Chapter 5
“What are you reading?”
When Spencer returned, Anna was reading her book once more. She had been mortified at being seen when she was, for the scene she had reached was certainly not for polite company. She had wondered, at times, if it was even allowed to be sold at all.
When the two gentlemen had entered, she had just reached a most scandalous part where the hero was desperately grasping at a married lady’s corset, trying to unlace it.
Her husband, meanwhile, was on the run after having killed another man whom he believed she was seeing.
It was most detailed, every moment written splendidly, and she was so lost in it that she almost did not notice them arrive.
Her blush, she supposed, would not have been taken well.
“It is nothing,” she replied, slotting a ribbon inside and closing the book entirely.
“Something for your club?” he asked. “I do not intend to pry, but I am interested to know what you discussed.”
“I am surprised that you could not hear us from your study. My friends are certainly good speakers.”
“I could hear their voices, but not any words. Besides, my friend and I were having a conversation of our own.”
“Oh? What did you discuss?”
His eyes widened briefly, as though he had said something he should not have, and then he cleared his throat.
“Perhaps it is best that we keep our activities separated, after all,” he said simply.
“Very well,” she replied.
There was a brief but heavy silence. In spite of herself, Anna thought back to her chapter; fingertips on lace, skirts sliding up thighs, heavy exhalations.
It was salacious, and if the ton knew that she took such pleasure in it, she would have been an outcast, but that was what made it all the more wonderful.
“You are doing it again,” he said roughly.
“What do you mean?”
“That!” he continued, pointing at her face. “You are blushing as though you were doing something I should not have seen.”
“Well, I can assure you that I was not.”
“So you did not feel anything for His Grace?”
As soon as he said it, he slammed his mouth shut. Anna, meanwhile, felt hers fall open. Her husband, the one who did not care what she did for a year, was now standing before her with jealousy in his eyes.
“He is an appealing man,” she replied. “I will not lie to you, for it is something you would see through effortlessly. He also seems to be a kind man, and in spite of the rumors, he was rather pleasant.”
“I see.”
“However,” she continued, a smile playing on her lips, “I knew what he was doing. He was flirting with me, but not so that I would react. It is just as well, for I know his sort and it would never work on me.”
“No? Even after so long by yourself?”
“I am a good wife,” she said firmly. “I would never do something so dishonorable, whether you believe me or not.”
“Given the circumstances, would you?”
She laughed bitterly, her gaze sliding from his.
“I do not know. I do not suppose that I would. This is all quite the mess, is it not?”
“That is certainly one way of putting it,” he sighed.
His eyes settled on her book, and she prayed that he would not take it to read for himself.
If he were to know, she could never look him in the eye again.
He already thought that she was a badly behaved bluestocking, and if he were to stay, then he would have to believe that she was worth staying for.
“So what precisely do you know about my friend?” he asked. “I am not exactly aware of any current gossip.”
“You will be pleased to know that it is hardly new. There is an irony to it, of course. Your wife cannot do anything scandalous, but your friend can rake across the country, and you are perfectly happy for him to do so.”
“Most gentlemen do.”
“I am aware of that.”
It was not a direct accusation, but enough for him to give her a look. She did not know for certain that that was where he had been, but there was nothing else that she could think of. He had to have hidden it from her out of shame, and what could be even half as shameful as that?
“You should know that what they say of him is not true,” Spencer explained. “It was something unfortunate that happened five years ago, and it continues to haunt him.”
“And did he do it?”
“I do not believe so.”
“Then you are a good friend,” she said gently. “You have that, at least.”
At that moment, dinner was prepared, and they left for the dining room.
Anna felt rather improper, for she was not dressed for something so formal; she wore a simple pink gown, one that she found more comfortable than her others.
They sat in all sorts of positions when reading, and Anna knew that once she began, she could sit for hours, and she preferred comfort over looking pretty.
It was a habit of hers after so much time had passed with her not having anyone to impress.
They had soup to start, and Anna tried to remember her etiquette lessons. She wished to surprise her husband and show him that she was a perfectly respectable lady, whether he believed that of her or not. She took the correct spoon and ate in the most delicate way that she could.
“So,” he said after a while, “what of your friends? I have heard some things about them, too.”
“Unlike your friend, everything that is said of them is true,” she joked, though he seemed to take her seriously.
“I thought you might keep more proper company.”
“They are quite proper when they need to be. I shall remind you that one of them is a duchess, after all, and a respected one at that.”
“And the other two?”
“One has already been married, and is now a widow. The other is her sister. Believe me, they are not half as scandalous as you might expect.”
“A widow? How old is she?”
“Five-and-twenty. She was married off at eighteen, and by nineteen, she was alone once again. She speaks easily of it, but I cannot imagine it is nice to think about.”
“No, no, of course not. Does she have any children?”
“No, which makes her situation rather precarious.”
Anna thought that it was the perfect opportunity to tell her husband of the issue they faced, but she could not bring herself to say it.
They were talking, and for the first time since they met, it was a pleasant conversation.
She did not want to ruin it, did not want to set a precedent that each time they spoke, she had something terrible to say.
It would have to wait, even for a little while.
“And what of her sister?”
Anna bit her lip.
“Theodora… well, she is indeed a bluestocking. She saw what happened to her sister and decided that she did not want such a fate to befall her. She is not dangerous by any means, but she has a lot of thoughts about marriage, namely how much she does not want it.”
