Chapter Sixteen
Gemma tipped her head back to allow the sun more access to her cheeks, sighing softly in delight at the warmth.
Most women preferred to be pale and almost sickly, but she was not one of them. She enjoyed being a little healthier looking, even if it was unfashionable. A pink nose never cursed anyone.
She ought not to have such leisure time to sit around and indulge in her complexion, but her friends had gone without feeling the need to entertain her today, and there were no more calls to return. There were no more invitations at all. No one wanted to see her, no one wished for her company, and no one minded if she sat here in the sun.
She could have gone home, she supposed. There were many things she could see to there, as she now ran the house, and several tasks she could complete that really ought to be done.
But here she sat, taking a long moment to bask in the sun.
Because home was a miserable place.
Whatever progress she imagined from that exquisite moment with Lucas in the gallery, and the tender hours afterwards, had vanished so quickly that none of it seemed real. He was distant, aloof, and generally absent, even when he was sitting before her and sharing the same meal.
She would never have accused him of being rude or ungentlemanly, as every word he shared with her was of absolute politeness and decency. He’d never had a cross word with her, never gave her the slightest indication that he was displeased or in any way upset, and yet his expression was usually troubled when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was very good at containing it, wearing a calm and implacable façade whenever they conversed or when he knew he was being observed.
She’d asked him about it only once since the morning after the ball, and he’d blandly written it off as fatigue in the most unconvincing manner possible. She suspected he was being truthful, in his own way, and was simply keeping the reason for his fatigue and distraction to himself.
He’d not hidden from her before, despite his reserve and the secrets he held from the public, but now she was just as lost as anyone else might have been.
Home with him was lonelier than any crowded ballroom or empty cave she had ever experienced.
She’d tried to be patient, she’d given him distance so he might not feel pressed, but the reality was that she desperately wanted to press him. She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to demand that he let her in and be a husband instead of a recluse. She wanted…
Well, she wanted her husband back, but she wasn’t entirely certain she knew who that was.
And there was no one who could know him well enough to explain it to her.
She’d tried with Marianne, but she’d been oddly evasive about it. She did not know Lucas on a particularly intimate level, but she’d said she would have Kit see to it. And Kit had given her nothing to go on.
She’d tried to counsel with her sister, but Caroline knew even less of Lucas than Marianne, and could only assure Gemma that her husband cared about her a great deal.
That much she knew already, for whatever she asked for was given.
Except answers.
Except his confidence.
Except him.
Tears swirled in her eyes and she choked on a gasp as she tried to force them away. It would not do to cry in the park publicly, no matter how people ignored her.
“Lady Blackmoor?”
She glanced over to see a man approaching and she straightened up, fixing a polite smile on her face. He was a little familiar, but not enough that she should recognize him. He was young… whether in looks or age, it was impossible to say… and dressed a bit like a popinjay. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a charming smile, but no name came to mind.
He removed his hat in a grand sweep and bowed politely, then replaced it. “What a pleasure!” he cried, his smile crinkling his cheeks. “I had no idea you were returned to London.”
Her smile turned quizzical, and she raised a brow at him. They had been in London nearly three weeks, and had attended many events. Perhaps he was only recently returned himself, though. It would explain the confusion. But as she looked at him, she wondered if perhaps his mind was not entirely adept at remembering the details.
“Ah, you don’t remember me, do you?” he asked with a light laugh, correctly reading her expression.
She gave him an apologetic look. “I apologize.”
He shook his head at once. “Not at all, not at all. We met, I believe, at your wedding breakfast, and that is hardly the way to begin. You are excused from remembering something so insignificant on such a day.”
His superfluous nature was dizzying, but he was pleasant enough, which was a welcome change, and she could not help but to smile at him.
“Bennett Stanford,” he said, bowing once more. “I am acquainted with your husband. He and my brother were schoolmates.”
“Lord Oliver,” Gemma recalled, her smile genuine now. “Yes, I remember him telling me about you.”
He quirked a brow. “Really? And what, pray tell, did the good viscount have to say about me, hmm?”
Gemma shook her head at once. “No, I will not betray confidences.”
“But I am off to fence at the club and will surely meet him there! I could have something to bait him with!” He seemed so eager that she nearly laughed at him.
“I doubt my husband would appreciate being baited,” she scolded, warning him. Lucas had been acting so strange lately, there was no telling what it might do to him.
