“Oh, dear,” Lucy said softly.
“Damn,” Adelaide muttered as she turned and snatched the whip from the startled footman’s hand. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Chapter Thirty
“I wouldn’t worry overmuch, Selridge.”
Marcus stared hard at the back of Addy’s head as she and his phaeton moved smartly across the park. So hard, it took a minute for Creighton’s highly amused voice to make its way past the whirlwind of confusion Adelaide daily left in her wake.
“Worry? What are you on about, Creighton?” He turned to find himself the victim of the earl’s indolently rapier-sharp scrutiny. “Why are you here?”
“I am here to enjoy the wonders of nature.” Creighton waved in the general direction of the trees. “And you needn’t worry about your duchess driving your fancy equipage. She is a dab hand at the ribbons. She and Julius cut quite the swath through the racing set last Season.”
“She what?” Marcus turned back to see the carriage halted and Addy in the company of a flame-haired young lady and what looked like a muscled Shetland pony on a gold silk lead. “That is not reassuring, Creighton. I need to—” A pair of all too familiar letters were shoved into his hand. He closed his eyes. His obsessive quest to keep Addy happy and away from Crosby had occupied his thoughts to the point he had not even looked at the hateful missives in the last few days. “How did you come by these?”
“I daresay you thought you’d secured them when I came upon you at White’s.” Creighton took the papers, folded them carefully, and tucked them firmly into Marcus’s jacket pocket. “Your mind has been…” He shot a pointed glance towards the two young women in the distance. “On other things. Have you spoken to Jeffries about the letters?”
His ears began to ring. The bone deep chill of a highland loch sank beneath his skin. His throat threatened to close. “How do you…” Marcus swallowed. It didn’t help. “What do you know?”
“I know your brother was one of the most honorable men I have ever known. And I know someone is threatening to besmirch his good name with information that was and remains no man’s affair save his. Other than that, I don’t know a damned thing.” Creighton’s face never moved. His voice never faltered. “Have you spoken to Jeffries?”
Addy wasn’t the only one capable of cudgeling a man’s head without laying a hand on him. “I cannot ask him about this. Those letters were private correspondence between him and my brother. I cannot ask him how they came to be in the possession of some blackmailing bastard. I haven’t the right.”
“Hmmm.” Creighton indicated the footpath along the carriageway and began to stroll. Marcus joined him, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “That might be true were they letters from Julius to Jeffries. They aren’t.”
“What?” Marcus stopped in the middle of the path, but continued when he saw heads begin to turn in their direction.
“I know you have a bad leg, but do keep walking, Selridge.”
“Explain. And use short sentences as I am not certain I can comprehend much more in my current state.”
“I thought you were above being in a state.”
“Creighton. How do you know?”
“The letters are dated 1795. Your brother was away at school and had no valet. Jeffries’s given name is not George. It’s Anthony. Selridge. Selridge?”
How did he not know? The most important person in his brother’s life and Marcus never even considered asking the man’s name. He never knew Julius loved another before Jeffries. As if he never knew his first and foremost friend at all. His brother. He’d believed there had been no secrets between them. Apparently, he didn’t know a great deal about his brother at all. And what he did know he’d used to hurt him in the most cruel manner possible. The next day Julius was dead and the chance to make it right was dead with him.
“My thanks, Creighton. For returning the letters. And for keeping my confidence. I will work this out.” He began to walk towards the spot he’d last seen Addy.
“He always said you were a stubborn arse.” Creighton matched him stride for stride. “I know some of your brother’s schoolmates. I’ll make some inquiries as to who George might be. You see to your wife.”
