by Laura Martin
‘She hasn’t tried to run away again?’ Redmoor asked.
Grimacing as he remembered the ridiculous escape attempt out of the first-floor window, he shook his head. At the very least Lucy seemed content to stay at Sedgewick House until they came to some agreement about the future. He knew in her mind that involved persuading him to move on with his life and allowing her to move on with hers, but that was never going to happen. He took his marriage vows seriously and Lucy was his wife despite everything they’d been through in the past year.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Well, that’s a good start. Perhaps you should do something romantic, spend some time together as a couple.’
‘Redmoor,’ Oliver said firmly, ‘I am not in love with my wife.’
‘Whatever you say, my friend,’ Redmoor said in a tone that clearly stated he didn’t believe Oliver.
‘I want her to turn up to society events, run my households, perhaps one day give me children. That is all.’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ Redmoor said, raising his hands up in mock-defeat.
Oliver nodded, starting to turn away to look across the ballroom.
‘Although...’ Redmoor continued, ‘...not many men would spend a whole year of their lives searching for a woman they didn’t care for.’
‘It was the right thing to do,’ Oliver said stiffly.
He did care about Lucy, of course he did. They were married and that meant he had certain responsibilities, to keep her safe and comfortable, but he didn’t love her. That would be ridiculous. He barely knew the woman. They’d spent a pleasant but brief month together when they’d first married and then nothing more. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, beneficial to both parties, with no expectations of love involved whatsoever.
It was true he had felt peculiarly hurt by her desertion and not just in terms of the loss of his son. He’d wanted Lucy, his wife, back and that feeling hadn’t subsided over the year of his search.
‘Anyway, it hardly matters how I feel about her—she’s barely communicating with me.’
‘Still worried you’re going to stop her from helping the orphans?’
‘Destitute women and children,’ Oliver corrected absently. ‘I don’t know what more I can do on that front,’ he said. ‘I’ve not stopped her from going to that place whenever she wants and I’ve assured her a hundred times I don’t want to take it away from her. I just need a little co-operation from her side.’
‘Give her time,’ Redmoor said sagely, ‘it’s only been a week.’ He leaned in closer, ‘And maybe remind her of the benefits of marriage.’ He winked salaciously, like a streetwalker enticing a client, and then left Oliver to his thoughts.
His feelings about resuming that part of their relationship were mixed, the memories of the nights they’d spent closeted in their bedroom were still fresh despite the time lapse. Lucy had enjoyed his attentions, that much would have been hard for her to hide, even though she’d been embarrassed by her response to him. For his part, he hadn’t expected such a physical connection with his wife. When they’d come together on their wedding night it should have been awkward, two virtual strangers sharing a bedroom, but it had been more than anything Oliver had ever expected. The thought of tumbling into bed with Lucy again did hold a certain appeal, but he wondered if he could ever feel that same connection with his wife after all she’d done to betray his trust.
Glancing over to where Lucy had been, he frowned. He couldn’t see her anywhere. In the coral silk dress she was difficult to miss, but as his eyes scanned the ballroom he knew immediately that she wasn’t there. His heart sinking, he began pushing through the crowds. There was a possibility she had momentarily nipped out to the ladies’ retiring room or perhaps to get some air, but his instinct told him that this wasn’t the case. For some reason or another she’d left, alone and unchaperoned.
Parting the crowds, Oliver made his way swiftly into the hall, stepping out the front door into the cool air of the night and racing down the steps just in time to see a flash of coral silk disappearing in between some of the parked carriages. Part of him hoped she was making her way to his carriage, at least that would be a safe way of abandoning him at the ball where they were meant to make their first debut as a couple.
Quickly he raced after her, aware of the eyes watching him as he weaved through the carriages. For a moment he thought he’d lost her and felt an awful plummeting of his heart, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw that flash of coral silk again.
Emerging from the rows of parked carriages, he saw her walking calmly down the street away from the Hickams’ house. She wasn’t hurrying, just walking with her head down in a purposeful manner.
‘Lucy,’ he called out when he was certain he was close enough if she decided to run.
She stopped, turning with surprise in her eyes.
‘Oliver,’ she said, her voice a little shaky, but her demeanour otherwise not betraying any guilt for leaving the ball without him.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Going home.’
‘Why?’
She sighed. ‘I knew this ball was not a good idea.’
‘What happened?’ he asked, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. Perhaps he was being too hasty in judging her, perhaps something terrible had happened or some nasty debutante had made a heinous comment.
‘Nothing happened,’ she said.
‘You can’t just leave,’ Oliver ground out, feeling his temper flare at the nonchalant way she was behaving. ‘And certainly not without telling me.’
‘I’m leaving,’ she said quietly. ‘There, you’ve been informed.’
