Every Scandalous Secret (23 page)

“Mr. Wade, I do hope you enjoyed your ride.”

“I did, my lady, thank you. But now I seem to have misplaced my wife. Have you seen her?”

She briefly looked away, her hesitation obvious. “Let me see . . . did you try the music room?”

By her manner, she knew very well Susanna wasn’t there. He played along. “It was empty, my lady. But if you have an idea, I would be glad to hear it. In fact, I haven’t seen the professor either. Could they be together? I’ll ask one of the servants.”

He turned to go, then smiled with satisfaction when she called his name.

“Mr. Wade, I do believe I might know where they are. My husband has a laboratory here in the house, in the servants’ wing on the ground floor. Susanna might be . . . with him.” And then she gave him a nervous smile. “I hope you understand that before your marriage, Susanna needed to fill her day with her hobbies, and I’m certain that now she’ll be so busy with her own household, that she will devote more time . . .” And then her voice faded on a sigh.

They both knew how stubborn Susanna could be.

“Lady Rosa, you do not need to explain her passion for her art to me. I think she’s quite talented.”

“Have you seen the work she’s done for her father?” she asked flatly.

He cocked his head with interest. “No.”

“Then see it, and I’ll pray you won’t think differently.” She shooed him away.

Filled with growing curiosity and intrigue, Leo found the servants’ wing with help, then was led to a closed door by a very nervous maid, who bobbed a curtsy and fled.

He knocked, and after a moment, it swung open. The smell of rotting flesh mixed with a layer of an unrecognizable masking scent almost made him take a step back. But he’d known what the professor did, of course. Susanna stood in the doorway, wearing a plain navy gown covered with a heavy apron that was spotted with a dark brown substance—blood. Beyond her, he could see a room with many windows, oil lamps blazing, and a large slab of a table in the center of the room. The professor, gowned and spattered as well, stood over what could only be a man’s naked corpse.

Professor Leland glanced over his spectacles and saw Leo.

“Your husband needs you, Susanna,” he said. “I can do without you.”

“Thank you, Papa.” And then Susanna closed the door.

“These are the naked men you’ve seen,” Leo said slowly, as everything began to make sense.

She gave him a nervous smile. “Does it bother you? I have never told you what I do because even my family believes it to be quite . . . ghoulish.”

“What exactly do you do?”

She took off her apron and hung it from the doorknob, tossed her gloves nearby, and slid her hand through his arm as they walked down the hall. “I sketch father’s dissections in detail, the muscles and organs, so he has a record of what he’s done. He’s often put my work on display when he lectures,” she added proudly.

How Susanna must enjoy contributing to scientific achievement. When he smiled, the worry in her eyes faded away into happiness. He clasped her hand where it rested on his arm.

“Why did you feel you had to hide it?” he asked.

“I’ve been warned for many years not to bring it up, and I think the habit became ingrained in me. There are many superstitions regarding using the dead for such research. Years ago, my father was interrogated because of a crime committed by men he’d hired. It was a terrible scandal that tore my parents’ marriage asunder.”

She opened a door leading outside to the park, then led him to a bench surrounded by rosebushes.

Sitting down with a sigh, she continued, “My father’s studies consumed him, and much as my mother fell in love with his very differences, she did not realize what being the wife of a scientist would be like. They met when my grandfather—who enjoyed his own scandals—leased a cottage on the property to my father so he could work in peace. Papa paid his employees to purchase the corpses of criminals condemned to death, but it was much more difficult to find female bodies. Little did he know, but his employees had become resurrectionists.”

“They stole bodies from graves,” Leo said, nodding. “I heard about the scandal.”

The wind had picked up beneath gray skies and caught several auburn curls and swirled them across her forehead. He lightly tucked them behind her ear, and to his surprise, she shyly blushed.

“Go on,” he urged.

“When the scandal broke, he had committed no crime, but the notoriety was terrible. My mother was furious and appalled, from what I heard. I was a very young child, you see, so I knew nothing then. My parents only truly reconciled, putting aside their pride and long-held anger, just last year, after Matthew’s return.”

“So secrets kept them apart,” Leo murmured.

To his surprise, Susanna was searching his eyes as if looking for some truth. Did she suspect he kept things from her?

“Truly, your work for your father does not bother me,” he said.

