Robert’s gaze snapped to his wife, who was staring down at the floor. “Will you excuse us, Rose?”
“Of course.” His aunt looked worriedly from him to Lucy and backed out of the room. She closed the door, leaving a strained silence behind her.
“Why would we need another bedroom?” Robert said in as level a tone as he could manage.
“It is usual for a husband and wife to have separate chambers, with a dressing room in the middle. In fact, this house was built like that.”
“And my parents chose not to follow such an outmoded and ridiculous fashion.” He pointed at the large four-poster bed. “This bed was good enough for them, and it’s good enough for me.”
She walked away from him, presenting him with her back. “You recently offered me a marriage based on mutual respect and loyalty. I am merely acting on the assumption that your offer still stands.”
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe as his anger and tiredness coalesced into fury. “You wanted that. Not me.”
“You agreed.” She kept walking. “Perhaps we can discuss the matter more fully after the ball.”
Before he could form a coherent reply, she was gone, leaving him furious and afraid and . . .
“Sir Robert?”
“What?”
He swung around to see Silas, his valet, coming through the door that led to the servants’ stairs. He had Robert’s pressed uniform over his arm and had already started to retreat, a startled expression on his face.
“Come in, Silas.” Robert limped back over to the brandy bottle. “Let’s get this damned ball over with.”
Chapter 18
It was all proceeding perfectly. The dinner had been spectacular, the service precise, and the conversation civil. The news that Margaret Greenwell appeared to be recovering had lightened the mood considerably, and a toast for her speedy recovery had been drunk at the table.
As she passed on Robert’s arm into the former medieval hall at the heart of the manor house, Lucy glanced up at the top of the stairs, where Josephine and Rebecca were watching. Rebecca waved at her, and even Josephine managed a smile. After the ball started, the housekeeper would take the girls down to the kitchens to share the servants’ dinner and would send them to bed at the approved hour.
Due to the informal nature of a country ball, Lucy hadn’t insisted on strict precedence as to who escorted whom into the temporary ballroom. Rose went by with Lucy’s father; Penelope was with her husband and was looking very lovely, her nose in the air. Mr. Clapper had Anna at his side, while Dermot and Nicholas Jenkins looked glumly on.
Since their unfortunate encounter earlier, Robert hadn’t directed a single word to Lucy. His arm was rigid under her gloved hand, and his limp more pronounced. She couldn’t speak, either, her throat so tight, she feared a single word might unleash a torrent of weeping. How had things come to this? How on earth could they continue their marriage in a state of war?
He stopped at the far end of the space and bowed to her—all military stiffness, precision, and indifference. “Ma’am, with your permission.”
He looked up at the minstrels’ gallery and gave the signal for the music to begin before turning away from her and making his way toward a group of gentlemen gathered by the roaring fire. They’d decided on a mixture of traditional country-dances and a few formal dances approved by the ton.
“Lady Kurland?”
Lucy turned from staring after Robert to find Andrew Stanford smiling at her.
“I have been ordered by my wife to dance the first measure with you. Not that I needed to be told. It will indeed be my pleasure.”
“Thank you.” Lucy gratefully took the hand he offered her. “Robert—”
“Does not like dancing and never has.” He drew her slowly out onto the floor, his calm demeanor and smiling competence a balm to the confusion of her spirits. “But I seem to recall from our time together in London that you are an excellent dancer.”
The musicians sounded a clashing chord and started the dance proper. Lucy had to think of her steps, which was a blessing, seeing as everything else seemed far too complicated.
“Robert looks well in his uniform,” Andrew remarked.
“Indeed he does.”
“Although he seems rather grim this evening.” He paused as they executed a pass through the center of their foursome. “Is his leg bothering him?”
“I should imagine so. He was standing for a considerable amount of time at the party.”
Lucy wondered if Sophia had confided in her husband about what had happened at the inn, and miserably concluded she probably had.
“He is also rather annoyed at me,” she added.
“Ah.” Andrew changed partners, and it wasn’t until they rejoined each other at the bottom of the set that he was able to speak to her again. “Sophia did mention that you were weathering some marital discord.”
Lucy had to smile. It was very obvious why Andrew had become such an excellent lawyer.
“As our relationship has always been ‘stormy,’ I should imagine we’ll survive,” Lucy said lightly.
“I do hope so.” Andrew hesitated. “You have changed Robert considerably for the better, my lady. I know he would hate to lose you.”
Lucy pressed her lips firmly together and concentrated on the music. If she could get through the evening, and deal with Mr. Clapper on the morrow, she would have time to consider the more worrying question of how to proceed with Robert.
* * *
At ten, a light supper was served in the dining room, and Lucy made sure she was there to supervise. After doing his duty as host, Robert had escaped into the room set up for cardplayers and had barely emerged since then.
“Lady Kurland?”
“Mr. Culpepper. Are you having a nice time?”
“Yes, my lady.” He bowed low, the candlelight making his auburn hair shine like copper. “I have a favor to ask of you.” He tugged nervously at his cravat. “I intend to propose to Miss Dorothea Chingford. I wondered if perhaps after supper you could ask the musicians to pause long enough for me to pop the question?”
