Slightly Married (21 page)

She smiled and curtsied while the faces of all three Knapps registered surprise, even shock.

“Your wife, Colonel?” Lady Knapp asked.

“Well, this is a devilish thing,” the general said. He coughed and appeared to recollect himself. “A devilish sudden thing. You did not breathe a word of your betrothal in the Peninsula, Bedwyn.”

“I met and married Eve after returning,” Aidan explained, taking her hand and setting it on his sleeve while wishing all the time that a large black hole would open at his feet and swallow him up.

“Well, Lady Aidan,” Lady Knapp said, “I wish you well. I hope you are prepared for some hardships when you follow the drum.”

“I will not be doing so, ma'am,” Eve said. “I will be remaining at home while Aidan is away.”

“Excuse me,” Miss Knapp said. “I see someone I know just disappearing into the next room. I must go and pay my respects.”

“I will come with you, Louisa,” Lady Knapp said.

“An officer needs his wife with him when he is in the field,” the general said with a stern look bent upon Aidan. “But if he chooses to marry someone who prefers to remain at home, I daresay society will applaud him. Good day to you, Bedwyn, Lady Aidan.” He strode away in pursuit of his wife and daughter.

Eve stared at Aidan and he stared back.

“What,” she asked him, “was that all about?”

“What?” he asked foolishly.

“They were severely discomposed by my appearance,” she said. “Yet they surely do not know who I am. It was not snobbery, then. What was it, Aidan?”

“As the general explained,” he said, “they are people who believe that officers should marry ladies who are willing to travel with them.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, “women who are already traveling with the armies and know what to expect of the life.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

Her jaw tightened and her voice dropped in volume.

“Were you betrothed to her?”

“No, of course not,” he said.

“There were expectations, though,” she said. “An understanding, perhaps? Similar to, if different in detail from, the one I had with John—with Viscount Denson?”

“There was never an understanding,” he said.

She continued to stare at him.

“Not a verbal one,” he said. “Nothing had been spoken between us, Eve. And nothing had been spoken between the general and me. There was merely perhaps a . . . a—”

“An expectation,” she said.

“Perhaps.”

“And yet you dared accuse me of lying when I did not tell you about Viscount Denson?”

“I had not bedded Miss Knapp,” he said.

She recoiled almost as if he had struck her. He had not meant it like that. He had merely meant to suggest that the secret she had kept from him had been of more significance than his secret because she had loved the man and committed her very body to him.

“Eve—” he said, but she had turned sharply away and was hurrying over to rejoin Freyja and Alleyne, who were in conversation with some chance-met acquaintances.

Lord! Aidan thought. Deuce take it, could there never be any lasting peace between them?

But did it matter when in a few days' time they would no longer be together?

It mattered, he thought unwillingly. It mattered.

T
OMORROW,
E
VE DECIDED ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, SHE
was going to announce her intention of returning home. She had decided it after the dreadful realization at the Royal Academy that when he had persuaded her to marry him, Aidan had already been attached to another woman, so attached that her whole family had clearly expected a declaration at any moment. And the woman concerned was a general's daughter who had followed the drum with her mother. It surely would have been a perfect match for them both.

Eve had felt slightly nauseated ever since. She was missing everyone at home so much that it hurt. Her arms ached for her children. She was missing Ringwood itself. She was nervous about the state dinner. She was depressed by the discovery she had made four days ago that she was not with child and at the same time glad that there would not now be
that
complication in her life. She was weary of the endless round of social activities, which might have been exciting under other circumstances. She was tired of dodging John, whom she saw frequently and who was constantly trying to draw her away on her own with him.

Most of all she was horribly depressed at the unwilling knowledge that she was in love with Aidan. More than anything else she wanted to go home, the inevitable parting over and done with. She wanted to get her life back to normal, to begin to forget, to lick her wounds in private, to concentrate all her love on her children.

Tomorrow, the Carlton House dinner finally a thing of the past, she was going to tell Aidan and the duke that she was returning home. She would go by stage the following morning. The duke would argue, of course—or rather he would try to issue commands, but she would remain adamant. She was so terribly
weary
.

Besides, Aidan must be as desperate to be rid of her as she was to go.

