“Now what?” Reggie said.
“Now, old man, ladies.” Marcus’s gaze slid from one to the next and his grin widened. “I believe it’s time for all of us to go home.”
Chapter 15
In spite of the faults of men, or perhaps because of them, we cannot live without them. And what woman would truly wish to?
Francesca Freneau
There really isn’t anything to worry about.
Gwen had repeated the assurance to herself over and over until it became a refrain repeating incessantly in her head. Marcus’s comments on their ride today and Gwen’s own knowledge of his character had strengthened her resolve to tell him about the girls as soon as possible. Madame Freneau had supported her decision wholeheartedly, although Madame had made no secret of the fact that Marcus should have been made aware of Gwen’s nieces long before now.
Gwen hadn’t seen Marcus since her return from the dower house. It had been rather odd being there when Colette’s visitor had arrived. And odder yet discovering his identity. Their situation was terribly sad, and Gwen wished she could do something to help, but apparently there was nothing anyone could do for the couple. And Gwen had her own circumstances to worry about.
Marcus hadn’t been home when she’d returned. Godfrey had said he and Lord Berkley had gone out. Odd, she’d thought Berkley wasn’t expected so soon, although it scarcely mattered, she supposed. The viscount was obviously going to be around a great deal. Not that she minded—she quite liked the man—but perhaps it was time someone did something to help him find a wife of his own.
Gwen had tried to keep herself busy, going over her planned explanation to her husband a dozen times in her head, but had succumbed to a weariness brought on, no doubt, by worry, and had fallen asleep. Surely Marcus had returned by now, but he wasn’t in his rooms. She headed for the library. When Marcus was in the house, he spent much of his time there and would likely be there now.
She’d dressed for dinner even though she was an hour or so early and was determined to find her husband and reveal everything, believing that she might as well get her ordeal over with. She’d originally thought dinner would be an excellent time to casually mention the girls over a cut of good roasted beef or a glass of wine and had considered as well telling him all right before bed, or better still, afterward, but she’d already put off this confrontation as long as possible. Not that it would be a confrontation, she reminded herself, even though, at the moment, she was certainly braced for something very much like a confrontation.
She descended the stairs in a sedate manner befitting the Countess of Pennington, although admittedly her manner was restrained more by apprehension than by any sense of propriety.
There really isn’t anything to worry about.
Abruptly the thought struck her that regardless of his reaction, she could do precisely as she wished. She had her own money in a London account Mr. Whiting had arranged, as well as her own house. If Marcus didn’t want to raise her nieces, she could certainly provide for them without his help. Madame Freneau might well agree to serve as a full-time governess, tutor, and companion. Gwen could find a house in the city for those times when she and Marcus resided in London, and she could continue to visit every day. It was not an ideal solution but it was an answer of sorts.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and started toward the library. A faint laugh sounded somewhere in the dim reaches of the house. No, not a laugh, more like a giggle. Probably a maid somewhere flirting with a footman. Gwen had seen any number of such flirtations in her years as a governess but had always rebuffed advances directed toward her. She was far too aware of the proper demeanor her position demanded. At once it struck her how terribly tired she was of being proper.
No, her momentary relief faded. If Marcus didn’t want the girls he wouldn’t be the man she thought he was. And how could Gwen live with a man like that? Even for a mere seven and a half years.
She reached the library door, drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and adopted a pleasant smile.
There really isn’t anything to worry about.
She started to knock, then decided this was as much her library as his, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. The lamps were already lit against the encroaching sunset, and the room lay in that deep gold and blue shadowed state that marked the end of the day. A half-empty glass sat beside a decanter on the desk.
“Marcus?” She stepped farther into the library.
“He isn’t here right now.” Lord Berkley uncurled his long figure from a chair placed before the desk and got to his feet, his ever-present smile on his face. “But I expect him back any moment.”
“Lord Berkley.” She smiled in spite of a touch of annoyance at his presence. With the viscount here she couldn’t possibly reveal all to Marcus. On the other hand, a third party did offer her a legitimate postponement. She held out her hand with renewed enthusiasm. “I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week?”
“It is the end of the week.” He laughed and brushed his lips across the back of her hand. “You and your husband have a great deal in common.”
“Do we?”
“You’d be surprised.” He grinned, and she wondered exactly what he meant. Not that it really mattered. The viscount stepped to the desk and refilled the glass in his hand. “Would you care for something? I know where the clean glasses are kept.”
“Then you know more than I.” She shook her head. “I am still learning how to get from one room to another.”
“Shall I, then? Your husband’s brandy is excellent.”
“No doubt.” She shuddered at the memory of her last experience with brandy. “I think not, thank you.”
“No?” He considered her thoughtfully, then nodded. “Sherry, then? Madeira? Something else to your liking, perhaps?”
She laughed. “My dear Lord Berkley, one would think you were trying to get me foxed.”
