Regency 01 - Honor

by Jaimey Grant

  “What else have you taught my husband?” Verena asked, unable to contain her eagerness to learn all she could about the man she married.

  The doctor laughed. “When he was a young man, fresh from University, he found an injured fox. She’d attempted to free herself from a snare—”

  “How?”

  Connor and the doctor frowned. Her husband took her hand in a strong clasp and answered. “An animal in a snare will sometimes try to chew off the limb that’s caught.”

  Verena had nothing to say to that horrible truth and after a moment of stunned silence, she asked, “What happened?”

  “Con saved the animal and her limb, something a lot of doctors never accomplish.”

  Connor snorted. “Only because many won’t bother to try.”

  The maid returned and set a tray on the little table situated between the settee where Verena sat with her husband and the chair that held Dr. Steele. Verena offered to pour.

  “By all means,” Garrett said amiably.

  The maid bobbed a curtsy, smiling shyly when Verena thanked her.

  Verena performed this simple but very necessary social exercise. She handed the doctor a cup, then one to her husband and, finally taking one for herself and offering around a plate of dainty cakes, she urged the man to continue talking about her beloved spouse.

  “I hardly think I should be the one to talk about your husband, my lady. He knows far more than I ever taught him. He should be a doctor himself,” replied Garrett plaintively.

  Connor grinned. “Are you suggesting I should boast of my accomplishments, Garrett?”

  “Somebody tell me! I’m like to die of curiosity, else,” Verena cried in exasperation. She set her now empty cup on the tray and clasped her hands in her lap. Something told her she needed to hear him talk about his medicinal skills. It was somehow very important.

  “I suppose the best way to tell you what I know would be to tell you examples where I’ve proven that knowledge.”

  Verena nodded eagerly.

  “You’ll have to help me, Garrett,” Connor said dryly, “else we’ll be here all night.”

  “I know he can set a broken leg good as new,” the doctor said as a shadow crossed his face. “I would have had a permanent limp had Connor not insisted that the quack who used to practice here set my broken leg instead of letting it heal crooked.”

  Her eyebrows raised in question, Verena said, “I am afraid I don’t understand. Are you saying Connor knew how to do that before he ever met you?”

  “Not precisely, my love,” her husband answered carefully. “The quack to whom the good doctor refers was in fact his very own father. I have known Garrett all my life.”

  “But I thought your father was a vicar.”

  “That he was, my lady. But he was also the nearest thing to a doctor this town had. Fortunately, Connor had more interest in doctoring than the old man did. His success in setting my leg is what inspired me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Verena said with feeling.

  “Although,” Connor added wryly, “my medicine tended toward patients of the four-legged and winged variety. Garrett studied humans; I studied animals. Then we taught each other the basics of each so as to be able to help in any emergency that arose.”

  “How clever!” Verena enthused. “You must be very grateful for your knowledge.” She couldn’t help the pang of envy that shot through her. If she was a man, she’d have had far more opportunities in her life, something beyond marriage.

  But if she was a man, marriage would never have been an issue.

  “I was never more thankful for my knowledge than I was five years ago.”

  Verena was glad she had set her cup down. Otherwise, she was quite sure she would have smashed the delicate china in her tightly clenched hands. She stared at her husband with haunted eyes. She didn’t like how the mere mention of “five years” had such a dramatic effect, but there was no help for it.

  Five years ago, her world fell apart. When she thought about that time, her mind shied away, refusing to let the memories in. Things happened that day that still remained a mystery, but the events of that day, the feelings and emotional strain, were burned indelibly into her very being. With one innocent mention of the phrase “five years,” she suddenly wanted to lock herself away again, shrouded in fantasy and the mistaken belief that she was safe.

  Would she ever feel safe again?

  “What happened…then?” she asked, unable to say “five years ago,” any more than she was able to say “rape.”

  Connor’s expression closed and he shook his head, darting a quick glance at Dr. Steele. “It is something I do not talk about. Not yet. Suffice to say, I was needed, my skills were needed, and they served me well.”

  Verena frowned, hoping for another tale of her husband’s heroism. His evasiveness was unlike him and the doctor’s suspicious silence on the matter made her wonder if he knew more than he let on.

  Hardly able to insist, she let the matter drop. Seeking to settle her nerves, she served herself more tea and refused to ask any more questions until she was calm.

  “We leave for London on the morrow. Are there any patients you need me to look at before we leave?”

  At the thought of seeing her husband where he thrived, helping others, Verena rallied.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Benton’s spaniel is favoring her leg.” Curiously, the doctor wore an expression of concern that did not match his reply.

  “How are the puppies?”

  Verena swiveled her interested gaze to her husband. “Puppies?”

  Connor and the doctor shared a look. With a barely perceptible nod, Connor stood up and held his hand out to his wife. “Come, love, and I’ll show you the puppies.”

  Verena placed her hand in her husband’s and he tucked it into his arm. The three moved toward the door and the doctor excused himself to saddle his own mount since they would have to ride to Mr. Benton’s home. The maid entered to remove the tea tray.

