An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  “I never told you to marry Brumley,” Grif protested. “‘Struth. I didn’t know Brumley was your betrothed. Edmund lied to me, and you never bothered to tell me.”

  Kyra scoffed. “You never asked. Besides, last night you told me that you couldn’t marry me. You said you didn’t want to marry me.”

  “Last night you threatened to seduce me and I...panicked,” Grif insisted. “You were betrothed to someone else.”

  “And now I’m apparently betrothed to you,” Kyra snapped. “How did that happen, I wonder?”

  * * *

  Grif shot her a look that Kyra knew all too well. It was the one he got whenever he was about to yell at her. He surprised her, however, and managed to rein in his temper. “Edmund decided Brumley is not an appropriate suitor for you. He therefore suggested a match between us would be more beneficial for everyone. I agreed.”

  “Beneficial how?” she grumbled. She tried to ignore the seditious corner of her heart that leapt for joy. “Well,” he said, “Edmund realized that marrying you to a man with Brumley’s reputation might not endear him to the ton. And since my uncle is ever hoping to expand his social status, he needed to find you a husband whom the matrons and gossipmongers would not frown upon. Considering our families’ close ties over the years, I seemed a safe choice.

  “Furthermore, Edmund decided that fostering a connection between a Griffin and a Sheffield, two old and respected titles, would help him much more than a connection to Brumley, a rather shady—”

  “No,” Kyra said imperiously, cutting to the quick. “What I meant was how would our marriage benefit you, Grif?”

  “It’s not enough that I’m saving you from a troll?” he asked pointedly.

  Kyra shook her head. “You never do anything without reason, Ethan.”

  Grif shifted his weight uncomfortably, and he appeared to choose his words carefully. “I’m at the age where one needs a wife,” he said simply. “My mother and sisters have been quite adamant about it, and while I hate to admit it, they may be right. I need to settle down, build the estate, consider the future. Continue the family line and whatnot.”

  “And you don’t have to bother wooing me,” she drawled. “How convenient for you.”

  “Kay,” he said, sounding amused, “nothing about you is convenient.”

  She really shouldn’t press him—she’d much rather have Grif and his secrets than Brumley, but his answer left her with an empty feeling. If this was about her money, she wanted the truth. As hard as it would be to hear, she needed to know exactly where she stood in his life. So, in spite of her better judgment, she persisted. “If you’re looking for a spouse to simply produce heirs, why choose me? You could marry any number of Society ladies, many much prettier and most much more amiable.”

  Grif grew silent, his jaw clenching slightly. As the moments stretched on silently, Kyra wondered if he’d answer her or just walk out. He didn’t like his motives to be questioned, especially if she was the one asking the questions.

  When he finally answered, his voice sounded a bit odd. “Because I know you, Kay. And you know me. I’ll never plummet from a pedestal, as you’ll never see fit to put me on one. I know we’ve had our differences, but as you said yourself, we rub along well enough, if we choose to do so.”

  He paused for a moment to consider her. “And because kissing you is rather pleasant.”

  Kyra swallowed hard.

  “Kay, what I’m proposing is an easy, amiable union. I will expect children, at least someday, but until we make that decision I’ll make no undue demands of you or your time. We’ll go our own ways, as Society couples often do.”

  Mistaking her silence for defiance, he gave her a shy smile. “I know I’m not what you had envisioned in a spouse, but I hope you at least consider me a step or two up from a troll.”

  It wasn’t the answer she wanted, yet when he dropped to one knee Kyra couldn’t deny that the temptation was almost irresistible. It was all she could do not to pinch herself. Grif was proposing marriage! Did his reasons for doing so really matter?

  “Kyra,” he said intently. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Her mouth was so dry she feared she might not be able to speak. At last, she managed to clear her throat and say, “Yes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The short time between Grif’s proposal and their wedding passed by Kyra in a blur. The moment she’d said yes, her life had descended into chaos. Grif had given her a chaste kiss on the forehead before he’d proceeded to unceremoniously pack up her things and whisk her off to Griffin House, his family’s country estate.

