by Cari Hislop
Rosamund’s eyes glinted with hatred. “He must have put you on a diet; you look thinner. Did he find his food bill expanding with your hips?”
“Mr Bowen likes my hips.”
Rosamund snorted in contempt. “Married men are known to say anything for the privilege of taking their pleasure before rising. It costs nothing to lie to ‘the little woman’, or in your case ‘the fat woman’. It’s the easiest minute of pleasure they’re bound to find.”
“If Mr Bowen didn’t want a fat wife he wouldn’t have married me.”
“You’ve always been delusional; that’s why Papa left me everything. He knew you’d waste his fortune feeding orphans or stray dogs. Mr Bowen only married you to ruin my plans for Grace. Of course he’s hoping you’ll shrink to a more manageable size; a man wants a wife not a cow.”
“Then why did this evening he demand I eat more at dinner?”
“Doubtless he was being ironic. When you meet his beautiful mistress, Lady Gillingham, you’ll find your husband prefers his women anything, but fat.”
Lily ignored the verbal slap. “I don’t think it’s any of your business what my husband prefers.”
“You were never an amiable girl and now you’ve become an uppity wife; how predictable. Don’t bother inviting us for dinner. Mr Philips can’t stand the sight of you; you remind him of one of those strange beasts from Africa that look like giant pigs. What happened to your hair? You look like an overfed nun.”
“William cut it.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him the next time you see him.”
“It looks awful. Can’t Mr Bowen afford to buy you a cap?”
“He bought me some ivory silk and lace yesterday so I can make some. He’s very thoughtful and kind…” The sound of footfalls on the stairs drew Lily’s eyes up towards her descending husband looking magnificent in his hurried toilette, a lit pipe in the corner of his mouth. “…and beautiful.” Rosamund’s eyes followed glinting with envy.
“Are you referring to my legs Mrs Bowen or were you telling your sister how much I love your hair?”
“You can’t possibly love that impenetrable orange fleece.”
“I like everything about my wife; orange fleece and all.” Lily flushed with pleasure as her heart threatened to burst with gratitude. “Mrs Bowen makes me feel like Zeus. One of these nights I’m going to visit her in the shape of a swan and convince her to fly away with me.” Rosamund’s grimace of disgust deepened as he put an arm around Lily’s waist and pulled her up against him. With those dark eyes glinting unfathomable longing Lily forgot her sister was sneering at her. Lily briefly tasted sweet tobacco and the essence of kindness and then her husband was winking at her.
“You don’t have to put on a lovey-dovey act for me Mr Bowen. You’re the fool who married her; if you wanted a nursery of piglets you’ve chosen the right bride.”
His arm remained around Lily’s waist as he turned to give Rosamund his coldest expression. “If you want me to help you retrieve your snotty brat, keep your vile tongue leashed. Cariadon…I may be gone several days. If you need anything ask William to show you where I keep my money. You won’t run off with another man?”
“No.”
“Good.” He kissed her cheek and then removed his arm and shoved his pipe back into his mouth. “The sooner we leave, the sooner I can return. Don’t worry Cariadon; I’ll be back demanding worshipful kisses before you can think of a single reason to leave me for my rival.”
Rosamund looked at her sister with exaggerated disbelief. “Rival? What rival?”
“None of your business Mrs Philips.” Lily blushed with hope as she imagined her sister ranting on the whole time about how Lily had been in love with him since she was a girl. There was only time to smile as he caressed her cheek with a soft sigh and he was gone. With the front door half closed, she could hear his voice shouting directions at the coachman. Then the carriage doors were closed and the steps folded. Mr Bowen was driving away alone with Rosamund. People were going to talk and not just about Grace.
“Jones, I feel unwell. Will you ask the maid to prepare Mr Bowen’s bed for me? I hope I sleep until Mr Bowen returns…” Her eyes filled with tears. “…if he returns.”
“Master Bowen hasn’t spent thirty-nine years searching for happiness to die on finding it.”
“But what if the carriage turns over? People die in accidents every day.”
“A man in love doesn’t fling himself into the jaws of death unless it’s to protect his beloved; Mr Bowen will return safe and sound.”
“But Mr Bowen doesn’t love me…”
“Madam, a Welshman wouldn’t call an Englishwoman Cariadon unless she was truly beloved. I’ll have the chambermaid warm the bed…”
Lily was left standing at the bottom of the stairs feeling as if she’d been spun in circles. It couldn’t be true, but what if it were? What if the enchanted swan had fallen in love with his fat bride? Her heart swelled with hope and then slowly deflated. For Mr Bowen to fall in love with her would take more than magic; it would take a miracle. But he had admitted he liked everything about her; it would be enough. It was more than she’d dreamed possible. Muttering wishes under her breath for her beloved to return safely she put her hand on the banister, but before her foot could reach the first step she was lost in memories of his kisses, the sound of Mr Bowen’s husky laughter reverberating in her heart making her smile.
