The Wagered Wife (13 page)

Now he wanted desperately to make sense of his life. He wanted to do something worthwhile as a legacy for his child—and maybe other children to come.

But first he would have to set about the task of wooing his own wife.

 

 

Caitlyn had been jittery all day, wondering about Trevor's interview with his father and brother. When he returned, she was entertaining callers in the drawing room. Thus, it was some time before they could speak privately.

As Aunt Gertrude bade the last of the callers goodbye, Trevor and Caitlyn retreated to the small library-study on the ground floor. He leaned over her to open the door and put his hand on the small of her back to usher her in. She drank in the faint spicy smell emanating from him, and her whole being seemed concentrated where he touched her. She moved quickly away from him as a means of preserving her sanity.

Today he was wearing a dark-blue jacket, a lighter blue waistcoat, and buff-colored trousers that hugged his thighs. The blues brought out the blue depths of his eyes. The jacket had needed but little padding to sit well on his muscular frame. She thought him the handsomest man of her acquaintance. If only . . .

She hesitated a moment, then sat in a big overstuffed chair which was, in fact, a comfortable refuge where she was wont to curl up with a book. He took a place on the settee opposite.

“Did your visit with your father go well?” she asked, making nervous conversation.

“It went . . . predictably, shall we say?”

“Is that to say it went well?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“Oh, dear.” She twisted her hands together in her lap.

“I share that sentiment.”

She looked up to find him smiling grimly and to find herself mesmerized, unable to avert her gaze. His eyes were friendly and reassuring.

“But,” he went on, “it is not a matter we need be overly concerned about.”

“You cannot mean that,” she said, appalled. “This is your family. And they are important in society.”

“Ah, yes. They are that. And so my mother reminded me.” He gave her a speaking look which she understood immediately.

“I take it the countess will not be calling on us any time soon.”

“Nor we on her.”

They gave each other weak smiles, and Caitlyn thought them more in accord with each other than at any time since his return.

“Oh, Trevor, I
am
sorry to be the instrument of discord in your family.” She rose, agitated, and walked to the window to gaze out unseeingly. Suddenly she felt him standing directly behind her.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. “This discord is not of your making,” he said softly.

“But family is important.” She was mindful of her own profound sense of loss on the deaths of her parents, and of her intense gratitude that Aunt Gertrude had somehow contrived to fill the void for her. “And you . . . well . . . that is . . . before . . .”

He seemed to understand immediately what she was groping to say. “Yes. Five years ago, I did attend them. And I have lived to regret it.”

“You—you have?” She lifted her head, unable to keep the wonder from her tone.

He raised his hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear, allowing his fingers to slide along her jaw to her chin. She stood very still, savoring the warmth that flowed through her.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I—”

But whatever he might have said was lost and the moment was gone with a knock on the door. She tore her gaze from his and called for entry.

“Lord Latham is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Thompkins. I am engaged to drive in the park,” she explained to Trevor.

“Of course.” His tone was utter politeness, but she thought his lips had momentarily thinned in annoyance.

Had he been about to kiss her?

How would she have responded if he had?

For the Wallenford ball, Caitlyn chose to wear a gown of light green silk embroidered with twining leaves of darker green at the low neckline and the hem. A matching cloak was lined with fabric the color of the embroidery.

“What jewelry would you like, ma'am?” her maid asked, putting finishing touches to Caitlyn's hair.

“Hmm. The pearls, I think.”

A double strand of pearls and earbobs to match were secured, and Caitlyn drew on elbow-length gloves to match the dress. Never had she been so nervous about a social affair. It was not just that this was the most exalted affair to which she had ever been invited. Though she could not explain why even to herself, she desperately wanted Trevor to be proud of her.

“You look very nice, ma'am.”

“Why, thank you, Polly.”

With the cloak over her arm, she made her way downstairs to where Trevor waited in the library.

“Aunt Gertrude is not ready yet?” Caitlyn asked in mild surprise.

“No. Something about a torn hem that needed stitching. I must say, Caitlyn, you look quite lovely in that creation.”

“You like it?” She twirled happily in front of him.

“Very much. But . . . perhaps . . . hmm. Something is not quite right.”

“Oh? What? Can it be amended?” She felt a panic out of all proportion to the issue.

“I think so. Perhaps these would help.” He handed her a small flat box.

“Trevor?” She opened the box to reveal a spectacular diamond and emerald necklace, bracelet, and earrings. She looked into his eyes and was held by the emotion she saw there. “Oh, Trevor, they are beautiful.”

He smiled, obviously pleased with her reaction. “Would you like me to help you?”

“Yes.” She replaced the pearl earrings herself, then turned her back to him to give him access to the clasps on the pearls. As he placed the diamond and emerald necklace around her neck, she trembled inwardly at the touch of his fingers at her nape. She was acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment, and she thought he was, too.

“Now the bracelet,” he said.

She turned and held out her arm as he fumbled over the clasp. She felt his closeness and smelled his shaving soap. She became very still, hardly daring to breathe. He lifted his eyes to hers and slid his hands to her elbows, drawing her closer.

