An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  * * *

  Lady Eleanor cornered her eldest son as he came down the stairs for supper. Kyra was not with him. “Join me for an aperitif,” she said to him, gesturing to the drawing room. While her tone was light, mother and son both knew it was a command.

  Grif nodded and followed her. “Of course.” He poured two healthy glasses of claret and handed one to her. Lady Eleanor bowed her head in thanks, then seated herself regally upon the chaise, her skirts pooling around her. She raised a brow and waited. Grif stifled his sigh. Leave it to his mother to look picture-perfect for an ambush.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked, refusing to give up the first move.

  Lady Eleanor daintily sipped her drink as she eyed her son. “Ethan, you’ve matured into such a clever and stunning young gentleman.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “It’s too bad you’re acting like such an idiot. Cut rope,” his mother demanded. “I want to know what’s wrong.”

  Grif shrugged. “I don’t know what—”

  “Bollocks,” Lady Eleanor said.

  Grif’s mouth nearly dropped open. In all his twenty-seven years he’d never heard his fashionable and most proper mother ever utter a curse. It was rather disconcerting. He was feeling suddenly ill-prepared to deal with this ambush. Best to be forthright, he thought to himself.

  “I think Kay suspects the truth about our finances,” he said as nonchalantly as possible.

  His mother nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me, dear. She’s sharp. Has she confronted you yet?”

  “No,” Grif reported, setting his glass aside.

  “Let me guess,” his mother said dryly. “You’re hoping that your latest investment will come to fruition so you will never have to discuss this with Kay.” At his stony silence, Lady Eleanor sniffed. “This is entirely unacceptable, Ethan. When I returned to your home, you all but begged me to take over the household so that Kyra wouldn’t accidentally stumble across any unpaid bill or notice. Do you know how awkward that was for her? And for me? I find managing another woman’s house tedious. And your wife, gracious creature that she is, let it go without a moment’s hesitation, even though it nearly killed her. She is, after all, rather managing.”

  “Yes,” Grif said.

  “The only reason I agreed to such a harebrained idea,” his mother continued, “was because I was under the distinct impression that you were looking for the right time to tell Kyra the truth.”

  “Yes,” Grif repeated, feeling lower than he had all day.

  “And?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Oh?” Eleanor asked. “And living this lie is better?”

  “I’ve had little choice in the matter, as you well know,” Grif grated between clenched teeth. “Perhaps I am my father’s son after all, despite all efforts to the contrary.”

  “Perhaps you are,” Lady Eleanor snapped. “You’re lying to your wife about money, after all. You have your hopes tied up in a risky business venture. Tell me, dear, have you started gambling, as well?”

  Grif felt as though he’d been slapped. He’d worked so hard to make sure his father’s legacy was not his own. Perhaps he was just repeating history in his own way. The thought made him rather ill.

  Lady Eleanor watched her son’s demeanor darken and decided to take a softer line. “Ethan, I loved your father, even as he squandered our livelihood and security. I loved him even though he robbed my children of their birthright.”

  “Perhaps had you loved him less, you might have stopped him from throwing away our future,” Grif grated bitterly.

  “Perhaps,” Lady Eleanor agreed quietly. “Had I known the extent of the damages, we might have acted sooner and you would not have been indebted to Edmund.”

  His mother stopped talking, the only chink in her composure a slight bowing of her lower lip. The silence stretched as mother and son considered the consequences of their debt to the late earl’s brother.

  “I’m sorry that nothing more could have been done,” she said after a while. “You’ve had an unfair burden, one not of your own doing, and you have borne it gallantly. You’ve kept this family solvent at great cost to yourself.”

  Grif sipped his claret, refusing to give voice to his traitorous thoughts. For him, it wasn’t about the money. It was the loss of less tangible things he’d had to give up that he felt most acutely. His independence and self-respect, for starters. He’d agreed to be Edmund’s lapdog in order to keep his family solvent. And Edmund had quite relished keeping him on a short leash.

