The Husband Trap (10 page)

“Would you look at that,” the stable boy marveled.

“Yes, would you.” Adrian relaxed, seeing the dog posed no threat to his wife, no matter how big a brute he might be.

Though whipcord thin from starvation, the animal was still massive. His jaws were big enough to eat Jeannette’s entire delicate hand in a single gulp if that had been his wish. His canine head easily reached past her waist. Great Dane derivation, Adrian imagined, and sporting a collar as well. He must belong to someone, but who? And where were they?

As if the boy had heard Adrian’s musings, he began to tell them about the dog. “He’s a stray. Been hanging around these parts since spring. Wouldn’t let nobody get close to him till now. Been eatin’ scraps and such. Drivin’ my boss, Mr. Timmons, crazy with the mess he leaves from trolling through the garbage at night. Looks like today he got bold, stole that bloke’s pie from right off the dining table.”

“Well, I think he is a very brave dog,” Jeannette declared, petting the animal’s head, stroking his pointed ears. The dog’s eyes fell closed in obvious rapture at her touch. After spending a night in Jeannette’s arms, Adrian knew exactly how the dog must feel.

“You are certain he has no master, then?” Adrian questioned.

“No, milord. Leastways, none that I know of. If you want him, he’s yours to keep.”

“Oh, yes, Adrian, let us keep him.” She turned her luminous aqua eyes his way. Eyes against whose power, he discovered, he was hardly immune. They tugged at him with an almost magical pull.

“What a great lummox he is,” Adrian observed. “Whatever would you do with him?”

She smiled. “Fatten him up, for one, and give him a bath. He smells a bit of the barnyard, don’t you think?” She wrinkled her pretty nose in emphasis of her comment. “I am certain he will be a splendid beauty once he is restored to health. All he needs is love and care.”

“I should have thought a lapdog would be more to your taste. A spaniel or toy poodle, perhaps.”

She paused, as if debating her answer, then shrugged. “Well, no doubt you are right, were I choosing a dog. But he is here and he needs a home, no matter his size. We cannot abandon him now. After all, that villain might return and do him a dreadful turn. I shouldn’t be able to sleep for worrying over him if we left him behind.”

“Perhaps a family in the village might be persuaded to take him in,” Adrian suggested.

“You heard the boy. He has been a stray for months. If a family here wanted him, they would have adopted him already.”

“The lady’s right, milord,” the stable boy interjected. “Folks round here figure a big ’un like him would eat ’em out of house and home. Worse than being saddled with a set of ten-pound twin boys.”

Adrian’s lips twitched at the lad’s colorful way of speaking. His expression sobered as he turned to his wife. He had never before known Jeannette to demonstrate a particular affinity for animals. That specific trait seemed more in keeping with her sister, Violet, whose love of lesser creatures was apparent for all to see. Yet maybe he had underestimated his wife again. Perhaps she shared more in common with her twin than he imagined. After last night, he was loath to prejudge anything about her.

“Would you truly like him?” he asked.

Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, indeed I would.”

“It seems, then, my dear, that you have a dog.”

“Oh, Adrian.” She closed the distance between them, threw her arms around his waist.

He hugged her to him, gazed down into her radiant eyes. “Does this mean that I am forgiven?” he inquired in a gentle, intimate voice.

“Forgiven?” Her eyes widened, a wash of color pinking her cheeks.

He knew she must be thinking about the night past. His next words corrected her. “Hmm, for dragging you into the countryside for our honeymoon trip.”

She relaxed, settling more comfortably against him. “Well,” she said slowly, “that is a great deal to ask, for I am still sorely vexed with you over the matter. But I suppose under the circumstances, I must make the best of our situation. Yes, your Grace, you are forgiven.”

He smiled, watched her lips part in reply and nearly bent to cover them with his own. Then he remembered they had an audience. A rather large audience, considering they were standing in an inn yard. Had it been solely his choice, Adrian would have tossed the proprieties aside and kissed her as he wished. But he didn’t know how his new bride would feel about him taking such liberties in public.

Reluctantly, he released her and extended his arm. “Shall we adjourn inside to partake of a meal?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. I am rather hungry. But what of Horatio?”

