Chapter Nine
Although Willa didn’t quite understand why Dax had left her, by the following morning, she had decided that it was a good thing. He was holding back out of gentlemanly respect for her position. He would not take advantage until he was sure it was what she wanted. She was sure now that he cared a little, that in spite of everything, he’d wanted her as Willa, not just a conveniently available female.
Her heart sang as she rose and breakfasted in the sitting room, for at last, she truly believed that a lasting happiness was possible for them.
“Is his lordship here?” she inquired of Carson, as he emerged from Dax’s bedchamber with a bag of laundry.
“Sleeping it off, m’lady,” Carson said cheerfully.
“Oh.”
It was a little thing. Gentlemen overindulged, and Dax was…well, he was Dax and she’d never wanted to change him. And so, she dressed for the day, with Clara’s help, and sallied forth to meet Kate and some other ladies of the parish who were raising funds to help injured soldiers returning from the war.
When she came back to the hotel after luncheon, there was no sign of Dax or Carson. Clara told her they’d gone out, though she didn’t know where. Willa hid her disappointment—she’d been looking forward with new excitement to seeing Dax again—and settled down to read her new book from the circulating library.
Clara blurted, “I saw Jem in town, m’lady.”
Willa dropped her book into her lap. “Did he threaten you? Try to abduct you again?”
“Well, no, he didn’t even see me. I ducked into the draper’s shop until he was past.”
Willa nodded approval. “Maybe you shouldn’t go out without Carson, for now. Or Dan if he’s still here.”
“He is. He seems to think he has to serve his lordship until his wound is better.”
“I don’t think that can be his reason,” Willa argued. “No one would know his lordship had ever been wounded, he pays so little attention to it. I suspect Dan stays because of you.”
“It’ll do him no good,” Clara said stubbornly. “It’s over between us and so I’ve told him.”
“Very well,” Willa said peaceably, picking up her book again. “Just be careful when you go out, and if Jem gives you any trouble, we’ll set the magistrate on him.”
Half an hour later, a knock sounded at the outer door. Clara went to open it and admitted a young woman who moved with such languid elegance Willa was surprised she didn’t fall down.
Willa rose, accepting the card Clara conveyed from her visitor. Mrs. Helena Holt. Never having heard of her, Willa walked forward with her usual friendliness.
“Mrs. Holt,” she greeted her. “How do you do?”
“How do you do, Lady Daxton,” the visitor replied, smiling. Truly, she was dazzling—a little like Kate was, only fair where Kate was dark. And her eyes, although warm and curious, gave little away. “Forgive the intrusion, but when I heard about your marriage, I just had to come and congratulate Dax. We have known each other forever.”
“You are very welcome, ma’am, only I’m afraid Dax isn’t here. I’m not perfectly sure where he is!”
“Indeed, how could you be?” the lady soothed, although Willa hadn’t actually felt in need of comfort on that score. “You must tell me all about yourself!”
“There is little to tell. May I offer you tea? Clara, see to it, will you?”
Politely, Willa invited her visitor to take one of the chairs by the occasional table, and took the other herself.
“How kind you are,” Mrs. Holt drawled, her darting gaze falling on the table in front of her, and the diamond spiral pendant which lay there. Dax must have dropped it there when he unfastened it for her yesterday, and neither she nor Clara had picked it up. Clara was not really a very good lady’s maid by most standards, but then she was only learning. The spiral seemed to entrance Mrs. Holt for she gazed at it for some time. “That’s a pretty thing,” she said at last. “Let me guess, it was a gift from Dax.”
“Everything I have is a gift from Dax,” Willa said candidly.
“Oh, how sweet you are!”
“Not remotely,” Willa assured her, which won her a peel of musical laughter from her beautiful visitor.
“Why, you are delightful. Dax must absolutely adore you.”
Everyone called him Dax. There was really no reason for Willa to take exception to Mrs. Holt’s frequent use of his nickname, and yet for some reason, it grated. Nor could she think of a suitable reply to the lady’s latest remark, so she was quite relieved when the outer door opened once more—presumably Clara with the tea.
However, it was not Clara but Dax himself who strode in like a gust of sudden wind, kicking the door carelessly shut behind him.
