Chapter Twelve
London, with all its wonderful ugliness, wasted no time in reminding Lucas just how mutual the dislike of each other was.
It started off well enough, a small gathering at the home of Kit and Marianne Gerrard to welcome them back to Town, and only their friends and family had been invited, so he was the most comfortable he was likely to ever be in London.
And it did his heart good to see Gemma interact with her friends. It was in her nature to be friendly and warm, and as such, she had many who enjoyed her company. But true friends she had very few of, and Lily Granger and Marianne Gerrard had done her a world of good.
He did not miss how Gemma glared at Thomas Granger, Lily’s husband, who had become more reticent and aloof than anyone had ever expected since his unfortunate financial distress and subsequent marriage. He’d always thought extremely highly of the man, though they were not friends, and he did not see why the marriage should be an unfortunate one.
He knew better than to ask Gemma on the subject, however. The way the marriage had come about had been poorly handled where Lily was concerned, and Gemma was too loyal to hear any argument on the subject.
He could hardly fault her for that.
Conversation had been limited with him, but what did occur was pleasant enough. Invitations were extended for various things, and he was noncommittal with them all, as he was wont.
The following days were filled with the flurry of activity that others usually endured during London Seasons, but he never had. Oh, he still had his usual things, and there was nothing to truly find displeasure in there. But with Gemma as his wife, he was experiencing an unusual view of the Season.
He suspected she was being invited as a novelty, but he patiently went along with her to everything he was permitted to.
She thrilled with the flurry of things, just as he knew she would, which is why he had insisted on coming back to London. He could have stayed at Thornacre for the rest of his life in a blissfully reclusive state, but he could not subject her to that.
He spent his days managing his business affairs or at his club, and had occasionally fenced with his cousin Henry or young Bennett Stanford, but the mindless nature of each day gave him too much time to think. With Gemma being taken on shopping excursions with Marianne or Caroline, or being invited to tea, or whatever else she was engaged to do, the house was too quiet and it unnerved him.
He did not used to mind it as such.
And now, of all horrid things, he was back at the theater, having escorted his wife to a new play. Her pleasure at the outing had ebbed away his reluctance, but as he stood by the wall, watching her mingle with others during the intermission, he felt the oddest desire to escape the scene altogether.
It could have been the number of people staring at him and then subversively looking away. It could have been the people who watched Gemma with a mixture of pity and derision. Or it could have been the people who avoided coming near them altogether and took great pains to find alternate routes.
He was used to being ignored for the most part.
Suddenly he was back on display.
His cravat suddenly seemed to be strangling him and it took his considerable control not to tug at it.
Gemma’s musical laugh wafted over the general steady din of the crowd and his stomach settled, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“She looks well,” Kit said, coming up beside him. “Hampshire agreed with her?”
Lucas nodded once, keeping his gaze fixed on what he could see of his wife. “With both of us.”
“I haven’t been to Thornacre in years. Have you made any changes to it?”
Lucas shook his head.
Kit waited a moment, then shifted a little. “What troubles you?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Why do you think something troubles me?” Lucas returned, matching his tone.
Kit snorted softly in response.
He supposed that had been a pointless question. He knew he’d been growing surly of late, and he couldn’t help it. The wariness he had felt since receiving the threat in Hampshire had not abated in London; on the contrary, he was feeling it in extremes, seeing threats and trouble everywhere he went.
It made no sense, as nothing remotely resembling the missive had been seen in London, and nothing had been untoward at all.
But he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, and by something more than the usual awkward stares of Society.
And then there were the rumors…
He would not tell Kit all of that. Not here, not now, not until it became necessary. The fewer aware of it, the better.
He shook his head. “Just waiting for the storm to commence,” he muttered. “It cannot be long.”
“It was interesting while you were gone,” Kit told him, nodding politely at a passing acquaintance.
Lucas glanced over at his pristine friend. “How so?”
One shoulder lifted slightly. “Marianne has the ear of everyone, and her aunt beyond. Then there is my brother…” He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “At any rate, there was much speculation surrounding you two. I imagine there have been a shocking number of invitations?”
“Too many,” Lucas confirmed, pretending to adjust his gloves. “It unnerves me.”
