The Marriage Act (20 page)

Was that where John had learned to punish the people who hurt him in dribs and drabs, with frosty silences and icy superiority? Was chilly disregard the only way he knew how to deal with more painful emotions?

Caro wasn’t entirely convinced yet that after five years she could have been so wrong about her own husband, but it was a possibility worth exploring. After all, Papa had always liked John, and though her father was customarily charitable in his view of others, he was rarely far off.

She smiled at her father. “Is there anything you’d like me to do for you this morning, Papa? Anything I might fetch for you or read to you?”

“No, my dear, you run along and please yourself. Once Sophia finishes tracing my silhouette, I have letters to answer in the library, and then I may rest for a while. Some of us have been awake longer than others.”

She ignored the teasing. “In that case, John and I are going to take a walk.”

“A walk?” Sophia said. “May I come along?”

Caro had an unfamiliar urge to be alone with her husband, but she was afraid to refuse Sophia when she was counting on her not to tell Papa the truth about the past five years. “But you’re busy working on my father’s silhouette,” she hedged.

“I’m nearly finished with the tracing, and I can always cut it out later.”

“I doubt you’d find the outing very interesting. We were only planning to walk about the Priory grounds, and you’ve seen it all a hundred times.”

“Oh, that doesn’t signify. I could do with the exercise.”

Her father looked faintly amused at Sophia’s failure to comprehend that two was company, three a crowd. “I hate to spoil your plans, Sophia my dear, but I hope you won’t mind putting off your walk until another time. I could use your help with...” He paused, and Caro was certain he was racking his brain for some pretext to keep Sophia at home when he’d just told Caro to run along. “With trying to talk your father into bringing you to London a few days early in the spring, so you have time to do some shopping before your come-out.”

Caro wanted to laugh at the transparency of her father’s stratagem, so clearly calculated to appeal to Sophia’s weaknesses. Darling Papa!

Fortunately, Sophia saw nothing unusual in the request. “All right. But I do hope Caro and Lord Welford will sit for their silhouettes when they get back.”

“I certainly will.” Caro put her arms around her father’s neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Take care not to tire yourself, Papa.” She breezed out to join John.

She was halfway through the house when Sophia called after her, “Caro, just a moment.”

She turned and waited for her cousin to catch up to her. “What is it?”

“You’re not going for a long walk with him, are you?”

There was a challenging glint in Sophia’s eyes that Caro didn’t like. “With whom, Welford? Why?”

“Because I’ll be waiting for him, that’s why.”

Caro frowned at the possessive note in her cousin’s voice. “You shouldn’t do that, Sophia.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Because she was beginning to have feelings for John, and seeing Sophia eager to throw herself at him made Caro itch to give her cousin a good shaking. “Because it’s unseemly to take that much interest in him, that’s why. He’s a married man.”

“You and I both know it’s not a real marriage and you’re merely putting on a show for Uncle Matthew. Besides, Welford doesn’t seem to mind.”

Was that true? Was John enjoying Sophia’s attentions? He’d complained about her forwardness after he’d accompanied Ronnie and Sophia to the village, but Sophia was young and pretty...”Not that it’s any of your business, but our marriage is real enough. You overheard a scrap of conversation our first night here. That doesn’t make you an expert on my feelings for him, or his for me.”

Sophia flushed. “I may not be an expert, but I can tell when a man is unhappy.”

Was Sophia right—was John unhappy? The past few days had left Caro suspecting he felt a good deal more than he let on—his story about when he’d had his fortune told in Vienna, the poignant note in his voice the first time he’d sung for her family, the way he’d suggested that strange German word,
Torschlusspanik
, to capture so precisely her fear that the future was slipping through her fingers. And if John was unhappy, was she the reason?

She didn’t want him to be unhappy, not anymore. The very thought of his unhappiness made her stomach hurt.

The protectiveness she felt for him surprised her. Only days before, she’d resented him. Now she no longer saw him as a distant, unreasonable authority figure who disapproved of everything about her, but as someone she’d wronged, perhaps even hurt very badly, and she regretted it.

