He covered her hand with his palm. If she didn’t want him tonight, he would settle for affection, for he’d begun to feel a great amount for her, too much perhaps. “I didn’t know you at all when I married you. I could see you weren’t afraid of anyone, and you wouldn’t let anyone run roughshod over you. But I didn’t know then that you would be yourself on every occasion. You have no pretense about you. My friends appreciated this. They scooped you up like one of their own. We might have a business relationship rather than a real marriage, but every day I’m realizing what a perfect choice I made in you.”
“I had a dreadful moment when Ivor arrived.” Her breath tickled across his neck as she laughed softly. Every time she smiled, something inside him relaxed and warmed. He wished he could make her laugh more often.
“You handled him perfectly by reminding him of his childhood.”
“How amazing that he didn’t marry Nell. She used to be his shadow. She always assumed she would marry him. I always knew I wouldn’t.” She laughed again. “He needed admirers. Even as the daughter of working people, I didn’t admire him. He was always so judgmental.”
“He certainly judged you when he first entered the room. You got him onside quickly. I think my father would approve of you. He doesn’t tolerate ninnies.” He rolled onto his side, smiling into her eyes. Her soft hair, as always, drew him, and he sifted his fingers through her wild curls. Only a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have imagined enjoying this simple pleasure. When he pulled her into his arms, she snuggled her head under his chin and promptly fell asleep. Surprisingly, he did, too. The daylight shone through the window by the time he awoke, and he lay alone.
On Sundays, he didn’t run. Cricket substituted on his day of rest. He arose, dealt with the hot water for the baths, and Wenna made the usual breakfast, though this morning she hummed. After they ate, she went upstairs to choose an outfit, and he dressed in his cricket whites. He hoped she wouldn’t be bored today. None of the female staff employed by the Brooks had taken time off to watch when he’d played in the hills. Therefore, he had no idea what she thought about the game of cricket, which some thought of as very slow.
Every Sunday before the match, he had The Pig and Whistle make him up a picnic basket. As usual, he stepped out of the gateway onto Rundle Street, meaning to order the food. A smart green gig with gold scrollwork along the sides pulled up in front of him. He might have crossed behind, but a familiar voice said, “They’re still laying these gas pipes?”
Shading his eyes from the sun peering over the rooftops, he glanced up at Ivor Penrith. “They’ve finished, but they keep springing leaks. Well met. You can give us a ride to the field.”
“Such was my intention.” Ivor brushed a speck of dirt from his white cricket trousers. “I come bearing gifts since I missed the wedding, though nothing very substantial at this stage. My father’s housekeeper made up a picnic basket, in which she has included everything she can think of to tempt Wenna’s taste.”
“That’s very generous of her. Step inside.”
Ivor tied the leading rein to the gaslight post. Restrained, the horse made a show of head-tossing.
“Wenna should be ready soon, though she’s fussing a little today.”
Ivor followed Dev up the path. “Par for the course. Women always fuss when they’re dumped in the middle of a pack of strangers for the very first time, and then deserted.” Ivor glanced at the dingy wooden staircase. “Time you bought a house,” he said as he followed Dev up to the landing.
“So everyone seems to think.”
Wenna shot out of the bedroom, her face alarmed. “Oh,” she said, spotting Ivor. “The rear guard.”
Ivor laughed. “You can’t have too many escorts. Aside from that, Dev usually walks to the field. I didn’t expect his wife to do the same.”
“You can advise me about my hat, too, then. What do you think?” With her flattering russet gown, she wore a low-crowned straw hat at a smart angle. She twirled.
“Very nice,” Dev said with a frown. She never twirled for him.
Ivor examined her and narrowed his eyes. “You’ll want gloves and a parasol.”
She nodded, shifted back into her dressing room, and returned with the required items. Dev collected his cricket bat. During the short drive to the north parklands, Wenna didn’t participate in the conversation. Instead, she stared at the passing view, the native-stone wall of the Botanic Gardens, the grove of small fig trees around the corner, and the expanse of native shrubs. The suburbs on the other side were beginning to sprawl into the hills. The way she kept stretching her gloves over her wrists showed uncharacteristic tension, which worried Dev.
