Chapter Seventeen
“Lady Blackmoor, it is such a pleasure to have you here with us!” Lady Cavendish gushed as she clung to Gemma’s hand, her powder blue gown so flounced it swallowed Gemma’s simple cream muslin without effort.
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Gemma replied with a kind smile, letting herself be led.
“Do you know the other ladies here?” Lady Cavendish asked with a grand gesture to the others sitting about.
Gemma’s smile became a bit tight. “By sight, yes. By introduction, only a few.”
Lady Cavendish took care of that in short order, making elaborate and detailed introductions that seemed to tighten the face of every woman present as one or more items listed were not entirely pleasant ones, and Gemma got the suspicion that, although there were some ladies of high society in attendance, their being present was more of an effort to not offend the hostess rather than to enjoy her company.
She rather felt the same way.
Lady Raeburn was present, as was Lady Whitlock, and a few other ladies that Gemma could mingle with, but for the most part, they were already situated in their comfortable groups, and she was left to herself for a moment, though Lady Whitlock indicated she would be with her shortly.
She didn’t mind. The reprieve was a blessing.
The days had been passing in a sort of daze, nothing of true interest or significance distinguishing one from the next. Her husband was absent, then remarkably attentive, and then once again distant, and she could never manage to discover what determined the mood or change. He was so distracted, so disinterested most of the time, but there was an odd sort of longing in his eyes that she did not care for at all.
She’d tried everything she could to encourage him, but it only seemed to push him further away. He’d even gone so far as to flat out refuse to share her bed the other night, stating he was not interested in doing so at this time. She’d tried not to take it personally, but it was difficult, and she would be lying if she did not admit to shedding tears over that particular instance.
They were in a sort of neutral ground at the moment. She never sought him out and only spoke to him on light subjects when they happened to be together. He listened politely, conversed minimally, and gave her the benefit of his full attention as he always had done.
But he never smiled. Not even in his eyes.
More and more she had begun wondering about his first wife. He’d been in the gallery many evenings, she knew, and she had never disturbed him there again, given their new tension. Did he gaze up at her portrait, a rather grand and spectacular one, with longing and anguish? Did he miss her as fiercely as he seemed to?
She had gone into the gallery herself, on occasion, and stared at the previous Lady Blackmoor with an assessing study. She was trim in all of right places, and voluptuous in others. A rare, exotic beauty, dark and seductive, and she could easily see how she would charm an entire ballroom of people, men and women. She was a captivating woman, even in art, and in life she must have been a magnificent sight to behold.
How could plain, plump, forgettable Gemma compete with such a woman in a man’s heart?
Oh, she was not silly enough to think that her husband did not value her. On the contrary, she knew he did. She had felt it, he had shown it, and she could not… and would not… be that sort of maudlin woman who would always doubt it. Lucas liked her, cared for her, respected her, and would always take care of her.
But would it ever be what he felt for his first wife?
Her conversations with Mr. Stanford, which had continued at fairly regular intervals, had led her to believe that Lucas was a single-minded man, which she had suspected, and that perhaps he might be feeling some guilt for his second marriage. But she was repeatedly assured of her husband’s fidelity and admiration, not that she needed any such assurances, and that he would soon get over it.
She valued his opinions greatly, and had begun to ask him what he knew about Lucas’s first wife, though he had not known her well, by his own admission. He could only tell her impressions, and they were along the same vein that her own thoughts had been. Everyone had adored her, and no one understood why she had married Blackmoor when she could have had anyone. But she had made her choice and no one had ever heard her regret it. She had teased her husband on occasion, even outside of his presence, as a woman of her nature would, but she seemed perfectly content with her lot. And no one had ever heard Blackmoor utter a cross or disagreeable word about her.
It was hard to hear, but necessary.
Mr. Stanford refused to let her dwell on such unhappy things, and often set his mind to make her smile, which was a welcome respite. It was such a pleasure to have a friend, someone who could cheer her without anything feeling forced.