Her shoulders seemed to slump a bit, but she didn’t look exactly . . . relieved. Curious.

“Good. Then I hope you will understand what I have to say next.”

She took a deep breath, as if fortifying herself, and Leo frowned.

“He’s approached a publisher with his work, and they would like to use my sketches. They need my permission, of course. And I would have to contribute a few new sketches as well.” She hesitated, watchful eyes on him. “I would hate to refuse him.”

“Are you asking for my permission?” A dozen different thoughts rotated in his brain, and he had trouble deciding which one should be the most important.

She sighed. “No. But I want you to be supportive of this book and my work because I’ve given much of my life to it, and it has such meaning for me.”

Unsaid was the fact that he’d given much of his life to . . . enjoying himself. That restlessness he’d been feeling had gone away since this seduction and his marriage to Susanna, but was marriage to a scandalous artist enough to replace it?

And if he didn’t like it, what was he supposed to do about it? Deny her? See the light in her eyes that he’d only just begun to inspire, disappear? He enjoyed her passions—all of them—and admired her dedication.

“Leo?” She said his name tentatively.

“How could I deny you my support?” he asked lightly, then gave an obvious shudder. “Fathers of brides frighten grooms.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

They spent several quiet minutes, watching the distant storm that slowly pushed graying clouds toward them. Leo hoped his reaction had given Susanna some peace, that her trust would truly flourish.

And then what? he thought, feeling uneasy. He’d never been in such a relationship before, of course. He wasn’t certain how one honored a woman’s trust. He never saw his own parents reconcile and come to love each other, as she had. But some part of him had always thought London had the answer. He’d been trusting in his return to what he knew best, the Society, the parties, all the things the
ton
did. He’d thought he would feel like himself and be able to find a way to live peaceably with his wife.

But once Susanna’s work came under public scrutiny, everything might very well change. He was used to being condemned for his own reckless choices—but watching Society treat Susanna harshly was not something he could tolerate. And he would no longer be the devil-may-care Leo Wade. But what would that make him?

Chapter 20

D
inner that evening was a more cordial affair, held in the intimate family dining room. Susanna felt noticeably lighter, glad that Leo knew her oldest secret, and was not appalled, that he supported her work with her father. Surely he now saw that he could trust her with his own secrets, and she was determined to bring up the subject, once they were away from her parents.

In London, she reminded herself, trying not to allow her happiness to deflate. London, where he had his wild crowd, and she had more sedate, intellectual friends. Her friends would come to understand her decisions, but
his
friends could very well make his life hell over what she was doing. He was supportive now, but would that change him over time? And why would he feel free to tell her about his reading problem, when he knew just how to cope, just how to pretend everything was all right? He’d been succeeding at that his whole life.

Lady Rosa seemed to sense Susanna’s troubled thoughts. “How long will you be staying with us, Mr. Wade?”

Because it was no longer her own decision, Susanna thought with resignation.

But before Leo could speak, Lady Rosa continued on. “Or will you be visiting your own estate before traveling on to London?”

Susanna almost fumbled her fork and just kept it from clattering to her plate. Leo had an estate? She turned to look at him, blinking, her face set in a pleasant mask to hide her turmoil from her parents. But he was watching her—a sure sign of guilt.

“My wife told me about your land, Mr. Wade,” the professor added. “I’m pleased to know that my daughter will have a home in the country to retreat to when London empties after the Season. Where is it?”

Leo cleared his throat. “Woodhill Manor is near St. Albans, Professor.”

Near Lord Bramfield’s estate—where they’d so recently been? Susanna thought, flustered. But . . . he’d said they’d live in London—with his brother—while they made a decision. Had he kept it a secret because he liked London better?

No, she knew him too well by now to suspect such petty motivation. She should be angry—but she wasn’t, only shocked and growing more and more curious about his motive for secrecy. Surely he knew she would have found out eventually. Or did he only want to live in London, leaving his estate under the management of a steward? Perhaps keeping his hands on the reins would involve too much reading, so he distanced himself from it.

She continued to eat dinner, watching the happy glances Lady Rosa sent her way. Her father and her husband discussed the agricultural pursuits of Woodhill Manor, and it was obvious Leo knew his estate well.

But he hadn’t planned to take her there anytime soon. She was certain of it.

