An Undomesticated Wife (12 page)

Nine

Regina was not certain if the dowager duchess had been truly asleep, because just then the old woman announced that as soon as they dropped off Regina on Berkeley Square, Marcus must accompany her to the solicitor's office.

“This afternoon?” he asked. “Regina and I had hoped to go for a ride.”

“On such an inclement day? Wouldn't it be better to drive about Town when the sun is shining?”

Regina hid her smile. The question proved that the dowager duchess had been only feigning sleep. She was now warned to keep an eye on the sly woman.

“Mayhap your grandmother is right,” she said, even though she disliked the idea of staying within the house, glorious though it might be, with only her own company. The duke would be reading his correspondence as he always did, so she could hope for no interesting conversation there. Her single attempt to talk to the duke about matters beyond his estate in Warwickshire had been a dismal failure.

“The appointment was made several weeks ago, Marcus, and you know what a busy man Mr. Bryson is,” the dowager duchess said. “It would be the worst manners to change it at this late hour.”

“We have changed our appointments in the past.”

“True, but you know how important this meeting is.”

Curiosity bit at Regina when Marcus nodded and subsided without another word. It was unlike him to acquiesce to another's will so readily. As the carriage slowed, Marcus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She hoped it meant that their ride was only postponed to another day.

The mist had become a downpour, and she hurried across the walkway as the carriage drove away. Looking up, she saw a tall gentleman standing at the door of the Duke of Attleby's townhouse, a carriage waited on the street. The tall man, whose hair was as silver-gray as the puddles in the street, stepped back from the stairs to the door, but his gaze followed Regina. Bowing his head slightly in her direction, he said nothing.

Only then did Regina see that the door was open. The footman was flanked by two maids who were staring wide-eyed at the tall man.

“What is amiss?” Regina asked to no one in particular.

The tall man answered. “This blasted footman—” He faltered, but his eyes still were bright with irritation. “This footman refuses to grant me entrance.”

“Why?” she asked. “Gardner, is it the usual practice that this household leaves its guests standing on the steps?”

“Of course not.” His Adam's apple bounced wildly as he hastily added, “I was about to ask the gentleman the reason for his call, my lady.”

“My lady?” The tall man smiled. “Might I have the honor to be speaking with Lady Daniston?”

Regina grimaced as a cool drop slipped down her back. “You do, but I think we should save the introductions for inside.”

“Of course.” He held up his finger. “One moment.”

When he sprinted away with the speed of a man half his age, she exchanged a glance with Gardner. She did not fault the footman for his confusion if the man had acted queer in the attic when he came to the door. Questions filled her head as the man opened the carriage door and handed out a slender woman who appeared to be more than a decade Regina's senior.

Gardner wore an uneasy expression as the man brought the woman, whose hair was only a few shades darker than Regina's, into the foyer. He seemed unsure what to do with his hands until Regina urged him to take their guests' damp cloaks.

“You know I am Lady Daniston,” said Regina when no one else spoke, “but I have not had the courtesy of your names.”

The tall man grinned, his wrinkled face repeating his smile all the way to the edges of his cheeks. “Forgive me, my lady. I am Jeremy Fisher, and this is your father's sister, Elayne Morrissey.”

“My father's sister?”

“Much younger sister.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “My dear child, I would have recognized you anywhere. You have the Morrissey coloring, although I see much of your mother in you as well.”

Regina sent Gardner to bring tea to take away any chill as she led her unexpected guests up the stairs to the parlor. “Papa never spoke of his family, so you must excuse me. Are you part of the family as well, Mr. Fisher?”

Elayne laughed and took a seat in the very center of the settee. “Let me explain. I had heard that you are planning to wed Lord Daniston, and I decided it would be unfitting for you to be married without a single member of your family present. Mr. Fisher, who is a long-standing friend of your father, was kind enough to travel with me.” Brushing invisible dust from her gloves, she asked, “So what preparations have been made so far?”