Mr. Stanford waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he would be quite used to it from me. I’m a bit of a puppy, you see, and he only barely tolerates me. Years of practice, I am afraid.” He shrugged a little. “I am a younger brother, after all, and act as such for everyone.”
Gemma grinned outright. “It is a wonder Lord Oliver tolerates you.”
“He doesn’t.” He flashed a quick grin, then let it fade easily. “But you seem, if you’ll forgive me, a trifle sad today, my lady. Might I be of some assistance?”
She reared back in surprise, wondering what he had seen, what he could possible presume. “I don’t think so,” she managed, knowing better than to attempt lying. “It is… a personal matter.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I would never wish to pry, my lady, I only… Well, it is a shame to see so pretty a woman looking so unhappy.”
“I am not unhappy,” she muttered defensively.
“Forgive me,” he replied with a slight bow. “I am often thoughtless with my speech.”
She sighed and slowly shook her head. “No, I fear I am to blame. I was lost in my thoughts, and they are not pleasant.”
“If I were a thought of yours, I should be most pleasant indeed.”
She snorted suddenly and looked up at him. “Flowery turn of phrase for a puppy to use on a married woman.”
He smiled brashly. “I must keep up the practice.” He held out a hand and she slowly laid hers in it. He raised her glove to his lips, still smiling. “I shall tell your husband of our meeting today, and how delightful I found you. Surely that should please him.”
“I cannot say if it should or not,” she murmured before she could stop the words.
His brow furrowed. “Is there some… disagreement between you and your husband, madam?”
She opened her mouth, then forced a smile. “That would be far too personal a divulgence for so slight an acquaintance.”
He nodded at once. “Of course. Forgive me.” He flashed another smile. “Again.”
She inclined her head properly in acceptance. “Of course.”
“Well, at the very least, I must compliment Blackmoor for his excellent choice of wife. But I knew he would choose well, should he have married again.”
She smiled reluctantly. “Did you?”
He seemed surprised by her response. “Of course. He is a most excellent man, and has impeccable taste. You and his first wife were testaments to that.”
Gemma could not hide her surprise at his saying so. “You can say that, with all of the… rumors?”
“I would never say less. I pay no mind to the rumors.” He leaned forward, his eyes earnest. “And nor should you.”
Gemma was thrilled to the bone to hear someone say such things about Lucas, considering everything she had ever heard before, and everything she had heard since her marriage. “Mr. Bennett Stanford, I think you are a fine man. And if it will not trouble you, I could do with an escort home. If you would be so kind.”
His smile was dazzling and he gallantly offered her his arm. “With pleasure, Lady Blackmoor. Though I would recommend in the future bringing a servant with you. We must maintain propriety. Reputation is a tricky business.”
Gemma offered a grim smile as she rose and took his arm. “Don’t I know it.”
He chuckled and patted her hand. “Never fear, my lady. It comes with the territory. Now, tell me about yourself. I must reconcile your reputation with your words if I am to protect you properly in the future.”
She glanced up at the taller man. “Are you to be a knight for my honor, then?”
He suddenly appeared very puffed up indeed. “I’ll be the gallant knight for any pretty face, madam. Every proper lady wants one, and I aim to be the most sought after.”
Against her will, she laughed, thinking this man a very ridiculous puppy indeed, but at least he was kind and amusing. And for now, that would suffice.
Closer than you know.
Lucas stared at the missive for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon. The surprise and shock had worn off, but the anxiety was running rampant. More than a week without a word, and now this. What sort of cryptic message was this and why now? Closer how? In what ways?
Or to whom?
“I haven’t heard anything in recent days, but your tenants are a little protective of you. That should be encouraging for you.”
Lucas slowly raised his head to meet the quizzical look of Lord Beverton, who was situated comfortably in his study, watching him. He’d come just before the missive had to offer his report from Hampshire, which had been completely pointless and uneventful. Some had recalled seeing an unfamiliar man wandering about, but as he had not made himself known to anyone, nor left any sort of impression, there was nothing to be said about it.
“Protective?” Lucas managed, his mouth dry, his mind whirling to recall what had been said in the minutes he had been otherwise occupied. “I’ve never encountered any particular loyalty from them, they seem more suspicious than anything else.”
The earl flashed him a quick and easy smile. “They are indeed suspicious, but they refused to tell me anything until they knew where my opinion of you lay. Said you were the best landlord they’d ever known and they’d not hear a word against you.”
