A Wicked Pursuit (41 page)

We were most pleased to see His Lordship driving once again along Rotten Row, and rejoice both in his recovery and in the return of his Gallantry to Town. However, we were less than Impressed by the Lady he has chosen as his Bride, the former Miss W—y, a plain country Miss with a freckled visage and no particular Air of Gentility.

Gus’s voice faltered as she read the cruel words, and Harry reached across the table to try to snatch the paper from her hands.

“I warned you not to read it, Gus,” he said. “It’s hateful slander, that is all, and means nothing.”

But to his dismay she pulled from his reach, continuing to read aloud to the bitterest of ends.

We have heard that this Lady was his nursemaid, addressing his needs whilst he was Ill. But though we applaud her Tenderness, we cannot help but ponder why His Lordship felt to reward such an ordinary lady with Marriage. It is widely remarked that this unfortunate Pair have not been seen about Town of late, provoking whispers that perhaps His Lordship has already suffered a Change of Heart regarding his ill-favored Bride.

“Damnation, Gus, I told you not to read that!” This time Harry grabbed the magazine from her hands and hurled it directly into the grate and onto the fire, where the flames at once curled and licked through the pages. “It’s rubbish, every word, and signifies nothing.”

But Gus sat across from him with her head bowed, pale and sadly wilted with misery.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little catch to her voice. “Is that truly why you’ve no wish to leave the house? You are ashamed of me?”

“How can you ever think such a thing of me?” he asked, appalled. “I love you more than any man has ever loved his wife, Gus, and no vile words scribbled by an anonymous coward will ever change that.”

“You didn’t marry me because I looked after you, did you?”

“Of course not!” he declared fiercely, his temper rising. “I married you because I loved you, and love you still, and will love you as long as I’ve a breath in my body.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “I love you, too.”

He was glad to hear that, of course, but he would not let himself be distracted. The more he thought of what had been written of her, the more furious he became.

“I’ll prove how much I love you, Gus,” he said, striking his fist for emphasis on the table. “I’ll take the bastard who wrote this to court for slander, and have him put in jail for printing lies about you. I’ll make sure he and the rest of his verminous pack never dare mention you on their pages again. They’ll learn the hard way not to slander my wife.”

“You needn’t do that, Harry,” she said uneasily. “You’ve told me yourself that it’s impossible to fight the scandal sheets. Better that I should learn not to be so tender, and ignore them. Besides, there must be so many other people who believe this as well about why we’ve not gone out, and you cannot go raging about London trying to make your point to them, too.”

“Oh, yes, I can, Gus,” he declared, full of bravado for her sake. “I can show them all how much I love you, and how honored I am to have you as my wife and countess. We shall go to the queen’s infernal drawing room today, and we’ll show them all.”

Gus gasped, her hand fluttering to her mouth. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Harry? You know that everyone will look at us, and there will be a great deal of walking for you.”

“I’ll manage,” he said, sweeping aside her objection. Hell, for her sake he’d drag himself the entire length of the palace and back again. “I’ll want them all to look at us, and see me with you.”

He pushed himself to his feet and went to the chest of drawers, pulling out a round-sided leather box. He placed it on the table before her.

“Here,” he said. “I had that brought out for you.”

She glanced up at him, questioning, then slowly unfastened the hooks and opened the box. To Harry’s satisfaction, she gasped again, exactly as she should have. This wasn’t quite the same as the apology she deserved, but it was a good start.

“That’s my mother’s tiara,” he said. “I want you to wear it this afternoon, as well as the necklace and bracelets I gave you at our wedding.”

Carefully she lifted the tiara from the box. In her hands, it was even more magnificent than he’d remembered, a small half crown of swirling diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the sun shining through the window.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “You spoil me.”

“Not nearly enough,” he said proudly. “You wear that on your head, and that gold-and-silver gown you wore to our wedding, and I swear you’ll be the most beautiful lady there. I want every man there to envy me, and every lady to wish she were you. We’ll prove to them that no fool’s slander can hurt us.”