“Why, Lady Pennington, I’m shocked that you would think that.” Berkley’s voice was indignant but amusement twinkled in his eye. “I would never attempt such a thing with a married woman.” He paused. “At least not one married to a friend.”
“I’m so glad to know you have certain moral standards.”
“Oh, I do indeed.”
“I should hate to think you are a bad influence on my husband.”
“Nothing of the sort.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “If anything, he has always been a bad influence on me.”
“Really?” She raised a brow.
“Well, perhaps not always.” He grinned and took a sip of his brandy. “In truth, we have always been an equally bad influence on one another.”
“Sherry.”
“What?”
“If you are going to tell tales about my husband, perhaps they would go better with sherry.”
“Excellent choice.” He crossed the room to what looked like another of the decorative half columns that encircled the library and pulled open a door she never suspected existed. He returned to the desk with a bottle and a glass, poured the sherry, and handed it to her. “Marcus has excellent taste.”
“Thank you.” Gwen had the distinct impression the viscount wasn’t merely referring to the wine.
“I must tell you, I quite approve of this match between the two of you.”
“Do you?”
“I do indeed, although I am compelled to confess, I once harbored a vague hope he would turn his affections toward my sister and become, through marriage, my brother, but that was not to be.”
“Really?” She ignored a definite twinge of jealousy toward this sister of the viscount. “Did your sister not care for Lord Pennington?”
“Oh, she has adored him always. Unfortunately, she adores her dogs and horses a great deal more.” He grinned. “She is barely fifteen and Marcus has always viewed her with the same annoyance and affection as I have. As a little sister.”
“I see.” Gwen smiled and sipped the sher
ry. “So, my lord, why are you so approving of his marriage to me? This match was not entirely his choice.”
“No, but I think it has turned out for the best.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Marcus has always been reserved when it comes to his feelings. Much of the time, even I have not known precisely what he was thinking.” He raised his glass to her. “You, my dear Lady Pennington, have broken down that reserve.”
“Have I?”
“Indeed you have.” He smiled ruefully. “With you he has found what he did not expect but has always wanted. From what I’ve seen thus far, you are very good for him. I never thought I’d admit such a thing, but I am exceedingly jealous of his good fortune.”
His words warmed her heart. “That is perhaps the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Are you flirting with my wife again?” Marcus’s voice sounded from the doorway.
“Again and always.” Berkley clapped his hand over his heart. “You have caught me, old man, I was trying to convince her to toss you aside and run away with me.”
“And was it working?” Marcus strode to her side and took her hands in his. His laughing gaze meshed with hers. “Are you about to abandon me and go off with this…this scoundrel?” He raised her hands to his lips. “I should not bear it, you know.”
“Nor should I,” she said softly, staring into his eyes. A faint voice in the back of her mind whispered softly. Fate.
Berkley groaned. “There you have it. Once again we are back to the crux of the problem. If I were a scoundrel, she’d be off with me in a moment.”
She laughed and pulled her hands from her husband’s. “Never, my lord.”
Marcus grinned. “Reggie has a theory that women find irresistible those men who are no good for them.”
“It’s not a theory,” Berkley said loftily. “I have given a great deal of thought and study to the question, and I believe it to be a fact. What do you think, my lady?”
She shook her head. “I think you need to give it substantially more thought.”
“Actually,” Marcus said slowly. “I think there is some validity to the idea that a touch of those qualities that are perhaps less than sterling can be quite intriguing. Don’t you agree, my dear?”
She pulled her brows together. “Most certainly not.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “And not just in terms of men but when it comes to women as well.”
“There’s nothing like a woman with a secret, I always say.” Berkley nodded firmly. “It makes a lady mysterious and rather intoxicating.”
“Taking your theory a step further then”—Marcus’s brows drew together—“it would stand to reason that ladies we find, to use your term, intoxicating—”
“It’s an excellent term,” Berkley said smugly.
“Indeed it is.” Marcus nodded. “The point is: if a lady is indeed intoxicating it would make sense that she would, of necessity, have a secret.”
Gwen stared in disbelief. “That’s absurd.”
“Even if we didn’t know she had a secret, there would still be something about her.” Marcus’s voice was thoughtful. “Some sort of air about her. Like a lingering perfume that you’re always aware of or—”
“A tune that lurks in the back of your mind but you can’t quite place,” Berkley said.
“Exactly. She’s a mystery you cannot seem to solve, probably because you haven’t the faintest idea what questions to ask. Although, personally, I have always enjoyed a bit of a mystery.” Marcus moved to the desk and picked up his glass. “Yes indeed, unraveling a mystery is an excellent exercise for one’s mind.”
“Is it?” Gwen had the uncomfortable feeling that the men were talking about something entirely different than their words would indicate. “I much prefer things to be entirely straightforward myself.”