He sat back, studying her. Part of her was tempted to stand up and turn around for him, so that he could look at her properly, but she remained seated.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You look different, that is all. Prettier, certainly.”
“Did you think I was ugly before?”
“Not at all. Rather plain, perhaps, but then you were covered by a veil for the most part and unable to meet my eyes afterward.”
“Is that to say that you like that I have a voice now?”
“For the most part,” he admitted. “Once you learn the right times to use it, all will be well.”
She drew an angry breath. He had no right to dictate to her what was right and wrong after he had not been there. However, there was no malice in his voice as he said it. It seemed that he was truly trying to help her, and though he was clumsy with his words, she found it almost charming in a way.
“I shall gladly take lessons from you,” she half-joked. “But as you can see, I am capable of conducting myself at a dinner.”
“You are, indeed. I can also see that Cook has been preparing your favorite meals the last few days, rather than mine.”
“Yes, I spoke with her this morning and told her to continue as we were. I thought your tastes might have changed, and so it would be best that you tell her yourself what you would like.”
“That was most thoughtful of you. I shall see her before bed.”
“You cannot.”
She had said it quickly, leading to him raising an eyebrow at her. She knew that it was wrong to tell a man what to do in his own house, but her staff had enjoyed living how they had, and she did not want that to change.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, as the next course arrived.
“What I mean is that they sleep soon after dinner. I made it this way so that they can rest adequately, as they wake early each morning.”
She waited for him to tell her that things would change and that things would return to how they were before. Instead, he smiled faintly, nodding in acknowledgment.
“As you wish. As long as their tasks are completed, I do not see why we cannot continue to accommodate that. Would tomorrow after breakfast be better?”
She nodded, and they ate their meal. It was game and vegetables, accompanied by a red wine sauce.
Anna had smelled it as she walked through the hallway, and it had excited her greatly.
She did not know whether or not her husband liked it at all, but as he chewed and smiled, she knew that they had something in common after all.
“This is rather pleasant,” he said in thought. “We shall keep this, certainly.”
There was a fluttering in Anna’s chest at his words, not because he was agreeing with her but because he was acting as though he planned to stay this time. Had he expected to leave, he would not have cared to make any changes, nor would he have commented at all.
It did not mean that she forgave him, not at all, but it meant that she could try to. He was home, and they would be able to start again.
“Would you like to meet my friends?” she suggested. “The Duke of Winterleigh can attend, too, so that you have a man to speak with.”
“Eventually, but not yet. First, I must ensure that these affairs are attended to. They believe my tale for now, but they will ask questions eventually.”
“Then I suppose we ought to come to an agreement about it all between ourselves, so that we do not cause any discrepancies.”
Once again, he looked at her in surprise. Anna wondered if he expected her to be simple, given that he hardly gave her any credit for her plan.
“As far as they know,” he explained, “I was taken ill. I had a letter sent to you, and in the man’s broken English, he wrote that it was an accident instead of a sickness. I then recovered and made my way home.”
“And what was the sickness?”
“I did not name one. I did not want to make a mistake.”
“We shall have to decide upon one. It is not believable to say you had a mysterious illness that miraculously was cured once you sent a letter.”
He nodded in agreement.
“Then we can say it was typhoid fever. It was seemingly grave, but then I began to recover.”
“And you left as you were recovering,” she continued, “for you could not stomach the thought of me receiving the letter.”
“It is an incredible tale,” he laughed.
“We have rather active imaginations. Do you suppose they will accept it?”
“They shall have to. It is not as though they know where I truly was.”
She nodded, but she could clearly tell that he knew what he had suggested. Nobody knew where he was, not even her, and he had no inclination to tell the truth about it.
“Might you be able to tell me, at least?” she asked tentatively.
“I cannot,” he replied bluntly. “You cannot know where I was, only that it is not what you think. I have done nothing untoward, but if I tell you, then terrible things could come of it.”
His shoulders were stiff, his face stern, and Anna knew the matter was closed. She would not convince him, and so she would not try. It felt like a warning, and though eventually she wanted to know the truth, if it was not the time, then that was that.
“What do you think of the household?” she asked instead. “It was a labor of love, I must say.”
“It is certainly… womanly. The house has not had a woman’s touch in years, and it has needed it.”
“Is that to say you like it?”
“It is. I think it is far brighter than before, and I am pleased to see that it was done. I suppose that I should look at the finances of it soon, so that I can ensure it is all in order.”
“It is.”
He raised an eyebrow in clear disbelief.
“Did you find someone to handle matters?”
“No, I did it myself.”
He laughed at that—really laughed, as though he did not believe her at all.
“It is true!” she continued. “Evelina has been doing it herself for seven years now, and she showed me how to do it too. It was easier that way, as if I knew it was done, it would not be a concern to me. I did not have to constantly fear that something was wrong.”
Except there was something wrong, and there was only so long that she could avoid it for before they were in deep trouble.
“You are capable, then,” her husband said quietly. “You have handled things all along.”
“I have, and easily so,” she agreed. “But there is a difference between living and coping.”
He abandoned his plate, going to her side and placing his hand under her chin, tilting her up to look at him.
“And which have you been doing?” he asked, as if he did not already know.