Trust Me (23 page)

“Laws will be passed
but they will be the wrong kinds of laws. They will simply push people further
in the direction of democracy.”

His expression was so
placid. It rankled her. It frightened her.

“Doesn’t that worry
you?” she asked.

“No. It is simply the
way things will go.”

“But our estate, you
think that we shall eventually lose it? Good God, you think the people shall
rise up and slaughter us as they did in France?”

“No, it won’t go that
way. The merchant class shall overtake the noble class. It is as it should be.
The most worthy should be allowed to rise to positions of power.”

“I cannot believe you
actually believe this.”

He laughed softly and
took her hand.

How could he laugh so
easily whilst speaking of such a disturbing, nay, horrifying subject? Oh,
everything was a supreme jest to him. She stared down at their joined hands,
bemused for the moment. Her husband was a-a
Whig
!

And from the sounds
of this, a radical one at that.

“Do I know you at
all?” she asked.

“Anne, we were raised
with different expectations. I was the son of a second son. I did not expect to
inherit a title or great wealth. I expected to have to make my own way and so I
did. I don’t fear losing my title or my wealth. I am not afraid to work or
fight to make my own way if I have to, and I shall always be able to provide
for you and our children.”

“But part of
providing for our children is fighting to maintain their birthright.”

“The best birthright
we can give them is the drive and ability to seek their own way.”

“We owe a duty to the
people of our estate. We should fight to maintain our estate for that reason
alone.”

“Of course we shall
always do our duty by the people who depend on us. But the day may come, sooner
or later, when the social order is different and we no longer have the same
duties. Our world will become ranked on merit, not seniority or birthright.”

“And you want… nay,
you eagerly anticipate this change in the order of our world?”

“Anne, I merely say
we should expect anything and be willing to adapt and change with the times.”

His unblinking
resolve made her feel a little cold inside. She’d grown up under the shadow of
Napoleon and the constant fear of invasion or mass revolt. With the peace, it
had seemed that stability would come at last. She wanted to believe that
Parliament would pass laws that would prevent the dissolution of the social
order.

But Jon was perfectly
serious. And he wanted to dismiss her long-time abigail. Without any
consideration for her service or Anne’s sense of personal responsibility to
her. What would a world without the social contract, the safety of seniority or
birthright be like? Life under anarchy would become as Thomas Hobbes had
described in his
Leviathan
: solitary,
poor, nasty, brutish and short.

Her insides were
shaking.

Jon had resumed
reading the paper. His expression was calm and thoughtful. Nothing rattled him.
Nothing frightened him.

He looked up, as
though he’d felt the touch of her probing stare. “The United States will fare a
lot better in all of this upheaval that is coming than anyone else.”

“Why? Because of
their democracy?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

“No, not because of
democracy. Simply because they have vast territories for the unsatisfied hordes
to be absorbed into. People need the hope of something better in their lives,
or, at the very least, the lives of their offspring. The frontier will give
them that hope.”

He had investments in
American industry, in both the United States and South America. She’d known
that but had seen it as a harmless eccentricity. Now she saw he was hedging his
bets. Bets placed on the side of their country’s economic system falling apart.

But wasn’t that was
like admitting it could happen? “You want this upheaval to take place.”

He returned her stare
calmly and shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“But how can you
possibly be so calm about all of this?”

“Anne, I told you, we
must be prepared to face whatever comes. Times are very uncertain, they have
been that way for many years. As I said, you and I were raised differently. I
never expected to inherit the title or great wealth. I had to build everything
for myself. I entered the Dragoons and I worked hard to earn rank. I invested
any money that came my way and I couldn’t allow myself the caprice of
mistakes.”

“The caprice of
mistakes?” She flicked her fan open and began waving it in front of her face.
Rapidly. Trying to vent her rising tension. “You think I have lived a
capricious life?”

“Anne—”

“No, I know you do.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why would you
utter such a thing?”

“I was merely trying
to explain the differences in our respective circumstances. As commoner Captain
Jonathon Lloyd, I had no prospects, no quarter for failure. I had to make my
own way.” He looked down his long, narrow nose. “However, it is hard, at times,
not to wonder if plain, common Captain Jonathon Lloyd would have been fine
enough for a duke’s daughter.”

She stopped fanning
herself and caught her breath. Well, he was practically glaring at her now. “Of
course you would have.”

His mouth tightened
and his gaze cut her. “I didn’t mean just to warm your bed, to fill that hot
little cunt of yours, my lady. I meant for marriage, to bear my children.”

“Jon!” She felt the
blood drain from her face and she dropped the fan. His vehemence had shocked her
far more than his crudeness.

He crossed his arms
over his chest. “You already doubt my ability to remain steadfast to my duty
towards the estate.”

Her throat began to
burn. “I don’t doubt you… and you are cruel to accuse me.”

He turned away from
her and gazed out the window. “You also believe I shall betray you personally.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Let’s have a little
honesty.”

Her mouth dropped
open from pure outrage and she gaped at him. “How about let’s have a little
sobriety?”

He paused then a grin
slowly softened his expression.

“You didn’t think I’d
notice you’re completely foxed.”

“There’s simply no
other way to endure one of these Mayfair musicales. They are more boring than
bloody—”

“And I am not even
allowed to drink a single glass of wine tonight?”