Regina found herself subjected to an intense, albeit gentle interrogation for the next hour. Quickly she realized that her aunt was dissatisfied with the entire set of arrangements. Once Regina looked to Mr. Fisher for assistance, but the gray-haired man seemed to be enjoying the conversation as much as she despaired of its ever ending.

“Nonsense,” Aunt Elayne said for what Regina was sure was the twentieth time when Regina spoke of ordering her dress from Mme. LaPorte. “The women in our family are always married in their mama's gown.”

“But that would be hopelessly out-of-date.”

“Nonsense!” She patted Regina's arm maternally. “My dear child, I would not have you walking along the aisle in something that was not the rage. The gown that your mother wore can be taken apart and redone to look like the most up-to-date fashion plate.” Turning to Mr. Fisher, she asked, “Remember when Victoria and Rudolph were married? She was such a lovely bride.”

For the first time since they had come into the sitting room, Mr. Fisher spoke. “I recall the day well. I had come to wonder if Rudolph would ever settle down after his years at Oxford. We met there,” he said with a smile in Regina's direction. “He never spoke of those days?”

“Seldom. Papa is too interested in what is going on around him to think about the past.”

“I see he hasn't changed.”

“I hope he never does.”

Aunt Elayne leaned forward to pat her hand. “How you must love him! Isn't it grand, Jeremy, to see such affection between daughter and father?”

“I never doubted it existed,” Mr. Fisher replied. He opened his mouth to add more, but came to his feet as the rap of a cane announced the dowager duchess.

Regina set herself on her feet as well, as she motioned for the old woman to join them. Wanting to ask where Marcus was, she refrained. Mayhap that important business had kept him at the solicitor's office.

“This is the Dowager Duchess of Attleby,” she said. “My aunt, Elayne Morrissey, who has come to be with me during the preparations for the wedding.”

“Your Grace, I am delighted to meet you.” Aunt Elayne stood, then shook her head with dismay as she continued, “I have been speaking to Regina about the horrible muddle she is making of this wedding.” Pressing her hand to her bosom, she sighed. “I fear my brother thought too much of training her to be the son he wished he had had. I suspect you have found many things lacking in her education.”

The dowager duchess's astonishment at the flood of words became a triumphant grin, and Regina wanted to groan. Now she would have the two of them after her.

Hoping to steer the conversation, Regina said, “And this is Mr. Fisher.”

“Jeremy Fisher, Your Grace,” he said bowing over the dowager duchess's hand. “I hope you can extend the generosity of your hospitality to me as well.”

She peered at him myopically. “And who are you, Mr. Fisher?”

“Rudolph Morrissey and I have served together in the King's service for many years.”

“Ah,
that
Mr. Fisher.”

“You know him?” asked Regina, astonished.

The dowager duchess gave her a maternal, condescending smile. “Your father mentioned him often in the letters he sent us before your marriage.”

Wondering if this was some sort of convoluted dream, Regina subsided as her elders talked about her as if she were not there. She clenched her hands in her lap when the two women lamented her lack of a proper upbringing. As the dowager duchess and Aunt Elayne argued about the wedding gown, she slipped out of the room. They did not note her leaving, which was the least surprising aspect of the whole afternoon.

She wandered toward the back of the house and sat in a window opening onto the dreary, rain-drenched garden. Each leaf drooped under its burden of water. Her own shoulders felt as weighted while she watched the downpour fade into a drizzle. As her eyes grew heavy, she leaned back against the chair, letting the scent of leather surround her.

Warm lips brushed hers, and Regina gasped. Marcus laughed as he lit a lamp on a nearby table. She realized she must have fallen asleep.

“What are you doing hiding here?” he asked, sitting beside her.

“I needed some time to myself before I was smothered.”

He smiled. “I met your aunt.”

“Now I know why Papa was always delighted to be sent far from England.”

Resting his boots on the table—why had he changed into his riding clothes?—he said, “She and Grandmother seem to be bosom-bows already.”

