Amy Lake (24 page)

“No, I couldn’t face another long carriage ride today,” Claire was saying. “But I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’re welcome to stay in London, by the way. I don’t believe Lord Tremayne’s prohibition extends to brother’s-in-law.”

“His prohibition–!”

“You know what I mean. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, Claire, I am sorry,” said Jody.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “It was so easy to be content at the castle, maybe I didn’t appreciate Wrensmoor as much as I should have. Now, when I go back, I’ll know enough to be happy there.”

And Jody had to be satisfied with that answer, as his sister would say no more on the subject.

* * * *

Claire had fully intended to leave town on Wednesday, as she had told her brother, but events conspired against her. After breakfast she received, to her surprise, an invitation to a
musicale
the next evening at the house of Edwina, Lady Kensington. How anyone had managed to find out so quickly that she was in town, Claire could not imagine, nor why Lady Kensington would invite her to a
musicale
. She’d never even met the woman.

* * * *

When Edward heard about the invitation, he understood the mystery immediately. But then, he knew something his wife did not: Edwina Kensington was Amanda Detweiler’s niece. Lady Pamela’s sources of information were impeccable, as always, and she worked fast.

The thought of taking Claire to the Kensington affair left Edward with curiously mixed feelings, which he preferred not to examine. Squiring his wife–rather than a new mistress–around town should have been anathema to him. It
was
anathema, he told himself –yes, everything was in a wretched muddle.

But, on the other hand, one evening could hardly signify, since he would make sure Claire returned to the castle within the sennight. He
had
held a knife to his wife’s throat last night, after all. This might be a good way to make amends and to ensure they were still . . . friends . . . before she returned to the country.

Friends.

Unbidden, his mind returned to the events of the previous night, Claire standing in the countess’s suite, shivering in that filmy chemise, her eyes blazing with fury. This would never do. One
musicale
was the absolute limit. Then he would lock the chit into a carriage, if need be, and pack her off to Kent.

* * * *

Claire refused to spend the day trapped in the countess’s rooms. After enjoying the freedom of Wrensmoor, she found it difficult to stay indoors for even a single morning, and by noon she was rummaging through the wardrobes for a walking dress. Fortunately, she had planned for a longer stay in London and had brought a selection of clothing. Although–now that she thought of it–no formal dress. Perhaps she would have to forego Lady Kensington’s
musicale
after all.

The thought was oddly depressing. Although Claire had not come to London with any thought of society entertainments–she was supposed to be in search of a fifteen-year-old boy, after all–she realized she had been looking forward to tomorrow evening. Music was one thing that Wrensmoor lacked. And Edward had said he would escort her.

There must be a way she could manage to attend the event. Claire went back to the selection of clothing she had brought from Wrensmoor, determined to find something that might, with some alteration, serve as an evening
ensemble
. The maid had arranged her things in the wardrobe, and as Claire looked through them she found a beautiful gown of emerald-green silk, obviously unworn.  She had no idea how it had gotten there. Claire laid out the dress on the lace counterpane of the bed  and sat down next to it, wondering if it belonged to Edward’s mistress. Was the woman having her new outfits delivered directly to Tremayne House?  And delivered straight to the
Countess’s
rooms? Of all the nerve! 

Who was she?  Would Claire see her while she was in London, even–oh, heavens–at the
musicale
?  Claire wondered what the etiquette was for that situation. Would they be introduced? Would Claire know it was she?   Would people be laughing and talking behind her back–?

The gown must belong to his mistress, she decided, noticing that the
décolletage
was rather daring. It was hard to tell for certain without putting the thing on, of course. Claire smoothed the green silk under her hand. Surely the woman couldn’t be a blonde. A blonde would look dreadful in this color, whereas
she
, on the other hand, could wear it nicely.

