The Earl's Practical Marriage Read online

‘You were my friend. My best friend. Of course I loved you. I was certain one day that we would be married, although I had no idea what our fathers were scheming about. I had no idea what being married meant, of course.’ She was fussing with her hair now, pushing in pins. He couldn’t see her face and he had to put his hands behind his back to control the urge to reach out and raise her chin so he could read what was in her eyes.

  ‘All very innocent, although by the time of the...misunderstanding I was old enough to begin having other feelings. I suppose being so used to you as my friend meant that they just never occurred to me as what they were.’

  ‘And after the misunderstanding the last thing you wanted was to think of me like that,’ he stated flatly.

  ‘It was rather a shock for a somewhat naïve virgin.’ She looked up and all he could see was faint, rueful, amusement.

  ‘Yes, it must have been.’ That summer afternoon had done more than cause an unholy row and put his life on a new track. It had, he realised, killed what might have been a love match. ‘I suppose having the freedom to observe all the neighbouring marriages from the point of view of the spinster daughter gave you a somewhat cynical view of the institution,’ he ventured, not at all certain what he was fishing for.

  ‘You mean that I would not have seen much romance in marriage?’ Laurel finished putting her hair and clothing to rights and turned to reorganise his desk. ‘You would be surprised. My parents’ marriage was one. The curate Mr Marriott married Olivia Lawrence, much to everyone’s amazement—he being so serious and she being half his age and as flighty as they come—and that was the sweetest thing. I found them once sitting side by side on the stile into Glebe Meadow and he was making daisy chains for her hair.

  ‘There were others. And there were some where the couple were indifferent, or merely showed liking for one another.’ Laurel shrugged, a careless twist of her shoulder. ‘But who can tell what goes on behind closed doors? There, that is all your papers smoothed out. There is sealing wax everywhere though. I will ask Downing to send a maid in with a brush.’

  ‘You are going?’

  ‘Why, yes. I only dropped in to tell you I had been successful with Beatriz’s mama.’ She picked up the pile of post and sorted through it rapidly. ‘I will take my letters and let you get back to your labours in peace.’

  So, what do we have? Giles wondered as the door closed behind his wife who had left a little trail of crushed sealing wax behind her on the carpet.

  It was a friendly marriage, a companionable marriage, a sexually rewarding marriage. They were beyond liking, it seemed to him. But might Laurel love him, find those long-buried feelings she had cherished for the youth he had been?

  I hope not, he thought. I have deceived her, lied to her by omission, forfeited her trust.

  And this time it was no misunderstanding. If Laurel ever discovered why he had proposed to her he suspected that her feelings would go beyond the end of love. It might be that she would hate him.

  * * *

  ‘Beatriz looks very lovely this evening,’ Laurel said to Senhora do Cardosa. The Portuguese Embassy was holding a small reception and the rooms were full of a glittering array of military uniforms and men whose clothing seemed laden with orders and medals, as well as the usual throng of the fashionable. ‘And she looks calmer. I do hope she is happier.’

  ‘We have a long talk,’ the other woman said. ‘There were much tears, but now she accepts that Lord Revesby truly is married and that he was never other than kind to her. She is still being foolish about her own marriage, of course.’ She heaved a sigh which made emeralds tremble across the tight golden satin sheathing her bosom. ‘Your husband is a very handsome man,’ she added in a tone of resignation.

  Laurel managed not to look at Dom Frederico, who only the most devoted wife could call handsome. ‘Yes, he is. He was a most unprepossessing boy—all ears and nose and feet. I did not recognise him when I saw him again after nine years.’

  ‘And yet you loved him from the beginning.’ Senhora do Cardosa sighed again.

  This was getting uncomfortable. ‘Excuse me, I will just go and have a word with Beatriz,’ Laurel said, seeing the young woman standing alone for a moment. ‘Senhorita Beatriz. How are you?’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ She looked at Laurel warily, obviously expecting a lecture. ‘I...I am sorry about... You know.’

