A Seven Year Hitch (17 page)

“That’s enough, Erica
,” Ross said trying to keep a rein on his anger.

“No, it not nearly enough. I’ve spent seven years putting my life on hold, waiting for your arrogant Lordship to put in an appearance while you’ve been off being a libertine.”

“Waiting for me? I hardly call receiving a string of proposals in London, putting your life on hold. How did you encourage them, I wonder!”

“I had one season at eighteen on my aunt’s insistence and I did not encourage them. I refused them all!” Erica could not believe he was trying to put her in the wrong.

“Yes refused marriage, perhaps but what liberties did you accept? How do I know you’re still my virgin bride? What about Robert Prentiss and his broken heart?” Ross knew his accusations were ludicrous but his anger fuelled his jealousy and he wanted to hurt her.

“Did you raise your skirts for him?”

Erica punched him. Hard.

“Sign the annulment papers, pack your bags and get out of my life!”

While Ross clutched his abdomen, Erica sprinted into the trees, putting distance between them and all the time, rebuking herself for being foolish enough to fall for such an arrogant, conceited rake.

Ross swore viciously. Her anger and accusations had been unreasonable but his had been preposterous. He had allowed his anger and jealousy to control his tongue and as a result he had jeopardized all the progress he had made. He contemplated following her into the copse but commonsense prevailed when he thought it prudent to allow tempers to cool before again attempting to resolve their differences.

Erica arrived for afternoon tea, looking pale and drawn but for the sake of her family put on a passable act of being happy. Ross, recognizing the fragile control in which she held her emotions, did not approach but covertly watched her as she laughed and joined in a number of games with the children. He waited somewhat impatiently for the family ritual to end so that he could speak to her alone, but she managed to evade him by the simple expedient of accompanying Great Aunt Celia to her rooms on the pretext of having domestic issues to discuss.

Ross
with a large brandy, sought solitude in his room; determined to carefully devise a plan for retrieving his standing with Erica. But within a few minutes his deliberations were interrupted by the arrival of the Duke who at the instigation of his wife, had come to discover the reason for their son’s black mood.

“Something wrong, Ross?” he asked his heir.

“I pride myself on being able to keep tight control of my emotions and yet today I lost my temper and like an idiot, I said several things I definitely shouldn’t have done. I fear I may live to regret them for some time to come.”

“Going by the strained look on our hostess’ face, I assume you have rowed with Erica?”

Ross nodded. “She listened in on a conversation not meant for her ears and like most eavesdroppers, misconstrued what she’d heard.”

“I take it you tried to explain and made matters worse, losing your own temper into the bargain.”

“And in so doing, have wiped out the progress I had made with her,” Ross added.

“What did she overhear to cause all this fracas?”

“We were discussing mistresses”

“I assume Francine’s name was mentioned?” The Duke asked
.

“Father, I am not even going to ask you how you know about her! But yes, she thought Francine was my paramour.”

“Erica’s a sensible girl and knows that it is usual for young men to keep a mistress. Once she’s calmed down, just reassure her that you dispensed with the services of a mistress when you decided upon marriage, and that you would never contemplate keeping one once you were married.” His father made it all sound so simple.

“There’s the rub. I married Erica seven years ago!” Trevellyn told him.

It said a great deal for the Duke’s cast iron control that the only evidence of the shock he experienced at his son’s revelation was a slight flicker of his eyelids.

“I fear my hearing must be deteriorating with age for I could have sworn you said you married Erica seven years ago.” Although he spoke lightly he kept his gazed locked on Trevellyn’s face.

“Rest assured there is nothing wrong with your hearing. Erica is my wife and has been for seven years but I only found out when I arrived here for the house party.”

“How could you not know you were married, for heaven’s sake?” the Duke asked incredulously.

“If you cast your mind back you will remember the carriage accident I had when returning from Cambridge.”

“How could I forget? When a wheel broke on your curricle, you banged your head and lost consciousness. If I recall, your groom left you at a local inn and went to fetch a doctor but upon his return you had disappeared. Your mother and I were frantic with worry when we were informed and sent people out to search for you. But then you turned up three days later with a splitting headache and no recollection of anything.”

“According to Wilmshurst he met me in a small tavern not far from London. He had been imbibing rather freely for much of the day, having been sent down from Oxford. He invited me to share a bottle with him and finding out I was in the embarrassing position of having no money, he offered the hand of an heiress, his sixteen-year-old sister. I must have thought it a good idea for we stopped off in London, somehow managed to procure a special licence, and then he brought me here,” Ross informed him.

“But surely Erica did not agree to such a scheme and what about the vicar? I cannot be
lieve he performed the ceremony,” The duke stated.

“Erica was far from will
ing and the vicar refused until that is, I held a knife to the poor man’s throat; apparently,” Ross offered his father a brandy before continuing. “We carried on drinking then until the morning. Erica went to fetch Sir Richard but on their return to Monksleigh, I had vanished without a trace, leaving them only with the name Ross Devereaux.”

“And you found your way home with no recollection
of any of it having taken place,” The Duke finished for him.

“Since then I have been plagued by recurring dreams but they were always so hazy. It was not until Mother called me by my given name and I saw Erica’s reaction that the memories became crystal clear.”

“Your mother is not going to believe this! Not that she’ll be disappointed, mind you. We both think the world of Erica and have been hoping the two of you would make a match of it.”

“More than hoping, Father. You have both been actively matchmaking
the whole time we’ve been here,” Ross laughed. “But things are not so straight forward. Erica wanted the marriage annulled but I refused, being of the same opinion as you and mother, that she will make me the perfect wife. As a compromise I suggested a wager, one I am determined to win even with today’s setback!”