“It probably should.” Kit cleared his throat and straightened. “I don’t know what it means, Blackmoor, but the conversation was all regarding the pair of you and your marriage. I don’t imagine you will be escaping it soon.”
Lucas swore under his breath, tempted to drag Gemma out of this horrid theater at this moment. “What do I do?” he asked quietly.
Kit hesitated, then exhaled. “As you have done, I imagine. Surely it will pass. The Season is full of scandals, and it is early.”
“Patience is not a virtue I possess.”
“I know.”
They both watched Gemma for a moment, and caught sight of two women skirting her presence in a wide arc, painfully obvious to everyone except Gemma, who had not noticed.
Lucas ground his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.
“Consider it watching and waiting,” Kit muttered, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Strategy. She’ll win them all over, you will see.”
“She can’t erase the past,” he hissed, his blasted cravat feeling tight once more.
There was a long pause, and then Kit’s response came: “No, but she can shape the future.”
He did not want to hear optimism at this moment. Kit, for all his wisdom and loyalty, had no idea, could not possibly imagine what it felt like to be in his position. “Leave me,” he grunted, desperate to be alone in his disgruntlement.
He never did notice when Kit did so, his entire being focused on Gemma, watching and waiting for any sign that she experienced any upset.
He never saw it.
So he did as his friend had instructed. He watched, he waited, and when the intermission ended, he escorted his beaming wife back to their box.
But not even her good humor could take away his darkness this time.
Gemma had never been this sought after in her entire life, and it was as invigorating as it was nerve-wracking.
She knew full well that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the man she had married. There was no possible way she had suddenly become so interesting and exciting, let alone for her popularity to have risen from her own merits. No, it was the same crush of insipidness that had made Marianne Gerrard so wildly popular after her infamous foiled elopement-abduction scandal.
She was a novelty and nothing more.
But she would put it to whatever good use she could.
She smiled and laughed and behaved with the perfect amount of politeness, allowing for her usual spattering of wit and boldness, but to a more refined degree.
After all, she was a viscountess now. She must be positively regal.
And given the fact that her husband was one of the most reserved and aloof men to ever call himself an Englishman, she could hardly be the wildly carefree Gemma Templeton, though the temptation was strong at times.
Particularly when dealing with the societal gargoyles who only wanted an excuse to hang her with their silken cords.
She flatly refused to give them an inch.
Her friends rallied around her, and she was grateful for that. Marianne understood navigating Society better than anyone she had ever met, and Lily was a calming influence. Between the pair of them, and the connections of the Whitlocks, Bevertons, and their friends, things had not been nearly as bad as they could have been.
But she could hardly miss the looks and whispers, and the people who shied away from her entirely.
And this was what Lucas dealt with on a regular basis?
Her heart swelled within her with such pained emotion. And yet he did not seem to care about it. He had no doubt learned to be resilient and immune to it by now, but he should not have had to.
Why would they not see in him what she did?
He had been so quiet of late. He accompanied her to everything suitable, but he was somehow more stoic than the man who had courted her. He still held all of the warmth in his eyes, but he looked at her so infrequently that it was difficult to see.
He did not touch her as much, had not held her in days. But his words, when he spoke, were as lovely and warm as ever.
But not so playful.
Never that.
And he would not talk about it.
“Nobody frowns so at a card party,” Lily murmured from her side, nudging her a little.
Gemma shook herself and forced her expression to clear.
Marianne sat across from her, absently laying down a card, her eyes fixed on Gemma. “What is it?” she asked quietly.
Gemma shook her head, glancing at the fourth person at their table, the elderly and delightful Lady Cartwright, whose party this was.
She sensed their attention on her and waved her hand with a small smile. “Please, ladies, my husband used to work for the Foreign Office. And I have the ear of all Society. I know more secrets than the government. Pretend I am not here. I shall thank you to keep laying your cards, though. We’ll let Mrs. Granger appear to win this time, hmm?”
And with that she plastered a blank look on her face and discarded, waiting for Gemma to take her turn.
She did so, then looked at her friends. “Something is troubling Blackmoor,” she finally said on a soft sigh. “And he will not talk about it.”
