A Gamble on Love (23 page)

“
Then I began to listen, really listen.
And I realized the match had possibilities. That we could be of use
to each other. You needed a dragonslayer. I needed a family. You
needed a replacement for Marcus Yelverton, and I was more than
willing to be exactly that. Except”—Thomas shook his head—“by the
time I met you and thoroughly embraced the idea, I was unwilling to
take the risk of frightening you off. Bad news, I thought, could
wait until after the wedding.”

“
But you said nothing, even then,” his
wife reminded him, unbending in her hurt and anger.

“
Our acquaintance was so new, so
fragile,” Thomas murmured, “my courage failed me. There was time, I
thought, plenty of time.”

“
I suppose one could consider it
amusing,” Relia noted, “almost as if Fate took a hand in your
downfall. For it was then that Olivia ran away from her Aunt
Browning and Nicholas got himself sent down.”

“
And my wife took them in and gave them
a home. In spite of the fact that she was a very private person,
who had, until then, led a perfectly quiet life.” Silence held them
both as, for a moment, they teetered on the brink of a better
understanding. “But we were in the midst of the holidays,” Thomas
said, “and I was at last making some feeble progress in becoming
acquainted with my sister and brother. You and I were also becoming
. . . better acquainted. It seemed an awkward time to talk to you
about elections. I told myself that after the holidays would be
soon enough.”

Thomas’s voice trailed away. There, he had
said it at last. Perhaps now they would be able to find some point
of reconciliation.

“
Is this you, Thomas?” his wife asked,
examining his face with care. “Is this the real person behind the
façade? Or is this yet another face you are putting on to cajole
your wife into helping with your campaign?”

Thomas blinked, drew in a sharp breath. “I
suppose I deserved that,” he observed. “But, truly, Relia, you have
heard it all. I have no more secrets.” What an odd child she was.
An indomitable spirit inside a porcelain doll. Grimly determined to
do what was right. Yet so private, so sensitive. He was not the
only one who masked his feelings. Would he ever discover what lay
behind the Lady of the Manor?

And she thought
him
a mystery!

Hell and damnation, she was sitting there
still as a stone, contemplating the blasted cushion as if it were
the Oracle at Delphi. He had bared his soul, as he had never done
with anyone before in his life, including Charles. What more could
she possibly want?

One slim hand drifted out, clutched at the
striped cushion, traced a seam. “I thought,” his wife said softly,
“that after the holidays you would return to London . . . and to
your mistress.”

“
Beg pardon?”

“
To Mrs. Ebersley. Olivia has told us
all about her.” Relia’s fingers dug into the cushion as if she
wished to do the same to his throat.

Livvy knew about Eleanor?
How?
Sister or no sister, he’d murder the chit with
his bare hands!

And then it struck him. His wife
cared
. Or was she merely suffering
from pride of possession? Was that not how she thought of him? An
acquisition, bought and paid for? An upper servant somewhere
between steward and governess?

Although Thomas had a bitter
recollection of the last time he had lost his temper, his wife
tended to precipitate emotions he could not control. Bounding to
his feet, he paced the dimly lit room like a panther on the prowl,
while his wife followed his progress with wide-eyed wonder,
astounded, even fearful, because the mention of Eleanor Ebersley
had provoked such an outburst. Truly, she had thought gentlemen
tended to be sophisticated about their
chère amies
. He must love Mrs. Ebersley very
much.

And suddenly he was there, hip to hip beside
her on the sofa, his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face
him. His fury—or whatever emotion had driven him—was gone, replaced
by a look so serious it was clearly visible, even though the
candles had burned down to stubs.

“
Listen carefully,” he told her, “for
this is as sincere and truthful as you will ever hear
me.”

