The Improper Wife (8 page)

“You had your hands full,” he added, helpfully. He turned to Lady Palmely, his smile becoming wistful. “Were you formally introduced to Viscountess Palmely?”

The lady in question raised her head at the mention of her name and said, “We met.”

“It will be nice for you to have some female company at Summerton, won’t it, Olivia?” His voice became even more gentle than before.

“Yes,” she said without inflection. “It will.”

Maggie longed to ask Sir Francis about this family. He, at least, appeared to be a comfortable companion. The earl had been near apoplexy since she’d been introduced as his son’s wife, and the Lady Palmely looked haunted. Maggie regarded her. She had a fragile beauty, blond hair pulled up into a severe knot on top of her head. She was too pale and too thin, and the gray dress did nothing to enhance her appearance.

Maggie attempted conversation. “I seem to remember a little boy when we arrived.” A pale-faced lad of six or seven, she’d guessed, pulling at the arm of a nanny. “Is that your son?”

“It is,” the wraith responded.

Usually mothers loved to talk about their children, but Lady Palmely said no more. Maggie tried again to engage her.

“Will . . . will your husband be joining us for dinner?” she asked.

Lady Palmely’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head, hiding her face with one hand.

“The viscount died of the fever,” Sir Francis said in a quiet voice. “You didn’t know?”

Maggie felt stricken. It explained Lady Palmely’s gray dress. Half-mourning. “No, I am so sorry, madam. I did not know.”

“Gray did not mention it?” Sir Francis’s eyebrows lifted.

Maggie felt her cheeks flush. “No.”

How would she know anything of Captain Grayson’s family? It was folly to suppose she could succeed at this masquerade. Already her ignorance had caused poor Lady Palmely distress.

Sir Francis bestowed a sympathetic look on Lady Palmely, who dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “It happened a little over six years ago, before Gray left for Spain.”

Six years ago? And his wife still wore gray and looked as if she were mourning a loss of a few days? What sort of people were these?

Lady Caufield entered at that moment. “Ah, here you all are. Well, not all of you. Harry and the earl are not here yet. I suppose they will be coming along soon. I hope anyway. They say women talk too much, but, I declare, men do go on and on.”

Again the earl’s voice penetrated into the room. The phrase “that damned fool” was clearly audible.

Lady Caufield remained undaunted. “See? What nonsense. I’m sure dinner is waiting.” She fluttered over to the window as if that would somehow make her husband and his uncle cease their argument and restore enough harmony for the meal to commence.

“I’m sure Lord Summerton will be about soon,” said Sir Francis. “He likes a prompt meal.”

Sure enough, the earl stalked into the parlor a few minutes later, followed by his nephew. Once in the room, he stood with one fisted hand pressed against his hip and the other clasping his ebony cane so tightly his knuckles were white. He glared at Maggie. She’d done nothing to deserve this man’s wrath. Or, at least, nothing he knew about. Nevertheless, she refused to cower. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, not gray like his son’s, but an unfriendly pale brown.

“Parker knows we are ready for dinner. No need for him to announce it.”

Lady Palmely rose and took the old man’s arm, the baron and baroness came next, then Maggie escorted by Sir Francis.

The dining room was dominated by a long mahogany table with chairs enough to seat twelve. The six place settings were all at one end. The party slowed as the earl hobbled to the head of the table past the long sideboard of the same dark wood.

When he reached his chair he pointed a bony finger at Maggie. “You girl, you sit here.” He pounded the place next to him.

Maggie did as she was told. Harry Caufield took the chair opposite her, avoiding her eye.

The food was placed on the table,
à la français.
Lord Summerton gestured to Maggie to serve the soup from the tureen sitting in front of him.

Before she’d had time to pass bowls to the others, the earl dipped his spoon into his soup. After one noisy slurp he banged the spoon against his bowl. “Parker, this soup is too hot.”

The butler stood in the corner of the room, his face expressionless. “My apologies, your lordship.”

“Well, don’t stand there, man,” the earl barked at the butler. “Leave us.”

Parker bowed and left the room.