  ‘I know. Tell me about your fiancé.’

  ‘Dom Ricardo? He is old and he is ugly.’ The pout was back, but her lower lip quivered, warning of tears soon enough.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘That is not so bad. What is he like?’

  ‘He himself? I do not know. He is very stiff—like a soldier—and he does not talk, just one or two words.’

  ‘I expect he is shy,’ Laurel suggested.

  ‘Shy? Tímido? But he is a man.’

  ‘And he is marrying a lovely young lady whom he does not know, but who frowns at him. Just because he is not good looking does not mean that he is not a good man, does it? What if it was the other way around and he was the good looking one and you were plain? Wouldn’t you feel awkward if he looked as though he wanted to burst into tears at the thought of marrying you?’

  Beatriz gave a little gasp of laughter.

  ‘You should be kind to him, talk to him—you might find you like him very much. Why not write to him in Portugal, tell him what you are doing, impress him with your observations on England.’

  Laurel’s attention was claimed by the wife of the Prussian attaché who had heard that she knew Bath and wanted to know if the waters might help with her mother’s rheumatism. When she turned back Beatriz was gone, then she saw her across the room, deep in conversation with Giles, both of them looking exceedingly serious.

  Oh, Lord. Should I go and rescue him? Or her?

  No, her husband looked intense, but not tense, and Beatriz, all her eyelash-fluttering and posturing forgotten, was nodding agreement with what he was saying. She would trust Giles to manage this. In fact, she told herself, she would trust Giles with anything.

  * * *

  ‘So, was Lady Revesby beautiful when you first knew her?’ Beatriz demanded, appearing suddenly at his side and speaking without any preliminaries.

  ‘No.’ Giles was startled into honesty. ‘She was gawky—that is, thin and not graceful and her face was all eyes and angles. And she was a tomboy—a girl who likes to run wild like a boy—so she was often dirty and her clothes were torn and she was always in trouble.’

  ‘But you liked her?’

  ‘Yes. Very much. She was my friend and she was fun to be with and her imagination was—is—wonderful. And she was loyal and brave. And she still is,’ Giles added, looking around the room for her. Yes, there she was, head on one side—so she was thinking hard—and talking earnestly to an elderly diplomat. He found he was smiling.

  ‘So you love her even then, when she is not beautiful?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, still distracted, still watching his wife who was laughing now. Of course he had loved Laurel then, of course he loved her still. He found that he was turning his worry piece over and over in his pocket and drew his hand out, looked down at what he was holding.

  ‘I—Excuse me.’ He turned and walked rapidly out of the crowded, hot room into the relative sanctuary of a cross-passage.

  I loved the girl, but now I love the woman. I am in love with Laurel.

  He wanted, needed, to go to her, take her hand and drag her to the carriage, drive her home, covering her in kisses, carry her over the threshold and shout to the world that this was his wife and he loved her. That he always had.

  If he had realised that he loved her before he asked her to marry him, if he had been able to tell her with total truth that his feelings for her were the reason for his proposal, if he had not known about the
trust and the legacy until after they were betrothed...then Laurel would have believed him, would have known his motives for asking her to be his wife were honest.

  Now what did he say to her? That he hadn’t recognised his feelings for her until five minutes ago and that it had taken a chit of a girl to point out to him what had been in his heart for years? He could spare Laurel that insight into his masculine blindness, he supposed, tell her that he loved her, let her assume that the feeling had been growing, developing, through the short days, the long nights, of their marriage. And then hope and pray that she never found out the reason he had asked her in the first place.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Something was wrong with Giles. Laurel buttered toast and poured coffee and kept an eye on the supplies of bacon, Giles’s favourite for breakfast. And worried. There had been something at the start, when he had stopped being angry about the past and had begun to court her, that had made her uneasy, that she knew he was hiding from her. Then, it seemed, he had relaxed, forgotten it or it had solved itself. Now it was back, that shadow behind those blue eyes. It was not something she had, or had not done, she was certain of that. This was something weighing on Giles’s heart.