But to his surprise, she didn’t smile, and she didn’t look up. Most ladies would have been overjoyed to have a fortune in diamonds dropped into their laps, but then he’d long ago learned that Gus wasn’t like most ladies. Most of the time, he was glad of it, and then there were other times, like now, when he’d no notion at all of what she was thinking. She could mystify him that way.

“Gus,” he said softly, once again sitting across from her so their faces were level. “What is it? Do you not wish to go after all?”

She shook her head, still bowed to avoid meeting his eyes. Clearly something was bothering her, but damnation, why was she making it so difficult?

“Do you not care for the tiara?” he asked carefully. “I’ll grant that it’s a bit old-fashioned, but after today we can have the stones reset if that is what you wish, so that—”

“No!” She looked up quickly, appalled. “I would never do that! The tiara was your mother’s, and I will be honored to wear it today, just as I will be honored to be at your side.”

“Very well, then,” he said, sitting back. He could sense that there was more that she hadn’t said, something that was plaguing her still. But knowing Gus, no amount of guesses or prodding would make her speak until she was ready. He’d simply have to let her choose the time to say whatever it was, if indeed it needed saying after all. “I’ll be equally honored to be with you. We’ll show them all, won’t we? We’ll do that, Gus, the two of us together.”

Finally she smiled, more brilliant than all the diamonds in her hand, and enough to make his heart lurch with joy.

“Yes, we will, Harry,” she said. “Together we
will
.”

“Look at
the crush of carriages, Harry,” Gus said, pressing as close to their own carriage window as she could without disturbing her hair. “Who would have guessed there were so many in London?”

Harry smiled, and Gus could not help but smile back. He was gloriously handsome across from her, dressed in a dark blue suit thick with embroidered gold thread, his eyes a sunny blue and his dark hair powdered fashionably gray. Best of all, his entire self had changed, as completely as night into day. Celia had been entirely right about how he needed to feel he was protecting her, though Gus herself was mystified by how conveniently that particular cruel item had appeared in the magazine today. Who would have guessed that
The London Observer
would, combined with love, bring Harry back?

“All the fine folk and their carriages come out from hiding for a drawing room at the palace,” he said. “Cast the bread crumbs on the pond, and all the goldfish rise gobbling to the surface.”

Gus looked back over her shoulder at Harry. “That’s a silly comparison,” she said. “No sensible goldfish would ever dress like this in the middle of the day. I’m terrified I’ll bend too far when I curtsey and lose my plumes.”

“You won’t,” he assured her. “I saw the armaments that hairdresser employed to secure the plumes to the tiara and the tiara to your hair. That rig may never come out.”

“Don’t say that,” Gus scolded, touching her head lightly once again for good measure. She might not be a slippery goldfish but, dressed as she was, she did feel like a fancy wooden doll, too stiff to move. She’d never worn such elaborate and formal clothing, or any that was so uncomfortable, either.

Beneath her glittering gown, she wore an extra two petticoats as well as her hoops to make her skirts suitably wide for court, and additional lace flounces pinned to her sleeves to give grace to her gestures. Her gown now occupied so much space that she was forced to sit across from Harry, alone on her seat in solitary splendor so her skirts would not be crushed. The diamond necklace and bracelets were heavy around her throat and wrists, and the coronet and the pins that held it pressed into her head.

Most challenging of all, however, were the plumes pinned into the front of her coronet, three white ostrich feathers that signified she was now a married woman, and that towered, nodding, nearly two feet above her head. As foolish and awkward as the plumes were, every woman of rank was required to wear them to court. Even now Gus had to sit leaning slightly forward so that the plumes wouldn’t break against the roof of the carriage.

“You look exactly as you should, sweetheart,” Harry said.

She wrinkled her nose. “Meaning that I do not look exactly
good
.”

“No,” Harry admitted. “No lady looks good with her hair powdered gray and feathers on her head, and you already know my feelings in regard to the hoops. But I am glad you held firm against the paint.”

She grinned. “I shocked the hairdresser by refusing it.”

