by Laura Martin
Chapter Six
Lucy shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling the layers of petticoats clinging to her legs and making her hot despite the cool October air.
‘Try to at least pretend you’re enjoying the evening,’ Oliver said from his position across the carriage.
Lucy felt like screaming. He was so calm, so unfazed by the evening Lucy had been dreading ever since he’d found her again.
Tonight was the night of the Hickams’ ball; the night when Oliver would introduce Lucy to his friends and acquaintances as his wife. All week she’d seen this event as the point of no return; once he’d brought her out in public there was no way he’d ever let her slink off into the night as a free woman.
‘Remember to smile once or twice.’
Suppressing the urge to deepen her frown, Lucy contented herself with looking out the window. They were barely moving, the press of carriages thick as they approached the house, and the temptation to get out and run was strong.
‘It might not be as bad as you’re dreading,’ Oliver said more softly, even giving her a brief but reassuring smile.
His words threw her. It was much easier to build her husband up into a heinous villain, but deep down Lucy knew that wasn’t the truth. Oliver was asking her to do something she didn’t want to, but he wasn’t a monster. He’d kept his side of the bargain and allowed her to continue her work at the Foundation. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to keep her husband happy and play the part of the dutiful wife tonight.
Somehow she couldn’t follow her own advice. Something inside was driving her to keep pushing, keep fighting. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was a certainty that she didn’t want to return to the mundane routine of her old life, but whatever it was kept her from doing what she knew was right; plastering a smile on her face and pretending she was happy to be there.
Letting a deep sigh escape, Lucy looked out of the window. They’d inched forward, but still weren’t at the front of the long line of carriages. This felt so different from her Season as a debutante, before she’d ever met Oliver, when her mother had whisked her around London in the hope she would find a suitable husband to marry. Lucy had hated it, not the balls or the socialising, but the constant pressure from her mother to impress a gentleman with a title and a fortune, when Lucy had been young and shy.
That had been part of the reason she’d accepted Oliver’s proposal so readily. Of course he was titled and rich, which kept her parents happy, but also marriage to him meant she wouldn’t have to endure another Season as a young woman seeking a husband. It wasn’t the main reason, which had been escape from her odious father and unhappy home life, but it had certainly been an added incentive.
Their carriage finally reached the steps in front of the house and a footman opened the door.
‘Come,’ Oliver said as he took her hand to help her from the carriage. He ensured she was steady on her feet before leading her up the steps and into the house.
The press of people was suffocating as they edged through the guests to the ballroom. Lucy had certainly been in more crowded places, but the scent of perfume and the press of layer upon layer of fabric was a different kind of crowded to the jostling mass of people in St Giles.
‘Lord and Lady Sedgewick,’ a footman announced as they entered the ballroom.
Lucy wondered if she imagined the slight pause in conversation that followed their names. No one looked directly at them, but there were a number of sideways glances directed their way. For a moment she wondered what the gossips had said about her absence from society for the year she’d been away. Then, just as her nerves were getting the better of her, she felt Oliver squeeze her hand.
Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she smiled, surprised at how reassuring she found Oliver’s subtle reminder of his presence at her side.
‘Sedgewick, what a surprise,’ a tall, thin man shouted as he made his way through the crush of people. ‘And the elusive Lady Sedgewick.’ The man leaned in closer to Lucy and gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘We all thought he’d made you up.’
‘You’re not meant to actually say that,’ Oliver grumbled.
‘Seeing as Sedgewick has forgotten his manners, I’m Lord Redmoor.’
‘Back away from my wife, Redmoor,’ Oliver growled, but Lucy could see there was affection in his eyes.
‘Calm down,’ the Earl of Redmoor said, placing a kiss on Lucy’s gloved hand and lingering just a little longer than was proper. ‘He’s just worried you’re going to swoon over my superior looks and charming manner. And after all the trouble he’s been to trying to find you.’
‘Sometimes you say far too much,’ Oliver murmured to his friend. Then held up a hand to stop the interruption before correcting himself. ‘Always you say far too much.’
This was a new side she was seeing to her husband, a totally unexpected side. Of course he would have friends. He had a whole life she didn’t know about. When they’d spent the month together in Sussex after their wedding, he’d been mainly preoccupied with getting the estate business tied up before his return to the Peninsula, but that didn’t mean the man was normally a recluse. He might be serious and unsmiling with her, but many men were different when around their peers.
‘True, I suppose—by-product of being an earl,’ Redmoor said, leaning in to Lucy as if taking her into his confidence. ‘No one dare tell us to shut up.’
‘Redmoor, I knew you long before you were an earl and you’ve always contributed more than your fair share to the conversation.’
It was a stark reminder of how little she knew about Oliver. His life before their marriage was not a subject he readily discussed. She knew the very basics: he was the third son, unexpectedly coming into the title after his father and brothers were struck down with the same illness. She assumed he’d been to Eton or Harrow, and then Cambridge or Oxford, just because that was what most wealthy sons of the nobility seemed to do, but she didn’t actually know any of these details.