And now her pretty, willing, eighteen-year-old cousin was panting after him, because Sophia had been smart enough to see how attractive John was even when Caro hadn’t.

She cast a look of appeal at her cousin. “Leave him alone, Sophia, please.”

“Or what? We both know you’re not going to do anything, not when I could go to Uncle Matthew and tell him you were only pretending to live with Welford in Vienna.”

“I wasn’t threatening you,” Caro said. “I only mean it isn’t fitting, the way you’re making up to Welford. He deserves better than to be toyed with.”

“I’m not toying with him! There is nothing insincere about my attentions.”

“Except that he’s my husband, not yours.”

Sophia raised one eyebrow. “Technically that may be true, but it’s not as if he’s happily married.”

“Just leave him alone,” Caro said again. “Please.”

* * *

After breakfast, John knocked on the door of Ronnie’s room. There was no response. He knocked again, and Ronnie’s voice, sleepy and indistinct, answered from behind the closed door, “Yes?”

“Caro and I are going for a walk, but first I wanted to see how you’re faring with your Logic. Or are you just waking up?”

“I’m...I was up late last night.”

John took that to mean that Ronnie was still half-asleep. He would’ve liked to find his brother being a bit more industrious, but he was only nineteen, and if he’d stayed up into the wee hours working his way through Watts’
Logic
, John was satisfied. He had to admit the text made for slow going. “Well, keep at it, and after dinner I’ll give you my best approximation of an examination.”

“What if...”

“What if what?”

Ronnie’s sigh was audible through the door. “Never mind.”

John headed for the front hall to wait for Caro, wondering if he ought to have said more. How much pushing amounted to helpful encouragement, and how much was likely to make Ronnie dig in his heels?

Caro came hurrying in a few minutes later, dressed in a slim-fitting burgundy pelisse and tying the strings of a plumed poke bonnet in a bow under one ear. He had the vague sense that something about her had changed—that she was wearing her hair in a new way, or walking with a bounce in her step he’d never noticed before.

It took him a moment to realize what the difference really was. For years now, the least reminder of her had prompted two competing emotions—an eager leap of his heart and then, in almost the same instant, the bitter awareness of how badly his marriage had turned out. This time, he’d experienced the first reaction—the happy bound—but the sense of disillusionment had lagged behind, emerging only upon conscious reflection.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said, her apologetic smile bringing out the dimples in her cheeks.

“No, not at all.” He helped her on with her cloak. “Is there anything of interest we should be sure to see on our walk? A folly, perhaps, or a cave with an ornamental hermit?”

“Nothing so interesting as a hermit, though the Priory grounds do include a charming bridge over the River Soar.”

“Is it picturesque or just very old?”

“Neither, really, but there’s a legend that King Richard III’s bones were thrown into the river, so when my cousin Anne and I were girls we used to imagine his ghost lived under the bridge. Anne was always very taken with ghosts. Sometimes one of us would pretend to
be
the ghost to scare the other, but since we never thought of anything more clever for him to say than ‘Oooooh’ and ‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse,’ neither of us was very convincing.”

Obviously her acting skills had improved with age, for he was finding it increasingly difficult to think of her as anything but the charming, affectionate young woman she’d been pretending to be since their arrival at Stanling Priory. Was he foolish to hope it was more than just an act?

Donning his greatcoat, he heard footsteps in one of the rooms nearby. “How convincing do you want to be?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?”

“Someone’s coming. Are you still determined to make them think we’re blissfully happy and we can’t keep our hands off each other?”

A look of confusion crossed her face. “Of course.”

Without wasting any more time on words, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. She seemed surprised at first, tensing for a second, but then her own arms went around his neck and she pressed up against him, her eyes drifting closed.

