Revenge Wears Rubies (3 page)

Josiah bowed in a gallant theatrical gesture, bending his tall frame but keeping his eyes on Galen. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your morning without notice, friend. I’ll take my leave and await word if you . . . need anything.”

The unspoken understanding held, and Galen nodded his head, dismissing his friend. At last, he was alone.

John’s angel had apparently fallen. They’d been back with the news of John’s fate for less than eight months. He’d made inquiries and located her family to send word of John’s loss, but hadn’t worked up the courage to face her in person—his own grief too raw. The agent he’d sent had confirmed from some of the locals that John and Haley had been sweethearts since childhood, but now it appeared that Miss Moreland was already reengaged and merrily celebrating her upcoming nuptials with a glorious social season in Town. Galen grimaced as he imagined this heartless creature laughing, carefree at parties, balls, and soirees.

Faithless witch!
Galen began to dress himself, his hands shaking with quiet fury. He couldn’t recall ever experiencing a rage so white-hot and blinding. John Everly had been a friend unlike any other. He’d been the wit that had made them smile in the worst hours during their imprisonment. John’s stories had kept them all going, and the loss of his blithe humor had almost undone them.

Because they’d been so close to freedom when he’d died. Three more days of running, and they’d reached an outpost.
Damn it, I’d have carried him all the way to Bombay if I could. . . .

And the memory overtook him again, like a fitful dream he couldn’t elude.

Galen pulled on his morning jacket, marveling that he recognized his own reflection in the gilt mirror in the corner of the bedroom. Three years in India had altered his appearance, but not enough, he thought. A man should be more changed after . . . everything that had happened.

He hadn’t forgotten the promise. He’d meant to seek her out personally and ensure that she knew of John’s last words, knew that his last thoughts had been of her. But he’d put it off for too long, guilt and shame holding him prisoner.

Oh, he would “see to her.” The words took on an ominous note that foretold of a world of pain for a certain English miss. Months of lethargy vanished, and Galen felt a new power and force of will take shape inside of him. All his instincts to be cautious vanished in the space of a single breath.

I’ll have you and then
I’ll have you
.

“You can at least let the man buy you a hat!” Aunt Alice protested, holding up the lovely bonnet again as if to show off its ribbons and win her arguments.

“I cannot!” Haley’s frustration gave way to her lively humor as she stepped forward to pat her aunt’s arm consolingly. “It’s not as if I need a new bonnet, and even if I did, it’s hardly proper to ask Mr. Trumble to pay for such a trifle. But if you’d like, I can ask him to buy
you
one.”

“Pish!” Aunt Alice pouted and set the beribboned creation back on the counter, before her own good nature asserted itself again. “I’d look like a gray carriage horse in that thing! And it’s my job to fuss about what propriety dictates, Haley. See that you leave your elderly relatives a few things to do, won’t you?”

Haley nodded obediently, making no effort to hide her smile. “I will endeavor to be as much trouble as I can.”

“Ah! Just what a chaperone longs to hear!” She took Haley’s arm as they left the milliner’s and made their way down the busy and fashionable shopping street back toward their hired carriage. “Truly, dearest, it’s nothing to see a man provide for his future wife’s trousseau—not that you aren’t lovely in the gowns you already have, mind! But if you play the frugal woman now, he may think to keep his wife with very little expenditure, and when you want to indulge yourself later, he’ll remind himself how well you did with nothing.”

“It’s not . . .” Haley let the argument fall away, unwilling to reveal just how unhappy she felt at the moment. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Aunt Alice had used the excuse of needing a new set of buttons for her favorite coat to lure Haley into something resembling a shopping trip. But her aunt knew far too well that Haley had spent too many years economizing and stretching any farthing she could harbor to open up her purse strings without good cause.

And Aunt Alice was right in that Mr. Trumble had continuously urged her to use his good credit to buy her heart’s desires.

But her heart desired nothing in London’s best stores and, secretly, nothing that Herbert possessed. And while she was in no position to ultimately refuse him, it gave her a small amount of comfort to retain the last illusions of independence she could. In a few months, she would be his to dress and dictate to, in all things. As Mrs. Herbert Trumble, the wife of a successful industrialist, she would be his property to manage and care for. And while the thought chilled her to the bone, her aunt had repeatedly assured her that true affection would follow as a natural result of this masculine care.

“You should enjoy this more, Haley. You’re young, and a London Season . . . it’s what I always wanted for you. And if only my brother, Alfred, had—”

Haley looked away, gently but effectively cutting off her aunt’s speech. Haley didn’t want to hear another round of wishful thinking or a hurtful and useless condemnation of her beloved father’s character flaws.