‘What is wrong with you?’ Oliver asked, hearing the disbelief in his voice. ‘You’re the one that left, you’re the one that ran away. I’ve done nothing but try to accommodate you this last week and you can’t even treat me with basic respect.’
‘You abducted me off the street, pulled me from my home and have imposed your rule ever since,’ Lucy countered, her voice rising.
‘I will not have this discussion with you in the middle of the street.’
He reached out for her arm, thinking to guide her to their carriage, but she pulled away from him.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said quietly. ‘People are watching. And you can’t walk all the way home on your own.’
‘I don’t care if people are watching,’ Lucy countered.
‘Well, I do. You might have decided to turn your back on this life, but these are my friends, the people I socialise with. Think of someone else but yourself for once and spare me further embarrassment. You’ve caused enough already.’
He saw the defiance flare in her eyes and for a moment he thought she would defy him and stalk off down the street, but as the seconds dragged out he saw her sag a little and nod curtly.
Quickly he escorted her to his carriage, helping her up before she could change her mind.
They sat in silence and that suited Oliver just fine. He was angry, more than angry. She could have run into all sorts of harm wandering off on her own through London at this time of night. It was reckless and stupid, and he couldn’t understand what had been so terrible she would have put herself at risk like that.
Noting her tense posture and her resolute gaze fixed out of the window of the carriage, Oliver settled into his seat. There was no point discussing this tonight; both their tempers were too high. Tomorrow hopefully he could be more rational and perhaps she would deign to explain her behaviour to him.
Chapter Seven
Lucy skulked in her room, glancing at the door every few minutes, trying to decide whether to dash downstairs and find some breakfast. She was famished—the maid who normally brought the morning cup of tea and slices of toast and jam hadn’t materialised this morning and so far she hadn’t plucked up the courage to go downstairs and
face Oliver.
It was courage that she needed. Last night she’d acted badly—appallingly, in fact. She had agreed to attend the ball and then just walked out without giving him the courtesy of letting him know she was leaving. It had been rude, inexcusably so, especially when he had done nothing to deserve such treatment. As always Oliver had been a perfect gentleman and she nothing more than a spoiled child.
Sighing, she reached for the door. It’s better to face your mistakes, she’d always tell the children at the Foundation and now she would have to take her own advice.
The house was surprisingly quiet, with not even the faraway bustle of a maid and no footman standing ready in the hallway. Cautiously she descended the stairs and peeked into the dining room. Breakfast was laid out as usual, with no sign of Oliver. Guiltily she sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenwards and rushed in to fill her grumbling stomach. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to face Oliver yet anyway.
‘The tea will be cold,’ a low voice said from behind her.
She swivelled, regaining her composure enough not to let out a squeal of shock at her husband’s figure in the doorway.
‘I will ring for some more,’ Lucy said, trying to keep her voice even and calm.
‘I’ve given the servants the morning off.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
She swallowed, wondering what he needed the house entirely empty for.
‘But I can fetch you a fresh pot of tea,’ he said.
Blinking in surprise at the offer, Lucy started to refuse, but Oliver was already out of the door and out of sight before she could stop him. After she’d recovered from her shock, she glanced once again at the covered breakfast things, trying to quiet her grumbling tummy, and then with a sigh set off after her husband. She couldn’t allow him to crash around in the kitchen just to make her fresh tea.
‘You really don’t need to,’ Lucy said as she dashed down the stairs to the warm kitchen.
Her ever-efficient husband already had filled the kettle and was in the process of carrying it back to the stove to heat the water.
‘We need to talk,’ Oliver said. ‘And I always find this sort of discussion done best on a full stomach, with a steaming cup of tea in your hands.’ His tone sounded ominous and Lucy felt a bubble of panic at the back of her throat.
Unable to hold his gaze, Lucy glanced around the kitchen, aware she hadn’t been down here in the week she’d been staying at Sedgewick House. She hadn’t met many of the servants, hadn’t tried to integrate herself into the day-to-day life of the household in any way at all.
Expertly Oliver laid out all that would be needed for the tea in a neat line while he waited for the water to heat.
‘You don’t find many gentlemen familiar with their kitchen,’ Lucy said quietly, fascinated by the systematic way he’d set everything out.
‘Seven years in the army,’ Oliver said grimly. ‘It prepares you for all situations. Even the necessity for a gentleman to make his own tea, or—God forbid—cook a simple meal or two.’
‘You can cook?’
Oliver grimaced. ‘Finest goat stew this side of Gibraltar, but perhaps not to your taste.’
She raised her eyebrows in question.
‘I find it is a dish best served to a stomach growling with hunger, so you eat it so quickly you don’t notice the taste.’
Carefully he made the tea before placing two cups on a tray with the steaming teapot and a little jug of milk.
‘Shall we return to the dining room?’ he asked.
Reluctantly Lucy agreed. It was cosy down here in the kitchen and somehow it made the conversation they needed to have seem that little bit less daunting, but she knew it was no place for the master of the house to conduct his business. Especially the business of reprimanding his wife.