“I will take my leave, then, Bewcastle,” Aunt Rochester announced, getting to her feet. “It would be unpardonable to be late for the dinner at Carlton House.”

They were at tea, all of them, in the drawing room at Bedwyn House. Aunt Rochester had returned there after accompanying Eve and Freyja on a brief shopping expedition to purchase some last-minute accessories for their evening finery—and Eve had bought a book each for the three children. The conversation all day had been about nothing except the coming evening. All the foreign dignitaries had indeed arrived yesterday. If they had waited by the bridge instead of going to Somerset House, they would have seen Field Marshal Blücher being mobbed by the crowd and his carriage de-horsed and dragged off to Carlton House, where he had been carried bodily inside.

“None of us will be late,” the Duke of Bewcastle said, rising with the other gentlemen. “Freyja and Lady Aidan may wish to leave the room with you, aunt, in order to retire to their rooms for a rest.”

Freyja uttered her peculiar derisive snort at the very thought, but Eve got gratefully to her feet.

“I believe I will do that,” she said. Her stomach was still feeling queasy, but she rather thought it was with nervousness this time. In a few hours' time she was going to be entering Carlton House. She would see the queen and the Prince Regent and half the rulers and leading men of Europe. She would be sitting down to dinner with them all. How would she keep herself from collapsing into a quivering heap?

“Oh, Eve,” Alleyne called as Aidan opened the door for her and his aunt. “I have just remembered that I have been carrying a letter of yours in my pocket for half the day. I took it from Fleming this morning, thinking I would be seeing you, but you had gone out already. Here it is.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him and taking the letter. “I thought there was none today.” She glanced down at Thelma's familiar writing.

She kicked off her shoes as soon as she reached the gold suite and withdrew all the pins from her hair. She shook her head and sighed. She was indeed going to have a sleep before getting dressed for the evening. She wished suddenly that she could just wave a magic wand and have it over with. But it would be a splendid story to tell at home. Was the Prince Regent as obese as he was reputed to be? Was the queen's conversation as tedious as Freyja said it was? Could any of the foreign dignitaries speak English well?

She sank onto the sofa to read her letter before retiring to her bedchamber. It was shorter than usual, she saw with some disappointment as she broke the seal. But no matter. In a few days' time she would be home with them. She began to read.

A few moments later she leapt to her feet, staring down in horror at the letter as if expecting to discover that she had deciphered the words all wrong. But with a welling of mindless panic she knew that she had not. She turned and stumbled toward the door, fumbled with the handle, and then dashed along the corridor and down the stairs and along to the drawing room without even realizing what she did or how she looked. She turned the handle before an attendant footman could get there ahead of her, and went hurtling into the room.

Solid safety was just a few feet away and even at that moment getting to its feet. Except that as she rushed toward it, she knew there was no safety. No one could help.

“Aidan,” she cried. “I have to go. I have to go.”

His arms closed about her like iron bands, giving again for a moment the illusion of safety. But only for a moment. Panic was upon her.

“What is it?” he was asking over and over. “What is the matter? What has happened?”

“The ch-ch-ch—” Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

“Easy,” he said. He kept one arm firmly about her. The forefinger and thumb of the other hand came beneath her jaw to lift it and hold it steady. He captured her gaze and held it with his own. “Easy, love. Tell me what has happened and I will set it right for you.”

Foolish words. Ah, foolish words.

“He has taken them,” she said, part of her brain recognizing that she was wailing. “He has taken them away and I cannot g-g-get them b-b-back.”

“Who?” he asked her, his voice maddeningly calm. “Who has taken whom?”

“C-C-Cecil,” she said. “He has taken the ch-ch-children and I cannot have them back. He is their r-r-relative and I am not. And I ab-b-b . . . I abandoned them. I have to go. I have to go and get them. They will be so f-f-frightened.”

“So he has found a way of hitting back, has he?” he said. “We will see about that. You will have them returned. I warned him what to expect if he set foot on your property again.”

“No, but you do not understand,” she said, flourishing her letter, which was balled up in one of her fists. “He had them fetched. He went to the magistrate and had them declared his wards. He will not give them back. I know him. I have to go.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “Take a few deep breaths. Panic never accomplishes anything.”