Regina groaned. “Exactly as I feared.”

“You must have expected your aunt would be unable to resist coming here for our wedding.”

“How? I didn't know I had an Aunt Elayne.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Do you have any other relatives I should be warned about?”

She laughed. “Mayhap. Papa said very little about his family and nothing about Mama's.” When he put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned her head against him, not caring that it was ironic that she would turn to him now. “Did Aunt Elayne say something shocking to you?”

“'Tis what she did. She hugged me until I feared all my stuffing would burst out, and then she kissed me like I was all of seven years old, then told me what a fine lad I am.”

“She is effusive.” She hesitated, then asked the question that had been haunting her, “What business was so important that you had to cancel our ride?”

He drew away from her. “Do not be a nagging wife.”

“I was not nagging. Only asking a question. Will you give me the courtesy of an answer?”

When he stood and paced over to another window, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling as tears surged into her eyes. Every time she thought they might be able to build something of their marriage, he shut her out of his life, telling her to be content with what tidbits he tossed to her.

“It is a matter,” he said, startling her, for she had thought he would tell her nothing, “of little import, in spite of Grandmother's assertions. Papers to sign. That sort of thing.”

“It seems to have upset you.”

No expression gave her a clue to his thoughts as he faced her. “Only because it has distressed you.”

Shocked, she blurted the truth, “The only thing that distresses me is that you are keeping the truth from me.”

“The truth is that I can think of nothing but how much I long to kiss you.”

Regina stood and shook her head. “Do not try to distract me with your wiles, Marcus.”

Closing the distance between them, he whispered, “But you distract me, sweetheart.”

She feared she had forgotten how to breathe. Sweetheart? She blinked back another rush of tears. This could be only another way of trying to seduce her to his point of view.

“If you prefer not to be honest with me, Marcus, I think this conversation should come to an end.”

He grazed her cheek with his lips as his hands settled at her waist. When she tried to edge away, his fingers rose to brush her breasts. A nameless thrill shot through her, ricocheting into her toes and the tips of her fingers. With her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, she closed her eyes to savor his caress as he boldly sought the very tip of her breast.

“We have too many conversations,” he whispered against her ear. “I can think of other ways I would like to express myself with you. Come with me now, and let me show you.”

Exerting all of her waning strength, Regina pushed him away. Instantly she ached for his touch, but she ignored the longing. “Is that all you wish of me, Marcus? A tumble in our marriage bed so that I might give you the heir you need?”

“You are my wife.”

“So you say so often. I am your wife, your helpmeet, but you have yet to learn what a wife could do for you.”

His finger glided along her arm to curl around her wrist. He drew her a half-step nearer. “I have told you that I know exactly what a wife could do for me. You have learned so little of the rapture awaiting us, sweetheart. Come, and let me teach you.”

She clenched her hands at her side. “Why did you rush off and leave me this afternoon?”

“Is that all you wish to think of? A boring meeting with my solicitor?”

A throat being cleared behind her made Regina spin about. She stared at Andrews, Marcus's valet. The skinny man gave her a sympathetic glance, and she wondered how much he had overheard.

“The dowager duchess wishes to speak to your lordship and her ladyship immediately, my lord,” he said in his most formal tone.

Marcus turned to Regina, and unfulfilled passion seared his eyes. “There are too many people in this house,” he grumbled. “If I had my wish, I would have you alone until we tired of each other's touch.”

“Kamil used to say that you should be careful what you wish for,” Regina whispered. “A jinn might hear.”

“And make that wish come true?” He laughed as his arm herded her to him. Pressing his lips to her nape, he murmured, “Then I shall shout it from the top of Whitehall.”

She smiled. He was exasperating, but it was impossible not to delight in his yearning to make her his wife in truth. If only he would grant her a larger part in his life, she was sure life would be perfect.

Marcus finished the last of the wine in his glass, then smiled at Jocelyn. His mistress did not return the smile.