They hadn’t kissed nearly enough in their marriage, including these past few days at the Priory, and that was a shame, because it was even better than he remembered, equal parts sexual and spiritual. He kissed her deeply and slowly, openmouthed, enjoying the delicate feel of her body in his arms. It was totally improper and totally convincing, though he didn’t know or much care whether they were seen. The footsteps he’d heard grew nearer and then receded into the distance.

By the time he raised his head and smiled down at Caro, her breathing had turned fast and shallow. Blue eyes gazed up at him in wonder. She looked so exquisitely pretty and flustered, his chest ached.

She gave a shaky laugh. “Goodness.”

He grinned. “Just carrying out my assignment.”

Pleased with himself, he donned his hat and offered her his arm, and they set out to brave the late October chill.

Chapter Nineteen

He who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing anything but his own disposition will waste his life in fruitless efforts.

—Samuel Johnson

It
was
chilly outside—though it wasn’t cold enough for him to see his breath, there was a nip in the air that promised colder weather to come. “If you’ll point us in the right direction, I’d like to see your haunted bridge for myself.”

Caro laughed. “It’s this way.”

They strolled arm in arm together, the gravel drive crunching under John’s boots. He felt closer to her than he’d felt in a long time, and that included the aftermath of their encounter the night before.

“Now, then,” Caro said, clinging to his arm with both hands, “you promised to finish your story. How did you make a fool of yourself on your twenty-first birthday?”

“As I mentioned, I didn’t have a coming-of-age party. I was at Oxford at the time, and three of my friends decided they would remedy the oversight by staging a private celebration. They kept urging more and more drink on me, until I could scarcely stand up.” He raised one eyebrow. “Then they took me to a brothel, paid to engage one of the girls’ services for the entire night, and left the room. Reportedly, I started to undress—and promptly passed out. The next thing I knew, I was waking up with the most wretched headache of my life, stretched out under a tree near the cloisters and wearing not a stitch of clothing.” He slanted a glance at her. “I trust it goes without saying that none of this was normal behavior for me.”

“Oh dear. Isn’t your birthday in March? It’s a wonder you didn’t freeze to death.”

“I was fortunate in that the month had reached the ‘out like a lamb’ stage.”

She laughed. “I must say, it’s hard to imagine you doing anything so
outré
.”

“Ah, but that wasn’t the end of my adventure. To make matters worse, I tried to slink back to my room, as naked as the day I was born, only to encounter my bedmaker, a respectable matron of sixty. The eyeful I gave the poor woman was the second surprise she received from me that morning, as it turned out I’d also cast up my accounts all over my room the night before.” He shook his head. “I vowed then and there that I would never drink that much again.”

“And have you kept that vow?”

“I keep all my vows,” he said with a wistful smile. “But there’s an actual point to this story, beyond impressing you with my debauchery, and that’s that I regret having judged you so harshly after our wedding night. I should’ve known better than anyone that drink and sound decision-making rarely go hand in hand.”

“Thank you. I
do
regret that night, John, more than I can say.”

“So do I.” John hesitated. “Caro...”

She looked expectantly at him.

“It doesn’t sit well with me, lying to your father about our marriage. Lying to everyone. I was raised to believe that honor and honesty matter. Now that we’ve come to a better understanding, why not confess the truth? Your father might be a trifle disappointed that you only pretended to be living with me in Vienna, but I doubt he’ll be especially shocked or unhappy, given that you can tell him quite honestly that...” He wasn’t sure how to finish.
I’ve realized what a fool I was to treat you so coldly?
I
never stopped loving you?
Only days before, he and Caro had been at each other’s throats. Now they’d moved past the hostility, and certainly the night before had been a revelation, but how much of Caro’s newfound affection was real, and how much was merely feigned for her family’s sake?

He finished simply, “That we’re on better terms.”

“Tell my father?” she said, going pale. “But I can’t. You don’t understand how disappointed he would be. And he’s been so happy since we arrived.” Her fingers tightened on John’s sleeve. “You
promised
. You promised you would help me convince him we’re happily married.”