When at last the meal was over, and she and her mother were leaving the men to their brandy and their intense discussion, Susanna smiled brightly at her parents, and said, “I’m so sorry we won’t be able to spend another evening like this. But I’m simply dying to see my new home, and Mr. Wade has promised to take me there next.”

Leo lounged back in his chair and eyed her speculatively. “I thought you wished to see your sister and Lady Elizabeth. You three have much to discuss.”

She waved a hand. “They’re deliriously happy and planning their weddings, according to Mama. They’d want me to see Woodhill Manor.”

Leo saluted her with his brandy glass. And if he looked a bit distant as he stared down into the swirling liquid, it only made her all the more eager. Lord Bramfield would have to make do without one of his carriages for a while longer. Susanna beamed at Leo, knowing that she was only a day or so away from finding out everything he’d been hiding from her.

A
s the carriage rumbled beneath them, Leo looked down at his wife, who slumped against his side in abandoned sleep.

He had kept her awake long into the night, he thought with satisfaction. Again, she’d insisted on the dark to cloak them. She was teasing him about the wager, using it against him—claiming that until she spoke with her sister and cousin, it wasn’t concluded yet.

But Leo had begun to think there were other reasons for her shyness in their bedroom. The wager might simply be an excuse. Did she think the worst of him, that he would find fault with her nudity? If that were true, he was certainly not gaining her trust. When would she be able to escape the insecurities of her past?

Or perhaps he was doing something wrong and needed to prove himself.

He was certainly proving something by agreeing to visit Woodhill Manor though he wasn’t certain what. He hadn’t been to the estate since childhood, when it had been held by a member of his father’s family but not entailed with the viscountcy.

And with his father’s death, it had become his own, but that still hadn’t made him want to return. His grandmother lived nearby, and it was easier to stay there, to amuse his relatives rather than be alone with only a few servants. He heard regular reports about the estate, of course, and would certainly never allow its mismanagement. But visit? The very thought never occurred to him.

For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder why and couldn’t come up with a reason.

It was late in the evening when they arrived, and the sun had already set, but that could not account for Leo’s strange feeling of unease when he saw the two-story manor of simple stone, with several dozen windows, instead of the hundreds that Madingley Court had. Woodhill Manor wasn’t a ducal palace; it had been the home of his bachelor uncle, who’d died many years before. Leo had told the history to Susanna on the journey, and she’d been far more fascinated than the story warranted, but he understood why—because he himself hadn’t spoken of the estate before now. His secrecy was suspect in her eyes, and even suspect in his.

Inside the house, Susanna walked through the rooms with the housekeeper, delighting in the snug drawing room, the many windows in the dining room, but especially the library. Leo trailed behind, pretending an ease he was far from feeling.

Up in the master bedroom, she continued chattering about her views of the house, and he was still amazed that she wasn’t angry with him. She fell into bed talking, would have continued if he hadn’t stopped her with a kiss.

He had trouble falling asleep, and although the nightmare didn’t return, his sleep seemed only oppressive and deep, as if in waiting.

S
usanna could have skipped with delight midmorning as she went to find Leo. The house was cozy and quaint, well cared for and lovely. Several tenants had stopped by with breads and jams and baked goods, all to welcome them to Woodhill Manor.

And it was very obvious they were curious about Leo. A farmer’s wife had actually whispered that she’d lived nearby for many years and never met him. It wasn’t all that unusual for wealthy men to own many different estates, some simply for revenue rather than as a residence. But this was Leo’s only property.

To her surprise, she found him in his study, account books spread out over the desk, and the steward, a lean blond man who was dressed as simply as a farmer, doing the talking, while Leo frowned out the window. The steward bowed and left them alone, and Susanna seated herself behind the desk.

“I am very good with mathematics, Leo.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he asked, wearing a wry smile.

“I’d like to help.”

“Of course.”

If she’d expected him to bristle, as other men might, she would have been mistaken. When would she ever understand him? she thought, her gaze roaming his desk.

And then she saw a book on Roman antiquities, opened to several sketches of an ancient bath, and it made her pause. He hadn’t wanted to see the remains at Bramfield Hall, but since then, in more than one museum, she’d seen his fascination. Perhaps this was a way to reach him.

“You want my help, Leo, and it makes me glad,” she said softly. She slid the book toward her, took a deep breath, and spoke. “Since you’ll accept my help with the estate, perhaps you’ll let me help you learn to read.”

