An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  Kyra unconsciously rubbed her stomach. If Grif had known she was carrying his babe, would he have stopped sooner? Or would he have been utterly unstoppable in his anger? Grif too often did not give a care for himself. The fact that he was off tomorrow for parts unknown was clear evidence of that fact.

  She understood from the ledger, and from browbeating Thomas and the servants, that Grif sometimes did jobs for Edmund. It clearly was how he managed to keep the family solvent. The fact that Annabelle and Patricia seemed to be entirely in the dark likely meant that these jobs were illicit, if not downright dangerous. At the very least they were shady. Being Grif, of course, he’d decided that he must put family and duty before personal safety.

  Would a child change that for him?

  She’d been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to tell him her news. She had wanted to, mostly, but she just hadn’t found the right time. He hadn’t let her leave her chambers for the first two days after the attack. Then there had been numerous doctor visits. Then numerous Lady Eleanor visits. Then numerous Patricia and Annabelle visits. Then more doctor visits. She hadn’t been alone with Grif this week except at night. Even then, he came to bed long after she’d turned in and was gone long before she rose. Somehow, the time in between his coming and going was too busy to really discuss something so important.

  She needed to tell him. He was leaving tomorrow and she didn’t know when he’d return. The thought made her weepy. Dammit, she hated being weepy all the time. Her sisters-in-law assured her that it was normal for a woman in her condition, but that was thin consolation.

  Kyra busied herself tying her hair into a loose chignon. She needed to tell him. It felt like everybody except Grif knew. She had extracted promises from both of his sisters not to say a word until she told him herself. Lady Eleanor clearly suspected something but was too refined to say anything; Kay could see it in her eyes. Even Maggie and Mrs. Myrtle had figured it out. Of course, the fact that she was blubbering lakes all over the place one minute and grousing the next probably gave her away.

  She needed to tell him. Kyra rose, her mind made up. He had a right to know. No, he needed to know. It might make him pause before he hurled himself into...whatever it was he hurled himself into. And if it meant that her husband never touched her again, well, that was just a chance she would have to take.

  * * *

  Grif rubbed his eyes, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Thomas sat across the desk from him, scowling. This was, he mused sardonically, going marginally better than he had expected.

  “I will pay you double,” Grif finally said wearily.

  Thomas slammed his fist on the oak desktop. “I don’t give a bloody damn about the money, and you know that!” He jumped to his feet, pacing furiously. “You are truly addled if you think this is about the money!”

  “I know it’s not the money.” Grif sighed. And yet everything in his world was about money.

  “You expect me to just sit idly by while you ride off alone?” Thomas stopped pacing and gestured wildly at his friend. “You expect me to sit tight at some musicale, at the theater, knowing you are risking your neck? Shall I dance at the ball too?”

  “I need you to stay here.” Grif put his feet up on his desk with a clomp. “Whether you dance or not, Cinderella, is entirely up to you.”

  Thomas leaned in over the desk, his blue eyes narrowed. “This is not the time to be amusing, Grif.”

  Grif glared back at his friend. “I promise, I am not amused.”

  Thomas shook his head and resumed pacing. “I won’t do it,” he muttered. “I refuse. I simply refuse.”

  Grif sighed. “I need you here, Thomas. I need to know she’s safe.”

  “I will not follow your little hellcat of a wife around the Season,” Thomas said through clenched teeth. “You are asking me to be a...a...ciscebo! To your wife!”

  “You saw what Brumley did to her,” Grif argued. “And you know as well as I what Edmund is capable of.”

  “Brumley is in jail, Grif,” Thomas snapped. “If you want someone to play nursemaid to Kyra, hire someone!”

  “You’re the only one I would trust her to,” Grif said quietly, taking his friend’s measure. He knew he was close to winning when Thomas’s shoulders drooped. Being Grif, he capitalized on it. “Please, Thomas. I love her.”

