The Improper Wife (6 page)

A distressed Lady Caufield swept into the room with the squalling infant in her arms. “Maggie, I cannot quiet him.”

“I’ll take him,” Maggie said, simultaneously relieved at being reunited with her baby and escaping Captain Grayson. She scooped him away and rushed from the room without another word.

“Well!” Tess said.

Gray took a breath, attempting to regain his composure. He shook his head and looked over to find Tess regarding him quizzically.

“Did you and Maggie have a chance to talk, then?” She gave him a smile that revealed her coquettish dimple.

He frowned. “What are you driving at, Tess?”

“I thought perhaps you might settle things.” Her smile faded and a small crease appeared on her brow.

“There is nothing to settle, Tess.”

The baron walked into the room, and Gray was spared further protestations.

“Gray, good to see you.” The baron offered Gray a firm handshake before turning to his wife and giving her a kiss. “Tess, you look ravishing as usual.”

She giggled with pleasure.

“Might I have a few moments of your time, Harry?” Gray was eager to leave this house and the disturbance of seeing Miss Smith again.

“I believe I shall check on Maggie.” Tess swished out of the room.

Gray and Harry removed themselves to the library.

“I have some fine claret, Gray,” said Harry. “Are you interested?”

Might as well start drinking now as later,
Gray thought. “Certainly.”

Harry picked up a crystal decanter from the side table, poured a glass, and handed it to Gray.

“Now, what is this about, Gray? You have matters to discuss?”

Gray swirled the ruby liquid in his glass before taking a sip. How was he to explain to his cousin?

“I leave for the Peninsula tomorrow, Harry.”

“I see you are prepared.” His cousin gestured to his uniform. “Will you not be visiting Summerton Hall before you sail?”

“Summerton?” Gray nearly choked on his claret. “What the devil makes you think I’d even consider it?”

Harry peered at him, looking like every self-righteous schoolboy who’d ever ratted on him at school. “Because you ought to make the visit, Gray. How long has it been?”

Gray straightened. “Since the day my father told me to never again darken his door.”

“Oh, fiddle,” Harry said. “You must know your father spoke in anger. I am sure he misses you very much.”

Gray gulped his drink. “Has he said so to you?”

Harry tapped on the stem of his glass. “No, not exactly, but dash it, Gray, he is your father.”

Gray stood and walked to the shelves, running his finger along the leather bindings of the books. Thucydides. Ovid. Sophocles.

“I defied him, Harry. You must know my father has no intention of forgiving such a transgression. I purchased my colors against his wishes, and he banished me from his lands and his life. It was a fair trade.”

Harry sighed. “I confess I do not understand either of you, but never mind. I will not tease you further.” He rose to pour Gray more claret. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“Your houseguest.”

Harry’s brows twitched, and he smiled. “I see.”

“Damn it, Harry. You do not see at all.” Gray walked over to the window. “I will not try to convince you that there is no obligation on my part regarding Maggie Smith, as she calls herself, but there is not.”

“What is her name, then?” Harry said ingenuously.

“How the devil should I know?” Gray said. “It is no business of mine what game she plays. She can go to perdition for all I care.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that, Gray?”

Gray rubbed his brow. “No, I suppose not, because I have decided to assist her. For reasons of my own, I assure you. It has nothing to do with her.” This was his pact with God. He would assist Maggie Smith in order to atone for Rosa. But he could not explain that to Harry.

“Very well. Whatever you wish, Gray.” Harry raised his palms.

Gray walked over to his cousin and pulled a leather envelope from his jacket. “Here is some money to help her get settled, to find the baby’s father. I must leave arrangements to you, Harry. I hope you will agree to assist her.”

“Find the father. Of course,” said Harry with some sarcasm. He examined the contents of the envelope through his quizzing glass. “This is dashed generous of you, Gray.”

Gray glared at him. “I’ll not starve.”

Harry carefully replaced the bank draft into the envelope and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”

“One more thing, Harry,” Gray said.

“Yes?”

“I do not wish her to know about this.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “How am I to explain, then?”

