Chapter Twenty-Five
Charles had expected his wife to remain in her chamber the next day, but as he entered the breakfast room, his valet in tow, she was sitting at the end of the table, the morning sun forming a halo around her hair. She rose as he entered, but he gestured for her to sit.
Blushing, she turned her wide-eyed gaze toward John.
Charles raised his hands. Leave us.
John glanced at the pile of devilled kidneys on the side table, longing in his eyes, then nodded and approached the door.
Sometimes—just sometimes—the valet possessed enough insight to be sensible of the feelings of others.
It was a well-known fact that new brides bled like sows on the wedding night and were delicate the following morning.
And Charles was hardly a small man—both in stature and, according to the whores he’d taken over the years, in girth.
“Mr. Richards, there’s no need—” Olivia began, but the valet interrupted.
“There’s every need, Lady Devereaux,” he said. “I’ll take my breakfast in the kitchen.”
She nodded, then reached for her teacup, which rattled against the saucer as her hand shook. She resumed her attention on the plate in front of her, though she merely pushed her food from one side to the other, then back again.
Charles approached the side table, his gaze wandering to the sheets of paper stacked beside the dishes, a pencil placed at the side, and helped himself to eggs and a spoonful of kidneys.
Then, dismissing the attending footman with a wave of his hand, he resumed his seat and began to devour his food, forcing himself not to glance in his wife’s direction.
At length, she spoke.
“May I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“Last night… D-does it always hurt?”
Only for the woman, and only the first time.
She stared at his hand gestures, then glanced at the pile of paper.
Shit—how could he bring himself to write that down?
He contented himself with shaking his head.
“A-and the blood,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Eleanor said…” She shook her head. “It matters not. I-is that why you cut yourself…that night at the inn? So, the maid tending to the sheets…”
Devil’s breeches, he wasn’t prepared for the sort of conversation that should take place between a bride and her mother.
But Olivia had no mother, only a sister-in-law who’d failed in her duty in preparing her for the marriage bed.
“Why did you do it?” she said. “I-I mean…cut yourself that night?”
A wife whom her husband neglects on the wedding night is a source of ridicule. I would not have everyone at the inn gossiping about you.
She watched his hands, then gestured to the paper. “Please, I don’t understand you.”
He plucked a sheaf from the side table and scribbled on it.
So as not to shame you.
She read the words, then returned the paper and picked up her fork, once more pushing a kidney about the plate.
“A-am I now with child?”
Bloody hell, had the duchess not told her anything? Such matters were not suitable for the breakfast table, even between women.
Wrinkling his nose, he picked up the pencil, wrote on the paper, and thrust it at her.
I hope to God you are not.
She stared at the paper, then crumpled it in her hand.
Perhaps he’d been too harsh, but surely she didn’t want to bring a child into the world. Not here. He had endured nothing but misery in this godforsaken house. It was enough of a sin to have this innocent creature endure a life here, let alone a child.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced up to see her watching him, her eyes shining with intensity.
“Do not all men wish for a child—an heir?”
Charles shook his head.
Foolish girl! Didn’t she realize by now that he was not like other men?
“Your father must have wanted an heir—and sons love their fathers, do they not? My father…” Her cheeks reddened further. “I mean, Montague’s father—played his wife false, but Montague still speaks of him with fondness. And my nephew Horatio adores his father. Would you not what that for—Oh!”
She let out a cry as he slammed his fist on the table, causing the crockery to rattle. Moisture beaded in her eyes, and she picked up her teacup once more, her hand shaking more violently.
Fuck. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her.
Forgive me. I have no wish to speak of my father.
She stared as he moved his hands, then shook her head. But rather than ask him to write the words she continued to sip her tea, as if she no longer cared.
Or as if she knew that whatever he tried to say would distress her further.
Curse it! This was why he wasn’t suited to married life. He knew not what to say to her, even armed with pen and paper.
Silence stretched around the room, save for the clock ticking on the mantelshelf. Then Charles heard hoofbeats and the crunch of wheels on gravel. Olivia stiffened and turned toward the window.
There was a knock before John entered.
“The carriage is ready when you require it, sir.”
Bugger. So soon? I can’t leave her now.
John glanced at Charles’s hands. “Sir, you told me this morning that you needed to visit London, and I thought…”
You thought it opportune to visit my banker now I’ve earned the additional ten thousand? Charles smacked his fist into his palm. You think I can fuck my wife then rush to London while the bed’s still warm to claim the reward?
