by Burke, Darcy
“Do you have a copy of the bill?” He took a bite of ham.
“I do not. His tailor sent me a letter asking for the funds. He didn’t want to bother me after Geoffrey died—they were friendly, apparently, and he took Geoffrey’s death rather poorly.” She noted that a bit of color leached from Axbridge’s face, but plowed on. “When he learned I had remarried, he decided to ask for the outstanding debt. He’s in a bad position financially.”
“How much did Townsend owe?” Axbridge took a drink of coffee.
“Fifty pounds.”
Axbridge coughed and set his cup down so abruptly that it splashed a bit onto the tablecloth. “Forgive me. That is quite a lot for tailoring.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
He looked at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. “But there is no invoice?”
“Do you doubt the man?”
“I like to have receipts.”
She could understand that. “Then I shall ask him for one. In the meantime, I will not keep him waiting any longer—it’s been months.”
He returned his attention to his plate. “I can take care of paying him tomorrow.”
She was growing irritated. “No. I will take care of it. You need only give me the money. I’ve asked you for it, as you requested, and you agreed to cover all of Geoffrey’s debts.”
“Yes, I did.” He took another sip of coffee. “I’ll leave it in the sitting room in the morning. Unless you’d care to have breakfast with me again, but I think I know the answer to that.” He sounded annoyed. Good, she was too.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Axbridge asked, “Are you attending the Fortescue ball later?” The question was polite and completely devoid of inflection.
“No.” She’d realized that one of the women she’d overheard talking at the Colne ball was Lady Fortescue. And Emmaline had no desire to encounter her again any time soon.
That conversation had occupied her mind over the past week as she’d struggled to accept that because of Axbridge she was free of debt and also free of Geoffrey. But with that sense of liberty came sadness and regret. She’d had such hope for her marriage. When she thought of how in love she’d been with Geoffrey when they’d eloped…
She turned her head to Axbridge. “Why did you challenge Geoffrey to a duel?”
Axbridge had just taken a bite of roll. He washed it down with a mouthful of coffee and took a moment to answer. “It was a matter of honor.”
“I’d like to know specifically what that matter was. I think I have a right to know.”
He leaned back against his chair and glanced over at her but didn’t maintain eye contact. He was clearly uncomfortable. Why?
“I was protecting a friend.”
“They couldn’t protect themselves?”
His eyes found hers then, and they were cool. “No. Don’t ask me to reveal their identity, because I won’t. Just as I can’t disclose the reason I called your husband out.”
“You don’t think I have a right to know?”
“No, I don’t.”
Anger flared through her. “You promised to give me whatever I wanted. I want to know why you challenged my husband.”
He stared at her calmly, further antagonizing her. “It is not my secret to give.”
“I am your wife.”
He tipped his head to the side, his mouth quirking up at the side. “I see.” He leaned toward her, resting his elbow on the table. “Do you really want to be my wife?”
She stared at him, fury roiling inside her. “What are you asking?”
He retreated, leaning back in his chair once more. “Nothing. We have an arrangement, and you can’t continue to demand things from me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He abruptly stood from the table and quit the room.
She stared after him, her anger fading to be replaced with consternation. What had just happened? Did he want a real marriage?
Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
She picked at her plate but didn’t eat much more. At length, she stood. As she made her way into the drawing room, she heard voices in the entry hall. She crept forward and saw Axbridge’s back. Tulk handed him his hat, then opened the door for him as he left.
She went into the hall. “Good morning, Tulk.”
The butler turned. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Where did his lordship go?”
“Out.”
Was no one in this household going to tell her anything specific? Frustration bunched her muscles. Turning, she went back through the drawing room and into his office. Jade was curled in front of the fireplace—it was one of her favorite spots—but lifted her head as Emmaline walked in. The cat stood and stretched, her back arching. She trotted over to Emmaline and brushed against her skirts.
Bending down, Emmaline scooped the kitten into her arms, stroking Jade’s back. The cat purred, calming her.
With serenity came clarity, and she cringed at what she’d said in the dining room. “You promised to give me whatever I wanted.” Yet she’d given him nothing.
He, on the other hand, had met every one of her demands and then some. He’d found her beloved horse and likely paid a decent sum of money for her. Just to make Emmaline happy.
Hell, maybe he did want a real marriage.
She, however, did not want that. She turned and strode from the room, anxious to get away from the imprint of his presence.
* * *
He was a fool.
Frustration and anger thrummed through Lionel’s frame as he strode the handful of blocks to Lady Richland’s. It was perhaps a trifle early to pay a call, but she’d forgive him.
He’d needed to escape his house, to put some distance between him and his infuriating wife. Just when he thought things might be improving, she’d reminded him that theirs was not a typical marriage.
He walked up the short flight of steps to the door, where his knock was immediately answered. The butler showed him to the upstairs sitting room. A few moments later, his hostess breezed into the room, her dark hair elegantly coiffed and her dove gray gown billowing about her ankles as she stopped just in front of him. She smiled widely. “Lionel. It’s so good to see you.”