Well, it would not do for a walk in St. James’s Park, and that was where Claire was going now. Putting the gown back in the wardrobe, she drew out a serviceable wool and dressed quickly.  The sun was shining and she needed to feel the grass under her feet. She slipped downstairs and out the door with only a footman the wiser, thinking that Edward would probably disapprove. Well, it was just too bad. If he didn’t want her in London in the first place, he could hardly have much interest in where she spent her time while she was here. She set out at a brisk pace for the park.

* * * *

“Where is she!”

Jody bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Claire seemed a little dispirited this morning. Perhaps she’s gone for a ride–” 

“I already checked the stables. She hasn’t taken a horse.”  Edward was beside himself with fury. This,
this
was why the woman would have to stay at Wrensmoor. He had things to do today, business to attend to, and he didn’t have time to be chasing a flighty, hare-brained female around London. It would serve her right if he just left her out there to be accosted by the first foot-pad that came along, or to be dragged into some fetid alleyway by a sotted lecher. But when he thought about the number of ways that his lackwit wife could get into trouble in town, his blood ran cold. Edward knew he wasn’t going to leave Claire on the streets of London. In fact, he knew he wouldn’t have a moment’s rest until his wife was back at Tremayne House. Curse it all.

“Jodrel, where would she go?” the earl asked, worried that he already knew the answer.

“To the parks, I suppose,” said the boy.

“For the love of–she was
shot
at in the parks!”

“But . . .but that was just an accident,” stammered Jody, clearly confused by the earl’s anger.

Blast and damnation, he was surrounded by infants. Lord Tremayne forced himself to speak calmly. “Indeed,” he told Jody. “Well, St. James’s Park is closest. Let’s start there.”

* * * *

Claire took a deep breath and felt her cares dissolve as the sounds of city life faded into the distance. Even deep in the park there were too many people to pretend that one was in the country, but here the smells of grass and leaf mold prevailed over London’s ever-present odors of coal dust and horse manure.

As she walked along the edge of a meadow, enjoying the season’s last bits of color in the drifts of autumn crocus, Claire considered her situation as dispassionately as she could. She knew she was at least half in love with her husband. That was a pity, but it couldn’t be helped.

So what do you really want? she asked herself.

To live with Edward. Preferably at Wrensmoor for most of the year, but if it has to be London, then London it is.

But how could this be achieved?  If she threw herself at him, tried to make a more substantial place for herself in his life, perhaps he would take her in disgust. She couldn’t stand that. And did she really need to force her presence on him?  She wasn’t with child, so if Edward wanted an heir, they would need to spend more time together at some point. Eventually, he would come to her.

So. Go back to Wrensmoor–quietly, obediently, a good wife–and leave well enough alone. The arguments in favor of this were indisputable, but at some deep, almost wordless level, Claire resisted them. She could see where her happiness dwelt, now, and it was not in her nature to wait for it to come to her. How could she leave London as if her husband’s company meant nothing?

At least, she thought, at least I can attend the
musicale
with Edward tomorrow evening. In that emerald silk gown, if I have to.

And tonight?

She blushed as an image came to mind of what she was hoping for that evening. Her husband didn’t seem to be terribly difficult to seduce.

Yes, said a little voice, but that was in the country, without his mistress. Here, he can just leave you and go to her.

Her pace had quickened with these thoughts, and she found herself nearing a gravel path with a glint of water seen in the distance beyond the trees. She moved from the path and sat down with her back against a smooth-barked oak. The quiet here was not like Wrensmoor’s, to be sure, but it would do. The smell of crushed grass comforted her with its familiarity, and she closed her eyes, hoping she would go unnoticed by the other park denizens. Imagine, the Countess of Ketrick sitting on the ground!  And in a public park, my heavens!  London society was ever alert for the possibility of scandal, and she supposed this would do, if nothing better came along that day.

For the moment, she didn’t care.

It was a warm day for early fall, and she must have dozed off. The next thing she was aware of was the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Claire opened her eyes and her heart identified the rider even before her mind made the connection.

A tall man on a huge black horse.

“Claire!”

What was her husband doing in the park?  she wondered.

