Ruined by Rumor

by Alyssa Everett

  “I know.”

  An awkward silence fell.

  Finally Alex said expressionlessly, “I should have taken better care of you.” He twisted around to face her, and for the first time she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “I certainly shouldn’t have let you go riding last week.”

  She shook her head. “I felt fine until just yesterday morning.”

  He didn’t reply, and as he turned away again, she wondered if he was right and she shouldn’t have gone riding. Had she been careless? Was that what Alex thought? She knew he would deny it if she asked him, but something had definitely changed between them.

  Another silence settled over the room.

  “You need time to recover,” Alex said at last. “So I won’t be coming to your bed any time soon.”

  “Oh.” She stared down stupidly at the coverlet. She’d assumed he wouldn’t, and yet…well, it saddened her even more to hear him say so, and to know she would be spending the nights alone.

  His shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, and he got to his feet. “I’ll see to canceling your birthday party and perhaps putting off our move to London. If you have a list of the invitations you sent out, I’ll have Oliver—”

  “Must we cancel the party?” She looked up at him in appeal. “It’s only a small dinner party, and it’s still eight days off. I ought to be stronger by then, and it would be good to have something to look forward to.”

  Alex’s brows drew together. “You’re sure you’ll be feeling up to it?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Very well, then.” He came over and leaned down to kiss her forehead absently. “If a party will make you happy.”

  She didn’t think anything would really make her happy, not now that she’d lost the baby, and especially not now that the smile Alex had been wearing for almost two weeks had disappeared. But at least the party would give her something else to think about. “Thank you.”

  “Just promise me you won’t try to rush things and do too much too soon.”

  “I promise.” And then, looking up into Alex’s kind, worried face, her heart twisted in her chest, and such a longing came over her for him to stay and talk with her a few more minutes, she had the most unexpected thought. I’m in love with him. The idea seized her so strongly, she almost said it out loud—I love you.

  But it had to be her fragile emotions talking, so she kept the unsettling impulse to herself.

  * * *

  “Wouldn’t you rather sit down?” Alex said. “I’m not sure it’s wise for you to be on your feet so long.”

  It was Roxana’s twenty-fourth birthday, and they were waiting in the columned entrance hall for their dinner guests to arrive. They’d passed a quiet week since the miscarriage—a week in which she’d seemed tired and subdued, and Alex had worried every minute she was overtaxing her strength.

  She sighed and took his arm. “I’m fine, Alex. And do try to relax. It will only be friends and family tonight, so you’ll know everyone.”

  He had never been good with dinner parties, but he hadn’t realized his restlessness was so obvious. “Sorry. It’s just the small talk that bothers me. There are so many silences to fill, and one is so aware of being judged.” He looked down at her. “But then, you’ve never had that problem, have you? You always seem at ease in company. Meanwhile I’m sure to say the wrong thing.”

  “Well, if you do, simply make a joke and laugh it off. Often it puts other people at their ease to discover you’re just as human as they are.”

  “There, that’s precisely what I mean. You can laugh it off, and very charmingly too, whereas I spend the rest of the evening wanting to kick myself.” He shook his head. “The worst moments are those appalling silences that settle like a millstone about one’s neck.”

  She squeezed his arm. “You know, it is a party. It’s not as if you’re required to take responsibility for every lull in the conversation.”

  But now that he’d begun to unburden himself, he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s either ghastly silence, or I’m making an unforgivable blunder. I’ve never told anyone this, but I once asked after the health of a man’s wife, only to learn she’d recently run away with his best friend.”

  “I can see how that might have been awkward.” Roxana was clearly trying to look grave and sympathetic, despite a suspicious twitching of her lips. “But missteps like that happen to everyone. That man had far bigger worries than your question. I daresay he’s long since forgotten it.”

  “I know, but—I just don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to embarrass other people or cause them pain.”

  “I think you cause yourself more pain and embarrassment than you cause anyone else.” Releasing his arm, she faced him with a bolstering smile. “None of our guests is coming here to criticize you. And if you should find yourself trapped in a trying conversation, simply give me a look and I’ll swoop in.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that. It’s your birthday.” Not to mention that it had been mere days since he’d discovered her frightened and deathly pale, Dr. Massey in attendance. He wasn’t some needy child. She shouldn’t have to hold his hand.

  “Alex.” She eyed him sternly. “I’m your wife.”

  * * *

  Roxana was grateful her birthday dinner had arrived. Though she’d recovered quickly from the miscarriage, at least in a physical sense, she was having a harder time accepting that the baby was gone, the child she had imagined looking like Alex, and wanted so much. It was hard, too, to discover that the closeness that had been growing between them had likewise disappeared. Alex was still as obliging as ever, but the smiles and the long conversations had given way to worried glances and reminders she should eat more or do less. They slept apart, and everything they said to each other seemed colored by the loss.

  Her only consolation was that she had not embarrassed herself by blurting out that bit of foolishness about being in love with him. It would have made their dealings even more awkward.

  At least now she had her birthday celebration to provide a much-needed distraction. Her mother was the first guest to arrive. She no sooner breezed in than she enfolded Roxana in a hug. “You’re looking much better,” she said, pressing her cheek to Roxana’s.