He took a step toward her and kissed her cheek. “And you, Marianne. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’ve been, er, busy.”
“Getting married.” She arched a brow at him. “Come, let’s sit.” She took his arm and guided him to the settee near the windows that overlooked the street below.
They sank down to the cushions together, and she pivoted toward him. “I can’t believe you are wed. And to Lady Townsend of all people.”
He settled back against the settee and braced his arm on the back as he angled toward her. “I can hardly believe it either.”
Her brow shot up. “Indeed?”
He lifted a shoulder rather than elaborate.
Marianne shook her head. “I can’t begin to fathom how this transpired.”
“It’s a bit complicated. The rumors are rampant, I take it?”
She blinked, her lush, dark lashes fluttering briefly against her porcelain skin. She’d always been beautiful and had only grown more so over the years he’d known her. “Gossip is an insidious part of Society, though I do try to avoid it.”
Yes, she did, which was why he’d challenged Townsend in the first place. “You haven’t heard from anyone else with regard to Townsend’s scheme?”
“No, and since so much time has passed, I don’t expect to. I’ve no idea how he obtained his information, and I can only hope the secret died with him.”
“I’m glad you aren’t being further harassed.” The entire situation still unsettled him. “The how still troubles me, however. You told me that very few people are aware of what Townsend knew. I would like to know how he found out.”
“I admit it bothers me as well, but what can I do?” She lifted a shoulder and shook her head. “As I said, I can only hope the secret died with him.” She looked at him sharply the
n. “Do you think his wife, er, your wife, knows?”
Since she’d just asked him why he’d challenged Townsend, he had to assume she didn’t. “I’m fairly confident she doesn’t.” And he doubted she could help him determine where Townsend had obtained the information.
“Well, I suppose we’ll never know how he learned my secret. I shall cling to the hope that he took it to his grave.”
Lionel twitched at her words. If only Townsend had listened and agreed to leave Marianne alone.
He shook thoughts of Townsend and the duel away before they sucked him into melancholy. “How are you managing?” His gaze dipped to her gown. “No black widow’s weeds for you?”
Her answering smile was light, but her gaze was tinged with sadness. “Not for some time. It’s been nearly six months.” Her husband had died several weeks after Lionel had left London. “We’re fine. We miss Harold, of course, but I’m so glad he’s no longer in pain.”
Her husband had been plagued with poor health for most of their six-year union. Theirs hadn’t been a love match, but they’d grown to care for each other.
“I’m glad as well. You don’t need anything from me?”
She shook her head. “Not at present. You’ve been more than wonderful. If you hadn’t intervened with Lord Townsend, I don’t know what would’ve happened. I couldn’t pay what he demanded. Not without Harold finding out. I’m just so sorry things turned out the way they did.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “Townsend’s death weighs heavy on you, I’m sure.”
Lionel tensed, hating this topic. But Marianne had known him a long time, and she’d seen firsthand how the last duel had affected him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
The duel with Townsend flashed in his mind, as it had a thousand times, but he didn’t tell her about it. Doing so would make it harder for him to consign the memory to the recesses of his mind. If he ever could.
Her expression creased with empathy. “Of course you didn’t. But how on earth did you end up marrying his widow?”
“It’s a marriage of convenience.” He saw the surprise in her eyes and added, “At her request.” To go into more detail seemed unfair to Emmaline. In fact, he ought not to have said anything at all. They hadn’t discussed how their marriage was to be presented, but he couldn’t imagine putting up a show for the ton, not when she could barely stand to be in the same room with him. “Please keep that between us.”
“Of course. So it’s a secret marriage of convenience?”
“Secret is maybe too strong a word. For now, we’re just trying to adjust.”
“Is there a chance it could become something more?” she asked. “Many marriages of convenience do.”
He resisted the urge to laugh, not with humor but with incredulity. “Definitely not.”
“I must admit, I’m sad to hear it. You deserve happiness—and love.” She touched his hand. “You’ve been such a good friend to me. If there is ever anything I can do to help you, I hope you’ll ask.”
He squeezed her hand. “I will.”
“Mama!” A small boy with bright blond hair and clear blue eyes dashed into the drawing room. He stopped beside his mother, clinging to her skirt, and fixed Lionel with a wide stare. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of your mother’s.” Lionel reached into his pocket and withdrew a small toy soldier. He held it out to the boy on his palm. “I hear you have an army. Would you like to add to it?”
The boy’s mouth formed an O. “It’s splendid.” He took the soldier from Lionel and brought it up to his face, studying the intricate details.
The boy’s nurse, a young woman with dark hair and a rather distinct crooked nose, came into the drawing room, her brow drawn with concern. “My apologies, my lady. I’m afraid he snuck away from the nursery again.”
Marianne chuckled. “It’s quite all right. As it happens, Lord Axbridge brought him a soldier, so his invasion is rather fortuitous—and welcome.”
The nurse looked relieved, her shoulders dipping a bit. She bobbed a curtsey to Lionel. “My lord.” She stepped forward and took the young Lord Richland by the hand. “Come, young man, back to the nursery we go.”