He picked up her hand, and she clutched his tightly. He glanced at her, but her expression was as cool and self-possessed as ever. He hoped she could maintain her façade, because the moment the game began, she would be left to converse with the mothers, wives, and sisters of his friends—people she’d not met socially before.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be with Adelaide’s nicest women,” he said, swinging her down from the gig. “They’ll take good care of you.” He handed her parasol to her.
“I don’t doubt they’re nice to you. But if they recognize me as Mrs. Brook’s maid, I don’t know how nicely they’ll treat me.” Unfurling her parasol, she glanced toward the variously grouped spectators.
The grass had been neatly scythed, and canvas chairs were set out along the boundaries. In the distance, the North Adelaide buildings stuttered along the skyline, a clear blue scattered with wispy puffs of cloud. Glass clinked, conversations murmured, and light laughter rang out. No one glanced over.
Ivor collected his picnic basket, leaving his gig to a young lad hired to mind the transport. “Come along, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He began to stroll across the ground.
Dev followed, his hand clasped with Wenna’s. “Lady Grace is over there. Remember? The lady from whom we borrowed a parasol?”
“I hope we remembered to return it.”
“Ernie delivered it to their townhouse weeks ago.”
James Hawthorn, his smile welcoming, had spotted them, and he turned, waiting for them to join the group. “I arrived home too late last night to speak to Nell about you,” he said to Wenna. He lived with his brother in the family home. “And it seems she and Tony left for the country again, yesterday. As soon as they return, I’ll have them call on you.”
Dev hoped not. He couldn’t imagine young Mrs. Hawthorn in his pokey little sitting room. The woman lived in a mansion filled with imported furniture and lush carpets. She would be shocked by his living conditions.
He introduced Wenna to his other team members, who in turn introduced her to their sisters, their cousins, and their aunts. Ivor put his picnic basket with the others, and he and Dev, who knew Wenna was in safe company, grouped with the other men ready to start the match.
* * * *
Lady Grace had very kindly remembered meeting Wenna, who stood drowning in the hordes of pretty young women who crowded around her after Devon’s departure. She couldn’t spot a single sincere smile hidden among the pastel gowns and flowery hats. “So...sudden.” “Quite a love match.” “Where did you meet?” “Are you from England?” “What was your maiden name?” “Married in the registrar’s office?”
Miss Daphne Grace tucked a dark curl under a hat overloaded with pink peonies. “Devon’s people are in England, which probably explains his need for a private wedding,” she said prosaically.
“We’re all very jealous because you’ve snatched up Mr. Courtney,” said Miss Zanthe Grace, the middle of the three Grace sisters and probably not a day over seventeen years old. “He’s so divine. Isn’t he?” She elbowed her shorter and older sister, who had turned to watch the approach of Patricia Brook and her parents.
Wenna stood, not breathing, hoping the expression on her face was one of polite indifference. She doubted this would be the worst day of her life. Many more would
surely follow now she had to be introduced into Adelaide’s society.
“Mrs. Courtney, I’d like you to meet Miss Patricia Brook,” Miss Grace said, dragging her stony-faced friend forward. “Mrs. Courtney is Devon’s very new bride and this will be her first cricket match.”
“Mrs. Courtney?” Miss Patricia’s lips curled with cynicism. “I certainly haven’t heard about a marriage and, of course I know Devon. I also know this woman as Miss Chenoweth. Until a month or so ago, she was my mother’s maid.” She took a moment to breathe heavily. Her fingers whitened on the ebony handle of her parasol. Like the other ladies, she wore an elaborate morning gown and a brimmed hat. Green didn’t suit her, a fact that Wenna had hinted at a number of times. “Such a dear little gown, Miss Chenoweth. Did you make it on your days off?”
