by Lavinia Kent
“You are referring again to when I left. I thought we were over that discussion.”
“No, I don’t believe that we were—merely interrupted.”
“Then perhaps we should finish now.” He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“No. I don’t think so.” She shrugged the hand away. “I realize that while the conversation was not finished, perhaps it should have been. There is no use fighting over the past.” She walked past him toward the door, her back stiff. “I understand what you want. You are my husband and have legal rights. It is up to you what you choose to do. You know how I feel.”
And then she was gone.
He was left in the parlor that was no longer the room he remembered, thinking about a wife he no longer knew.
Had he ever known her? He remembered the shy, awkward girl he’d first met, surrounded by older rakes. She’d stood brave, despite looking as if she wanted to slide through the cracks in the floorboards. He imagined her features must have been the same then: the straight nose, strong brows, and flashing eyes. And the lips—surely he would have remembered if her lips had always looked like fresh raspberries—so red they looked like they’d stain anything they touched.
Her figure now was different than it had been. There was no question about that. His mind filled with images of gently swaying hips beneath red silk. Why would a woman wear red in the morning unless she meant to invite . . .
He was jealous. Jealous of those lovers she claimed to have had.
Wouldn’t that be irony? He’d kept faithful to his marriage these last four years because he’d made promises before God and meant to keep them. Even when he’d been among native tribes whose sexual mores were far different from those in England he’d refrained from participating.
And his wife had taken lovers.
What was the truth? It was impossible to imagine the quiet girl he’d left behind straying, but this new woman, this woman in red silk with swaying hips? He had no trouble at all imagining her welcoming a man to her bed.
And certainly no trouble imagining the men who’d want to be there.
Something crunched in his hand. The cartoon still remained tightly in his clutch. Did Elizabeth have any idea how ridiculous the whole thing was? No one looking at her now would ever imagine her begging.
Which left him with a dilemma. If she wasn’t going to come to him, did he pursue her?
Did he decide to seduce his wife?
CHAPTER FOUR
Elizabeth stomped through the park. She should have been strolling. Ladies strolled or ambled—they did not stomp. The pavement was hard beneath her feet, each step creating a satisfying thump. This was much more fun than strolling—and she had emotions to work off.
It was so easy for William to imply the cartoon was nothing important. He hadn’t had to survive those months after his abandonment of questioning looks and lewd comments—and the offers. Her skin still reddened when she thought about all the men who’d searched her out alone and made a great variety of propositions. Men she was still forced to interact with, men whose wives sometimes had her to tea, men whose daughters and granddaughters she counted among her friends.
And that was not even thinking about the truth of the cartoon, about that night four years ago when she’d begged him to consummate their marriage and he had turned away. She hadn’t been on her knees, but she’d been close to it. Her own quivering voice still sounded in her head. She’d begged and he’d turned away. She couldn’t even remember what he’d said, her humiliation had been too extreme. He’d married her, but he hadn’t wanted her.
To this day, she had no idea why he’d proposed—unless it was pity. It probably had been. William had never pretended love or even romance. That had all been her own foolish fantasy. Had she truly been that pathetic?
She must have been. Why else had scandal spread so quickly?
As that thought passed through her brain, she stopped. She was not the girl she had been. These past years had made her strong and independent. Why was she running, preparing to hide? That was the way to become what the second cartoon implied she was. If she played this right she could be more like the first cartoon, like Lucille’s drawing. She could bring William to heel and show the world that she was no longer the abandoned bride.
She had friends now, friends who would support her—friends she trusted as much as she was able.
A plan began to form in her mind. It was a pity that the Duke of Doveshire had chosen Linnette. He would have been perfect for what she had in mind.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Linnette appeared before her on the path. Well, she didn’t exactly appear, she must have been standing there for a while, based on the frown upon her face. She was clearly no happier to see Elizabeth than Elizabeth was to see her.
Pulling her shoulders back, she walked forward. “Hello, Linnette. Isn’t it a lovely day? If the weather holds, the king’s coronation should be quite spectacular.”
“Are you truly thinking we are reduced to talking about the weather in that polite tone? I have seen this morning’s cartoons—and I have talked to Lucille. You are lucky we are not near the lake.” Linnette marched nearer—she also clearly understood the joy of a good stomp.
“You’ve talked to Lucille? So you know that she drew one of the cartoons—but only one.” God, she hoped Linnette did not know more than that and that she did not blame Lucille.
“Yes, I talked to Lucille.” Linnette’s eyes narrowed.
Oh dear, Lucille had clearly said more than she should have. “I do hope she is not too distraught.”
“Do you really care? If you did I would have thought you would take care to keep her out of this mess instead of entangling her further. You really are a thoughtless bi— cow.” It was clear that if they had not been in public Linnette would have finished her sentence as intended.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Only she was very afraid that she did.
“Lucille told me that you offered to pay her to draw a cartoon where your husband looked the fool. I wasn’t able to figure out how she could have known who he was, so I asked her straight out.”