“I say, Will, you’ll never guess what—” He broke off, his eyes widening as he took in Willa and Mrs. Holt. He even started to swear, she was sure, before he bit it back. No one could have accused him of being pleased to see Mrs. Holt, and yet Willa found that no comfort at all. She had a terrible feeling she knew why he looked quite as appalled as he did.
“Mrs. Holt has kindly paid us a visit,” Willa said mildly. “I understand you are old fr—”
“Dax,” Mrs. Holt interrupted her efforts to cover for Dax’s rudeness, by rising to her feet and extending one languid hand. “How wonderful. I congratulate you on your adorable bride. You must bring her to my soiree tomorrow evening.”
“Soiree? Where the devil are you staying?” Dax demanded. Although he’d taken her hand, he dropped it again almost immediately. Fury flashed in his eyes, held his lips unnaturally thin and rigid.
“Why, here at the hotel. I didn’t know there was anywhere else to stay, for even the Braithwaites aren’t at the castle, are they?”
“I don’t believe so,” Dax managed.
“Well, I shall throw open my rooms to visitors. The world and his wife do appear to be in Blackhaven this month. Goodbye, Lady Daxton!”
“Mrs. Holt,” Willa rose and bowed as amiably as she could while her husband opened the door for their departing guest. He not only opened it but followed Mrs. Holt outside.
Stricken, Willa sank back into her chair, staring out of the window.
In her heart, she’d always known this little idyll with Dax had been an illusion. She’d known it would, eventually, crash around her ears, because of who she was, and who he was. Only she’d been so content, and last night had been so thrilling, so promising that she’d allowed herself to hope…
But Mrs. Holt was undoubtedly his mistress, and she’d undoubtedly come here to make sure of her claim. Willa could not compete, not with that kind of unsurpassable loveliness, elegance, and sophistication. He would never even see Willa now. And honestly, it had always been a faint hope.
*
As soon as the door closed on Willa, Helena reached up one arm to his neck.
Dax caught her by the wrist and yanked her arm down again. “What the devil do you think you’re playing at?”
She laughed in her most provoking manner. “What do you think, darling?”
“I think we concluded our business in London,” he said deliberately.
“You were very rude,” she recalled.
“I was,” he agreed. “We were never good for each other, Helena. I don’t know what brought you up here, but whatever it was, I’m not part of it, and neither is my wife.”
“My wife,” she mocked, although her eyes flashed with a spurt of venom. She wasn’t used to playing second fiddle to a mere wife. “Are you warning me off, Dax?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, very well, I suppose it was bad form to visit her, but I was so very curious. And she clearly has no idea who I am.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Dax said grimly, for he didn’t want his wife hurt, especially now when she was beginning to care for him rather than the boy he’d been.
“I am the soul of discretion,” she assured him. “But remember,” she added, walking away down the empty passage. “You don’t need to wait until tomorrow evening to visit me.”
Since a door opened further along the passage just then, he refrained from answering her, merely reentered his own rooms. He closed the door with a definite thud, wondering how he could have stood the wretched woman for all the months they were together.
Because they had never really been together, he realized. They’d flirted at parties and he’d visited her for discreet pleasures a couple of times a week. She had never been his only lover, though, and he was fairly sure he’d never been hers.
Willa seemed to have been gazing out of the window somewhat blindly, for she gave a sudden start and stood as he walked across the room to her.
“London seems to be descending on Blackhaven,” he observed as lightly as he could. For he felt the weight of his old, familiar life pressing down upon him, trying to squeeze out the new, intriguing closeness he’d begun to find with Willa. In sudden panic, he felt her slipping through his fingers, before he’d even properly grasped her. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want it at all.
“Shall we leave for Daxton tomorrow?” he blurted.
She glanced at him in surprise, searching his face. A faint smile curved her lips and he longed to kiss them as he had last night.
“You can’t always run away, Dax,” she said vaguely.
He frowned. “Run away?”
“You don’t need to. I don’t mind. I expected it, really.”
