The Earl Claims His Wife

by Cathy Maxwell

  If Gillian was going to leave him, well, so be it. He couldn’t live with this jealousy or he’d become a crazed man. Instead, he needed to focus on Anthony, his son, and that is all he wanted…or so he told himself.

  He kept that lie alive until he reached his front door, his home. Even then he could believe the falsehood, until he discovered Gillian in the nursery feeding Anthony. She was speaking to him with such tenderness, even the sound of her voice was music to Brian’s soul.

  This was the woman he wanted for the mother of his children. Gillian was all that was good, all that was honest. She would not betray him. He should not believe anything Jess spread in malice—

  Gillian looked up at him in greeting and there was such sadness in her eyes—he knew Jess had not been lying.

  And he realized he had a decision he must make. He could confront her, or not. It was his choice. He decided to pretend all was right. He did not want to know the truth. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she echoed and then motioned for him to have a peek at Anthony. The baby had fallen asleep in her arms, his hands clenched into fists.

  “Here, let me help you move him to the bed,” Brian offered.

  “No, not yet. I like holding him.” She smiled shyly as if embarrassed to admit such a thing.

  “Did you have a good day?” Brian asked, hoping there was no edge in his voice.

  “I did. I spent the afternoon with the duchess of Holburn.”

  “Shopping?” He had to ask.

  “Among other things,” she replied easily.

  No knife could twist in the heart as deeply as jealousy. It took all of Brian’s willpower to say, “Well, I hope you had a good afternoon.”

  “I did.”

  He started to leave, thinking a strong drink might be in order right now, but stopped. “I had an interesting afternoon. I met Liverpool for lunch. He wants me to be the ambassador to Holland.”

  “But that isn’t what you wanted,” she replied.

  You are what I wanted, he could have responded but held silent. “It is what I’m being offered. I have the evening to think upon it.”

  “Brian, I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It might not be a bad thing. It will mean leaving England for at least a year, perhaps longer.”

  A frown line formed between her eyes. “What of us?” she asked.

  “What would you like to have happen with us?” he dared to ask.

  “May we go with you?” she said, indicating herself and Anthony.

  The weight on his chest over Jess’s words lifted. If she was with him, she would not be with Ramigio. Jess had it wrong. “Gillian, I would wish nothing more,” he said fervently and was rewarded with her smile.

  “Then I believe I would like to be an ambassador’s wife,” she said. “I’ve longed to travel outside of England. It’ll also be good for Anthony. He’ll grow up without being—” She paused, searching for a word. “Watched.”

  The doubts Brian had been harboring fell away. Gillian was right. Anthony would be safe from his father and any difficulties he might consider presenting in the babe’s future.

  And Gillian would be away from Ramigio. She’d chosen her marriage. It was all Brian could do to not dance around the room. “Liverpool wants us to join him and his wife this evening. You may have questions and he will be able to give us more information.”

  “That would be good,” Gillian said, rising and picking up the silver pap feeder she must have used feeding the baby and a teacup and saucer she’d used for herself. “I would like a nice quiet evening.”

  “I don’t know how quiet it will be,” Brian said. “He has a box at the Covent Garden. He wishes us to join him there—”

  His words were interrupted by Gillian dropping the pap feeder and cup in her hand. The china broke while the silver feeder bounced across the floor.

  Fortunately, the clatter didn’t wake Anthony. Brian immediately set about helping Gillian clean up the mess. “That was clumsy of me,” she murmured, but he noticed she didn’t meet his eye.

  It wasn’t clumsiness that had startled her, but what he’d said.

  Kneeling beside her, he said, “Gillian, look at me.”

  She ignored him for a moment, and then slowly raised her gaze to his.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, willing her to tell him anything Jess had said was true.

  Gillian laughed, the sound forced. “Other than I stumble over my own feet, all is fine,” she answered.

  And he knew she was lying.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gillian usually adored attending the Theatre Royal at Covent Garden. The theater had burned down in 1808 and the rebuilt building had just opened the past September. She’d wanted to see the new interior but had not had the opportunity since returning to London. She had even thought she’d like to see Macbeth, which was on the bill with The Quaker.

  However, she was not anxious to see the play with Andres somewhere in the crowd.

  Nor was she going to tell Brian about Andres. Their existence together as man and wife was too fragile to be disturbed by reopened wounds. That was one of the reasons moving to Holland sounded like a very good idea.

  There, she and Brian would start anew.

  So, she wouldn’t mention Andres’s presence in London and if their paths should cross at the theater, then she’d pretend surprise. It was the best plan.

  The theater was very crowded to overflowing. Coachmen jockeyed for the best position to deliver their passengers. The entrance to the boxes was under the Portico on Bow Street and it was a very busy place indeed.

  Brian appeared devastatingly handsome in black evening dress. Gillian had chosen a green muslin gown trimmed in gold thread for herself with a velvet paisley shawl to match. She could feel eyes turn and stare in admiration as they made their way up the grand staircase to Liverpool’s box. Almost furtively, she slipped her kid-leather-gloved hand in his. His reassuring squeeze was all she could have wished.