  Then they were alone.

  Verena stood there, the warmth of her husband’s hand seeping through her glove. She resolutely ignored the pleasurable sensation, her eyes scanning the knick-knacks gracing the mantelpiece. Her gaze lit upon a charming Dresden shepherdess that seemed out of place in a bachelor’s residence.

  She turned to remark as much to her silent companion but Connor’s hand lifted from her own, his fingers touching her face in a whisper of a caress. She sucked in a breath and just in time, too. His mouth touched hers, a brushing of lips, the warm sensation of perfection. Over and over, one kiss after another, warmth, heat, and passion held rigidly in check.

  Verena barely had time between kisses to process all the emotions coursing though her. Every touch slithered over her skin, fading into oblivion, leaving only the desire for more, the need to be closer. Fear never entered into it and nothing in his touch reminded her of that other time, that other place.

  Fingers clutching the rough wool of his coat, neck craning to reach him in the brief moments he pulled away, Verena embraced the sensation of perfection. This was what she wanted, this gentleness, this feeling of safety, of completeness. If this was all a husband required of a wife, her life would be set.

  A discreet cough broke them apart. Connor stepped back, his touch lingering for a moment on her cheek. He sighed, patting her hand that still lay on his arm.

  “This is hardly the place for a romantic interlude.”

  Verena struggled to emerge from the fog. The impropriety of their actions shot through her, raising a heat in her cheeks that threatened to set her alight.

  “Oh dear,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. “He saw us.”

  Her muffled words elicited a chuckle from her husband. “He’s a doctor, my love. You needn’t worry he will see our behavior as anything wrong.”

  She raised her face. “It was scandalous! To be caught embracing where anyone can walk in?”

  He reached for her, his hand just barel
y brushing the sleeve of her pelisse as she pulled away. “Verena! You are overwrought, seeing problems where none exist, I assure you.”

  But she couldn’t reconcile Connor’s assurances with her father’s teachings. She bit her lip, dropping her head to stare blankly at her hands. Appearances were everything.

  Connor lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You have done nothing to warrant the shame in your eyes,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her jaw.

  Closing her eyes, she nodded. Even if she couldn’t entirely believe his statement, she could let him think she did.

  *

  Nineteen

  The family departed the next morning for London. The snow had held off and everyone prayed it would continue to do so for the extent of the long trek to the capital.

  Verena rode with her husband in one of the duke’s well-sprung carriages. A tiny male puppy sat curled in her lap.

  Connor had capitulated in the face of her plea for the precious little animal. Her desire for the dog had outweighed any qualms he might have had, the expression in his eyes assuring her that he gave in reluctantly.

  True love made no sense, least of all to Verena whose experience with the emotion could be summed up in one word.

  Orion.

  She named the spaniel Orion saying his eyes were like stars and she was sure he would one day prove as gallant as the mighty hunter of myth and legend. Due to his playful and somewhat terrorizing nature, the fluffy black puppy was affectionately called the Devil by one and all.

  Excitement, worry, fear, and doubt plagued Verena. She had never been to London before and she felt a certain amount of eagerness. She wanted to see everything the city had to offer. She wanted to do as much as she could and experience everything she could.

  No matter what anyone said, she still doubted her acceptance in Society. Most would welcome her. She was, after all, now a member of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in all of Britain. But she knew there would be some, Lady Marigold for example, who would shun her.

  Her relationship with Connor still worried her. After that one abortive attempt at Denbigh, she had not shared her husband’s bed. She knew that he would come to her in London and she was determined to submit to whatever he wanted if only to relieve the frustrating unease she felt about allowing a man to do that to her.

  “Where will we be staying?” she asked into a heavy silence.

  “I own a townhouse in Grosvenor Square, Vale Place. But if that doesn’t suit you, we are always welcome at Northwicke, Denbigh’s residence in Park Lane.” He smirked then, alerting her to imminent mischief. “I’m sure Adam would allow our presence at Lockwood House in Berkley Street.”

  “No thank you,” she said, smiling and stroking Orion’s soft fur. “Vale Place will be satisfactory, I’m sure.”

  “You shouldn’t have to redecorate. My aunt, Lady Barnstable, was good enough to take care of the place for me. Poor relation, you know.”

  “Does she live there now?” Verena asked curiously. She had never thought of the Denbigh’s having poor relations. But she supposed everyone did somewhere.

  “Yes, but I will set her up in her own house when we arrive.”

  “What is she like?”

  “Aunt Amelia? She’s very small—smaller than you, even—with curly white hair and a rather strange dress sense. She seems to be trapped in the past, eschewing all modern styles in favor of panniered gowns and wigs and paint. She seems autocratic and a trifle vulgar at times but she has a large heart.”

  “How long has she been resident there?”

  Her husband shrugged. “A few years. She moved in after her husband died. She was always my favorite aunt and Barnstable gambled away his fortune leaving her penniless. So, I offered her Vale Place since I usually stay at Northwicke when I am in London.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what, love?” Connor eyed her curiously.

