Claiming His Wife (14 page)

And, if by some miracle,
he held on to her no matter what she did... then perhaps she would
have her answer.

******

His wife was drunk.

At a dinner party.  

Unfortunately, one that
included more than just their close friends.  The Countess had
invited quite a few guests into her home, to celebrate Wesley and
Cynthia's upcoming nuptials.  Fortunately, Grace was far
enough down the table from their hostess that the Countess hadn't
noticed and so wasn't distressed, especially since she was more
focused on ensuring her son and his fiancé behaved, but quite a few
people at Grace's end of the table were already shooting her
glances and whispering behind their hands.

Her voice was a little too
loud, her laughter a little too brazen, and she was being
remarkably indiscreet about, well, everything.  Most of the
high-flyers were seated with the Countess, but he could see several
of them eyeing Grace from down the length of the table.  She
was creating more talk, and he was too far away to be able to do
anything about it.  Interrupting dinner would only draw more
attention to her behavior and fuel speculation. He gritted his
teeth, trying to decide what to do. Grace’s manners had always been
impeccable, especially after they’d become estranged, because she
realized what a fine line she walked on in Society. If she had done
anything more extraordinary than indulge in her private life, the
high sticklers would have had all the excuse they needed to drive
her from Society completely. Now that Alex was back in her life,
trying to reconcile, did she think she no longer needed to follow
the other social conventions? Or was this for his benefit
alone?

"I'm sorry, Lady Brooke, I
didn't catch that," a pretty, dark-haired lady said, politely, as
Grace muttered something under her breath.  Mrs. Locklear, if
Alex remembered her introduction correctly, a widow who had been
escorted there by her friend Lord Hereford.  Although Alex was
quite sure that they were probably more than friends.

"Well, Mrs. Locklear,"
Grace said, her rising tones contemptuously superior, "if you had
been listening instead of mentally undressing everyone else's
husbands, you wouldn't need to ask."

Both Mrs. Locklear and
Lord Hereford went beet red, for very different reasons.  Alex
coughed, nearly choking on the piece of chicken he practically
swallowed whole.  The actual remark didn't surprise him, Grace
had always said outrageous things, but she had always said
them
sotto voce
to a trusted companion.  Not announced it so that
everyone could hear.  Well, not everyone, but enough people to
bring conversation around their part of the table to a grinding
halt.

On one hand, all the women
around them looked more than a little gratified to have Mrs.
Locklear called out.  On the other hand, it still reflected
badly upon Grace and upon himself that she had spoken so rudely to
anyone, no matter how well it was deserved. Propriety demanded that
the social faults of others not be publicly remarked upon, although
of course many would gossip about it privately.  Fortunately,
Mrs. Locklear didn't respond in kind; instead she seemed to shrink
in on herself, barely looking at any of the men, as Grace turned to
answer a question that Edwin asked her.  He shot Alex a look
of apology that was unnecessary; Alex didn't think Edwin would have
any real control over Grace, even though he was sitting next to
her, but he was grateful to his friend for distracting
her.

Damn the social conventions that
dictated a man and wife should sit apart anyway. Alex could have
kept more control over Grace’s drinking if he’d been sitting
closer. Granted, he hadn’t noticed her drinking to excess, but he
had been immersed in conversation with his dinner companions until
her behavior had distracted him.

******

When the women left the table to the
men, dispersing to the drawing room, Eleanor swiftly caught up to
Grace. She’d been watching her friend carefully all evening and she
could tell that Grace was up to something. Something that was
probably going to earn her nothing but a hot bottom at the end of
the evening, if the expression on Lord Brooke’s face was any
indicator.

Eleanor was fairly certain that his
desire to reconcile with Grace was sincere. Ever since the couple
had arrived in Bath, he’d already appeared more open and
approachable. She’d even seen him smile several times. Usually when
Grace couldn’t see him do so. Both of them appeared to be playing
their hands very close to their chests, but there was definitely
something between them.