  And then, of course, there had been his marriageability. From the first, he’d patently refused to use a rich wife to put himself in the black. The thought of marrying a woman for lucre had turned his stomach—he couldn’t do it. Not that he’d ever really minded being ineligible, at least in his mind, because he hadn’t really wanted to court a bunch of simpering debutantes.

  His father knew he’d never agree to marry for money, so he’d tried to take care of it behind Grif’s back. Grif would never forget the night he’d learned he’d been bought by a wealthy bride. His father had dragged him into the study and simply informed him that an arrangement had been made with the Deverills. He and Kyra were to be married.

  Grif had panicked. The thought of marrying Kay, without her knowledge or consent, cut him to the quick. It wasn’t right for either of them to be forced into marriage because his fortune had been gambled away. He didn’t have much, thanks to his patriarch, but he did have his pride.

  Still, if Kay was happy to have him, he decided he might learn to accept the marriage.

  So, the next night, he’d watched her surreptitiously during dinner. Kay seemed unaware of what was brewing—she teased and ignored him as usual. Frustrated, he’d turned to Dev, who gave him a knowing glance and shook his head. That was all Grif needed. Kay had no idea that she’d been saddled with him. A moment later, when it was clear that the announcement was imminent, he did the only thing he could think to do—the marquess and his own father lifted their glasses in a toast...and Grif jumped to his feet and told the entire table he intended to enlist. Grif scowled at the memory of that night. Had his father left the estate with even the tiniest fraction of funds intact, Grif could have proposed honorably to Kay. And he would have, he realized with a bone-deep conviction. He would have offered for her. But he’d wanted it to be their choice...not something they were expected to do. He wanted to Kay to choose him, rather than save him.

  Giving her up, even then, had torn at the recesses of his heart. As if reading his thoughts, his mother’s voice brought him from his reverie. “You have given up so much, Ethan, to keep this family together. I would hate to see you lose the one thing in the world that gives you joy simply because you’re too proud to admit that your father was a wastrel.”

  Grif shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Mother. Kay is too proud. If I tell her the truth now, she’ll never believe I didn’t marry her for her inheritance.”

  “Do you love her?” his mother interrupted.

  “I—” He stopped himself. It was too hard to say out loud. “My feelings are irrelevant.”

  Grif calmly took a sip of wine. His mother couldn’t possibly understand what a suspicious little baggage his wife was. She had said it herself: Never betray kith and kin. The only way to convince his wife he hadn’t lied was to lie about the lie. He’d already dug the hole; he might as well bury himself in it. The only way out, as far as he could see, was to dig a little faster.

  They sat in silence, contemplating each other.

  “Do you know the funny thing about love, my dear,” his mother said after a while, “is that it doesn’t simply end when one of you makes a mistake.” She looked her son squarely in the eye. “Kyra loves you. If you explain things, she’ll forgive you.”
>
  Grif snorted. “What makes you think Kay loves me?”

  It was Lady Eleanor’s turn to snort. “The girl has mooned after you since she was two, you great oaf. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

  “Oh, please,” he said, shaking his head. “Lust does not necessitate love.”

  “No,” his mother agreed, looking at him pointedly. “But the look on her face after you emerged from the gardens was certainly not lust. And from the look on your face—”

  Grif winced and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I prefer not to talk about my marital duties with my mother, thank you.”

  “Let’s talk logistics, then,” said Lady Eleanor, more determined than before. “What do you plan on doing about your wife?”

  Grif shrugged. “My investments should come to fruition any day now. Once they do, I’ll refill the family coffers and no one need be any wiser. That will prove Kay’s suspicions wrong. Then you can turn the household back over to my wife, I’ll continue courting her until I am assured of her heart and we can all live happily ever after.”

  Lady Eleanor pursed her lips. “I cannot agree to this, Ethan.”

