The Marriage Act (10 page)

While John shaved, Caro gathered up their belongings, then went across to her brother-in-law’s room to make sure he was sober enough to manage his packing. Heading downstairs with Ronnie, she linked her arm through his, hoping the gesture looked fond and confidential and not as if she was keeping him steady on his feet.

“You’re doing splendidly,” she whispered. “Just be careful on horseback.”

“I know, I know.”

The stairs creaked behind them, and she threw a look over her shoulder to discover John likewise on his way down. Had he heard what they were saying? No, he couldn’t have. He looked more puzzled than angry, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed her with Ronnie.

Before they left the hunting box, John set a guinea on the mantelpiece to compensate the owner for the use of the house and for the damage he’d done when he’d kicked in the front door. The four of them set out for their rendezvous with the hired post-chaise, Ronnie and Leitner on foot while Caro rode pillion behind John on the saddle horse.

John maintained his angry silence. Even so, Caro had no choice but to hold on to him. It was a strange and uneasy sensation, to be physically so close to him when he obviously wished her at Jericho. She felt almost at war with herself—grateful for his size and the ease with which he managed the horse, but also convinced it would be better for her peace of mind if they had nothing more to do with each other.

But they couldn’t keep their distance, not now, and certainly not once they reached Kegworth. She was going to need his help to convince her father they were happy and in love.

How would they possibly manage it when, so far, their marriage had been nothing but one clash after another?

Chapter Ten

The advice that is wanted is commonly not welcome and that which is not wanted
,
evidently an effrontery.

—Samuel Johnson

The yellow bounder Leitner had hired was smaller and far less comfortable than John’s private coach. The single interior seat faced a large window that afforded a view of the two postillions, the lead-boy and the wheel-boy, who rode the nearside horses in place of a coachman. The window afforded a similarly clear view of the rump ends of both wheelers. But it was transportation, and relatively fast, and right now that was what mattered most.

Leitner rode on the bench seat behind the coach, while Ronnie followed on Argos. Shoulder to shoulder with Caro inside the chaise, John couldn’t bring himself to speak to her. He had nothing to say, really, that wouldn’t start another argument.

It was strange how he could rub along so well with most of the women of his acquaintance, yet fail so miserably with the ones who were closest to him. In Vienna, ladies had seemed pleased to talk with him, to flirt with him and once or twice even to proposition him, but his own wife found him utterly unappealing.

A memory came floating back, a moment from the morning after a wedding—not his own wedding to Caroline, but his father’s marriage to his stepmother. John had been sitting on the stairs, eleven years old, and his stepmother’s voice had come floating up from the breakfast room. “
If I don’t love him
,
it’s because he’s impossible to love.
I’ve tried
,
but he’s such an unpleasant creature
,
with those swarthy looks and mulish manners.
Either his mother had gypsy blood
,
or she must have played you false.
”

Perhaps there was something about him that brought out a natural antipathy in the women closest to him. Perhaps it was an instinctive reaction, like the way most of the ladies he knew loved chocolate or saw nothing objectionable about helping a small child blow his nose, an inclination he would never quite understand and so could never hope to overcome. For some unknown reason, Providence had seen fit to make him the anti-chocolate.

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” Caro asked beside him.

“When I have to.”

She let out her breath in exasperation. “What did I do that was so wrong? I was tired and cold and it’s not as if you’d spent the previous two days wooing me. I wasn’t expecting—what you wanted. And I let you do it anyway.”

I
let you do it anyway
was little better than
yet I suffered through the experience.
“I’m not sure why the prospect was so unwelcome. I was willing to spend the night on the floor. It was your suggestion we share the bed.”

“Do men really think that way—that the choices are either ‘spend the night on the floor’ or ‘have conjugal relations,’ with no possibilities in between? What about simply going to sleep after a long, trying day?”

She had a point, except...Well, he hadn’t wanted to go to sleep. They were husband and wife, and they’d been living apart half a decade. Did she really think he was making unreasonable demands, wishing to make love to her every five years? He was well aware she didn’t
want
him, but she might try to humor him just once. “And do women really think that way—that marriage is supposed to be all responsibility and expense on the husband’s side, while the wife calls the tune? Am I to get nothing out of this arrangement?”

God, that hadn’t come out the way he’d intended. He’d sounded peevish, demanding and as charming as an impatient creditor dunning her for payment. He was irritated with himself for saying it, and even more irritated when she seized on the question.

