Trouble With Harry (16 page)

“I'm sure you will all excuse my wife. Thom?”

“I'm right here. Come along, Aunt Plum. What you need is a bath to wash all that pond off you.”

Thom's arm was warm on her damp sleeve, but Plum couldn't stop staring at Harry. He winked and twinkled? Was he
mad
?

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Rosse,” the vicar said, standing and giving her a little bow.

Was
she
mad?

His wife hurried to add her niceties. “Oh, yes, it was, it was very nice, and I hope we see you on Sunday.”

Mayhap they were all mad, and none of them knew it?

“A pleasure,” Miss Stone said in a begrudging, surly tone. Her face was dull red with anger, but Plum found little sympathy for her.

“Plum?”

Her name was soft on Harry's lips. She turned to him. “Hmm?”

Harry made shooing motions with his hand.

She blinked, then suddenly reason, blessed reason was returned to her, and she realized that he had done the impossible just as he said he would. She wanted to kiss him, but felt she'd shocked the vicar enough for one day, so contented herself with allowing her love to shine in her eyes. Harry mouthed, “I told you so,” at her as she let Thom escort her from the room.

“What a nasty, vile old cat that Miss Stone is,” Thom said as they walked up the stairs.

“And what a wonderful, adorable, marvelous man Harry is,” Plum replied, her mind full of her husband. She sighed happily. “Could any man be more perfect?”

***

She was married to a raving lunatic.

“We're
what
?” Plum cried ten days later.

“Leaving for London in three days.” Harry stuffed another handful of papers into a leather satchel. “Gertie assures me the children's things can be packed by then—you won't have any difficulty, will you?”

“No, of course not—that is, yes! Yes, I will! I couldn't possibly pack everything by then. London? All of us?
Why?
” Plum was well aware that last word was pronounced desperately close to a wail, but she was too distraught to worry over such trivialities. He wanted to go to London? Now? Wasn't the shameful scene they'd recently survived—admittedly due to his ability to forcibly erase her past—enough for him? He had to be scorned and ridiculed in London as well? Why now, when she was just starting to feel comfortable with her role as his wife? Why couldn't he wait, oh say, ten or twelve years, just until she felt like she really had a firm grasp on the job of being his wife?

Harry stopped satchel-stuffing long enough to make a face. “I have to go to London to meet with the head of the Home Office. It's nothing I want to do, Plum, but it is my duty to go when it concerns a past investigation of mine.”

“Investigation? What sort of an investigation?”

He set down the satchel. “I told you that I did some work for the government, didn't I?”

“Yes, although you didn't say what sort of work, exactly.” And at that moment, Plum didn't care what he had done in his past, except in terms of it necessitating his return to London.

“The nature of the work is neither here nor there; the fact is that I have to present the results of my findings to the new head of the HO, and discuss with him the possible repercussions. As it is my preference not to leave my new wife alone for who knows how long, and since I know you won't wish to leave the children, I have decided that we will all go to London. Granted the city may never be the same after the children get through with it, but we'll just have to take that chance.”

Plum wrung her hands and tried to convince her husband to leave the children and her at home, but he would have none of it. “Plum, I don't want to leave the children behind because…well, I left them earlier this year to check out this property when it had been left to me, and during my absence there was a fire. An entire wing burned down, the wing housing the nursery. It was only by the quick thinking of Gertie and George that the children were saved. You know that the girls' governess died?”

“Yes, but—”

“She died in that fire. The children were upset about it for months.” His thumb stroked a line down her jaw. “I know it's silly of me, but I don't want to leave them again. I almost lost them once—I don't wish to tempt fate again.”

Her heart melted under the look in his eyes. “Harry…the scandal—”

“What scandal?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

She gave up. She knew there was no way she could stand against neck nuzzling, so she didn't even try. Instead she gave the (reluctant, and with much misgiving) orders for their things to be packed, and three days later they set out in numerous carriages.

