Chapter Ten
In the morning, Dax looking slightly rough and rather adorably rumpled, joined her for breakfast in the sitting room. Or at least, Willa ate breakfast. Dax drank copious cups of coffee.
“Either you’re up very early, considering,” Willa observed, “or you haven’t yet been to bed.”
“Oh, I’ve had a few hours’ sleep,” Dax assured her. “I wanted to be up early and get this visit to my mother over with.”
Willa made to rise. “I’ll be ready momentarily.”
He caught her hand, keeping her beside him. “You actually want to visit my mother?”
“Well yes. She is your mother.”
His lips twisted. “I wish I could send you instead of me.”
“Well, I will, if you like, but I feel you should—.”
“I was joking, Will. I need to make this visit on my own.”
It felt like a slap in the face. She dropped her gaze. “Whatever you prefer.”
His hand tightened on hers for an instant. “It would be best.”
“Of course.” She slid her hand free, reaching for her cup. “Then I shall finish my coffee before I go out.”
“What will you do this morning.”
“I haven’t decided,” she said, deliberately cheerful. “Give my duty and regards to Lady Romford.”
*
Dax doubted he would get enough words in at this meeting to pass on Willa’s message. Which was why he didn’t want Willa to come in the first place. Until he had made his mother understand, he didn’t want her anywhere near his wife.
He drove himself in his curricle, leaving the town by the southern road, then following the left-hand fork as he’d been directed.
Cousin Harriet, whoever she was, lived in a small manor house set in modest estate that seemed to be squashed between the Earl of Braithwaite’s land and that belonging to Haven Hall. Or so Cousin Harriet informed him as she welcomed him and rang for tea, and kept him company in a flustered kind of way until his mother deigned to emerge from her bedchamber and join them. Cousin Harriet then effaced herself.
“Your wife does not join us?” Lady Romford drawled.
“She wished to pay her respects, but I insisted on coming alone.”
“I’m not surprised. It must be such a burden to a young man of your…energies. What were you thinking of, Daxton? Did you really imagine this would hurt your father more than yourself?”
“If I’d wanted to really hurt him I’d have married the housemaid,” Dax retorted. “And to be frank, I wasn’t thinking of very much at all, except getting my hands on Grandfather Winter’s money. For the rest, I was dead drunk, as I’m sure you know.”
“Well, I’ve spoken to your father—who is not best pleased by this ludicrous start of yours, but I doubt I need to tell you that. However, he is prepared to help. He has approached the Archbishop personally—”
Dax scowled and leapt restlessly out of his chair. “He has no need and less right,” he flung at his mother as he paced to the window. “The marriage will not be annulled.”
“Of course, it will. No one will hold such a mistake against you. At least not for very long.”
“They’d hold it against Willa, though, wouldn’t they?” he retorted.
“And that will serve her as she deserves! Vulgar, scheming, hussy, exactly like her father. Blood will out.”
Dax swung on her. “Don’t speak of Willa that way. It was I who schemed and treated her very ill.”
“Because she’s Ralph Shelby’s cousin?”
“Of course not,” Dax said impatiently. “She was just there. I was glad to see her again and in my cups, I imagined marrying her would help both of us.”
“It has certainly helped her,” Lady Romford observed tartly. “And whatever you imagine, she was well aware of it. What are you thinking, Charles? That she loves you and depends upon you? That you are responsible for her?”
His lips twisted. “Well, two out of the three.” He was working on the other.
“Well, it’s nonsense! You know perfectly well such a marriage is a disgrace to your family and your name—”
“I know no such thing,” he retorted. “The Shelbys may be bad blood, but it is perfectly respectable blood in the eyes of the world. Willa is undoubtedly a lady. But it’s of no consequence. The marriage will not be annulled.”
His mother changed tactics smoothly. “Then it is you who are being unkind. Will you really force her to put up with your mad starts? Your women and your drinking and all the other bad behavior?”
Annoyingly, Dax felt a faint flush rise beneath his skin. “No. I shall do better.”
“Really?” his mother marveled. “Even with the beautiful Mrs. Holt under the same roof?”
Dax curled his lip as he strode past her. “I knew it. It was you who brought her here.”
“I might have mentioned to her that you were in Blackhaven.”
“And did it never enter your head that that was unkind to both Willa and Helena?”