  Thomas glowered at him, but flopped into his seat with a huge sigh. “Gads, I hope I never become such a cake for a woman.”

  Grif smirked. “It has its benefits.”

  Thomas only grunted.

  “I hope to return within the month,” Grif told him, striving to fill the lengthy silence. “You know how to contact me if anything goes wrong here.” Thomas merely nodded. Grif swallowed his pride. “I’d also ask that you don’t tell Kay anything about...well, anything.”

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “So I’m to traipse sullenly after your wife, and I’m to keep her in the dark on any important truths. Hell, Grif, why not have me perform your connubial duties for you, as well? You wouldn’t have to return at all.”

  It was Grif’s turn to roll his eyes. “Are you quite finished?”

  “For now,” Thomas said haughtily. A knock on the door interrupted whatever he was about to say. Grif gratefully shouted, “In!”

  Kyra bustled in, her demeanor all business. Grif’s heart sank. This probably wasn’t good. Thomas rose and kissed her on the cheek, excusing himself.

  “I thought you were staying for luncheon?” she asked.

  Thomas shook his head, smiling tightly. “I’ve had a change in plans, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, my dear, you’ll get your fill of my company very soon.” He said the last pointedly to Grif.

  As Thomas stomped off, Kyra eyed her husband suspiciously. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard shouting.”

  Grif rose and bussed her cheek. He helped settle her into the chair Thomas had vacated, then plopped himself down in the chair behind the desk. Somehow the large expanse of wood between them felt comforting.

  “So, my dear,” he stated imperiously, “to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

  Kyra considered him for a long moment. “Grif, what did Thomas mean just now?”

  Curse the shaggy blond oaf and his big mouth! Grif shrugged, pretending to look over the ledger on his desk. “About what, dear?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How could I get my fill of him if he’s going with you?”

  Drat the woman, he cursed, blindly flipping through pages of his ledger. He’d rather hoped whatever mission she was on would have kept her too preoccupied to ask questions. “I’m sure I don’t know what he meant. Though,” he muttered under his breath, “I know I’ve had my fill of him.”

  Kay groaned, causing him to look up at her. “You’ve asked him to stay and look after me, haven’t you?” she accused.

  “What Thomas chooses to do with his time is really none of our concern,” Grif said loftily. “If he chooses to stay in London, then we should respect his wishes.”

  “Ethan!” she snapped. “You are unbelievable! Making Thomas watch over me like some giant, hulking nanny. He should be helping you with—” she gestured wildly, “—whatever it is you’re doing. I can’t believe you even asked him to do such a thing!”

  “I asked. He agreed.” Grif waved. “End of discussion.”

  “It most certainly is not,” Kyra said, her voice rising. “If you think I am going to sit quietly by while you race off to do heaven knows what, without aid—”

  “I expect you to do exactly that!” Grif snapped, his temper at last cracking.

  “I will not,” Kyra ground through her teeth. She rose up like a queen and leaned over the desk toward him, hammering her finger into the wood to emphasize her point. “You won’t even tell me where you are going!”

  “Because it’s none of yo
ur bloody business.”

  “More likely because whatever it is you are doing is illegal. And dangerous. I will not allow you to endanger life and limb over filthy lucre. Thomas must go with you. Better yet, don’t go! My inheritance should be more than enough to cover any unpaid expenses you might have. The fact that you are foolish enough to think I will stand by and—”

  Grif jumped to his feet, his fist pounding the desk. “Enough!” he shouted. “Do not tell me how to conduct my affairs, Kyra! You may control the purse strings, but you may not act as lord and master!”

  “Grif,” she said, shocked. “I never wanted to—”

  “I have followed you around like a whelp long enough,” he continued, drawing himself up to his full height. “You snap at me one minute then sob the next. You have me traipsing to balls and dinner parties and soirees, then decide you don’t want to be there and I traipse home with you. You pay no heed to me during the day and treat me like a stud service at night, and I am done with it!”