***

“You're making too much of it,” Thom told her two days after they had started their journey, as they were about to leave the inn at which they'd spent the night. “Probably no one will recognize you—it's been twenty years, Aunt! And how long has it been since that man you married died? A year?”

“Six months. Even if no one remembers the scandal itself,
I
will be recognized, and then everything will come out,” Plum said glumly, one eye on the younger children as they romped around the inn yard chasing geese. “The whole dreadful thing will be aired once again, and everyone will mock me, shame Harry, ruin the children's and your lives, and then he will regret marrying me, probably going so far as to hate me, no doubt ending with him going to the Lords asking for a divorce, at which point I shall die homeless and friendless living in a ditch with an earthworm named Fred as my sole companion. I just hope Harry will be happy then.”

Thom laughed and patted her on the arm. “Don't be such a pessimist. I'm sure you'll have a perfectly lovely time in town, and no one will know who you are if you don't want them to. Twenty years is a long time.”

“Not nearly long enough, but at least I can do right by you,” Plum said thoughtfully, noting how well a new gown suited Thom. Her dark curls were glossy with health, her cheeks bright, her eyes sparkling with good humor and happiness. “I can see my duty through with regard to
your
future. You will make your debut. You will go to balls and routs and breakfasts, and possibly the opera, if I can arrange all of that before I'm recognized and our lives are completely and utterly destroyed.”

“No!” Thom said, her face turning pale. “I don't want to go to balls and routs and breakfasts, and I especially do not want to go to the opera! I can't think of anything I'd like less! I'll be miserable! I'll hate it! I'll be wretched!”

“Welcome to my world,” Plum said, then hurried off to rescue a goose that had been cornered by the twins and McTavish.

Two nights later, Plum stood with a trembling hand on her husband's arm as they paused at the top of a long curved flight of stairs. She wondered briefly if she threw herself down the stairs whether or not she'd break her neck outright, dying instantly, or if she'd just bounce down the steps, embarrassing Harry by displaying to everyone not only her sad lack of ability to navigate stairs, but also showing too much limb and perhaps even petticoat. Since she suspected it would be the latter, she allowed him to pull her unwilling self down the stairs, a grim smile curving her lips.

“Plum.”

“What?” she asked, transferring her grim smile to her husband.

“You look like you've been asked to roast a small child over an open fire.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You have a horrible expression on your face.”

“It's called a smile, Harry.”

“Yes, but it's a I've-been-asked-to-roast-a-small-child-over-an-open-fire sort of smile, one that is going to frighten the elderly and make everyone else stay away from you.”

“Good,” Plum said, her voice rich with satisfaction, the first morsel of satisfaction he'd heard her express since he had informed her that morning that they would be venturing into Society by way of Lady Callendar's ball. “Perhaps that way no one will discover who I am and I might just possibly survive this evening.”

Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs and drew his wife aside, so he could speak to her without being overheard. He stopped her next to a large man-sized potted palm. “Why do you think I would lie to you?”

“Lie to me?” Plum looked startled, her lovely brown eyes wide with surprise. At least that wiped the child-roasting smile off her face. “I've never thought you'd lie to me, Harry. Never!”

“Then why do you assume that what I've told you before—that your past will not be an issue—is untrue?”

“I…I—”

Harry kissed her hands, damning the need for him to prove to her that she had nothing to worry about with regards to her past. He'd much rather be home with her now, trying out yet another of the inventive
Connubial
Calisthenics
, but he couldn't just think of his own needs, he had to reassure his wife once and for all that she was worried needlessly over something so trivial only she and a few countrified tabbies remembered it. “I will say this just one more time, and then if you continue to disbelieve me, I shall be forced to punish you—no one will care what happened to you twenty years ago. You are my marchioness, and that is all.”

Plum stopped worrying her lower lip and pursed it, instead. Harry resisted the urge to kiss the wits right out of her. “Punish me? What sort of punishment are you talking about? Because frankly, husband, forcing me to come to this ball should count as the worst sort of punishment.”