“No,” his mother said frankly. “I was thinking of you. And Willa will be fine. We’ll set her up with a small allowance somewhere quiet. No doubt, in time, she will marry someone more suitable and—”
“No, she won’t,” Dax interrupted. “She’s married to me. There will be no annulment.”
“If you mean you have consummated the so-called marriage, that needn’t matter. I shall talk to Willa and make her options clear to her.”
“You shall do no such thing,” Dax said between his teeth.
His mother blinked. “Charles, I want what is best for you! And Wilhelmina Blake is not. When you are ready to settle down, there are any number of girls of excellent family for you to choose from. You cannot stay married through mere guilt, to some scheming, ill-bred hussy! If you would just think about it, you’d know perfectly well she took advantage of your condition and your anger to try and make herself a viscountess! And a countess one day when you inherit the earldom.”
Dax had rarely tried so hard to keep his temper in check. He clenched his fists hard at his sides. His feet positively itched to kick poor Cousin Harriet’s furniture.
He drew in an uneven breath. “Mother, I take leave to tell you, you’re talking rubbish. And so, I shall talk now. What I came to say was, you and my father must accept this marriage, for I shall not forswear it. What is more, you will treat Willa with all the respect due to her as my wife and the future countess. If you cannot manage that, if you cannot refrain from trying to interfere, then don’t come near us. At the first hint, Mother, I shall cut us off from you and speak only through solicitors to obtain my inheritance. Do you understand?”
She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then, inevitably, sank onto the sofa with a moan of misery. “What have I done that you should speak to me so? What has she done to you that you turn your back on your own parents?”
“I haven’t and I won’t if you behave,” Dax said severely, and then, because he couldn’t help it, he grinned. “Who’d have thought those words would come from me rather than at me? Seriously, Mother, I don’t want to quarrel, and neither does Willa. I know eloping was a bad start, but truly this is what I want, and I wish you and my father to accept it.”
“Of course, you do,” she said sorrowfully. “Now. I shall do as you wish, of course, but you will see soon enough that you have been blinded. Willa Blake is very far from the angel you think she is.”
“Oh, balderdash, Mother!” Dax said irritably, snatching up his driving gloves from the table. “Good day!”
Although he felt a bit of a cur for leaving his mother weeping on the sofa, he knew that if he showed any weakness at all on the subject, she’d consider it permission to interfere. Not that she needed permission for that. He only hoped he’d been forceful enough to discourage her. In any case, now that both his mother and his one-time mistress were in the vicinity, Blackhaven no longer seemed quite such an attractive place to waste a couple of weeks. Maybe, they could travel down to Daxton by easy stages.
Lost in thought as he bowled along the bumpy road toward Blackhaven, he was aware only of his horses, paying little attention to his surroundings. The sharp crack of a gunshot took him entirely by surprise.
The horses took off immediately, neighing wildly and tossing their heads. Dax, bumped mercilessly along the less than perfect road and had to concentrate all his attention on calming his team, soothing them to a gentler pace before the curricle overturned or simply shook his bones to pieces.
It was only later, once the horses were trotting peacefully once more onto the coast road, that he wished he’d given a piece of his mind to whoever let off that shot. Whatever they were shooting, rabbit, fox, or even deer, he hoped they missed.
*
Entering Blackhaven, he found a welcome relief in the site of several of his cronies perched on rocks on the beach playing cards, oblivious of the oncoming tide. Paying one street urchin to hold the horses’ heads, and another to run and fetch Fergusson, his groom, he jumped down to join his friends, who greeted him like a long-lost friend and passed him a bottle.
Inevitably, he lost track of time, went fishing, and ended up in the tavern. It was a most convivial afternoon, although it came to him eventually that something was missing. Willa.
Of course, he couldn’t bring her to a place like this but did feel a certain longing for her company, and looked at his fob watch somewhat owlishly.
“What the devil?” he said, startled. “That’s never the time!”
“It’s only just past eight in the evening, old boy,” someone reassured him. It was true he didn’t normally care much about the time, even if it was eight the following morning. But he wanted to take Willa to dine.
Despite the protests of his friends, he grabbed up his hat and gloves and strode back to the hotel. The fresh air sobered him up somewhat and he began to anticipate Willa’s delighted smile at his sudden appearance. He looked forward to dining with her, hearing about her day, and making her laugh with the tale of his bolting horses and the card game on the beach. He hoped she hadn’t given up on him and had dinner brought to their room.
