He reached over and took her right hand between both of his. “Very well, Lady Zambak Hayden, will you—”
She tried to throw herself into his arms, but he held her back. “Wait. Listen to what I’m asking. Will you wait for me to be free? Will you wait as long as it takes to extricate myself from my joke of a marriage so I can come to you honorably and make my offer?”
She sank back, subdued. “I don’t want to wait.” Stony features looked implacably back for a long moment until she gave in. “But I will if you give me no choice, because I promise you this, Charles: there is no other man but you and never will be. I love you.”
His eyes bore into hers. “I won’t hold you to it, Zambak, but I love you for saying it.” He kissed her then—a fierce caress that battered her soul with the enormity of his feelings—stepped away and bowed. “Now I will join the crew on the quarterdeck for both our sakes, since you will not go below.”
He left her in the moonlight, cold and alone, but with hope firmly set in her heart.
Chapter 33
Sudbury will have me horsewhipped. A sudden vision of Zambak taking on her father if he attempted such a thing brought a smile to his lips. Sword drawn or cannons blazing, she would take on an army to get what she wanted.
From the quarterdeck, he devoured her with his eyes, astounded he had the good sense to walk away before they entertained the crew any further than they did. He forced himself to scan the banks in a pretense of watching for the Chinese forts. Soon enough, they sailed into the narrows, and the forts came into view just as the sky lightened.
When the ship drew even with the guns, Zambak glanced back at the quarterdeck but didn’t budge from her vigil at the bow. The ship moved forward unmolested.
Are they allowing all traffic, trusting in the blockade up river, or did they somehow get word to allow this particular vessel to pass? He examined the fort and its exotic architecture. Lights flashed from the top—signal towers again. Lin’s one advantage would be his communication system. Charles pulled a folded paper from his coat and noted the observation. Lin’s navy must have signaled ahead to allow passage. Swan’s Journey sailed peacefully on toward Macao.
They reached their destination when the sun lay low in the west. Charles, weary and ill at ease in the new reality between them, went to alert Zambak where she dozed in a chair fixed in a corner of the deck. Her eyes fluttered open and gleamed with love for him, visible to the world. His heart flipped over while he kept his body between her and the eyes of the crew, cleared the thickening from his throat, and looked past her to the sea.
“We’re nearing Macao, my lady. You may want to prepare,” he said for all to hear.
Hurt flitted across her face followed quickly by understanding. He could only hope she would follow his lead. There had been enough gossip already.
Thorn came out on deck, blinking at the setting sun. “At last! I thought we’d bob about all night.” He glowered at the sight of Charles offering his hand to Zambak to help her rise. “The sooner we get you to Mrs. Elliot’s supervision, the better, dear sister,” he said.
Zambak stared back sourly but refused to answer him, to Charles’s relief. The last thing he needed was sibling bickering.
The three of them disembarked in silence and plodded uphill toward the Elliot house. When they drew within sight of it, Zambak said, “Hopefully we won’t have to stay here much longer, Thorn.”
The boy drew back in outrage. “You can’t expect me to stay under the Elliots’ care like some schoolboy,” he frowned. “Though I suppose Jarratt & Martinson won’t take me back either. Not after weeks at Zion’s Quarter.” Crestfallen, he bowed his head. Charles almost missed the words he whispered next. “Not worth much to anyone.”
Zambak opened her mouth to object, but Charles cut her off. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Josie. Her place caters to young gentlemen like yourself.” That appeared to mollify the young man but aggravate his sister.
“Zambak, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you here for a while. My first priority is to find passage for you and Glenaire back to England.”
When she planted her feet and stood arms akimbo on a public street, he knew he’d made a tactical error.
“And when do you plan to join us?” she asked.
“I told you before, Julia and I will sail separately.”
Before Zambak could protest, her brother spoke up. “Quite right, Zamb. Charles knows what’s up. You will have my protection.”
