Ben didn’t want to wait any longer. She tended to him while Devon rose from the tub and dried himself.
Leah was very aware that on the other side of the screen he was naked. His body had felt good against hers last night. Comforting.
Devon dressed with economical movements. He wasn’t given to vanity. He combed his wet hair back with his fingers. “I’ll have Francis pack another hamper with bread, cheese, and ale for the road today. If we push it, we can make London by late afternoon. Can you be ready in half an hour?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He paused long enough to rub Ben’s cheek with his thumb before he opened the door. “I’ll send Bess up to help you. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”
He left. A moment later, there was a knock, and at Leah’s call, Bess entered. With Bess’s help, Leah was dressed in no time. Bess twisted her hair up and pinned it in place. Leah was pleased with how good the style looked. She didn’t have gloves, or jewels, or even a reticule, and she still wore her half boots, more scruffy than Devon’s and worse for wear, but she felt good about herself.
She’d dressed Ben in a soft wool dress donated from the church, and she swaddled his body in a blanket before wrapping him again in the fleece. She was ready to go, her red cape over her shoulders.
Downstairs, the tap room was surprisingly busy. Good-natured conversation filled the air, along with the shouting of orders. Ostlers rubbed elbows with lords, farmers with coachmen. She had assumed the drinkers would still be asleep this early in the morning.
Leah paused in the doorway, a step higher than everyone else, and searched the room for Devon. She didn’t see him…but a curious thing did happen.
The two men conversing closest to her suddenly broke off their conversation. They stepped back, one of them tipping his hat. Then another group noticed her and fell silent, as did another and another and another until the general hubbub died completely and the room was filled with slack-jawed men.
No entrance Leah had ever made during her heyday as a debutante had created this sort of reaction. She shifted uneasily, her baby in her arms.
Then Lord Carruthers, whose bloodshot eyes indicated that he suffered from the disagreeable effects of too much wine, broke the silence. “Damn me, but it is Leah Carrollton.”
She had been discovered.
CHAPTER 11
Leah wanted to retreat back to the safety of the room, but Devon came in the front door at the exact moment her name was repeated by Carruthers’s cronies.
His keen gaze quickly assessed the situation. He pushed his way through the crowd to her side, coming up on the step beside her. “Here, let me take the baby.”
Mutely, Leah handed Ben to him. “Courage,” he said beneath his breath.
She nodded. He took her arm at the elbow and escorted her down into their midst. Her legs wobbled like wire springs, but she held her head high.
The gentlemen took a step back, clearing a path for them. Several doffed their hats as she passed.
She whispered to Devon, “Why must they stare?”
“You don’t know?” he asked, bemused.
Before she could answer, they came abreast of Lord Carruthers. Leah decided that it was now or never. After all, the man had been the first to recognize her. There was no sense in further pretense.
“Lord Carruthers,” she said in formal greeting.
“Miss Carrollton,” he scrambled to acknowledge, as if he’d been shocked that she’d spoken to him.
“No, not Carrollton,” Devon corrected him. “This is my wife, Lady Huxhold.”
If Lord Carruthers had been holding another tankard of ale, he would have dropped it, just as he had the night before. He turned to Lord Weybridge and Lord Scarleton as if to see if they confirmed that his ears didn’t lie. They were as stunned as he was.
“Come, Leah, we must make haste for London,” Devon said.
“Please give my best to your wife,” she said quietly before her husband hurried her toward the door.
Outside, Devon said, “I’ve never seen Carruthers speechless, and now I have witnessed it twice.” He helped Leah into the coach and handed her the baby before climbing in. “Last night he and the others quizzed me about your identity.” He knocked on the wall, a signal for the driver to go.
“Well, the secret is out,” she said ruefully as she settled Ben in her arms.
“It couldn’t be kept forever.”
“No,” she agreed. “It was so strange, though, the way they stared at me even before they realized who I was.”
“You’ve changed, Leah. You don’t resemble the girl you were a year ago.”