  Lady Liverpool was delightfully welcoming. Their box was on the second tier and had an excellent view of the stage. The men quickly went off to speak with their friends and political acquaintances out in the foyer.

  “They must do that,” her ladyship confided, patting a place for Gillian to sit in the light blue upholstered chair beside hers.

  Gillian took the seat and looked around the newly decorated theater, which was teeming with life. The milling crowd was noisy and a bit raucous in the shilling gallery below them. The boxes were just as full and busy as people leaned around the gilt pillars to call a greeting to each other.

  “They’ve done away with the boxes that protrude out from the others,” Gillian observed, taking in the gilt and cream decorated boxes that formed a half circle around the gallery. “I like that. Some seats were difficult to see the stage because of them. And I like cream and gold. Very elegant.”

  “A bit understated for my tastes,” Lady Liverpool answered. “Although I do like the cut glass chandeliers. I hear this exact form has become all the rage in homes across the city since the theater opened. Ah, I see we are about to start,” she observed, as Mr. Kemble, the theater company’s manager and principal, came out onto the stage in the robes of Macbeth. She glanced back at the door and settled into her chair with a sigh of resignation. “Sometimes my husband doesn’t return until well into the play. Such is my life.”

  “He holds a demanding position,” Gillian observed.

  “He does, but he handles it so well, most feel he isn’t working hard. Ah, something must not be right,” she said as Mr. Kemble walked back off the stage.

  A beat later, a gentleman came out and informed the still unsettled crowd there would be a minor delay but to please take their seats since the play would start momentarily. Catcalls from the shilling gallery greeted his announcement and he hurried off the stage lest someone begin throwing orange peels or anything else at hand.

  “I can’t imagine being on the stage,” Gillian said. �
��There is so little respect for the performers.”

  “It seems more so lately, such is modern times,” Lady Liverpool responded. “So, now that we don’t have the men around and a bit of time, tell me about yourself.”

  Shyness rose inside of Gillian. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Talk to me about when you first met Wright. I adore those stories. Funny how all couples meet each other in many of the same ways and yet, no two stories are ever alike.”

  “You are a romantic,” Gillian accused her, laughing.

  “I am. Now speak. Tell me all.”

  “Only if you will tell me yours in return,” Gillian answered.

  “Oh,” Lady Liverpool said, lightly tapping her fan on Gillian’s arm, “mine is very romantic. His father was set against the marriage and Liverpool and I considered eloping.”

  That statement caught Gillian’s attention. “You would have eloped?”

  “For him? Yes. His father objected to the match for reasons I still don’t understand. It no longer matters. Family is family. Pitt and the king both spoke on our behalf and evidentially his father gave his approval. Of course, shortly after that, his father was named earl of Liverpool. I wouldn’t be surprised if that bit of coercion was what changed his mind. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just pleased that everything worked to our advantage.” Lady Liverpool’s expression turned dreamy. “I swear I can never tire of the sight of my husband’s face.”

  “That is the way I feel about Wright,” Gillian said, and it was true.

  “Now your story,” Lady Liverpool ordered.

  Gillian told her about meeting Brian at the ball and how the moment she set eyes on him, the rest of the world had faded away. “I loved him before I knew him.”

  There, she’d finally said the words aloud. She’d laid out her heart in front of a stranger. She was thankful he wasn’t here to overhear them. He would think her truly foolish then.

  It was at that moment that she looked across the theater and realized the Duke of Holburn’s box was in a direct line of sight from the Lord and Lady Liverpool’s. Fiona hadn’t noticed her yet. She was very busy directing the seating arrangements of her large party of guests.

  Richard Lynsted was among their number. His presence surprised Gillian since Richard’s father and uncle had had words with Holburn over Christmas and been asked to leave Huntleigh. Richard had left, too. He usually did as his father instructed. He was a giant of a man who always acted as if he felt a bit awkward. Gillian didn’t know if that was on account of his size or his father’s overbearing manner.

  Whatever the reason, she was surprised to see him—and just as intrigued when, instead of hanging back the way he usually did in a social setting, he grabbed a seat at the front of the box closest to the stage. She’d not known him to be interested in theater.

  In fact, she’d not thought him interested in much of anything other than the accounts and ledgers his father and uncle foisted off on him. He’d been betrothed for what seemed like forever to Miss Abigail Montross, a wealthy banker’s daughter. Gillian had never seen the two of them together. However, if Richard was developing a taste for theater and happier, lighter pursuits, perhaps there was hope that he would escape his father’s strict dictums. He was not unhandsome. More masculine in appearance than given to true male beauty…and the evening clothes became him in spite of his appearing ill at ease—

  And then all thoughts fled her mind.

  She saw Andres. He came to the front of the box and stood there, a dark, dramatic figure searching the crowd in the pit and gallery below him. She was not the only one who noticed him. Women’s fans began fluttering. A whisper seemed to go through the theater and heads turned in his direction.

  She drew back into the shadows of her box, not wanting him to see her. He would form the wrong opinion and assume she was there for an assignation.

  Unfortunately, Lady Liverpool’s eye caught sight of the tall, handsome Spaniard. She gave a soft sound of appreciation. “Who is the gentleman in Holburn’s box?”