“What are you doing?” Eleanor
whispered into Grace’s ear, snagging her friend’s elbow and pulling
her close.

After all, she didn’t want to draw any
more attention to Grace. The high sticklers had already been
looking at her askance by dessert, and even the Countess had
noticed there was something going on with her, although she’d been
too far down the table to know what. Thankfully.

Grace sniffed, turning her nose up
into the air, stumbling over her feet a bit as she did so. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not drunk, so stop acting,”
Eleanor whispered back. Grace looked at her in surprise, and with a
bit of guilt, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.
“You’re going to end up causing a scene.”

“Yes, and then I’ll be able to see how
Alex reacts.”

Eleanor groaned. She should have
known. Sometimes she and Grace were so alike. Grace wanted to
provoke a reaction from Alex to try and discern his true feelings,
just as Eleanor wanted to do with Edwin. However, she knew from
trial and error that forcing such a declaration was near to
impossible. No matter what Edwin did in response to Eleanor’s
provocation, she could always find multiple motivations to assign
to his actions. It never helped clarify what his feelings might be
towards her.

“It’s not going to work,” Eleanor told
her.  “You’re probably just going to end up not being able to
sit down tomorrow.”

“If he spanks me, instead
of giving up on this idiotic notion to reconcile, then that will
say a great deal, won’t it?”

It would, but it wouldn’t be
enough.  Something else Eleanor knew, because her own doubts
still gnawed at her.  She did find it reassuring that Edwin
would rather spank or birch her bottom then send her out of his
sight, but then again, he needed an heir.  So did Alex. 
Although, it truly would be easier for him to divorce Grace than to
put forth an effort to keep her in line.  No one would blame
him.  If Edwin wanted to divorce, or even separate, it would
be a huge scandal.  Not to mention it would wreck his
friendship with Hugh.  Whereas, most of Society would probably
applaud such a step by Lord Brooke.  Perhaps Grace was right
and she would find it more indicative than Edwin’s responses were
for Eleanor.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,”
she murmured, and then there wasn’t a chance to say anything more,
because the Countess came sweeping up to them as they entered the
drawing room.

It was obvious the older woman had
realized something was going on with Grace and was determined that
nothing happened to ruin the dinner.  Not that Grace would
ever take her antics that far, especially not when Alex wasn’t
around to be witness to it.  Eleanor watched, amused, as the
Countess seated Grace next to her, surrounded by some of the
highest sticklers in Society, ones who would have probably given
her the cut direct if they’d happened upon her in London… and Grace
proceeded to charm them all.

Some of them quite unwillingly. 
The Duchess of Kent looked like she’d swallowed an egg about two
seconds after she laughed at one of Grace’s quips, realizing who
she was laughing with.  None of them would dare cut her with
the Countess right there, obviously sponsoring her, and Alex having
escorted her, but they clearly weren't quite sure how to treat her
either.  Eleanor had to swallow her own laughter as she
made her way over to Cynthia and Irene, who were sitting on one of
the window seats and chatting.

Irene was describing Hugh's estates
and their honeymoon there.  Smiling, Eleanor sat down with
them, enjoying hearing about her old home from a new
perspective. 

"I don't know that I'll make a very
good lady of the house," Cynthia said ruefully, when Irene was
done.  "The Countess has been doing her best to train me, but
I can't imagine why anyone would listen to me.  Manfred
certainly doesn't."  

Eleanor laughed at the
disgruntled look on Cynthia's face.  Apparently she'd at least
attempted to give the Countess' butler an order and it hadn't gone
very well.  "He didn't listen to Wesley either, before he
became the Earl, if that makes you feel any better," she said, her
eyes sparkling.  "Besides, he'll likely stay with the
Countess.  I can't imagine her being agreeable to letting him
go."

Cynthia immediately perked up.
 "So we'll have a different butler?"