  Because Sheffield Manor was only a few miles down the road, moving to Grif’s family manse was like moving home for Kyra. She and Maggie and Mrs. Myrtle had ridden in a carriage well into the night, and they were all exhausted by the time they arrived, but Kyra didn’t care. In fact, she was ecstatic.

  Grif’s mother, Lady Eleanor, had beamed at her son’s pronouncement despite the late hour and their unannounced arrival. She greeted Kyra with open arms and a bright smile. Grif disappeared to make all the necessary arrangements to welcome their newest family member, leaving Eleanor and Kyra to chat.

  The two ladies talked for hours—about managing the household, Grif’s siblings, his nieces and nephews, her father, Grif himself. By the time they finally wound down, dawn was fast approaching and Kyra had gratefully collapsed into bed.

  Thomas appeared the next evening just before dinner with a special license. He smiled at Kyra, kissed her cheek and went off to find Grif. Grif’s sister Annabelle arrived for the soup course, and his sister Patricia made it before the dessert dishes were cleared. After lots of hugs and squeals and stories and laughter, the four ladies made plans to go shopping for her wedding gown in the morning. Everything seemed to be going perfectly.

  The only complaint she had, Kyra thought to herself days later as she patiently endured her second fitting at Madame Leon’s excellent and expensive dress shop, was that Grif was nowhere to be found. In fact, he seemed to have disappeared almost entirely. He appeared only for dinner, and then it was to eat and leave. If she happened upon him by accident, as she and Patricia had on their way out for a morning ride, he would practically trip over his own feet to flee the other way.

  And then there was the rather awkward incident in the library when she and Annabelle had gone in to look for a book to settle a disagreement they’d had about the Roman poet Ovid. They’d found Grif sitting alone in a chair, his back to the door, totally engrossed in his work. As a lark, Kyra had covered his eyes with her hands and whispered in his ear, “Guess who?”

  Grif had quite literally jumped out of his seat. Unfortunately, he’d reacted so swiftly that Kyra found herself yanked forward and thrown completely off balance. Grif had spun around in time to save her from falling on her face, thank goodness, but in doing so he’d pulled her tightly against him, her hands trapped against his chest.

  For an odd moment, he’d stared down at her with a look that both unnerved her and excited her. Just as she thought he might kiss her, however, Annabelle cleared her throat. Grif immediately let her go, sketched a rather nice bow and hustled out the door. Annabelle snickered, but Kyra felt like the plague.

  She was getting married tomorrow and her bridegroom didn’t seem to know or care that she was alive. It was embarrassing.

  It didn’t help her pride to hear Annabelle retelling the whole morbid episode to Patricia. When Patricia laughed at Grif’s strange reaction, Kyra lost her patience.

  “I’m certainly glad to know I can provide such grand entertainment for my future sisters,” she drawled. “No doubt accounts of my many fiascos will keep you laughing for the long years to come.”

  Patricia grinned at her, the look so close to Grif’s it made Kyra’s heart speed up. “Kay, my darling, w
e would never laugh at you. We’re laughing at Grif.”

  Kyra shook her head in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe as your brother isn’t the one acting like a complete goose.”

  Annabelle’s dark ringlets shook as she chuckled. “I beg to differ. Grif is most definitely being a goose. It’s so delightful to see the ever-constrained Grif so out of sorts. By you! It is the ultimate retribution!”

  “Well,” Kyra muttered, “whatever it is, it’s beginning to irk.” She glanced down at the luxurious silvery silk that dipped low on her chest. The bodice was so low she feared it might not stay up. “Are you sure this neckline isn’t obscene? I fear having my wedding gown plunge down to my waist in the middle of the ceremony would not be the ideal way to begin married life.”

  Patricia and Annabelle laughed heartily. “On the contrary! I think it might be a good omen.” Patricia snorted.

  “Grif might consider it divine intervention,” Annabelle added, wiping a tear from her cheek. “It might even get him to church on Sunday.”

  “Oh, please,” Kyra said, waving them off. “Stop exaggerating.”