  She could ask him straight out, but he was skilled at the masculine art of the direct answer that was actually no answer at all. He would not lie to her, but to find the truth she had to discover the right question, the one he could not evade, and as she had no idea what the problem was it was impossible to formulate the question.

  It was not another woman, that, at least, she was secure about, certain of the impossibility of Giles betraying her in that way. I love you, she thought, watching him as he scowled at the latest Parliamentary report in The Times.

  He looked up and met her gaze. ‘What are you smiling about?’

  ‘You, trying to set light to the latest debates with the power of your stare. I am very happy, Giles.’

  ‘You are?’ He glanced round. They had the breakfast room to themselves, Downing clearly recognising that newly married couples wanted privacy more than they required attentive footmen. ‘I am glad. Laurel, there is something I must tell—Yes, Downing, what is it?’

  ‘An urgent letter, my lord. It has just arrived.’

  Laurel eyed the thin folds as she might a coiled snake. Urgent messages that must have come through the night were unlikely to be anything but bad news.

  Jamie? But this is for Giles...

  She winced at the crack of breaking wax. Whatever it was, Giles read it with one comprehensive glance.

  ‘My father.’ He got to his feet, shoving the chair back, its feet shrieking on the highly polished floor. ‘He has had a heavy fall from his horse and it has shaken him badly. They are not certain what caused the fall. It may have been simple error, or the horse stumbled, but he cannot remember and his doctor is worried it might be the result of some other, underlying, problem.’

  ‘Downing, tell Dryden and Binham that we will want them to pack immediately, for a fortnight in the first instance.’ Laurel looked at Giles who nodded his agreement. ‘And the carriage in two hours.’

  ‘One hour,’ Giles said. ‘You have no need to come, Laurel. I will be stopping only to change horses. It is likely to be exhausting for you.’

  ‘There are times when the male need to spare us poor feeble females the slightest contact with reality is enough to make one scream,’ Laurel remarked conversationally, not sure whether she wanted to hold him or shake him. ‘I am coming, too—unless you are telling me that you don’t want me with you?’

  ‘Of course I want you with me.’ Giles came around the table, his gaze fiercely focused on her, totally ignoring Downing who was still waiting silently for orders. ‘Of course I want you. Always. Downing, carriage in an hour and a half and Dryden and Binham as her ladyship—Where the devil has he gone?’

  ‘I suspect he is being tactful,’ Laurel said, not trying to free her hands from his grip. ‘Do you have confidence in your father’s physician? Perhaps we should send for a London doctor now.’

  ‘He seems a good man, my father always speaks of him with approval. Laurel, I was away so long and now I have only just got back.’

  And there may be no more time. What if this is more serious than a simple fall?

  The words hung unspoken in the air between them, then Giles sucked air down into his lungs as though he had just surfaced from under water. ‘He knows I will come, just as fast as I can. He knows that. And he is strong, it was only the gout laying him up before.’

  ‘Yes, he knows. Now eat—we will both eat another breakfast, because you will be no use to him if you are dizzy from hunger.’

  And I will be no use to you and we will not stop long enough to eat, I am sure.

  Laurel rang the bell and when Peter entered, sent him to the kitchen to pack a hamper of food and drink. She looked across at Giles, who had returned to his seat and was cutting into bacon he clearly had no appetite for. ‘The Marquess knows you will do anything for him, anything within your power.’

  Giles made a sudden, abrupt movement, sending a fork spinning across the cloth to strike the coffee jug. ‘Yes, he knows that,’ he said, his voice grim. ‘I will do anything.’

  That was it, that was what was wrong, she realised. He had done something that his father required and he hated it, or hated himself for doing it.

  He married me, she thought, choking back the panic. Then, But he is content with our marriage. Happy. Perhaps it is as straightforward as guilt for having stayed away so long.