“N-no, sir, I just thought, what with the new carriage and all the expenses agreed with Mr. Carlton yesterday, that…”
Charles banged his fist on the table again, and his wife’s fork clattered to the floor.
“I should excuse myself,” she said. “I doubt this is a conversation you wish me to partake in.”
She stood, then paused as Charles raised his hands.
Tell her I’m going to London.
John rolled his eyes. “Lady Devereaux, your husband wishes to convey his apologies, but he’s required in London for the next few days.”
“How many days?”
John glanced at Charles. “A fortnight, perhaps. No longer than a month.”
“For what purpose, if it’s not unseemly of me to ask?”
The slight edge to her voice was cause for celebration, as was the firm set to her jaw. Charles’s little wife had some spirit, after all.
Do not tell her.
John, the treacherous bastard, ignored the request.
“The cost of refurbishing the estate buildings is considerably more than anticipated, and…”
“And my husband wishes to claim the ten thousand from my brother that he earned last night?”
She stared at Charles unwaveringly, then dipped into a curtsey.
“I’ll excuse myself so that you can go about your business unencumbered.”
She approached the door, but Charles stepped in her path.
Don’t go. I can delay my journey. I’ve no wish to leave you if you need me.
He glared at John, who repeated the message. Olivia continued to stare at him, her lips trembling as John spoke the words. Then, after drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head.
“Don’t let me prevent you from undertaking your business, my lord,” she said. “My need for you to remain is nothing compared to your need to go.”
She bestowed a smile on John—the fortunate blackguard—then exited the breakfast room.
“You ought to go after her, sir, while I finish packing your trunk.”
Charles shook his head. It would only make matters worse. Instruct Mrs. Brougham to take care of her.
“And Jacob?”
If you must.
“Mr. Carlton says he’s a capable young man and, after all, Jacob is your heir.” John gave a grin. “Though given the events of last night, I ought to refer to him as your heir presumptive.”
Fuck off.
John chuckled at Charles’s crude gesture, then exited the breakfast room.
Less than an hour later, Charles stepped out of the main doors. The servants stood to attention, forming a line that led toward the waiting carriage bearing the Devereaux crest on the side. At the end of the line of servants stood—
His heart gave a little flutter.
At the end of the line stood his wife.
She was the better person. Had anyone distressed him, he’d have not wished to show them respect.
As a child, he recalled hiding in the attic rather than wishing his mother a safe journey after she’d admonished him over some transgression.
Had he known at the time that within a month she’d be cold in her grave…
If only he could have relived all the moments he’d shown childish unkindness toward his mother, and behaved differently.
So many regrets—and they cut as deep as his regret over how he’d behaved toward his wife, the sweet young woman he’d vowed to honor and protect.
The servants bowed and curtseyed as he passed them, and he paused to nod and smile at each one, including the young maid who tended to his wife. When he reached his half-brother, he stopped and gestured to John.
Tell him to take care of everything, including her.
Jacob’s eyes widened. “Who are you—and what have you done with Charles Devereaux?”
So, his brother understood him. Charles frowned, and Jacob stepped back, raising his hands as if in surrender. Then Charles approached Olivia.
“I hope you have a safe journey, my lord—”
She broke off as he took her hand and shook his head.
“Charles,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. He smiled encouragement, and her lips curved in response. “I shall do my best not to disappoint…”
He placed a finger on her lips, and his blood warmed as her soft breath caressed his skin.
You could never disappoint me.
Though he neither spoke nor gestured, hope flickered in her eyes, as if she understood.
He placed his fingertips beneath her chin and tilted it up, relishing the sight of those sweet, plump lips.
Swallowing his embarrassment, aware that several pairs of eyes watched, he brushed his lips against hers.
Her eyes flared with joy, and, for a heartbeat, she gave him a glimpse of what it might be like to live in harmony and happiness, to exorcise the ghosts of his mother and father. But when he glanced back at the dark, forbidding building that cast a shadow across the land, his hope diminished.
He released his wife’s hand, then climbed into the carriage, motioning for John to follow. The sharp odor of fresh paint thickened the air, reminding him of the expense of the carriage and the necessity of his visit to London.
Then they set off, and he leaned out of the window.
The servants were beginning to disperse, but Olivia remained still, watching as the carriage rolled along the drive.
Before the carriage turned a corner, she raised her hand.
He mirrored the gesture, placing his hand on the window, fixing his gaze on her until she disappeared out of sight.