by Cheryl Bolen
John could think of no one, except possibly Haverstock, who would be so unfavorable a candidate to be his brother. The two were as serious a pair as he’d ever known. “I cannot deny that I’ve always wanted a brother.”
Silence once again filled the coach. A pity he could think of nothing to say to the woman.
Finally she spoke. “There’s something else we have in common, I’ve learned.”
He raised a brow.
“Your grandmother tells me you do not tell falsehoods.”
“It is the same with you?”
She nodded.
He did not know why he had always abhorred lying, but he did know that none of his friends were always truthful. “I daresay not many people can make such a claim.”
“I daresay you’re right.”
More silence.
Finally she broke the icy silence. “Though most falsehoods, I have found, are perfectly innocent. Exaggerations. Unfelt compliments. Lies told in order to avoid punishments, corporal or mental.”
“That is true.” How odd it was that she—the quiet one—was now carrying the conversation, and he was reduced to making two- and three-word responses.
In the ensuing silence, she peered from the coach window, and he took the opportunity to watch her. If he were attracted to decent women of good birth, she would certainly be a worthy conquest. There was nothing in her appearance to give offense. Had not Perry said she was pretty? Everyone knew Perry was an acknowledged judge of feminine beauty.
She was utterly feminine from the perfection of her nose to the soft pink of her lips to her slender fingers. Though he would not normally notice a lady in possession of such nondescript brown hair, he realized her face was pretty. No one feature dominated. Like her, it was a bland, delicate face. Her slender figure was pleasing, and she dressed with impeccable taste. Knowles would appreciate that.
Quite oddly, he found himself desirous of introducing her to his friends, curious as to what they would think of her. Quite oddly, he wanted them to approve of her.
Of course, she was not really his wife, more like a sister, actually. But, quite oddly, he did not think of her as a sister. Though in a very short time he had come to think of her as an extension of his very limited family. Just minutes ago she had said she wanted to share his grandmother with him. It was a prospect he found comforting.
“So,” he said, “when should you like to meet my male friends?”
“I have no plans that are as important or interesting as that.”
Interesting? He doubted she would find them interesting. Unless the lady was enamored of shooting. Or fencing. Or race meetings. “I suppose I shall have to invite them to Grandmere’s ball.”
“For your sake, they will come, though I daresay balls are not to their liking.”
How well she understood him. And his friends. “Right you are.”
A moment later she asked, “So did you meet with the fellows last night?”
He nodded. “At White’s.”
“Did you play faro? Aldridge was excessively fond of faro—before he became the serious man he now is.”
“I did not play last night. I am attempting to gain my grandmother’s approval. She hears of all my evil doings.”
“Because they usually get reported in the newspapers.”
He nodded. “I suppose I should do as you suggested in our initial meeting and bribe the papers to keep out news of my wicked deeds.”
She nodded.
Were she as didactic as his grandmother, she would have said, “It would be better to quit the wicked deeds than to pay to keep them from being reported.” Thank God the woman he’d married wasn’t some authoritarian harpy. In his wildest dreams he could not imagine Maggie telling him what he should and should not do. He rather liked that about her.
Now that she had asked about his night, he supposed he should ask about hers. He drew in a breath. “What about your night last night? What did you do?”
She shrugged. “Not much. But I assure you I reveled in having the house—my very own house of which I shall be mistress—all to myself. I’ve never been where I’m not surrounded by siblings.” She directed a gentle gaze at him. “Though I would never consider your presence an intrusion.”
Her words softened something inside him.
Then they reached the coach maker’s on the Strand.
* * *
How she adored being a married woman! Just to ride alone in the coach with him with nary a chaperon in sight was sheer pleasure. She could pretend to herself they were truly a happy married couple.
And now being able to make all the selections for her very own coach was thrilling, definitely something a younger sister three years removed from the schoolroom rarely had the opportunity to do.
The coach maker, recognizing the Finchleys as Quality, extended them all the courtesies due to their rank. When he was called away for a moment, she whispered to her husband. “Pray, have we enough money for that coach he just showed us?”
“Thanks to your dowry, we do. Please, select exactly what you’d like.”
Because it was just a family of two—and she was cognizant that it would usually be just a family of one—she did not need the largest, most luxurious of the coaches. Besides, it was not her nature to make a selection that might call attention to herself. She preferred something modest.
When the coach maker returned, Margaret pointed to a coach that was neither cheap nor expensive.
John gave her a quizzing look. “You’re sure? It’s awfully plain. You can have whatever your heart desires.”
“This suits me very well.”
“In that case, milady, I can have yours made up and delivered week after next,” the coach maker said.
“Can I have the seats covered with pale blue velvet?” she asked.
“Indeed ye can. A very good choice, milady.”
When they left the coach maker’s, John offered her his arm, and she gloried in the thrill of possession when she linked her arm with his. As happy as it made her, she found herself wondering if this marriage would ever be consummated, found herself wondering if she and John would ever have a child. Would they ever be a real husband and wife?