“Horatio?”

“Our dog. Horatio is what I should like to call him. It seems such a fine, brave name. And I think he deserves that much after everything he has suffered.”

Adrian smothered a smile. “Horatio it is, my dear. But you are right, we can’t simply leave him here.” He motioned to the stable lad. “Boy, fetch us a rope or some such to use as a leash.”

“Right away, milord.”

“That’s ‘your Grace,’ Robby,” Mr. Timmons corrected, bustling back into view. “This gentleman and lady are the Duke and Duchess of Raeburn, and you’ll address them properly.”

Robby gulped. “Sorry, milord, milady. I…I mean, your Grace, your Graces. I’ll get that rope now.” Executing a quick bow, Robby bounded off into the stable.

Adrian made a mental note to leave the lad a nice wage for his efforts.

“And some food, Mr. Timmons,” Adrian said, turning toward the innkeeper. “For the dog. A joint of beef or perhaps one of the pies that caused all the commotion. It seems he favors them.”

They arrived near the Dorset coast early that evening as the sun crested to its highest peak. Beyond, on the horizon, broad cliffs dropped off in a great hard tumble of rock that angled down toward the ocean. The water itself was a patchwork of blues and grays. Sunlight winking and glittering off the white-capped waves as they rolled to shore. The English Channel in all her majesty and glory.

Breathtaking.

Even without her glasses, Violet could tell how beautiful the landscape was as the coach passed along the coast road that led toward Adrian’s estate. The inland fields were vivid green with bushy clumps of waving grass. Songbirds dived in a merry game from tree to tree, a few trading pretty calls as they filled their bellies with the last grain of the evening. While out across the ocean, their sea-loving cousins keened for fish. Gulls whirling in lazy, sweeping circles, feathery flashes of white against the piercing azure sky.

Horatio perked up, moving from open window to open window on both sides of the coach, pausing in between to hang out his massive head, mouth agape, and watch. Violet was little better herself. Delighted as a child, she thrilled to the invigorating tang of salt air, its scent sweet-crisp in her nostrils.

Violet had been to the seaside only once before, on a visit to her mother’s cousins, the Chesters, the summer she turned eight. She remembered it particularly because Jeannette had not been along on the trip, confined to her bed with the influenza. One sick child in the house, their fretful mother had pronounced, was more than sufficient.

So Violet had been shuffled off to Kent. Instead of being homesick, she had reveled in the adventure. She could still remember the way she had felt then. The freedom, the fun of being allowed to run wild in the surf with the Chester children, Jeff and Sarah. The three of them coming home after long, long hours, sunbaked, clothes stained and dripping, feet and legs caked with sand. The Chesters had not scolded them. Just shaken their heads and sent them off with the nanny for baths and dinner. Even now, the memory of those few short weeks remained one of her very favorites, a place to escape in lazy afternoon daydreams.

Jeannette had been very put out after Violet’s return, decreeing she never wanted to hear another word about the English seashore again. Perhaps that was why she had been so distressed when Adrian informed her they would be spending their honeymoon on the southern coast.

But Violet knew this week away was going to be a rare treat. Even if she would not be able to romp in the waves as she had done as a girl. For that reason, she would have to be very strict with herself, watching every reaction so she didn’t reveal her true self by accident. It wouldn’t do for her to admire her surroundings too excessively. “Jeannette” may have forgiven Adrian his choice of honeymoon locale, but it did not follow she would fall in love with the place.

For the same reason, she would need to dampen a little of her enthusiasm for Horatio. She feared she had nearly given herself away back at the inn. Her twin tolerated animals so long as they did not make a nuisance of themselves, but she would never have fought for an animal the way she herself had done despite Jeannette’s natural abhorrance of such abuse.

Violet reached out and stroked Horatio’s velvety head. He turned his expressive eyes her way and gave her a doggy smile of pure contentment, pink tongue lolling. She smiled back at the animal, her heart lighter despite the weight of her worries.

The coach rolled up a long shell and pebble drive, stopping before a stately Georgian house made of mellow golden stone rising three stories high. Adrian had merely said they would be staying at one of his family’s many country houses. His description had not done the residence justice.