Achilles thundered closer, and she could see the Edward was scowling ferociously. Claire stood and brushed bits of grass off her skirts. Bother the man!  She was staying out of his way, why couldn’t she be allowed a few minutes of peace?

“What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?” Edward shouted. He had jumped from Achilles and was striding towards her. His riding crop was in his hand, and for a fraction of a second Claire had the absurd notion that he was going to use it on her. She resisted the impulse to cringe and, instead, went forth on the attack.

“I am taking the air, my lord!” she replied, her voice as tart as she could manage. “I should think you would be happy, as it means I am not occupying space at Tremayne House.”

“You,” said the earl, “are not supposed to be in London at all. But while you are here–”

“While I am here, my lord, I intend to take every opportunity to enjoy what the city has to offer.”

“There seem to be no end of things I must make clear to you,” said Edward, his voice ragged and harsh. “You are not to set foot outside Tremayne House while you are in London without my escort or my express permission.”

“I shall set foot where I please.”

“I am not in an arguing mood, lady wife.”  Edward grabbed Claire’s hand and started dragging her towards Achilles.

Physical resistance would have been futile, and Claire didn’t bother to try. She muttered imprecations as he threw her up onto the stallion’s back and mounted behind her. She felt his broad chest against her shoulders and, as Achilles surged forward, the hard iron of his forearm locked around her waist.

They made their retreat to Tremayne House without another word exchanged, and Claire had to be content with the obvious signs that the earl was as uncomfortably aware of her body as she was of his.

* * * *

When Claire entered the dining room that evening she discovered, to her horror, that Lady Gastonby was also in residence. Jody could have warned her, but having found his sister a rather prickly companion that day, he was off haunting the kitchen.

The threesome of herself, the earl, and Lady Gastonby was not a felicitous combination on any occasion, but Claire smiled graciously, determined to act as if she belonged at this table. To her surprise, she soon discovered that Penelope Gastonby was, wittingly or not, an ally. Of sorts.

 “’Tis past time you brought your bride to town, nephew,” was her opening salvo. “And clearly she’s not breeding yet.”

“Aunt Penelope–” began the earl. Claire stared into her soup.

“What ails you, boy?” continued Lady Gastonby, relentless. “You left her in the country with no babe?  She ought not be out of her bed!  Nor ought you!”

“Aunt, this really isn’t–”

“Lady Gastonby, I am sure that– ” began Claire, but immediately realized that it was a mistake to enter into this conversation. The aunt’s attention was now turned toward her.

“And aren’t you a sorry little excuse, rattling around in a huge castle all by yourself!   Most men can only dream of posting paid to a figure like that, and you married to the randiest lord in Christendom!”

“
Penelope
,” said the earl. Claire had never heard that particular note in his voice before.

Lady Gastonby remained undeterred. “Why, any fool can see the man’s trousers swell every time you walk into the room,” she continued. “Whatever possessed you to–”      

Claire, who was unaccustomed to the considerably earthier conversation of Lady Gastonby’s youth, had flushed red to the roots of her hair. She fought off the urge to flee. “Lady Gastonby, I don’t care to pursue this conversation,” she said, deciding to stand her ground. The earl’s aunt had chased her out of enough rooms in Tremayne House already.

“Nor do I, Aunt. Claire– ”

“What twaddle,” said Lady Gastonby. “I don’t know about you, young miss, but unless my harebrained nephew has taken a whore–”

That was enough.       

“Claire.”  Edward pushed back his chair.

But he was too late. Claire was out the door and up the staircase to her rooms before he had a chance to stop her.

* * * *

Edward was furious.

“What ails you, madam?” he said to Lady Gastonby. “This isn’t the eighteenth century anymore!  One does not speak that way in front of gently bred females!”

“Bah,” said his aunt. “These modern misses!  A bunch of namby-pamby sucklings, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t!”

“And the men are no better!  What you need is a good dose of plain speaking, nephew,” continued Lady Gastonby.

“I very much doubt I need any such thing.”

“So I suppose you’d prefer to continue this mad pretense that you don’t care enough about your new wife to get her with child?”