“I do not care what you say.” Gray walked back to the table and finished the glass of claret. “Tell her the money is from you. It matters not to me. But give me your word on it.”

Harry stood. “Of course, it shall be as you wish, but—”

“I must leave.” Gray extended his hand to his cousin.

Harry caught him in a hug instead. Patting Gray’s back, Harry said, “Take care, Gray. Take care.”

Gray extricated himself, touched by his cousin’s genuine concern. He stretched his mouth into a grin. “I always do.”

A moment later, when Gray reached the pavement outside his cousin’s house, he paused to breathe in the cool air. God ought to agree he’d done well. Perhaps it would take only one bottle of brandy to sleep this night.

Almost lighthearted, as if a bag of cannonballs had been lifted off his shoulder, he placed his shako on his head, and turned back toward the house. His eye caught a figure in the upper-floor window. The mother held the baby and rocked it slowly in her arms. When she turned to the window, she stilled, and he had the sense she’d seen him.

He could not move, until she turned and disappeared from his sight. He took a breath and strode purposefully toward St. James Street.

After his cousin left, Baron Caufield pulled the leather envelope from his pocket and examined the contents once more.

By God, Gray had given this woman a nice piece of change. If she were very frugal she could live for a year on this sum. What foxed Harry was why Gray did all this for a woman with whom he vowed he had no connection. It was not to be believed.

He stared into his claret, musing on when and where Gray might have met the girl. She did not look the sort who would have visited the Peninsula. He must have met her some other place. Gray had visited England in the last year, had he not? The trip had been brief, so brief he’d not managed more than a short note to Harry at the time.

Harry counted the months on his fingers. Yes, it was very likely Gray had met her on that trip. He’d have sailed back to Spain without knowing he’d gotten her with child. It fit very well.

The door swung open and Tess dashed into the room. “Harry, thank goodness you are here.”

“Of course I am here, my dear. Where else might I be?”

She skipped back to the door and peered into the hallway before shutting it. “I have something to show you!” she exclaimed. “I must hurry, because she does not know I have found it. Indeed, I was merely trying to help her unpack her portmanteau. She does accept so little help, I believe—”

Harry waved his hand at her. “What is it, Tess?”

She handed him a rolled up paper. “Marriage papers. She is married to him!”

Harry unrolled the paper and read carefully. “My God.” He released its end so that it curled again. “This I did not expect.”

“Nor I,” admitted his wife. “Although, one could tell there was a past between them. If you could see how they look at each other. I declare, I was suspicious from the first. I mean, why would she come to him, and so close to her time? Why allow any man near you, except—well, you do see what I mean.”

“Indeed,” agreed Harry. “Gray gave me no inkling of this turn of events. It makes some sense now, I believe.”

Tess unraveled the papers again. “This is his signature, is it not?”

Harry pulled out the bank draft from the envelope in his pocket and compared the signatures. “It appears to be.”

“I would wager this is her real name.
Margaret Delaney.
” Tess pointed to it. “Maggie Smith is a false name, I think.”

Harry gave her a fond smile. “Do you?”

“I do.” She nodded seriously. “What are we to do?”

“This does change things, does it not, Tess?” Harry pondered.

“It does,” his wife agreed. She stared at the paper again. “She is married to him.”

Harry stood up and began pacing. Tess rolled up the papers again. The marriage papers. Harry had not conceived that Gray had actually married the girl. He did not seem so generous now. He ought to have acknowledged her as his wife and settled her comfortably.

That was badly done of him. Dishonorable. If Gray were still present he would give him a well-deserved tongue-lashing.

Harry tapped his lips with his fingers as he paced.

“Say something, Harry,” his wife cried. “What must we do? I think I should tell Maggie we know her secret, but if I do, she will know I’ve rummaged through her possessions. She would not like it, would she?” She began pacing as well.

The two of them crisscrossed the room like skaters on a pond.

Harry stopped. “I have it, Tess!”

“Have what, dear? I thought we were seeking a solution to this dilemma.” Tess looked puzzled.

“But I have the solution!” Harry marched over to her and grabbed her hands, bringing them to his lips.