Chapter 22
“Must you smoke that foul pipe? You’re stinking up my carriage.”
“I’m so glad you jilted me.” Penryth blew a lungful of smoke towards his sister-in-law. “It saved me the shame and expense of petitioning parliament for a divorce.”
“Is that what you tell yourself when you make love to my fat sister or do you pretend she’s me, my figure bloated by fourteen Bowen brats?”
“You don’t inhabit my thoughts.”
“What was it you said to me in the garden as you fumbled my breasts for the last time? I believe it was, ‘Oh Rosamund…’ You may not remember, but you were breathing heavily. ‘…I can’t wait three months. I think of you all the time. I wake up from dreams of you sick with longing…if you knew how much I love you, you’d marry me tonight…”
“What a coxcomb. No wonder you ran off with a taciturn drunk. Has Philips ever noticed your darling Grace resembles a Grayson or had the drink already made him impotent when he married you? That must have made for a boring honeymoon.”
“Well I didn’t miss your disgusting wet kisses.”
“So, do your children have the same father or do they each have a unique pedigree?”
“They’re all Graysons. Mr Philips didn’t care who fathered them as long as his legal heirs were fit to become dukes. It’s a shame my sons all came out looking like my father. They’re all going to end up fat and bald by the time they’re thirty.”
“Lyndhurst fathered your children?”
“No, idiot, his bastard brother. Thomas knows about Grace, but I could bear to tell him the rest of his offspring came out looking like my sister. He thinks they’re the footman’s.”
“Your sister is a very pretty woman.”
“No one with orange hair is ever thought pretty or handsome. I don’t know how I’m going to find wealthy brides for my sons. I’ll probably have to blackmail some wretch into handing over his daughter.”
“You never know, Carlisle and his infant son might die in an accident and then your unlovely eldest son will be deluged with offers. I understand most women value the possibility of a grand title over mere love or kindness. Why didn’t you set your cap at Lyndhurst? You could have been a Duchess, or didn’t you want to bed the Devil’s Corpse? At least your children could have claimed their name.”
“I tried; the devil wasn’t interested in a permanent relationship. I’d have been the next Duchess of Carlisle if that old lecher hadn’t married his nurse.”
“Such is life. Who’d have guessed I’d outlive my
uncles, older brothers and cousins to become the next Earl of Carmarthen?”
“You’re not the Earl of Carmarthen yet. There’s still time to die and I’d rather my children were bastard Graysons than boring Bowens.”
“And yet you were desperate to marry your favorite child to my brother’s son.”
“A mother has no influence on her child’s heart.”
“If Grace has a heart it’s a crudely stitched patchwork of bank notes over a Lordly coat of arms.”
“Save your abuse for your churlish nephew. If he’d kept his fall buttoned this would never have happened.”
“Yes, it must be William’s fault. It couldn’t be yours for instructing Grace to seduce the boy. He might not know how he came to be on the bed, but I can easily imagine it. The next time Grace elopes with a fiend you can persuade Grayson to pull on his boots and do his duty. Oh good we’re stopping. Stay here.” Penryth opened the door and jumped down before the drenched footman could pull down the steps.
“You can’t tell me what…” He closed the door and sighed with relief to be standing upright and momentarily free of Rosamund. He pulled down his hat and smiled at the thought of returning home to his pleasant companion. She’d run into his arms with adoring eyes and return his wet kisses. Thinking of kissing his wife made his blood race as if he needed a visceral prompting to hurry and complete his obnoxious task.
Five minutes later he was climbing back into the carriage. “Good news if you can call it good; Morley and a pretty young lady of Grace’s description stopped here briefly, but he didn’t like the bed or the menu. We should find them at the next Inn.”
“You’re making the seat wet.”
“Move closer to the window.”
“I’ll catch a chill. If you were a gentleman you’d move to the other bench.”
“If you were a lady you’d appreciate that I didn’t make you wade through the mud to spend your own money paying a drunken Innkeeper to tell you if he’d seen your daughter eloping with a murderer.”
“You’re a man. You’re expected to wade through the mud; what else do you wear boots for?”
“I’m so glad to know my sacrifices aren’t going unnoticed.” Penryth sighed in relief as if he needed one more reason to be grateful he hadn’t married Rosamund.