There was a faint tightness in his chest for a moment, but it was quick to dissipate. “That is good to hear. Thank you.”
Beverton tilted his head. “I don’t think your tenants are the ones you need to worry about.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Mine check out as well.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to tell me what that one says or do I need to guess?”
Lucas looked over at him warily. “You don’t need to be involved.”
Beverton snorted. “I am already involved. If you’d rather it stay private, I’ll say nothing more about it. But if you want a second set of eyes…” He shrugged and said nothing more.
Lucas considered telling the man what exactly he could do with his second set of eyes, that this was his personal business and not for anyone else’s concern… but Beverton was right, he was already involved, and there was nothing to indicate that Lucas could not trust him further.
With a barely muffled sigh of resignation, he handed it over, and watched for the reaction.
The earl’s brows rose sharply, then looked up at him. “Are there more?”
Lucas nodded once, reached into the desk drawer, and pulled out the others, handing them over as well.
It only took a moment, and then all notes were handed back to him. “I don’t like this,” Beverton said bluntly.
“I am not particularly fond of them either,” Lucas replied tightly.
“This is more than mischief.”
“I agree.”
“Gemma needs to know.”
“No.”
That seemed to surprise him. “No?”
Lucas shook his head firmly.
He frowned. “She needs to know.”
“I can’t tell her. Not yet. It’s too soon for… Not yet.”
Beverton was silent, then just shook his head. “If you wait too long, you may be too late.”
“I know that,” he snapped. He sighed, rubbing his brow. “Forgive me, that was unnecessary.”
“Not at all. You are under strain, and I am impertinent.” He smiled easily, as if the matter truly were forgotten. “If you need me, you need only ask.”
Lucas nodded, suspecting the earl knew he would never ask anything further of him. “Of course.”
A knock at the door turned them both to look at it.
“Come,” Lucas called.
A ray of sunlight in the form of his wife entered, looking a little smaller than normal, her smile a little too forced. “Good morning,” she said softly.
He rose and offered her a bow. “Good morning.”
She entered the room, her tension easing slightly. “I… Nathan?” she asked, catching a glimpse of the earl, who had also risen with her entrance. “What on earth are you doing here?”
He grinned and reached an arm about her shoulder, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Can a man not visit his favorite relation by marriage without raising questions?”
Gemma rolled her eyes at Lucas, and it reminded him so much of their earlier days that it ached. “No, he cannot. And I am not related to you at all.”
“You wound me, Gemma,” he tutted, releasing her. “I always thought of us as family.”
“One Hammond brother is quite enough for me,” she said with a smile. “Now, what brings you here?” She looked between Lucas and Beverton expectantly.
Oddly enough, Lucas could not conjure up a feasible reason for the earl’s visit.
Thankfully, Beverton was a quick thinker.
“That infested crop that the Burns family was dealing with back at Thornacre?” he said easily.
Gemma nodded, looking curious.
“A few farms on my estate have suffered the same. Blackmoor and I were discussing options for aiding the families until we can determine what can be salvaged.”
Lucas kept his face impassive as his wife looked at him for confirmation.
“Can they be salvaged?” she asked, truly concerned.
Trust his wife to actually pay attention to the details of their tenants’ farms and understand the implications of them.
“We think so,” Lucas told her, attempting to sound reassuring. “Beverton and his manager have some good ideas, we may be able to implement them.”
At least, he hoped Beverton had some good ideas. Or else he would have a great deal of explaining to do later.
“And on that note, I need to go and send instructions,” Beverton replied on cue. He kissed Gemma’s cheek fondly and nodded at Lucas. “I will keep you informed, Blackmoor, if you would be so kind as to do the same.”
“Of course.”
He nodded once, then left the room without further ado.
Gemma turned to Lucas, her smile still lingering, and it caught him unawares somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. It had been ages since she had smiled at him.
It had been ages since he had given her a reason to.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she murmured quietly, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear.
He hated that gesture, a sign of timidity and nerves that was so unlike his vibrant, impulsive wife. He infused every ounce of warmth he could muster into his gaze and moved around his desk slowly. “Not at all. We were finished. Your timing was perfect.”
His voice had softened on the last word and Gemma caught it, her eyes lighting with a hint of hope.
Unable to resist it, and her, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “What can I do for you?”
The formality of the words was, he hoped, lessened by the tone he could not contain, and she offered him a small, hesitant smile. “I received an invitation for a tea and luncheon with Lady Cavendish on Tuesday.”