She rolled her eyes at him. Charles, however, viewed the boy with dawning respect. Perhaps we can make something of him after all. “Can we talk about it later?” he asked. He didn’t have to wait for an answer. They had reached their destination.
The door swung open, and old Hua bowed profusely, moving back and gesturing them in. “Welcome back, Your Grace, Lady Zambak, and, er, gentleman.”
Thorn stiffened, and Zambak spoke for him. “You may announce my brother, John Thornton Hayden, Marquess of Glenaire.” Hua bowed again, drawing a nod from Thorn, but they were spared further comment.
Clara Elliot bustled in, obviously summoned by a footman. She skidded to a stop, horror marked on every feature. “Lady Zambak,” she sputtered, studying the Manchu gown, “You will be relieved to know your good English dresses are all well cared for and waiting for you.”
Zambak started to speak, took a breath and, Charles suspected, changed her tack. “Thank you, Mrs. Elliot. I appreciate your care.”
Clara Elliot ignored her; she had moved on to glower at Charles. “You, Sir, will wish to stay away. I have children here, and they are to be spared scandal.”
Julia has been thorough, he thought morosely. “Whatever you may have heard, Mrs. Elliot, I would urge you to view with skepticism.”
The lady pulled herself up to her full height—even at that she stood well below Charles’s slight frame, coming merely to his cravat. “I am well able to judge ladies’ gossip—even tittle-tattle as ugly as what flew through the European community this month—but my husband himself told me the lady chased after you dressed as a man. A man!” Her chin wobbled in outrage.
“You may rest easy. The lady will leave you as soon as I can arrange passage home for her with her brother,” Charles replied through tight lips.
He bowed respectfully to Zambak. “I will leave you to recover from your ordeal, Lady Zambak,” he said. He bobbed his head to Clara Elliot. “Mrs. Elliot,” he said, then spun away and left before he lost his temper, determined to find the true source of his problems and shake her until her teeth bounced in her head.
After a moment, he heard Thorn follow.
“I’m not blind,” the young marquess told him as he rushed to his side. Charles ignored him. “I see the way you look at her.”
Charles clamped his jaw shut, reined in his boiling temper, and walked steadily on. Julia, the Elliot woman, Thorn—they all have damned prurient imaginations. In his heart, he feared they were accurate.
“What are your intentions toward my sister?” Thorn demanded when Charles refused to speak.
He stopped so suddenly Thorn ran into him and had to step back. “Honorable, damn it. You’ve known me since you wore dresses. You ought to know better.”
“How can a married man gape at her the way you do and call himself ‘honorable.’? What can you possibly intend that won’t ruin her?”
Charles began to count backward in his head to slow his heart and calm his words. Her brother deserved an answer. “Walk with me,” he said at last. “There are things you should know. Julia and I haven’t lived as husband and wife since the first six months of our marriage.” Keeping detail to a minimum, he outlined Julia’s behavior, her spite, and their agreement. “I hope there will come a time when I can make my addresses to your sister honorably,” he admitted, “and in the meantime, she has my respect and pr
otection.”
“Father won’t like it,” Thorn muttered.
“Probably not. Zambak seems to think he doesn’t have a say.”
Thorn grinned. “That sounds like my sister.” He sobered quickly. “The horrid old woman you just spoke to is already reacting to scandal. I suspect all of Macao already thinks Zambak is ruined. It’ll get back to London, and my parents will have six kinds of fits. I should probably call you out, since my father isn’t here to do it himself.”
“Your job, my young lord, is to show the world your sister’s virtue, maintain the façade of respectability, and whatever you do, don’t cause talk on your own before I can get you on a boat for home.”
They had reached Mrs. Josie’s boarding house and entered the foyer, causing a bell to ring. At the sound, his hostess hurried from her parlor. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of him.
“You! I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face. That woman came here. She spoke to me herself of what she has endured at your hand!”