He all but barged into their sitting room, calling, “Willa!”
But there was no sign of her. Crossing to the bedroom, he gave one brief knock and threw open the door. The maid, Clara, looked up from the dressing table with surprise and not a little alarm.
“Where’s her ladyship?” Dax demanded.
“She went to a soiree, my lord,” Clara answered nervously.
He frowned. The word soiree held ominous connotations for some reason. “Where?”
“Just here in the hotel, my lord. A Mrs. Holt, I believe. Her card is on the mantel shelf in the sitting room.”
The blood drained from Dax’s face so fast he felt dizzy. “Jesus,” he uttered, swinging away and striding to his own chamber. “Carson!”
*
Willa had not at first intended to go anywhere near Mrs. Holt’s party. For one thing, she hadn’t really taken to the lady, for another, and more importantly, her connection with Dax made her company utterly unpalatable.
But then, Dax was gone all day. From Carson, she learned he’d been back in Blackhaven since midday, although the valet was vague on the details of where he actually was.
With her?
Surely, he would not be so unkind, not when they were staying under the same roof and everyone would know…
But he was a notorious rake and, by his own admission, appallingly selfish. He’d married Willa to get his hands on his inheritance and he’d never pretended to care for her in that way.
Yet the memory of his kisses haunted Willa. Why would he kiss her like that if he hadn’t wanted their relationship to be more than chaste? And he would need an heir one day. Perhaps he’d been testing the waters, as it were, and found her wanting. After all, a man who’d come from Mrs. Holt’s beautiful and sophisticated arms would hardly be satisfied with plain, naive little Willa who’d adored him from afar since childhood. She was probably more like a puppy to him than a wife, someone to be looked after and petted when he remembered.
“I’m not a puppy,” she said to her face in the glass as she changed for dinner.
“Of course you’re not, m’lady,” Clara said in astonishment.
Willa, who’d forgotten she was there, coughed in embarrassment and hastily looked around for jewelry. The ruby and diamond pendant would suit the gown best, but somehow Helena Holt’s interest in it made it less appealing. She stopped looking for it. Perhaps she would wear no jewelry after all. It might start a new, natural fashion.
She stood and went to wait for Dax in the sitting room. But her pride disliked what she was becoming, revolted at simply hanging on his arm and his life, waiting for rejection. She’d had her fill of that when she’d discovered how little her aunt and cousins actually cared for her when they were all she had. She refused to make that mistake again. She refused to be either a pathetically clinging wife or a complaining shrew insisting on his escort.
In fact, she refused to be seen that way by anyone. No one, for example, would ever see that she cared two straws about Mrs. Holt’s relationship with Dax. Mrs. Holt herself would never guess. Willa would not run away from this as Dax had wanted her to.
In fact … in fact, she might just step up to Mrs. Holt’s room to prove it to anyone who cared. Surely, when the party was in the hotel, she did not need an escort? She was a married woman now, a viscountess and well above the rank of most people she was likely to encounter there. She would just look in for ten minutes, whether Dax was there or not, and leave as though fashionably bored.
She gave Dax another half hour to join her in the sitting room, but once the idea had taken root, it would not be denied. Eventually, fetching her shawl and matching reticule from her bedchamber, she informed Clara where she was going and left the room.
Mrs. Holt’s door was wide open, the hum of chatter spilling out and along the passage as Willa approached. She steeled herself to discover Dax in the room, to greet him with careless pleasure and pass on to speak to someone—anyone—else.
Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped into the room.
In her heart, she had been prepared for some slightly less vulgar version of the gaming party which had flung her into Daxton’s path. But the two events could not have been more dissimilar. Only the most respectable of the fashionable world were there, many of them women, although the men considerably outnumbered the fairer sex. There was no sign of any card table, and while champagne and brandy were being served, no one seemed to be the worse for drink.
Willa’s first glance found her aunt, Elvira, and Ralph, but not Dax. Or at least not yet.
Then Mrs. Holt was approaching her, hand held out with languid grace. “Lady Daxton, how marvelous.” And her eyes gleamed with what looked like amused triumph.
I shouldn’t have come. But it was too late for such panicked regret. She could only take Mrs. Holt’s hand as briefly as was polite and smile.
“Is Dax not with you?” Mrs. Holt asked, as though expecting him to leap out from behind Willa’s skirts. Or at least saunter after her into the room.