  She grunted as though he had knocked the wind from her lungs. “You don’t understand,” Kay whispered.

  He was unable to stop himself. Once started, the words fell from his lips in a torrent. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t care to understand. I thought I could live with my role as prostitute, but I cannot. I’m sorry if you find your investment has turned south, my dear, but I fear you bought shoddy goods.”

  Kyra just stood there, gaping at him.

  “In light of everything, I wish I could offer you an annulment,” he said vehemently. “However, we both know we cannot un-ring that particular bell.”

  He watched his wife sink back down into her chair. A pained look crossed her face, and he prayed she wouldn’t cry. If she cried, if she showed any vulnerability, he wouldn’t be able to maintain such dignified ire. Falling to her feet would rather disprove all he’d just shouted at her, he mused. He needed her to go before he did something foolish.

  “Grif,” she said softly. “I never thought—”

  Grif raised a hand to stop her. Seating himself behind his desk, he opened the ledger and pretended again to pore through it. “If there’s nothing else, I’m quite busy.”

  When she didn’t move, he chanced a look at her. “Yes?” he asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she said rather breathlessly.

  He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Can it wait? I have a lot to do before I leave, and I don’t need any distractions.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “I was hoping—” Her voice choked and she cleared her throat. “I thought we might take a walk.”

  Grif shook his head. “Perhaps later.”

  Kyra, of course, persisted. “This is not... I wanted...” She seemed to consciously collect herself. “Please. It’s important, Grif.”

  “Madam,” he said, keeping the emotion out of his voice. “Stop playing games with me. If it is truly important, you’ll tell me right here, right now. Otherwise, it can wait.”

  Kyra looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. After a very heavy pause, she rose and looked at him, her brown eyes shining with what he knew must be tears. She pursed her lips in a sad approximation of a smile and said, “Safe travels, Grif.”

  She was out the door before he had a chance to rise. Grif swore to himself. Leaning back in his chair, he considered following his wife to apologize for everything. He thought better of it, however. Kyra might be better off hating him, he decided. It might actually keep her safe.

  * * *

  Kyra stormed to her chambers and, sobbing, threw herself on her bed. He may have spouted a lot of nonsense about being a bad investment, but Grif was right about one thing: she had been absolutely beastly to him these last weeks. And now she had lost him. As he had so crudely put it, one cannot un-ring a certain bell.

  Emptied of her tears, Kyra sat up and considered her next move. She still needed to tell Grif that she was with child. She owed him that. She should march back downstairs right now and blurt out the happy news. She should. She really should. Problem was, she didn’t know if she could face him after that rather ugly business between them.

  Maybe his sisters could do it for her. They’d been champing at the bit to do so anyway. It’s not like she was being cowardly, she reasoned. She just didn’t want him yelling at her like that again. And if that made her a coward, well, then she was a coward.

  Okay, she admitted to herself, she was a coward. She needed to find some way to tell her husband, and since he seemed less than thrilled about the idea of taking a turn in the garden with her as she had originally thought, she needed a new plan. She could send him a note asking him to meet her for tea in the drawing room. Or she could arrange an intimate dinner with candlelight in his chamber, and her note could ask him to...

  Not a note, she realized. A letter. She would send him a letter telling him everything. Everything.

  Kyra rang for the housekeeper and outlined her plan for the evening. When that was done, she exhaled and grabbed her escritoire. She chewed her lip as she scribbled, trying to compose the perfect missive. The sun was hovering over the horizon by the time she set her pen down. A sea of paper lay at her feet, but Kyra was finally happy with her end result, so nothing else mattered.

  Somehow, getting the words out made her feel lighter. She had told her husband the truth. She had actually said the words, “I love you.” Well, she’d written them, but the sentiment still counted.

  Kyra rang for a footman and handed over the letter with specific instructions to deliver it to her husband immediately. She also reminded the man, not once but twice, to explain to Grif that the matter was one of great urgency.