His hands tightened. Though there would
be bruises in the morning, Relia felt no pain. He was so very
close. He was
touching
her.
Not as close as in Tunbridge Wells, but he was actually
touching—

“
It should be perfectly apparent to you
by now,” Thomas declared, his face hovering inches from hers, “that
I am not in the petticoat line. If I were, I would be much more
adept at handling the intricacies of marriage. My life is filled
with business matters from morn ‘til night. If a female has crossed
my horizon on occasion, it is only because I am, in the end, made
of flesh and blood. But from the moment I agreed to this marriage,
there has been no one else. Indeed, Charles tells me . . . well,
never mind that, but let me assure you I have no mistress except my
work.”

“
A more formidable opponent, I think.”
Where those words came from Relia had no idea. Perhaps from some
new wisdom inspired by the intimacy of the wee hours of the morning
when, shut away from the world in their own private apartment, they
could begin to see each other for what they truly were.

“
You have the right of it,” Thomas
admitted, his hands loosing their grip, falling to his sides. “The
weeks ahead, the chaos of a political campaign will not be easy. I
am aware the loss of peace and quiet will be offensive to you. I
did not understand that when we were married . . . I never
thought—”

“
And if you had, you would have married
me anyway.”

“
Yes.”

“
Goodnight, Thomas,” Relia pronounced,
rising to her feet, carefully replacing the cushion against the
dark velvet of the sofa, hiding her face as she did so. “This has
been a most enlightening conversation. I assure you I will do my
best to support you in your campaign.”

“
Good God, girl, you can’t go off like
that!” Thomas cried, jumping to his feet.

Relia picked up a candelabrum, whose
flickering light played over her look of faint surprise. “And what
else is there?” she inquired. “It is you who have set down the
rules of our relationship.”

She left him there, gaping after her, the
great Thomas Lanning, Prince of the Exchange, outgunned by a chit
of one and twenty. His wife.

Was she governed solely by the Trevor pride?
he wondered as her door shut softly behind her, leaving the sitting
room in almost complete darkness. Or had there been an undercurrent
of something more? Did she, perhaps, feel a stirring of tenderness
beneath her anger?

Did he?

Damnably foolish question. He had found
her appealing from the first moment he saw her, else
nothing
would have induced him to
marry her. He would have found another way to gain a seat in
Parliament.

Thomas’s bed was cold. And lonely. For a few
fleeting moments the very air had vibrated between them. The world
stopped, and his hopes soared. The burning inside him was not
anger. And then the clock ticked, and the Beauty beneath his
fingers was once again the Ice Maiden; he, the lowly Frog.

A few steps. That’s all it would take to go
back, cross the sitting room, enter his wife’s bedchamber . . . end
this stupidity once and for all.

And what would she do? Scream the house down,
or submit as a good wife should?

Submit
. A
shiver rocked him, but it was not from the cold. Shakespeare had it
right.
Oh, what a tangled web we
weave.
How would he ever find his way through the maze
of pride and arrogance, through the morass of nasty surprises and
hurt feelings?

The gray light of pre-dawn was tinging the
cold January morning before sheer exhaustion overcame the turmoil
besetting Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Lanning. Later, each would look back
on that evening’s strained conversation as the last quiet moment in
the chaotic weeks to come.

~ * ~

“
Colors,” Livvy declared. “Bright
colors to catch every eye. Indeed, you must have a whole new
wardrobe, Relia, for Nicholas says Thomas cannot possibly win
against Captain Fortescue unless you are there at his side, showing
your support. You simply cannot go around looking like a raven
strayed from the tower—”

“
Livvy,” her sister-in-law responded
sharply, “you know quite well I have put off my blacks—”

“
For grays and lavenders that quite
fade into the woodwork. Truly, Relia—”

“
Pray do not tease her, Olivia,” Gussie
Aldershot interjected. “A lady must always stop and think before
she speaks.”

Miss Lanning, who had been standing, arms
akimbo, examining her brother’s wife—who, quite out of character,
was simply sitting in an armchair gazing out at the frosted
park—flounced across the morning room to drape herself artistically
across the length of the rose damask sofa. She picked up a book,
opened it with a flip that rustled the pages. The corners of her
mouth drooped into a pout.

