An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  Kyra trudged to the bellpull with a sigh. It was a long time before her ringing was answered. She quietly, but directly, explained her dilemma to Ferguson. The butler, clearly offended at the thought that his mistress’s wishes had not been followed precisely, vowed to find the wayward footman with all due haste.

  Kyra sat down impatiently to wait. After the better part of another hour, she forced herself to eat a few bites of coq au vin and some poached pears to at least help pass the time. At long last Ferguson reentered the dining hall, practically dragging the young footman with him. The man was hastily thrown together—his wig was askance and the buttons of his coat were gaping in spots, as though he’d thrown it on in the hallway and proceeded to fasten it without really looking.

  Kyra rose to confront him. “What is your name, please?” she asked quietly.

  “Scotty,” he replied.

  “Scotty,” she started slowly. “Do you remember the letter I charged you with earlier this afternoon?”

  “Yes, milady.” The young man nodded. “You told me to deliver it to Lord Griffin immediately.”

  “And did you do so?” Kyra asked him, biting back her frustration.

  “Yes, milady,” he said. “I brought it to him in his study, right after you gave it to me, just as you asked.”

  “You did not make any stops before you did so?” Kyra asked.

  “No, milady.”

  “And you delivered it to my husband,” Kyra prodded, her voice rising slightly. “You handed it to him personally?”

  “Yes, milady.” Clearly the servant was getting nervous. He was starting to wring his hands together under the butler’s withering gaze.

  “You actually put it in his hands?” Kyra asked. “You didn’t set it on his desk?”

  “I handed it to him directly, milady. He took it with his hands.”

  Kyra tried to control her breathing. “And did you impress upon him the importance of the missive?”

  “Yes, milady.” The footman’s head bobbed. “I told him it was from you and that it was a matter of great urgency, just as you told me.” The man hesitated, clearly debating. He shied away from the butler’s basilisk gaze. “I also told him you were awaiting a direct response. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds, milady.”

  That last bit was quite clever, Kyra mused. She hadn’t thought of that herself. She surveyed the two men in front of her. Ferguson’s anger had ebbed from his face, and he was once again the stone-faced and ever proper butler. Scotty swallowed hard and was unable to meet her eye.

  “Did my husband say anything to you, Scotty?”

  “Yes, milady. He thanked me for delivering such an important missive with haste.” The man shrugged. “Then he dismissed me.”

  Grif wasn’t coming. He didn’t care. Oh, God, she had swallowed her pride to confess everything and he didn’t care.

  Kyra felt numb. It was as though she were watching herself from outside her body. She stumbled back to her chair and sank into it, the smell of crushed roses teasing her nose. Grif didn’t care. She exhaled on a shaky breath. That Grif didn’t love her shredded her heart. That he didn’t care about his own child completely destroyed it.

  “Lady Kyra?” she heard Ferguson say, a note of worry coloring his voice.

  “Thank you, Scotty,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “That will be all.” As the footman gladly retreated, Kyra rose and turned to the butler. Blindly she gestured around the room. “Ferguson, please make sure this mess is cleaned up immediately. I would hate for a spot of whimsy to burn down the entire house.”

  Ferguson bowed as she wandered to the door. She managed to get to her room without collapsing, for which she was grateful. Without bothering to ring for Maggie, Kyra ripped at her clothing enough to get it off her body. Wrapping herself in a thick nightgown, she eyed the door that separated her from Grif’s chamber. To her disgust, there was a moment where she actually considered knocking. He was leaving tomorrow, and she didn’t know when he might return. Or if he would return.

  Shaking her head, she bit her lip to stave off the impending tears. Kyra crawled into bed—unfamiliar to her as she had shared Grif’s bed since their wedding night—and cursed him even as she listened for any sound that might herald his arrival. She at last let herself succumb to her tears, and once started, she worried that she might never stop.