She was talking about Helena. Of course, she’d worked out who and what Helena had been to him, had seen his horror and embarrassment at the whole situation. He opened his mouth to assure her that it was over, only she was already walking away from him. He had the feeling he’d just sound like a guilty husband making excuses to a long-suffering wife. The thought of either of them in such paltry roles appalled him.
He closed his mouth again, gazing after her, totally perplexed.
I don’t mind. I expected it, really. Damn it, was she giving him absolution or permission? Why the hell didn’t she mind?
“In any case,” she added over her shoulder. “You should see Dr. Lampton again before you make any long journeys.”
*
As planned, later in the afternoon, Dax and Willa walked to Lord Tamar’s studio for their daily sitting. Willa behaved as if nothing had happened earlier, which Dax supposed optimistically was true. She’d merely met someone from his past, and she’d always known such women existed.
After Tamar released them from their pose, Dax wandered over to watch what he was doing, while Willa examined some paintings at the far end of the studio.
“Got something on your mind, Dax?” Tamar murmured, no doubt because Dax simply stared at the canvas without really seeing what was there.
“Helena turned up,” Dax said abruptly. “Helena Holt.”
“Your mistress?”
Dax shrugged impatiently. “She was. We parted before I even left London. The thing is, she’s healthy as a horse, so it ain’t the waters she’s here for.”
Tamar cocked an intelligent eyebrow. “You think it’s you?”
“I’m afraid she’s here to cause trouble, though why she would bother is beyond me. I found her closeted with Willa in our rooms.”
“Did she upset Willa?”
Dax glanced at her, as she stood back to better admire a seascape. “I think she did, but Willa’s hiding it. I don’t want her anywhere near Willa.” He brought his gaze back to Tamar.
“I’ll do what I can,” Tamar said doubtfully.
It was as they walked back to the hotel that Helena’s presence began to make sense of a sort. A barouche passed along High Street, bearing two middle-aged ladies and came to halt just in front of them. Dax glanced at the occupants without much interest, and then stared, coming to an abrupt standstill and swearing.
“Sorry,” he breathed to Willa, squeezing her fingers on his arm. “I’m afraid it’s my mother.”
*
It seemed to be a day for shocks. And certainly, if Willa could have chosen a time to meet her mother-in-law for the first time as Lady Daxton, it would not have been now. However, since there was nothing she could do about it, she merely turned with Dax to greet the occupants of the open carriage.
There were two middle-aged ladies within, one rather mousy who wore an expression of alarm mingled with gratification. The other, tall and willowy with deceptively drooping shoulders, was Lady Romford.
The countess didn’t appear to have aged one jot in the eight or nine years since Willa had seen her last. The only change appeared to be the steeliness of her eyes, which had never used to regard her with quite such revulsion. Well, as the Shelbys’ poor relation, she had been a creature worthy of condescension and kindness. Lady Romford had always treated her much as she’d treated the Shelby children. But having the temerity to marry Daxton, clearly changed everything.
“Mother,” Dax greeted her, stepping up to kiss her proffered cheek. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be. I have come to visit Cousin Harriet. You do remember Cousin Harriet?”
“Of course,” Dax said with easy but clearly untruthful civility. “How do you do, Cousin?”
“Cousin Harriet lives a bare five miles from Blackhaven, so it was quite a co-incidence to receive your letter just after I’d written to her to accept her invitation.”
“Yes, that is an astonishing coincidence,” Dax marveled in clear disbelief. “Allow me to present my wife, whom I’m sure you must remember.”
There were clearly to be no affectionate kisses, embraces, or even handshakes for her. Not even insincere ones. Instead, Lady Romford bowed, very slightly and coldly.
“Wilhelmina,” she uttered in such freezing accents that it might have been an accusation. It probably was.
Willa curtsied to the countess and to Cousin Harriet. Since there was nothing she could say to make this marriage palatable to Dax’s family, she could only hope that Dax himself could win his mother around by familiarity with the situation.
“Dax, may we not invite Lady Romford and Mrs. Wicks to dine with us tonight?”
“Of course we may,” Dax said, clearly trying not to look appalled. “The hotel dinner is quite tolerable.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Lady Romford said, “but I shall spend the evening quietly with Harriet. You’ll call on us tomorrow, Daxton.”
