* * * *
Livia waited for the condemnation of her mother. Lady Strenshall had come upon her kissing her betrothed, and although they had broken apart, Adrian had kept hold of Livia’s hand, and presented her to her mother as his future wife.
Lady Strenshall, her face a mask of pleasure, had congratulated the happy couple and informed them they would be leaving for the country the following week. Adrian had expressed his delight at the prospect and left them.
“I gave you a little longer,” her mother had said, watching the maid clear up the tea tray. “I trust you will not allow him to maul you all the time.”
Livia’s cheeks heated, but she refused to hide away. As part of their arrangement she could claim kisses from Adrian, something she looked forward to with eagerness. But not in public, naturally. “No, Mama.”
Livia had every indication that her siblings regularly “mauled” their other halves and enjoyed being mauled in their turn.
Although she would not go as far as they did, because she was not marrying the duke.
“Did you tell him?”
Livia didn’t need her mother to explain what she needed to tell Adrian. As the door closed behind the maid, she said, “No. But I will.”
“Before you wed, you must tell him everything. You cannot keep him in the dark.”
“He will know I’m not a virgin on our wedding night. But I will tell him before then.”
If matters ever grew that close, but she doubted they would. He had offered her a way out, and the tactic would work for him too. They would announce that they did not suit, or merely drift apart, and spend less time together. Since the duke was so volatile, he would probably drift off. Livia could use his next mistress, whoever she turned out to be, as an excuse. No doubt society would call her too fussy, since most men of fashion had a woman in keeping. Except that her father did not. She knew that for a fact. She also knew the door between her parents’ bedrooms was well-oiled and in frequent use. Servants chattered.
“You must tell him everything.” Lady Strenshall laid a hand on Livia’s arm, forcing her to meet her mother’s eyes. Lady Strenshall’s brow was furrowed with concern, her finely drawn mouth flat.
“Yes. Everything. Even though I don’t even know if my baby is dead or alive,” she concluded bitterly.
“He is dead to you, Livia. We have not come all this way for nothing.” This close, Livia saw her mother’s distress. The baby was her first grandchild, the one she would never see.
Tears misted Livia’s vision. “Can I not even know if he is alive?”
The hand on her arm trembled. Although her mother was too well-practiced to weep, Livia felt her tears. “We cannot know. It’s for the best. In any case, the one person who knew where he went died before she could tell us. I’m sorry, my dear, I did not intend matters to fall out the way they did. Sherwood was to find the child a good home and keep me informed of his progress. In time I would tell you. But although she took the baby, she did not survive long enough to tell me anything but the boy was alive and in a good place. That is truly all I know.”
“Was it to a local family?” Perhaps she could discover more when they went to the country. She might be able to ask people.
“I do not know. She was away for a week. She could have traveled to the end of the country in that time or passed the baby on to someone to take abroad. She had relatives in the south of England, and she’d worked for three families before she came to us. I am sure she did the best she could for the child.”
Livia must keep faith that her baby was alive. She couldn’t bear anything else. She had steadfastly refused to tell her parents who the father was, the only way to keep the peace between the families.
She refused to give up. The hole in her heart wasn’t as open and raw as it once was, but it would never be healed.
Chapter 9
Adrian enjoyed walking through the streets of London. All life lay there, if one cared to look about. If a man didn’t mind brushing shoulders with miscreants, could bear or even enjoy the various scents, and the noise, then the great city was better than the theater. He always kept his belongings buried deep, and more often than not left his sword at home in favor of a tidy little pistol and his fists. Today he wore the weapon as a symbol of his status. He might need it, if he was to face a significant number of the Emperors in one room.
He’d like to know how her family had brought Livia up to scratch, but she had promised to meet him today in a brief note delivered to his house by hand. Mickey trotted at his heels, groaning about the pace Adrian set. Loomis, in full livery today, strode behind.
Adrian rounded on his footman. “Why are you dogging my footsteps?”
Loomis raised a bushy black brow. “I’m your footman, your grace. It’s my job.”
“Not always. You never did this so much before.”
Loomis was what was often known as a family retainer. That was, his family had served Adrian’s family for generations. Annoying at times, amusing at others, but Adrian would never forget Loomis. He had done him several favors in his childhood that had made it more bearable.
Still, the man seemed to be a positive magnet these days. Today Adrian could understand the point, but when he went about town, especially the fashionable part, Loomis stuck to him. Adrian had never insisted on strict protocol, so he could not understand why this change had occurred. He certainly hadn’t ordered it. The man just appeared and for a big man, Loomis could be quiet as a cat when he wanted.
“You’re a duke, your grace.”
Had his footman taken the duty on himself? Come to think of it, when Loomis wasn’t with him, his groom, another family retainer was. Annoying.
“I know that. But why now?”
“You’re taking on new responsibilities, your grace.”
He’d give the man that part. Maybe with a duchess imminent, the servants had decided formality was the order of the day. Then they had not visited Livia’s family. If he was careless of protocol, they completely ignored it when the whim took them.
Knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer from the taciturn footman, he turned irritably to Mickey, also in livery today. “You’re a fit boy. Keep up.” However he shortened his stride a fraction. Although twelve, Mickey appeared younger, scrawnier, despite the food Adrian’s cook was pouring into him, complaining that the boy had a bottomless stomach.
Adrian glanced down. Mickey should really trot behind him, but he wouldn’t scold the boy for that. He looked winsome in his new livery. Green and gold, a suit he could sell to a pawnshop for a tidy sum, but he hadn’t done so. Mickey was a bright lad. He knew when he was well off and when short-term gain was better sacrificed for long-term advantage. His dark hair was brushed neatly back into a queue, much like Adrian’s own, but his eyes were Irish blue. Innocent-looking, if a man didn’t know him better.
Lack of education notwithstanding, Mickey had a native cunning that could blossom into something better, with a little coaching. “The man you stole the brooch from. Do you remember him from anywhere?”
“Yes, y’r grace.” At least the boy remembered his honorific, though Adrian usually preferred “sir” when they weren’t in a formal situation.
“Was he the same person who came to the orphanage?”
Mickey frowned. “You mean the one who wanted the brooch in the first place?”
“The very same.” They passed the old theater. Lincoln’s Inn Theater had been a center of excellence in its day, but now it looked almost dilapidated and decidedly shabby. They turned the corner into a square lined with respectable houses in the modern style, tall and neat. Unlike the theater, these had an air of prosperity. As they should. Lawyers lived here.
“I can’t say for sure.” He scratched his head. “I only got a quick look. But he was the same height, and he wore a wig, like this cove. Didn’t see his face proper. But I
think it was him.” The boy glanced back at Loomis.
Disappointing. Adrian wanted certain identification before he took the action he intended.
Whoever wanted that brooch knew how much it meant to Livia. More than Adrian himself did, that was for sure. The thief might even know why it meant so much to her.
In that mood, he strode up the stairs of the address he’d been given and rapped on the door. A manservant answered immediately and bade him wait.
The hall was spacious, with offices opening either side. Neither had plaques, unlike the discreet one outside that indicated that “Andrew Graham, lawyer and barrister” resided within.
Unusual to have both qualifications, but Andrew Graham was an unusual man. Barristers made little money these days, and very few men took that path, but Graham had dealt with an unusual case. The trial of a peer of the realm for murder. He now lived in illegal bliss with the peer’s brother, upstairs in this house. Even more unusual that his clientele had not suffered, in fact, had increased. Instead of dealing with the well-off middling sort, he now handled the business of the company owned by his—lover, an insurance company that was going from strength to strength. They could probably afford to live in something far more extravagant than this house, but by all accounts they lived very happily here. So why change what was perfect?
Adrian wouldn’t know. Perfect was something he’d ceased to believe in.
When he entered the office, he had to wait for the others to arrive. That gave him time to become acquainted with Graham, a pleasant man with a sharp mind. “Is Lord Darius attending today?”
“Along with the rest of the clan.” Smiling, Graham handed him a glass of port and waved him to a seat. The room was filled with chairs, some that didn’t belong here. Because the family was coming today. “Your lawyer is arriving soon?”
“If he doesn’t, he is dismissed. Even though he has worked for my family since his grandfather and mine were alive.” Why had he thought of his grandfather at a time like this? The old man had brought him up. He’d been a tyrant until his dying day. Adrian had learned a lot from him, most of it of the negative kind.
But his lawyer was a decent man. And honest. How often did a man meet an honest lawyer? It appeared he’d just met another. He couldn’t imagine any Emperor taking up with anyone less than honest. Or maybe Livia had charmed him so much he was seeing everything with rosy-pink edges.
Crossing one leg over his knee, he took a sip of the excellent port.
Graham glanced up from the stack of papers on his desk. “Are you sure about this?”
Adrian nodded. “Why would I not be?”
“The clan is close and extended.” His gaze flicked to Mickey, standing silently behind Adrian’s chair. “Is he trustworthy?”
“Completely.” He wouldn’t drop the helpful information about Mickey’s sticky fingers. The fewer people who knew about that, the better.
Graham raised a dark brow. He wore the conventional white wig, black coat and breeches, but his silver waistcoat showed hints of a flamboyance that might reveal an inner wild man.
With the hint of a smile, Graham leaned back. “I am, as you must know, allied closely to a member of the family. The Emperors can absorb you if you let them.”
A friendly warning? Graham would naturally have done basic research into Adrian. Not that he would have to ask far. He had settled the legends circulating about him a long time ago, using stories he preferred to cover the ones he wanted hidden. And the hidden ones would stay that way.
He took another sip of his drink. “I am aware. I have watched them at work. But thank you. I am certain enough to take this step today.”
His lawyer arrived as he was speaking and then, in short order, his betrothed and her family. He greeted Livia with a kiss on the hand and a sense of pleasure that took him by surprise. He was expecting to be glad to see her, but not to this extent, not the way she brought lightness to his soul.
Using his privilege as her betrothed, he led her to a seat next to his, after greeting her parents, her oldest brother and Lord Darius. A clan indeed. This close, their similarities were easy to discern. Their collective confidence filled the room, but Adrian doubted they realized how much they could take over a place.