“Caitlyn, I—”

The door opened and Aunt Gertrude swept in. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting.”

Trevor and Caitlyn jerked apart. She thought he seemed as shaken as she as they greeted Aunt Gertrude. The older woman regarded them with curiosity.

“Just see what Trevor has given me,” Caitlyn said, fingering the necklace and holding out her arm.

“Lovely,” Aunt Gertrude murmured. She turned to her nephew. “So this is why you taxed me so about the gown Caitlyn would wear.”

Trevor's color heightened, but he said nothing as he held Caitlyn's cloak to place it over her shoulders.

Pleased by the knowledge that Trevor had gone to such pains for a gift for her, Caitlyn felt in particular charity with him as they drove to the Wallenford townhouse. The ball was in full swing as they arrived, though the Duke of Wallenford and his duchess still received late-arriving guests.

“The Honorable Trevor Jeffries, Mrs. Trevor Jeffries, and Lady Gertrude Hermiston.”

As the butler intoned their names, Caitlyn felt rather than heard a momentary quietness as dozens of eyes turned their way. She saw many of the party look from the new arrivals to a far corner of the room. There stood the countess of Wyndham with a number of other people. Caitlyn met her eyes and watched with some chagrin as the countess very deliberately turned her back and began an animated conversation with her companions.

Caitlyn looked with interest at the others around Trevor's mother. She had heard Gerald's wife described often enough to recognize her in this group. Trevor steered Caitlyn to another area of the huge ballroom and remained standing at her side.

Even before being so pointedly cut by the countess, Caitlyn had feared being ostracized at such a
ton
gathering. However—and much to her surprise—she soon found herself holding court with a group of Trevor's friends and some of her own. Besides the ever-faithful Ratcliff, Graham, and Latham, Trevor's friends Ruskin, Wilson, Moore, and Jenkins all sought her hand for dances.

Apparently overhearing a good-natured quarrel between Moore and Jenkins as to who should have which dance with Caitlyn, Trevor spoke from behind her, giving her a start.

“Just be sure you save the waltzes for
me,
my dear,” he said.

She felt a blush of pure pleasure suffuse her cheeks at the request—and the endearment.

“Now, see here, Jeffries,” Jenkins said in mock indignation. “You cannot save the best for yourself alone.”

“I already have.” Trevor's grin was smug.

There was a lull in the conversation and they clearly heard the announcement of arriving guests.

“La Contessa Dolores Oliveira and Colonel Lord Anthony de Lessup.”

The former soldiers standing around Caitlyn all whipped about. There were murmurs of surprise.

“Wha-a-at?”

“Well, what do you know?”

“La Contessa.”

“Dolores?” This use of the newcomer's given name came from her husband, and Caitlyn instantly wondered at his possible connection to the woman.

“Who is she?” Graham asked the question burning in Caitlyn's mind.

“The belle of Portuguese society—or what was left of it after the royals escaped to Brazil,” Wilson said.

“Her husband was killed in oh-seven when the French first invaded Portugal,” Jenkins added.

“Oh, how sad for her,” Caitlyn murmured.

“Ah, well.” Moore sounded a bit crass. “He was a good thirty years and more her senior. Mourning was not exactly a lifetime thing for our contessa.”

Caitlyn watched as the foreign woman made her way into the room on the arm of a high-ranking British officer in fancy dress uniform. The contessa was a strikingly beautiful woman with raven-black hair, a light olive complexion, and a well-molded figure set off by a white and silver gown. She greeted several people before she spied the men around Caitlyn and steered her aging companion toward them.

“Ah, my friends from Lisboa,” she trilled. “Lieutenants Moore and Jenkins. Captain Wilson. Major Ruskin, And, of course, dear, dear Captain Jeffries.” She tapped Trevor's arm with her fan. “You were a naughty boy,” she simpered, “leaving as you did without bidding poor Dolores a proper goodbye.”

Trevor colored noticeably and grasped Caitlyn's elbow. “May I present my wife, Contessa?”

“Your wife?” She seemed surprised, but quickly recovered and exchanged customary pleasantries even as she gave Caitlyn a calculating look. She was introduced to the other gentlemen, whom she proceeded to charm with her flashing eyes, ready smile, and delightful accent. Then she turned back to Trevor.

“Oh, Captain Jeffries,” she said with a teasing smile that included Caitlyn as well. “ 'Twas very bad of you to marry before I arrived in England.”

There was a moment of pregnant silence. Then the musicians swung into dance music and the hosts took the floor to lead the first set. Theo Ruskin had requested Caitlyn's company for this country dance.

“I hope you do not take the contessa's flirtatious ways to heart, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said in a kindly voice. “She is really quite harmless.”

I wonder?
Caitlyn thought, but aloud she said, “Oh, my, no.” Then to change the subject, she said, “And you really must call me Caitlyn since you are such a very close friend to Trevor.”

“I am honored, Caitlyn. And I am Theo.”

“Short for Theodore, I presume.”