Of course, she had Lily and Marianne, and her sister, when she could be spared, but there was something almost magnetic about Mr. Stanford, and the surprise in seeing him was always the greater for its spontaneity. He refused to let her set a time for them to meet ever, as it would seem to be a bit more scandalous if they met by design. He was always so considerate with such things, never wishing to make it appear as though either of them were betraying Lucas in any way. He valued Lucas, and Gemma herself, far too much to even hint at such things.
Such devoted friendship for a man he only admired from a distance, save their brief interaction together.
She hoped Lucas was as loyal to the young man, as he seemed to have earned his respect somehow.
She shook her head now, reminding herself that her husband was, above all else, a man of honor. He would do his duty by his friends and his associates, no matter the cost. No matter where his heart lay where she, or his first wife, were concerned, he would always behave with respect and integrity.
He was incapable of anything less.
And oh, how she missed him.
“Oh, Lady Riverton! How delightful to see you again!”
Gemma glanced up to see Lady Cavendish fawning over the newly arrived Lady Riverton, looking resplendent in a bold emerald gown that bore only the faintest of lace detailing, strings of pearls at her elegant throat. She commanded notice with her mere presence, and had Gemma not experienced the warmth and genuine heart of the woman, she would have been terrified into stunned silence.
As it was, she recollected her duty and responsibility as the wife of Lord Blackmoor and looked sufficiently impressed that such a lady would deign to appear, knowing how important it was that they remain strangers until such a time as it was appropriate.
Hiding her relief and pleasure seemed wrong, but Lady Riverton was playing the game as well, surveying the group with a polite, if distant, smile.
“What a fine gathering,” Lady Riverton murmured, though everyone could hear her clearly. “Have I missed the luncheon?”
“No, my lady,” Lady Cavendish clucked with a wave of her plump hand. “We were nearly to bring it out when you arrived.”
“Perfect.” She glanced about the room and her eyes fell on Gemma, and there they stayed. “Lady Cavendish, I don’t believe I know that young woman. Would you be so good as to introduce us?”
Lady Cavendish might as well have been asked to oblige royalty for all of her fluttering, and she made the introductions with too much flourish, too much information, and too much patronization. But it would be allowed, considering it permitted Gemma and Lady Riverton to be acquainted publicly and converse.
“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Lady Blackmoor,” Lady Riverton said with an incline of her fair head. “Might I claim the seat beside you?”
“I would be honored, my lady,” Gemma replied with a demure nod.
She sat beside her on the divan, and then, noting that Lady Cavendish was still hovering, gave her a warm smile. “Dear Eloise, would you be so good as to see if your cook would mind including cucumber sandwiches in the luncheon? She is so talented, so gifted, and does you such credit, it would be delightful to partake of them.”
Lady Cavendish beamed and blessed herself and dashed out of the room without any sort of grace at all, entirely forgetting herself under such attentions.
“There,” Lady Riverton muttered under her breath as she made herself some tea. “That should keep her occupied for a moment. Her cook hates cucumber sandwiches, but she can hardly refuse a request.”
“Especially from you,” Gemma replied as she sipped her own tea with a smile. “Well done.”
Lady Riverton gave her a sly smile. “A well-placed compliment with sufficient flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.”
Gemma choked back a laugh as she tried to maintain her composed demeanor. Several women were still staring at them, whispering to themselves about it, and Lady Whitlock herself raised an impressed brow at her.
“Everybody wants to know why you are speaking with me,” Gemma murmured, setting her tea down. “Such attentions, my lady.”
“Enough of that. They can come and speak with you themselves if they wish to know what I find worthwhile in you.” She cleared her throat, and raised her voice just one delicate notch. “No, I will not allow such modesty. Lady Raeburn raves of your talents, and I must hear it for myself. Tibby!”
Lady Raeburn turned with a devilish grin. “Anna?”
“Am I invited to your musicale this year?”
“Of course, my lady. You have a standing invitation.”
“Consider this my reservation. Myself, my husband, and our sons will all attend. We must hear Lady Blackmoor play, don’t you agree?”