Erica sent her apologies for dinner that evening, claiming a bad headache and leaving Ross seething with impatience. At the first opportunity, he went in search of her, determined to see their argument through to an end, but to his consternation could find no sign of her. When he approached Gerald to ask him if he knew where he might find her, Gerald answered in the negative.

“She’ll be off bathing her wounds somewhere, perhaps in her sitting room or office. Best to leave her be for a while. She’ll calm down eventually.”

“That was the first place I tried after her bedchamber,” Ross’ scowl dared Gerald to comment on him having sought her out in her bedroom.

Gerald merely raised an eyebrow and then said. “She’s probably locked the door to her sitting room so you
couldn’t get in. Doesn’t mean she’s not              there.”
”Picking locks is in the spies’ handbook; it is one of the first skills taught when entering the service. She isn’t hiding there, believe me!” Ross assured him.

“Don’t let her find out you’ve been snooping in there for God’s sake!” Gerald warned “She’s like Medusa when it comes to guarding her private sanctum; you’ll be turned to stone with one wrathful glance!”

“What does she do in there that’s so important?” Ross’ inquisitive nature was invoked, recalling her concealing papers when he caught her in there that morning.

“I don’t rightly know. Since I’ve returned from
France, I’ve noticed she spends quite a bit of time locked away in there, but is always evasive if I enquire about her activities. She bit my head right off, when I wondered in there one day in her absence, so I now err on the side of caution and give it a wide berth. After all, we are all entitled to some privacy, I reckon,” Gerald answered.

“What activities has she got planned for tomorrow?” Ross asked, hoping it would be something that would give him the opportunity to repair some bridges.

“We start our rehearsals for the play we are performing this year. Erica did mention something about ‘Twelfth Night’,”  Gerald said before an idea struck him and he turned eagerly to his brother-in-law and added, “I say, how are your play writing skills, Trevellyn? I have just had the most marvellous idea!”

“Still here, My Lord? Perhaps I did not express myself clearly enough. I want you to leave and never return!” Erica’s forthright attack on first seeing him the following morning had Ross smiling inwardly. So, he thought, his little spitfire had resolved to go on the offensive, which from his point of view, was to be applauded. He was much more confident battling with a virago than a wilting violet.

“There is still the small matter of the wager, sweetheart.”

“Forget the wager, Trevellyn. Just sign the papers and go!”

“Are you reneging on our wager, then?” Trevellyn smiled wolfishly at her. “For then I will be staying as your husband and enjoying all the pleasures that entails. I shall just go and instruct my valet to move my things into your room.” He took a couple of steps before adding “Oh by the way, when would you like me to inform your family of our seven year marriage?”

Erica recognized that he had her cornered and ungraciously backed down. “Very well, stay. I shall savour your defeat all the more after laughing at your futile attempts to woo me. I am not one of your light skirts; impressed by the size of your wallet.”

Having gathered the would-be thespians together in the ballroom, Erica announced that they would be performing a special version of ‘Twelfth Night’ but before she was able to sort out the cast, Gerald spoke up.

“Actually, sis, Trevellyn and I have written a little play of our own; a farce, and we’ve even organized a cast list. You’ll love it, I promise,” he drawled. “It’s called A Seven Year Hitch.”

“I really don’t think ...” Erica began,  suspicion and foreboding causing butterflies in her stomach, but she was interrupted by Stephen who, feeling guilty for h
is part in yesterday’s argument felt compelled to assist Trevellyn.

“What a splendid idea! Perhaps it’ll
be the start of a new tradition,”

h
e elbowed Charlie in the ribs.

“What? Oh yes. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“That’s settled then,” said Gerald decisively. “Our play it is.”

Ross made a great deal of giving everyone his or her part, deliberately leaving Erica until last.

“And Miss Wilmshurst, you’ll be playing the wife, deserted on her wedding day for seven long and lonely years.” He held out her script, which she snatched from him with a venomous look.

“I’ll be playing your wayward husband, returned from the wars and determined to win your regard.”

“A farce indeed, My Lord. However, I really do not feel I will be able to do justice to the role, and would like to swap my part for a another one.” Erica turned to her female cousins hoping one would offer to change places with her but all stood stoically quiet having just received a warning glance from Gerald. Erica sighed but would not admit defeat without one last attempt. “Fiona, surely you’d love to swap with me? You are a much better actress than I!”

“No I couldn’t. I really don’t think it would be appropriate with Lord Trevellyn trying to win my reg
ard when I’m an affianced woman,” She said, acting the shocked lady to perfection.

“But it’s acting Fiona, not real!” she said, knowing the last vestige of control was being grappled from her fingers by a very clever conspiracy.

“Even so, it would not feel right,” Fiona said firmly glancing through the script. “Besides my character is married to Stephen’s character.”

Erica threw her brother and her husband a look that promised a painful retribution but they merely grinned at her in the most infuriating way, gloating at their victory. There was nothing she could do but concede defeat and accept the role she had been given.

The beginning of the play proved quite enlightening to Erica for it told her what she had hitherto not known and explained why Ross had come into her life so dramatically and then left it so precipitately. The wedding scene, although given a comic veneer was by and large an almost accurate account of what had happened, making Erica wonder uneasily if anyone would guess the truth. Her fears were further enhanced when she saw Fiona frowning as the script unfurled and darting scrutinizing looks at both her and Trevellyn.

“Do you think Fiona might be remembering your taunts when we were in the themed gardens, about sixteen-year-old brides?” Ross asked as he came to stand beside her during a break in rehearsals.