Chapter Twenty-Eight
At the edge of Cavendish Square, lights glowed in the rooms Emily had transformed to bright and elegant. He wanted to go inside. He wanted to be in rooms that were light and colorful and filled with touches of beauty and whimsy. He liked a dash of living green on the tables, in corners or niches. He wanted to sit before the fires with his feet by the new screens. Never mind Two Fives. Never mind nights spent in the green room of opera houses or theaters. No more staring out the window of his club at the parade of women passing by.
When he came in, Frieda dashed down the stairs, wiggling with joy. While Pond waited to take his things, he petted her and scratched her ears and only just managed to avoid having his face licked. The dog followed him to his room, happy to be in his company. He’d dined at Two Fives, but it was early for London. Not even eight yet.
“I’ll change my clothes,” he told Keller.
Keller, having learned that Frieda calmed down when she was made much of, was enthusiastically stroking her. “You are going out, milord?”
“No. One of my new waistcoats, though. The green and gold one.” Gopal’s tailor did superior work. Emily had complimented Bracebridge when he’d worn the first of the three he’d ordered. He was coming to prefer colorful waistcoats and was considering purchasing more.
“Very good, milord.”
“See if you can do something about my hair.” He rubbed his chin. “A shave, too.” Forty minutes later, he walked into the parlor where he’d been told Emily was and found her asleep on the sofa by the fire, needlework abandoned on her lap. A book was tucked spine down into the space between her leg and the side of the sofa. Socrates was purring on her lap. She did not stir when he approached.
He stood before her, transfixed by the heartbreaking arrangement of her features. His chest tightened for no reason that he wanted to understand. At every turn since she’d first come to London with her sisters, she had challenged him, refused to stand down. Amused him. Annoyed him. Aroused him. And now, her presence here made him eager to come home, happy to see her smile, beyond avid to hold her in his arms.
She stirred, passed a hand over her face, then slowly opened her eyes and blinked several times. She squinted in his direction. Still, he had no name for the tightness in his chest. Why not? Why did he not know what this feeling was?
“Is that you, Bracebridge?”
“Yes.” He pushed away the tightness. She was a creature of ethereal beauty. Naturally, he enjoyed looking at her. Naturally, he reacted to her beauty. Every man in London was lovesick over her.
She sat straighter and rested a hand on Socrates’s back. The kitten stretched and settled back to its nap. “I fell asleep.”
“Indeed, you did.”
She let out a breath. “My apologies. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so tired.”
“Are you well?”
“Perfectly fine.” She busied herself with putting away her needlework. She was wearing an ashy blue that made her eyes particularly piercing. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me today. I feel as if I’ve not slept in a month.” She smoothed her hair and took a long, slow breath that she let out when she looked at the clock. “Nearly nine! I’d not meant to sleep that long.” With a sheepish smile in his direction, she added, “Or at all.”
“I am glad to find you home.”
“Where else would I be?” Her sewing was stowed away now. She brushed a curl of golden hair from her face. “I took Frieda for several walks in the square today.”
“I’m sure she was thrilled by the outings.”
“She was.” She shot him an inscrutable look. He did not want to feel this crushing guilt and upset that she had yet to confide in him. “That’s a handsome waistcoat. Is it new?”
“Yes, do you like it?”
“I do.”
“Perhaps you ought to go out. Visit your sisters. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”
“I had rather not. Not just now.” She fussed with the lace at her sleeve. “In any event, I had no plans today or tonight. Quite by design. I’d prefer to spend the night reading. It’s what I intended, rather than falling asleep.”
“You?” He immediately understood the enormous error of that reply. “But you enjoy parties.” Lord, he’d dug the hole deeper with that reply, hadn’t he? “No, no. I’ve got that wrong. That is, don’t you enjoy parties? It always seemed to me that you do.”
“Not especially,” she said with a shrug. “I do once I’ve arrived, but I never want to go.”
“Never? But . . . How can this be? You’ve always enjoyed yourself at gatherings.”
“It’s expected of me.” She burst out laughing, and he could not help smiling back. “You look as though I’ve just told you I want to keep a live bear in the house. I like parties when it’s friends, and I don’t mind larger parties. It’s just that I find them tiring.” She patted the sofa, quite far from her. He sat closer than she’d indicated. “I prefer small parties with people I know. Sadly, in London one is expected to invite whatever number of guests will exceed the available space.”
