“My dear girl, I understand your fears. They make a great deal of sense. The men in your life, starting with your own father, have not proven themselves to be especially trustworthy.”
“What if Marcus is no better?” Gwen hated to say it aloud but it had to be said. “What if the kindness and consideration he has shown me does not extend to my nieces? What if—”
“What if the moon was indeed made of cheese?” Madame shook her head in exasperation. “Gwendolyn, I realize trust does not come easy to you but you are an intelligent woman. Think about the kind of man you have married. He has done nothing whatsoever to earn your suspicion.”
“I don’t think he wants daughters,” Gwen said under her breath.
“Not terribly surprising, most men don’t. Did he actually say he didn’t want daughters?”
“Not in those exact words,” Gwen muttered. “Upon reflection, I suppose I could have read more into his comments than was warranted.”
“You are his wife now, you could simply ask him.”
“That would be the intelligent thing to do. But apparently I am not as intelligent as you seem to think.” Gwen folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t want them. I will not subject them to living where they are not wanted. And I would”—she tried not to choke on the words—“leave him rather than give them up.”
“So if it came to a choice”—Madame’s voice was gentle—“you would choose them over him?”
Gwen swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I would have no choice.”
Madame studied her for a long, silent moment. “You love him, don’t you?”
“No,” Gwen said without thinking, then sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I didn’t until I considered living my life without him. And now”—she shook her head—“I don’t know how I feel. I thought I was simply…well, you’ll think it’s silly.”
“Perhaps.”
Gwen drew a deep breath. “In lust with him.”
“In lust?” Madame laughed. “I daresay I have never heard of being in lust before.”
“Neither had I. But it seemed rather appropriate.” Gwen thought for a moment. “He makes me feel as if I were completely unique and entirely special. As if I were the most important person in the world to him.”
“When you are lying in his bed?”
“No.” Gwen drew her brows together. “Well, then too, of course, but other times as well. All the time, really. He looks at me as if I were quite remarkable. As if he were the luckiest man in the world, and I feel equally lucky. More perhaps. And Madame…” Gwen leaned toward the older woman. “When his eyes meet mine, across a dining table or an entire room, I feel the oddest warmth, almost as though he has actually touched me. And he’ll smile, this slightly wry, crooked, charming type of smile, and I know it’s just for me. A secret shared between us.” Gwen shook her head and settled back on the sofa, awe bringing a soft smile to her face. “It’s quite remarkable.”
“It is indeed.”
For a long moment Gwen considered what she’d at last put into words. She hadn’t realized until now just how important Marcus had become in her life. Even to her, it did indeed sound like love.
But it wasn’t. She hardened her resolve. It might well be something more than lust, but it wasn’t love. She simply would not permit it.
She lifted her chin and met Madame’s gaze directly. “I will do whatever I must to keep my family. I will not let those girls grow up as I did. And I will not let anyone take them from me.”
“We wouldn’t go anyway.” Charity’s voice sounded from the doorway.
Madame frowned. “Have you been eavesdropping again?”
“It was an accident.” Hope stepped into the room, her sisters close on her heels. “We didn’t mean to overhear. It just happened.”
“You”—Patience pointed an accusing finger at Gwen—“were talking exceedingly loud.”
“Was I?” Gwen said. “I hadn’t thought so. Indeed, I thought my tone was quite discreet.”
“Not at all.” Hope shook her head. “Why, we barely had to strain the tiniest bit to hear every word.”
Gwen lifted a brow. “Every word?”
“Not every word,” Charity said quickly. “Just the last part about not letting anyone take us away.”
“And the part about how Lord Pennington makes your heart pitter-pat.” Patience gazed upward, fluttered her eyelashes, and clasped her hands over her heart.
Gwen gasped. “I most certainly never said anything of the kind.”
“It sounded like that.” Hope collapsed at Gwen’s feet in a most unladylike manner.
“Well, it wasn’t,” Gwen said firmly.
“Why don’t you like him?” Charity settled beside Gwen and studied her. “You did marry him.”
“The matter of my marriage is neither here nor there.” Gwen’s voice was firm. “And I do like him.”
“He gives her secret smiles.” Patience heaved an overly dramatic, heartfelt sigh. “And when his eyes meet hers—”
“That’s quite enough,” Madame said firmly.
Patience grinned and sank down on the floor beside her younger sister.
“Why do you think he doesn’t want us?” Charity said abruptly. “It because we’re girls, isn’t it? Miss Pickleface said most people want sons not daughters.”
“I don’t know that he doesn’t want you,” Gwen said carefully.
“Then why haven’t you told him about us?” Patience said, with the ability of a child to go immediately to the point.
Three pairs of eyes stared at her, a question in every gaze, a challenge on each face.
“I haven’t told him because”—Gwen drew a deep breath—“as much as I hate to admit it, I’m scared.”
“You?” Charity snickered. “I hadn’t thought you were scared of much of anything.”
Hope stared at her suspiciously. “You don’t particularly look scared.”