Tibby looked at Gemma warmly, her eyes twinkling. “Aye, we must. It is my favorite part every year.”
Gemma blushed and ducked her face.
The ladies in the room began to titter and attention was at last away from her.
“There,” Lady Riverton sighed, patting Gemma’s knee. “Now we may talk without observation. They are going to spread the word on that and find a way to become invited themselves.” She giggled softly and sipped her tea.
Gemma glanced over at the woman with a smile. “You enjoy being who you are, don’t you?”
That earned her a swift grin. “It certainly has its advantages.” She set her tea aside and turned more fully to Gemma. “How are you, dear? We missed you at our party.”
Gemma winced, then forced herself to smile for effect. “I am so sorry about that. I… We…”
Lady Riverton smiled sadly. “Lucas said no, didn’t he?”
Unable to hide it, she nodded glumly.
Lady Riverton sighed and shook her head. “I thought he might. We always invite him, and every once in a while, he makes an appearance, however brief and limited. It would be wonderful to see him more, but until he comes to terms with it…” She shrugged lightly, looking troubled.
“Why does he do that?” Gemma whispered, forgoing her polite exterior. “Why shut himself off from the world?”
Lady Riverton’s eyes were suddenly fixed and intense on hers. “Is he shutting you out, too?”
Unbidden tears sprang to Gemma’s eyes as she nodded.
Lady Riverton made a soft noise of sympathy. “Are you unhappy?”
“I shouldn’t be,” Gemma whispered, blinking back the tears before they could fall. “I don’t want to be, but… I miss him so. He’s so distant, so closed… I didn’t make a mistake in marrying him, did I?”
“No,” Lady Riverton insisted, reaching out to squeeze Gemma’s hand tightly. “No, dear, you didn’t. He needs you. Desperately. And I think he knows it.”
“Then why?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Lady Riverton exhaled slowly. “Do you know about his family and their past?”
Gemma nodded, pretending to sip her tea once more.
“I am surprised you know that much,” Lady Riverton said with a touch of irony. “He never speaks of it. Refuses to. He is well aware of what his family was, and who. He watched them destroy themselves, watched his mother waste away, saw everything, and he was determined to be better than that. Being the private man that he is, the best way to do that was to avoid giving anyone anything to say about him. He did not discuss his family, and he did not discuss himself. When troubles came, and they always did, he retreated into himself, waited for the storm to pass, and then began again.”
Gemma listened with all the energy of her heart even as her mind whirled with images of a younger Lucas trying to rise above his family and being continually dragged down by them. What opportunities had been deflected by virtue of who he was? It was no wonder he was so independent, so totally separated from anyone or anything.
He’d had to be.
“When it was only him,” Lady Riverton continued, “we reached out again, though my husband had been trying for years. Eventually, Lucas allowed for private reconciliation, and when he permits it, we see him. But we cannot push, or he will disappear again. And having some of him is better than none of him.”
That struck a chord with Gemma, and her chest tightened in response.
She wanted all of Lucas. Not just some of him.
But she would have to take what he would give.
It was better than nothing.
“What of his first wife?” she asked in a much lower voice, desperate to avoid anyone hearing this particular part of the discussion.
Lady Riverton stiffened and her gaze sharpened. “Celia? What do you know?”
“Almost nothing,” she admitted. “I know she was loved and admired by everyone, and that she was a great beauty. And Lucas has only ever said that he didn’t kill her.”
Lady Riverton’s mouth tightened and she looked away. “I don’t know much more than that myself,” she whispered. “All he has ever said is that she died, and Society, knowing his family and their past, took that as an admission somehow. But while she lived… I cannot say much, Gemma, simply because I do not know. I wish I did.”
“Can you tell me what you do know?” Gemma pleaded softly, turning the hand she held to squeeze it. “I just… I think he may still love her, and I wonder if that might be… hurting him.” She twisted her lips a little, feeling that her words were rather lame and small.