  “Why not let her stay? She must think of Vale Place as her home. It would be cruel to remove her from what she is used to.”

  “You want her to live with us? I would have thought you’d like the idea of being mistress of your own household.” He grinned. “Or is it that my blushing bride feels the need for a duenna. I must say I am surprised at such a lack of spirit, my love.”

  Verena blushed rosily. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. I just think it would be cruel to tear her from what she knows, where she is comfortable.” She looked down at her puppy, unable to meet her husband’s eyes. “I don’t want a chaperon, if you must know,” she whispered to the sleeping dog.

  The hand holding hers tightened convulsively forcing Verena to look up. Connor was staring at her in pleased surprise, pent-up desire blazing in his bright blue eyes.

  “I am so weary of being scared, Connor.”

  Verena watched him as the coach swayed, rocking her gently from side to side. She watched the emotions flit through his eyes, watched him toss his hat aside—a rare occasion that he actually wore one—and remove his gloves, watched him move her puppy to the little basket at her feet, and watched him shift closer on the carriage seat.

  “You don’t need to fear me,” he whispered, taking her hand and undoing the tiny buttons at her wrist. “I would never hurt you.”

  She sucked in a breath as his lips touched her wrist. Such a small, yet intimate action, one that sent tendrils of sensation through her arm. Her fingers clenched in his, making him smile against her skin.

  Pleasure. Verena felt pleasure at the touch of a man, this man, her husband. The feeling filled her, residual fear shrinking back to allow the pleasure into the forefront.

  She reacted without thought, retrieving her hand so she could lift his face. Allowing only the tiniest moment to study his expression, she leaned in and kissed him, having little idea of what she was doing.

  Connor’s fingers caressed her nape, his other hand pulling her body closer on the carriage seat. He took the lead, his lips awakening more and more pleasure until she could barely catch a breath between kisses.

  Lifting his head, he smiled and brushed a brief kiss on her lips. “See? No pain.”

  Verena blinked. No, his kisses caused no pain. But then, it was never the kisses that worried her.

  They duly arrived in London. At every posting house along the way, Connor bespoke two rooms, allowing his wife her privacy. No one saw any oddity in the arrangement, as it was common practice among their class. Besides, Connor didn’t bother caring what anyone thought of his decision.

  After seeing his wife introduced to his Aunt Amelia and settled into Vale Place, Connor took his leave of her the following afternoon and met with Adam at Bow Street.

  He was introduced presently to Sir Nathaniel Conant, Chief Magistrate of the Bow Street Office. He did not care much for the man but decided it mattered little how he felt as long as he was willing to look into the matter of Verena’s brother.

  Sir Nathaniel gave Adam a long look. “What do you expect me to do about it?” he asked. “Soldiers are lost in battle all the time. We can’t be expected to go haring off on a wild goose chase just because someone asks.”

  Adam’s lips thinned but he said nothing, preferring to stay out of the matter, Connor knew. Connor couldn’t simply let it go at that, however.

  “Is there nothing you can do?”

  The older man stared silently for a long moment. “I can make some inquiries. Beyond that, I promise nothing.” He glanced at Adam. “You are better off having Prestwich here do the inquiring, my lord. He is better than the other Runners I employ.”

  Adam snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am otherwise employed, Conant. Find someone else.”

  The older man bristled. “I give the orders, Prestwich. I am Chief Magistrate.”

  “I don’t work for you,” Adam pointed out reasonably, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Conant. I will settle up that other matter soon.”

  Connor had little choice but to leave with his friend. He th
anked Sir Nathaniel and rushed to catch Adam before he managed to disappear into the City.

  “Hold up! What other matter?”

  Adam didn’t bother halting. He simply called over his shoulder, “None of your bloody concern, Northwicke.”

  Connor grasped his arm. “Listen. I know you dislike Verena. I don’t care to hear your reasons.” He paused, glancing around at the passersby who eyed them with curiosity. Lowering his voice, he continued, “You served under Wellington. You risked life and limb for a cause that you believed in and then did what you could for the soldiers who were invalided out. Ah, I see you were unaware that I knew. What other matter could you possibly find more important than finding a fellow soldier?”

  “What proof have you that his death was misreported?” he asked, giving Connor a hard look, both of them knowing he was well on his way to capitulation.

  Connor sighed. “None but Verena’s belief.”

  Adam’s look communicated just how much faith he placed in that. “Suppose I do this. Where would I even start? In Portugal?”

  “Devil a bit!” Connor laughed. “If I knew that, I would not ask you, now would I?”

  Adam threw his hands up, narrowly missing a gentleman on his way past. “I will look into it. But I will have to question your wife,” he warned. “It may not be pleasant.”

  A brief interview with Verena yielded not much more in the way of facts than Connor had already known. Far from being upset, however, Verena was all cooperation, trying to remember and supply any additional information she could. Adam left them, clearly annoyed, to begin his search.

  His cryptic comment as he exited was, “The other bird has flown anyway.”

  *

  Twenty