“I might have guessed that when it comes to marital relations, you’d view it as a mere item on a balance sheet. You gave me
this
, therefore I owe
that
.” She crossed her arms, fuming. “And as for calling the tune, it was hardly my choice to be buried alive at Halewick while you were leading a glittering life on the Continent.”

“‘A glittering life’?” He raised one eyebrow. “What is it you think I was doing for those five years?”

“How should I know what you were doing, when your letters never said anything more than
I
intend to remain here for the present
and
Kindly make the household accounts available to my solicitor?
Everything I know about Vienna, I had to learn from a travel book. Ever since I heard about my father’s health, I’ve been half-mad, wondering what to say to him if he asks me about those years.”

“You could tell him the truth.”

She pinned John with a resentful look. “I might have known you’d go back on your promise. I want him to finish out his days in peace, but you’d rather make me miserable.”

“I have no intention of going back on my promise. I gave you my word I would back up your story and I’m going to honor it, however much it may offend my principles.”

“Offend your principles...” she echoed. “You really are an arrogant, self-righteous piece of work.”

“At least I
have
principles.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Sometimes your rectitude makes me want to scream.”

His rectitude? Since when had caution, honor and a sense of responsibility become character flaws? “I suppose your father would prefer you’d married a wastrel or a libertine?”

Mention of her father worked like magic. She gave a frustrated sigh. “Perhaps it’s better if we don’t talk, at least not until we reach my uncle’s house.”

Normally John avoided being dragged still deeper into a quarrel, but something about her exasperation nagged at him. “No,” he insisted, surprising himself. “I want you to explain what’s wrong with having principles, and knowing right from wrong. Why do you consider that a bad thing?”

“The problem isn’t that you have principles, it’s that you’re
always
right—always, perpetually, mulishly right. In your world, we can’t both be right, and God forbid you could ever be wrong. No, apparently you’re the only one with standards and it’s the other person who’s falling short. Always. It’s not a very endearing quality.”

Mulishly
right. Strange that she’d used much the same word his stepmother had used to describe his manners,
mulish
. Was he really that obstinate?

He must be. He’d gone through with the worst sexual experience of his life the night before merely to prove a point, hadn’t he?

He sighed. “What would you like to know about Vienna?”

She gave him a startled look. “What?”

“You said my letters never told you anything about my years there. What would you like to know?”

“Why?” she asked, glancing at him distrustfully.

“Because what you said is true. I wrote very little about my time in Vienna and my work at the embassy. My letters were...less than forthcoming.”

She tensed. “You’re about to tell me something dreadful.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why did you say your letters were less than forthcoming?” She went pale. “Dear God, don’t tell me you have a mistress there, or a string of illegitimate children.”

“I don’t have a mistress or a child. I simply meant I ought to have written letters that were less businesslike and a bit more husband-like.” He frowned. “I was still angry when I wrote them.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him in a doubtful look. “All of them? Over five years?”

“Yes.” He didn’t care to elaborate. “What would you like to know about my time in Vienna?”

“Well...” She considered a moment. “To begin with, did you enjoy living there?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He’d been miserable most of the time—bitter that she’d duped him, lonely, disillusioned.
Angry
. He’d had to turn aside questions about his marriage, and he’d never fit in with either the carefree bachelors or the contented family men.

But the city itself had been beautiful. He’d have to concentrate on that aspect of his time abroad. “It’s a cosmopolitan place, with people and languages from all over the Austrian empire. It’s also a pleasure-loving city, fond of music and dancing and intrigue. Surprisingly cozy, really, for such a lively place. They drink a great deal of coffee there, and eat a good deal of sausage, and the pastry is very sweet.”

“What about your work?” Caro asked. “What exactly did you do there?”

“Probably not what you were imagining. On any successful diplomatic staff, there are two types of officials, the smooth and personable politicians, and the efficient-under-pressure administrators—”

Her lips twitched. “Shall I guess which of those categories you fit into?”

“That amuses you, does it? Yes, I saw to practical matters, assignments like preparing reports and negotiating trade agreements.” He’d thrown himself into his work, grateful for the distraction it provided.

“And were very good at it, I daresay.”

He shrugged, though he couldn’t help feeling gratified. “I had an excellent staff.”