Wenna stared straight at Miss Patricia. “All my days are free since I married, but I still wouldn’t have the time to make gowns. Men, you know. Always wanting their wives’ attention.” She gave what she hoped might more resemble a satisfied smirk than a terrified smile.
“I don’t know men as well as you do.” Miss Patricia’s nostrils flared. “Clearly. But I’m sure Devon couldn’t have found himself a better servant if he searched the whole of Adelaide,” she finished with a nasty stretching of her lips.
Daphne’s brow creased. “Um,” she said in a faint voice. “Women are men’s helpmates, and all that sort of thing.” She couldn’t meet anyone’s eye. “Strictly not servants.”
“Devon’s new helpmate was a maid.” Miss Patricia shoved the point of her parasol into the grass, clearly prepared to stay and spread her mean little message.
Mrs. Brook put her hand on Miss Patricia’s arm. “That’s enough, Patricia, and congratulations, Mrs. Courtney. Or, should I say best wishes? You married a very honorable gentleman. As for your former position with me, I was very sorry to lose you, because not only did you dress my hair like none other, you made sure I wore the right gown for every occasion...as I must say you have certainly done for yourself today. How nice to see a simple cotton on a hot day like this. So much more suitable than silk,” she said glancing pointedly at her daughter’s elaborate arsenic green gown.
“Thank you, Mrs. Brook.” Wenna stared straight at her former employer.
Her husband moved beside her. His collar looked too tight, and he sweated. “I believe we owe you money.”
Wenna nodded. “You do.” Her lips firmed.
Patricia tittered. She let her mouth curve and said in the most poisonous of voices, “We wouldn’t want to be beholden to you.”
“We’ll call it even.” Wenna’s cheeks froze. “But for you, I wouldn’t be married to Devon now.”
“Oh, I think your own talents—”
“I said no more from you.” Mrs. Brook jerked her daughter backward. “You’ve done yourself enough damage.” The Brooks left a dead silence in their wake.
After staring at Wenna, especially her hat, Miss Zanthe Grace asked, “Were you really a maid? How romantic, except for having to fetch and carry for rude people. Did Devon fall in love with you while you were sweeping the cinders?”
Wenna smiled at the tall, fair-haired, awkward Zanthe. “It’s been many years since I swept cinders. I was a lady’s maid.”
“The Brooks made their fortune out of building. Mr. Brook started out as a tradesman. I expect Patricia forgot that. None of us are anyone, really. Even my father, well, he was knighted for military service. Our money came from farming, but here, only money counts.”
Wenna’s throat thickened. She would earn money, and she would somehow push Devon into earning money himself, instead of wasting all he had on gambling and keeping up with his rich friends. No one had the right to look down on someone who had the wit and the will to work. “Miss Brook is a brat, born and bred. Don’t worry about me. I’m used to her. I expect she wanted Devon for herself, and she is very disappointed.”
“She did,” Miss Grace said in low voice. “And she is—disappointed. Come over and sit with us. You must meet my friend, Charlotte Davies. The gentlemen only play for a short time before they’re wanting a tea break, and we must be sure of having everything ready for them.”
“Do you enjoy cricket, Mrs. Courtney?” Zanthe took long strides beside her.
“Please call me Wenna. And no, I don’t know a thing about cricket.”
“I’ll tell you all about it.”
Unfortunately, Zanthe did.
* * * *
Devon imprisoned Jenny’s hand between his chin and shoulder. He opened his eyes, blinked, and focused not on Jenny, his love, but on Wenna, his wife, who lay on her side facing him. “Good morning.”
She pushed her hair back from her face. “I was wondering what Nell would be like now. She used to be a sweet little poppet, always running after Ivor. I wish she’d been at the cricket yesterday.”
He stretched and eased out of bed.
Wenna rolled onto her back to watch him dress in his running clothes. “I like the Graces.”
“I see you got on well with Daphne.”
“Not so very well. She’s a friend of Patricia Brook.”
“I didn’t see the Brooks.”
“They left before the tea break.”
