Love With the Proper Husband (24 page)

“Then why not take her away from London for a time? You could go to the country. She hasn’t seen Holcroft Hall yet.”

“I could do that,” Marcus said slowly. “Of course, the season is just getting under way. She’s never had a season, you know. We have already received a fair number of invitations. I did think she would quite enjoy the upcoming festivities.”

“But given your current state, would you?”

“No, not in the least. I fear I might well view every man who so much as asked her for a dance

with unwarranted suspicion.” Marcus drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Gwen would probably like the estate, don’t you think? It’s her home now and she should see it. And the countryside is lovely at this time of year.” Marcus thought for a moment. “Besides, I could take the opportunity to pursue the acquisition of the dower house. Whiting still hasn’t managed to strike a deal for its purchase. When I was last there it was vacant but perhaps someone in the village can direct me to the owner and I could approach him myself.”

“It’s the perfect answer, then. You will have your new bride to yourself and your fears will be set to rest once and for all.” Reggie leaned forward. “I am confident, Marcus, that your concerns are groundless. One has only to look at the lady to see how much she cares for you. I would wager my entire fortune this woman who claims no interest in love has already fallen over the precipice of that uncertain emotion.” Reggie settled back in his chair and grinned. “As have you.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus said with a certainty he did not feel. If this was love, this unpleasant, unsettled tension lingering in his midsection like a poorly digested meal, he had been right to step cautiously around it in the past. This couldn’t possibly be love.

But what of Reggie’s observation of Gwen’s feelings? Could she be in love with her husband?

Certainly the look in her eye when she gazed at him was warm, and there was obviously already affection on her part. Admittedly, on his as well. But love? The idea was not nearly as offsetting as it had once been. Indeed, the very suggestion that Gwen might love him touched something deep inside him. And if Reggie was right about Gwen’s feelings, could he be right about Marcus’s as well? At the moment Marcus wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about anything beyond keeping Gwen in his life. Whether Reggie was right or wrong, about either Gwen’s emotions or Marcus’s suspicions, she would soon be far removed from anyone who might try to take her away. And Marcus could concentrate his effort on determining if indeed, in spite of his resolve, love had caught him unawares. And hoped it would not destroy them both.

Chapter Twelve

There is nothing more charming than those moments when a man who is supremely confident of
his own nature falters and a woman knows it is to her credit.

Francesca Freneau

“So, what am I to do?” Gwen nervously prowled the perimeter of Colette’s parlor. Madame sat in a chair calmly working on her embroidery. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Gwen pulled her brows together in frustration. In the past, Madame’s unrelenting serenity in the midst of turmoil had always served to calm Gwen’s own nerves. Until today. “What do you mean, nothing? I have to do something. I can’t just wait until—”

“You can, my dear,” Madame said coolly, “and you shall. You must cultivate patience, Gwendolyn.”

“I thought I had.” Gwen sighed. “At least when Albert—Mr. Trumble—at first told me there might be some problem with my guardianship, I was determined to keep my wits about me. But that was earlier today and now I cannot help but think about what could happen. And—”

“What
could
happen is precisely the point.” Madame put her needlework in her lap and met Gwen’s gaze. “The gentleman who gave you this news, this Mr. Trumble—”

“Albert,” Gwen said under her breath.

“He is the same man who told you that you were penniless after your father’s death, is he not?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes.”

“And his information was erroneous then, was it not?

“Yes. But—”

“But even should his vague comments prove to be accurate now, there will be time to determine a course of action short of running away. I would hate to see that happen again, and I am certain, should the situation warrant it, that we can find a much more suitable solution.” Madame nodded at the sofa beside her chair. “Now, do sit down, Gwendolyn, you are making me dizzy.”

Gwen sank onto the sofa. “I cannot lose them, Madame. They are my family. I am all they have. And they are all I have.”

Madame raised a chastising brow. “And what of your husband? Is he not your family now?”

“Of course.” Gwen picked at a thread on the arm of the sofa and avoided Madame’s gaze. “But Marcus is…well…”

“Honorable and intelligent. And I suspect he has a good heart.” Madame studied her for a long moment. “When are you going to tell him about the girls?”

“Soon,” Gwen hedged.

“And what, pray tell, is your definition of
soon
?”

“I don’t know.” Gwen huffed and got to her feet, took one look at Madame’s frown, and promptly sat back down. “I don’t know.”

“My dear girl, I understand your fears. They make a great deal of sense. The men in your life, starting with your own father, have not proven themselves to be especially trustworthy.”

“What if Marcus is no better?” Gwen hated to say it aloud but it had to be said. “What if the kindness and consideration he has shown me does not extend to my nieces? What if—”

“What if the moon was indeed made of cheese?” Madame shook her head in exasperation.

“Gwendolyn, I realize trust does not come easy to you but you are an intelligent woman. Think about the kind of man you have married. He has done nothing whatsoever to earn your suspicion.”

“I don’t think he wants daughters,” Gwen said under her breath.

“Not terribly surprising, most men don’t. Did he actually say he didn’t want daughters?”

“Not in those exact words,” Gwen muttered. “Upon reflection, I suppose I could have read more into his comments than was warranted.”

“You are his wife now, you could simply ask him.”

“That would be the intelligent thing to do. But apparently I am not as intelligent as you seem to think.” Gwen folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t want them. I will not subject them to living where they are not wanted. And I would”—she tried not to choke on the words—“leave him rather than give them up.”

“So if it came to a choice”—Madame’s voice was gentle—“you would choose them over him?”

Gwen swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I would have no choice.”

Madame studied her for a long, silent moment. “You love him, don’t you?”