Tess smiled and blushed as prettily as if she were still the ingénue he’d fallen in love with years ago.

“I believe that we must undo the wrong Gray has done,” Harry began. “It is our obligation.”

“I am sure it is,” Tess said, adoration in her eyes. “But how?”

Harry was certain he looked as wise as he felt. “Where should a soldier’s wife reside while she waits for his return?”

“Well, my former schoolmate, Horatia Bromley—do you recall her, Harry? She had a large nose, but otherwise was perfectly amiable—she married a military man, who is now a colonel, I believe.” She placed a finger on her cheek and tilted her head. “Or is it a general? I cannot recall. Anyway, when he went to the colonies, she remained at the family estate, his father and mother still lived, you see, and she stayed with them, even though her husband was the younger son, not the heir at all. He was a shocking man. Spent most of his time in those gambling places, I think. What do you call them, dear?”

“Gaming hells.” Harry smiled at her. “And you have the right of it, my love. We shall take Maggie and the child to where they belong. When Gray returns, he will have to seek her there and that will bring him back to where he belongs as well.”

Tess blinked up at him. “Where, dearest?”

Harry squeezed her hands. “We will take Gray’s wife and child to the place and people Gray has neglected these many years. To Summerton Hall. To his father.”

Chapter
FOUR

T
he traveling carriage, in spite of its well-sprung design, weaved and bumped its way down roads roughened by recent rains. Maggie braced herself against the red velvet upholstery, arms weary from tightly clutching the baby to keep him from lurching out of her grasp. At one month of age he was still so tiny, much too young and fragile for such a journey.

When the baron and baroness desired to quit London for the summer, Maggie had no choice but to accompany them. She had no other place to go. Indeed, she was fortunate they cared enough to invite her. Both had been so kind. What would she and her baby have done without their help?

She shivered, though the bright sunshine of the country-side kept the interior of the carriage comfortably warm. Lady Caufield dozed. Her mouth opened slightly as she snuggled herself in the opposite corner of the carriage, crushing the willow-green satin ribbons and violet silk flowers of her straw bonnet. The sun filtering through the window bathed her face with a soft light, making her appear as peaceful and innocent as the sleeping baby. Maggie smiled in spite of her discomfort. There was nothing peaceful about Lady Caufield, whose incessant chatter, good-natured as it was, fatigued Maggie almost more than the bouncing and swaying of the carriage.

Maggie gave her knuckles a mental rap, all she could manage at present with arms full. Such unkind thoughts, however fleeting, were undeserved. All these dear people had done was help. In fact, yesterday and today, the baroness had held the baby nearly as long as she. Thank goodness he was asleep as well. If not for the aching of her arms, Maggie might have savored the momentary calm.

Instead, her nose wrinkled. Wafting up from the basket at her feet came the sour scent of soiled nappies. No wonder Lord Caufield had chosen to ride, rather than share the dubious comforts of the carriage. After two days cooped up in it, Maggie envied him.

She leaned toward the window, trying to fill her lungs with fresh country air. It was glorious to be in the country again, with its clover-filled hills all white and pink with flower.

Maggie was grateful that the baron’s lands were in the east country, far from Gloucestershire, where she would always fear encountering someone she knew. It was much safer to be Maggie Smith, rather than the pregnant Maggie Delaney, sent away at the same time the young officer was drowned. At least that was how she imagined it. After she left, his body would have been found all white and bloated as . . . as . . .

Tears suddenly blurred the green hills and their dottings of flowers.

The swollen, disfigured bodies of her mother, father, and seven-year-old brother, their dear, familiar features made grotesque by the ravages of the Severn River, swam before her eyes.

Her father, the impoverished third son of an Irish landowner, had struggled to provide for his wife and children. He’d been enthusiastic about his new post as schoolmaster. Maggie’s high-born mother, banished from her family when she married Sean Delaney, had joyfully accepted the role of a schoolmaster’s wife. Maggie, at nine years old, had merely been grateful for the house provided for them. On that fateful day she’d chosen to remain in the tiny house rather than join her father, mother, and brother on an excursion to Gloucester Cathedral.