Lady Riverton met her eyes for a long moment, then dipped her chin in a small nod. “I cannot tell you if he loved her. I cannot tell you if she loved him. They almost never moved in the same circles. And given her open nature and his reserve, she was the more favored. Everyone flocked to her, as if she were an addiction. She was a bold and brazen heiress, and she would have turned London on its head had she had a full Season at her disposal. I will never know how Lucas arranged the marriage between them, but everyone… and I do mean everyone,” she added, eyes widening for emphasis, “thought it a most fortunate match for him. When she did not draw him out, it was assumed to be a marriage of convenience, and that was more understandable.”
She sighed and rubbed Gemma’s hand gently. “She was… captivating, Gemma. And Lucas, at first, watched her with a fierceness that ought to have given some caution, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Eventually, he stopped watching altogether. And Celia never minded, at least in public. She smiled and laughed and flirted as she ever had. Who knows what life was like at home, in private, but I often wondered if…” She bit her lip slightly, frowning. “I often wondered if she might have been… entertaining certain attentions privately. From others. You understand?”
Gemma’s breath caught in horror and she forced herself to swallow and nod.
“I cannot prove it, and nothing was ever evident,” she told her, shaking her head, her brow furrowing. “It was only a feeling. How she acted, the men she attracted, the looks she gave…”
“That can’t have been easy for Lucas,” Gemma murmured.
Her words seemed to shake Lady Riverton from her reminiscence and the older woman smiled at her. “No, I don’t think it was. But again, he never spoke of it, and never acted in any way to inform the public one way or the other.”
Gemma sat back, feeling surprisingly drained for having been on the receiving end of the information. “No, he wouldn’t, would he?”
Lady Riverton said nothing and reached for her tea, fixing a soft, polite smile on her face.
“What do I do?” she asked her, her voice small.
“Love him,” Lady Riverton replied in the same tone. “Let him have his reserve, but don’t let him hide there. I don’t know him as well as I would like to, Gemma, but don’t give up on him. Please.”
“I won’t,” Gemma assured her with a smile, her eyes growing misty. “I can’t.”
Lady Riverton smiled warmly at her, which made Gemma want to cry more, and then luncheon was served and they were forced to speak of other things with the rest of the group, which served Gemma well enough, as she had very little of consequence to say.
There was too much to think on at the moment.
Gemma paced outside of Lucas’s study for so long she was beginning to feel fatigue in her legs before she felt confident enough to attempt knocking.
Her words with Lady Riverton had started her thinking of a course. She had then happened across Mr. Stanford after the luncheon, and after advising with him, only very superficially, he agreed with her course.
Faintly, the thought occurred to her not to divulge private matters of her husband with a man that did not enjoy his own confidence, but she was growing desperate. And Stanford had her husband’s interests at heart, he viewed him as a brother, or nearly. Surely it would be permissible this once… And she had not revealed anything truly personal about him.
Her own heart, however, could not keep itself hidden as she talked about her husband.
And bless Mr. Stanford, he knew. He smiled and offered his advice, repeatedly stating that he had no assurances that his advice would be at all effective, as her husband was a mystery.
That she knew well.
Hence her current hesitation.
But she was not, and never had been, a ninny.
She raised her hand and knocked with as much firmness as she could muster.
“Come.”
She held her breath and entered the dark, masculine room. “I bring you the greetings of your aunt, and the wishes of Lady Raeburn for your attendance at her musicale.”
Lucas looked up from his desk only briefly. “And how is my aunt?”
“Very well,” Gemma said with a smile. “She looked positively radiant.”
“She does that,” he muttered, going back to his work. “Did anyone notice the two of you being overly social?”
Gemma scoffed. “Of course they did. Lady Riverton took notice of poor Lady Blackmoor, a little nobody everyone is ignoring these days.”
That brought his head up with a jerk.
“But she only paid me polite attentions,” Gemma reassured him, a bit taken aback by the darkness in his gaze. “She was generous in her praises and before the luncheon was over, I had several new acquaintances and more invitations. That is all. No one suspected anything, I promise.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then looked back down at his work. “Good.”
