he will.”
Would not his wife desire the same thing? To bear a son and see him inherit the title? Of course she would want daughters to arrange fine matches for and grandbabies to cuddle in her arms.
He was her husband and honor-bound to give her those things. But at what cost?
Risk having her go to jail with him if he were caught? Having forced her to be his wife would he now damn her to a life in prison?
Or retire from giving rejected children a chance at life?
Maybe give up on finding a way to expose Slademore?
No, doing so would make him the worst of men. He could not possibly indulge in the joys of being married and all the while know that children were suffering. In some way that would make him as bad as Slademore was. To know and do nothing—his conscience would never allow it.
He had no options that were acceptable.
“I wonder, Heath, what will my duties be?” she asked. “Your sister seems to run the household efficiently.” Clementine looked away from the hearth and pinned him with a green-eyed blink. “I cannot think she will welcome my interference.”
“If you wish, I will relieve her of her duties. Hand them over to you.”
“That would be highly unfair, don’t you think? A woman needs a purpose and I would not take hers from her.”
“It is your right to run your household if you please to. You are Lady Fencroft now.”
“Yes, I am. A peer of the realm—a countess, no less.” She sighed and he thought it was in resignation.
The position in society that a thousand women coveted was one that he knew she would rather not have.
They shared that bond. Earl and Countess of Fencroft, reluctant heirs to the title.
“And if not to run the household, exactly what are my duties to be?” Her fine brows arched in accent to her question.
Duties? That was something he hadn’t given a great deal of thought to, beyond delivering the fortune to save them all.
“There are social calls to be paid, balls and parties to be planned, and shopping. Yes, a hundred shops depend upon your patronage.”
“It sounds perfectly frivolous.” Clementine stood up, paced to the bed and back, the pearls on her gown reflecting the glow of firelight.
Looking down upon him, she clamped her hands at her waist and tapped her fingers on the white satin.
“You might as well send me to Bedlam tomorrow, for that is where I am headed. Social calls! Shopping! Is that all I am fit for? And I detest balls.”