Once back in his grandmother’s coach, he asked, “Is there somewhere I can drop you?”
She nodded. “Back to Berkeley Square. To see my family.”
“I suspect your sister Caroline was dreadfully cut up over your . . . marriage?”
She nodded again. “She wept all day yesterday.”
He was silent for a moment. “As close as you two are, I expect she knows about the coincidence that brought us together?”
“I’ve told no one about that.”
“Then what did you tell her?”
She shrugged. “Very little. I could not lie.”
He groaned. “Then I daresay she cried all day because you’ve united yourself to one of the most notorious rakes in London.”
How could she respond? Margaret knew half of Caro’s woes were due to the sisters’ separation and the other half due to her worries about Margaret marrying so wicked a man.
Her silence must have pricked at his conscience. “I daresay she thinks I’m a greedy fortune hunter.”
She still could not respond.
Moments later, his voice softened. “Would it help if I go meet this sister of yours and play the devoted husband?”
She was powerless to suppress a smile as her gaze met his. “Would you? Now?”
He shrugged. “Anything to keep my reputation from sinking any lower in her eyes—and, of course, if it pleases you, I shall think every moment spent at Aldridge House worthwhile.”
If it pleases you. How sweet that sounded. Even sweeter was the prospect of her husband pretending to be devoted to her.
How pathetic she was that pretense must take the place of true affection.
Chapter 8
He wasn’t precisely sure how one feigned being the devoted husband, but if it would bri
ng pleasure to the meek little thing he’d married, he would attempt to play the part—and try not to think of the auction at Tattersall’s that he’d be missing. He only hoped Perry didn’t bid on that gelding John had his eye on. It was just the kind of thing Perry would do. How he loved to lord it over his aristocratic friends, using his hefty purse to take possession of things others desired. Whether he needed them or not.
Perhaps John could breeze into Aldridge House and quickly demonstrate a particular attachment to Maggie, then manage to make Tatt’s before the gelding came up for bid.
As they entered Maggie’s former home, he drew in a breath and settled a possessive hand at her waist. There was little that was more distasteful to him than marriage, but he was grateful Maggie had extricated him from his financial woes and asked for so little in return. She merely wanted others to respect her position as his countess. With a home and bedchamber of her own. It wasn’t much to ask.
She certainly did not deserve for others, especially those who loved her, to think she was nothing more than a dowry. He must show her sister that she was valued for herself, not her fortune.
A most aged butler let them into Aldridge House, and Maggie treated him as if he were some cherished grandfather. Then the newly married pair began to mount the stairs when a young woman who looked remarkably like Maggie came running down the stairs. She threw herself onto Maggie, and the two embraced as if they hadn't seen each other in years.
“I must properly introduce you to my husband.” Maggie turned to him and smiled. “This is Caroline.”
“She’s just as pretty as you.” He felt deuced awkward telling her she was pretty, but it was the bloody truth. And it did demonstrate his attachment. Which was a very good thing. Couldn’t have them all thinking him a bloody fortune hunter. “You two look almost like twins. Which is the elder?”
“I am,” Maggie said.
“Though everyone thinks I am. I’ve been told I have the domineering personality of a firstborn.”
Smiling, Maggie nodded to him. “She does.”
He took Maggie’s hand in his. Just as he had that day at St. George’s. Only today it felt different. Of course, she was no longer a stranger. Though he knew so little of her, he hadn’t known which was the elder sister.
They went to the drawing room, and he made it a point to sit beside Maggie as they continued holding hands. How was that for showing his devotion! Once Caroline sat opposite them, for effect, he lifted Maggie’s hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss on top it.
To his amazement, she squeezed his hand. Now, why had she gone and done that? It wasn’t as if her sister could see such an action. He supposed she was merely showing her gratitude that he was willing to pretend to be a caring husband. More than caring, actually. How could he not care for sweet Maggie? But caring for someone was altogether different than wishing to be married to one.
His mission here today was to make Caroline believe that he wished to be married to Maggie.
His glance flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece. One o’clock. The auctions would be starting now. If he was not mistaken, the gelding wasn’t to be offered until close to the end. Perhaps there was still time to hurry there. The horse was such a beauty!
“The dowager Lady Finchley is to give a ball for us next week,” Maggie informed her sister.
Caroline’s gaze went from their clasped hands to his face. It was quite remarkable how much the two sisters resembled, though he thought Maggie prettier.
The sister eyed him, hostility in her demeanor. “I cannot recall ever before seeing you at a ball, my Lord.”
“Don’t like them.”
“But now that you’re married,” Caroline said, “I hope your interests will be changing.”
How in the devil would he answer that? He couldn’t very well lie. The fact was, he had no intentions of changing his interests. “I am a different man. As an only child, I’ve always had only myself to consider. Now I have to consider Maggie’s feelings.” He was rather proud of the way he had responded.
Lady Caroline’s eyes widened, her brows elevated. A look of sheer mortification emblazoned itself on her face. “Maggie? No one has ever called my sister by such a name.”
