by Carol Arens
“This is a sweet group of children,” he said to the nurse. “I wonder how you care for them all. It must be a challenge.”
“Well, it’s like you say, Your Lordship, they are a sweet group.”
Looking at their faces, he thought they were distrustful of the nurse. Did Clementine notice?
A shadow moved across the doorway, there and gone so swiftly he could not tell much. But the figure was small and very likely female.
“Who was that?”
“Just Lettie,” the woman said.
Clementine stood up, her arms crossed over her middle while she glowered at him. A little girl peeked out from behind her skirt, her eyes wide and blinking.
Mrs. Hoper, he was certain, knew everything. He’d see her in prison as well as Slademore.
“May I meet her?” Was she the waif?
“She’ll be in the kitchen preparing biscuits and honey for the children.” The nurse snapped her fingers. “Come along to the dining room, children.”
“Shall we join them?” he asked Clementine.
With a curt nod, she walked beside him.
“Stop scowling,” she said. “You’ll scare the children.”
“I’m not scowling. Surely you know a smile when you see one.”
She turned on him. He had no idea brows could lift that high.
Taking his coat sleeve, she pivoted him so that he faced a large vase. The mirrored surface was shiny enough that it reflected his face.
“You see?” she said.
It did look like he was scowling. “The vase is curved. It’s a distortion.”
“Heath Cavill, I will not let you go in there and upset those babies. They’ve been through enough with the Abductor snatching away a baby.”
As much as he wanted to crow about that rescue, he kept quiet.
“I want to meet Lettie.”
“What? Why would you?”
Why? He could hardly admit why!
“I do not need to explain myself.”
“I rather think you do.”
It would make life easier to be able to. But no, it was impossible. It was bad enough that she was even here. If he were caught it would be difficult for her to claim she had no knowledge of his activities.
The need for her to stay away from here was even more urgent than it had been before.
It looked very much like she was going to spit fire at him!
“I’m taking you home.” He captured her elbow to lead her toward the front door.
“You are not!”
She swiped a handful of flowers from the vase and faced off with him, gripping the roses in one fist as if wielding a lethal weapon.
He glanced about. Luckily no one was nearby to witness the rebellion of Lady Fencroft.
He reached for her.
She shook the petals at him. “Keep back, you—you—”
While she clearly considered what wicked word best suited him, he bent, scooped his shoulder into her soft belly and lifted her off the floor.
“Brute! Pillager!”
Maybe he was all those things but he was also Earl of Fencroft.
She was his wife, obliged to be obedient.
“You will do my bidding,” he announced against her jostling bustle.
All of a sudden she went utterly still.
What had he done?
It was possible he had just declared war between them.
A war in which she had the more powerful weapons.
Silence.
It was quite possible that she might never speak to Heath William Cavill, sixth Earl of Fencroft, again.
* * *
Clementine watched out of the carriage window, her hands clenched in her lap, taking note of how the scenery gradually changed from impoverished to affluent.
The man sitting across from her, all stares and frowns, was despicable—a heinous wretch. A contemptible rogue.
While the description did fit him she could not say so aloud. Not having taken a vow of silence against him.
As a mere woman who must do his bidding in all circumstances, no matter how foolish those circumstances were, she must use the weapons available to her.
The first of those was to remain silent; the second was acting aloof.
She hoped he wouldn’t try to carry her off to his bedroom tonight, because—well, because she would drag her heels on the carpet. She would batter his chest and turn her face away from his ardent kiss. Because she was absolutely not going to his room tonight!
It was growing awfully warm in the carriage. Somehow it must be Heath’s fault.
Of course, he might creep into her bedroom and sneakily convince her to succumb to his desires. Blame it! She was too overheated to give that possibility further thought.
She huffed out loud, but that was not speaking, in truth.
“I forbade you to go to Slademore House because this part of town is far too dangerous.”
She dearly wanted to point out that there was a woman on the corner selling bread and no one was assaulting her.
By inclining her head in that direction and giving Heath an accusatory look, she made her point without exactly speaking.
“She is not Countess of Fencroft.”
For the few minutes remaining of the ride she gazed straight ahead, watching the fringe decorating the ceiling as it swayed with each gouge in the road.
She wanted desperately to ask her husband what he had been doing at Slademore House. It was not likely that he’d come to retrieve her. He’d seemed genuinely shocked to find her there.
He would be, of course, given that he considered her the soul of honesty—a saint in the cause of truthfulness.
She huffed again, shot him a scowl and then snapped her attention back to the fringe.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the townhome stairs.
She stood up, reached for the door. The last thing she was going to do was let him assist her down. The door handle turned from the outside. Heath caught her hand to prevent her exit.