“You’ll likely shock a good many more people besides him,” Harry said. “But because I love you, I have always loved your freckles, and I will happily present them with the rest of you before the queen. Besides, it’s always disconcerting to see a lady’s painted cheeks crackle when she smiles. Here we are, our turn at last.”

Amid a flurry of footmen around their carriage, Harry stepped out first, then turned to help Gus. They were better at it now, the choreography becoming more automatic between them, even as Gus had to turn sideways like a crab to maneuver both her hoops and her plumes through the carriage door.

Her heart was racing, and she’d only a moment to spare to look up at the front of St. James’s Palace. She’d heard the complaints about how St. James’s was an inconvenient, old-fashioned pile, but it seemed very grand to her, and filled with richly dressed gentlemen and ladies. As they slowly made their way through the door, down the long hall, and into the last antechamber before the drawing room itself, she felt the too-familiar nervousness and doubts begin to settle in.

Harry squeezed her hand. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart,” he said, sensing her anxiety. “In my eyes, not one lady in this entire place can hold a candle to you.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “But I’m to be presented to Her Majesty, Harry. The
queen
.”

“She’ll be delighted with you, Gus,” he said. “All you must do when your name is called is curtsey as low as you can, kiss her hand, and retreat. Most likely the queen won’t say a word, and neither will you. Remember, too, that she’s not some fearsome creature, but a lady not so much older than yourself.”

“Not daunting?” Gus said, though deep down she did not believe it.

“Not at all,” Harry said, and winked at her.

But she’d noticed something else. “You’re walking on both legs, Harry.”

“Three legs,” he said wryly, “one being wooden, if you count the crutch.”

She knew the effort this cost him. He’d only just begun to walk like this, and it was still an awkward, halting lurch of a walk. But the most difficult part for him must have been the attention he was drawing, from curious glances to out-and-out stares. Others pointedly—and rudely, she thought—had walked around them, as if Harry’s slower pace was intolerable. The fact that he could make a jest of it all now showed how hard he was trying, and she wished she could have made those others simply treat him as they had before.

“I’d say two legs, not three,” she said. “You’re doing so well, Harry.”

“I wish it were better for your sake, Gus,” he said. “I want everyone to look at you, not me, and thus I have vowed to do my best to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

That made her grin despite her nervousness. The thought of her tall, smiling, wickedly handsome husband in his gold-laced suit ever being unobtrusive, crutch or not, was preposterous. And yet Harry had put aside his own worries to ease hers, which only made her love him all the more.

“I am serious, my love,” he said, leaning close so only she could hear him in the crowded hall. “You
inspire
me.”

She shook her head, the plumes wafting over her brow.

“No, Harry, it’s the other way around,” she said, choosing her words with care. “You worry that you’re not worthy of me because of your leg, that somehow you’ve failed me, when instead you’ve done everything for me, Harry, absolutely everything, and oh, I can’t
begin
to tell you how much!”

He smiled crookedly. “It’s a deuced odd time for you to tell me any of it, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help myself, Harry.” He was right: it
was
a deuced odd time. They were surrounded by strangers, an Austrian ambassador in the line ahead of them and a merchant’s wife and her daughters behind them. It was crowded and stuffy and noisy, the narrow hallway filled with the scent of smokey candles and too much scent trying—and failing—to cover the nervousness of too many overdressed people.

But now that Gus had started to tell Harry her true feelings, she wasn’t going to stop. She couldn’t, and in a rush all the words she’d been keeping bottled up within her spilled out.

“Whenever I’m shy or anxious or unsure,” she said, “you’ve been there to reassure me, and take care that I don’t make a complete ninny of myself. With your father, and at the inn in Mendenhall, and at the playhouse when Lady Tolliver came to our box—you were always there beside me, Harry, as strong and as sure as any husband could be, and not once—not
once
—did it have anything to do with your leg.”

She gulped, with emotion and with the need for a deep breath. She hadn’t dared to say all that before, fearing she’d only upset Harry more, but now that she finally had spoken, she felt almost light-headed with relief.

But he hadn’t answered, not a word. Instead he was simply staring at her, his brows drawn together. At least he didn’t look angry. He looked thoughtful, which was much more encouraging.