Chapter Nine
As he headed for the stairs to see what was keeping Maeve, she descended the grand staircase.
Aubrey stopped to watch her come toward him, noting the regal curve of the neck that had first entranced him. He held out his hand to help her down the last few stairs, not that she needed his help. Her independence and courage were two of the things he found most attractive about her.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he escorted her into the dining room and held the chair to the right of his for her.
Once they were settled, Mrs. Allston came in to serve bowls of steaming fish stew, pickled herring, boiled potatoes and asparagus in a delicious cream sauce.
Aubrey opened the chilled bottle of champagne he’d procured from the wine cellar and popped the cork, sending a stream of fizzy bubbly into the two flutes that had been placed on the table.
Mrs. Allston had seen to every detail, and he would express his gratitude in the form of a handsome tip at the end of the summer.
“A toast to you, Mrs. Nelson,” Aubrey said when they were alone in the enormous dining room that sat thirty people comfortably.
His voice echoed off the ceiling and the tall walls that boasted a series of paintings depicting seaside activities—a woman holding a parasol on her shoulder as she walked along the shore, a sleek sailing vessel heeling in the wind and a young child collecting shells into a pail.
“Thank you for doing me the honor of becoming my wife.”
She touched her glass to his. “I should be thanking you. Without your grand gesture, I would still be running from the past.”
“I would’ve had no choice but to chase after you, so thank you for agreeing to my plan.”
“It wasn’t exactly a hardship to marry a wealthy, influential man who also happens to be kind, thoughtful and exceedingly handsome.”
Aubrey wished for a way to capture that sentence in some format that would allow him to hear it back any time he wished to be reminded of what she’d said and how she’d said it in that melodic sound of Ireland. “You find me exceedingly handsome?”
He was delighted when she rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t pretend that I’m the first to tell you so.”
“You’re the first since Annabelle whose opinion mattered to me.”
If they lived together for the next fifty years, he would never tire of the way her cheeks flushed with color whenever she was embarrassed or aroused. He would make it his most important mission to make her flush as often as he possibly could.
“I want to understand . . .” She stopped herself, as if she’d thought better of what she’d planned to say.
“What is it you wish to understand?”
“How it’s possible for you to feel the way you do about me when there are so many far more suitable women you could’ve chosen to marry.”
Where did he begin? “First of all, despite how it might seem after I spent several Seasons in London, I was in absolutely no rush to get married. My mother was the one pushing me to find a wife while I was still young enough to father children.”
“You’re hardly in your dotage.”
“Try telling her that. When I reached thirty, she turned up the pressure, probably because my two brothers are destined to be bachelors for life and as such the family name is in jeopardy if I don’t produce a son.”
“I see.”
As he watched her sip the champagne and take delicate bites from her plate, he thought she looked every bit the society matron taking luncheon with her husband.
The dress she’d donned for their wedding and the way she wore it spoke of breeding far above a housekeeper’s station.
It would be possible to pass her off as a member of upper-crust society if it were not for her delightful Irish accent.
Aubrey topped off both their glasses. “Second of all, I was holding out for something more than a traditional society marriage.”
“What do you mean by ?more??”
“It wasn’t enough for me that my potential wife had the proper pedigree. I also wanted someone I could converse with, who had some experiences that would make her appreciate the simple things in life.”
“What do you consider the simple things?”
“A picnic at the shore on a beautiful spring day. The bloom of the daffodils in the garden. Magnificent sunsets, the sound of the waves hitting the rocks and the smell of the sea air. Despite the extravagance of this house, I am, at the end of the day, a rather simple sort of fellow.”
Maeve listened attentively, seeming to mull over what he’d said. “I find that quality almost as attractive as your kind eyes.”
He took hold of the hand she’d placed on the table. “Do I have kind eyes?”
“You do. I have put all of my faith in the fact that your eyes are kind and thus the rest of you must be as well.”
“Maeve . . .”
“Yes?”
“I would like to spend some time alone with my new wife.” He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. “Upstairs.”
Before she could reply to his audacious statement, Mr. Plumber appeared at the door to the dining room. “Pardon the interruption, but Mr. Jarvis is here to see you, sir. He’s waiting in the parlor.”