“Actually, no. My father is a student of ancient history and literature. He named me for Theocritus—an ancient Greek poet.”

“And your second name is . . . ?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Euripides.”

She grinned. “A poet who advocated romantic love and a dramatist who cherished women. Did your father have these traits in mind when he named his son?”

Theo looked down at her in utter surprise. “Good heavens,” he said in mock horror. “The lady is a bluestocking!”

She laughed, feeling wholly at ease with him. “No. Not at all. But my father was a voracious reader. His greatest gift to me was his love of literature.”

“Even so, there are precious few people in all of England who would have so casually known either of those names.”

As the movements of the dance separated them, Caitlyn glanced around discreetly to see that the raven-haired beauty danced with the man named Jenkins. The two seemed to be enjoying a hearty joke. Later, Caitlyn danced through two more sets with Graham and with Moore before Trevor came to claim her for the first waltz.

She steeled herself for the feel of his arm about her, and for that surge of emotion that was sure to come. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring his nearness as they swept into the steps of the dance. She cautioned herself not to become lost in the moment. Oh, but it felt so right!

“I saw you dancing with Theo,” Trevor said. “You were the prettiest woman on the floor.”

“Why, thank you.” This was the second time this evening he had paid her a fulsome compliment. She must not read too much into such flattery, no matter how sincere he sounded. “I like him—Theo, I mean.”

“Theo?”

“We agreed on first names—but if you object—”

“Not at all. Theo is my best friend. Saved my life.”

“Then I shall treasure his friendship all the more.”

He did not answer, merely pulled her slightly closer.

Later, yet another dance partner had returned her to the sidelines where she joined Aunt Gertrude, sitting near one of the room's huge Greek-styled pillars.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, my dear,” Aunt Gertrude said.

“Yes. I am. And truly I did not expect to do so.”

She looked out on the floor to see Trevor dance by with La Contessa as his partner. This caused a twinge of emotion. Jealousy? Surely not. Did he not have a perfect right to dance and laugh with whomever he pleased?

“Well, you know”—a voice, slightly louder than one might have expected, came from the other side of the pillar—“Trevor was involved with that woman in Portugal.”

“Involved? How?” asked another voice.

Aunt Gertrude leaned closer to Caitlyn to whisper, “Lydia. And Miranda, I think. Shall we move elsewhere?”

Caitlyn knew very well she should say yes, but something held her rooted to the spot. She shook her head no. The first voice continued.

“It is said she was my son's mistress.”

“Surely not, my lady.”

“I am afraid so, my dear. Colonel Lord Oglethorpe told me so himself.”

“Oh, my. I surely hope Trevor is not going to spring yet more scandal about our heads.”

“At least this one is not likely to involve a child born on the wrong side of the blanket.” Lydia's laugh held little mirth.

The voices moved on.

Aunt Gertrude patted Caitlyn's hand. “Of all the malicious, hateful things to say! Pay them no mind, my dear.”

Caitlyn made no attempt to hide her pain as she looked at Aunt Gertrude. “But you heard them. They said Trevor—”

“They were repeating gossip. And who is to say they were not making the whole thing up? One thing is certain—they knew you would hear them.”

“How could they know that?”

“They walked past me only a moment before you left the dance floor.”

“Then they—”

“—were being deliberately cruel. Pay them no mind.”

However, try as she might, Caitlyn could not forget what she had heard. The evening, which had started out on such a warm, positive note, had taken a cold, bleak turn.

 

 

Fearful that someone of his family would contrive to embarrass or humiliate Caitlyn, Trevor had made a point of being with her or ensuring that she was accompanied by those who would offer subtle protection all evening. Even as he danced with others, he was aware of where—and with whom—Caitlyn was to be found. He cursed his luck that he had been unable to avoid the machinations of Dolores, who had manipulated him into dancing with her.

He saw Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude and then he spied his mother and sister-in-law standing only a few feet away. Despite the intricacies of the dance, he glanced at Caitlyn repeatedly. He saw her face take on a stricken look which she was not wholly successful in hiding, and he saw his mother and her companion walk away.

Damn! They must have said something to hurt her.

Later, though, he saw Caitlyn laughing and chatting merrily with Willard Ratcliff. When Trevor claimed her for the second waltz, she seemed herself again—or as much of such a self as he now knew. That he truly wanted to know more came as a surprise. Being aware of a woman's physical charms was one thing. This desire to know Caitlyn's emotional depths was quite another.

Finally, the ball was over. Trevor handed his wife and his aunt into the carriage and noted with an inward smile of gratitude that Aunt Gertrude had taken the seat opposite Caitlyn, leaving the space near his wife free. Caitlyn moved slightly to allow him more room than he wanted.

“Such a wonderful ball,” Aunt Gertrude observed in a conversational tone. “The duchess was in alt—two crowned heads of the continent and the Prince Regent, too, among her guests.”

Caitlyn chuckled. “All that royal splendor was rather dimmed by the appearance of the Spanish general with his miles of gold braid and all those medals. They kept clinking!”