“And he didn’t especially look scary.” Patience shook her head.
“He can be quite firm,” Gwen murmured.
Marcus could also be exceedingly cool and rather remote. She thought the truth of his nature was in those moments when it was just the two of them and he was open and candid. She suspected, or hoped, the controlled, unemotional façade he displayed publicly was completely at odds with his real self.
Still, she didn’t yet know him well enough or have enough confidence in her own assessment of his character to abandon her fears regardless of how much she wanted to. She could very well be entirely wrong. Madame had advised patience, and it was as necessary in the decision of when to tell him about the girls as it was when, and if, she should take her nieces away entirely.
A thought struck her, and she studied Charity carefully. “Do you want to stay with me, then?”
“Yes.” Hope nodded vigorously. “You aren’t nearly as bad as we’d thought at first.”
“Of course, that was before we knew you,” Patience said quickly. “Now that we do, we think there is the distinct possibility we could learn to like you. Quite a lot.”
Madame bent her head toward her needlework to hide her smile.
“Actually, you have grown on us.” Hope drew her brows together thoughtfully. “Rather like a wart. I had a wart once and it—”
“That’s disgusting.” Patience’s tone was lofty.
“And what do you think?” Gwen turned to Charity.
“Oh, I think warts are disgusting too.” Charity smirked then shrugged. “I think you’re better than stowing away on board ship and being tossed into the sea or having to sleep in alleys with rats.”
“And I suppose that is better than nothing,” Gwen said under her breath, stifling a touch of disappointment.
What did she expect anyway? The girls had resented her from the moment they’d met, and Gwen had done little since then to change their minds. Certainly she got along better with these children than any of those she’d had in her ch
arge during her ill-fated years as a governess, but still she’d not been able to spend nearly enough time with them as it would certainly take to forge a solid relationship, even possibly affection.
“However, in the interest of fairness”—Charity traded glances with her sisters—“we are of the joint opinion—”
“We voted,” Hope said.
“—that anyone that Madame de Chabot and Madame Freneau like as much as they like you probably has qualities we simply haven’t noticed yet.”
Patience and Hope sported matching grins. Even Charity favored Gwen with a reluctant smile. “So we have further decided, no matter what might happen, we wish to stay with you.”
“Because I’m better than”—Gwen grimaced—“rats?”
“We don’t like rats.” Hope’s tone was firm.
“Very well, then. I suppose I shall have to take what I can and be grateful for that.” Gwen smiled with relief. “In truth, even though I am apparently the least of any number of evils, I am still quite pleased.”
Again the girls exchanged glances. “We do think you should know, however,” Patience began in a patient manner, as if to make certain Gwen understood, “it isn’t as if we liked you a great deal.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Hope said staunchly. “We feel it’s entirely too soon to like you a great deal.”
“However, we are willing”—Charity nodded at Madame—“to give you the benefit of the doubt based on Madame Freneau’s recommendation.”
Hope lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “We like her a great deal.”
“And Madame de Chabot as well.” Patience smiled wistfully. “She has the most wonderful stories about balls and castles and princes and all manner of exciting people and places.”
“I see.” Gwen’s voice was weak. “I suppose I should thank them for championing my cause.”
“Aunt Gwendolyn.” Charity’s nose wrinkled as if the title sounded as awkward to her ears as it did to Gwen’s. “We simply wish to be a family again.”
“We did like being a family.” Patience sighed.
Hope sniffed. “We had a great deal of fun.”
Charity slanted her sisters a quieting glance. “We know without Mama and Papa nothing will ever be the same, but we are all tired of not knowing what will happen to us next. We firmly believe that you—”
“And Lord Pennington,” Patience said.
“Who didn’t seem at all frightening. Rather like the kind of man who would get a girl a dog,” Hope added.
“—are our best hope for…” Charity thought for a moment. “Salvation. Yes, that’s it.” For the first time since Gwen had met her, Charity cast her a genuine smile. “Salvation.”
“If not here on earth then in the world to come,” Hope intoned piously.
“One wonders what would have happened if they’d been found by pirates instead of missionaries,” Madame said under her breath.
“I have never been anyone’s salvation before, but I shall try to live up to it.” Gwen studied the faces of the three girls for a long moment, then nodded and without further thought, spit on her finger.
All three sisters promptly followed suit. Nieces and aunt proceeded with the traditional ceremony and as one turned toward Madame. She smiled in resignation, spit, and mixed her “blood” with theirs.
“I know Colette will regret missing this,” Madame murmured.
“We can certainly do it again when she arrives home.” Patience grinned. “I suspect she would hate to miss a blood oath.”
“Now we are even more bound together than before,” Hope said somberly. “Every blood oath makes the one before it that much stronger, you know.”
Patience nodded. “Bound together through all eternity.”
“It means we will not leave you.” Charity’s gaze met Gwen’s.