His words challenged her. “Changed in what way?” She saw no difference other than the fact that she felt a lifetime older, not much wiser, and far too aware of the world’s machinations and her limited place in it.
“It’s in your face. You’ve lost the girlishness.”
She sighed. “Yes, I’ve lost that freshness.”
“No, you’ve lost the doe-eyed gaze of a debutante. There is a maturity about you now. A serenity even. Seeing you on that step, your child in your arms, reminded every man in that room of an Italian Madonna. I knew you were frightened, but no one else did. If anything, your vulnerability made every man’s heart in that room beat a little faster.”
What about you? Leah wanted to ask. Did your heart beat faster? But she didn’t. She would have posed such a question to the man who had been in bed beside her last night, the man who had cradled her with his body while she nursed their son.
But she sensed Devon was not that man this morning. His earlier reserve had returned. He seemed preoccupied. His hand rested palm down on the seat between them, but he made no move to touch her.
He said, “Carruthers will hit town before nightfall. I’d wager by the morrow, everyone will have learned of our marriage.”
Leah thought of her parents, her brothers. “I wonder if Lord Carruthers is the right person to spread the news.”
“No, you wonder what will happen when Julian learns of our marriage.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “What will happen?”
“That depends on him.”
They made good time, considering the poor condition of the road. The team was fresh, and Devon had given orders for the coachman to push them as hard as he could, changing teams as often as necessary.
The closer they drove to London, the more quiet Devon became. He held Ben most of the way. The growing bond between them helped settle Leah’s anxieties about the future. She’d decided to hold all questions until after Devon saw his grandfather.
Still, she couldn’t help asking, “Has it been a long time since you’ve seen your grandfather?”
“Maybe a year.” A year. Since he’d left London over the duel.
There was an edge to his voice that didn’t invite confidences. She settled back onto the seat, burdened by her own doubts.
Gradually, the scenery became more populated, the road busier. Leah had traveled this road to London several times in her life, but on this trip she noticed things she’d never seen before. Now she identified with the faces along the street as the coach entered the city. She was no longer blind to the poverty or to the number of motherless children running loose on the streets.
As they drove by a woman sitting right on the edge of the road nursing her baby and drinking gin, Leah had to reach for Ben and hold him close.
“Leah, are you feeling ill?” Devon asked. “Your face has gone white.”
“I just saw something that distressed me.”
“What?”
She started to answer, and then paused. Devon wouldn’t understand. No one who hadn’t experienced it could understand the fear and the uncertainty of a woman alone. “It was nothing,” she murmured.
He looked as if he might challenge her, but they were moving into a smarter section of town and toward Montclef, the marquess of Kirkeby’s home in Pall Mall.
Her family claimed that Mon
tclef was one of those treasures the Marshalls had stolen from the Carrolltons. She had never thought to walk through its doors and now, she could someday be its mistress.
The coach rolled to a stop, and Leah caught her breath. The gray stone porticos seemed to reach to the sky. Windows stretched across the house, lit by what seemed to be a thousand candles in the gloom of the overcast day. This wasn’t a house. It was a palace.
Devon spoke. “There’s no black wreath hanging on the door. We’ve made it in time.”
The lacquered door opened. A butler and several footmen came out on the steps.
Devon didn’t wait for the coachman to open the carriage door but did so himself. He jumped down. Leah lifted Ben out of the drawer where he’d been sleeping. She drew a steadying breath. In minutes, she would be meeting her new in-laws.
She wished she could hide in the coach.
“Wills,” Devon said, acknowledging the butler. “How is my grandfather?”
“Holding on, my lord. We are most relieved to see you. You are not a moment too soon.” Wills was of middle age, with a receding hairline. He was dressed in starched black, while the footmen wore the Kirkeby colors of green and gold.
“See that this coach is returned to Lord Ruskin with my apologies,” Devon told him. “I will settle with him later.”
“Very good, my lord. The rest of the family is with the marquess now.”