  “I don’t like it either.” Grif sighed. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

  The scrape of a footstep outside the drawing room door brought him to his feet. Grif knew it was his wife even before he opened the door to smile down at her. Over the last few months he had become so hyper-aware of her, he seemed to sense her before she entered a room, like a bloodhound scenting a fox. Whether it was the light sound of her gait, the subtle scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body—he just knew. It was odd, he thought, to be so attuned to someone.

  Kyra smiled back at him, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good evening, Lady Eleanor. Grif.”

  “‘Allo, Kay,” he said, taking her arm. “Join us for a glass of wine?”

  Kyra nodded, inclining her head to her mother-in-law. Lady Eleanor nodded back. “Grif and I were just talking about you, my dear,” Lady Eleanor declared once Kyra had settled herself on the settee beside her husband.

  Grif shot his mother a black look. Lady Eleanor ignored him and plunged ahead. “It is too much work for an old woman like me to try to run a household,” she stated imperiously. “I find it too exhausting for my frail constitution.”

  Kyra shot her mother-in-law a cheeky grin. “I don’t know which amuses me more, Lady Eleanor. That you would call yourself old or that you claim to be frail. I should only hope to be thus afflicted upon reaching my advanced years.”

  Lady Eleanor chuckled. “I do so adore you, my dear. You have a way of taking the wind out of the most pompous sails. But, ‘struth, I no longer want the job. I’ve decided I should like to be one of those society matrons who divides her time between grandbabies and galas. In other words, my dears, I’m much too busy to burden myself with the herculean task of running a household. Besides, I think we can all agree that it’s high time the mistress of the house take the reins. Don’t you agree, Ethan?”

  “Of course,” Grif said through clenched teeth.

  Kyra looked from her husband to her mother-in-law, clearly aware of the odd undercurrents. Her social mask never wavered, however, and she graciously inclined her head. “Naturally I am honored to do so.”

  Before Grif could say anything, his mother jumped in. “Wonderful. Let’s say we’ll make the transition as soon as the Little Season starts in earnest. I’ll make sure everything is right and tight at Griffin House, and once we get to London, we’ll make such an easy transition.”

  “As you wish,” Kyra said coolly.

  “That is, unless Grif objects,” Lady Eleanor stated coyly, giving her eldest son a smile that said fall in or else.

  Grif raised his glass, relieved to hear the rest of his family coming down the stairs. “Not at all. I’m completely agreeable in this matter. Shall we go in to dinner?”

  “Kyra, would you check with Brinkley to see if there is any more lemonade?” Lady Eleanor asked kindly. “I feel a headache coming on, I’m afraid, and I simply can’t abide the thought of another glass of wine.”

  “Of course,” Kyra said, strolling to the door.

  As soon as his wife had left, Grif rounded on his mother. “What the hell did you just do?” he demanded.

  Lady Eleanor chuckled, setting down her glass. “Now, darling, don’t be pettish. I’ve forced your hand a bit. Once Kyra has taken over the household, there will be no more of this ridiculous nonsense. You’ll quite simply have to tell her the truth.”

  Grif tamped down the fury that was rising in his chest. He’d worked so hard, so long, to keep the truth from anyone. Another few weeks and this whole unpleasantness might have taken care of itself. He needn’t tell Kyra anything. At least not until he was ready. He was so close... And now, after everything, his mother had decided to throw him to the wolves.

  “Why did you do this?”

  “Because this is beneath you, Ethan.” She sniffed imperiously. “You are making that lovely young lady miserable. You are miserable. And I fear what will happen to both of you if this continues.”

  Grif shook his head at her. “You’re being overly dramatic, Mother.”

  “Perhaps,” his mother agreed softly. “But there is nothing more tragic than watching something beautiful and promising wither and die before it’s even had a chance to blossom.”

  “I’ll tell Kay,” he stated. “But in my own time.”

