The Care and Feeding of Rogues (A Lady’s Guide to Rogues #1)

Chapter 16

“He’s watching you again,” Cinna murmured to Elise. They were gathered around the refreshment tables in the main dining room of Elise’s home, along with Edwina.

“Who is?”

Cinna gave a low chuckle. “Mr. Holmes. I suppose he’s furious you won, and now he’s just come to glare at you.”

“Actually, I believe he’s watching Prospero, who is watching Elise,” Edwina said.

“What?” Elise looked toward her husband, who was at the far end of the dining room with a group of men, including her father. They had formed a loose circle and were in a jovial discussion that had her father laughing and Prospero smiling.

But Prospero had positioned himself so he could still see Elise, and his eyes would flit to her every few seconds even though he spoke with the other gentlemen. Elise smiled back at him, and he gave her a sinful, wicked look before he raised his glass to her in a knowing way. Heat bloomed in her belly as she imagined what he might be thinking to cause such a smile. But before she let herself become distracted by her husband’s sinful looks, she turned her attention back to Mr. Holmes.

Elise found him standing with Dr. Watson amongst several members of the Society of Rebellious Ladies. Holmes’s gaze moved back and forth between Elise and Prospero in clear consternation. Dr. Watson, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the company of these outspoken women.

“I think it’s time I acquired that blasted violin.” Elise walked toward Mr. Holmes, eager to have this over with. Holmes separated from Dr. Watson and the crowd of guests he’d been with, and they moved far enough away from everyone to allow for the two to have a private conversation.

“I offer you my solicitations,” Holmes said stiffly. His gaze swept over her figure as if looking for a critical thing to point out, but found nothing. She did look quite stunning in the gown that she was now glad Mary had forced her to have made for her wedding ceremony. The soft scent of oranges from the blossoms tucked in her hair permeated the room in a faint citrus scent that almost everyone found pleasing.

“Thank you,” Elise replied primly. “And I trust you received my report on my findings as to the nature of men?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We can discuss the value of your findings later. This hardly seems the time for it, don’t you think?” He glanced around at the crowd. “Marriage was not part of our wager.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t,” she agreed.

“That means something forced your hand. But what, I wonder?” Mr. Holmes said, his focus leaving her to dart about the room at the other guests as if trying to suss out a suspect. When his gaze settled on her father, his eyes softened ever so slightly. “My condolences on your father’s health. If you wish, I could ask Dr. Watson to see to him. But I expect, knowing your father, he has already seen the best doctors in the city.”

“You are right,” she agreed. “My father requested the marriage. Given his illness, I could not refuse him such a request.”

“Ah...” A brief flash of sympathy shone on the detective’s usually cold face. “Pity. I find your father to be a fair and honest sort of fellow. The world needs more men like him, not less.” It was as good a compliment as ever to be given by this famous detective, and Elise felt a lump form in her throat.

“Now,” she said softly. “As you are aware, I am well-versed in understanding men, well enough to agree to marry one, even the one you chose for our bet.”

His lips thinned. “If you believe marriage will tip the scales in your favor on the wager?—”

Her palm connected with Holmes’s cheek. She knew he was well trained in Baritsu martial arts and could have stopped her attack, but he didn’t, because he knew as well as she did that he deserved the slap.

Fury sparked back to life in Elise as she leaned in close to Mr. Holmes, aware that the entire room was now watching them and their heated discussion.

“I gave up my life, my freedom, even my bodily autonomy to that man. Do you think I would’ve done that with anyone unless I trusted them and understood everything there was to know about them? I certainly didn’t do that to win a wager.”

Holmes stared at her for a long moment, weighing her words carefully. “No, I don’t think you would. Other women might, but not you.”

“Understanding a person goes beyond gender, Mr. Holmes. I can tell you all about how men behave, how to walk and talk and act like one, but to truly understand my husband, I had to love him.” The words slipped out before she had time to think, but they were true, nonetheless. To know Prospero, his hopes, his dreams, his passions, even his fears, knowing all of that it was impossible not to love him. That realization would require more analysis later, but now was not the time.