Lord Summerton ate with single-minded absorption. Lady Palmely picked at her food. Lord Caufield’s thoughts seemed miles away. Only Sir Francis and Lady Caufield made stabs at conversation. Maggie felt a searing anger. Irrational, because she was certainly not blameless in this charade, but Lord Summerton’s patent rejection of her and her son enraged her. Why should he dislike her so? He could not know her, except as his son’s wife. Was that enough to despise her?

His lordship cleaned his plate, wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, and leaned back in his chair. He peered at Maggie through slitted eyes.

“Were you increasing? Was that it? Was that why that scapegrace son of mine married you?”

Maggie felt her cheeks grow hot. Educated with society’s daughters and living on its fringe as a ladies companion, she’d never heard such a question addressed during a meal. Lewd remarks were confined to hallways and gardens when one was unaccompanied and unfortunate enough to encounter a man looking for sport. Her birth was respectable, though her station in life was not, and she refused to think herself as undeserving of good manners. Indeed, no woman, no matter what her birth, should suffer such treatment.

She lifted her chin. “You insult me, sir. And your son.”

The earl glared at her. “You do not deny it, I see.”

Maggie took a breath and held it. She ought to remain silent. Meekness and passivity were demanded of her as a companion. She’d thought those traits worthy of a wife as well, but where had they gotten her? Had she not waited so long for her husband to come see her, had she informed his superior officer, his duplicity might have been exposed and he’d have been forced to marry her legitimately.

Somehow that did not seem any more desirable an outcome than this.

“Ha, ha!” Lord Summerton added triumphantly.

She could not leave the impression that his son had misused her. Surely Captain Grayson did not deserve that. Her knowledge of him was limited to their two strange encounters. The first time, he’d looked like a man who could do more than deflower a maiden, but that was also the day he’d safely delivered her baby. She owed the captain everything.

“I do deny it.” Let meekness fly, she figured. “You, sir, owe me and your son an apology for your uncivil words.”

“Hmmph!” The older man tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, a gesture oddly reminiscent of his son. “I’ll not apologize to that rascal, that disgraceful reprobate.”

“I will thank you not to speak of him in that manner, my lord.” Maggie kept her voice even. She’d defend the captain in his absence. It was the least she could do.

The elderly man’s eyes bulged and his lips, wrinkled and thin, twitched into something resembling a smile. “I will say whatever I wish about him. He is a dishonor to his family. The worst of men.”

Lord Caufield said, “See here, sir—”

The earl silenced his nephew with a flick of his hand. Maggie glanced at the others at the table. Lady Caufield was pale. Lady Palmely, abstracted as if she’d heard nothing. She could not see Sir Francis at her elbow, but felt his body stiffen.

The earl whipped back to Maggie. “My son thinks of nothing but his own pleasure.” His lips pursed. “Why is he not here with you? Did he abandon you, too?”

Maggie gaped at him. She would never stay in this house, with this appalling man. She had no idea what transpired between father and son for him to speak this way, but it was unthinkable to do so in front of the woman who was supposed to be his wife.

“Sir.” Her voice remained low and barely above a whisper. “Your son left because he was ordered back to war. He put me in the care of his cousin; therefore, it cannot be said he abandoned me.”

Gracious, she was sounding like a wife, though she’d been careful not to say anything that was not strictly true. It was what she avoided speaking of that was reprehensible. The captain, however, was blameless in all of this. He knew nothing of her shameful misuse of him.

“Bah,” the earl went on. “The fool will probably get himself killed, but that would be no great loss to me.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. To lose a member of one’s family was the worst pain in creation. How could this man say such a thing? She was prepared to do anything for her son. Lie. Cheat. Steal, if it came to that. Anything to keep him alive. She was willing to dupe this family and make use of their home, food, and status to keep her baby safe until she could contrive a more honest life. She would not lose Sean like she’d lost everyone else.

She stood. “I am appalled at you, sir. He is your
son.
” Her voice rose. “I would risk all for my son. I would bleed if he bled. If I lost him I would lose all. Do you have so many sons that you can afford to lose this one?”

She heard a collective gasp from the others and saw that tears rolled down Lady Palmely’s face. Oh, dear, she ought not to have referred to losing sons. She’d not meant to hurt that poor woman. Lord Summerton’s lips became even thinner. He stared at his empty plate.