“Oh no,” Willa said carelessly. “I expect he’ll look in later on.”
She had the impression this didn’t quite please Mrs. Holt, whose eyes narrowed as though finding an insult Willa hadn’t even intended.
“He’ll be avoiding the poetry readings, if I know him,” Mrs. Holt said. “Come, who shall I introduce you to? Or do you know everyone already?”
“You must introduce me, ma’am,” a gentleman said, materializing at their hostess’s side. He was young, personable, immaculately dressed, and his eyes held frank admiration as he gazed at Willa.
“Why, of course,” Mrs. Holt said at once. “Lady Daxton, allow me to present Sir Jeremy Leigh.” She tapped Sir Jeremy’s forearm with her fan. “Behave, or Dax will shoot you.”
“So, you are Daxton’s bride,” Sir Jeremy observed, bowing over her hand with perfect grace as Mrs. Holt wandered off to greet yet more guests. “Now I understand perfectly.”
Willa narrowed her eyes. “What is it you imagine you understand, sir?”
“How Dax was tempted away from his determined bachelordom. And why he did it so quickly before the rest of us could get a look-in.”
“I don’t care for flattery, you know. Are you also a friend of my husband?”
“I’m not sure I can claim friendship, though certainly we have spent several convivial evenings in the same company. I’m afraid I have neither the youth nor the stamina to move in Daxton’s closest circle.”
“Most people don’t,” she agreed without thought, for her eyes were darting around the room in search of Dax.
Mrs. Holt’s greeting implied he was not there, but she did not trust the woman. Feeling Sir Jeremy’s gaze upon her, she dragged back her gaze to find his amused regard on her face. “What?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s refreshing to encounter a bride with so few illusions about her new husband.”
“I like Dax,” Willa said dangerously.
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Everyone likes Dax! Very likeable chap—unless you get on the wrong side of him,” he added as they passed her cousin Ralph, glowering at her from his conversation by the drinks table. A small, timid looking young lady was gazing up at him worshipfully, which gave Willa few qualms. Had Ralph found himself a new heiress to court? She just hoped he would treat her with respect…
Sir Jeremy’s voice broke in to her uneasy reflections, perhaps seeing the direction of her gaze. “May I offer you champagne? Lemonade?”
“Champagne, if you please,” Willa said recklessly.
In one of the inner rooms, chairs had been set out in rows and the bed, pushed against the wall with cushions to make it resemble a large sofa.
“This must be where the readings happen,” Sir Jeremy observed as they wandered in with several other people.
“Ah, yes. Mrs. Holt did mention poetry.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“For the most part, yes,” she began.
“Then I hope you will enjoy mine,” someone said beside her—a frail-looking, willowy young man with a pale complexion.
“Mr. Yoeville,” Sir Jeremy murmured. “One of Mrs. Holt’s favored poets. Yoeville, this is Lady Daxton.”
Mr. Yoeville regarded her, apparently entranced. “Beauty to his beast, light to his darkness,” he said. “My lady, you speak to my muse.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said tartly, since she didn’t quite care for the implications of his words. “I shall endeavor not to do so in the future.”
“You cannot help it. You possess the most beautiful, speaking eyes I have ever seen…Does she not, Walter?”
Walter turned out to be another poetic-looking gentleman, clearly a bosom friend of Yoeville’s, who vied with him to recite the best verse to her beautiful eyes. Sir Jeremy then joined in, waxing lyrical on the subject of her nose until her laughter drew the attention of other gentlemen who approached and quickly joined in the game of improvising poetry to her beauty. It varied drastically in quality, but since Willa took none of it seriously, she thoroughly enjoyed the repartee.
Thus, without intending to be, she was the teasing center of an attentive group of young men when she suddenly caught sight of Dax.
She was already laughing at some nonsense of Sir Jeremy’s, but as soon as her eyes met her husband’s, her smile widened spontaneously. And Dax swung back to Mrs. Holt as if he hadn’t even seen her. His attention was rivetted on his mistress.
Something inside Willa broke into a thousand pieces.
But he’ll never know. None of them will ever know.
At that moment, she didn’t think her pride would last longer than enough time to get her out of the room, but somehow, she kept smiling and then Mrs. Holt announced that Mr. Yoeville would read his new poem and everyone began to file into the rows of chairs.