  “You’ll understand once you and Grif—” Patricia stopped and shrugged.

  “Once we what?” Kyra asked.

  “After your wedding night,” Annabelle replied bluntly.

  “Oh,” Kyra said, feeling sheepish.

  Madame Leon entered and shooed the Ashford sisters out so that she could help Kyra out of the dress. The modiste, a lovely Frenchwoman with thick black brows and a generous bosom that she proudly displayed in a garnet-colored gown, had a small smile on her lips.

  “You are nervous for the big day?” she asked knowingly.

  Kyra sighed. “Yes.”

  “It is natural to worry.” Madame Leon nodded. “But you are beautiful. You only need a bit of confiance.”

  “I am confident,” Kyra said weakly.

  The modiste smiled. “I have something that might help.”

  She summoned her assistant and immediately set to explaining the dilemma in a volley of French. The young woman nodded eagerly and scampered off, only to return a few minutes later with an armful of what looked to be silk swatches. As Madame Leon held them up for inspection, Kyra realized with mounting horror that the silk swatches were nightgowns. Or at least parts of nightgowns.

  Madame Leon rummaged through the elegant scraps of material, grabbing several to hold up to Kyra. After assessing each, she either draped it over her arm or tossed it back toward her assistant. Soon a half-dozen of the flimsy gowns hung from the modiste’s arm. Madame Leon handed a butter-colored silk to Kyra with a wink.

  “This one for the wedding night,” she told Kyra in a firm tone.

  Kyra took the material between her forefinger and thumb, as though it might burn her, and shook her head. “I cannot possibly wear this...scrap. And certainly not in front of Grif! He wouldn’t know what to think if I wore something like this.”

  Madame Leon smiled at her. “If your husband sees you in one of these, he’s not able to think at all. This one is perfect—an air of innocence but also very provocative. You will look like a goddess.”

  “I don’t know,” Kyra said, fingering the smooth silk. It did feel rather nice against her skin. “It’s so delicate,” she murmured absently. It was so gauzy, almost transparent, it was scandalous.

  “A new bride must always set the tone for the marriage,” Madame told her. “Act like a goddess, and your husband will worship you.”

  “A goddess,” Kyra repeated uncertainly. Though, in truth, the thought of Grif worshiping her stole her breath. “The butter-colored silk it is.”

  * * *

  Kyra’s wedding day was bittersweet. She felt so fortunate to be surrounded by Grif’s boisterous, loving family. And she was marrying Grif, after all, which filled her with such warmth and happiness that her heart felt near to bursting. But the knowledge that her own family could not share her happiness tugged at her heartstrings and more than a few tears were shed before Uncle Cam came to escort her to the ceremony.

  Cam gave her a warm hug. “Ye look beautiful, Kay.”

  Kyra smiled through her tears. “I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. You have every right to be angry with me.”

  Her uncle waved it off, his eyes twinkling. “Yer hardly difficult. Remember, I grew up with yer ma. She was difficult.”

  “I wish she were here.” Kay sniffed.

  “Me too,” Cam said softly. “She’d be pleased, though. Ye’ve become a lovely young lady.” He smoothed a lock of her hair. “Ye’ve made the right choice, by the by. I was hoping ye’d choose Grif.”

  Kyra looked at her uncle sharply. “Really? I don’t remember him being on your list.”

  “Ach.” Cam snorted. “He didn’t need to be...he was on your list. Besides, I knew he was the one fer ye the moment he dumped that bucket of water over ye as punishment for locking him in the root cellar.”

  “I was six,” Kyra protested.

  “Aye.” Cam chortled. “And jealous. He’d just kissed Miss Jane Lacey, on the cheek, if I remember. Ye were mad as a hornet, hopping around and telling him he couldn’t marry her because he was to marry ye.”

  Kyra laughed at the memory. “I’d forgotten that. We were terrible to each other, weren’t we?”

  “And yet good for each other, I think,” Cam said. “That’s why I told him he had my blessing to keep ye. I knew he’d take care of ye.”

  She kissed her uncle, knowing he truly had her best interests at heart. “How can I ever thank you for all you’ve done for me?”