“Thank you, Wills.” Devon reached to take Leah’s arm and help her from the coach, telling the butler almost as an afterthought, “And prepare rooms for my wife and me. We will be staying indefinitely.”
If Devon had announced that Napoleon was now king of England, Wills and the footmen would not have been more surprised. Wills was the first to shut his gaping mouth. He bowed to Leah, standing on the walk beside the coach. “Welcome to Montclef, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, deciding the less said, the better.
“And we’ll need a crib in the room,” Devon added absently, seemingly unaware of the impact his words were having on the servants. Instead, his focus was on his grandfather. “This way,” he said to Leah, guiding her through the front door.
His steps echoed on the black and white marble tiles of the front hall. A cantilevered staircase of carved walnut swept down into the hall from the floors above.
A footman stepped forward for Devon’s coat and hat and Leah’s cape. She was doubly thankful for the dress. Her presence was having a more dramatic reaction than she had anticipated, and she hadn’t even met Lady Vainhope or her son yet.
They started up the stairs. Portraits of Marshall ancestors frowned down upon them as they made their way. Everything she saw, from the crystal wall sconces, the shining mirrors, to the thick carpet covering the stairs spoke of wealth. Immense wealth.
The hall at the top of the stairs had rooms off to either side and a set of double doors at the end guarded by a footman. Devon started walking determinedly toward those doors. Leah trailed behind. She caught sight of herself in a brass mirror and shifted Ben in her arms to tuck in a stray tendril of hair.
In moments, she would meet her new family. She prayed she didn’t faint dead away.
The footman bowed and opened the doors. On the other side was a small sitting room and another set of double doors. Four people were gathered there, including Rex, Devon’s cousin, and Rex’s mother, Venetia Trelayne, Lady Vainhope. She turned as the door opened. Arrogant, top lofty, disdainful, she prided herself on being one of society’s sticklers.
Leah had always avoided her and even now attempted to hide behind Devon. She made sure that her son’s sleeping head was safely covered. Fortunately, Lady Vainhope had other things on her mind and did not recognize Leah.
Instead, her hazel green eyes, so much like Devon’s own, skewered him. “So, you decided to make an appearance.”
Devon didn’t respond to the chill in her voice. Instead he said easily, “Good afternoon, Aunt Venetia,” as if they had just parted company the day before. He nodded to his cousin. “Rex.”
Rex Trelayne was Venetia’s only son and the current Lord Vainhope. Slimmer than Devon, he had the Marshall good looks, although his mouth had his mother’s tight-lipped set of disapproval.
Devon acknowledged a short man with fuzzy red hair. “I’ve made it, Brewster,” he said to his grandfather’s man of business.
“Thank the Lord,” Mr. Brewster said earnestly. “This is Dr. Partridge.” He waved a gray-haired gentleman forward. “You remember him. He has been the marquess’s physician for years.”
“Decades actually,” Dr. Partridge said easily. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Huxhold, in spite of the circumstances.”
“Thank you for all you have done,” Devon said, holding out his hand.
“I wish I could do more,” Dr. Partridge confided gravely.
“What exactly is wrong with him?” Devon asked.
Dr. Partridge frowned. “I can find nothing medically. I thought perhaps it was advanced age. But at seventy-three he is in excellent physical health.”
“You must suspect something,” Devon said.
Brewster answered. “Dr. Partridge speculates that the marquess is willing himself to die.”
“My grandfather? Giving up?” Devon shook his head. “He vowed to outlive us all.”
“That was until Mrs. Oswald died,” Lady Vainhope said stiffly.
“Mrs. Oswald?” Devon repeated her name as if it were unfamiliar.
“His mistress,” she explained in a telling tone.
“Grandfather?” Devon almost laughed.
“It’s no joke, coz,” Rex said. “Grandfather met her less than a year ago. They became fast friends, and when she passed away unexpectedly three weeks ago, he went into a decline. We thought he’d recover, but he’s only grown worse.”