“When are you going to speak to me?”
She yanked her hand out of his grip. Cool air from the open door rushed inside but did not do much to salve her temper.
“When you learn to behave like a civilized human being!”
She placed her hand in the waiting coachman’s and turned to step down.
“My sweet Clemmie.”
“Grandfather!” Reaching the bottom step, she flung herself into his arms, hugged his neck. “I’ve missed you! Oh, welcome home!”
The coach creaked with Heath’s weight when he stepped down behind her.
“Son!” Grandfather loosened her stranglehold about his neck and set her aside in order to greet her husband. “I’m delighted to know you and my girl have made a good match, after all.”
“I believe you left your wits in Scotland, Grandfather.”
He grinned, arched his impressive brows.
“Yes, an excellent match!” He winked.
* * *
As it turned out she needn’t have worried about Heath carrying her off or invading her bedroom. She had spent the night undisturbed.
Except that she had been disturbed.
Watching from her window she’d seen Heath pacing the garden for hours on end.
Clementine stooped to slip her shoes on her feet. Straightening, she leaned closer to the mirror and touched the bluish shadow. “Oh, never mind,” she grumbled.
She went out of her room and took the two flights of stairs down to the conservatory. On the way she met two servants going about their duties and thanked them for their efforts.
Their smiles back at her were not as guarded as they had been in the beginning. No, indeed, they appeared comfortable in encountering her.
Continuing down
the steps, she thought about what she had said to Grandfather.
Welcome home—not welcome back.
It was true that this was where she now lived, but was it home? She found that she did think of Los Angeles less and less, but if she were gone to a faraway place, which spot would call to her?
She stopped for a moment, letting her heart feel the way.
Fencroft House. She would want to return here, to Fencroft House.
The realization came as a surprise since in the beginning she had been resentful of being forced into coming here.
This morning, walking into the conservatory to the sound of small birds twittering in the aviary, the scent of lush green foliage and the sight of Grandfather waiting for her at the small white breakfast table—she’d known this was home.
She would always love where she had come from, but when she went away on trips or whatever, this was where she would long to come back to. And not only here. For as short as the visit to Derbyshire had been, she felt strongly drawn there, as well.
Or, perhaps it hadn’t so much to do with a place as a person.
To her Heath.
“Good morning, my Clemmie!”
She kissed Grandfather’s cheek and sat down across the table from him.
“I said it last night and will again, I’m so happy to have you home.”
“As I am to be here. Are you still not speaking to your husband, though? You have tears in your eyes.”
“Do I?”
“Ah, sweet Clemmie, sometimes, the ones we love the most are the ones who cause us the most grief.” She wondered if he might be referring to Madeline but thought it had more to do with her. “But love forgives all things.”
“This,” she said, blinking and finding it was only a slight misting in her eyes, “is not over Heath Cavill.”
“Is it not?”
“All right, it is, but not in the way you think. It is more that I only just now realized how deeply I am attached to this place, and again to the man who owns it.”
“And yet you continue to be at odds with him? I don’t understand.” Grandfather’s quizzical expression confirmed that he did not.
Given that he was a man, she could not hold it against him. Like her husband, her grandfather was under the mistaken belief that being a male meant that he was in charge of her decisions.
Apparently, one could love a person and want to throttle them all in the same breath.
Since this was a conversation she did not wish to continue, she turned its course. “Tell me more about your trip.”
“Scotland is a wonderful country and the business was a great success. Having the duke a part of it helped a great deal with the negotiations, and he was there because of your title.”
“I’m glad my sacrifice helped in your endeavor.”
“Sacrifice, Clemmie? I think you are not unhappy about it.” He smiled, winking. “You met your match in Heath Cavill. Had you been given the choice of a thousand men you could not have picked better. I am not mistaken in this.”
Indeed, Heath had some flawed beliefs, but he was not flawed. He was wonderful.
“It is true, you are not mistaken.” She rested her chin in her hands. “I’m quite happy being married to him on most days.”
“Perhaps you have some blessed news for me?”
“You weren’t gone all that long. And no, I do not have blessed news.”
“Ah, well, no matter. It will happen. But in the meantime—here.”
He withdrew a large box from under the table and handed it to her.
“I visited a doll maker in my travels.” A wide, satisfied smile spread across his face.
She lifted the box lid and stared into the blue marble eyes of a life-size baby doll.
“It’s very well made.” She lifted it from the box and held it up to the light streaming through the window, in order to get a proper look at the finely painted porcelain face. “Thank you, Grandfather.”
“I thought it might give you a smile until a living one comes along.”