“Hmm. And you lived at the embassy? Tell me about it.”

“It’s on the Minoritenplatz, not far from the imperial palace.”

She laughed. “Really, Welford, that’s your idea of an
on-dit
—’It’s on the Minoritenplatz’?”

“You didn’t say you wanted
on-dits
.” At her faint look of dissatisfaction, he added, “Besides, it would be impolitic of me to mention that Lord Stewart is known for his drinking, his hot temper and the frequency with which he visits the...er, women of a certain repute on the Leopoldstrasse.”

“Oh, much better. Poor Lady Stewart! I’ve heard she’s lovely.”

“She is, but also haughty and proud.” In fact, her air of superiority had offended the imperial family so much they’d refused to mix with her socially.

Caro bit her bottom lip. “Welford...you didn’t frequent the Leopoldstrasse yourself, did you?” She winced and held up a hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I’d rather not know.”

“No, I didn’t frequent the Leopoldstrasse,” he answered decisively despite her hasty retraction.

She looked down at her lap and gave a small sigh. “I suppose it shouldn’t matter to me, but...”

“It should matter to you. We both took vows.”

She was silent a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. Then she glanced his way and smiled. “Thank you. Both for telling me, and for not frequenting the Leopoldstrasse.”

He hated that he had so little resistance to her smile. An hour before he’d been wishing he could wring her neck. Now those five years of lonely celibacy in Vienna felt almost worth it.

* * *

If any other man—her father excepted—had told Caro after a five-year estrangement that he’d neither kept a mistress nor patronized lightskirts, she would have had difficulty believing him.

She believed John. The same righteous certitude that made him so maddeningly difficult to argue with also made him the kind of man likely to observe the letter of his marriage vows.

The question was, why did she feel so relieved? She’d never wanted to be married to a plaster saint. Their marriage had been rocky from the start, with enough resentment on both sides to make jealousy out of the question. And the sexual relations they’d had the night before had done more to drive them apart than to unite them. She shouldn’t care one way or the other whether he’d had a mistress. But for some reason she did care. She cared very much.

Caro rested her chin on her palm. “While we’re talking about bedroom matters—” she nearly laughed at the way his eyebrows flashed higher in surprise “—what do you think I should say if my father asks me about children? If we’ve been together for five years, he must be wondering why we’re still childless. Should I tell him I’m barren, do you think, or should I say I’ve suffered miscarriages I never mentioned because I didn’t wish to alarm him?”

“Please tell me you don’t intend to invent miscarriages,” John said, looking pained.

“No, I suppose not.” She glanced sidelong at him and ventured on a hopeful note, “Though perhaps there might be some reason you’re unable to father a child?”

“A simple ‘We haven’t been blessed yet with children’ should suffice.”

She rather enjoyed provoking him. There was something fascinating about seeing those broad shoulders stiffen in indignation. “Very well, I’ll try not to impugn your manhood.” She hid a smile. “What about your valet? Is he aware I’m supposed to have been living with you in Vienna?”

“Never fear, Leitner won’t give you away. I told him what he needed to know when we stopped at The White Hart to rest the horses.”

Caro sighed. “He probably thinks I’m the most dreadful liar.”

John gave her a look that said,
If the cap fits
,
wear it.

But at least he didn’t say the words aloud.

* * *

John watched Caro fidgeting beside him. With every mile they covered, she seemed to grow more nervous—not just about her father’s health, but also about their chances of convincing the bishop their marriage was a success. Which meant that for now, at least, she needed his cooperation, and he might actually be able to get a straight answer out of her.

“What were you and Ronnie talking about on the stairs, back at the hunting box?”

She flushed. “Why do you ask?”

Was that a guilty look? “You’re my wife and he’s both my brother and my legal ward. Isn’t that reason enough for me to take an interest?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t remember what we were talking about, so it must not have been very important. We were simply chatting, I suppose.”

“Then why were you whispering?”

She darted a look of irritation at him. “Really, why is that any of your business?”

“I just explained why.”

She scowled—how was it possible for even a scowl to be beautiful?—and said, “If we were whispering, it was probably because we were making a joke we knew you’d be too stuffy to appreciate.” She looked away, staring out the carriage window. “I didn’t ask you what you and your valet were talking about yesterday when you were speaking German together.”

“We were talking about the coachman’s injuries, and we were endeavoring to spare you the more unpleasant details.”