“See to my—I don’t need help with this. And I am perfectly capable of seeing to my wife without being told to do so.” His leg began to throb. He’d marched across Hyde Park as if going to war. Not the sort of approach to take with the new Duchess of Selridge. He stopped in the shade of some trees, close enough to see Addy, but not close enough to be seen as the hovering husband. Creighton stopped at his side. And said nothing. Which was Creighton at his most annoying. He’d offered Marcus his help, something Marcus despised accepting from anyone. Even his wife. Especially his wife. Friendship. Loyalty. Jealousy. Anger—at himself for the most part. It crawled along his skin like a thousand nettle stings. Familiar laughter drifted across the green expanse. Addy and her friend were making over the giant dog.
“She is a lovely woman, your duchess,” Creighton observed.
“Pity she doesn’t see it. I begin to think her vision is impaired.”
“Why?”
“Because that is perhaps the ugliest specimen of dog I have ever seen. What is it?”
Creighton chuckled. “A horse pugilist cross?”
“Not the sort of dog one usually expects to accompany a young lady.”
“It is my understanding Miss Worthy is a not a very usual sort of lady.”
“Worthy? The gun manufacturer’s daughter?”
“The gun manufacturer’s only daughter. Only child in fact and heiress to a fortune.”
“All of that money and her father cannot purchase a more congenial looking dog for his daughter?”
“It is precisely because of the money Horatio accompanies his mistress everywhere.”
“Horatio?”
“Indeed. It seems all of that money attracts a great many fortune hunters. Some of whom are not above compromising a lady against her will in order to gain control of her inheritance by way of a forced marriage.”
“Someone should tell them all they have to do is take her for a ride across the Yorkshire moors and fall into a great bloody hole with her.”
“Perhaps. Horatio’s task is to thwart the efforts of the more aggressive of Miss Worthy’s suitors. Rumor has it, he nearly unmanned the Earl of Mottley’s heir when the young fool tried to drag Miss Worthy into Lady Haverly’s gazebo.”
“Mottley’s heir? Isn’t he the one who tried to make off with your sister when she was but fourteen?”
“The same.”
“Remind me to send a basket of Fortnam and Mason’s best steaks round to Horatio.”
“I already did. As did Lady Haverly.”
“A dog can never have too many steaks. And remind me to tell Adelaide I did so. She appears to be a close friend of Horatio.”
“Currying favor with the wife?”
“Trying to. I am told little gestures mean the most.”
“Sound advice. Who…”
“Jeffries.”
“Ah.”
“Stubble it.”
Creighton grinned and Marcus had no choice but to do the same. Loud shouts and the cacophony of a commotion drew their attention towards the Kensington Gate.
“Oh, hell,” Marcus groaned and broke into an ungraceful run.
The fool of a bear baiter looked at her as if she had two heads.
“I mean it, you puffed up bully.” She flicked the whip at him and knocked the tattered hat from his head. “This dog belongs to Miss Worthy. Should you try to take him I shall horsewhip you within an inch of your life.” She stepped forward and raised the whip to prove her point.
“And I will take up where she leaves off,” Lucy declared. She handed Horatio’s lead to the menacing footman and pushed her sleeves up to her elbows.
“You’re both mad. I’ll teach you to strike me, you silly chit.” He raised his fist and might have hit Adelaide had two things not happened almost at once.
She was lifted away from him. At the same time, a powerful hand shot out and knocked the man on his arse.
Marcus.
Her husband glared at the two ruffians who held the scarred dogs on leads. They retreated immediately. He stood over the barker, shaking with fury. “That chit is the Duchess of Selridge. My wife.” The man’s face paled noticeably. “If you value your life you will take this sideshow back to Bankside and never show your face to me again. Understood?”
The barker and his dog handlers nodded vigorously and made haste to do exactly as Marcus said. Adelaide found herself guided by an overbearing grip to her elbow as she was propelled back to the phaeton. The Earl of Creighton offered Lucy his arm and escorted her back towards the Serpentine, her footman and Horatio close behind her. Lucy waved, her face wreathed in concern.
Adelaide was suddenly snatched off her feet.
“Your leg.” The words of concern came out in a squeak as Marcus lifted her by the waist and deposited her with a short drop onto the bench seat. He climbed in beside her and, with a brief nod to the Earl of Creighton, started the grays toward the main gate of the park.