“Have you told anyone?” God, how would William react if he knew what she had done? It had seemed such a simple thing when he’d approached her at the ball the other night and she’d known that gossip would follow. Lucille had already drawn a few of the nicer cartoons and it had been easy enough to persuade her to draw another. Despite all the troubles that had arisen, it was clear the young woman enjoyed seeing her artwork printed.
“Not yet, but I will. I can’t believe that Kathryn had me believing you were not behind this whole mess. There is no one else who has reason.”
Reaching out, Elizabeth grabbed Linnette’s shoulder, tight. “Please don’t say anything. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“So you admit that you are behind it all?”
“No, not all. I only arranged for this last one. I wanted to shape how the inevitable gossip formed, to let the world see that I was not overeager for my lost husband to return home.”
“I don’t believe you.” Linnette yanked away, and as she did, a button on Elizabeth’s glove caught in the lace edging of her dress, ripping it full across the bosom.
“Oh! I didn’t mean—” Before Elizabeth could finish the apology, Linnette’s hand was up, the slap ringing across her cheek.
“You really are a bitch.” Linnette turned and marched away, her arms wrapped tight to hold her dress in place.
Elizabeth could only stare after her, unsure how the encounter had turned into such a horrible mess so quickly.
She wasn’t behind the other cartoons. She honestly wasn’t. The only one she’d had any part in had been the first one of herself and William, and she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone—not even him. Her only thought had been to protect herself. Well, perhaps she had wanted to wound him. She could not deny that she felt he deserved it.
But she certainly hadn’t ever tried to hurt Linne
tte. It was true she’d wanted Doveshire for herself. She’d decided to take a lover and he’d seemed like the perfect choice. It had stung when he’d chosen Linnette over her, but she’d long ago accepted that some choices could not be guided. And she couldn’t really say she was sorry, because considering the new duke for a lover was one thing, but actually going through with it . . .
“Did Linnette truly just slap you across the face in the middle of the park?”
Elizabeth turned to find her old friend Violet, Lady Peter St. James, standing there, staring at her.
“And did you actually rip her bodice? I could not believe what I just saw,” Violet continued.
“I didn’t mean to.” Elizabeth’s mind was still too numb to come up with a better reply.
Violet looked doubtful.
“Truly, I didn’t. Has my reputation become so bad that my friends actually believe these things of me?”
“You are known as a bit of a cold fish, quite aloof—perhaps scornful—but you know that.”
“Yes, but that is different from hurting your friends.”
Violet reached out and patted her arm. “I do know. And if you say you didn’t mean to rip her dress I will believe you. But you did push her into the lake last week. A ripped dress doesn’t seem far removed.”
“She jumped in the lake.”
“I am sure she did.”
“Oh, don’t sound like that. Nobody believes me. But you know the funny thing? I’ve heard if you actually ask her, she does not deny it. Why does nobody gossip about that?”
“It is strange, but not nearly as much fun as two ladies fighting it out in the gardens.”
Elizabeth felt as if all the air were being sucked out of her. “I don’t know what to do. A month ago my life was just the way I wanted it—and now it lies about me, all in ruins.”
Violet waved her toward one of the benches that sat along the edge of the path. “Was it really what you wanted? Remember I’ve known you since those first days after your husband left. Your reputation was not nearly as bad as mine then. I remember how you used to mourn his departure. You were mad. You were hurt. But you wanted him back. Aren’t you even a little bit glad that he has returned?”
Walking to the bench, Elizabeth looked about her and considered. The day was beautiful—the trees green, a gentle breeze blew by, causing the flowers to dance—and until this moment she hadn’t noticed any of it. Sitting down, she looked across the lush parkland. “Did I ever thank you for being my friend back then? Without you I am not sure I would have survived. It was you who helped me start those first rumors of my very satisfied lovers.”
“And a great time I had doing it. Although it would have been even more fun if they had been real—but I did understand your lack of trust in men and how little desire you had for involvement.” Violet sat beside her. “And most importantly, I remembered very well what it is like to have the world gossiping about you—even if I deserved much of what was said about me.”
“And now you are respectable.”
“It is amazing, is it not? I thought I would be scandalous forever. And now I am only scandalous in private.”
Elizabeth found herself blushing at the tone of Violet’s comment. One only had to see how Violet’s husband, Lord Peter, looked at her to imagine those very private scandals.
Deep in the back spaces of her own mind, Elizabeth suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to do those things with William. She could feel the prickle of his beard beneath her lips when she’d laid that light kiss upon him that morning. If she let herself she could imagine the taste of other parts of his body, parts that she’d never even seen. Her blush grew hotter.
“And what exactly are you thinking now, my dear Elizabeth? Are you sure you’re not pleased that your husband is home?”
Elizabeth leaned back and stared up at the green canopy of leaves. “I don’t suppose I’ve truly let myself think about it. It’s actually easier to think about the cartoons, and Linnette, and scandal than to think about William. When we first married, I knew it wasn’t love, even if I pretended otherwise. I admit I wasn’t quite sure why he had chosen me, but I was ready to be a good wife. I am not sure that I could even imagine anything other than being a good wife. Now it all feels so different. I’ve grown up, become myself. How am I supposed to share that with a man I don’t know?”