"Yes, I imagine he's probably at
either Spencer House in London or out on the estates right now,"
Eleanor said, giving Cynthia a supportive smile.  It couldn't
be easy, knowing that she was about to be mistress of a whole horde
of servants that she hadn't even met yet.  At least Eleanor
had known most of Edwin's before they were married, and Irene had
met quite a few of Hugh's.  Not that any of them were as
stuffy as Manfred anyway, she knew that Irene had been welcomed
with open arms at Stonehaven and Westingdon.  

"Oh good.  I can deal with
someone who doesn't know me, I think," Cynthia said, obviously
gaining in confidence already.  "Manfred knows me a little too
well by now."  Her wince made both Irene and Eleanor
laugh.

"You could always try behaving," Irene
said, although her green eyes were sparkling with
amusement.

The saucy smile she got in return left
no doubt of Cynthia's opinion on that.  "You could always try
having some fun," she teased.

"I have plenty of fun," Irene
retorted, with affection.  "And I can sit down the next day
when I do."

All three women dissolved into
giggles.

Unfortunately Eleanor wasn't able to
enjoy her mirth for very long, as her belly twinged.  She'd
started to become nauseous at all sorts of odd hours through the
day, especially in the mornings.  Swallowing hard, she prayed
she wasn't about to humiliate herself by vomiting in the middle of
the Countess of Spencer's drawing room.

"Eleanor?  Are you all right?"
 Irene was looking at her with concern, Cynthia turning to see
what was wrong as Irene reached out her hand.

"Yes... yes," Eleanor said faintly,
pressing her hand against her stomach.  "I'm fine, I just need
a moment."  She glanced over at the gaggle of women around the
Countess, hoping that none of them had noticed her incapacity.
 To her relief, they were still involved in their
conversation.  If they knew she was increasing, they would be
lenient about any feminine issues she had, of course, but since she
hadn't told Edwin yet, she certainly didn't want that gossip making
the rounds.  

Although she was going to have to tell
him soon.  Her increasing nausea and bouts of fatigue were
becoming harder and harder to hide. 

As if her thoughts had summoned him,
the door opened and the men began to trickle into the room.
 Alex and Edwin were among the first, and his dark gaze
slashed around the women, searching for her.  The moment he
saw her, he frowned, and something inside of her shriveled.
 She realized, after a moment, that she didn't like feeling as
though he was upset with her.  Unless, of course, she meant
him to be.  

Doing it unintentionally made her feel
small and sad, her mind grasping for what she might have done wrong
and how she could make it right. 

Her insides warmed as he
immediately strode towards her, while Alex headed straight for his
own wife, and she realized that Edwin was frowning in concern.
 Not upset. Some of her tension dissipated.  

"What's wrong, Nell?" he asked, in a
quiet voice, as soon as he reached her.  

Part of her wanted to
blurt out exactly what was wrong, but this was not the time or the
place.  "Nothing, really," she said, mustering up a smile as
his frown deepened.  "Just a
megrim
."

"She got very pale all of
the sudden and clutched at her stomach," Cynthia said helpfully.
 Eleanor shot the woman a glare, but Cynthia wasn't looking at
her at all; her gaze had immediately moved to Wesley as he came
into the room.

His mouth drawn in a hard line, Edwin
held out his hand.  Not wanting to refuse him and make more of
a fuss, Eleanor took it and allowed him to help her up.  She
was sure that no one else realized that the smile on his face was
false, as he made their excuses to the Countess for an early
departure.  Perhaps Hugh might have noticed, but he was too
busy fetching tea for Irene as the trolley came into the room while
Edwin and Eleanor made their goodbyes.  

But she felt entirely too
nauseous and, now that she was standing, a bit dizzy to worry over
it.  Edwin was like a pillar of strength beside her, one that
she could lean on both physically and mentally, trusting him to say
and do the right things so that they could leave.  She let him
maneuver them out the doors and into the coach, where he sat her
beside him and folded her into his arms.