Margaret smiled up at him. “It’s a name my dear husband has chosen for me. No one else is to use it.”
Dear husband? She was laying in on rather too thickly. How he hated the sound of it. He didn’t want to be anybody’s husband, much less someone’s dear husband.
Caroline was uncharacteristically silent. After a long pause, she finally spoke. “I should hope no one else uses that name! I, for one, shall never use it!”
More silence followed. A pity Maggie was such a quiet thing, and a pity he had not the slightest idea how to speak to this sister of hers, who was unable to conceal her dislike of him. “Maggie Mine, you must tell your sister about the new carriage.” Good Lord, why had he added that word mine? He continued to astonish himself.
He must own, such an endearment should go some distance in convincing the critical Lady Caroline that he wasn’t a bloody fortune hunter.
Lady Caroline’s hostile gaze went from him to her sister.
“John and I have just come from the coach maker’s where we’ve ordered a new coach for my use.”
“Your very own coach! I shall be very jealous.”
“It will be at your disposal since I plan to share every day with you as I always have.” His wife glanced at the clock, then she turned to him. “Dearest, is there not somewhere else you should be at present?”
How in the devil had she known about Tattersall’s? “I will own, I had planned to go to Tatt’s, but your needs and wishes must come first.” What had induced him to say that? He certainly had no intentions of lying. Ever. Oddly, he realized he had spoken the truth. He was far from being in love with Maggie, but pleasing her was vastly important to him.
She squeezed his hand. “Then it is my wish that you go to Tattersall’s.”
He squeezed her hand, stood, then addressed Lady Caroline. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope to see you at the ball.”
She offered a stiff smile. “I shall be there.”
Then he turned back to Maggie, and bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Until your new coach is delivered, Grandmere won’t object to you using hers. She rarely goes about anymore.”
“Thank you.”
He strode toward the door.
Maggie called out after him. “John?”
He turned.
“I should love to know if you get the horse you want.”
The woman can read my mind. Most frightening.
He hoped to God now that he’d placated her once she wasn’t going to demand that he dance attendance upon her. Did she expect him to rush home from Tatt’s to share his good—or bad—news with her? He had no intentions of rushing home to her from the auction. He and Knowles would be at Angelo’s practicing their fencing later in the afternoon.
Yet as he watched her sitting there with a hopeful look on her sweet face, he couldn’t disappoint. Besides, he meant to convince the prickly sister that he was not some lout. “Then see that a place is laid for me at the dinner table tonight.”
As he left Maggie's former home, he tried to recall the last time he had actually eaten dinner at Finchley House. It had been years. But what would it hurt? It wasn’t as if he planned to spend the night with her. He and the fellows had other plans. Plans that most certainly did not include her.
He walked past Grandmere’s carriage that he'd insisted Maggie use. He would walk to Tatt’s. As he moved along Piccadilly, he could not free his thoughts of Maggie. How in the devil had she known about his bloody interest in the gelding? He’d not told her. He’d told her damned little about himself. And it wasn’t as if she knew the bloods with whom he associated, bloods who could have told her of his interest in the gelding.
It was deuced uncomfortable to think of her intruding on his thoughts.
>
* * *
Margaret was still tingling inside after her husband left. He’d actually called her Maggie Mine! It wasn’t a huge declaration. It wasn’t the same as being in love with her. But to her it was thrilling. Knowing of his intrinsic honesty, she reveled in the words. Maggie Mine. She was his! He knew she was his!
She felt as if he'd just placed the first brick into the foundation upon which their marriage was to be built. There was a lot of work ahead, but she was heartened that they'd made a start.
“I must own,” Caro said icily, “your husband wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as I’d expected him to be.”
Margaret glared at the sister she adored. “I pray you never again use such a word in connection with my husband.”
Caro sighed. “I know why you’re so beastly in love with fellow. He is sinfully handsome.”
“I know. I’ve peered out the window at him for years.” Now she could finally be openly honest with her sister. Now that there was nothing Caro could do to prevent the marriage.
“You truly are happy being married to Lord Finchley?”
“I couldn’t be happier.” Except she could. True happiness could not come until she held John’s affections. Would she go to her grave without winning his love?
“Then I must be happy for you. I’m certainly envious of your coach. You make me now regret all those proposals of marriage I’ve turned down.” Caro sighed. “Now that I’ve lost you, I shall have to accept the next man who offers. Provided he is handsome. And titled.”
“Copy cat.”
Both sisters laughed.
“Seriously,” Margaret said, “It’s good that you’ve not accepted any of the men who’ve offered for you. You must wait until your dragon-slaying knight comes. I know he will. You must marry for love.”
Caro’s eyes misted as she regarded her sister. “I believe you really do love Finchley. How could you keep such a strong attachment from me?”
“I knew you would disapprove. Because of his reputation.”
Caro nodded. “I don’t see when you two could have gotten together. I’ve spent every day of my life with you.”