Almost blindly, Willa did so, too, with Sir Jeremy ushering her along. She sat, gazing expectantly toward the lectern where Mr. Yoeville was setting out his notes.
Sir Jeremy nudged her, and when she glanced at him quickly, he nodded significantly to her other side. She glanced around and her heart turned over, for her husband sat beside her, eyeing the front of the room with pronounced misgivings.
“Dax,” she exclaimed.
“Dash it, Will, have I been inveigled to a poetry evening?” Dax demanded. “I know that fellow, don’t I?”
“Mr. Yoeville,” she murmured faintly.
He sat forward. “Quick. If we squeeze out now, no one will notice.”
On one level, it was funny, as a couple of surreptitious grins around him testified. Willa had to fight back half-hysterical laughter. But at the same time, she suspected Mrs. Holt of doing the inveigling, and refused to be dragged away just because her errant husband suddenly wished to go.
“Oh, no, Dax, I want to hear it,” she said. “But I shall be fine, so go if you wish.”
She expected him to do just that, even if it was only into the main room with Mrs. Holt in attendance. But, scowling, he settled back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. She caught a whiff of wine from his breath as he sighed and closed his eyes as though about to enjoy a nap.
Although inventive, Mr. Yoeville was not the finest poet alive. In fact, some of his imagery and more obscure word choices made Willa want to giggle. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Dax whose shoulders were shaking, apparently in his sleep.
She nudged him and he opened one eye so full of wicked laughter that she had even more trouble controlling her own.
*
“You managed that very ill,” Helena Holt murmured to Leigh. The first poetry reading was over and her guests were mingling once more. Since the Daxtons were both still in the reading room, she’d accosted Leigh while she could. “You were meant to bowl her over with your overwhelming charm and have her eating out of your hand. Instead, you made her the center of an admiring court! Dax couldn’t have been more pleased when he walked in.”
“I don’t know that he was. He tried to take her away immediately, only she dug her heels in. As for the rest, she’s hardly as foolish and naive as you gave me to understand.”
“If it’s too difficult for you, I’ll give the task of ruining her to someone else,” Helena retorted.
Leigh’s smile was twisted. “Oh, no, it will be my pleasure. But it will not be accomplished in an hour by anyone. He has a hold on her, as he has on you.”
Leigh strolled away, leaving her fuming. How dare anyone suggest a mere man had a hold on her? Men were interchangeable, like gloves, and she was damned if she would let a mere glove cast her off. Even without Lady Romford’s encouragement, she wouldn’t have let Dax off the hook so easily.
There was, of course, a certain cachet in having the wild Viscount Daxton as one’s privately acknowledged lover. Besides which, maddening and volatile as he could be, he was by far the best lover she’d ever enjoyed. If she were to be honest, she missed him. And she would not give him up to a mere wife. Certainly not to an innocent, naïve nobody…
“Mrs. Holt,” Sir Ralph Shelby said, accosting her as she made her way across the room. “What a charming party. A most pleasant change in this rather dull little town.”
“One does one’s poor best,” she drawled. She was about to pass on, when she remembered who he was, the new Lady Daxton’s cousin. What’s more, there was some kind of enmity between him and Dax. She stayed where she was. “Besides, I find Blackhaven a most…surprising place. Where else would I encounter Lord Daxton with a bride in tow? Your cousin, no less. You must be thrilled by the match.”
Tactfully, she did not mention the unorthodox nature of the wedding.
Shelby’s smile was somewhat fixed. “Unutterably. It is, of course, a more brilliant match than we could ever have hoped for, but we feel very let down by the manner of it.”
Open hostility, she thought with astonished glee. How marvelous. Aloud she said comfortingly, “Oh the world will make allowances for Dax. It always does. No one will refuse to receive Lady Daxton.”
“I’m afraid my mother will. Certain items of hers vanished the night my cousin ran off.”
“Really?” How interesting. Perhaps Leigh was right. And perhaps the girl was not the innocent Helena had believed her. Of course, she’d never been good at reading women. Men, on the other hand, she knew very well, and Shelby, she guessed, was out to damage both Dax and his wife. And she was more than happy to help him with the latter.
Laying her hand on his arm, she began to promenade around the room. “How terrible.”
“Well it was. My mother took her in when her own mother died, and brought her up as though she were her own daughter. To have housed such a viper is clearly devastating for my mother, for my whole family.”
“I can imagine…”