“Is my coin insufficient for you, Ma’am?” Charles asked coldly. “My companion the Marquess of Glenaire seeks rooms as well. Shall we go elsewhere?” The harridan didn’t miss his emphasis on “marquess” nor the mention of coin. Her eyes sharpened.
“Of course, the baggage has been lying low since Jarratt’s nephew dropped her flat—called her a poxy trull in front of Mrs. Dennison, he did.” She watched him speculatively. “Nine-day wonder if you ask me,” she mused. “I’ll expect full payment for the weeks you were gone and half again as much for my trouble with her and keeping your things.”
He let her talk until she finally assumed a benign expression. “I won’t raise your rent, but I expect the same for his lordship here.”
Charles chose not to point out he paid in advance before he left. He had enough conflict on his hands. The nephew humiliated her in public? Julia must have shown her colors early—or the Jarratts were finished using her to get back at me. He completed the transaction quickly and led Thorn to the stairs.
“Tell him the rules. No late hours. No women.” Mrs. Josie eyed him carefully. “And no opium pipes. I run a clean establishment.”
The rules. I just hope Thorn pays attention.
~ ~ ~
Zambak slept far into the following morning, grateful for a comfortable bed and soft nightclothes. Her awakening, when it came, was sudden and rude. A troop of workers herded in by Clara Elliot and ordered to “set the poor girl to rights” were followed by a hastily delivered tray of tea and biscuits that made Zambak long for the hearty breakfasts spread out for the men in Zion’s Quarter.
After enduring the attention of three maids and a hairdresser, Zambak stood trussed in a corset and gown, her cropped hair ruthlessly coifed, and stared out her bedroom window at the jasmine blooming in the garden below. She rubbed her middle finger with her left thumb and considered her few options.
If I sit here like the fine lady I’m expected to be, smiling over tea at the harpies while I wait for Charles, I will go mad. If I charge out to confront Julia, I’ll look a fool.
There was nothing for it. She had become accustomed to being useful. Hard work, Peters had taught her, filled many a hollow space in the heart. She smiled as she considered Temperance’s reaction to finding a clinic volunteer on her doorstep. The thumb stilled. At this hour, Temperance will be there.
She strode to the door and flung it open on a welcome sight. Filipe sat cross-legged on the floor staring up at her door. When it opened, he broke into a smile that lifted her heart.
“Fetch my cloak and bonnet, Filipe. We’re going to visit Miss Temperance.” He leapt to do as she bid. “Welcome back, Lady,” he shouted as he ran. She scribbled a note for Mrs. Elliot and left.
Temperance found her hanging her cloak and bonnet on a peg and donning a smock. “Zambak! Thee have returned.” Her sharp eyes and swift examination brought a flush to Zambak’s face. “What are thee doing with that smock.”
“Preparing to work.” Temperance’s skeptical expression brought a wan smile. “I spent time with Dr. Peters, Temperance.”
“Thy brother?”
“Yes. The ordeal was as horrible as you predicted, but we came out the other side, he to lick his wounds, and me? I was able to help the clinic. They are flooded with poor souls eager to escape the opium—and the high commissioner’s threats.”
“We as well. We would welcome thy new-found skills,” Temperance said thoughtfully. “Where is thy brother now?”
“Charles—His Grace—took him to board at Mrs. Josie’s.”
At mention of Charles, Temperance sobered. “Vile stories fly through the city Zambak. Thee should be warned.”
“From his wife?”
Temperance shrugged. “I have not met the woman, but I understand she is the source. Thee know I do not countenance gossip, but I believe she means thee harm.”
“She means Charles harm for some reason,” Zambak replied, her eyes skittering away from her friend’s deep concern. She can see right through to my heart. She knows he is lodged there.
To her relief, Temperance didn’t probe. A mischievous expression came over her instead. “It is pushing of me, and I beg thy forgiveness, but temptation wracks me. Did thee really come back dressed in Chinese clothing?”