  “I’m feeling much better.” Roxana had had a number of visitors in the past week—her mother first, followed by the dowager countess, then Fanny and Mrs. Spotterswood. Even in the best of circumstances, her miscarriage would have been a delicate subject, and since she and Alex hadn’t even told their families about the baby, everyone had simply avoided the subject and assured her how well she looked.

  Her mother set her at arm’s length. “What a lovely gown! Is it new?”

  “Yes, it’s making its debut appearance.” Roxana turned completely about to give her a better look. “And the sapphire necklace is my birthday present from Ayersley.”

  “Ayersley, you’re spoiling her dreadfully. She doesn’t need all these new things,” Lady Langley said, though with more affection than disapproval.

  “But it’s her birthday.”

  “So it is.” She gave Roxana another hug. “Happy birthday, darling!”

  Next came Fanny’s family. They arrived looking windblown and chattering excitedly about the weather, for a storm was brewing outside. Alex’s mother followed, then the Downings from the other side of the village. By the time the Spotterswoods’ carriage reached the door, a lashing rain had begun to fall.

  “I hope this lets up by the end of the evening,” the dowager countess said with a worried glance out the drawing room windows.

  Alex smiled at their guests. “Everyone is welcome to stay the night if it doesn’t.”

  “Oh, I think this will blow over soon,” Mr. Sherbourne said cheerfully. “Did you see the clouds this afternoon? ‘Mackerel sky, mackerel sky, not long wet and not long dry.’”

  They all went in to dinner. It was an informal party, and despite the grandeur of Broadslieve’s dining r
oom with its glittering crystal and silver, they were soon laughing and talking across the table. Even Alex joined in. Roxana watched him speaking to Mr. Sherbourne, his earnest face lit by candlelight. Though he was often uncomfortable in company, he had clearly resolved to rise to the occasion for her sake.

  Her heart felt strangely heavy, seeing the effort he was making. She had never really stopped before to think what Alex’s shyness must be like for him. Might it explain some of the barriers he’d put between them since their wedding, those times when he’d disappeared to his study for long stretches or asked Mr. Dean to join them in the evenings? How trying would it be to pass an evening of polite small talk if every attempt at conversation was an anxious strain?

  And not so long ago, she’d joined with George in laughing at Alex’s shyness. The memory brought a pang of remorse.

  She and Alex would be leaving for London at the end of the week. Perhaps during the journey she could help him practice the art of social conversation. She could pretend to be different personalities—a dour parson, a taciturn sea captain, a flirtatious widow—until he felt more comfortable chatting with almost anyone.

  Satisfied with the plan, she returned her attention to the party.

  As with any country gathering, talk over dinner inevitably turned to farming. “How is that new threshing machine of yours working out?” Mr. Downing asked Alex.

  He was such a little boy when it came to his steam-powered toy. For the first time since Roxana had lost the baby, his face lit up. “The machine is a marvel. It allows three men to do the work of a dozen, and in a fraction of the time.”

  “It takes up most of two floors at one end of the threshing barn,” Roxana said. “The crop goes in at the first floor, and it comes out on the ground floor as grain and straw.”

  “Steam power.” Alex nodded. “It’s the future of agriculture.”

  Captain Sherbourne laughed. “You’d best be careful, talking that way. You’ll have the Luddites after you.”

  “Lord Ayersley recently opened the new pottery works to furnish the workers with other employment,” Mr. Dean said.

  Alex set down his wineglass. “I can’t take all the credit. It was really Roxana’s idea.”

  “Mine?” she said in surprise.

  “Yes, of course. Don’t you remember? When I was having the north field limed, you told me your father used to complain of the clay soil and say if only he’d been raising crockery instead of corn, he would have been sitting on a gold mine.”

  “Did I say that? I’d forgotten. Even so, it was only an idle remark. You had the idea to put it to practical use.”

  “But you were the one who pointed out that the same coal brought in for the threshing machine could fire the kilns.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’d already thought of that yourself, whether I said it first or not.”

  Alex’s mother glanced from Alex to Roxana. “Are they always like this, Mr. Dean?” she asked, sounding amused.

  Mr. Dean smiled his diplomatic smile. “I couldn’t say, ma’am.”

  Just then, the sound of a commotion reached them from the front hall. A moment later a footman slipped in and whispered to the butler, who crossed to Alex and spoke into his ear.

  Alex’s look of polite attention faded and his brows came together in a frown. “He’s here now?” At the butler’s whispered response, he said shortly, “Very well, then. Have him shown to my study.”

  Roxana blinked. Why was Alex so evidently out of humor? She wasn’t the only person at the table who discreetly craned a neck to see who was in the hall.

  “If you’ll all excuse me for a moment…” Alex said, half rising from his chair.

  But in the same instant, a dripping wet yet familiar figure came striding in, a footman making futile objections in his wake. The newcomer was tall, brawny and cradling one arm in the other as if he’d just suffered an injury. Roxana would have recognized his swagger anywhere.

  George.