The boy dug his feet into the carpet and didn’t move. “Mama, when are you coming up?”
Marianne ruffled his blond hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Soon, my love. Go with Deborah now.” She smiled encouragingly and the boy left with his nurse, but not without a great, beleaguered sigh. Oh, to be a child again with such simple concerns.
“Is it bothersome to you that he has blond hair and blue eyes?” Marianne asked softly. “Like you.”
“No. Beyond that, there’s no likeness.” But it had been enough for Townsend to threaten to tell everyone that Lionel was the boy’s father. They might have laughed it off if Lionel and Marianne hadn’t had an affair years ago. And if the boy had, in fact, been Richland’s son…which he was not.
“I will never forget your protection. You had no reason to help me. But I had nowhere else to turn. You are an incredibly honorable man.”
Yes, he was, and someday it might just be the death of him.
* * *
Emmaline glanced up at the gray sky as she made her way to Stanhope Gate. The clouds didn’t look quite dark enough to storm, and she hoped they would stay that way. After meeting with Mr. Mullens, she planned to promenade with Aquilla.
She arrived at the gate and looked around for the gentleman she sought. She’d met him on a few occasions after Geoffrey’s death, but wasn’t entirely sure she’d recognize him.
An impeccably garbed man wearing a purple waistcoat came forward. “Lady Axbridge, it’s lovely to see you again.”
Emmaline relaxed as she did indeed recognize the man. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mullens.”
They moved to the side of the gate.
He smiled, warming his thin, hawklike face. “Thank you so much for meeting me. I appreciate your quick response more than I can say.”
She’d written him a note this morning, saying she would meet him here at half past four. “Of course. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long for what’s owed you.” Axbridge’s questions rang in her head. “I must ask why there wasn’t an invoice. My late husband’s secretary detailed all the bills that had been received, but yours was not one of them.”
“I’m afraid your husband and I had a more casual business relationship.” He winced. “As I said in my note to you, we were friends, and I never imagined he wouldn’t be able to pay me. I was incredibly foolish. He always promised that he would settle my bill first, and I believed him. I gather he didn’t settle any of them?”
“So it would seem.” She really had no idea how deep Geoffrey’s financial troubles had run. Had he always been short of funds? She hadn’t thought so but had to accept she’d likely never know.
“I knew he’d lost a bit at the tables,” he said. “I suppose it was far more than he let on, even to me.”
Even to me. As if he would have more knowledge of the situation than Geoffrey’s own wife. She bristled—because he did have more knowledge. Emmaline hadn’t been aware of Geoffrey’s losses until after he’d died.
The tailor looked aghast. He brought his hand to his chest. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to overstep. Your husband was very kind to me. When I started out a few years ago, he was one of my first clients and the highest-ranking. I owe him a debt of gratitude. That’s why I didn’t pursue him overmuch.”
“But now you find yourself in financial straits?” He’d hinted at that in his letter to her.
He nodded, his cheeks flushing pink. “I’ve been a bit too lenient with collecting payments, as you can see. I was terrified to ask you, actually. But Lord Townsend always spoke so highly of you…and now that you’re remarried…well, I took a chance that you could help me.”
“I intend to.” She withdrew the bank note Axbridge had left for her that morning. “My husband—the marquess—requires an invoice, so you’ll need to forward one as soo
n as possible?”
“Oh yes, of course. I’ll do it immediately.” He accepted the note and looked down at it. His eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, my lady.”
She could see he was overcome and was glad she’d been able to help him. “I do hope you’ll be able to recover.” Fifty pounds was a large sum, but she’d no idea if he’d have to turn around and use it to settle his own debts.
“I should, thank you.” He dashed his hand across his eyes and blinked. “Your kindness has me quite undone.”
“You are most welcome. I wish you the very best.” She smiled at him and then took her leave, walking into the park where she would meet Aquilla for a stroll.
Emmaline made her way to the foot path where Aquilla was waiting for her. The smile that had formed on her lips died a rapid death upon seeing the grave concern in Aquilla’s eyes.
“It looks as though something is wrong,” Emmaline said.
Aquilla looped her arm through Emmaline’s and began to walk. “I gather you didn’t read the Post today?”
“No.” Emmaline had browsed a different newspaper that morning. Her gut roiled in reaction to Aquilla’s clear distress. “Tell me.”
Aquilla swallowed and took a breath. “There was a piece that said Axbridge was seen visiting Lady Richland. It claimed yours was a marriage of convenience, and that he and Lady Richland are having an affair, continuing a liaison they began several years ago.”
An affair? Nausea stirred in Emmaline’s belly. She shouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t as if she and Axbrige had a real marriage. Whom he had affairs with—if he had affairs—was none of her concern. No, it shouldn’t bother her, and yet acid burned her insides.
She shrugged, affecting an air of nonchalance that she didn’t feel. “It doesn’t matter to me what he does.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aquilla said. “The least he could do is be discreet!”
I do not care. I do not care. I do not care.
They walked for a few moments in silence. Aquilla peered at her with uncertainty. “Are you sure you’re all right?”