It made her sad, was what it did. Not the doll itself. It was the fact that a toy was dressed better than some living babies were and it broke her heart.
This was not right.
There had to be something she could do. She had thought her calling to be teaching but very clearly the door to that had been unreasonably slammed in her face.
She might take the dress off the doll and donate it, but that would only help one child and only until she outgrew it.
What if she—?
“How many bedrooms are in this house? I wonder?”
“You could ask your husband.”
“Yes...” She supposed she would have to. “I imagine he knows how many there are in Derbyshire, too.”
“You must be planning on having a large family, Clemmie.”
The thought had occurred to her too suddenly to be considered a plan, really.
“Something like that.”
* * *
Once again, Heath felt like a very poor husband. Marriage was not the easy thing it appeared to be.
Especially when secrets were involved. And his skeleton in the closet was rather large.
What must she think of him, dragging her away from a place known for good works?
That he must be daft—or worse—unhinged.
No matter that she reviled him, he could not relent on his decision to stop her from going there. She had no idea what the cost would be to her if it all fell apart.
He would not change his mind on this.
Any lady of society he might have married would respect his decision and dutifully obey it.
Ah, but his Clementine was a blazing flame in comparison to their polite candle glow.
Heath walked across the entry hall toward the front door. Ramsfield, the butler, stood at attention with Heath’s coat hanging in precise folds over his arm.
Ramsfield returned Heath’s smile even though in truth Heath hadn’t directed it at the fellow, but rather at the about-face of his mental wanderings.
Strange that he should be smiling when his life was in upheaval. But how could he not grin? His wife was fun, she was lively and spirited. He could not recall ever meeting a more fascinating woman. It was all he could do to keep from blatantly staring at her, even when his attention ought to be directed somewhere else.
Truth be told, he did not want a meek lady who would never dare to question a man of title.
He wanted the one he had. The issue was, did she still want him?
His behavior yesterday hadn’t been exemplary. While it had been within his rights to bring her home, in reflection, he might have done it more circumspectly.
It was a very good thing Clementine had vowed for better or for worse. Also a very good thing that he had lain with her as a true husband.
She was good and stuck with him now.
Going down the front steps, he rolled his shoulders, appreciating the shaft of sunshine warming them. It was another mostly clear day and very welcome after the rain.
Creed stood beside the carriage, holding the door open.
“Good day, my lord.” The coachman slanted him a grin. “I trust you spent a restful night.”
“You trust no such thing. You saw what I did yesterday.”
“When you behaved like a barbarian, do you mean?”
“There was no help for that. The countess refused to come along.”
“I suppose there wasn’t. It wouldn’t do for her to be part and parcel with us.”
Heath shook his head firmly. “Lady Fencroft is to have no part in this.”
“We’d best expose Slademore soon, then. The countess is a sharp one. When she figures it out, she’ll be right angry at you.”
“My situation with her could hardly be worse than it i
s now.”
“Aye, well, you did carry her off like a sack of wheat.” Creed chuckled while closing the door. “Don’t know how you can expect anything else.”
Even though Heath was within his rights to protect his wife and would do the same again if need be, he was deeply sorry he had done it quite that way.
Perhaps in America men did not guide their wives in what was best for them. It was known to be a wild and lawless place in some parts.
He leaned back against the seat cushion and closed his eyes.
What he ought to do was go back inside the town house and find her, work this out before the hurt festered beyond healing.
If she was hiding away in her room weeping over his imperious behavior, he was twice over a cad.
He thumped the roof of the cab, signaling for Creed to stop, then realized the carriage had yet to move.
The door flew open even as he reached for it.
Clementine stepped inside and closed it after her. The carriage started to roll.
Her breath came in short, quick gasps as if she had been running.
Sitting across from him she leaned against the seatback, her arms folded at sharp angles across her middle.
Mutely, she stared at him with round green eyes. He adored her eyes.
Was she going to speak to him?
She had sought him out on his way to Parliament. Judging by the high flush in her cheeks, the slight lift of her chin, she had something to say.
However, the steadiness of her gaze suggested she had questions more than anything else.
“I miss you, Clementine. Won’t you talk to me?”
“I miss you, too.”
“I’m sorry I treated you so disrespectfully.” He reached his hand toward her across the jolting carriage. “I love you. Come back to me.”
She placed her fingers in his hand. He swallowed them up in his fist and yanked, propelling her toward his side of the cab.
At the same time the carriage wheel hit a divot in the road, tossing the cab left. Clementine’s balance listed toward the door.
He clasped her about the waist and hauled her onto his lap.
“Do you forgive me?”
“Do you mean for making a decision that was mine to make, or for acting like a beast?”