“It’s ridiculous for Father to be so goose-eyed over a woman at his age,” Lady Vainhope said.
“Men are goose-eyed at every age,” Mr. Brewster answered.
“Yes, Mother, especially when the woman is lovely,” Rex agreed, bowing to Leah and making her presence known to everyone in the room.
The compliment caught her off guard. This didn’t seem the time or place, but that didn’t bother Lord Vainhope. He held out his hand. “I am Dev’s cousin, Rex Trelayne, and you are—?”
“My wife,” Devon answered.
The servants’ earlier reactions were mild compared to Rex’s frozen smile or Lady Vainhope’s almost apoplectic fit. “You must be joking!” she managed to sputter out.
“No,” Devon said, apparently taking pleasure in the concise reply. He turned to Dr. Partridge. “I wish to see my grandfather now.”
“Absolutely not,” Lady Vainhope declared. “Not until you explain yourself.”
“Aunt, I haven’t explained myself for twenty years. I’m not starting now. Be so good as to come with us, Dr. Partridge. Brewster, you wait here, and Rex, mind your mother.”
Lady Vainhope stepped in front of the door. “No, I will not allow it. Not until you tell me who this woman is, her family, her background.”
Devon’s eyes took on an unholy light, and Leah feared the worst. She was right. “My wife is the former Leah Carrollton. You know the Carrolltons, don’t you, Aunt? I believe Leah’s grandmother gave you the cut direct once when you had your first season and you haven’t stopped talking of it.”
“Carrollton?” Lady Vainhope choked on the word.
Devon used his aunt’s moment of shock to open the door. “Come, Leah. You, also, Dr. Partridge.”
Lady Vainhope found her voice as Leah slid through the door followed by the bespectacled physician. “Wait! You can’t take her in there! What was that bundle she carried in her arms?” she asked to the room in general.
Devon shut the door, blocking her protests. They stood in the bedroom. It was curtained dark. Several wall sconces and a coal fire in the hearth provided the only light. The air smelled of medicinals and incense.
The ma
id sitting in a chair by the bed came to her feet and curtsied.
“Did he eat, Elsie?” Dr. Partridge asked.
She picked up a bowl from a tray on the bedside table and lifted the spoon to show that the bowl’s contents were still there. “I couldn’t cajole a spoonful past his lips. Mrs. Oswald could have, but I don’t seem to have the gift.”
Dr. Partridge frowned. In a low voice, he confided to Devon, “He hasn’t eaten well since her death. This is what I mean about willing himself to die.” He raised his voice. “Thank you, Elsie. Take the tray and leave us a moment, please.”
The maid left the room. As the door opened and closed, Leah could still hear Lady Vainhope fussing.
Dr. Partridge crossed to the opposite side of the bed. “Kirkeby, you have visitors.”
The man lying in the middle of the bed did not respond.
Leah had only seen Lord Kirkeby once in her life, but she remembered him as a robust man, almost as tall as Devon, with a headful of silver hair and Lady Vainhope’s pugnacious attitude.
The man in the bed was nothing like that. His skin was now so white that it appeared almost translucent. His eyes were closed; his hands were folded on top of the bedclothes.
Devon had gone very still. Leah touched his arm, conveying her sympathies.
Ben was starting to wake. His head moved against her shoulder, but then he settled back down.
Dr. Partridge raised his voice. “Kirkeby? Your grandson is here. Don’t you wish to see him?”
Lord Kirkeby moved. First, he lifted a finger, and then he frowned before drawing in a harsh breath. He didn’t open his eyes.
Devon approached the bed. “Grandfather, you sent for me. I am here.”
His grandfather responded to his voice. He stiffened and then ever so slowly opened his eyes.
They were the same hazel green as Devon’s. They weren’t even faded by age, but there were tired lines around them and a deep sadness in their depths. He turned toward the sound of Devon’s voice, and then his eyes lit with interest.
A Scandalous Marriage Page 14