He nearly smiled at that. “That is impressive,” he mused, leaning against his desk, still holding her hand. “I didn’t think you were overly acquainted with Lady Cavendish and her circle.”
Gemma grinned brashly. “I’m not, but she moves in circles with Lady Raeburn, who is quite fond of me, and Lady Cavendish has a tendency to like anything Lady Raeburn finds worthwhile, particularly if it will gain her some attention herself.” She shrugged lightly. “I’ve never been invited before, but with Tibby’s musicale approaching, Lady Cavendish no doubt will wish to discuss my wardrobe and selection of music so she might appear to have some influence.”
Lucas chuckled a bit dryly and shook his head. “Opportunistic woman.” He tilted his head. “Why come to me about this? You don’t need my authority or permission for your social agenda. Accept it and let the ladies fawn over you.”
She twisted her lips. “Well… I happen to know that Lady Cavendish is also quite extravagantly devoted to Lady Riverton. She invites her to everything, and I believe Lady Riverton comes more often than not.”
“Ah,” Lucas murmured as he sat back, watching his wife.
“I… did not want to accept without consulting you, considering that fact,” she said quietly, averting her gaze.
Unobserved, he smiled and let it fade before squeezing her hand. “Of course, you should go. I have no control over who Lady Cavendish invites to her soirées, and you cannot avoid my aunt at every turn, nor would I wish you to, should your paths cross naturally. Just because the family connection is not acknowledged does not mean you cannot associate with her.”
She looked at him quickly, her eyes brightening. “You mean it? I don’t wish to cause you any grief or discomfort.”
He shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips once more, lingering. “No, love, you won’t. You never could. Go and be fawned over, mingle with the high society ladies, and let the world wonder at your brilliance.”
Her fingers fluttered against him and he met her eyes, choked by the warmth in her smile. “You fair flatterer,” she whispered. “You will give me quite an opinion of myself.”
“No more than you deserve,” he replied.
She smirked a little, wrinkling her nose up. “Will you come and walk with me, Lucas? It is a fair day, and…”
He shook his head before she could finish, the reality of their situation returning to his mind. “No, my dear, I cannot. There is too much to do, and you are far too pleasant a distraction.” He released her hand and moved back around his desk, clenching his hand, desperate to retain the feel of her there.
He barely caught her small sigh of resignation, but when he looked at her again, she was perfectly composed.
“As you wish,” she said politely. She turned from the room, then glanced back at the door. “By the by, I met your Mr. Stanford the other day.”
Lucas raised a brow as he shuffled papers on his desk. “You met him at the wedding.”
“Not really. Not in a way that I recalled anyway, which he was eager to remind me of.” She smiled, but not at him, and that rankled him. “He happened upon me in the park and we conversed some. He likes you a great deal, you know, and says you have always had impeccable taste in women.”
“And what did you make of him?” he asked, forcing his voice to be unaffected.
She raised her eyes to his, and they were markedly unreadable. “You are quite right. He is a puppy, but an oddly charming one. I like him.”
For some reason, he didn’t like that she liked him, despite his own fair opinion of the man. “Good,” he grunted. “I shall inform him when next we fence.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” she replied. “He’d be insufferable if he knew I held a high opinion of him.” She vanished before he could respond further, which suited him just as well.
He didn’t know how he would have responded.
His wife was having a life without him. Mingling with people who would never have approached him, meeting people who had long been in his world, but never hers, and benefitting from his position without suffering the pains of it. It was everything he wanted for her.
So why did it sting so poignantly?
He sank into his chair with a groan and put a hand over his eyes. Impeccable taste in women? Idiot. He had impeccable taste in one woman, but his past history with the other had been a nightmare.
But no one knew that.
No one could.
A chill raced up his spine as her face appeared in his mind’s eye, her laugh echoing in his ears, the coldness in her eyes cutting him just as swiftly as it ever had before. Again and again, her words replayed, calculated to wound him precisely and effectively, ever cutting and cruel.
The prodding came again, as it always did, and he fought it, distracted himself as best as he could with the matters at hand, business and properties and investitures, but he could not fight it forever. He never could.
With a disgusted sigh, he shoved away from the desk and left his study, his path and his steps sure, despite the sickening twist of his stomach. He mounted the stairs and secluded himself to the gallery once more, only giving the faintest indication to the footman that he was not to be disturbed.
For a while, at least, he would be otherwise occupied.