Her father, Lord Moreland, would have disagreed and then given her a dozen examples of how often he’d once had the world in his pockets (ignoring their current state of emptiness). She’d abandoned the painful pretense of daydreams, and where her father seemed to do little else, Haley had deliberately grounded herself in the practicalities of life.

Nothing about Lord Moreland spoke of restraint. He’d loved Haley’s mother beyond measure and wasted his fortune on frippery and foolishness to please her. From all accounts, her mother hadn’t had the heart to refuse any gift or extravagance since it gave her husband so much joy to buy her things—and they’d neither one of them seen beyond the moment to the possibility of a grim future when the money ran out.

So when Lady Moreland had died of a sudden illness, her father had plunged into mourning with a tenacity that made most of their country friends shake their heads in wonder. He didn’t wish to see a world without her, and so he’d drowned his sorrows with distilled spirits and escaped drab reality whenever possible.

As a child, she’d always known her father had been generous with her mother, but it was only after the funeral on Haley’s fifteenth birthday that the full impact of it had struck home. She’d sorted through a mountain of trunks full of dresses she’d never seen her mother wear, laces and notions, ribbons and buttons, bolts of sumptuous fabric all reverently set aside. There’d been countless boxes of stockings and gloves in every hue, enough to outfit an army of ladies. She’d found duplicate gowns in four different shades of red, as if her father had been unable to decide which one best suited his beloved Margaret and so he’d ordered them all.

The sheer audacious waste of it! She’d adored her mother, but once she was gone, Haley had discovered how precarious their existence had become, and the blind, selfish indulgences of her parents had staggered her. Where Lady Moreland had been unwilling or unable to take charge, it was Haley who was ultimately forced behind the scenes to maintain some semblance of sanity. Responsibilities beyond her years had crushed any remnants of her childhood, but Haley had squared her shoulders and taken charge.

She’d sold the carriages and cleared the stables first, learning quickly when her father was deep enough into his cups to cooperate but not so far gone that he couldn’t provide a signature on a bill of sale to keep them fed. With the housekeeper, Mrs. Copley, as her ally, she’d cut back on the household staff and released anyone not critical to their upkeep. She’d even gained their land manager’s blessings and ridden out to the tenants and the village regularly enough that their people had begun to call her the “Little Mistress” out of affection and loyalty.

But affection and loyalty weren’t currency to keep the larders full and the servants paid.

There’d been no money for a debut and little hope for a rescue—at least until Mr. Trumble had rented nearby Frostbrook Manor for the hunting season. Haley hadn’t needed anyone to remind her of the practical miracle of a wealthy man in need of a wife who didn’t seem to mind a lack of dowry. When he’d asked her to marry him, it had felt like the worst kind of dream because of the suffocating weight of the inevitability of it all. She remembered trying to smile and then crying, and Mr. Trumble had assumed she’d been overcome with joy and he’d run to tell her father the happy news.

What other answer could she have given him? Was it conceivable to refuse him and see her father ousted from his ancestral home and end up begging for shelter and support from her mother’s indifferent and disapproving relatives? No daughter who cared a fraction less for her father would have done differently than accept the man even if he’d had three heads. Not that Mr. Trumble had more than the requisite number of limbs and appendages! He was ultimately the most ordinary of men, regular in all his habits and very courteous.

All she could do was pray that her Aunt Alice was right to believe that her heart would inevitably come around to agree with her desperate decision to marry a man prone to drifting off the instant the conversation abandoned breeding dogs and gun collections.

“There are worse fates than a courteous husband,” she intoned softly.

“What was that, dearest?”

“Nothing. A stray thought about how fortunate I am, indeed. And Mr. Trumble has been very generous. Surely you can understand my desire to respect that generosity and not overtax him? He has paid for our accommodations and provided carriages and servants for our stay. It seems petty to bother him for trifles when he’s already done so much for us.”

They’d reached the carriage and the footman moved forward quickly to assist them inside its interior. Aunt Alice sighed as she settled onto the cushioned seat. “I understand more than you think, my dearest.”

Haley took the seat across from her, pushing the window open wider to lessen the sense of being confined. She hated small spaces and avoided them whenever she could. It was an irrational fear she’d never overcome, and one she’d never told another soul about, since it was hard for her to admit that her imagination could overpower her intellect so easily. If a lady’s character was measured by her amount of self-control and discipline, it was a crippling flaw to lose both in any circumstance—especially in public.