“And will you come to Lady Raeburn’s musicale?” she asked, wondering why his mood was so foul. “I am to be playing, after all.”
“I doubt it,” he said in an offhand way.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “What? Why?”
“I don’t need to give a reason.”
“Perhaps not for everyone else, but I would like one,” she retorted. “I have been practicing for weeks, you’ve heard me.”
“All the more reason not to, I know how brilliantly you play.”
“Lucas, that is not the same thing!”
He glanced up at her. “Isn’t it? You said so yourself, you are very sought after now. I am not. It would be better for you if I left you to it.”
She was shaking her head before he finished. “No, they will say what they have been saying. That you have tired of me. That I am not enough to sustain your attentions. That I have thrown you over. You have left me so alone that nobody knows what to make of either of us, and now I am talked about as much as you!”
He slowly raised a brow at her. “Perhaps you regret our marriage now that you know what it entails.”
She frowned in response. “That is not what I said.”
He snorted in derision and sat back in his chair. “What are you saying, then?”
His manner was so unlike the man she knew that she had no inkling of how to respond. “I… I miss you,” she said simply.
A barely imperceptible twinge flickered across his face. “I am where I have always been,” he replied with a slight gesture of his hands.
“No, you are so far away I hardly recognize you,” she murmured. Then she raised her chin a touch. “Perhaps it is you who regrets our marriage.”
He glowered at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Something spurned her into impudence. “Am I? I never see you anymore. We never talk as we used to.”
He sighed and picked up his pen, going back to his work. “I have responsibilities, Gemma. I am busy.”
She would not be put off like this, to be brushed aside like some insignificant acquaintance. “Too busy for your wife?” she demanded. “You used to have all the time in the world for me.”
That struck him, and he went so still she wondered if he even breathed.
“Walk with me, Lucas,” she begged softly, knowing he was not as unfeeling as he was behaving. “Just the park. Please.”
He looked up at her for a long moment, then sighed and stood, coming over to kiss her brow gently. “All right.”
There was barely time for her heart to thrill at it before he had her out the door and walking briskly, as if that was what she meant. As if it were only an errand to be completed.
As if she were merely a duty.
They walked on in silence, side by side, but worlds apart. It was not at all what she had intended, but she would take it, if that was all he would give.
Without a word, he led her to the grove of trees she’d come to treasure, where they had once kissed and confessed all sort of things. Once safely within, the tension in him seemed to fall away. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes.
“Lucas?” she prodded with some concern, laying a hand on his chest.
He turned and seized her face, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierceness and intensity that stole her breath. She responded in kind, fisting her hands in his shirt, passion rising within her as a torrential flood.
He pressed her back against a tree, wild and unfettered, his mouth eager and insistent. She had longed for this, dreamed of it, craved it… But it would solve nothing. Knowing this still burned beneath the surface encouraged her, emboldened her, and she took her chance.
She broke off the kiss and cupped her husband’s face. “Lucas, tell me what is wrong,” she whispered, her lips grazing his. “Tell me the trouble.”
He instantly stiffened, jerked back, and removed her hands from his face. “No. I’ve told you not to ask me, and I mean it!”
He shook his head at her, then turned and strode out of the grove.
“Don’t leave me alone again!” she called, her voice cracking.
He stopped at once, hands clenching at his side, then turned to look back at her.
She didn’t bother to hide her tears as they began to course down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded, biting down on her lip.
He stared at her for a moment, his hands on his hips, exhaled slowly, then came back to her and held out his hand. “Forgive me. Come.”
She noted that he did not apologize, only asked for her forgiveness. For some reason she could not identify, that seemed a significant omission. But she swallowed back her pain and distress, took his hand, and they silently continued their walk.
He did not leave her alone in the grove, but it was not the grove to which she had been referring.
When they returned home, when this painful interlude ended, would she be alone again?
She was very much afraid that she already knew the answer to that.