“Well, I might,” Dax said doubtfully. “If you tell me—remind me—of Cousin Harriet’s direction.”
Cousin Harriet twittered something about her gratification, looking even more alarmed, and Lady Romford instructed the coachman to drive on.
“Well,” Dax said, walking on toward the hotel, “that went well.”
Willa stared at him. “It did?”
Dax gave a quick grin. “She didn’t cry or insult us. And she didn’t accept your foolhardy invitation to dine. I wonder who the devil Cousin Harriet is?”
“Presumably some distant relative whom she can use as an excuse to visit Blackhaven and discover exactly how disastrous this marriage is. Or to overturn it.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dax agreed. “And I must say, it’s suspicious that she turns up here on the same day as Helena Holt.”
As soon as the words were out, he scowled, as if he’d have taken them back if he could. Willa pretended not to notice.
“Are they friends?” she asked calmly.
“Good God, no. Quite the opposite, I’d have said. Still, it’s worth thinking about.”
“I’m sure they each have their own reasons for wishing you’d married elsewhere,” Willa murmured. “Or not at all. Do you suppose your father is here, too?”
“Lord, no, my parents are happiest with several hundred miles between them.”
Willa knew a guilty relief at that. Perhaps meeting them both at once would have got all the unpleasantness over with more quickly, but the countess seemed quite formidable enough on her own.
*
They dined in the hotel that evening with the Grants as their guests. And Willa had to admit it was a lot more convivial than it would have been if the countess had joined them. Mr. Grant, it turned out, had been a soldier before he became a clergyman. Dax revealed he, too, had once wished to obtain a commission under Lord Wellington.
“My father wouldn’t have it,” Dax said carelessly. “I was his only son, and he seemed convinced I’d be killed immediately.”
“I didn’t know that,” Willa said in surprise. It was probably another reason for his wildness. Thwarted in his ambitions, he’d needed another outlet for his considerable energies.
The meal was almost finished when a flutter seemed to circulate around the dining room. Willa, in conversation with Mr. Grant about his charity for injured soldiers, couldn’t help a quick glance to the door to discover the cause of the commotion.
Helena Holt sailed into the room, quite alone, a bowing waiter scuttling before her as though she were royalty.
Willa looked away almost immediately, and back to Grant who, however, stopped talking just in time for her to hear Kate speak to Dax in a low, irritable voice.
“Please tell me you did not bring her here.”
Daxton’s reply, whatever it was, got lost in Willa’s slightly desperate question to Grant about how he was trying to find paid work for the injured soldiers.
For Willa, the evening was spoiled. Not just because of the nagging suspicion caused by Kate’s words, but by the fact that she couldn’t help admiring Mrs. Holt. It was a brave thing to defy convention and dine in public alone, unescorted by a gentleman of one’s family. And Willa could see all too easily why Daxton had been attracted to her. She had all his courage and impatience with pointless society rules.
It came to her too, just how chafing it must be for Dax to be constantly considering those rules now for Willa’s sake. She wished Mrs. Holt anywhere but here, but she couldn’t change it. Nor could she bring herself to make a friend of the woman. All she could do was pretend not to care.
And so, as they left the dining room, she inclined her head to Mrs. Holt and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. Dax cast the faintest of careless bows in his mistress’s direction, then escorted Willa from the room. They parted from the Grants in the foyer, and made their way to their own rooms.
It was not late, and the candles were all lit. Carson and Clara effaced themselves, leaving their employers to enjoy a companionable evening. Trying not to feel the tension between them, Willa sat by the lamp and began to read.
But this was not like the previous evenings they’d spent together in this way. Willa was too churned up to concentrate on the words, and Dax too restless to settle at all. He paced the room for a bit, gazing out of the window, kicking up the carpet, and smoothing it down again. After about twenty minutes of that, he came to a halt in front of Willa.
“I’m going out,” he said abruptly. “So, I’ll say goodnight.” Peremptorily, he held out his hand and she gave him hers, hiding her sinking heart. He kissed her fingers, gave her a quick flash of a smile, and was gone.
She’d grown used to him leaving. She hadn’t minded until now, when his departure inspired suspicion and misery. Her happiness, so bright and new and hopeful, was falling apart around her.