  “Clearly I need to be more direct with you,” she said plainly. “The longer you hold back the truth, Ethan, the worse this will be for both of you. Love doesn’t end because of a mistake, but it can be killed by doubt. It’s like a poison that seeps in and slowly, methodically, kills the heart.” Lady Eleanor shook her head. “Kyra doubts you. I see the start of it in her eyes. She’s already starting to resent you. How soon until resentment turns to hate? Or apathy? Is your pride worth more to you than your wife’s affection?”

  Grif mulled this over for a moment. Perhaps his mother was right. The thought of Kay hating him, worse, of not caring at all, made his chest ache. He had to do something before she gave up on him. But telling her that he was broke might expedite her hatred. And telling her he loved her seemed futile if he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Somehow he needed to make sure she understood the sincerity of his emotion.

  At his mother’s look, he rose and offered her his arm. When she raised an imperious eyebrow—they must teach that to all women, it seemed—he shrugged. “I will tell her.” When the eyebrow rose a fraction higher, Grif sighed. “Soon. I promise.”

  As they walked to dinner, Grif recalculated his timeline, courtesy of his mother. If he took another job for his uncle, one final job, he might ensure that Kay had no inkling of the debt he’d been paying for the last decade. He could buy her a proper ring. He could lavish her with gowns and tell her to choose whatever damn wallpaper she wanted for the drawing room. He could make sure she had no reason to doubt his intentions.

  One more job should buy him enough time until his ventures paid off. Then he could tell Edmund to shove off and Kyra would have no reason to suspect anything. She’d never have to know.

  One more job and his life could go on as it was meant to be.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Season kicked off with few surprises. All eyes were on the newly married earl and countess of Griffin, assessing their every move, their every word. Matrons gossiped about the match. Debutantes bemoaned the loss of another eligible bachelor. Married men suddenly developed a new interest in the delectable young countess. It was all quite predictable.

  Because of the unusually quiet courtship, the hot debate, of course, was the young couple’s motive. Was it a love match? Most believed so. After all, the two had grown up together, and their mothers had been bosom friend
s. One—small—camp stubbornly held on to the conviction that the union was a convenience on Edmund’s part; after all, Lady Kyra had a bit of reputation as a shrew, at least with overeager suitors. And Griffin had become almost ineligible as a bachelor—he rarely made any appearances in the ton, and when he did, he seemed to enjoy thumbing his nose at Society and its dictates. It seemed plausible that Edmund jumped at the opportunity to off two pigeons with one stone.

  The debate was ended when the dowager duchess of Beauford, a good friend of Lady Eleanor, announced at Mitzy Fitzroy’s latest disastrous dinner party that she spied Lord Griffin stealing a rather heated kiss from his young wife on a recent outing in Hyde Park. The rumors were laid to rest. The ton agreed: Lady Kyra and Griffin had made a love match. No gentleman would be caught making a cake of himself in public, over his wife no less, unless he was unlucky enough to be in love with her.

  Once that had been settled, attention returned to other, more important, subjects. Why was Lord Godfrey suddenly sporting pastel waistcoats at his age and girth, and who would Guinevere Applewhite have an affaire with this Season?

  Kyra for one was glad that the scrutiny had eased. Sitting in the ladies’ salon at Montrose House, taking a break from Tricia and Charles’s ball, the veritable crush for the Little Season, she forced herself to admit the truth. This Season was taking a toll on her. She felt tired and cranky most of the time, which was unlike her. Not that she particularly enjoyed the soirees and visits and balls that the Season required, but she had never dreaded going to such events in the past. Lately, however, she found them hot and noisy and overcrowded.

  Why, just last week at Lord and Lady Hatley’s ball, one of the early highlights of the Season, she was halfway through her first dance of the evening when suddenly she felt as though she might cast up the delicious pheasant she had dined on hours earlier. She spent quite a lot of her evening in the powder room on a chaise, hoping to keep her stomach in its place. Grif, of course, dragged her out as soon as politely possible.