  Once Grif read the letter, everything between them could be mended. He might never love her the way she loved him, but they did have genuine affection between them once. They could have that again, she reasoned. And if he didn’t echo the sentiment, she reckoned, she would learn to live with it for the sake of their child.

  After a luxurious bath steeped in lavender and orange blossom, Kyra rang for Maggie, who helped her carefully dress for dinner. They had agreed on a delicious viridian-colored figured silk that clung to her slight curves. If Maggie cinched her bosom tightly enough, the low-cut bodice made her chest look almost ample. Maggie piled Kay’s hair high in a wild mass of thick auburn curls, anchored by several jeweled pins Lady Eleanor had personally presented to her as a wedding gift. Kyra even allowed Maggie to line her eyes and lashes with kohl, hoping to draw some of the attention away from her blasted mouth.

  Kyra assessed herself in the mirror. Not bad, she thought. In fact, with her cheeks flushed from nerves and her skin glowing, she looked as good as she could ever remember, in spite of Brumley’s damage.

  Maggie squeezed her hand in encouragement. “You look beautiful, my lady. The earl will be pleased.”

  Kyra nodded, too nervous to speak. She allowed her maid to steer her toward the door. Mustering her courage, Kyra made her way down the long stairway and the even longer hall that led to the dining room. Kyra couldn’t stifle her delighted gasp as she entered. What surely must be hundreds of candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room. Dozens of shaggy white flowers—roses, lilies, carnations and more—adorned the room, crowding overfull vases. Rose petals were strewn about the floor and chairs, their thick scent hanging in the air like a curtain.

  Kyra smiled. It was absolutely perfect.

  That Grif would go through so much trouble gave her heart wings. A man certainly did not go to such measures for his wife unless he truly cared about her. Kyra felt warm and giddy at the rush of emotion that washed over her.

  The sound of someone in the doorway made her turn. Ferguson, Grif’s butler, met her eyes, his expression as stoic as ever. “I trust everything is satisfactory,” he drawled. “Lady Eleanor suggested the candles. Mr
s. Leeds and Maggie took the liberty of decorating the room with flowers.”

  Kyra blinked. So Grif hadn’t turned the dining room into such a lavish backdrop. No matter, she thought. He would soon join her, and everything would be as it should be. “It’s wonderful, Ferguson.”

  “Mrs. Leeds thought you may want to serve yourselves,” the butler droned tonelessly, “so the footmen have set up a small meal on the sideboard. If that is not to your liking, I can send John in to attend you.”

  “That’s quite all right, Ferguson,” Kyra said, waving her hand. “Please relay our gratitude to the staff, and feel free to take the evening for yourselves.”

  Ferguson bowed perfectly and left. Kyra poured herself a healthy glass of lemonade and sat down carefully in the chair placed at the right of the table’s head. The aroma of roses greeted her, their heady sweetness making her giddy again. What matter if Grif did not plan this? It changed nothing. Any moment, Grif would walk through that door. She loved her husband. She was going to have his child. She was going to tell him everything.

  Things were perfect.

  Seconds stretched into minutes. Kyra finished her lemonade and poured another glass, savoring the slight bite on her tongue. Was he composing himself? she wondered. She had ambushed him with the letter, after all. Likely he needed to sort out his thoughts. After all, she’d had a good week to think things through. He’d only had a matter of hours.

  Minutes stretched into an hour. Couldn’t Grif get himself together a little faster? she thought crossly. After all, she was the one who had done the majority of the hard work. She had poured out her heart and soul—no small task. And the letter had taken ages to write. All he had to do was read it and concoct the appropriate response.

  A thought struck her. Perhaps Grif had not received the letter. That must be it, she thought, relief flooding through her. He had not responded because he had not read it. And if he hadn’t read it, it must be because he had not gotten it. Likely the silly footman hadn’t expressed how urgent the missive was.