  * * *

  Major Wyatt’s eyes swept the dining room before he turned to address Alex. “I’m dashed sorry to barge in you like this, old fellow. And with a party going on too. But I was on the road that runs past Broadslieve and my horse stumbled. Stepped in a hole, devil take it. I landed on my bad shoulder, and I’m afraid my mount has come up lame.”

  Alex stood beside his chair at the end of the long dining room table, staring in dislike and disapproval. The Whitehead farm was down that road, where poor Polly Whitehead now nursed a broken heart and a ruined reputation. Thank God the girl’s mother had learned about the dalliance before her worst fears came true, and Polly had at least been spared the disgrace of conceiving a child out of wedlock. “And I’m sure you had a good reason for being there tonight.”

  “Is your shoulder very bad?” Roxana asked Wyatt. “Should we send for Dr. Massey?”

  Turning sleepy eyes on her, he shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Lady Ayersley. It’s really my horse I’m more concerned about.”

  Alex didn’t like the way Wyatt called her Lady Ayersley. God knew it was her title as his wife and he would have been incensed if Wyatt had used any other name, especially in company, but Alex was used to hearing him call her Roxana. It left the unpleasant impression their association had both a public and a private face—a side they openly acknowledged, and a side they’d chosen to keep secret.

  “I’ll have your mount attended to, Major,” Alex said curtly. “For tonight, feel free to borrow a hack from the stables.”

  Roxana’s mouth dropped open. “Surely you don’t mean to send him back out in the storm!”

  Alex flushed. He was letting his dislike for Wyatt overshadow his obligations as host. Wyatt might be uninvited, but he was a neighbor, and his dripping clothes and sodden boots made it clear the storm had not let up.

  Mr. Downing cleared his throat from across the table. “We’d be happy to make room for you in our carriage, Major, if you don’t mind waiting until we leave.”

  “That’s a handsome offer.” Wyatt bowed in his direction. “I’d be much obliged.”

  Alex frowned but looked to his butler. “Jennings, Major Wyatt will be staying after all. See if you can find him some dry clothes.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As Jennings withdrew, Lady Langley looked at Roxana and said in a voice that came out sounding far too anxious, “Isn’t it time we ladies left the gentlemen to their port?”

  Roxana had been staring at Wyatt’s dripping profile, unable to tear her eyes away from his face, but at her mother’s question she seemed to recollect herself. “What an excellent idea.” She smiled around the table at the other ladies. “Shall we?”

  Alex watched in silence as the ladies rose to withdraw. Since the major was by the door, they had to file past him on their way out.

  As Roxana went by, she stole another glance at Wyatt. He winked at her as if they shared some secret understanding.

  Chapter Twenty

  Love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave.

  —The Song of Solomon

  Seated on the drawing room sofa next to Fanny, Roxana was doing her best to give her friend her full attention. Even so, she couldn’t stop wondering how the gentlemen were faring in the dining room. When George had come striding in like the storm-tossed hero of one of Lord Byron’s poems, her reaction had taken her by surprise. Where before her heartbeat had always sped up when she caught sight of him, this time she’d felt little more than curiosity about what had brought him to Broadslieve, rain-soaked and evidently injured. Now it was impossible to relax, knowing George and Alex were both only a few rooms away.

  “He’s come to Sherbourne Park for dinner every Tuesday evening, and Fridays more often than not,” Fanny said.

  Who? Roxana tore her thoughts from the dining room. Oh, yes, Mr. Dean. When she and Alex removed to London, Mr. Dean would be going with them. Poor Fanny had spent most of the evening analyzing his every word and gesture, searching for some sign his
leave-taking needn’t spell the end of their acquaintance.

  Now Fanny sighed. “Even Papa was beginning to think he was serious about me.”

  Roxana gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t give up hope, Fanny. Perhaps he means to ask if he can write you.”

  “Do you think so?” She brightened perceptibly. “He did tell me once that Lord Ayersley promised to send him to Parliament as member for Rowanton when the current member retires. It wasn’t so much the remark as the way he said it. He sounded as if he meant to include me in his future.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging.”

  She sighed again. “On the other hand, he doesn’t seem especially concerned about leaving, while I can scarcely think of anything except that I may never see him again.”

  Roxana patted her knee. “Why don’t you spend the day with me here tomorrow? You can help me decide what to pack for Town, and stay for dinner. That way, if Mr. Dean has anything he wishes to say to you privately—well, you’ll be right under his nose, and I’ll find some excuse to slip out for a few minutes so you two can be alone.”

  Fanny’s eyes shone. “Oh, thank you! Even if nothing comes of it, I should so like to see him again.” After a moment she added, clearly as an afterthought, “And you too, of course, Roxana.”

  She jumped up to go and share the news with her mother.

  Roxana was just about to rise from the sofa herself to join her own mother and Mrs. Downing by the window when George appeared in the doorway, dressed in a suit of black breeches and a plain black coat Jennings had evidently cobbled together for him. His eyes swept the room, and before she could move he started toward her.

  “Are the other gentlemen not with you, Major Wyatt?” the dowager countess asked, looking to the door as he strode past.

  “They’re still in the dining room, I expect, ladies. I came directly from changing out of my wet things.”