She looked back at the two dogs as the barker and his henchmen dragged them towards the crowd of young gentlemen. The dogs gazed at her forlornly. Their eyes said so much and it broke Adelaide’s heart. A horse and rider stepped out of a copse of oak trees. Dylan raised his hat to her in silent salute and then walked his horse in the direction of the barker, the dogs, and the crowd.
Adelaide turned to find her husband’s gaze fixed on Dylan’s back. She did not like the expression she saw there. When he turned his piercing green eyes on her, she liked it even less. She searched her mind for the words to cool that emerald fire.
“Marcus, I realize I shouldn’t have—”
“We’ll talk about it when we get home, Adelaide. I’d rather not be involved in two scenes in Hyde Park in the same day, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Is there going to be a scene?” She tried to pass the question off as a jest.
“Oh, yes, madam. Count on it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The longer he paced and ranted, the more pronounced his limp became. It happened when he was tired or when his leg had been illused. She knew he would never admit it, not even to himself. Adelaide had no such qualms. She was tired of sitting on the edge of the yellow brocade parlor chair like a good little soldier. And she was feeling more than a bit illused herself.
She’d stopped listening a few minutes ago, when he began to talk about behavior unbecoming a duchess. He might just as well have said “conduct unbecoming an officer,” or some similar rot. Marcus had said they were going to discuss the afternoon’s events when he dragged her into the parlor and closed the door. She always assumed a discussion involved two people’s opinions at least. Next, he would ask if she had heard a word he’d said.
“Adelaide, have you heard a single word I’ve said?” She stared up at him for a full minute before she responded.
“Of course I have, Marcus.” A minute was not long enough. The first few words came out perfectly well, but his name came out as a badly covered laugh.
“Dammit, Adelaide, this is not funny.” His hand flexed and then closed at his side. “I have not spent the last few minutes talking with you for your amusement.”
The proverbial camel collapsed. Enough was enough. The idea he so heartily disapproved of her brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She refused to let them escape. A tight fist clenched her heart at the realization he might never love her. She would make certain then, he would respect her. She stood up and walked to stand in front of him.
“You have not been talking with me, Marcus. You have talked at me. This is not a discussion. It is a court martial. I am not one of your soldiers. I am your wife.” Her voice cracked on the word and how she hated it. Her neck began to ache from staring up at him, but she would not look away. “You may not care for me in the role, but I don’t intend to let you keep making me feel so unworthy. You—”
“Not care for you?” His expression was of such outrage and confusion Adelaide was taken aback. “What on earth makes you think I don’t care for you? Why do you think I am so angry, Adelaide?” He wasn’t shouting, but he missed it by very little.
“Because your hoyden wife leapt to the defense of helpless animals in the middle of a public park. I dared to break one of the thousand and one rules that begin with the words… A duchess does not. And furthermore—”
“He was going to strike you,” Marcus shouted.
Adelaide was stunned to silence. He pushed an errant lock of hair out of his face. His eyes glittered with a rage she suspected was not directed at her.
“I watched him raise his fist, and I knew I couldn’t get there in time to stop him.” The shame of his confession tightened his face into a mask it hurt to watch. “I wasn’t a duke watching his duchess behaving improperly, Addy. I was a cripple unable to defend his wife.” Silence stretched between them, marked only by the subtle sound of his breathing.
“But you did defend me, Marcus.” She did not know how she forced the words past the lump in her throat. Was that it? All of the blather about her behavior—could it really be he was simply frustrated with himself?
“I was lucky this time, Addy. He hesitated long enough for me to put myself between you.” He smiled, but it was such a sad little smile. “His amazement at being attacked by a lady, and such a tiny one at that, no doubt stayed his hand.”