  “Promise me ye won’t argue with me anymore,” he joked, taking her arm to bring her to the chapel. “And no more French accents.”

  It was a small affair, taking place in the Griffin family chapel in the warm afternoon sun. Simon and his lovely bride, Georgiana, had made it to the estate that very morning. They had brought with them from their travels in India a young boy named Baljit, who had the biggest smile Kyra had ever seen. Thomas stood up for Grif and Annabelle witnessed for Kyra. Grif’s mother, Patricia and her husband, Charles, and Georgiana and Baljit all looked thrilled for the couple. Annabelle’s husband, Graham, and Grif’s other brother, Phillip, were the only family members unable to attend—both were out of the country.

  As Kyra’s guardian and Grif’s uncle, Edmund had been invited, though neither bride nor groom greeted him. He arrived late and yawned throughout the service. As soon as the bishop made the proclamation, “Man and wife,” Edmund rose from his seat and left. Grif and Kyra watched him go, and it felt to Kyra as if the entire group breathed a sigh of relief at his departure.

  Fate was with Kyra and her wedding gown did not plunge from her shoulders. She doubted Grif would have even noticed if it had. He’d watched her keenly as she’d walked down the aisle, but to her disappointment he didn’t return her smile. In fact, he seemed to tense at her grin. When they’d spoken their vows, Grif had looked into her eyes, and she’d grinned shyly at him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do, for instead of putting him at ease, she saw the lines of his face tighten even more.

  Kyra had hoped for one of his slow, lingering kisses after they said their vows. Instead, Grif barely brushed his lips against hers, as though getting too close might give him the pox.

  After that, at the small dinner things got worse. They were toasted with champagne until Kyra’s head swam and they were badgered into feeding each other pieces of wedding cake. Having Grif lick cake off her fingers didn’t seem to help the situation; it left her uncomfortably warm and more than a little breathless. Worse, after that Grif refused to meet her eye.

  Patricia and Annabelle maneuvered Kyra away from the group, which she desperately needed.

  “I hate to admit it, but I love watching him out of sorts.” Annabelle snickered.

 
; Patricia smirked. “How does it feel to know Grif, of all people, is completely gobsmacked by you?”

  “I think you misunderstand. He won’t even look at me,” Kyra protested.

  “Trust us, darling.” Annabelle snorted. “He’s done for.”

  Lady Eleanor joined their tête-à-tête, cutting off any more discussion of the subject. Grif’s mother smiled knowingly at Kyra as she related her rather impromptu plans to leave Griffin House for an extended visit with her grandchildren. A very extended stay in truth—the remainder of June and all of July with Annabelle, followed by the month of August with Patricia. Kyra took one look at the three ladies and their phony innocent expressions and knew they’d been planning this all along.

  It wasn’t long after that the party started breaking up, the guests taking their leave of the bride and groom. Thomas and Charles both kissed her on the cheek. Georgiana gave her a warm hug and stepped aside so her husband bid his goodbye. Simon tweaked an errant curl, made a few teasing comments—just as he had when they were kids—then grabbed her in a tight embrace. By the time Grif pried them apart, Simon and Kyra were laughing and Georgiana was pretending to chastise her husband. Simon responded by planting a sound kiss on his wife’s lips.

  Baljit rolled his eyes and said, “Mister Simon is always kissing Miss Georgiana. It is not very proper.”

  Kyra watched in wonder, thrilled that her childhood friend had found such happiness. A small part of her longed for her husband to kiss her with such abandon.

  And then, somehow, everyone was gone. Except for Kyra and Grif.

  Grif looked at her and tried to grin. He failed miserably. “You’ve had a long day. Are you ready to retire?”

  At her nod, Grif hesitantly took her hand and led her up the staircase to the third floor, where the earl and countess of Griffin had their apartments. Kyra tried, and failed to quell the nervous fluttering in her stomach, telling herself it was just the champagne. Looking at Grif from the corner of her eye, she knew it wasn’t the champagne. It was the thought of spending the night with her new husband.