“Helping your niece isn’t a sacrifice, it’s your duty.”
“My duty Madam is to my wife whom I left at home to aid your foolish brat and if anything happens to her while I’m chasing your silly goose you’ll wish you’d never had children.”
“You’re a beast. I don’t wish to speak with you.”
“Good.” Folding his arms, Penryth bit down on his pipe. The rain knocked incessantly on the windows trying to get in as passing trees creaked in fear of the approaching storm. The temperature was dropping, rain hardening into sleet. The muddy road would start to freeze; the once pliable ruts becoming treacherous to weak wheels and tired horses. He didn’t want to die in a carriage accident with Rosamund. He wanted to hold Lily in his arms and tell her… There was no fanfare no angels proclaiming that a miracle had occurred. A long sigh of resignation emptied his lungs accentuating the sweet ache in his chest; he loved her. She was his Cariadon. The thought of dying before he could tell her made his hand itch for the door handle; jumping out of a moving carriage into the dark wouldn’t be the most intelligent way to ensure life, limb and happiness. They couldn’t be more than twelve miles from London. He’d hire a mount and ride back in the morning after breakfast. She’d throw herself into his arms and smile at him with those enchanted autumn eyes and without a word she’d return his wet kisses with innocent passion. The ache in his chest spread through his limbs like a disease whose only cure was momentarily out of reach. He wouldn’t eat breakfast. He’d leave first light and be home in time to wake his beloved with a kiss.
Chapter 23
The rain had become an icy sleet mixed with snow as Penryth climbed out of the carriage relieved to be alive. Shivering, he pulled his collar up around his neck and turned back to help Rosamund out of the carriage. His outstretched hand was ignored.
“I can’t walk through the mud I didn’t wear my country boots. You’ll have to carry me across the yard.”
Penryth hoped she could see his cold expression in the fractured light cast by the carriage lamps. “I’ll fetch your footman.”
“Don’t be obtuse. He’ll be sopping wet. Do you want me to catch my death?”
“What you catch is of no interest to me. Do you want to save your daughter or play damsel in distress?”
“I hate you.”
“Good. I won’t feel guilty if the footman slips.” He waved over the footman. “Your mistress wishes to be carried to the Inn. Try not to drop her.”
“Curse you Penryth Bowen, you hateful Welsh leek!” The words screeched through the wet air disturbing the tired horses. The carriage lurched forward sending it’s swearing occupant into the arms of her footman whose cold stiff limbs promptly dropped her. Penryth was waiting inside the door when the snarling Rosamund, sporting a deep flounce of mud up to her knees stomped into the Inn. “Go on, laugh. You were hoping he’d drop me weren’t you, you poltroon?”
“I admit it freely. Morley hired a room for himself and his ‘wife’ an hour ago.”
Rosamund’s face paled in fury. “I’m going to kill him!”
“I should extract Grace from Morley on my own. The process is bound to be upsetting for a mother. I’ll hire you a room.”
“I’m not going to sit on my hands while that filthy beast is ruining my darling girl.”
“I think it might be best not to talk so loud.”
“Get out of my way! I’m going to save my daughter.”
“Your daughter may not want saving. You’d best let me handle this; I have no emotional attachment…”
She stomped off towards the Innkeeper. “Which room is the Earl of Morley in?”
“He said he didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I’m sure he did.” Rosamund pulled a ladies’s pistol out of her reticule and pointed it at the Innkeeper. “But I’m in the mood to disturb him to death…” Penryth grabbed the pistol out of her hand and discharged it into the thick black beam above.
“That should let Morley know I’m coming while you wait elsewhere…the lady needs a room; preferably one I can lock her in.”
“I hate you. Give me my pistol. I’m going to brain Morley.”
“You don’t really want to hang for murder after you’ve spent a fortune on face creams and face paint. Go sit by the fire and let me deal with Morley.” He waited as she made a show of walking over to the large fire and holding out her hands. “Stay there and I’ll bring her down.”
It was easier said than done; all he had to do was remove the girl from Morley’s clutches without being murdered for his pains. Morley was known to have shot innocent bystanders just to see if they’d fall to the left or right. If the man had a heart it was carved from ice. The only way to deal with a man like Morley was to stay calm and refuse to be afraid. The man fed on fear like a glutton. Penryth stopped outside a door; he could hear he had the right room. He grimaced at the mental image of Morley taking his pleasure and knocked hard on the door. “Miss Philips? This is your Uncle Penryth. Your mother and I have come to take you home.”