  They finally dried up a little before dawn. She stared vacantly at the counterpane for what seemed an eternity. At last she forced herself to rise. Numb, she walked to the door between their rooms and, without bothering to knock, let herself into her husband’s room. Upon entering, her tears resumed, even though she’d previously thought to be done.

  Grif was already gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was several hours past midday before Maggie finally rousted Kyra from her room. In truth, Kyra would have locked herself in her chamber for the rest of the Season had she thought she might do so successfully. Her mother-in-law, however, requested her presence for tea. Resistance was futile, she knew, as Lady Eleanor would simply badger her way into her chambers anyway.

  She dismissed Maggie and washed and dressed slowly, not thinking of anything in particular. Unfortunately, Kyra realized, the light of day did not ease the heaviness in her heart. In fact, the reality of it hit her much harder. There was no more pretending it was just a bad dream. Not when the evidence was there in the full afternoon sun. Grif was gone, without a proper goodbye, without even the courtesy of a note.

  Kyra found herself knocking on the drawing room door without any memory of how she’d gotten there. At Lady Eleanor’s greeting, Kyra trudged in. Her mother-in-law’s mouth tightened upon looking at her, and her color seemed to pale slightly. Kyra sighed. She knew she was a mess. Her eyes were still red and swollen from crying, and her wild auburn hair was already falling from its simple chignon. She wore no cosmetics or jewelry and barely registered that she wore a modest morning gown long past the appropriate hour.

  Lady Eleanor gestured for her to sit. Kyra did so obediently, feeling wooden. Lady Eleanor busily fussed over a cup of tea, pouring more sugar and cream than what Kyra normally took. She took the cup when offered, however, forcing a tight “thank you” from her lips. The older woman then passed her a small honey cake, which Kyra accepted.

  Without waiting for thanks, Lady Eleanor admonished, “A lady in your condition needs to eat, Kay. You are with child I presume?” At Kyra’s nod, she waved imperiously. “You have more than yourself to consider.”

  Kyra nodded and nibbled at the cake, not truly hungry but not wanting to risk her mother-in-law’s ire. “By your demeanor and his abrupt disappearance may I assume the two of you have had a falling-out?” Lady Eleanor asked, her tone not one to suffer excuses. At Kyra’s nod, she took a sip of tea and stared at her daughter-in-law. “Tell me what happened, Kay.”

  To Kyra’s great surprise and horror it all came tumbling out. Everything. Her father’s death, the escapade in Scotland, Grif’s proposal, her profound joy, their wretched behavior toward each other, her pregnancy, his anger at being bought, the letter, her heartbreak at finding him gone. Everything. With each sentence, Lady Eleanor’s face seemed to grow stonier and more pinched. By the time Kyra had let it all tumble forth, her mother-in-law looked ready to explode.

  “Of all the nitwitted, deplorable, thoughtless—” Lady Eleanor muttered under her breath. She looked Kyra straight in the eye. “He’s as addle-pated as his father ever was. I cannot believe my own son— Are you sure he got your letter, my dear?”

  Kyra nodded. “According to Scotty, he did.”

  Lady Eleanor rose in a swish of muslin and silk. She began pacing the room, deliberating to herself. “This makes no sense,” she muttered. “This is not like him.” Another few passes and she frowned down at Kyra. “I can’t fathom what he must be th
inking,” she declared. “It’s all so...so...”

  “Un-Grif-like,” Kyra stated, detached.

  “Precisely,” his mother said. “We are missing something.”

  Kyra shrugged. “What matter? What’s done is done.”

  Lady Eleanor sat back down. “Kay, I know you’re hurt, but there’s something here that we don’t fully understand. I’m sure of it.” Looking into Kyra’s dark eyes, her voice caught. “Kay, please, don’t lose faith in him. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes,” Kyra agreed.

  “He loves you,” Lady Eleanor said, almost imploring.

  “No,” Kyra said softly, numbness spreading through her. “That I can’t believe.”

  Her mother-in-law was not easily deterred, however. Lady Eleanor stared hard at her, making Kyra rather uncomfortable. “Did he tell you how we came to be in dire straits?” she asked, then immediately shook her head. “No, of course he didn’t.”