For one, it was huge, forty rooms at least. Sprawled out over the land like a hulking giant. Pane after pane of sparkling window glass glinting in the well-ripened sunshine. The servants’ entrance stood at ground level. A set of elegant double stairs led up around it to the main portico, finished in the Palladian style, complete with columns.

Yet all that faded into insignificance compared to the roses. Hundreds of them clinging to the far side of the house, pink and lush, climbing skyward on tall white trellises as if they meant to touch heaven itself.

Oh, and the fragrance. It was like being bathed in a bottle of the most luxurious perfume ever created. Violet drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, savoring the experience.

It was quite simply the most beautiful, most romantic setting she had ever seen.

Her twin, she thought, was a fool. And not for the first time, Violet had to admit she was glad of the switch.

The coach door opened. Horatio bounded out, releasing a series of joyous barks as he loped to and fro on the drive. She proceeded at a more sedate pace, allowing Adrian to reach in a hand to assist her down the small steps to the ground, swinging her the last few inches with an arm effortlessly looped around her waist.

“Finally here,” he commented after she was settled. “It has been a long day’s travel.” He paused at her silence, as if afraid to voice his next question. “So what do you think, my dear?”

She knew she should not reveal her delight. Her twin would not have been overly impressed with the display of natural beauty. Such things mattered little to Jeannette. But in that moment, Violet could not contain her true feelings. “I think it is simply enchanting.”

His eyes warmed, tiny lines fanning in the corners as he smiled. A dimple popped to life in his right cheek. She fought the urge to trace her finger over it, her heart hitching inside her breast. Love washed through her, crashed like the rough ocean waves she could hear sounding in the distance.

She had lied to him. Her very presence here was a hideous deceit for which she would someday surely pay. But right now she had not a single regret. Right now, he was her husband and he belonged to her.

The look in his eyes changed, lids drooping with sudden desire. She waited to see if he would kiss her, right here in front of the line of servants that had formed at the foot of the main staircase. Over a dozen people waiting to welcome the master and mistress home.

She wished they would all vanish. She wished she and Adrian were alone.

Horatio raced up, inserted his large body between them in an exuberant canine wiggle. He shattered the mood as effectively as a scolding duenna.

Adrian arched a brow of amused resignation. “Shall we, my dear?”

She accepted the arm he extended and let him lead the way.

Adrian introduced her first to the regular caretakers of the estate. The Grimms, an older couple who were the exact opposite of their name, smiling and full of good local cheer. Mr. Grimm oversaw the grounds and upkeep on the property with the aid of two assistant gardeners and groundsmen. Mrs. Grimm served as housekeeper and cook, with her own staff of two: a parlor maid, Susie, who was too shy to do more than squeak out a greeting, and Cynthia, the kitchen maid, as round and pretty as a freshly picked apple. The remainder of the servants were from Winterlea. Josephs, the coachman. Robert and Harry, the footmen. Mr. Wilcox, Adrian’s valet. Agnes, her lady’s maid. And three additional maidservants brought to lend a hand wherever they might be needed: Tina, Nancy and Leah.

Violet forced down her natural shyness. It wouldn’t do to appear frightened in front of the servants. Yet she could not bring herself to don the regal cloak of authority she was certain Jeannette would have slipped on.

Despite her rank, Violet realized servants were people with lives and needs, hopes and aspirations quite separate from her own. At home she had been close to many of the servants, receiving from them the kind of tolerant acceptance and understanding she had failed to receive from her own family. The servants never complained of her quiet, studious ways, never criticized or ridiculed her interest in intellectual matters such as history and languages. They accepted her for the person she was, and in return she had always tried to do the same for them.

Respecting that, respecting her new position as duchess, she did her best to greet each one of them with warmth and appreciation. She accepted their good wishes on her marriage, nodding graciously and smiling.

It soon became obvious they adored Adrian and would do anything within their power to please him. He was relaxed, friendly, yet still in command in a way her father never was with his own people. She knew Adrian had been in the military during the war. A decorated war hero, although he preferred not to speak of it. She wondered if this was how he had treated the men under his command. If they had revered him this much. She suspected they had. Suspected they had been willing to do anything—including offering up their own lives—for him and their cause.