“Did they speak to you?”
“Briefly. Mr. Brook offered to give me the money they owe me.”
“Oh, good. I’m finally married to a wealthy woman.”
“Unfortunately, you’re married to a maid. Patricia Brook couldn’t wait to tell everyone.”
He shrugged. “No one will care. It’s what you do in this country, not who your parents are.”
She gave him disbelieving smile. “Not so, but money helps. Are you that way every morning?” she asked. He noted the downward direction of her gaze.
He gave her a suggestive glance. She knew he was. “You’ve had me on rations lately.”
“You were starting to be too greedy.”
“Wenna,” he said, trying to sound authoritative when he really wanted to laugh. Wenna was the most complex woman he had ever met. “I can’t make a baby by myself. We had an agreement that you would do your share.”
She gave a flip of her wrist, waving his words away. “Ivor said Nell would call on us. We can’t have callers here. We don’t want people to know how poor we are.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care about that, because I don’t want people to call on us.”
“If Mr. Finn found another office, we could use the shop front as a sitting room.”
“If we used the shop front as a sitting room, I would lose an amount of my income.”
Her eyes widened. “I had no idea you rented the place to Mr. Finn. I assumed you rented from him.”
He ignored the opening, preferring her to think he made his money from laboring, as he had never mentioned his private income. Not yet. She had more than enough preconceptions about the wealthy without him adding the load of a title and the further responsibilities that came with his family name. First, she needed to be comfortable in society. “If I got rid of him, we would have less money.” No amount of enlarging the premises could make his lodgings into a gracious home, and the one thing his wife craved was money. “You wouldn’t want less, now, would you?”
She looked as if she might be preparing to argue, which put a hopeful grin on his face. “Oh, no. I mean to have much more.”
“You will have, in time.” He laughed and made a dive onto the bed, grabbing her and kissing her under her ear. After dreaming of Jenny all night, he wanted Wenna. “Let’s make love.”
“You don’t want to make love.” She pushed at him. “You want to make babies.”
“Not always. Let’s just do this for fun.”
She stared right into his eyes. “I’ll believe you mean that if you...you know.”
He nibbled at the soft white skin of her throat. “I’ll pull out in time. I promise.”
Her fingers slid around the back
of his neck and combed through the hair on his nape. “If you did, you would prove we’re just having fun. I quite enjoy trying to make babies, but I would enjoy the act far more if we were simply pleasuring each other and had no ulterior motive. But men often make your particular promise without intending to keep it.”
“When a man is lying on a bed with a woman, he will promise anything, so you have to trust me.” He slid his hand down to her delightful behind and lifted her onto him.
She nipped her teeth against his ear lobe. “If you betray me once, I’ll never trust you again, you know.”
“Trust me.” The idea of modifying their original bargain and leaving off baby-making for a year or so entered his mind. Her trip back home would be more pleasant without the burden of a pregnancy, aside from the problem of seasickness combining with her condition. Saying so might gain him points, but she would think he wasn’t as enthusiastic about his heir as she might have thought. She would certainly rail against a change of plans, as eager as she was to leave the colony. His lips curled ruefully as he settled her against him.
She ran a hand up his arm. “One good thing about the building you do is that it makes your body so hard.” Her palm pressed against his chest, and she began a slow route down to his abdomen.
His stomach muscles tightened under the pure torment of her teasing. His flesh quivered as her hand moved to his hip and wandered to his thigh. He breathed heavily and concentrated on his toes while he suffered her wrist brushing over the place that had hardened before he’d covered her on the bed. Not for the world would he stop her exploring his body. He’d craved this from the start. A muscle in his leg twitched.
“Am I annoying you?”
“Mmf.”
“Roll onto your back, and I can touch you all over.”
He moved so quickly that the bed shook, and he had the idea that he might be a half-witted idiot. Touching would mean teasing and not relief. He groaned with the first experience of her hand on his scrotum. She cupped and squeezed him gently. When her fingers hesitated, he tried to relax.
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