“Might it be suggested,” a cool, haughty voice asked, “that you take Lady Aidan to her room to rest, Aidan? She will need to recover her composure before this evening.”

“But I have to go.” Eve turned her head to stare at the duke, and struggled out of Aidan's arms. “Now. I have to go home to Ringwood without a moment's delay. The children will be frantic.”

“It is out of the question,” the duke said, “for you to absent yourself from the Carlton House dinner, Lady Aidan, after the invitation has been issued and accepted. Besides, setting out on a lengthy journey this late in the day is not a sensible thing to do. If you feel that your presence in Oxfordshire is going to change what you declare to be unchangeable, then Aidan will escort you there tomorrow in my carriage. I suggest that you rest now.”

“No—” she began, but Aidan took her hand in his and drew it firmly through his arm, interrupting her as he did so.

“Eve wishes to return home now,” he said. “And now is when she will go. I will take her.”

“You will do as I say,” the duke said.

“No.” Aidan's voice was crisp. “Not on this, Wulf. My wife's needs take precedence over either duty or family loyalty. You will make our excuses this evening if you feel it necessary.”

No one spoke a word as he led Eve from the room.

Half an hour later they were on their way to Ringwood Manor in a hired carriage.

CHAPTER XVIII

T
HEY HAD BEEN FORCED BY A SEVERE RAIN- AND
thunderstorm to put up at an inn for several hours, though they had not slept. Eve had paced their room, unwilling to lie down or to eat or even to talk. They arrived at Ringwood early on a chill, damp morning.

Everyone was already up, and in the manner of things at Ringwood, all came tumbling out of the house and stables to greet the new arrivals, all talking at once. The dog bobbed around, barking and unrebuked. But finally they were in the downstairs parlor, where a fire had been lit against the dampness and chill, and the hatchet-faced housekeeper carried in a tray of tea. She poured and handed the cups around and then took up her stand before the closed door, her hefty arms crossed over her chest. No one told her to leave.

Aidan left his tea on a table and crossed to the window. Mrs. Pritchard was weeping, Eve was trying to comfort her, and the governess was blaming herself for allowing the children to be taken despite the fact that the aunt, through her sobs, insisted that she had had no choice—none of them had. The dog had its chin in Eve's lap, alternately panting and whining.

That weasel Cecil Morris had plotted his revenge well. A man of small stature and weak, self-indulged frame, he doubtless knew that he stood no chance of winning any sort of physical contest against Eve's male protectors or even against Eve and her housekeeper for that matter. And so he had devised another plan altogether and gone running to a magistrate to claim legal guardianship of the orphaned children, who were related to him in some way on the maternal side. Then he had sent the parish constable with four burly assistants to fetch the children from Ringwood.

“Agnes broke Will Perkins's nose with her fist,” Miss Rice said. “There was blood everywhere, Eve. We would all have thought he was dead if he had not been bellowing so loudly. And Charlie head-butted Mr. Biddle in the stomach. But he had the papers, you see, signed by the Earl of Luff, and there was no arguing with those. Besides, it would have been more alarming for Becky and Davy if they had seen fighting. Mrs. Pritchard persuaded us all to quiet down before they were sent for. Mr. Biddle sent Will Perkins home.”

“I mopped up the blood myself before the children were brought down,” the housekeeper said, not waiting to be addressed before speaking up. “But I would as soon have broke
all
their noses, my lamb, and their heads too. The cowardly curs—five burly men to take away two little babies.”

“You would have been arrested, Agnes,” Mrs. Pritchard said, having blown her nose in her handkerchief and brought herself under control. “They would have dragged you off to jail.”

“Well, that wouldn't have been anything new, mum,” the housekeeper said, unabashed.

Aidan looked over his shoulder at the woman with reluctant approval. She really would have made a splendid and loyal sergeant had she not had the misfortune to be born a woman.

“How were they?” Eve's voice was shaking, though she was not weeping. She had not wept at all. After her near-hysteria in Wulf's drawing room, she had been withdrawn, tense, and uncommunicative. “How were they wh-wh-when they were taken away?”