Likewise, his time in the army had remained a mystery. She’d been much more timid when they’d first married, barely more than a girl and with no experience in talking to someone much more worldly. And now... Well, this past week she’d focused more on how to keep herself distant from her husband than finding out what he was like. It made her feel a little shallow and self-centred.
‘Very true,’ Redmoor conceded. ‘Anyway, you two are the talk of the ballroom. I heard four different conversations about you on my way over here.’
Oliver grimaced.
‘Don’t look like that, old chap. A little gossip can be quite thrilling. And at least now people know you haven’t murdered Lady Sedgewick.’
‘They thought that?’ Lucy asked, her eyes widening.
‘There have been rumours,’ Oliver admitted, his voice tight.
‘Oh, so many rumours.’ Redmoor said, counting off on his fingers, ‘He’d murdered you, you were stark raving mad, you’d run off with a footman, and—my all-time favourite—you were a French spy and had returned to your homeland.’
None of the options cast either of them in a positive light.
‘We’ll be inundated with callers tomorrow,’ Oliver said, glancing at Lucy.
‘Everyone will be eager to know what the elusive Lady Sedgewick has been doing with herself this past year...’ Redmoor paused and for a moment Lucy thought he was going to enquire, but it seemed he thought better of it. ‘Enough,’ he said with a flourish. ‘You should dance with your wife, Sedgewick. Save a dance for me later this evening, eh?’
Lucy inclined her head, watching Lord Redmoor as he darted away through the crowds, head held high as if he were almost untouchable.
‘You are good friends?’ Lucy enquired.
‘We have been since school. Met him at Eton when we were thirteen.’ She’d been right about the school at least. ‘Then university t
ogether, then we both signed up to the army. Of course we were deployed to different areas, but our paths crossed a number of times. It was good to have a friendly face on the Peninsula.’
‘Lord Redmoor was in the army?’ Lucy asked, surprised. A future earl was often expected to stay away from dangerous pursuits for the sake of the line of inheritance.
‘Like me, he was not the firstborn son. His older brother was married with a child on the way when Redmoor took his commission, but unfortunately the child was stillborn and Redmoor’s brother was thrown from a horse a few months later.’
‘It must be hard having your whole future changed—the decisions taken out of your hands,’ Lucy said.
Oliver looked at her sharply, as if wondering if she were talking about herself, and Lucy tried to dispel the notion with an encouraging smile, but when he spoke next the clipped tone had returned and she knew she’d lost the intimacy with which they’d just spoken.
‘Quite, but one must do one’s duty.’
‘Of course,’ she murmured.
‘We should dance.’
It wasn’t quite the romantic proposal at a ball that she had dreamed of as a young girl, but theirs had never been a romantic relationship, so she inclined her head and allowed Oliver to lead her to the dance floor.
As a young girl she’d learnt all the steps to the popular dances, practising with her governess for hours on end. In the year before her marriage to Oliver, she’d been out in society, attending balls in London with all the other eager young debutantes. For a while she’d smiled at the eligible bachelors, made herself available and agreeable to dance with, but if Lucy was honest it wasn’t one of her strengths. Yes, she could execute the steps of a cotillion or quadrille, but she didn’t feel the music as some people seemed to. She would have to count the tempo in her head, meaning she wasn’t one of the debutantes that could talk and laugh merrily with their partner while they danced. And more than one gentleman had hobbled away from a cotillion with her after she’d accidentally stamped on a foot.
Still, now she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. And it wouldn’t matter she couldn’t dance and converse at the same time. There were some advantages to being a married woman at least.
They took their positions for a waltz and Lucy felt Oliver’s firm hand at the small of her back. As they began to move she was surprised to find he was a good dancer. He swept her around the floor with an easy confidence, not allowing her occasional faltering to throw him off rhythm. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Her husband was a physically fit man—she’d seen how well he’d fenced in the strange sparring match with the butler. An unsolicited memory of one of their nights together after their wedding popped into her mind. He’d been talented in the bedroom, too, with an unwavering energy that had kept them tumbling in the sheets hour after hour.
‘You’re blushing,’ Oliver said, his voice matter-of-fact.
‘I haven’t danced for a while,’ Lucy said as he spun her into another twirl. ‘I’m out of practice.’
‘Not much opportunity to dance with the residents of St Giles?’
‘Probably not a useful life skill to focus on.’
He smiled then, just a small twitch of his lips, and Lucy felt herself softening towards him. Underneath his serious façade and his need to act within the laws of propriety at all times, there was more. The way he reassured her before they’d entered the ball, how he’d acted with the young boy Freddy at the Foundation and now this rare flash of humour. She’d been quick to assume there could be nothing but acrimony between them, but perhaps she’d been wrong, perhaps he was a man she could find a deeper connection with. Not love, of course—that was the content of fairy tales and nothing more—but maybe something more than the awkward cohabitation relationship they had at the moment.