  On a deep sigh, she sat up tall and stiff. “My darling husband, Martin, was something of a wastrel. No head for business or finances whatsoever, unfortunately. He gambled, naturally, as most wastrels are inveterate gamers, but most of his funds went into, shall we say, ludicrous investments that never paid off. By the time I understood the depth of our debt, it was too late to undo.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kyra murmured.

  “Martin tried to recoup some of our losses, but by that time he had fallen in with some rather shady lenders.” She lifted her chin. “Out of desperation, he turned to his younger brother, Edmund, to bail him out. Edmund had done well for himself, and naturally he agreed to help.”

  “Naturally,” Kyra echoed.

  “Of course, Edmund exacted his own price. A very steep price as it turned out.” At Kyra’s raised brow, Lady Eleanor explained. “Ethan. He wanted Grif. Specifically, he wanted Ethan as his lackey. He wanted to send him out on, oh, I don’t know, he called them jobs. I’m sure it was nothing good. I imagine he derived some sort of twisted pleasure out of treating Martin’s heir as his puppy.

  “When Martin realized what Edmund was about, he tried to intervene. He really did. He thought an advantageous marriage would take care of everything.”

  A new chill engulfed her entire being. Kyra looked sharply at her mother-in-law, who was suddenly studying her hands. “Who was to be the lucky bride?”

  “You,” Lady Eleanor said quietly. “Your father agreed and he and Martin made the arrangements.”

  Kyra’s throat burned. “Let me guess. Grif was less than happy with the solution.”

  “Not because of you, dear,” Lady Eleanor amended quickly. “He felt it was dishonorable to marry for money. The night that you were to be told of the marriage was the same night Ethan and the twins declared they had enlisted. Of course they didn’t need money for commissions, as the army had need of soldiers to fight Napoleon.”

  Everything about that night came rushing back to Kyra with crystal clarity. Things were so much more understandable when one had the full scope of a situation. Her father silently storming off; Grif yelling at her about honor and duty; Riley laughing at her as though she were a stupid girl who didn’t understand...

  Riley.

  “Did Riley know?” she asked Lady Eleanor in a voice so reedy she barely recognized as her own. “Did he know Grif and I were promised to each other?”

  “I suspect he did. Once the boys left—and Martin died shortly after—there seemed no reason to tell you. I think Martin couldn’t stand the guilt of it all,” she said softly.

  Eleanor managed a watery smile. “I managed to keep the family afloat while they were gone. Ethan and the twins sent home every ha’penny they could, and since the girls and I were in mourning, we did not have the usual expenditures that come from living in public view. With a husband in the ground and three sons at war, we were able to almost completely withdraw. Nobody guessed we were in dun territory.

  “When the boys came home,” she continued, “Grif had changed. He didn’t laugh. He barely spoke. And then Edmund showed up one afternoon, explaining that he had a job for Grif. He made it very clear that should Grif refuse, he’d spread rumors of our poverty across the ton. Grif would not countenance that, of course, so he agreed. Besides, as he would put it, we needed the blunt.”

  “What does Grif do for Edmund?” Kyra forced herself to ask. She might as well know everything.

  “It has evolved over the years,” Lady Eleanor said. “First he acted as little more than messenger, then as what he described as a hired thug. He’s become somewhat of a mercenary now, I fear.”

  Lady Eleanor looked at Kyra and gave a little shudder. “I long ago stopped asking him what his ‘jobs’ were. He was taking care of us. We didn’t need to know how.”

  “And in doing so, he managed to give Annabelle and Patricia their comeouts,” Kyra murmured. “I assume he ensured the twins received their rightful portion of their inheritance without even knowing it was from him.”

  Lady Eleanor nodded. “He has given us everything, Kay. In doing so, he has given up everything. Until you.”