“Do you?” Marcus raised a brow.
“Yes I do.” Her voice was firm, but unease settled in her stomach.
“I would never have thought that,” Marcus murmured and sipped at his brandy. “Do you have secrets, Gwen?”
“Me?” Her voice came out in an odd squeak. She cleared her throat. “No.” She paused. “Of course not.” This would be the perfect time to tell him about the girls. “I suppose we all have some sort of minor secrets.” But Berkley was here and she had no idea if that would work to her favor or her detriment. “I daresay mine are not at all significant.” Still, it was probably better to tell her new husband he had a complete family in private. “But at the moment”—she smiled sweetly—“I can’t think of a thing.”
“Oh come now, my dear Gwendolyn.” Marcus studied her curiously. “I’d wager you have at least one substantial secret.”
“Perhaps even two,” Berkley added helpfully.
Marcus nodded. “Or three.”
“Ah, but if I were to tell you, it would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?” She took a quick sip of her sherry, for a moment wishing desperately it was brandy, and searched just as desperately for a less dangerous topic of conversation. After all, she hadn’t blatantly lied to him thus far. And it did seem a shame to do so now when she was so close to telling him everything. “So, she said brightly, “Godfrey said the two of you had gone for a ride today. It was a lovely day. Did you have a pleasant time?”
“Very pleasant.” Berkley grinned.
“More than pleasant,” Marcus added. “It is the oddest thing, but even though I have spent much of my life here, I almost never fail to see something new and interesting, especially in the spring. Don’t you agree, Reggie?”
“Absolutely.”
“How nice,” Gwen murmured. She had no particular interest in whatever newfound sights the season had brought, but as long as Marcus was no longer talking about secrets, spring on the estate was as good a topic as any.
“Not all of it is pleasant, of course,” Marcus said. “Spring does tend to make you aware of repairs that need attention.”
“Always.” Berkley nodded.
Gwen sipped her sherry and feigned rapt attention.
“Indeed, even though I no longer own it, I did notice quite a bit of work needs to be done on”—he paused—“the dower house.”
The dower house? Gwen choked on her wine. When was he at the dower house?
Marcus started toward her. “Are you all right?”
“A firm blow between the shoulder blades will help,” Berkley offered.
Gwen held up her hand to stop them both and choked out the words. “No, thank you. I’m quite all right.”
“Are you sure?” Marcus’s tone was concerned but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
She blinked back tears, sniffed, and met her husband’s gaze directly. She stared at him for a long moment. Marcus could barely keep the smile from his face. He had the look of a man who had the upper hand and well knew it. She glanced at Berkley, who had the grace to avert his eyes, but he too failed to hide his grin. Again her gaze returned to her husband.
At once she realized he knew all about the girls. Why, he’d probably even met them. And just as obviously, if he was this amused, he wasn’t at all upset. Relief rushed through her, accompanied by more than a touch of annoyance. Why didn’t he just tell her what he knew? What kind of cat-and-mouse game was he playing?
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Marcus said cautiously.
“As this has nothing really to do with me…” Berkley edged toward the door. “And surely I’m needed elsewhere.” He reached the door and slipped out.
She barely noticed. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve learned? Or ask me questions or something?”
Marcus studied her thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”
She stared. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “There’s no need. I know everything I need to know.”
“Do you?” she said carefully.
“Indeed I do, and what I don’t know precisely, I have managed to
figure out. And probably quite accurately as well.” He grinned in an annoyingly smug manner. “Shall I go on?”
“Please do.”
“First of all, you agreed to marry me to get your inheritance so that you could provide for your nieces. Quite admirable really.” He sipped his brandy. “You didn’t tell me about them because you didn’t trust me.”
She started to protest, then stopped. After all, he was right.
“Granted, in the beginning you had no reason to trust me. You didn’t even know me. You had no way of knowing whether I would welcome these children into my home or not.” He shook his head. “I have given a great deal of thought to this and it is understandable. Until me, there hadn’t been a single man in your life who had earned your trust.”
She lifted her chin. “You needn’t feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t,” he said simply. “Or at least I don’t now. I do, however, feel sorry for the child who grew up feeling unwanted. And for the girl who was told her father had left her penniless. And for the young woman who found herself the object of unwanted attentions by her employers and other men.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I haven’t the least bit of sympathy for the current Countess of Pennington, who has three little girls who, albeit somewhat reluctantly, have some affection for her, and a new mother-in-law who adores her, and a husband who”—he shrugged—“has discovered himself to be deeply in love with her.”
Her breath caught. “You’re in love with me?”
“Insane as it may sound.” He set his glass down on the desk and smiled wryly. “I am.”
“But”—she shook her head against the flurry of thoughts and emotions swirling in her head—“we agreed that you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, well, in that and that alone”—he started toward her—“you should not have trusted me.”
Love with the Proper Husband Page 23