An odd sort of acknowledgment flashed between them. There was a vow here far beyond the rubbing of wet fingers, regardless of whether they were moistened with blood or something far less pagan. Gwen realized she and Charity were more alike than dissimilar. Each had taken on the responsibilities of survival at a young age: Gwen for herself, Charity for her sisters.
And now, between them, there was a promise that from this moment forward, they would share that responsibility. That whatever happened they were indeed bound one to the other. And neither would bear the burden alone.
“Excellent.” Gwen’s gaze meshed with Charity’s. “Because I have no intention of allowing you to leave. Nor will I ever permit anyone to take you from me.” She held up her finger. “And I promise by all the blood in my veins that I shall never break this oath or else suffer the dire, horrible consequences.” She lowered her voice dramatically, and in the back of her mind noted she’d never meant anything as much as she did this promise to these children. “Forever.”
“You wish to go to the country,” Gwen said slowly. “Now?”
“As soon as it can be arranged.” Marcus leaned against the mantel, his arms crossed over his chest, in a manner that would be considered indolent if not for the tense line of his body. Gwen realized he was much more somber than the offhand nature of his words would indicate and wondered if there was something amiss. “I should think tomorrow at the very latest. It’s but half a day’s drive from London, and I do think you should see Holcroft Hall—”
“Holcroft Hall?” Gwen studied him thoughtfully. Perhaps he was simply concerned about her reaction to leaving town. “Your family seat? The family seat of the Earls of Pennington?”
“Precisely. As it has been since the first earl.”
“Near the village of Pennington itself, then, I presume?” Gwen struggled to hide the note of excitement in her voice.
The house her father had left her was near Pennington. If Madame was agreeable to accompanying them, Gwen could move the girls there and continue her surreptitious visits. A sojourn in the country for her and her nieces would be nothing short of perfect. It wouldn’t remove any possible threat, but it might make avoiding whatever problems might come a bit easier. If nothing else, it gave Gwen a welcome illusion of security and allowed her to actually do something rather than wait to see what might happen. She would send word to Madame later today, and with luck the girls would soon be safely in the country, at least for the moment. At once a weight lifted from Gwen’s shoulders and her mood lightened.
“Of course”—Marcus shrugged—“the village itself is not very big, you understand, but the countryside is quite scenic, especially at this time of year, and—”
“And you can breathe freely and feel the earth beneath your feet.”
An odd look crossed his face as if he were both embarrassed at having told her that and pleased she’d remembered.
“Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, it’s an especially lovely time of year. Much nicer there than in London.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head and studied him. “My dear Lord Pennington, are you trying to talk me into this?” She couldn’t resist a teasing grin. He really was terribly endearing.
“Don’t be absurd.” His tone was aloof, and she didn’t believe it for a moment. “I have interests that need attention at the estate, and I have already decided we shall leave as soon as possible.”
She stared at him for a moment, then laughed.
His brows pulled together. “What is so funny?”
“You.” She grinned. “You’re quite amusing when you’re being the cool, unemotional Lord Pennington who has firmly put his foot down and made an irrevocable decision.”
“Am I?” His tone was unchanged, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye.
“Indeed you are. Especially when you adopt that pompous manner of yours.”
“Pompous.” His mouth dropped open. “Pompous?”
“You may say it as often as you wish, my lord, it does not change the fact of it.”
“I am not pompous,” he said in a decidedly pompous manner.
She raised a brow.
He frowned. “Am I?”
She nodded.
He thought for a moment. “Is it better than being cold and unemotional?”
She grinned. “I find it quite entertaining.”
He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a long moment. “What precisely has happened to you, Gwen? You are…What’s the word I’m thinking of?”
“Happy?” she said innocently.
“Yes, that’s it.” He stared in a suspicious manner. “You look exceedingly happy. Why?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” She considered him thoughtfully. “This marriage of ours is working out far better than I had expected.”
“Is it?”
She nodded. “You are far better than I had expected.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are.” She laughed. “Why do you seem so surprised? You’ve never struck me as a man not thoroughly aware of his own worth. In truth, didn’t you tell me what an excellent catch you were?”
“I might have said something like that.”
“You’ve certainly never seemed to lack confidence in yourself or in your attraction for women.”
“Apparently marriage has changed me,” he muttered. “You have changed me.”
She stepped closer to him. “How could I possibly have changed you?”
“I don’t know but you have.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am not at all happy.”
“Don’t be absurd, Marcus,” she scoffed. “You haven’t anything to be unhappy about.”
“Don’t I?” His voice was soft.
“Of course not,” she said firmly. “You’ve maintained your fortune. You’ve avoided marriage to someone completely unsuitable—”
“Have I?”
“Yes. I was handpicked by your father, and your mother likes me, as does your closest friend.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “You are quite lucky, my lord.”
His brows drew together. “What are you doing?”
She sighed. “You seem to ask that a great deal.” She brought her lips to his and brushed them seductively across his mouth until he responded. He gathered her closer and kissed her with a fierce intensity that quite took her breath away.
Love with the Proper Husband Page 19