Barbara Metzger (26 page)

“I never thought that.”

“But it never mattered to you that everyone else might. You heard the duke: No one respects me because you do not. You married beneath you, outside your charmed circle, and you intend to keep me there, an outsider, a nobody. How can I give myself to a man who has so little regard for me and my feelings?”

To hell with the
Kama Sutra,
Rockford cursed. There really ought to be a guidebook explaining a female’s mind. Of course, the man who could write the manual had not been born yet, and likely never would be. He stroked his chin, thinking. The first thing he thought was that he had wasted another shave. The second was that he had a great many fences to mend before he’d see the inside of Alissa’s bedroom.

“Would you like to spend the evening with me tomorrow?” he offered. “The regent is holding a small musicale.” There. If he brought her to court, the gossip ought to be stifled; she ought to be satisfied; then he could—finally—be satisfied.

“Thank you, but I promised the boys and Aminta that I would take them to Astley’s Amphitheatre to see the trick riding tomorrow night if we stayed in town.”

“Surely the new tutor can escort them. With extra grooms, of course.”

“I promised.” She looked at him in disappointment, not for missing Prinny’s affair, he thought, but because he had missed the point. “I gave my word.”

And Alissa Bourke Henning Rothmore kept her vows. Except the one about obeying her husband, it seemed. Rockford nodded. He thought about the elegance of the regent’s entertainment, the sumptuous surroundings, the intelligent conversations. Then he thought about the raucous crowd at the circus, hundreds of shrieking, sticky schoolboys, the sickening smells of sweat and horse and cheap cologne. Damn. “May I come with you?”

*

The circus was worse than he’d thought, despite having the best seats, servants of their own, and a hamper with food from his own kitchen. The loud noises and pungent odors were far more piercing than he’d remembered, the crowds far less refined. He recognized no one in the huge theater, which was a mixed blessing. If any of his acquaintances had seen him in such a place, in such company, they would have laughed out loud, but they would also have spread the tale that the Earl of Rockford was dancing attendance on his wife and family. He would rather be the butt of jokes than have his countess be grist for the rumor mill. Or quarry for the hunt. Young widows and dissatisfied wives were fair game in his world. The earl’s reputation for prowess with sword or pistol, though, was worth a great deal more than a wager at White’s. No one would dare his wrath, if he was shown to have an interest.

An interest? Hell, he could barely keep his hands from Alissa, so he rested one arm along the back of her seat, where he could pretend to touch her neck by accident, or brush her cheek as he shifted positions. She wore a cherry-red merino gown with only a locket for decoration, and he had to wonder whose picture graced the tiny frame. What if it were her late husband’s? Deuce take it, he thought. Neither weapon nor fist was defense against a dead man’s memory.

She had her hair up in the new style she had adopted, with a few softly curling tendrils covering her ears and trailing down her neck. He liked it far better than the severe coiled braids she used to wear, but not half as well as seeing her long hair loose, billowing around her shoulders, across a pillow, where he could breathe in the sweet floral scent of it.

The scent of the circus-goers was a far cry from milady’s perfume. Rockford was tempted to bring his handkerchief to his nose, but none of the others in his box seemed to notice the noxious odors or the deafening noise.

Some of the language from the nearby row seats was not suitable for Alissa’s ears, much less for the children’s, so Rockford deemed it lucky that not even Hugo could translate the thick cockney dialect. Some of the cheers and whistles were more for the women riders’ legs than for their equestrian abilities. He noted that Aminta kept her eyes averted from the female performers’ scant outfits; the new boy—Rockford had still not discovered why the tutor’s brother was part of their party—did not. He almost fell out of his seat trying to lean closer, until his brother thumped him on the ear.

William declared that he had to try riding his pony bareback, standing up; Kendall told him he would break his neck, and another argument ensued. William spilled his lemonade, of course. On Rockford’s boots, of course.

The riders did the same tricks at least twenty times, the music was drowned out by the crowd, and the costumes were tawdry. The clowns were barely funny, until one compared them to the lords and ladies Rockford should have been rubbing shoulders with this evening. Then they were laughable, indeed.

Hugo was fascinated by the jugglers, Kendall was determined to teach the puppies some of the dog tricks, and Aminta was so embarrassed by the display of feminine limbs that she sat looking away from the show rings, chatting with the tutor instead of watching the circus. William ate everything in sight, so the other boys declared they would not ride home with him lest he cast up his accounts, which meant Rockford would have to sit with him, up by the driver, out in the cold drizzle. The tutor’s brother pinched one of the orange sellers’ bottoms.

Will Henning fell asleep in Rockford’s lap midway through the second act, giving the earl a cramp in his leg. He did not dare move in case he awakened the child, who slept with his mouth open, drooling.

All in all, it was a dreadful, degrading, horrible experience—and the most fun Rockford had had in years. Seeing the circus for the first time through a boy’s eyes was a unique delight. Seeing Alissa rejoice in the children’s excitement was another pleasure, but seeing the looks of approval she kept casting his way, that was paradise. Her green eyes sparkled and she laughed as much at the boys’ antics as she did at the performers’.

When she looked at him, though, her wide smile made him feel as if he had conjured the entire circus just for her. Here was something he could provide, something that had been missing in her hand-to-mouth existence, something he could do to please her. Other women might desire jewels and clothes and carriages; his wife wanted to see the children—his sons as well as her own—happy. And he wanted to make her happy. A lot.

He was not eager to please her merely so she would unlock that dratted door, he told himself. This was not about sex. He simply wished to see her happy.

Now that was the most amazing feat of the evening, Rockford marveled. Not the daredevil riding upside down under his horse’s belly, not the tightrope walker on stilts, but discovering that he really did care about his wife.

A lot.