‘This is our first dance,’ he said, leaning in a little closer. ‘Can you believe that? Married two years and this is the first time we’ve danced together.’
Lucy thought back, surely it couldn’t be true, but he was right. They had met outside the London Season, his mother scouting for a demure and respectable wife for her son. Lucy had been on the shortlist and their contact before the marriage had been arranged had been limited to two short strolls around the garden of his Sussex estate. He’d obviously found this sufficient to judge Lucy would make him an adequate wife and, for her part, she couldn’t wait to escape her oppressive family home and the grief that still plagued her after her brother’s death. There had been no dancing, no courtship, no romance.
She felt the warmth of his hand through the silk of her dress and cautiously looked up into his eyes. He was gazing down at her, his expression softer than it normally was when she irked him, which was almost constantly, and for a moment she wondered if he felt something more towards her than just duty. It was the way his eyes had darkened, his lips softened. Lucy knew she was probably being fanciful, but for just a second she felt as though she glimpsed a deeper, hidden part of him, a part of him that wasn’t a tight-laced viscount but instead just a man.
‘Thank you for the dance,’ he said, bending over her hand as the music finished.
Lucy found her words were stuck in her throat, her mouth too dry to utter anything more than a squeak, so docilely she allowed him to escort her from the dance floor.
‘Shall we take some air,’ her husband asked, ‘before I throw you to the wolves?’
He motioned over his shoulder to the clusters of middle-aged women and their daughters all straining to get a glimpse of the woman society had been speculating about this past year.
‘What do you think of your first ball as Lady Sedgewick?’ Oliver asked as they strolled along the terrace. It was short; even walking slowly it barely took them thirty seconds to reach the stone balustrade at the end, but with dozens of candles lighting the outside space, it was a pretty place to take some air.
‘It’s not as bad as I feared,’ Lucy said, surprising herself with her honesty.
Up until this point her strategy had been to hold Oliver at a distance, answering any queries about her life, past or present, as generically as possible. She supposed she was afraid of giving him any assistance in achieving his aim: turning her back into a society wife and pulling her away from her important work at the Foundation.
‘We never did any of this, did we?’ He motioned to the ballroom. ‘The balls, the socialising. I just married you and then left you.’
‘We didn’t exactly have the time.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I should have stayed for longer.’
She’d wanted him to. Despite the circumstances of their marriage, despite not knowing him on their wedding day, the optimistic young girl Lucy had been had wanted to be a good wife to her husband. She’d wanted to ride out and visit the far corners of his estate with him, to welcome him home after a long day with a glass of his favourite drink. And for a month she’d been that perfect wife. But then he’d left and she’d found out she was pregnant and all her priorities changed.
‘It was your duty,’ she said, but without any reproach.
‘It was, but still not the ideal way to begin a marriage.’
‘Not much about our marriage has been ideal,’ Lucy agreed.
‘I almost came back to you,’ Oliver said, his voice catching, ‘Just before our boat left Portsmouth I thought about abandoning my men and returning home to you. I often think how things might have been different if I had.’
Strange, Lucy thought. They’d barely known one another. She couldn’t imagine Oliver even considering abandoning his duty for anything as inconsequential as a wife.
‘You’d have been shot for desertion.’
Oliver laughed, ‘Probably.’
The thought was strangely disturbing. Although she was resisting the idea of their lives being intertwined once again, she didn’t like the idea of him not existing, not being out ther
e somewhere.
‘We should go and face the gossips,’ Oliver said, taking her gloved hand and placing it into the crook of his arm. ‘Before you freeze.’
It was cool for an autumn evening, but the sky clear and even a few stars visible in the darkness.
‘Do we have to?’
He paused, turning his face to hers. For a moment she saw a flicker of something in his eyes and found herself moistening her lips in anticipation. Then the moment had passed and she was left wondering exactly what went on behind her husband’s stony visage.
* * *
Oliver surveyed the ballroom, letting his eyes swivel this way and that, but in reality only focusing on where his wife stood in the middle of a gaggle of women.
‘How’s married life?’ Redmoor asked, appearing at his side.
Oliver grimaced. ‘She hates me.’
‘Not true, I’m sure.’
‘She thinks I’m ruining her life.’
‘Strange girl. Most women would jump at a second chance to take up the role of Viscountess.’
‘Lucy isn’t most women.’
‘Does she know how you feel about her?’ Redmoor asked.
‘I don’t feel anything towards her.’
Redmoor laughed, an infuriating laugh that hinted at some deeper understanding.
‘Anger, perhaps, and certainly betrayal.’ Oliver pushed on, ignoring his friend’s unbelieving expression. ‘I find her unbearable to be around sometimes.’
‘That’ll pass.’
‘I’m not sure.’
He had mellowed to his wife over the past week, the burning anger and feelings of betrayal simmering down to a more controllable level. Oliver doubted he would ever forgive Lucy for taking away his opportunity to ever see their son, but at least now it wasn’t the only thing he thought of when he looked at her.