‘We need to talk,’ Oliver said only once he had poured out the two cups of tea and waited for Lucy to start on her breakfast.
The toast suddenly seeming dry in her mouth, Lucy swallowed a couple of times, trying to clear the obstruction before realising it was nerves making her feel as if her oesophagus was narrowing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out, needing to get in her apology before he went any further.
In the short time she’d known her husband she hadn’t often seen him surprised. It always appeared as if he were prepared for any eventuality, another by-product of nearly a decade in the army, she supposed.
‘You’re sorry?’ he asked, as if hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.
‘I should have made more of an effort.’
‘What happened at the ball?’ he asked. ‘Did someone say something to you?’
It would have been better if they had.
She shook her head, unable to lie to him. ‘No, everyone was curious but polite. They made vague enquiries about where I’d been this past year, but didn’t ask anything outright.’
‘Then what happened?’
Lucy sighed, it was difficult to explain, but she owed it to him to try. ‘I was standing there in the middle of a gaggle of young women and they were twittering on about the best material for a day dress and how that differed from an evening dress, and all I could think was how little any of it mattered. All that expense, all that opulence, and for what?’ She dared not look at her husband as she carried on with her rant. ‘Just so a group of rich people could impress another group of rich people.’
‘So you just decided to leave?’
‘I felt as though I were suffocating—I had to get out.’
‘Because they were talking about ball gowns?’ Oliver asked, his expression unreadable.
‘I’m sorry I left, especially without telling you. It was not the right thing to do. I didn’t think about how you might worry for my safety. I just needed to get away.’
For over a year she hadn’t had to consider anyone but herself when it came to her immediate needs. It would take a bit of adjustment to factor in another person.
‘You shouldn’t have left,’ Oliver said, ‘not without me. You could have been hurt, walking the streets of London unchaperoned.’
He said it so reasonably that Lucy found the blood flooding to her face, her cheeks burning with the shame of how she’d handled the situation.
‘Why are you being so reasonable?’ she asked.
‘What is the point in reacting in any other way?’
‘Most people can’t help it. Most husbands would shout at me for causing such embarrassment, not sit here and discuss my reasons calmly.’
‘Would you prefer it if I shouted?’
She glanced at him sharply, wondering if he was joking, but there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face. Completely unreadable, that was her husband, especially when it came to emotions.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, ‘I treated you poorly. You deserved more than how I acted at the ball.’
‘At least we are in agreement on that point,’ Oliver said and this time there was just the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. ‘So let’s talk about the future.’
Taking a deep breath, Lucy nodded. ‘I will endeavour to do better,’ she said. Last night as she’d lain awake in bed she’d realised that she was treating Oliver badly. He was her husband, there was nothing to be done about that, and it was looking as though they would spend the rest of their lives entwined in one another’s life. This thought had scared her; over the last year she’d come to appreciate the freedom to make her own decisions, to be in control of her own fate, and now she was back living with someone who had the legal right to every last bit of her. It had petrified her and as such she hadn’t waited to see what sort of a man Oliver was, instead assuming the worst.
She’d been convinced he would take away everything that had come to matter to her—the Foundation, her new friends, the freedom to walk about London a
nd go where she pleased. When she stopped to think about it, it wasn’t true. All he had asked was she once again be his wife, but he’d never said she couldn’t continue with the things she loved at the same time.
‘I’ve been selfish,’ she said quietly, glancing up into his serious face. ‘I was scared you would take everything I’ve built this last year away from me and so I treated you hostilely. It was silly of me and I’m sorry.’
‘It is an adjustment, trying to be a married couple after so long apart. Especially when we barely knew one another in the first place,’ Oliver said.
‘I thought you were asking the world of me, but now I can see your request is reasonable.’
‘So you will begin to act like Lady Sedgewick?’ Oliver asked.
‘I will. I’ll accept visitors for tea, I’ll attend dinner parties and balls, and smile at all the inane chatter.’ She paused, deciding on a meek and mild approach for her next request. ‘But may I continue my work at the Foundation?’
Oliver sighed and for a moment she thought he were going to refuse. With her heart hammering in her chest, she began to voice a protest before he’d even spoken, but he held a hand up to silence her.
‘I’ve never tried to stop you,’ he said. ‘And as long as it pleases you to do so you can continue working at the Foundation.’
Surprising herself as much as him, Lucy leapt from her chair and flung her arms around her husband’s neck. Stiffly he patted her on the back as one might a distant relative. Lucy realised once again they’d barely touched in the past week, certainly nothing more than a gloved hand upon a jacketed sleeve. A far cry from the surprising intimacy of the first month of their marriage.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured as she stepped away, knowing most husbands would not have been anywhere near as understanding or generous and having to reassess her opinion of Oliver in her mind.