“I told them they were going to spend a short holiday with their aunt, who was eager to see them,” Miss Rice explained. “I told them it would be just while you were away, Eve. It would be fun, I said.”

“But they knew,” Mrs. Pritchard said mournfully in her singsong Welsh accent. “They weren't fooled for a moment. Davy was white about the mouth and Becky's eyes were huge enough to fill her face. And it was not just because Nanny Johnson had told them there were some bad men passing through the county and that was why Mr. Biddle and his men had come to escort them safely to their aunt's. Ah, my heart is sore with the memory of it.”

“My children. Oh, my poor babies.”

The pain in Eve's voice took away all sense of melodrama from her words. For perhaps the first time Aidan realized the full extent of her attachment to the orphans she had taken in. They were not just lame ducks to her. They were family. She could not have been more upset if they had been her own.

She leapt to her feet suddenly. “Why am I sitting here, sipping tea and warming myself by the fire?” she cried. “I have to go to them. I have to bring them home. They must be so frightened.”

“I'll come with you, my lamb,” the housekeeper offered. “I'll take that Morris fellow by the neck and tie a knot in it.”

“Agnes, dear,” Mrs. Pritchard said reprovingly.

Aidan turned to face the room and cleared his throat. He had everyone's attention instantly.

“The Earl of Luff is the magistrate here?” he asked.
Denson's father.

“Yes, he is, Colonel,” Mrs. Pritchard said.

“It is to him we must direct an appeal, then,” he said. “There is no point in visiting your cousin, Eve, and appealing to his better nature. I strongly suspect that he does not have one. And there is no point in blustering and bullying. He has the law on his side. The law will uphold him even more firmly if you are seen to be belligerent—or if your servants are.”

“See here—” the housekeeper began.

Aidan bent his coldest, haughtiest stare on her. “The ladies have finished with the tea tray,” he said. “You may remove it and busy yourself with your usual morning activities.”

She glared back at him, and for an interested moment he thought she was going to prove stronger than any man he had ever had under his command—he thought she was going to argue. Instead she strode forward, gathered up the cups with a great deal of clattering, picked up the tray, and left the room without another word.

“Poor Agnes,” Eve said. “She wants to help.”

“She
may
help,” he said, “by doing her job and keeping the household running smoothly. You and I will call upon the Earl of Luff, Eve. Allow me to escort you to your room so that you may freshen up and change your clothes.”

Mrs. Pritchard sighed. “Oh, I knew that if only you would come, Colonel, all would be well,” she said.

He took Eve upstairs and stopped outside her room with her before proceeding to the guest room where he had stayed before.

“It is still early,” he said. “Would you like to sleep for a few hours before we go out?”

She shook her head. “I could not sleep,” she said. “I will not be able to rest until I have my children home. But Aidan, I cannot embroil you further in the sordid crises of my life. There is so little of your leave left, and you have not had the freedom to enjoy any of it properly yet. You must return to London or to Lindsey Hall. You must not worry about—”

He set a finger across her lips. “I will see this thing through to the end,” he said. “When I leave you, I will leave you safe and secure and happy.”

“Because of your vow to Percy?” she asked.

“Because you are my wife.”

She drew breath to speak, and he thought she was going to argue the matter in her usual way. But she merely nodded and turned to let herself into her room.

When I leave you
. It would be soon now, within a day or two, once the children were back home where they belonged. He would return to London and enjoy what was left of his two months in England. He would be unencumbered at last, almost free again. He would recover the life that was long familiar to him. But first, he thought grimly, letting himself into the guest room and ringing for hot water for a wash and shave, there was Luff to tackle.

When I leave you . . .

D
IDCOTE
P
ARK, COUNTRY SEAT OF THE
E
ARL OF
L
UFF,
was a property on which Eve had never before set foot, even though it was not far from Ringwood. Invitations to social events at the house were issued only to those families who were of indisputably gentle birth. Her father, with all his wealth, had never come close to qualifying.

The house was an elegant, perfectly proportioned Georgian mansion. It was where John had grown up—his home. But Eve had few thoughts to spare for him.

“What if the earl refuses to receive us?” she asked.

“Refuses?” Aidan looked at her with obvious surprise. “Why would he refuse?”