“True,” he said, settling himself beside her. He reached over to scratch Socrates’s chin. “We’ll stay in tonight, then.”
“Don’t on my account.”
“I don’t mind a quiet evening.” He pointed at the book at her side. “Is that Waverley?”
“Oh, no. That’s finished twice over now.” She looked at the volume. “I’ve been reading Rob Roy.”
“Shall I read to you?”
Her eyes opened wide. “Would you?”
“Yes.” Should he be chagrined or pleased by her surprised delight?
She handed over the book. “Chapter five, but I don’t mind if you’d rather start from the beginning.”
He opened to the chapter and began reading. Halfway through the second page, Socrates moved onto his lap and curled up. Emily leaned into him, and he put an arm around her shoulder.
When he reached the end of the chapter, she said, “That was lovely. Thank you.”
“Perhaps another chapter tomorrow.”
She swallowed once. “I’d like that.”
He nodded.
“By the way,” she said, “Mr. Simmons delivered tickets to Othello for this Thursday. I should like to go, unless you have plans that require me to be elsewhere. I should like to bring Miss Iddings with me. She and her mother are in London, and Miss Iddings likes the tragedies.”
“I am free that evening.” If he wasn’t, he would make sure he was.
Again, she was taken aback. “Yes, of course. Mrs. Quinn is your friend, after all.”
“And you are my wife.” He put Socrates on the floor and stood. “I shall wear one of my new waistcoats and be quite splendid.”
“I shall write to her mother to ask whether she’ll allow Miss Iddings to join us.” She yawned, covering her mouth just in time. “My goodness. I don’t know what’s come over me.” She took Rob Roy from him. “Fortunately, I’ve plenty to read tonight.”
“You’re going to continue without me?”
“Do you really want to read the book together?” She yawned again.
“I’d like that.” He moved in and swept her into his arms, surprising himself as much as her.
She cried out, “Oh!” and swung an arm around his neck to keep her balance. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you upstairs.”
She let her head fall back and laughed. “I can walk, sir.”
“I can carry you, ma’am.” She was such a small woman. He towered over her, outweighed her by nearly eight stone. Compared to her, he was a brute and a monster, and what a lucky man he was that she liked that about him. He grinned at her. Amusing his wife was no betrayal of himself or anyone else. “Do you doubt me?”
Though she smiled in return, there was no answering rise from her. “Never,” she said.
“You don’t, do you?”
“No,” she said softly before she looked away and rested her head against his shoulder. “I never doubt you.”
He carried her all the way to her room, through the anteroom and to her dressing room. Her maid came in from the other room but retreated when she saw him. He set her down slowly, letting his hands linger. “You must admit, Lady Bracebridge, I am no weakling.”
She busied herself straightening out her skirts. “I never said otherwise.”
He knew his weakness where she was concerned, so if he was to learn more about his wife, he ought to keep his distance. Until tonight, it had only been during intimacy that he caught even a glimpse of who she was. That too, he suspected, was but a facet of the woman to whom he was married.
“Sit, my love.” He walked them toward her dressing table but gave her a quick look when he realized what he’d said. Had she noticed? No, he decided. She hadn’t, and that was for the best. He’d misspoke, that’s all. “Since I’ve frightened away your maid, I’ll prepare you for bed.”
“Very well.” She sat, hands folded on her lap. There was a plain wooden box at one corner of the dresser. Next to that were the brush and comb he had bought her in Scotland. He had been in enough boudoirs to know there was not half of what a lady of fashion kept at hand. One bottle of scent, one small bottle of lotion of the sort one got for a penny. On the opposite side was a battered leather-bound book small enough to fit into a pocket. He could read only a portion of the text imprinted on the spine: Wordsworth. So. Poetry.
He began with her hair. He touched the filigree of one of the combs he’d bought her on their way back from Scotland. “Do you like this?” he asked. He had brought her to London to outfit her, but he did not recollect seeing any receipts from a jeweler, and now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall her wearing anything but her garnet ring. “Do you wear these often because they’re all you have?”
“Does it matter? I like them very much.”