  “A friend of his. A Spaniard,” Gillian said, surprised at how easy it was to keep her voice neutral.

  “A Spaniard?” Lady Liverpool laughed and opened her own fan. “And one of Holburn’s friends. He will set hearts afire. I’ve heard many complaints that there is nothing of true interest amongst the men of this year’s Season. I think matters are about to change.”

  Gillian prayed it was so. Andres finding a new love would assuage her guilty conscience. “Few of us are immune to the looks of a Latin man,” she murmured and Lady Liverpool laughed.

  “Truer words have rarely been spoken.”

  Thankfully, there was a clap of stage thunder—the obviously missing ingredient to his earlier entrance—and Mr. Kemble as Macbeth strode out onto a deserted Scottish heath and began the play.

  All eyes turned in his direction and Gillian drew her first full breath since seeing Andres. He hadn’t noticed her and hopefully, now the play had started, he wouldn’t. “Here, let me move to the back so your husband may sit beside you,” Gillian said, starting to rise.

  “Absolutely not,” Lady Liverpool said. “The men may sit in the chairs behind ours. Enjoy yourself up here with me.” Gillian had no choice but to stay where she was, hoping Andres would not notice her.

  A few minutes later, the door at the back of the box opened and closed and Lord Liverpool and Brian joined them.

  Gillian found it hard to concentrate on the play. While the witches on stage brewed their spells, she sensed her own doom. The audience in the shilling gallery knew most of the lines by heart and would shout out comments here and there, some of them witty enough to elicit laughter. The actors played on.

  The play was almost over when Gillian felt the hair at the nape of her neck stir.

  She did not want to, but could not help herself from glancing in the direction of Holburn’s box—and found herself looking straight in the silver gaze of Andres Ramigio.

  “He’s been watching you all evening,” her husband’s voice said by her ear.

  Gillian thought her heart would stop. Brian knew. She turned to her husband, fearing the worst. The features of his face could have been carved from stone. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. “It’s not what you think.”

  Brian rose. “Excuse us,” he said to their hosts and left the box. Gillian followed.

  All was quiet out in the hall. Brian hadn’t waited for her but walked toward the main hall which led to the grand staircase—and the row of boxes on the opposite side of the theater where Andres sat. Gillian charged after him.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, worried.

  He stopped at the head of the wide, curved staircase. The play was over. She could hear cheering and some shouts. Any second, the crowd would come streaming out for an intermission.

  “Not where you think,” Brian answered her.

  “Gillian,” Andres’s voice said. She turned to see that he had come from his box and stood at the opposite end of the hall, not more than twenty feet from her.

  “Go to him,” Brian said.

  “What?” Gillian turned on her husband.

  “Go to him,” he repeated.

  She shook her head. People were starting to come out of the doors from every which way, but must have felt something of the tension in the air. They pulled up short. Heads swiveled back and forth as they took in the sight of Gillian and Brian on one end of the hall and Andres at the other.

  If Brian knew they had an audience, he gave no indication. Instead, he took her by the arms. “I can’t live my life this way. He’s right there, Gillian, waiting for you. Leave. Be with him. I won’t hold you.”

  Gillian’s throat tightened with the horror of what he was saying. He released his hold. A bit of the hardness left his expression.

  “I’m not angry, Gillian. I want you to be happy. I want you to have the man you love. Go to him.”

  He started down the
steps. Andres moved toward her, but Gillian held him back with a shake of her head. She chased after her husband, who had almost reached the ground floor.

  “Wright,” she shouted.

  Brian kept moving, although a good number of people in the foyer looked up at her.

  “You stop right there,” she ordered.

  He didn’t obey.

  In desperation, Gillian shouted at the top of her lungs, wanting him to hear her over the growing noise of the crowd, “You are the man I love, Wright. You are.”

  That caught his attention along with the attention of everyone else in the foyer. Conversation stopped. Gillian had never been so humiliated but then, what else could she do? Her pride meant nothing if he left her.

  And her sacrifice had not been in vain. Brian stopped. He looked up at her. “What did you say?”

  He was going to make her repeat it. Gillian had never felt more vulnerable. And yet this time, the words were easier to say. She leaned over the railing, enunciating each word with honest emotion. “I love you. I have from the first moment we met.”

  “That’s true,” Lady Liverpool’s voice chimed in from the staircase above Gillian. She and her husband had come to stand along the railing overlooking the foyer. “She told me exactly that before the play began.”

  Heads looked to Brian for his response. If he noticed that they had become the center of attention for a good four hundred Londoners, he gave no indication, but climbed three steps toward her.

  “I thought I’d killed that love, Gillian,” he said, “with years of indifference.”

  Tears choked her. Did he believe she would make love to him without loving him? The idea made her angry. “You came close, but you earned it back and now, you are throwing it away. No wait. Go on. Leave. I can’t live like this, Brian. I can’t live with a man who would walk away from me.”

  The crowd murmured its disapproval of him.

  Brian ignored them. He climbed three more steps toward her. “I’m not walking away, Gillian. I want you to be happy. I love you too much to force you to stay if you don’t want to be with me.”