Adelaide blushed and shook her head. Her special gift was the ability to rush in where angels feared to tread and stave off embarrassment until later. She touched her forehead to the middle of his chest and rested it there as his hands came up to cup her shoulders.
“I am new at this husband business, Addy.” He rested his chin on her hair. “If I have made you feel unworthy I am truly sorry. Your performance as a wife and a duchess has been most satisfactory.” He winced when she tilted her head up and scowled. “That didn’t come out quite right.”
“I should think not,” she said tartly. Then she smiled. “I am a complete muddle as a duchess, Marcus. I don’t know if I’ll ever behave with the same decorum and elegance as your mother. Clementine would have made a far better—”
“I didn’t marry Clementine.” His expression gave no hint of what he felt. His eyes were unfathomable as well. “I married you, Addy. You are the only duchess I want.”
He had no idea what those words did to her. The funny little flip of her stomach, the tiny butterflies of feeling that danced from her feet to her heart and back again made her want to believe anything was possible. If only she could convince her head.
“I daresay the entire ton is talking about your deplorable taste and low standards,” she teased. “I am certain there must be a page in the book at White’s with bets on when the Duke of Selridge will send his duchess packing.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it the instant a ripple of tension shot through his body and into the hands that held her. What she did not understand was why. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and limped towards the window. Her body cried out at the loss of his touch, his warmth. When he faced her again his aspect was that of the disapproving soldier again.
“On the contrary, my dear.” How could an endearment have the power to wound her so? Perhaps it was because he only used it when he was angry with her. “The talk about Town is of how fortunate I am you took pity on me. The bets are on how long your pity will last.”
He was serious. Adelaide could scarcely believe her ears. She had taken pity on him? It was so ridiculous she could not even force herself to laugh. The dashing major, the powerful duke, the perfect gentleman had married the plain, hoyden sister—second best, second choice, and really no choice at all after fate and a hole in the Yorkshire moors did their work. He thought people pitied her?
“It doesn’t matter, Addy. I don’t really care why you married me.” His voice drew her out of her miserable contemplat
ion. “I will not let you go. I suggest you make that clear to Crosby this evening.”
There was something in his words, just under the surface. It slipped in and out of her mind like a ripple on a pond. Then there was only the polished surface of his hardened expression. She had to be quicker at reading him, if she ever hoped to know what he truly meant.
“This evening?”
“The Fathringham’s ball. We have already said we would attend.” Marcus paused as if he wanted to say more. He obviously thought better of it, because he was almost out the door before Adelaide could think to respond.
“I take it I am to dance this evening? Is that what you want, Marcus? So people won’t talk?” She lifted her chin in an attitude of defiance she did not feel.
“Of course not, Addy. You are to dance to enjoy yourself. Isn’t that what dancing is for?” He gave her a perfunctory nod and quit the room.
Adelaide fumbled behind her for the arm of the chair and collapsed into it with a sigh. What on earth was she going to do? More to the point, what did she want to do? It was all so simple. She had vowed to help Dylan in his cause to prove she was more than Clementine’s plain younger sister. Each of her siblings had made their mark in the world and she was lost in the shuffle.
Now she was the Duchess of Selridge. Wasn’t that enough? How could it be when all she did to achieve it was fall into a hole, accept a marriage proposal, and show up at a church? All her life she wanted to be something more. Now all she wanted was to be Marcus’s wife—not his duchess, not his lover. Well, the lover part wasn’t a hardship. She wanted to be his wife in every sense of the word, in every part of his heart.
Dylan said she was giving up her dreams to become her husband’s docile little bride. What if that were true? Was that to be her fate? She stared at the door Marcus had closed behind himself and scowled.
“Fine, then. If I am to be his wife, then that is exactly what I shall be.” She stood and gave her skirts a determined twitch. “I am going to be a wife the likes of which he has never seen and he is going to love me so much he will die before he lets me dance with another man.” She stormed out of the room and up the stairs in search of the perfect ball gown for a seduction or a military assault, whichever came first.
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 32