“He left his entire world because a man forced him to. He lived a life that left him empty, and he returned to a crumbling home with no family. But he didn’t do the easy thing. He didn’t give up. Instead, he did whatever he could to make his own way. He studied, and rather than sit on his title and the past, he sought a way to adapt to this age of growing technological wonders. He honored my father’s request to take care of me, knowing that others would gossip about him taking an heiress for a bride so soon. I know all of this about him, and it makes me adore him all the more. He has as much a rebel heart as I do. Is that proof enough that I understand him to your satisfaction?”

Holmes lifted his chin. “Yes. I suppose that proof is sufficient, Lady March.”

Lady March.

It was the first time someone had called her that. She was Elise Hamblin no longer. She was someone’s wife, someone’s property and burden. Her stomach knotted and her heart clenched in protest. The woman she’d once been had slowly perished from one moment to the next, and she had to accept that that woman was gone. Elise Hamblin was truly dead. Now she was Lady March, and only time would tell what that might mean.

“I will see that the violin is delivered to you as soon as I return home, per our agreement.” Mr. Holmes offered her a hand, and after a moment, she shook it. He turned to leave, only to stop and face her again. “Lady March, there is something that concerns me about your husband.”

“And what is that?” She wondered what he might be playing at, but his tone wasn’t accusatory. Rather, it was concerned.

“Yes, not of him, no, but I do believe he’s attracting the wrong sort of attention.” Holmes was uncharacteristically grave as he spoke next. “Please take care, Lady March. That is all I can say for now.”

Before she could demand Mr. Holmes explain himself, he extracted Dr. Watson from the group of young ladies he’d been speaking to and left. Distracted by Holmes’s warning, Elise turned away from the door and bumped into a hard body.

“Darling?” Prospero’s deep voice was the comfort she hadn’t known she needed just then. “What’s the matter? What did he say to you?”

In mere seconds, her husband had seen her distress and rushed to her side, ready to defend her. And he’d called her darling. Why did that make her knees go weak? She’d always thought pet names were ridiculous, yet the way he’d said darling, as though she were something precious, yet also something deeper, something more lasting—it made her chest tight with a heady warmth.

“I...” She halted and tried again. “Could we speak about it later tonight?”

Her husband rubbed her back with his palm. “Of course,” he assured her. “But you are all right?”

“Yes, quite fine. Thank you.” She was grateful to have him thinking about her, worrying about her. She’d never imagined she would be thankful for that, but here she was, ready to weep over his kindness toward her.

The rest of the wedding breakfast went without further incident, and by the time the last guest left, Elise was dead on her feet. She entered her room to change into a tea gown and found several travel cases packed and sitting by the door of her bedchamber.

“Mary?” she called out in concern. Her lady’s maid emerged from the dressing room with a pile of clothing in her arms.

“Ah, there you are, milady. I am almost ready to leave.”

Elise gasped. “Leave? You’re leaving?”

Mary chuckled and came over to her, patting her cheek in a motherly fashion. “We are leaving. Your husband has planned a surprise honeymoon to the Isle of Wight. We are taking a train to Southampton this afternoon, and he has booked passage to the island tonight.”

Elise stared at her maid. “But he didn’t tell me...”

Mary laughed. “I believe that is the point of a surprise. Now let’s get you changed. I won’t have this beautiful wedding gown anywhere near a train station.”

Numb, Elise allowed Mary to change her out of her wedding gown and into a sky-blue and orange day gown, with a short train that wouldn’t drag upon the floor. Normally she would have been delighted to wear such a burst of color, but at the moment, her heart wasn’t in it.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Elise whispered. She sat down at her vanity table to have her hair arranged. “He can’t just do things like that without asking me.”

Her maid placed her hands on Elise’s shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror.

“You are two people sharing a life now, my child. A good man, a good husband, will do things to surprise you. And if you love him, you should surprise him too. He wanted you to have time to enjoy being married before you came back and settled in.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded, feeling rather childish and despising herself for it.

“Because he asked my thoughts if you would like a honeymoon, and he wondered if he should take you to the Isle of Wight after your father suggested it might be a good place to go. I said you’d certainly enjoy spending all day digging for those shells you love, and your husband simply smiled and said, ‘Good. I want her to do what she loves most.’”