  But the Marquess had shown in every way except words how proud he was of Giles and she had seen it in the way he spoke to him, looked at him. He would not have wanted his son back sooner, not when he had discovered that he was taking his part in the fight against the French.

  Laurel made herself eat, the toast like sawdust for all the taste it had. Giles had lived an independent life for nine years—now he was an adjunct to the Marquess, the heir. Laurel puzzled that train of thought through. Was he resentful of all the work that would fall on his shoulders? Surely not, not Giles. Or was he dreading the rank and the responsibility that would one day be his? Perhaps already was his, she realised with a sick feeling.

  ‘You have little reason to love my father,’ Giles said abruptly as he put down his cup and got to his feet.

  ‘He was a little aloof when we told him of our engagement, but I expect he was embarrassed,’ she said, realising it for the first time. ‘He had huffed and puffed over you leaving the country and he had persisted in the estrangement between our families and now he had to admit that those provoking children were not so bad after all. I had sixteen years knowing him before everything went wrong and I was always very fond of him. I want to know him better, Giles, for my sake and for yours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He pulled her chair back as she rose, but did not move away, instead pulling her into his arms, one hand flat on her back, the other trailing down her cheek. ‘I do not deserve you, Laurel. If you only knew how little I deserve you.’

  I love you.

  She wanted to say it, but there was something in those murmured words that gave her pause. Would he believe her if she told him now, or would it seem like more reassurance, more support when he was badly in need of it? When she told Giles that she loved him she wanted to do so with his full attention, with nothing to give him cause to doubt her.

  So she kissed what she could reach of him, which was the lobe of his left ear. ‘I can hear the carriage outside. It is time to go, Giles.’

  * * *

  It took them twelve hours. It should have been just over ten, but malign fate seemed intent on delaying them at every turn. A fire in the high street at Hampton Wick, the bridge blocked at Leatherhead, a horse that went lame just a mile after the change at Guildford and then a fair choking the centre of Winchester, filling the inn yards with carriages and livery horses
and cheerfully half-drunk revellers despite it being only five in the afternoon.

  ‘Leave me with the carriage, hire a horse and ride on,’ Laurel urged, shouting to make herself heard above the hubbub in the yard that seemed to have the largest stables and the best hope of getting a change.

  ‘I’ll not leave you, not in this.’ Giles got up on the step of the carriage to block the open door to three countrymen, singing and staggering, ale pots in their hands. ‘No, friends, this is not the stage.’ He dug in his pocket. ‘Here, drink to my health.’ They reeled off, shouting their thanks.

  ‘Then get two riding horses and I will come with you. Binham will feel safe with Dryden and your coachman and grooms, won’t you, Binham?’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Binham said faintly, but with a sideways glance at Dryden sitting silent and solemn beside her.

  Catching that wedding bouquet had a lot to answer for, Laurel thought, leaning out of the window to talk to Giles.

  ‘It’s another twenty miles,’ he said.

  ‘I can do that and I can ride in this skirt. If I become tired, we can stop at some respectable inn and I’ll take a private parlour, while you go on. I insisted on coming and I am not going to be the cause of you being delayed.’ She would never forgive herself if Giles arrived too late.

  ‘I’ll see if they have anything—and a side saddle.’ Giles gave orders to the grooms who climbed down and stood one at each door, then fought his way across the yard to the long stable range.

  Laurel had one of the valises brought down and found stronger gloves and a pair of half-boots. She pushed her small knitted reticule with a few coins into the front of her pelisse and was ready when Giles came back with an ostler behind him leading two horses, one with a battered side saddle.

  He tossed her up and checked the girths while she got the skirts of her walking dress and pelisse organised and gathered up the reins. The horse stood placidly despite the uproar around it and she only hoped it did not prove to be a slug, but once they were clear of the congested streets and the racket of the fair with hurdy-gurdies and buskers and stallholders crying their wares, the two horses settled down into a steady canter.