Was this about her father’s peace of mind, or hers? He would’ve pressed the point, but she looked so alarmed, and he was so hesitant to explore the implications of
You promised you would help me convince him we’re happily married
—phrasing that certainly sounded as if such happiness was mere pretense—that he let the matter drop. “Very well.”

They walked in silence for the space of nearly a minute before he broke the silence. “Now that I’ve satisfied your curiosity about my twenty-first birthday, perhaps you’ll satisfy mine about something.”

She gave him a wary look. “About what?”

“You said last night that at the time your Mr. Ryland neglected to kiss you, you’d never been kissed before—which begs the question, who gave you your first kiss? Was it Lieutenant Howe?”

* * *

John was looking at her with a sharply inquisitive expression. She rather wished he would forget Lawrence’s name. “No, he was the third.”

“The third? I suppose he must have been better than the first two.”

“Yes, much better.”

“Hmm,” John said, looking not at all happy to hear her answer. “How old were you?”

“When I received my first kiss? Sixteen, nearly seventeen. Boys weren’t at all anxious to kiss me, believe me. I was beginning to think there must be something wrong with me, though my friends kindly assured me it was only that I was the daughter of a bishop, and gentlemen were afraid that kissing me would be a sure passport to eternal torment.”

“They may have been right on that score,” John said under his breath. He leveled a frankly curious look at her. “Who was this mysterious Lothario who wasn’t afraid to tempt damnation?”

“His name was Mr. Rees-Stone. He was my age, very tall and skinny, and I met him at a ball at Ayersley House. He danced two sets with me that night but he didn’t kiss me until a few days later. We attended the same picnic, and he led me behind a tree and gave me a kiss that was such a surprise, I was turning my head away and his lips landed here.” She pointed to a spot to one side of her mouth. “Then he grew embarrassed and was afraid to try it a second time.”

John laughed. “That makes my own first kiss seem downright suave in comparison.”

“My second was a great improvement. I attended a party with Lady Mary Fitzclarence, and when I lost at a game of Courtiers, I had to pay a forfeit called
Le Baiser à la Capucine.
Do you know it?”

“I know it’s a kissing game.”

She liked the way he said it—simultaneously shocked and pretending to be more blasé than he really was. She’d thought she liked him best when he was rumpled and imperfect, but now she found even John’s stuffiness endearing. He tried so hard to be proper and virtuous, there was something delicious about being naughty around him, and something even more delicious about luring him into naughtiness of his own.

“Yes, it’s dreadfully improper,” she said. “A boy and a girl kneel on the floor, back to back, then look over their shoulders at each other, turning their heads far enough to manage a kiss. It wasn’t at all passionate, and I was nervous the whole time about how very
fast
I must look, but I didn’t want to be a spoilsport. Despite the contortions the game required, Mr. Fox managed to land a kiss on my lips even when Mr. Rees-Stone hadn’t.”

John darted a glance at her. “And then there was Lieutenant Howe.”

She couldn’t help it—her cheeks heated. She looked down, hoping John hadn’t noticed.

“I suppose this is the haunted bridge?” he said.

She lifted her head and saw with relief that they’d reached the Soar and the red brick span across it. “Yes.”

* * *

John hadn’t missed Caro’s blush, though her past amours weren’t a tenth as bad as he’d been imagining. While he supposed he ought to be jealous of Mr. Rees-Stone and Mr. Fox and especially Lieutenant Howe, all he could feel was a ridiculous masculine pride that he’d made love to her the night before, while those enterprising young gentlemen had had to content themselves with awkwardly stolen kisses and a futile squeeze or two. “If it weren’t so cold today...”

She looked inquiringly at him. “If it weren’t so cold today, then what?”

He stopped and pulled her into his arms. “I’d take you, right over there,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Under that bridge.”

A gleam of excitement lit her eyes. “Outdoors? In the daytime?”

“Who has patience enough to wait until dark? I’d bend you over a rock, flip your skirts up, and take you from behind, hard and fast.”

“It’s possible to do it that way? With the man behind?”