He pulled out the other hair comb and placed it beside the other. “It matters if you feel, for some reason, you cannot purchase things you like. I intended that you would start anew. I wish I could replace the pieces that had private meaning for you, but perhaps between the two of us, we can see about making new meaning for what you have yet to replace.”
She folded her hands before her. His heart sank because he had learned to recognize when she was presenting a facade that all was well. “You needn’t concern yourself, though I appreciate the sentiment. It happens that I am a most fortunate wife. To have a husband of such bracing size.”
He said nothing more until he had removed hairpins and unraveled the braid at the back of her head. Then he moved aside her hair and brushed his fingertips over the nape of her neck. “I am a fortunate husband to have a wife who likes a bracing husband.”
“Very much.”
She sounded sad. Why? He let the silence stand, for he recognized now that she had deflected his attention, and he needed a few moments to reflect on that. The process of brushing her hair was soothing. He liked the intimacy. “Women of fashion and society have tiaras, rings, earrings. Necklaces and brooches.”
“Does it matter?”
He leaned down and braced his hands on either side of her on the dresser. “My dear. I want you to have beautiful things that make you happy. I like to see you smile. A proper husband thinks of what shall make his wife happy.” He picked up the brush again and returned to work. Gently, he untangled a spot where her hair was partially plaited. “In this very house is a safe with jewelry that belonged to previous countesses. I ought to have put those into your hands before now. I’ll have them brought up for you to choose what you like. Some of the pieces must remain in the safe if you are not wearing them, but others can certainly be here. You ought to know your choices.”
“Thank you. I should like to see.”
“I suspect I shall have to personally remedy your lack of adornment.”
“As you wish.”
“Yes, precisely. In the meantime, tell me about your day. What did you do and see when you were out?”
In the mirror, he saw her blink several times. He could not read her expression. At least now he knew she had retreated from him. A year ago, six months ago, three months ago, he’d never have known.
“We walked around Cavendish Square. I met Mrs. Strand. She lives across the square. She and Frieda became acquaintances. She and her husband have just returned from Argentina, of all places. Tomorrow, I am engaged to call on her to hear more of her adventures. Her husband is one of the Devonshire Strands. Aldreth knows him.”
“It would be pleasant to have a friend so close. Perhaps we should invite them to dinner.”
“Did I tell you I’ve had a letter from the vicar in Hinderhead? They’ve hired a teacher for the school.”
“Do you approve of the choice?”
“I do. He was my preferred candidate.” She picked up one of the combs and turned it over and over in her hands. “He is a recent graduate of Cambridge. He is bright and ambitious with excellent references, and he does not disagree with the education of girls.”
“How did you come to hear of him?”
“We advertised. He was one of five whom we interviewed. That was right before we left for London. He had glowing recommendations from two of his professors at university.”
“What else did you do today?”
She continued turning the hair comb from one side to another, stroking a finger just under the filigree. “I wrote letters. Read. Consulted with Mrs. Elliot and Pond. I think Mrs. Elliot is doing an excellent job.”
“I did not doubt that she would. She is an invaluable addition to the staff.”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“I’ve made my calls.” He referred to the custom of a newly married man leaving cards with acquaintances he meant to continue as appropriate to his new status in life.
“Have you?” But her smile did not reach her eyes.
“Is there anyone you recommend I call on? I’ll await your recommendation about Mr. Strand.”
Her fingers went still. “I’ll ask my sisters for a list.”
“You know as well as they, perhaps even better, who would be advantageous for me to know in this new phase of my life.”
“For reasons of politics or finance?”
“Either, I suppose.”
“Cynssyr or Aldreth can advise you better than I of what clubs you ought to join. Those two and Thrale make you more connected than most anyone.”
“I should like your opinion.”
She spoke carefully and without much inflection. She was being cautious with him, and the fault for that was his and his alone. “I suppose I might prepare a list.”
“Thank you.” He braided her hair, and when he came to the end, she handed him a ribbon. When he had assisted her out of her clothes and into her nightrobe, she went to the basin and scrubbed her face. While she did so, he picked up the book of poems she’d left on her dresser.
When she turned, still patting her face dry, she stared at his hands and the book he held. He said, “I like Wordsworth, too. Shall I read to you?”
“Yes, please.” For an instant, her delight at his suggestion turned his heart too big for his chest. Almost immediately, she smothered the reaction. “I should like that.”