* * *

For the first time since her marriage, Alissa was positive she had made the right decision. She had not had much selection, granted, just Rockford, Sir George, or starvation, but what a fortunate choice it had been. She had been able to give her sons so little; now they had so much. Equally important, almost, her husband could laugh!

Her sophisticated, starched-up spouse could still enjoy the simple pleasures in life, it seemed, not just the extravagances of the social world. He was finding pleasure in being a father; she could swear to it by his grins and chuckles, and the way he kept Billy from the edge of the box, and made sure Hugo did not lose his glasses, and let Kendall sip from his wineglass when he thought she was not looking. He even let Willy sleep in his lap, tenderly ruffling her younger son’s hair.

Perhaps he could grow to enjoy being a husband.

He was very good at it, she decided, when he tried. Tonight Rockford had smoothed their way, handling everything from their seats to their refreshments to the number of carriages it took to transport such a large group. He even improved the language of the spectators in the next box, with a glare of disapproval and a soft, “There are children and ladies present.”

He thought she was a lady. Alissa smiled, unfortunately just when a young man in a spotted neckcloth was looking her way from his seat below them. The fellow blew her a kiss and tossed her a flower, which Rockford caught and threw back, shaking his head. No, she was not available for flirtation, that movement told the brash young man; she was his wife, not a doxy.

What
a
relief it
was
to Alissa to
have
someone
else
in charge for once, to have someone looking out for her after so long. As pleasant and easygoing as he was, William Henning would never have noticed her discomfort, would not have been able to discourage such forward behavior with a glance.

William would not have turned her insides to mush with one of those rare dimpled smiles, either. She could barely remember when she felt such a thrill go through her as when Rockford’s hand touched the bare skin of her neck.

He smiled. He knew. But he felt the quick touch of fire too, she thought, for he pulled his hand away, scorched.

Then an orange-girl slapped Lawrence Canover and they all laughed, but Rockford looked her way first, to make sure she saw the humor. She had missed that, too, the joy of having someone to laugh with.

They could have a marriage, she swore, a real marriage, with sharing and caring and laughter and, yes, love. She knew it would be all too easy to give her heart to this man who carried her son so gently, who warmed her blood with a smile.

They
could
have a marriage. Starting tonight.

*

Billy’s stomach was understandably upset and he had to be comforted. Neither the footman nor the nursery maid nor Mr. Lucius Canover would do, only Alissa. She sat by his bed until he fell asleep.

Hugo and Kendall had to be dissuaded from gathering dishes from the kitchen to see if they could juggle them. The puppies were exuberant after being penned in all night, and so was Willy, wide-awake after his nap in Rockford’s arms. He had to hear about all he’d missed, especially the grand finale, and begged Alissa to take him back tomorrow, to see it for himself. Someday, she promised, hopeful that the future could only get better.

Although she had refused to go with them, Lady Eleanor insisted that Alissa tell her about the evening over a cup of tea. Alissa agreed, feeling sympathy with her bored, lonely sister-in-law. None of her London acquaintances had responded to Eleanor’s notes, and no invitations had been delivered. She had to be dissuaded from returning to Rock Hill in the morning.

“Stay a few more days,” Alissa urged. “I know we did not fare well with the duke”—which was an understatement of epic proportions—“but I have not given up on our chances of being accepted. Not by the highest sticklers, but your brother did offer to introduce me to the regent, and who knows what could happen then.”

“The fat old lecher could make you an indecent proposal, Rockford would call him out, and we would all have to flee to the country. I merely wish to move the inevitable outcome forward.”

“Don’t be a goose. The prince is married.”

“Now who is being a goose?” Lady Eleanor countered, but she did agree to stay on in town for the rest of the week, at least.

Finally Alissa’s time was her own, but she needed a bath.

By the time she was ready for bed—and ready for her husband in a new nightgown that was not nearly warm enough for an October night unless a body lay next to her—she had talked herself out of it. Her cold feet had nothing to do with the flimsy, feathered slippers she wore.

Rockford had not said anything about the Austrian princess. He had looked at Alissa with lust and a little affection this night, she thought, but what if, tomorrow, he went back to being a married bachelor? What if, tomorrow, he remembered that he’d only wed to provide his sons a mother? She paced her room. She moved a figurine on the mantel. She chewed her lip almost bloody.

Then she unlocked the connecting door. Her husband was too proud to ask again, she’d wager, so the stalemate could last forever unless she made the first concession. The click of the key sounded loud to her ears, but he did not come dashing through the opening as she’d hoped. She stepped in. He did not greet her with one eyebrow raised, as she’d feared.

No, he was sprawled across his bed, half-undressed, fast asleep. One night of being a father had exhausted him. She found a blanket to cover him, brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes the same as she had done for Billy, and went back to her own room, smiling. The arrogant earl was human after all.

He snored.

Chapter Twenty

The next morning Alissa found herself alone in the house except for the servants. Mr. Canover had taken Hugo to Hatchard’s to purchase more books for his studies, and Aminta, Lady Eleanor, and a maid had gone along to find the latest novels. The other boys had left earlier with Jake and the ponies for riding lessons at the indoor ring. Alissa had no idea where her husband was, to her disappointment, disapproval, and dismay when Claymore handed her a visitor’s card.

She did not know any Lady Winchwood and did not know if she should be received and, if so, in the small morning room where Alissa sat or the formal parlor. The problem was resolved by the lady herself, trotting along in Claymore’s wake before Alissa could ask his advice.

With rouged cheeks, red hair that rivaled a summer sunset, and a gown much too daring for one of her advanced years and too tight for one of her poundage, Lady Winchwood was definitely not someone Alissa should entertain, she decided, not unless she wished her reputation tarnished more.