TheWifeTrap (39 page)

She’d been so sure London would cure her ennui, lift her flagging
spirits. And initially it had, as she reveled in the fast pace and hubbub of
city life, thrilling to the sights and scents and sounds. But far too soon she
had begun to grow tired of it. Seeing the same faces, playing the same games,
doing the same sorts of activities day in, day out. The parties were of the
highest caliber, and yet they were sadly tedious. Many of the people vapid and
shallow in a way she had never really noticed before.

Is this to be my life, then?
she wondered.
An endless
merry-go-round of parties and social calls? Is there to be nothing else?

But what else did she want? Wasn’t this exactly the kind of life
she would once have given her soul to have? So what had changed?

Darragh,
she thought, his name whispering in her head.
Darragh
and Ireland are what had changed.
And because of him, because of the
place, she was no longer the person she had been even a year ago. It was as
though a curtain had been yanked aside, showing her life from a completely
different perspective. Unquestionably, she still loved parties and people, but
without Darragh by her side, everything somehow seemed washed in gray.

The music came to an end, the dance done. She thanked her partner
after allowing him to escort her from the dance floor. Nearly one o’clock, she
saw by the tall casement clock standing along a nearby wall. Not late by this
crowd’s estimate, but late enough tonight for her. With a dispirited sigh, she
went in search of her mother, who had shared a carriage with her to tonight’s
party.

“Mama, I am going home.”

Her mother raked concerned eyes over her. “But why? Are you
unwell, dear? Have you come down with the headache? The air is very close in
here tonight, what with so many guests. Sheila really ought to open a few
windows, but you know how she is about drafts.”

Their hostess, Lady Farnham, had a notorious fear of colds and
disease. Consequently, she kept her windows sealed and her rooms far too warm.

Jeannette shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I am simply a
tad fatigued. If you would like to stay, I can have the carriage sent back for
you.”

“No, no, let me say my good nights to a few people, then we’ll be
on our way.”

Mama’s good nights took nearly an hour, leaving Jeannette more than
a little vexed by the time she and her mother climbed inside the carriage for
the journey across town.

Jeannette leaned back against the satin squabs, stared out the
darkened window, the quiescent
clip-clop
of the horses’ hooves
resounding against the street pavers in a soothing cadence.

“Well, that was a most satisfying evening,” her mother declared,
tucking her fan inside her reticule. “And despite the crush, one can never
fault Sheila Watt for her hospitality. Her food is quite the best I’ve ever had.
Stole the Oxneys’ chef out from under their noses, don’t you know. An Austrian
fellow, so I understand. I hope you tried the medallions of beef, and the
brandied squabs. Your father would have enjoyed himself at table tonight, you
know how he loves fine cuisine. But he
would
insist on going to his
club.” She gave a derisive sniff. “Men. One can do nothing with them really.
Most unaccommodating creatures.”

Jeannette remained silent, well used to her mother’s opinion on
the subject.

“And speaking of unaccommodating males, you really must write that
husband of yours. Imagine leaving you without an escort during the Season, and
in your very first year of marriage. There’s been talk, you know. And were it
not for your established popularity among the Ton, I fear some might have
turned their backs on you.”

Jeannette turned her head. “I beg your pardon, Mama?”

“Well, I don’t mean to upset you, love, but truly, what can you
expect? That man you married is
Irish,
after all.”

Jeannette felt her lips tighten. “There is nothing wrong with
being Irish.”

“So you say, but if he were English, he would have the manners to
present himself to his in-laws and to Society at large. Why is he hiding
himself away? There are many whispering, wanting to know.”

Jeannette’s fingers curled in her lap. “He isn’t hiding. I’ve
explained before, Mama, he is a very busy man. He…he simply could not come at
this time.”

“Yes, his architectural pursuits, was it not?”

“And his estate business.”