Prospero had asked her maid her thoughts about what Elise would like? Well, that was intelligent as well as thoughtful. And he had seemed pleased about taking her to a place where she would be running about the cliffs looking for fossils. How could she be even remotely angry with him for that? She couldn’t. Hadn’t her father surprised her often enough with delightful adventures that she’d loved? The truth was, she was looking for a reason to be upset with him so that she could feel in control of something, and that was absolutely wretched of her.

“I admit, I was wary about that man at first, but he cares a great deal about you,” Mary said softly. “He’s putting you first. Do you know how rare that is?”

Elise swallowed hard. Yes, it was rare, and she had been complaining like some spoiled child about it. Well, no more. She wasn’t going to look for any more flaws in her husband. Mary was right. They were sharing a life, and he was a good man, and he’d done more for her in the last few days than any man had ever done for her, aside from her father. Edwina would have said he was a hero from one of her favorite fanciful novels. And as much as it seemed strange to admit, Elise thought Edwina was right.

“Now, let’s get you dressed. We have a train to catch.”

* * *

Prospero studied the violin in front of him, still puzzled.

John stood beside Prospero in the drawing room, examining the gift. “Who is it from?”

The butler had brought a black case to them a few moments ago. When Prospero had opened it, he’d discovered a violin inside, with a note tucked between the strings. Prospero read it aloud again for John.

“You win. It’s signed, Sherlock.”

“As in Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” John asked as he peered at the note. “He was at the wedding breakfast, but I didn’t have a chance to speak with him.”

“It must be. He and Elise were having a rather heated discussion at one point.”

“I had wondered about what the fellow said to her, because she slapped him for it,” John murmured in concern. “I trust you will get to the bottom of this?”

“Most certainly,” Prospero promised.

“Good. Now, I believe I hear Elise on the stairs.” John nodded toward the door of the drawing room. “Shall we?”

Prospero followed Elise’s father into the entryway by the foot of the stairs. Elise and Mary were dressed and ready to leave, but his wife’s face was a bit pale. She’d been under too much strain today. He would find out what was the matter and fix it, whatever it was. His new valet, Conley, was also ready and had a travel case gripped in each hand. The valet carried the cases out to the waiting coach, while Elise hugged her father goodbye.

Prospero’s heart stilled as he saw how much this moment pained both father and daughter, just as it had in the church. John stroked his child’s hair and murmured something that made Elise tear up, nod, and whisper something in return. Then John let go of her and held out a hand to Prospero.

“Have a good journey, my boy.”

At that moment, Prospero no longer felt like a man standing outside in the cold. John’s two words, my boy, had brought him into the warmth of his new family, claiming him as his son where his own father had abandoned him.

“I will write to you every day,” Elise promised her father.

“I rather hope you won’t,” her father said with a grin. “There ought to be other things to help keep you busy. Now off you go, before you miss your train.”

Elise was quiet for most of the train ride to Southampton as well as the boat ride to the Isle of Wight. But it wouldn’t be kind to press her on the matter until they were truly alone. Prospero had rented a small house by the sea rather than stay at one of the expensive hotels. It would give his wife easier access to the beach and cliffs. The house came with its own cook, an upstairs maid, and a footman, and there were spare rooms for Mary and Conley to stay in. He and Elise would share the largest bedchamber.

He stood behind Elise now, hands on her waist as she took in the cozy bedroom where he hoped they would spend at least half their time. He couldn’t deny his hunger for her, and he knew she desired him just as much. They had already shared a bed, had already been intimate, though not fully. Still, it was perfectly understandable for a woman who’d never been with a man before to be anxious.

“Would you like to dine before we settle in for the night?” he asked as he rubbed her waist.

“Y–yes, let’s dine first.” She turned in his arms, ready to flee the bedroom, but he caught her before she could slide past.

“Elise, what did you and Mr. Holmes speak about at the breakfast this morning?” He figured he would press his advantage to get the truth out of her while she was unsettled.

She blinked. “Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, you slapped him at the wedding breakfast, and then a violin was delivered to your house before we left, along with a note saying you’d won. Won what, might I ask?”

“I...” She tried to hide a flash of guilt, but he had gotten very used to reading his new wife.

“The truth, please, wife.” He spoke the word with affection rather than in reprimand. He needed her to believe that truth and sharing between them would work. He pulled her closer to him, holding her as comfortingly as he could.