“But I hold my liquor
so much better than you, my fine lady.”

“My fine lady,
indeed! How unfair you are. Your blood is far more noble than mine.”

He stared at her for
a moment. Then he laughed softly. “Touché, my love.”

“If musicales are so
bloody boring, then why are we even going?”

“We have to go and
you know why.”

The veiled reference
to the vicious rumours about her sanity caused her to suck in her breath and
fall back against the seat. She folded her arms over her chest.

What had happened?
How had the mood of the evening changed so abruptly? An uneasy knowing settled
in her stomach, one of those horrid intuitions she didn’t believe in but which
were never wrong.

He had instigated an
argument with her.

He had countered her
in ways he’d known would disturb and vex her. She tried but couldn’t reason
away the terrible suspicion.

He’d seemed so
unruffled during the earlier conversation but he was… angry.

A cold, quiet kind of
anger. She could feel his tension in the space between them in the carriage
like the pressure before an impending thunderstorm, when the air seemed ready
to crackle with lightning.

It was a terrible
sort of anger. One that made her stomach twist in knots and made her glad, very
glad, that she had not felt like eating earlier.

****

Anne sat beside Jon,
enduring the mediocre music. Really, couldn’t Saxby do any better than this?
She fanned her face and the whole time sensed the angry tension coming off Jon
in waves.

When the intermission
came, Jon turned an icy blue stare on her. “I think you could use a cup of
lemonade.”

He stood then offered
her his arm and escorted her to the sideboards where refreshments had been laid
out.

“I’d prefer something
stronger than lemonade.”

Jon glanced down at
her for a moment. “No doubt.” He turned to a servant. “One lemonade and—” He
glanced over the selections available. “A cup of tea, black.”

She raised her brows.

“My lady pointed out
that I have been drunk for the better part of twenty-four hours.”

His comment left her
nonplussed.

“Well, it seems
rather ungentlemanly behaviour for a husband, doesn’t it?” he asked. He studied
her intently. After the servant handed them their drinks and left, Jon leant
close. “Do you want to go home now?”

She glanced at him
over the top of her cup. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because you look… I
don’t know, pale, a little lost. You weren’t feeling well earlier.”

“We need to make good
showing.”

He frowned. “Yes, we
do, however, I don’t want you to be miserable.”

She’d had her fill of
sickly sweet lemonade. She handed him the cup. “I shall be fine.”

He turned away to
place their cups on the sideboard.

She would have loved
to go home. But, suddenly, she was uneasy at the prospect of an evening alone
with her new husband. She had no wish to speak further on the topic of revolts
and social change.

She looked up to see
Sebastian approaching. His dark blue cutaway jacket made him look taller, and
his hair burned like gold fire in the candelabra light. His serious face split
into a huge grin. “Lady Ruel.”

Pleasure and warmth
suffused her. “Your Grace.”

Sebastian looked over
her head and his expression sobered a bit. “Good evening, Ruel.”

“Good evening,
Saxby.”

“I hope you don’t
plan to monopolize your countess this evening.”

“I should never do
anything so unfashionable.” Jon’s voice was polite and cool. Almost the voice
of a stranger. As Sebastian led her away, she didn’t glance back. She couldn’t
bear to see Jon’s expression. Nor did she want to betray her relief at having a
moment away from him.

A lump lodged in her
throat. This evening had started out so differently. Now, everything seemed to
be moving so fast. She didn’t understand what was happening.

Make a good
showing.

Yes, that was what she
must do. Goodness, she’d been so overset that she’d forgotten. She smiled up
into Sebastian’s face. Her lips trembled.

His eyes darkened,
their pupils enlarging.

She caught her
breath. She knew that look but she must be mistaken. He wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly
ever hope for…

No, don’t think.
Just get through this. Make a good showing.

She tilted her head
to one side, imploringly. “What do you think about all this business with St.
Peter’s Field and the riots?”

His expression froze
and he blinked.

It obviously wasn’t
the remark he’d expected to hear.

“Do you think it
spells the beginning of the end of the aristocracy in England?”

He flinched.

“Please, Your Grace—”

“Anne, I have known
you since you were a child.”

“Yes.”

“Please, let us not
have all this ‘Your Grace’ formality between us.”

He’d waited until Jon
had left them alone. She couldn’t help it but that niggled her. But then, what
did she know about Society? She’d spent so much time secluded. She took a deep
breath and prayed that she was behaving in the correct manner. “Sebastian, I’d
like to hear your thoughts.”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“I certainly think it
raises concerns.” He took her arm and led her to the edges of the ballroom. His
fingers brushed her bare arm above her long gloves. He glanced down and flashed
a slight smile. “Are you worried, Anne?”

“I am very worried.”
She blurted the words out almost breathlessly, so quickly that she shocked
herself. But Sebastian was not her husband. He was not her lord. He would have
no expectations of her. She couldn’t possibly disappoint him. If she showed him
her nervousness, her weakness, it would be all right. He’d been shy. He’d been
born to be an heir. He would understand her concern in a way Jon never could.

Sebastian gave her
arm a little squeeze. “Don’t be worried. Think on your history.”

“History?” she
repeated dumbly.