“No,” Gwen said without thinking, then sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I didn’t until I considered living my life without him. And now”—she shook her head—“I don’t know how I feel. I thought I was simply…well, you’ll think it’s silly.”

“Perhaps.”

Gwen drew a deep breath. “In lust with him.”

“In lust?” Madame laughed. “I daresay I have never heard of being in lust before.”

“Neither had I. But it seemed rather appropriate.” Gwen thought for a moment. “He makes me feel as if I were completely unique and entirely special. As if I were the most important person in the world to him.”

“When you are lying in his bed?”

“No.” Gwen drew her brows together. “Well, then too, of course, but other times as well. All the time, really. He looks at me as if I were quite remarkable. As if he were the luckiest man in the world, and I feel equally lucky. More perhaps. And Madame…” Gwen leaned toward the older woman. “When his eyes meet mine, across a dining table or an entire room, I feel the oddest warmth, almost as though he has actually touched me. And he’ll smile, this slightly wry, crooked, charming type of smile, and I know it

’s just for me. A secret shared between us.” Gwen shook her head and settled back on the sofa, awe bringing a soft smile to her face. “It’s quite remarkable.”

“It is indeed.”

For a long moment Gwen considered what she’d at last put into words. She hadn’t realized until now just how important Marcus had become in her life. Even to her, it did indeed sound like love. But it wasn’t. She hardened her resolve. It might well be something more than lust, but it wasn’t love. She simply would not permit it.

She lifted her chin and met Madame’s gaze directly. “I will do whatever I must to keep my family. I will not let those girls grow up as I did. And I will not let anyone take them from me.”

“We wouldn’t go anyway.” Charity’s voice sounded from the doorway. Madame frowned. “Have you been eavesdropping again?”

“It was an accident.” Hope stepped into the room, her sisters close on her heels. “We didn’t mean to overhear. It just happened.”

“You”—Patience pointed an accusing finger at Gwen—“were talking exceedingly loud.”

“Was I?” Gwen said. “I hadn’t thought so. Indeed, I thought my tone was quite discreet.”

“Not at all.” Hope shook her head. “Why, we barely had to strain the tiniest bit to hear every word.”

Gwen lifted a brow. “Every word?”

“Not every word,” Charity said quickly. “Just the last part about not letting anyone take us away.”

“And the part about how Lord Pennington makes your heart pitter-pat.” Patience gazed upward, fluttered her eyelashes, and clasped her hands over her heart.

Gwen gasped. “I most certainly never said anything of the kind.”

“It sounded like that.” Hope collapsed at Gwen’s feet in a most unladylike manner.

“Well, it wasn’t,” Gwen said firmly.

“Why don’t you like him?” Charity settled beside Gwen and studied her. “You did marry him.”

“The matter of my marriage is neither here nor there.” Gwen’s voice was firm. “And I do like him.”

“He gives her secret smiles.” Patience heaved an overly dramatic, heartfelt sigh. “And when his eyes meet hers—”

“That’s quite enough,” Madame said firmly.

Patience grinned and sank down on the floor beside her younger sister.

“Why do you think he doesn’t want us?” Charity said abruptly. “It because we’re girls, isn’t it?

Miss Pickleface said most people want sons not daughters.”

“I don’t know that he doesn’t want you,” Gwen said carefully.

“Then why haven’t you told him about us?” Patience said, with the ability of a child to go immediately to the point.

Three pairs of eyes stared at her, a question in every gaze, a challenge on each face.

“I haven’t told him because”—Gwen drew a deep breath—“as much as I hate to admit it, I’m scared.”

“You?” Charity snickered. “I hadn’t thought you were scared of much of anything.”

Hope stared at her suspiciously. “You don’t particularly look scared.”

“And he didn’t especially look scary.” Patience shook her head.

“He can be quite firm,” Gwen murmured.

Marcus could also be exceedingly cool and rather remote. She thought the truth of his nature was in those moments when it was just the two of them and he was open and candid. She suspected, or hoped, the controlled, unemotional façade he displayed publicly was completely at odds with his real self. Still, she didn’t yet know him well enough or have enough confidence in her own assessment of his character to abandon her fears regardless of how much she wanted to. She could very well be entirely wrong. Madame had advised patience, and it was as necessary in the decision of when to tell him about the girls as it was when, and if, she should take her nieces away entirely. A thought struck her, and she studied Charity carefully. “Do you want to stay with me, then?”

“Yes.” Hope nodded vigorously. “You aren’t nearly as bad as we’d thought at first.”

“Of course, that was before we knew you,” Patience said quickly. “Now that we do, we think there is the distinct possibility we could learn to like you. Quite a lot.”

Madame bent her head toward her needlework to hide her smile.

“Actually, you have grown on us.” Hope drew her brows together thoughtfully. “Rather like a wart. I had a wart once and it—”

“That’s disgusting.” Patience’s tone was lofty.

“And what do you think?” Gwen turned to Charity.

“Oh, I think warts are disgusting too.” Charity smirked then shrugged. “I think you’re better than stowing away on board ship and being tossed into the sea or having to sleep in alleys with rats.”

“And I suppose that is better than nothing,” Gwen said under her breath, stifling a touch of disappointment.

What did she expect anyway? The girls had resented her from the moment they’d met, and Gwen had done little since then to change their minds. Certainly she got along better with these children than any of those she’d had in her charge during her ill-fated years as a governess, but still she’d not been able to spend nearly enough time with them as it would certainly take to forge a solid relationship, even possibly affection.

“However, in the interest of fairness”—Charity traded glances with her sisters—“we are of the joint opinion—”

“We voted,” Hope said.

“—that anyone that Madame de Chabot and Madame Freneau like as much as they like you probably has qualities we simply haven’t noticed yet.”