“What a delightful idea.” Lucy smiled encouragingly at the obviously anxious young man. “I will go and ask them immediately.”
* * *
Robert shooed the last of the cardplayers into the supper room and crossed back across the empty dance floor. Every step was agony. He was tired of seeing the concern on Patrick’s face. The doctor had even offered him laudanum earlier, a drug he knew perfectly well Robert never touched. He licked his lips, remembering the seductive sweetness, and for the first time regretted his decision never to allow himself to sink back into its alluring oblivion.
Some of the dancers had returned to the main hall, and the musicians were tuning up in the gallery. His wife came back into the room and went up the stairs, then returned shortly afterward to nod at George Culpepper, who looked as if he was about to cast up his accounts on the flagstone floor.
A clash of cymbals made everyone stop talking as Mr. Culpepper stepped into the middle of the space. His hand was linked with Miss Dorothea’s, who looked very pretty in a pale yellow gown that, Robert suspected, had once belonged to Lucy.
Mr. Culpepper cleared his throat. “Miss Dorothea?”
“Yes, Mr. Culpepper?”
He sank down on one knee. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Dorothea gasped and clasped her hands to her bosom. “Oh, yes, please! That would be delightful!”
Everyone around them clapped and cheered as Mr. Culpepper swept his intended into a clumsy embrace. Knowing Dorothea’s reduced circumstances, Robert absently reminded himself to offer her a suitable settlement when the marriage contracts were drawn up.
A flash of crimson alerted Robert to the fact that his wife had disappeared in the direction of the kitchens. Fueled by his own disappointment and growing frustration, he followed her, only to find she had stepped outside into the walled garden and was simply standing ther
e, staring into space.
He reached her and grabbed her elbow, then turned her toward him. “Tell me what is wrong. I don’t care what it is, but tell me.”
Her eyes were full of tears.
“Are you ill?” He gently shook her. “Are you dying?”
“No, of course not. I—”
“Then what in God’s name have I done to turn you so thoroughly against me?” She tried to pull out of his grasp, but this time he would not allow it. “What is it? I refuse to go back inside until you tell me.”
“I just need time to get used to the idea, to accept that—”
“Accept what?”
Her eyes flashed. “Mayhap if you stopped bullying and interrupting me, I might be able to put a sentence together!”
“Lucy, it’s freezing cold out here, my leg is paining me, and you are avoiding telling me the truth. None of these things are likely to make my mood better!” Robert snarled.
She took a deep shuddering breath. “Firstly, you have no right to be angry at me. You are the one creating discord in our marriage!”
“What the devil am I supposed to have done now?”
“Only what most gentlemen do when their wives fail to . . . to accommodate them.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“You have made it very clear that you no longer find me desirable.”
“What?” He blinked at her. “How in God’s name did you conjure up that ridiculous tomfoolery?”
She looked away from him. “You have not sought me out since last summer.”
It was his turn to look heavenward. “You almost died last summer.”
“Hardly that, but—”
“I was there at your bedside.” He gripped her arm more tightly. “You almost died. Do you think I am the kind of man who merrily continues to take his pleasure when his wife’s health and entire existence are in the balance?”
“What are you saying? That you chose to replace me to keep me safe?”
He set his jaw. “I chose to abide by my doctor’s orders and leave you in peace for six months to recover!”
“Dr. Fletcher said that?” For the first time, she searched his face.
“Yes. Are you trying to suggest I have taken a mistress?” He stepped back, dropping his hold on her arm. He half turned away, his heart sore and sick. “Perhaps it is time to go in, after all.”
“I thought I had cause.”
He didn’t turn completely to face her. “By listening to gossip? I thought you knew better than that.”
She poked him in the back, and he spun around to find her glaring at him. “I thought I had proof.”
“Of my philandering ways?” he jeered. “You know damn well that I leave such matters to my cousin, Paul.”
“I saw you with Mrs. Jarvis!”
“Doing what?” He blinked at her. “Fornicating in the public bar at the inn?”
“You came out of the stables together. She was holding your arm, and you were laughing and were covered in straw.”
“That’s it? That’s your evidence?” He was shouting now, and he didn’t care who heard him. “You said we needed a new kitchen cat. Mrs. Jarvis was showing me a litter of kittens. I was going to surprise you with one on Christmas Day!”
“Oh.” Lucy bit her lip.
“Oh? Is that all you have to say?” He shook his head. “Your lack of faith in me beggars belief.” He inclined his head an uncivil inch. “Perhaps your idea of separate beds has some merit, after all. Good night, Lady Kurland.”
He’d gone three full steps before Lucy mastered her trembling and found her voice.
“She said she’d known you in London. She suggested that she’d known you intimately.”
He stopped walking, his whole body tense in the moonlight.
“I thought maybe you had suggested she come to the village.” She shut her eyes and forced herself to continue speaking. “I wondered if you had decided to be practical and were willing to continue our marriage, despite my failures, because you still had some regard for me, and—”
“Lucy . . .” He interrupted her again. “How could you ever think I considered you a failure?”