A slight furrow appeared on Marianne’s face and her lips turned down. “Yes, I wondered if that might be it.”
“Meaning what?” Gemma replied, wondering what she had missed.
Marianne twisted her mouth and looked at Lily, who only shrugged.
“What?”
Lily gave her a hesitant smile. “You and Blackmoor were the chief topic of conversation while you were away. Stories flew about with such speed and with varying levels of ridiculousness that it was dizzying. It made Marianne’s adventures look rather boring.”
“Excuse me?” Marianne huffed, but she smiled and wrinkled up her nose in delight.
“What did they say?” Gemma whispered, feeling the color drain from her face.
Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “There was some speculation as to whether you would come back at all. That you would end up…” She grimaced and waved awkwardly. “You know.”
“Dead,” Gemma replied flatly.
Lily only nodded.
Marianne cleared her throat. “Others thought you must have been far more wicked and perverse than they’d thought, that Blackmoor had compromised you beyond a hope of recovery, that you were a desperate fortune hunter who only wished to marry, and that the pair of you would end up killing each other before the month was out.”
“And then some said that suggested you might…” Lily blushed and wrinkled her nose. “Well, that you might have… helped him. With his first wife.”
Gemma gaped at her friends in shock. No one ever had ever spoken of her in such horrifying terms before. She had certainly been gossiped about on occasion, but with pity or sympathy and a hint of a smile. Never like this.
“I heard that you were sold to him for salvation of your father’s debts,” Lady Cartwright mused as if speaking of the weather. “Discard, if you please, Mrs. Gerrard.”
Marianne did so, smiling at Gemma kindly. “It isn’t that bad, Gemma. Really.”
“Not that bad?” she choked, the room seeming to spin about her. “It’s horrible!”
“Considering what is being said about your husband at any given moment,” Lady Cartwright said in her offhand way as she discarded a card of her own, “it is really quite tame.”
Gemma glared at her, though she did not know her well enough to do so. “You are not helping, madam.”
Lady Cartwright cracked a smile. “I never said I was. Discard.”
Gemma flung a card out moodily.
“Straighten up,” Marianne hissed through her false smile. “Smile. They can’t touch you, remember?”
Instinctively, Gemma obeyed, though it felt like a complete betrayal to her husband to smile at a time like this. “So why invite me anywhere if I am so horrible a creature?” she asked, looking politely at Lily.
Her friend patted her knee under the table. “Because everyone wants to see. They want to know if your husband has corrupted you or if you might give them anything to gossip about. You haven’t, which is brilliant.”
“They are very upset with you, my dear,” Lady Cartwright said softly, nodding at Marianne to play. “You aren’t supposed to be happy.”
“Well that is rather unfortunate for them, because I am,” she snapped.
Lady Cartwright gave her a half smile. “Too right, my lady.”
Marianne cleared her throat in the most delicate manner possible. “Now, what about Blackmoor is worrying you?”
Gemma chewed her lip gently, glancing over to where her husband and the other men had retreated into a separate card room. “He is just so quiet now,” she half-whispered.
Marianne let out a rather indelicate snort for her perfect persona. “Darling, that is the nature of Lord Blackmoor.”
“I have only heard him speak a handful of times myself,” Lily added.
“With me,” Gemma clarified irritably. “He has never been this quiet with me.”
Marianne’s expression cleared and she gave a soft “Oh,” of understanding.
Gemma released a sigh. “Something is troubling him, I know it. But he will not discuss it. Adamantly refuses. And that was all right for a while, I assumed that patience would reward me.”
“It still might,” Lily said with gentle hope.
Gemma laid down a card she didn’t even look at. “I know that. I do. But it was easier to wait when he was… there.”
Marianne pursed her lips. “Might I offer some advice about being married to a reserved man?”
“Please,” Gemma begged, knowing she would seem desperate.
“Let him have his reserve,” Marianne urged softly, smiling with only a little force. “You knew he was a reserved man when you married him, and you still married him.”
Gemma nodded, her brow furrowing. “But he was not as reserved with me.”