Under his breath, Aubrey cursed Mutt’s poor timing. Rising, he placed a kiss on the back of Maeve’s hand. “We shall continue this conversation later.”
“Is Mr. Jarvis here about me?”
“Yes.”
“May I join you?”
He could say no, and she would yield to his wishes. But he didn’t wish to deny her anything. “Of course. Please do join us.” Extending his arm to her, Aubrey escorted her from the dining room to the formal parlor where his mother often greeted guests when she was in residence.
Matthew stood at the window and turned when he heard them coming, his mouth falling open at the sight of Aubrey with a woman on his arm.
“Matthew Jarvis, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Maeve. Maeve, this is my friend Matthew from Yale.”
For a long moment, Matthew stood frozen in place. “Your wife? Didn’t I just see you a couple of days ago when you didn’t have a wife?”
“Indeed, you did,” Aubrey said, amused by Matthew’s reaction. “Things moved somewhat rapidly.”
“I should say so.” Matthew came over to properly greet them with a handshake for Aubrey and a kiss to the back of Maeve’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Maeve said.
Upon hearing her distinctly Irish accent, Matthew stood up straighter and eyed Aubrey with thinly veiled curiosity.
“Have a seat, and we will explain.”
Matthew took one of the high-backed chairs while Aubrey and Maeve sat together on a love seat. This room was done in shades of light green with splashes of vivid color provided by pillows and jewel-toned vases awaiting daily blooms once the Season began in earnest.
Aubrey walked his friend through the events of the day while Matthew listened with rapt attention. When Aubrey was finished, Matthew’s gaze shifted to her.
“You really killed a man?”
“I did.” She diverted her gaze. “Although it’s not something I’m proud of.”
“If she hadn’t killed him, there’s a good chance he would’ve killed her.” Aubrey needed his friend to understand the stakes.
“What can I do for you?”
“Tornquist is staying at the Marlborough Inn while he’s in town. I would like to hire you and your father to represent Maeve and find a way to make this go away for her.”
“It may not be that simple,” Matthew said. “A man is dead. His family most likely will not accept that his death was an act of self-defense.”
“I’m prepared to make a sizeable financial offer if they are willing to drop any charges against her. They should also understand that if it comes to a trial, Maeve is prepared to testify to the abuse he inflicted upon her.”
“I’ll mention that. How much are you offering?”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
Maeve gasped, and Matthew stared at him, agog.
“That’s far too much,” she said, sputtering. “I can’t allow you to spend that kind of money on my behalf.”
“I’d pay five times that to free you from this situation.”
“I certainly won’t tell them that,” Matthew said.
“But you will take the offer to Tornquist?”
“After I discuss it with my father, I’ll present the offer to Mr. Tornquist. It’s apt to take some time as he’ll have to consult with his clients by oversees wire.”
“We understand and appreciate whatever you can do.”
Matthew stood to leave. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Nelson.”
“Likewise, Mr. Jarvis. I appreciate your help and your discretion.”
“Let me walk you out,” Aubrey said.
When the two men were out of earshot of the parlor, Matthew took Aubrey by the arm. “What’ve you done?’
“Pardon me?”
“You married the Irish housekeeper? What were you thinking, man?”
“The woman I’d come to care for needed my help. I didn’t think. I acted.”
“It’s not done, Aubrey. I know you’re still new to the rules that govern the upper echelons of polite society—”
“I don’t give the first fuck about polite society. I wasn’t raised in it and have no compunction whatsoever about telling them all to stuff their rules up their fat asses.”
“You know as well as I do that it doesn’t work that way. You’ll be shunned.”
“No, I won’t.”
“And how can you be so certain?”
“Because polite society, as you call it, wouldn’t dare turn their backs on the Duke and Duchess of Westwood, and where they go, I go. And where I go, my wife goes.”
“You’d subject her to being ignored and belittled? Because that’s what they’ll do. You know it as well as I do.”
“They wouldn’t dare ignore her. If they do, the duchess will ignore them.”
“And you know this how?”
“I know her, and she disdains polite society almost as passionately as I do. When I present her with my concerns, she will become Maeve’s fiercest ally.”