“Estate business can be handled by a bailiff, for the length of
the Season anyway. As for this other business, this architecture of his, it
really will not do, Jeannette. It’s rumored he has received payment for his
services,” she finished in a scandalized tone.

Jeannette’s chin came up. “Yes, he has. To aid his family.”

Her mother let out a soft gasp. “Well, he must give it up
immediately. Dabbling in architecture as a pastime is quite one thing, but to
be earning money from it…well, no true gentleman
earns
his living.”

Temper simmered through her. “Darragh does. And I see no shame in
it at all.”

“Jeannette—”

“What he does is honorable and useful and, yes, even beautiful.
The new wing he built for our cousins is magnificent. I have never seen work
any better. And what he has done to improve his own property, his castle that
once lay nearly stripped to its bones, is nothing short of breathtaking. He
trained and studied and sacrificed in order to restore his family’s wealth, his
family’s name. And if he accepts payment for his efforts, I see nothing
shameful in that despite his being born a gentleman.”

“No English gentleman would accept money in trade.”

“No, he would marry for it instead. A far less honorable way of
replenishing the family coffers, if you ask me.”

Her mother set a hand to her bosom. “What in heaven’s name has
gotten into you? Truth be told, I haven’t wanted to mention it, but you have
not been entirely yourself since you returned from that savage place. Nor since
you wed that obviously uncivilized man.”

“Darragh is very civilized.” And suddenly she realized the truth
of those words. Darragh, in his own unique way, was very civilized. Perhaps the
most civilized man she knew. A man of conviction and resolve, who did things
not because of what he’d been told to do, but because of what he believed he
should do.

“If these are the kinds of notions he’s been planting in your
head,” her mother continued, “then I am sincerely glad you have returned. He is
not a proper influence on you. Best perhaps if he does not come to London,
after all. He would only drag you down.”

“He would do nothing of the kind. He is the Earl of Mulholland and
my husband, and I would be proud to stand at his side, anywhere, anytime.”

“Even if he becomes the ruin of you? Think, my dear, you have
always longed to be a leader of Society. Should certain details about him be
revealed, that dream will slip out of your reach. You will never be the woman
your grandmother was.”

Jeannette waited for the pang, the old sense of inadequacy to hit
her. Instead she felt nothing. No regret. No disappointment. Only a peculiar
kind of relief, as if a great burden had suddenly been lifted from her
shoulders. Her goals, the things she had always assured herself she wanted, no
longer seemed so important. And as for Society, well, it could think and do as
it liked and so would she.

“I don’t want to be my grandmother. She was beautiful and popular
and everything a Society matron should be. But underneath she was brittle,
rather cold and unhappy.”

“Jeannette!”
her mother scolded. “You should not say such
things.”

“Why not? Is it not the truth? Did you never wish, just once, that
she would reach out and hug you, tell you you were all right exactly as you
are? Did you ever wonder if living up to other people’s rules might be
overrated? Violet has. Violet does. Oh, she conforms enough to be accepted, but
at her heart she acts as she sees fit, Society be damned. And so does Darragh.
I’m only now beginning to understand they’re both of them right.”

“As soon as we reach Wightbridge House, I’m sending for the
physician,” her mother wailed.

“I don’t need a physician, Mama. I need my husband back, don’t you
see? That’s why I haven’t been happy here. Why none of this satisfies me as I
once thought it did. I love him, and I miss him, and I walked out when I should
have stayed and worked through our differences, instead of running from them.”

But first, Jeannette supposed, she needed to forgive him for his
deceit, for his tricks and lies at the cottage. He’d said he’d set up his hoax
for them, and at the time she’d thought his statement utter nonsense, a flimsy
excuse made to cover up the insensitivity of his scheme.

Yet maybe he had not meant his deception to be cruel. She could
see now that some of his assertions about her had been true. She had been
dreadfully spoiled and self-centered. And she had been a snob, more concerned
about his outward status than about the man he was inside.