The tableau was reflected in a gilt-edged mirror that hung on the far wall. As Maggie walked out of the room the reflection resembled a somber family portrait, one that she was leaving. She hurried to the curved stairway, and ran past the Grecian temples and gardens to seek solace in holding her son. As she neared the room she heard him cry, calling her to his side.

As evening descended Maggie held her baby, rocking slowly to and fro in the rocking chair someone had been thoughtful enough to provide. She gazed out the window onto the gardens below, where the waning rose-colored sunset made the blossoms glow.

The grounds of Summerton were as beautiful as the house, as grand a residence as she’d ever seen. Still, all seemed in repose, lacking whatever spark brought a place to life. Had Lord Summerton sucked all the life out of the house and grounds, even out of his daughter-in-law? Maggie had no wish to suffer the same fate.

She let her gaze wander over the pathways of the garden, let herself imagine strolling there, pulling a stray weed, cutting flowers for the hall table. Flowers were absent in the rooms of Summerton Hall, perhaps one of the reasons it seemed a dead place. Beautiful, but unloved.

The door to the room swung open and closed as swiftly. The little boy Maggie had seen when she arrived, Lady Palmely’s son, rushed in, skidding to a halt when he saw her sitting by the window. From the hallway, a high-pitched voice called, “Master Rodney? Master Rodney?”

The boy stood stock-still, staring at Maggie with wide, wary eyes.

“Are you hiding?” She gave him a friendly smile.

He nodded, but did not return her smile.

“Why?” she asked.

“I do not want to go to bed,” he replied, his expression still solemn. Do not any of these Graysons smile?

A memory of the captain’s smile struck her, rakish, ironic, but like the others of his family, not happy.

Someone knocked on her door. The little boy clapped his hand over his mouth. Before Maggie could speak, he bolted to the door that connected the room with another bedchamber, opened it, and disappeared.

There was another knock. Expecting the nanny, Maggie said, “Come in.”

Lord Summerton entered, shuffling with his cane.

Maggie’s arms tensed and the baby stirred in response. Her heart accelerated.

“I found you.” He leaned on his cane with both his hands. His tone was nearly as hostile as at dinner.

Maggie did not answer him, but raised one eyebrow.

“You will stay here,” he growled.

Was that a demand, or a question? She could not tell.

Maggie rocked and the baby settled against her chest again. “I cannot ascertain, sir, if you wish me to stay or to leave.”

He blinked in surprise, almost losing his grip on the cane. “Didn’t you hear me, girl? I said you will stay.”

She did not expect this. “You wish me to stay?”

“Of course. Stay. I don’t know what ramshackle game my son plays.” His voice rose and he pointed the cane at the baby. “Is that his son?”

Maggie glanced down at Sean, sleeping so innocently against her chest. Pretending this was the earl’s grandson was a terrible deceit, but if Lord Summerton wanted her here, most likely she’d no longer be welcome in Lord and Lady Caufield’s home.

It would be inexcusable to masquerade as the wife of this man’s son, wouldn’t it? Perhaps she could assist them in some way. If she tried very hard to help them, would that make amends for her deceit?

Very slowly, hardly breathing, she nodded.

Lord Summerton weaved precariously before regaining his balance. “So, you will stay?”

Maggie regarded the elderly man closely. His lips were pursed, but she thought she saw a childlike pleading in those eyes.

With a wave of sympathy for the old gentleman and a pang of conscience all her own, Maggie forced a smile.

“I will stay, sir.”

Chapter
FIVE

May, 1816

G
ray leaned over the railing of the ship and watched the inky blue water rise in peaks, one after the other, like a never-ending parade of ghostly soldiers.

The salt spray of the sea tingled in his nostrils and cooled his cheeks. The sky was cloudless at last. He’d had enough of being cooped up below, puking his guts out while three days of storms buffeted the ship.

Today they finally weighed anchor. The wind filled the sails and the ship sped its way toward England.

This roll of the sea was manageable, and he would keep his last meal down while contemplating his return to England after nearly two years.

Should he not feel joyous? Other men on the ship were at this moment hoisting cups of rum, toasting their imminent return. They would have wives, children, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters waiting to welcome them home.