“You said you liked his letters.”
“I did. I do. But there is a great difference between letters and a man, a man who wants me to take him to my bed.”
“You told me that you found him attractive in the past, that you wanted to have relations with him. What is different now?”
And that was the real question. She’d thought she wanted William in the past, wanted him quite desperately. It might have been a much more innocent longing, but it had been real. Why was she now so hesitant? “I think it is much more real now. I didn’t really understand the idea of martial intimacy. Now I have a much greater understanding of what goes on between a man and a woman—I understand the vulnerability involved.”
“That does make sense.” Violet leaned forward and smiled at her. I think what you really need is to go home and spend some time with your husband. It does not have to be like either of the cartoons. You can come together as equals.”
“Will a man truly ever let a woman be his equal?”
Violet only smiled.
How did one seduce a wife? William wasn’t sure that he knew how to seduce any woman after all these years away from polite society. But he was a man of science and he must not forget that. The first task was clearly to observe her habitat. With that in mind he began to consider the changes she’d made to the house.
He walked to the parlor where they’d had their discussion the previous day. Tasteful, elegant, simple. Furniture a man could sit on, nothing that looked like it would break if one glanced at it the wrong way. He walked over to the small desk, opened the flap. Neat. Orderly. There wasn’t much here. She clearly didn’t use the desk for her real correspondence. He pulled open the top drawer. A pen knife and a pair of spectacles. Did Elizabeth wear them?
Shutting the drawer he studied the chamber further. The flowers, a variety of Paeonia lactiflora, were fresh and well arranged, but did he credit that to Elizabeth or the housekeeper? It was impossible to say. Still, Elizabeth must like flowers. He’d noticed several arrangements about the house.
Finally, unable to put it off any longer, he approached the mantel and stared up at the sweet landscape. Was that really to her taste? The cows looked like they were smiling, and he was sure that the clouds were made to look like bunnies. It looked more like the artwork of a young girl learning her watercolors than . . . . A sudden thought took him. He leaned forward and looked closely. There it was, the scrawled signature. The little minx. She’d hung her own artwork in the parlor without apology or explanation. His smile faded. Did that mean he had to pretend she was talented? Or was it actually a private joke? It was appalling how little he knew the woman he was married to.
Did that cow look like him? He leaned closer, trying to decide. It might just be coincidence. It was a pity the painting was not dated so that he’d know just when she’d completed it. If it was right after he’d left . . . . Her brush work was actually quite good, the overall skill not bad. Yes, he could pretend it was lovely if needed—as long as he didn’t mention that smiling cow.
Turning on his heel, he strode into the hallway. He’d already noted the changes here. Much more light than before. He might actually prefer it to the way it had been.
The dining room, also, was lighter. His mother’s heavy velvet drapes replaced with Brussels’ lace. He wondered how much lighter his pockets were. No, that was not fair. He’d left her to do as she pleased. Was the china on display new or just something pulled out of the pantries? He rather fancied he remembered his grandmother using it when he was a boy. Did that indicate that Elizabeth had not felt the need to erase the entire past of the house—and
that she could appreciate beautiful things whatever their age?
To the library or upstairs? The library first. It had always been his favorite room. He hoped she had not changed it too greatly. He paused with his hand on the door. What if she’d redone it completely? What if instead of books it was now filled with embroidery and knickknacks? What if the leather had been replaced with chintz?
Holding back a shudder he opened the door.
It didn’t look changed at all. He stepped in. The air was fresher, gone was the scent of years of tobacco and dust. He peered around. There were fresh flowers beside the window. Hyacinths of a variety he’d never seen. Were they from the gardens or had she had them sent round? He’d have to inquire.
Nothing else looked changed. It was still the worn, comfortable room he remembered.
A couple of books sat on the arm of his favorite chair. With some curiosity, he picked them up. A Minerva Press novel. He’d never have guessed that his wife would read such a thing. He skimmed through it. Far more interesting than he would have expected. Placing it back on the chair, he picked up the other, heavier book. American Medical Botany: being a collection of the native medical plants of the United State. He hadn’t seen this one. It must have been printed while he’d been away. There was a paper holding her place. Curious, he opened it. His last letter. Was she looking up terms? Did she actually care what he wrote, what it meant? Now, that would be a discovery if it was true.
He positioned the books back on the chair, careful to leave no sign of his intrusion.
It was time to look upstairs.
Elizabeth stared at the front of her house—his house. Her feet refused to walk up the path. She didn’t know what to say to him, what to expect. And her cheek—she wondered if it was as red as it was sore. How would she explain that? Almost without thought, she turned away and began to walk again. Her maid’s face was full of question, but she didn’t say anything.
Together they walked down one street and up another. It wasn’t until her feet stopped in front of her childhood home, now her uncle’s house, that she understood the reason for her journey.