He blinked at her for a long moment, and she found herself holding her breath. He could deny it—perhaps she’d see him in the first rage of their marriage. Or would he simply walk away, ruining their growing trust?

He gave her a tender smile, then leaned over and began to read the book, flawlessly translating into Latin, then German.

She gaped at him as her face heated with embarrassment.

He cupped her cheek. “Where did you come by the idea that I couldn’t read?”

She pushed his hand away and rose to face him. “You gave it to me! You don’t read papers or books. In museums, you don’t read the signs. I thought—I thought—” Words briefly failed her, and she realized she wasn’t even angry; she was terribly relieved. “But if you can read, and you were so brilliant as a child that you could take machines apart and put them back together, why did you reject more intellectual pursuits?”

“Other things have always interested me more than reading,” he said with a shrug. “Fencing, boxing, riding. And I like to be with people.”

“Cambridge,” she said softly, shaking her head. Of course he could not possibly have attended if his brother had done
all
his work.

He continued to smile at her, confusing her with his very handsomeness.

Oh, there was still more, she just knew it. She pointed to the book. “Then tell me about your fascination with Roman antiquities.”

“Fascination?” he said blankly.

“You reacted very strangely to the remains on Lord Bramfield’s estate. I’ve seen you looking several times at Roman artifacts or paintings when you accompany me to museums. And now this book, sitting right here open on your desk. It seems like a fascination to me.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a recent fascination, I imagine. It was something to look at.”

“You deliberately picked this book off a shelf, out of the very impressive library here at Woodhill Manor.”

With his casual behavior, she was beginning to wonder if even
he
understood what was going on.

He spread his hands wide. “What can I say? I was avoiding work. Surely, you cannot be surprised.”

She stared at him speculatively. Other men might be appalled at her deductions of illiteracy, or believe she’d thought him weak-minded. Not Leo.

And he hadn’t even been at Woodhill Manor a full day, and already he was looking for distractions rather than attending to the estate’s business. Was it the estate itself? she wondered.

Following her intuition, she said, “Well, if you’d like to avoid work, then let us go for a ride, and you can show me the grounds of your home.”

Leo leaned his hip on the desk in front of his wife, watching her, but trying to understand his own emotions. He wasn’t used to even thinking about them, so it all felt very strange. He found himself saying, “Woodhill Manor was never my home. In my mind, it’s still my uncle’s.”

The uncle he barely remembered, he thought in confusion. Why did he feel so resistant, so uneasy? He didn’t like being here. And even he couldn’t tell himself it was because he preferred London. There was more to it—but he didn’t know what.

“Are you saying you don’t wish to ride?” she inquired almost too politely.

“The steward is waiting to continue our meeting.”

She didn’t become angry, only said brightly, “Another time, then. I’ll go for a walk.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me.” As if Susanna would believe herself in need of a male escort. He tried to make it sound like a joke, as he said, “You know I wanted a wife who would obey her husband.”

She didn’t laugh. “And I wanted a husband who was curious about the world. It seems neither of us got what we wanted in this marriage.”

T
wo hours later, the steward had left at last, and Leo sat back, contemplating his satisfaction at how Woodhill Manor had flourished with his benign neglect. It was so quiet. Listening intently, he couldn’t even hear servants working nearby. He was used to the sound of London traffic, the smell of coal dust, the glitter of palaces near Hyde Park.

Here in Hertfordshire, he would become a country squire if he stayed for long, shooting his dinner with the locals and attending assemblies with girls who would pester him about his long-ago life in London. He’d always laughed about such men, had sworn never to become one.

And now he was married to a bluestocking who hated London. He sighed and looked out the window, not seeing the view. He was disappointing her, he knew, and that made an uncomfortable tightness grip his stomach. She wanted a husband “curious about the world,” and the notion made him smile sadly. With her curiosity, it was a wonder she hadn’t tried to become a scientist like her father. She believed she could do anything, and if it could happen with will alone, she would succeed. Whereas he knew—he could not.

“Leo!” Susanna rushed into the room and practically skidded to a stop in front of his desk.

He straightened. “What’s wrong?”

“I found a cave!”

He blinked at her, and some distant part of his brain seemed to toll like a warning bell, warding off ships from a rocky coast.