Her face reddened. “I’m afraid you’ll be upset with me when you hear the entire tale. But to be fair, you and I didn’t know each other when this all began...”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” He led her deeper into the bedchamber and closed the door. He sat on one of the large armchairs and pulled her to sit on his lap. He like the weight of her there, and he liked how he was able to wrap his arms around her hips and hold her, and she seemed to find as much comfort in it as he did.

“It began a few days before we met. Mr. Holmes was driving me mad with his violin playing. It was disrupting our meetings at the society, and he knew what he was doing because I had specifically asked him before not to play on certain days and times. I went next door to confront him, and, well, we ended up making a wager instead.”

“What sort of wager?” He didn’t like the sound of that at all, but he waited to pass judgment until he’d heard the entire story.

She explained the terms of her wager to study him and how she had sent Cinna to his club to lure him into the interview that day with the advert she’d had printed.

“Why did you choose me?”

“I didn’t. Mr. Holmes did. He thought you would prove the most interesting because you lived your life in the gray, as he called it. You weren’t a perfect gentleman, given your scandalous past, but neither did he think you a villain.”

Prospero hummed softly, not quite sure what to make of the detective’s assessment. “And the gentleman who was reading the paper was Cinna?”

Elise nodded. “She’d snuck into the club once before, and we thought she’d be best. If it had been me, you might have recognized me at the interview.”

“I thought I recognized her, when you first introduced us.”

A hint of mischief came back into Elise’s eyes. “That you did.”

“And these other men who were present the day I interviewed with you? Were they part of your plan?”

“Not exactly. I hadn’t anticipated how many people would show up in response to the advertisement. I had to do something to drive them all away. Most of them bolted when they realized a woman would be in charge of the study, but others were more difficult to dissuade.”

Prospero thought over all that she had said. “So what did you and Holmes speak about at the breakfast?”

“I spoke to him about collecting my prize, the violin, and he made a distasteful comment about me... about me marrying you to win the wager.” She shuddered. “I lost my temper, slapped him, and said?—”

She halted suddenly.

“Said what?”

She swallowed nervously. “I told him that I could not understand you unless I loved you, or rather, that to understand you was to love you, or something about knowing—” She began to ramble, but he caught her chin.

“Do you love me?” he asked, trying to hold in the hope and excitement that love could come so swiftly for them.

“I suppose I do...,” she mused. “Having never been in love before, I cannot say I know what it truly feels like,” she admitted. “Do you?”

“Do I love you, or do I know what it feels like to be in love?” he asked.

She placed her hands on his chest, and she stroked her fingers over his ascot. “Both, I suppose?”

“I think I must be falling, in answer to your first question, and not until this moment, in answer to the second.”

That was the first moment he and Elise spoke words of love, albeit in a roundabout way that oddly seemed to suit them. She lifted her gaze from his ascot to his eyes, then down to his lips, and they both realized that dinner could wait.

* * *

Adam Jackson glared at the newspaper that discussed the wedding breakfast of one Prospero Harrington, the new Earl of March, to Elise Hamblin. So, it was done and done quickly. But his plans were already in place. His revenge was close—he could almost feel the release of that pressure that had been building for weeks in his head.

“Celine!” The townhouse shook as he bellowed his sister’s name. She came at once, head bowed, eyes still black from where he’d struck her earlier.

“Yes?” Her voice was a whisper.

“You will find out if the newly wedded couple are at home this evening. Pay whatever servant you must and then come straight back.”

She was quiet a long moment. “What will you do to avenge our brother?”

He eyed her with suspicion. “You now finally agree that March must suffer?”

She nodded. “I do. I see that now. What will you do to him? Kill him?”

Adam smirked. “Too simple. I’ll make him wish he was dead. I will kill that pretty new bride of his and leave him to hang for it. I might do it tonight, once they are asleep.” He waved a hand at her. “Now go find out what you can and return at once.”

His sister ducked out of the room. He waved for a footman to pour him a fresh glass of brandy. If he was going to strangle a woman tonight, he wished to enjoy it fully. The drifting feeling of brandy flowing through his veins always made violence more fun. And he did so love to have fun.