“No, and nor would he be. And compared with what he is like in public, Gemma, he is undoubtedly still not as reserved with you.” She flicked her glance to the gentlemen’s card room, then back to her. “He does not like London. And knowing what he faces when he comes, I can’t say I blame him. He will tell you in time, I feel certain of it. But when you are at home, do not press him. Let him open to you in his own way.”
It was excellent advice, and she wished she had considered that herself.
“You think he will?” she asked in a small voice.
Warmth hit Marianne’s eyes and she winked. “I think he will, when he can. You’ve only been married three weeks, dear. It will take longer than that for Blackmoor to let himself be vulnerable.”
“Especially after years of being so guarded,” Lily murmured sympathetically, blinking when their three husbands entered the room together.
Gemma could not take her eyes from Lucas as his tall and imposing form entered the room. Even in this small gathering, the conversation softened at it.
But, true to form, Lucas did not react. He merely turned his head to listen more intently to whatever that horrid Mr. Granger was saying.
“Why can’t they leave him alone?” Gemma whispered before she could stop herself.
Lily covered her hand and Gemma glanced at her. “He has done well enough with it. Perhaps it only takes some getting used to.”
Lucas had said the same sort of thing only weeks ago, and Gemma had doubted it at that time. Looking back at him, knowing him now as she did, caring for him as deeply as she did, she was even more certain of herself.
“I shall never get used to it,” she hissed, her eyes burning. “He is my husband, and I will not stand for it.”
“Don’t make a scene about it,” Marianne insisted, though she bore a faint smile that she shared with Lily. “Nothing will do the trick like supporting your husband and behaving as though it cannot touch you.”
Gemma frowned. “That seems counterproductive.”
“Our instincts will us to act,” Lady Cartwright said with a sigh, “but all it does is whip people into more of a frenzy.”
She wondered what on earth that could mean, as she had never heard a single breath of anything remotely shocking about the Cartwrights, but now was not the time to ask.
“So I am supposed to stand idly by and do nothing?” she groaned, looking around at them.
All three were nodding, although how Lily could do so was beyond her. Everybody loved her husband except them and Lily was declared the most fortunate of women, despite the fact that her heart broke a little more every day.
“And smile,” Lily suggested as she did so. “No one will argue with your smile. You’ve done a marvelous job so far, people are beginning to talk for other reasons.”
“Good,” Gemma sniffed.
“And I think that would help your husband, too,” Marianne mused softly, a small smile on her face as she dealt a new hand of cards.
“Do you?”
She nodded primly. “The way he is looking over here now, Gemma, I think he is very concerned about you. The pair of you will worry circles around each other.”
Gemma glanced back to find Lucas’s gaze on her with such intensity that her breath caught. She knew how to read his expression and his eyes so much the better now, and for all the outward stoicism, she could see the concern and warmth and apprehension in his gaze. And she was forgetting to be composed while chatting with her friends.
What had he seen? He could not have heard, but what would he think?
Somehow, looking at him made smiling easier. The pain in her chest, though her heart still ached for him, for them. But her friends were right. If Lucas could stand all that was said about him, though it must pain him somehow, then she could bear it as well.
It may bristle her, it may take every ounce of resolve she had, but she could act the part. For him.
After all, she had been acting for the world for most of her life.
Now, however, she would not have to do so alone.
She tilted her head, and let her lips curve into a small smile, her eyes softening.
The change in Lucas was astonishing, though she doubted anyone else would see it. His face relaxed, his eyes lost their wariness, and a hint of the playful man from Thornacre appeared.
Then, impossibly, his mouth curved just a hint, and her heart threatened to burst completely.
“Oh my,” Lily murmured, an obvious smile in her voice. “I feel very much like an intruder at the moment.”
“I do believe I owe you a pound,” Marianne said with a laugh.
“Not yet,” Gemma murmured, her smile deepening with pride and emotion as she watched her husband and he watched her. “I can do better than that.”
As if he knew what she had said, Lucas cast a very faint wink at her.
She suddenly felt the urge to laugh.
“My dear Lady Blackmoor,” Lady Cartwright huffed with a teasing smile, “do cease flirting with your husband and lay a card before I do it for you.”
Gemma winked boldly back at her husband, and returned her attention to whatever game they were playing, feeling a little better.
Perhaps they could weather this storm after all.