But could she trust him? He had lied to her about his entire
identity. Could she put his falsehoods in the past and move forward? Let
herself love him with a full and open heart? She might end up hurt. Yet was she
not hurting now? Was she not miserable without him? And if she must be
miserable, then why do so alone? Trusting him was a risk, but one she realized
she would have to take if she ever hoped to find happiness. And wasn’t love at
its very core a risk?

What if he didn’t love her?

Her spirits sank for a moment, then her optimism returned. If he
didn’t love her, then she would have to convince him he did. He desired her,
she knew that, and once she really turned on her charm, Darragh O’Brien
wouldn’t know what had hit him. Before she was through, he would wonder how
he’d ever survived without her.

“I will make this succeed,” Jeannette murmured softly.

“What’s that? What are you saying?” her mother asked, her brow
wrinkled with alarm.

“I’m saying I’m going back to Ireland. I’m going back to Darragh
to save what’s left of my marriage. I love him, and until this moment I hadn’t
truly realized why. It’s because he lets me be myself like no one else in the
world. With him there is no pretending, no pretense. Just me and him being the
people we are. I want that back. I want another chance. And with any luck,
he’ll soon discover he does too.”

Chapter Twenty-five

“Betsy, did you remember to pack my peach silk gloves in the
valise instead of the trunk?”

“Yes, my lady. I laid them alongside your handkerchiefs and hair
ribbons.”

“And the gifts we boxed up yesterday? You reminded the footmen
those cases contain breakable items? A pair of Meissen dresser sets for the
girls, and a Sèvres tea service for Mary Margaret? The men’s gifts I’m not so
concerned about, since there is little chance of damage to those. Although the
horse sculpture for Michael could suffer dents if not properly handled.”

Her maid wrapped tissue around one of Jeannette’s evening gowns.
“I spoke to each of the footmen personally, my lady, and pointed out which
boxes require special attention. Thomas, the head footman, assured me every
care will be taken for their safe transport.”

Jeannette gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you, Betsy, efficient as
always. I don’t know how I would get on without you.”

Pleasure warmed Betsy’s eyes at the compliment. “I suspect you
would do quite well, my lady, but I am glad to know you are pleased with my
service.”

“I am, and glad you shall be accompanying me back to Ireland.
Well, I shall leave you to the rest of the packing. We depart early tomorrow,
as soon as Lord Christopher arrives.”

Kit Winter had surprised her with his offer to escort her as far
as the Welsh seaport town of Swansea—at Violet’s urging, no doubt. Still, it
was very decent of him to agree. Once in Wales, Jeannette, Betsy, and a trusted
manservant would make the long sea journey to Cork, then hire a coach to drive
them north to Caisleán Muir.

Over the past few hectic days, she’d penned hasty excuses to
friends and family, canceling all her upcoming social engagements, while she
and the servants made ready to close up the townhouse. This morning, she had
left word with her butler that no further callers were to be received, since
she’d been deluged with friends and acquaintances, all eager to know why she
had decided to make such a precipitous mid-Season departure. She had no time or
interest in indulging their curiosity further.

Betsy laid one of Jeannette’s gowns into an open trunk, then
reached into the huge mahogany armoire for another.

Jeannette tapped a finger against her side. “Oh, I just remembered
that my sewing basket is in the front drawing room. Best not wait to retrieve
it, or else it shall be forgotten in tomorrow’s rush.”

Betsy paused, a pelisse draped over one arm. “Would you like me to
go now, my lady, or send one of the housemaids?”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. You and the others have enough to do,
and it won’t take above a minute. I’ll go myself.”

On a swish of lilac-hued skirts, she exited her bedroom and made
her way through the house to the drawing room. Warm midday sunlight poured in
through a set of tall sash windows. A green jasperware Wedgwood vase stood on a
side table, filled with a bounty of fresh pink roses to sweeten the air. Next
to the sofa, exactly where she’d left it the night before, waited her sewing
basket.