All it took was a hint of naughtiness, coupled with being
told
instead of
asked
so as to make that naughtiness excusable, and she was gazing at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips. “Entirely possible. And standing up leaves the hands free for—” he smiled “—other things.”

She gulped. “It’s a pity it’s so cold.”

He released her, amused and more than a little aroused by her evident willingness. “Yes. But then, what if the ghost of Richard III really should haunt that bridge? Think how shocked he would be to see me taking my delicately reared wife in such an uncivilized fashion.”

She peered up at him from under dark lashes. “Do you think he would be shocked? He did some rather dreadful things himself, if Shakespeare is any authority.”

God, she was pretty, so pretty that looking at her was like looking at the sun—he couldn’t do it too long or it blinded him to everything else. “Perhaps you’re right, and he would merely float about in a ghostly mist, enviously gnashing his teeth and thinking, ‘So that’s what heaven feels like.’”

“How very poetic!”

“I’m not a diplomat for nothing.”

She laughed. “Tell me about your first kiss. Or your first—time. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think that would be very gentlemanly of me.” Refusing her request was probably another instance of irritating rectitude on his part, but...”It’s one thing for a lady to divulge such things, but another for a man to reveal details that could damage a lady’s reputation.”

“So she was a lady, not a lightskirt.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t say anything.” She looked faintly annoyed with him. “Surely there’s something you can tell me.”

“I can tell you that I wasn’t anywhere near Halewick at the time, so you’ve no need to fear you might have crossed paths with her in the country.”

“Goodness, I hadn’t even thought of that. How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I would’ve guessed older.” At his quizzical glance, she explained, “You said yourself that when your friends took you to a brothel on your birthday, it wasn’t normal behavior for you. And Papa said you sang in Chapel at Winchester.”

“I hate to puncture your illusions, but hymn-singing and a healthy interest in the opposite sex are not mutually exclusive.”

“They always seemed so to me.”

There was no mistaking the tart note in her voice. “What does that mean?”

“Just that before I married you, would-be matchmakers were always attempting to pair me up with devout, thoroughly well-intentioned gentlemen—”

“The sort who were too afraid of eternal torment to risk kissing you.”

“Exactly. They were more interested in currying favor with my father than in courting me. I never felt the least spark with any of them.”

“I suppose that explains Lieutenant Howe,” John said, more to himself than to her. “Perhaps you brought all that misguided matchmaking on yourself.”

Walking arm in arm, he sensed her stiffen in indignation. “Why would you say that?”

“Because for all your vexation with my principles and my rectitude, you want people to see you as the quintessential good girl, so much so that you’d sooner lie to your father than disappoint him.” He stopped again and turned her to face him, hoping his smile took the sting out of the words. “When you’re careless with the truth—and however irresistible you may be, my dear Lady Welford, you didn’t precisely begin our married life pledged to scrupulous honesty—how can you expect anyone to know what you really want?”

The flash of resentment that briefly lit her eyes quickly faded to a wounded look. “I suppose I deserve that.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say it to hurt you, or to hold myself up as better in any way, but rather because you do yourself a disservice when you don’t allow people to see the real you. I spent five years in Vienna wondering if there was anything I could’ve done to make you care for me, but I didn’t have the first idea how to make you happy. That’s why it’s so important to me that there be no more secrets in our marriage.”

“I see your point,” she said, nodding slowly. “And I mean to keep my promise. No more secrets.”

“Then I’d like to make you a promise in return—that when we disagree, I’ll do my best to stop behaving like a stern parent, and instead strive to be an understanding husband. More discussion, fewer disapproving edicts.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes bright. “I’d like that.”

He wanted to kiss her again, but it seemed the wrong time. He didn’t want her thinking he’d made his promise merely to get something in return.

Instead he turned to stroll with her back to the house, thinking about the bridge and the river behind them and wishing he’d seized his chance to shock King Richard’s ghost. He’d already let two opportunities go to waste that day, and it wasn’t yet the middle of the afternoon.