Catching Graham’s eye, he gave a barely there nod, acknowledging the truth of what he’d said. If he went ahead with this marriage, Adrian could easily find himself overcome by Emperors.
That would not happen, but he would not set himself against them, either. That would be suicide, even for a duke.
Watching them was akin to observing a flock of birds. Well-ordered birds, with certain characters dominating the proceedings. Or being allowed to by their quieter partners. He had already noted that Lady Strenshall led most of the social interactions, but from the way they exchanged glances and quiet nods, he presumed that if his lordship had wanted, he could have controlled the situation.
Eventually they were all seated, and Graham proceeded to read out the important parts of the contracts they were preparing to sign. Adrian received a nod from his own man of business. Everything was as expected.
Then Livia got to her feet. “I cannot do this.” She lifted her chin, stilling the trembling Adrian caught sight of before she controlled it. “This isn’t right.”
Lady Strenshall got to her feet, a mother hen protecting her chick. “It must be your choice, my dear.” She sent a poisonous glare to Adrian, making him want to plead his case, that he had done nothing wrong, more like a boy caught out in a transgression than a grown man.
Perhaps if he’d had a mother like this one, he might have turned out differently. Ah well, too late now.
Rising, he took Livia’s hands, turning her to face him. She lowered her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Why not? Has someone spoken to you?” When Lord Darius took a step toward them, he shot him a warning glare. Nobody had more right than he did now.
“Several,” she said. “But despite that I thought I could go ahead with this. It isn’t fair.” Then she did meet his gaze and the pain in her eyes struck him to his soul. “On you.”
His harsh, hard laugh was not planned. “Nothing is fair on me. If you leave now, today, that will only add to the long list. But if you truly cannot sign this contract, then I will not hold you to it. Nor will I say anything to anyone. You have my word on that. This is your decision, Livia and yours only.”
The sigh came from Lady Strenshall, standing close to her daughter.
While the Shaws protected each other with a fierceness that emulated a den of wild cats, this was surely too much. What did they know, or was this their natural reaction when looking after one of their own? Adrian had no way of knowing. He had not experienced this kind of family loyalty before. And why was she having second—or third, or fourth—thoughts?
“If I hurt you in any way, or pressed you too hard, then I’m sorry. But I do want you for my wife, Livia. Never doubt that.”
And he did. Losing her would hurt. That had not been part of his plan. He had not wanted a wife who would affect him personally. The shock gave him pause. Should he let her go now, when he could recover from his disappointment, or push forward? Take the risk that his feelings would deepen?
He should walk away, he really should, but his senses screamed at him not to, to hold on. He kept her hands in his, trying to impart all the strength he could.
“You do?”
Keeping her hands in his, he said to the room at large, “May we have a moment?” With an exasperated sigh, he continued, “I swear I will not press her. But Livia needs time to compose herself.” She was near tears. He would not have her break down in front of her family.
When, finally, they had gone, filing out reluctantly, her mother last of all, he drew her into his arms. Something inside him relaxed, relieved to have her back once more, however temporarily. “Sweetheart, what is wrong?”
Livia held herself stiffly, refusing to relax against him. “I have not told you everything. You have a right to know.”
His blood ran cold. What had she done?
“I’m not a virgin, Adrian.”
Relief surged through him like a tide, warming the places that had chilled in anticipation of hearing something truly terrible. “Good.”
“What?” She jerked her head up, almost meeting his chin. He moved it just in time.
“Do you think I care for that?”
“I’m not pure. I’ve had—relations with another man.”
“Recently?” If she had a secret lover, Adrian would not share her. But he would still fight for her. He hadn’t noticed anyone too close to her recently. Perhaps he would fight another duel. One more stain on his record would not make much difference at this stage of his life.
She shook her head, her golden curls catching in his cravat. “No, a long time ago. But I am not pure, Adrian. I’m—”
Rather than hear her call herself one of the foul names preferred by clergymen in the pulpit, Adrian kissed her. Her lips trembled against his until he firmed the kiss and deepened it. But he did not linger, although he would have loved to. “Sweetheart, I have a confession too. I’m not a virgin, either.”
Her shaky laugh sounded much better. “Of course you are not.”
“I haven’t been a virgin for a long time. So we are two of a kind. Except I am probably less of a virgin than you are.”
“You are so foolish.” But she said it with laughter in her voice.
“Come, that’s better. Do you think that would make any difference? In any case, we are signing the contract because your family expects it. Nothing is irreversible until we stand before a vicar and say ‘I do.’ Let’s take this a step at a time. We agreed to a long betrothal, did we not?”
She nodded.
“Then do not concern yourself. We go ahead. Now you’ve told me, may we sign those damn—blasted papers?”
Another nod.
There was something else, he was sure of it. For someone in her position, with so many powerful relatives, one slip was easily overlooked. If that was the only impediment to a marriage, then men would be lining up for her. But she had deterred everyone who’d come close. He recognized it now. Like called to like. She’d let her twin take control, allowed the flamboyant members of her family to step in front of her.
Boundless (The Shaws) Page 13