Only, the basket now had an addition. Her cat, Smoke, was curled
in a perfect circle atop her embroidery, black fur gleaming like midnight as he
slept.

She bent close. “Naughty puss. You’re getting fur all over my
cross-stitch fire screen.” Instead of shooing him out, she reached down and
stroked a hand over his velvety fur. He opened a single golden eye and began to
purr.

A knock sounded at the door. “My lady, pardon the intrusion,” her
butler said as she straightened, “I know you are not receiving callers, but
there is a gentleman who insists upon seeing you. He says he is your—”

“Husband,” declared a deep, musical voice from behind the servant.

Her heart leapt in her breast.
“Darragh!”

At first glance, he appeared thinner, taller, and broader of
shoulder than she recalled. Handsome and powerful, he commanded the room from
the instant he stepped over the threshold. She drew a breath, finding herself
suddenly short of air. Nerves beset her, heart beating at the speed of
hummingbird wings beneath her breastbone.

What was he doing here? Why had he come?

She was barely aware of the butler as he bowed and withdrew from
the room, her eyes riveted upon Darragh. She wanted to rush into his arms and
smother his face with kisses. Instead she tucked her hands at her sides, her
mind crowded with all the things she longed to say, yet somehow couldn’t seem
to express now that he stood only inches away.

“Good day to you, Jeannette. You look well. That color suits you.”

She plucked at her skirt. “Oh, this? It’s new, I…thank you. You
look well yourself.” He looked tired, somber, yet oh so dear. “Why have you
come?”

“I needed to see you. I…” He broke off, glancing down to his feet,
where Smoke was rubbing his furry body against his trouser leg, purring and
butting his head. The cat let out a plaintive meow and gave a little hop. “Is
this Smoke? My how he’s grown.”

“He has. He’s no longer such a kitten. Smoke, come away now,” she
coaxed, patting her thigh.

“He’s fine.” Darragh bent and lifted the cat into his arms,
stroking a broad hand over the animal’s sleek frame. She wished he might do
such a thing to her.

After a long moment, he set the cat onto the sofa and turned back.
“My apologizes for coming without so much as a word of notice, but to be
honest, I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I’d receive. I’ve taken rooms at a
hotel, so you don’t have to worry I’ll impose myself upon you here.”

She bit her lip. Was the situation so grim between them he
couldn’t even bear to stay in the same house? But if that was the case, why
come all this way? Unless he’d come because he had to present himself in
person. Because he’d decided he wanted to end their marriage, after all, and
needed to petition the courts here in London. Her stomach pitched like a
rolling sea, panic slicing at her throat.

“Darragh, please, I—”

“No, don’t,” he implored, raising a hand. “Let me speak first.
I’ve been thinking about this, about what I’d say to you, these many weeks
past. But now that I’m here, well, it’s all flying straight out of my mind.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it disheveled.
Looking up, his gaze locked on hers. “I’ve been a fool, lass. An arrogant,
stupid, opinionated fool. Even if I thought my intentions sound, ’twas wrong to
lie to you, to trick you about the cottage, and about myself as well. I worried
you’d see nothing but the trappings if I was honest, but mayhap I underestimated
you, lass. You have my sincerest apology, late now though it might be.”

Her lips parted on an astonished breath.

He took a step forward and grasped her hands, dropping down onto
one knee. “My only excuse is that you stir something fierce inside me,
something that makes me act half crazy whenever you’re near. I should have told
you as soon as I knew, but then you really would have thought me mad.”

“Told me what?” she murmured, gazing into his brilliant blue eyes.

“That I love you. That I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes
on you, watching you swat that cursed fly while you sat in your coach, wheels
stuck fast in the mud. You were the proudest, most beautiful, most magnificent
creature I’d ever met. You fair took my breath away.”