  She looked at Kyra with such love and devotion that it almost made Kyra weep all over again. “He cares, Kyra. I am convinced of that. He smiles when you’re with him, did you know that? He even laughs. He looks at you as though you were the very sun. Kay, he adores you. He always has. Because of the way he looks at you, I can’t believe he just walked away.”

  Kyra sat very still, trying to absorb everything she had just learned. She felt as though she had been gutted all over again. Her mother-in-law truly believed Grif cared. Yet Kay understood the deeper truth: Marriage to her had always meant entrapment to him. Kyra had to swallow the lump in her throat. Worse, her brother was dead because Grif didn’t want to marry her.

  He didn’t love her.

  He would never love her.

  A loud ruckus outside of the drawing room brought her out of her reverie. Ferguson uncharacteristically burst into the drawing room, his wig skewed and his cheeks red. He pulled himself up and announced in his cool drawl, “Lady Eleanor. Lady Kyra. A Mr. Conroy and Mr. Kettle from the Bow Street runners would like a word. They are looking for Lord Griffin.”

  Kyra was grateful Lady Eleanor intervened on her behalf. “Gentlemen, please come in. My son has left just this morning on a matter of business, I’m afraid.”

  The two runners entered the room, practically pushing past the irate butler. Kettle was large and ruddy. Conroy, naturally, was larger. Kyra hazarded a glance at the mountain of a man, wondering if he would comment on their past association. The giant didn’t even seem aware that she was in the room.

  “When will he return?” Kettle asked.

  “We don’t know,” Lady Eleanor stated, clearly not liking the look of these two. “Does this have something to do with that horrible man Brumley?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does,” said Kettle. “He’s dead.”

  Kyra rose unsteadily to her feet, barely able to register what the man was saying. “Brumley is dead?”

  Conroy looked down at her for a long moment, no flicker of recognition on his face. “Aye, milady.”

  “We believed he was still incarcerated,” Kyra said, pretending she had never laid the large man flat with simple crockery.

  “He was released yesterday afternoon,” Conroy explained. “His body was found floating in the Thames this morning.”

  “And how is this relevant to my husband?” Kyra asked, adopting her haughtiest air, though it felt rather hollow. She eyed the men with halfhearted disdain.

  “We think he may have information regarding the man’s death,” Conroy said.

  “We thinks he may have kilt him, in fact,” said Kettle.

  Lady Eleanor made a small choking sound and collapsed into her chair. Kyra, however, drew herself up to her full h
eight, forcing herself to shake off the numbness. “How dare you make such wild accusations? On what grounds?”

  Conroy looked at her and tapped his cheek. “Word is Griffin nearly beat Brumley to death a week ago. Over you. One of the Watch claimed that Griffin even threatened to kill Brumley in front of ’em just for looking at you. A man that passionate, well, seems capable of anything.”

  “Considering what that beast of a man did to me, I’m very thankful my husband is that passionate,” Kyra replied smoothly.

  “Where’s your husband now?” Conroy asked.

  “As my mother-in-law said, he has left—” she sniffed, “—on business.”

  “Where might this business be takin’ place?” Conroy prodded.

  “I’m not a solicitor,” Kyra drawled, pretending to be monumentally offended by this conversation as a good Society wife should be. “My husband’s business is none of my affair. If you wish to know his whereabouts,” she said, looking down her nose at the massive man, “I suggest you contact his man of business.”

  “So you can’t tell us where he is or what this business of his even is?” Conroy asked. “What can you tell us, Lady Griffin?”

  “I can tell you that Griffin didn’t do this,” she stated simply.

  “And how might you know that, milady?” Kettle asked.

  “My husband was home last night,” Kyra said haughtily, as though the question itself was ridiculous. “All night.”

  Kettle snorted. “We can’t hardly take that as evidence, my lady.”

  “The servants will corroborate,” Kyra said simply, striving to look bored.

  Lady Eleanor had recovered her wits and was eyeing Kyra with newfound respect. She said quietly, “I need to let Ferguson know that our tea has gotten cold. Would you gentlemen like a glass of claret?”