Zambak grinned then and put an arm around her friend’s waist. “Yes! I will show you some day. I have had such adventures! Give me work to do, and I will tell you them.”
Chapter 34
The men at Josie’s boarding house got a late start as well. Thorn, in particular, slept half the day away. Charles was forced to endure a lecture on strict meal schedules and warm their hostess’s greedy palm in order to get the spoiled princeling fed and settled. It took most of the rest of the day for Charles to deal with his financial affairs. As much as he distrusted the restless set to the boy’s posture, he couldn’t keep an eye on him all the time. He had other fish to fry.
The sun sank well past midday when he finally set out toward the little house he had rented for his wife. As he turned off the main thoroughfare, the sight of a pink parasol bobbing along from the direction of the mission brought a pang.
At least one of the Hayden offspring contributes to the world’s store of good. She certainly contributes to mine.
The temptation to follow her came over him, but he forced his footsteps to turn toward his wife, anger rising at every step. Twelve years of Julia’s lying, deceit, and cruelty is enough. She will not turn it on Zambak, who is worth twenty of her.
He strode purposefully to the door, shoved it open, and went in expecting her servant to challenge him. None did. No one did. The house stood silent and cold, late afternoon shadows casting it in darkness. The bitch must have moved out.
His nose wrinkled at a foul stench. Trust Julia to leave food to rot. He wandered the lower floor looking for the source and found the kitchen bare, its cupboard empty but for a liter of flour, stale biscuits, and a few dried apples. A moldy rag, dried in its filth lay over a sink, was ugly but insufficient to account for the smell.
He came around to the front stairs. Can the odor be upstairs? Climbing upward, the stench worsened. He gagged at the top of the stairs.
He found her lying in her filth in the larger of the two bedrooms in soiled nightclothes covered with a thin—and equally soiled—sheet. A bowl with the congealed remains of some sort of porridge lay on the table next to her bed. It appeared to have been there several days. A brown bottle, cap off, with dried remains around the rim sat next to it.
He picked up the bottle. Even surrounded by the foul odor, he recognized the smell: laudanum. He grimaced as memories of his mother’s daily struggles flooded him. Blinking them away, he studied the labored breathing of what was left of his wife. Vomit and excrement smattered the bed. Julia, yellow and sunken, had lost
even more weight since their last encounter. Her once-glorious hair hung in oily ropes around her. Poppy dependence might account for some of the devastation, but he suspected something else was killing her.
He knew she had been ill, saw it in her desperation when they met. He assumed syphilis or some other venereal disease, but none of those would cause the rapid horror. As he stared, she gasped, an explosion of air, and blinked her eyes open.
“Who?” The momentary panic subsided to blank despair. “Charles. Come to gloat?” Her words came out in a ragged croak.
Too disoriented to speak, he searched the room and found a small wooden chair. He pulled it next to the bed, back toward Julia, and straddled it.
“What is it?” he asked. “Not syphilis.”
She almost choked on an ugly laugh. “You would think that.” She licked her chapped lips and peered at him as if struggling to focus. “I have a cancer in my belly,” she said at last. “The navy doctor assured me it would kill me. He didn’t mention it would be this fast.” Her face twisted in a spasm. “Or this painful.”
“Where is the servant I hired?”
“Hugo sent her away after she spilled wine on him.”
“Hugo Jarratt? The nephew?”
“He refused to hire another. I did everything he asked.” She breathed shallowly with great effort for a while. “All I got were a few coins and one miserly bottle of laudanum.” She turned her face away.
Charles went cold. “What did he ask?”
He thought the response was a muffled laugh. “Why, to savage the uppity Lady Zambak, of course. She’ll not be making a respectable marriage, that one,” she said, still turned toward the wall.
Ah, think again, Julia. Perhaps not respectable, but marriage most certainly.
The Unexpected Wife Page 23