“Look at it this way,” he answered, tucking her hand into his arm. “At least you're not alone in your desire to be elsewhere. Thom is miserable, too.”

“Yes, there is that,” she said, looking to the right. Thom was marching down the stairs with a martyred look on her face almost identical to Plum's grim smile. Harry couldn't help but smile at the two of them—two of the loveliest women he had ever seen, and both looked as though they were being sent to their own executions.

Harry had no qualms about the evening's outcome—he had done a little investigating on his own regarding Plum's first husband (as he then thought of the bastard) when Plum and he were first married, and had found that the man had drowned in a boating accident off the coast of a small Greek island where he had been living the past ten years. Harry had enough experience with the collective mind of the
ton
to know that without the stimulus of de Spenser, no one would recognize Plum, let alone remember the scandal. He also knew, however, that despite assurances to the contrary, Plum believed with every morsel of her being that she would be the tool of his destruction.

Harry did his duty. He strolled around the crowded, overheated rooms, introducing his wife to every person he knew, and quite a few he hadn't met, not even flinching when her grip on his arm turned painful. He dragged her around to every single person he could find, and only when they had met and exchanged a few polite words with everyone present did she begin to relax. He coaxed her into a waltz, a dance that normally Harry loathed, but one that afforded him the possibility of holding his wife in his arms. He pulled her tighter than was polite, grinning at her mock-scandalized look in response. “You no longer look as if hot pokers are being inserted under your fingernails, so I assume that means you are beginning to enjoy yourself?”

The smile that had been teasing her lips faded as guilt flashed in her lovely eyes. “Oh, Harry, how selfish I have been! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for ruining your evening.”

“My evening hasn't been ruined. Well, it will be if you don't accompany me out into a dark corner of the garden where I can kiss you silly, but assuming you have no objections to that plan, I will survive an evening in Society.”

The delicate blush he was delighted to see touch her cheeks grew darker as her eyes flashed a challenge he felt obliged to meet. “You can certainly
try
, my lord. As for the other—you were right, no one remembers who I am, not one person! Harry, truly you have my humblest apology for not believing in you. You've performed a miracle!”

Harry held her for a few seconds after the dance ended, wishing more than ever he was at home where he could receive her—unnecessary—gratitude in a much more tangible form. He took her hand in his as he led her to the next room, his eyes alighting on a familiar—and very welcome—figure. “Much as I would like to be worthy of such an appealing look in your luscious eyes, I can't claim the responsibility for a miracle. The
ton
is notoriously fickle, and voracious where gossip and scandal are concerned. They no sooner consume one, then they're on the prowl for their next source of entertainment. Now, if you can stand one more introduction, I've just seen a man whom I'd very much like you and Thom to meet.”

Plum looked around as Harry led her through the throng toward a group of men near the card room. “Where has Thom gone to?”

“No doubt she's made her escape while we were distracted. My dear, may I present to you Lord Weston? Noble, this is my wife, Plum.”

The tall, dark-haired man spun around at his voice. “Harry! What the devil are you doing here?”

Harry allowed himself to be enveloped in a hug of such enthusiasm that his wife's eyebrows raised in surprise. He grinned and thumped his old friend on the back. “We had a little business in town. I thought you were in the north?”

“Came back for Parliament. It is a pleasure, madam. I had no idea you'd married again until I saw the notice in the
Times
.”

Plum's hand twitched. He patted it. That announcement had been a sore point with her, but he'd be damned if he hid the existence of his wife as if he were ashamed of her. “Is Gillian here? I'd like her to meet Plum.”

Noble's brows pulled together in a scowl. “She's home with the children. The two youngest are down with chicken pox—you must come for a visit if you've had 'em. Nick's due to meet me here in a bit. He'll be delighted to see you as well—it's been how long? A year? Too long.”