“Because I have failed to give you an heir, and I never fail at anything I set my mind to.”
His long silence confirmed her worst fears as he turned to look at her.
“Perhaps I value you more highly than you value yourself?” he suggested softly. “Perhaps I would prefer to have you in my life rather than some mythical child?”
Hot tears fell down her face. “But I want that child. Why don’t you?”
“A son who grows up and wants to join the army like his harebrained father?” He shrugged. “A daughter who loses her life while giving birth? Another son who loses his life in a pointless war, as your brother did, as many of my friends did?”
“But the entail, your inheritance, the title . . . ,” Lucy whispered.
“Do you value that more than your own life?” He swung his arm wide. “More than mine? Kurland Hall will still be here when I’m dead regardless of who owns it. One thing war taught me, Lucy, was to live every day as if it were my last.”
She nodded, her throat too crowded with tears to speak.
“I’m not like your father.” He grimaced. “I have no intention of undermining your authority by installing my mistress in the hall or the local inn.”
“I know.” She owed him an explanation, but it was so hard to continue. “I was very reluctant to believe such a thing of you until today, when I received this.”
She’d carried the letter with her all day, too afraid to have it out of her sight. She offered it to Robert, and he hesitated.
“Please read it,” she said.
He took the note and unfolded it, then held it close to his nose to read in the dim light. He slowly looked up. “What the devil . . . ?”
“Mrs. Jarvis said she named her son Bobby after you. He is of the right age for when she claims she first met you, and he has dark hair and blue eyes.” Saying the words out loud made them sound even worse.
“Lucy, I swear on my mother’s grave that he is not my son.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I never bedded Mrs. Jarvis.” He met her gaze head-on. “Would you like my oath on that, as well?”
“She suggested—”
“She is something of an attention seeker and is apt to dramatize the more unsavory aspects of her life. I did meet her in London, but she was far too free with her favors to appeal to me, and I was far too shy and not aristocratic enough to attract her attention.”
“I am so glad about that.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “That I was insufficiently desirable?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin, her whole body trembling. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what in particular? Your belief that I had a mistress or an illegitimate child?”
“All of it.”
He studied her for a long moment, his head to one side, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I cannot accept your apology.”
“Why not?” Her voice broke.
“Because I am guilty of something far worse.” He limped toward her and gently cupped her chin. “Making you cry.”
“That is hardly as important as maligning your very character,” she countered.
“Condemning yourself now?” His voice softened. “I shall have to think of a suitable punishment.” He brushed his mouth against hers. “Something . . .”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back until his arms locked around her, and nothing else mattered except the essence of him, of his taste and smell, and his willingness to understand and forgive....
“Sir Robert?”
Foley’s polite voice floated out over the frosted air. Lucy wrenched her mouth away and buried her face in the lace of Robert’s military coat.
“Your guests are beginning to wonder what has befallen you, sir, and in case you hadn’t noticed, it is snowing.”
>
Lucy looked up at the silent whiteness falling all around her and then back at Robert.
“Then perhaps we should both go inside.” Robert murmured.
Chapter 19
Lucy eased herself out of Robert’s arms and got out of bed. Between their obligations as hosts of the ball and their newly resumed nocturnal activities, they had barely slept at all. She was too restless to stay in bed. The house was quiet around her, blanketed in a thick layer of snow, which deadened all sound and made the familiar landmarks of the home park disappear into unending whiteness.
She dressed quickly, without requiring Betty’s help, in an informal morning gown. She was eager to make sure that the house had been returned to normal, and that Cook was ready to serve everyone a large meal to break their fast. No one would be leaving the hall today.
If all had gone to plan, Mr. Hopewell would have brought the two collies up to the hall for one of the footmen to watch over until she was ready to give them to Robert. She was fairly certain that Foley and her housekeeper, Mrs. Cooper, would not be thrilled by the addition of two dogs in the house, but Robert would soon have them obeying his every order.
She paused on the landing to view the snow through the large window. He really had been remarkably forgiving of her sins.... She truly was blessed. Sometimes he understood her fears better than she did herself. She hadn’t acknowledged her secret belief that he was somehow like her father, after all—that all men at their core were like her father. Like Anna, she obviously bore more scars than she had perhaps realized from the abrupt end of their childhood.
Continuing down the stairs, Lucy reviewed the planned activities for the day. Presents would be exchanged when all the guests and family were up and about, which she reckoned would probably stretch toward midday. If they could drive or were prepared to walk, she expected the rectory party for a late dinner, with party games, and cards afterward.
There was still the matter of Mr. Clapper and his presence in Kurland St. Mary to investigate, but that would probably have to wait until St. Stephen’s Day. He wasn’t likely to be leaving until Robert was satisfied, anyway, and Lucy was fairly certain he was guilty of murder. Picking up her skirts, Lucy set off for the kitchens. She could already smell the greasy scent of cooking goose sliced through with the zest of lemon and orange.
Death Comes to the School Page 24