“I am,” she reminded him, “the daughter of a Welsh coal miner.”

“And the wife of a Bedwyn,” he said.

How different their perceptions of reality were, she thought. As the son and brother of the Duke of Bewcastle, it would never occur to him that he might be refused admittance to even the grandest of stately homes. And of course he never would be.

“What if he will not listen to us?”

“Why would he not?” he asked. “It is his duty as a magistrate to listen.”

How could she explain to him what it was like not to be of the privileged aristocratic class, not to have the power or influence to be confident of the outcome of a visit such as the one they were paying? The Earl of Luff knew her as the woman whose father had had the effrontery to suggest a marriage alliance between their families.

“What if he says no?” she asked. “What if he refuses to change his mind?”

“We will see to it,” he said, “that that does not happen. If you expect the worst, Eve, the worst is what you usually get. Ah, here we are.”

He helped her alight while Sam Patchett rattled the door knocker. Her knees felt weak, and her stomach was queasy even though she had eaten no breakfast and even though she had worn one of her smart new carriage dresses for confidence. Aidan was wearing his dress uniform.

“Colonel Bedwyn and Lady Aidan Bedwyn to see the Earl of Luff,” he told the porter who answered Sam's knock. He cupped Eve's elbow and led her into the entrance hall, unbidden.

She had always coveted her independence. She might normally resent the confident manner in which he took charge. But this morning she was grateful for it. If she was doing this alone, she would probably be on her way back home by now, the door of Didcote firmly closed behind her. His confidence was obviously well founded. After a mere two or three minutes of waiting in the hall, they were escorted to a downstairs room that turned out to be a library, and were bowed inside.

The Earl of Luff was rising from behind a huge oak desk. He was an older version of John, his blond hair now gray and thinning on top, but he was still a distinguished looking man.

“Colonel Bedwyn?” he said. “Lady Aidan? This is an unexpected pleasure. Do have a seat. May I offer you something to drink? Or would you prefer tea, ma'am?” His eyes had swept over her with bland courtesy.

“Neither, thank you, my lord,” Eve said.

“Ah,” he said. “What about you, Bedwyn? Brandy? Claret? Something else?”

“Nothing.” Aidan held up his hand. He indicated a seat to Eve, and they both sat. She felt almost dizzy with anxiety and exhaustion.

“Well, then.” The earl seated himself in a leather armchair and crossed one leg over the other. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Surely he must know. They could have only one reason for being here.

“I want my children back,” Eve said, hearing in dismay that her voice was thin and shaking. “You let Cecil Morris take them from me. But they are mine. They belong at Ringwood. They are happy there. I want them back.”

He lifted his eyebrows in apparent surprise. “Are you referring to Morris's young cousins?” he asked. “The children your household would not allow to return home to him, ma'am, because you were not there to give your permission? It was a simple matter of dealing with your absence.”

“Home?” she said. “They
were
home. They live with me. And my household was not consulted until Mr. Biddle and four other men came to take the children forcibly away. They belong at Ringwood.”

“Pardon me, ma'am,” he said, “but what is your relationship to the children in question?”

She felt the knife thrust of a deeper fear.

“None,” she admitted, “except that I am Cecil's cousin on his father's side. But it is with me that they live.”

“It is my understanding that they are orphans,” the earl said, “and that they were sent to live with their relative, Mr. Cecil Morris. He explained to me that you kindly opened your home to them during an indisposition of Mrs. Morris, his mother, and that during that time you left them alone while you went to town to enjoy the pleasures of the Season with your new husband.”

“I did not leave them alone!” she exclaimed. “I—”

“Perhaps, sir,” Aidan said, “since there is some dispute over who has a claim to the charge of these orphans, you would reopen the case and listen to the arguments of both sides.”

“But it would appear,” the earl said, “that all the rights are on the side of Mr. Morris.”

“They are
not
!” Eve cried. “He does not even
want
the children.”

“Then he has a strange way of showing it, ma'am,” he said, frowning.

“Will you at least listen to my wife's side of the story?” Aidan asked, sounding infuriatingly calm, almost bored. “These children are important to her. She has cared for them for the better part of a year and thinks of them as her own.”