“Darragh—”

“But I knew you didn’t want me, not to start. And later I feared
you still wouldn’t, even if you knew the truth, so I kept it from you to prove
something foolish to myself. But it’s all gone wrong. I’ve mucked it up, driven
you away, when I should have held on, should have told you exactly how much you
mean to me. I’ve been miserable, driving everyone to despair with my melancholy
and my temper since you left. Which is why I’ve come, to win you back. Will you
give me a chance?”

He swallowed, agony in his gaze. “Unless it’s too late. Please
tell me it’s not. Or do you love that bast—that Markham fellow?”

“No,” she hastened to reassure him. “There’s nothing between him
and me. There hasn’t been, not since we parted ways last year in Italy. He’s
the one who came to Ireland to find me. I didn’t ask him, I swear. I didn’t
want him. Don’t want him. I sent him away the instant we reached London and
haven’t seen him since.”

Relief washed over his face, and at her urging he climbed to his
feet and drew her into his arms. “Perhaps we can start anew, then. Perhaps
you’ll let me court you again, properly this time. I’ll send you huge bunches
of posies, take you for carriage rides in the park, escort you to all the
parties you like. There’s a few weeks left in this London Season of yours, time
for us to learn to know each other all over again.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he hushed her again, laying his
fingers over her lips for a brief moment. “I know this is where you want to be,
and so that’s where we’ll stay. Here in England, near your friends and your
family. I’ll have to go back to Ireland on occasion, but we can make our home
here most of the year, if that’s what you wish. I’ll bring Siobhan and Moira
over to live with us, since I can’t leave them to grow up in the castle alone.
Finn and Michael, well, they can do on their own.”

“You mean you’d move here to London, to England, for me?”

His face sobered. “Aye, if that’s what it takes to have you. I
thought perhaps I could manage without you, lass, but it just won’t do.”

She flung her arms around his neck, love welling inside her, so
intense she felt as if she might burst from the pressure and the delight. “Oh,
Darragh, I love you so much! I’ve been miserable without you too. And I was
wrong, so wrong. You were right all along to say I was too proud, too haughty
and selfish and, yes, spoiled. I should never have left, not without telling you
how I felt, not without telling you again how much I adore you. I’ll admit I
struggled against it. I didn’t want to love you, but I just couldn’t seem to
resist. You’re everything I thought I didn’t want, and everything, I now know,
that I love and need.”

He cupped her cheeks. “Shh.”

“I’ve been desolate since we’ve been apart. Let’s never be apart
again.”

At her declaration, he crushed her tight in his arms, kissing her
with a savage, unbridled hunger that left her gasping, her heart thundering at
a dizzying pace.

“Have you a bedroom anywhere in this house?” he asked in a husky
voice.

“Yes, but I fear we’d shock Betsy if we used mine, since she’s in
there packing.”

His brows drew together. “To go where?”

“To Ireland. I was coming back to you, sweetheart. If you’d
arrived tomorrow, you’d have found me gone, traveling back to where I belong.
Didn’t you see the boxes in the hall?”

“Aye, but I didn’t imagine…I don’t understand—”

“I thought London was what I wanted, but it’s not. I don’t belong
here, not anymore, not without you.”

“But you can have me, and this place. I want you happy.”

She smiled. “And I will be. At home with you in Ireland.”

His eyes widened in surprise and awe.

“I want to be your wife, Darragh. In all ways your wife, forever
and always. Please say you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you. But you needn’t sacrifice so much. I
came here prepared to compromise, so what do you say we meet in the middle?”

“What do you mean?”

“Part of the year here, part of the year in Ireland, or anywhere
else in the world we’ve a fancy to visit.”

A slow, beautiful smile curved her lips. “Are you sure?”

“So long as you’re with me, I’ll have everything I could ever
need.”

“Oh, Darragh, I love you so. Kiss me again, please, before I faint
from want.”

And he did, holding her safe in the circle of his arms, the two of
them in the one place they would always most long to be.