“
Olivia.” Relia bit her lip, tried
again. “Livvy,” she said, “I know you wish to help, but picture, if
you will, what all our neighbors would say if I suddenly donned
bright colors three months before the anniversary of my father’s
death. I would be condemned out of hand, even if there were many
among them who did not themselves observe a full year’s mourning
for their departed. That is simply the way of the world. And I
understand that the world of politics is far harsher than most. One
single mistake could cost your brother the election.”

Miss Lanning slammed the book shut, tossed it
at the table, where it missed, falling to the carpet with a dull
thud. “You are such a saint, Relia!” Livvy declared, tears
springing to her eyes. “I swear I cannot bear it. You are even kind
to the Beast, though how you manage it I do not know. I look at
you, and sometimes I swear I see a halo shining over your head. You
are too, too perfect. I can never live up to your
expectations!”

“
Oh, my dear,” Relia cried, jumping up
and dashing across the room, only to come to an abrupt halt a few
feet from the sofa, long years of being alone keeping her from
embracing her sister-in-law as she knew she should. “I am so far
from perfection that I sometimes think I am doing absolutely
everything wrong. Just ask your brother. I am certain he will tell
you so.”

“
My brother!” Olivia cried. “Thomas
quite worships the ground you walk on. Did you not know
that?”

Which just went to show how mistaken they
could all be, Relia thought. Perhaps it was best to let the girl
keep her illusions.

“
Ah, good, here you all are,” said
Charles Saunders from the doorway. “Mrs. Lanning, Miss Lanning,
Miss Aldershot, please allow me to introduce Mr. Hugh Blacklock,
who is to be Nicholas’s tutor.”

Even as she examined Mr. Blacklock, Relia was
aware of a stirring on the sofa as Livvy came to attention,
undoubtedly arraying herself just as she had been taught—back
straight, feet together, hands artfully arranged in her lap. She
should have done so for any guest, of course, but Mr. Hugh
Blacklock was a striking young man in his early twenties, with
enough countenance to send flutters through ladies far older and
more experienced then Miss Lanning. Of medium height, he boasted
locks as dark as his name, melting brown eyes, and facial features
just enough off perfection to give character to his face. His eyes
were alight with a natural curiosity about his new surroundings,
and his lips curved into a friendly smile as he shook the hand
Relia held out to him. It was, in short, impossible not to like Mr.
Hugh Blacklock.

As soon as everyone was seated, Mr. Blacklock
declared, “Please allow me to tell you, Mrs. Lanning, how honored I
am to become part of this household.”

“
We are all gratified by your
sentiments, Mr. Blacklock,” Relia responded with an indulgent
smile, “but I would have thought there are many households of
greater consequence than our own.”

Practically quivering with enthusiasm,
Mr. Blacklock declared, “I assure you the opportunity to work for
Mr. Thomas Lanning is much sought after, ma’am. As I am sure you
know, he is financial adviser to the cream of the
ton
. The Prince of Wales calls him
friend. Indeed, it is he who termed Mr. Lanning Prince of the
Exchange.”

“
It is true,” Livvy affirmed. “Thomas
is invited everywhere. Perhaps you did not know that, Relia, living
so shut away here in the country,” she added, snatching at her
moment of smug superiority. Which she promptly followed with an
even more unexpected pronouncement. “And I expect you did not know
our great-grandfather was Duke of Twineham, for Thomas never speaks
of it. Your grandfather, Relia, was only a marquess, was he
not?”

“
Olivia, I believe this is not the
moment for a discussion of respective antecedents,” Mr. Saunders
interjected sternly as both Mrs. Lanning and Miss Aldershot
appeared to have lost the power of speech. “Come, Mr. Blacklock, we
will leave the ladies to their morning tasks. There will be plenty
of opportunity for conversation at a later time.” The two gentlemen
bowed themselves out.