War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 (16 page)

The first time the word “husband,” passed his lips was in reference to somebody else. Not to her. Knowing she wasn’t good enough in rank and hearing it, she discovered, were two different things.

She could not stay and see him marry someone else. But she did owe him something. “I’ll stay until my next courses,” she said.

“You will,” he agreed, and kissed her once more.

So that was what she was. A mistress. Her soul rebelled. She was worth more than that. Oh, mistresses could make a good living for themselves, but they were despised and spurned by the rest of the world. She couldn’t live like that, least of all bring children up in that kind of poisonous atmosphere. Rather than that, she’d take one of the other paths left to her and live in relative poverty. “If it happens, then I will not be a kept woman.”

He gazed at her, his mouth quirked in a smile. “It?”

“If I—if I fall pregnant,” she said in a rush. “I won’t bring babies into the world with that label attached to them. You understand me?”

“Perfectly.” His face had turned grave. “I would not ask it of you.” He seemed perfectly sincere, in that at least. “I will not turn my back on you. You understand
me
?”

She did. She might have to give up any children. Although what would he do—bring them up alongside his other children, legitimate and otherwise? Start two nurseries, one for his legitimate heirs, the other for his by-blows?

“I promise you will not suffer because of this. You helped to bring me out of the pit of despond. For now, stay as you are. Be the twins’ aunt and my guest.”

She would do that. Then she would leave. She could do as many unwed mothers did and pose as a widow, go somewhere she was not known. Or she could leave her child with him and visit from time to time. The eternal spinster, which was what her mother always intended her to be.

It shamed her that she had not thought of Rhea before. Her beloved sister had found her doom with this man, according to society, her parents and everyone else. But the person she had discovered was so different to the one in her imagination, that he had swept her away. She was so deeply enmeshed in Marcus, that she could not see him as a wicked debaucher. He had not taken—she had given.

She might be able to go home again. Become what her mother wanted from her. Give up. Because that was what it would be. She was beginning to understand she might have no choice, or rather, the other choices were untenable.

Burrowing into him, she nodded. This was her solace. Knowing this man, who brought such colour to her life. However short their acquaintance would be, she would never forget it.

“Kiss me again,” he said gruffly, and she was only too glad to do so.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and her body readied itself for him. She recognised the signs—the dampness between her legs, the heavy feeling in her breasts. Of all things, Ruth considered herself honest, especially with herself. If she lost track of that, she would truly be lost.

When someone knocked on the door, they sprang guiltily apart. Ruth hurried to one end of the library, where she seized a book off the shelf and sat, praying the footman who came in would not notice her flushed cheeks and disordered hair. That morning she dared to leave some of her hair down in twisted curls and pinned a small, frivolous cap to her head, but now she just felt tousled and somewhat foolish. Marcus had not helped when he cupped the back of her head and pulled yet more hair free.

Marcus faced the footman, partly blocking the man’s view of her. He took the cards on the salver and glanced at them. “My visitors have arrived. Will you come down and greet them with me, Miss Simpson?”

The name sounded strange. After three weeks of being Miss Carter, suddenly she had reverted to her real name. Calling her that made her vulnerable, open, as if her parents would appear from nowhere and drag her home. It instilled fear in her, and she hated that. She refused to be afraid, but the truth remained. As a single woman, she was probably the most helpless kind of being alive. She had no rights that were not given to her, nothing she could claim. If she possessed money, she could have claimed the life she wanted.

Which was?

She didn’t know. Ruth stared at the book in her lap, the words dancing before her eyes.

“Miss Simpson?” He sounded impatient. The footman stared at her.

How long had she been sitting there? Jumping to her feet, she smoothed her gown and gave Marcus a bright smile. “I’m sorry. I should not be wool-gathering.”

“You may have cause.” His expression relaxed into a smile, and he held out his hand invitingly.

Ruth knew better than to take it, but she did walk by his side, trying to appear as graceful and dignified as possible. She would face what lay ahead in the same way. They did not touch, and she allowed herself to drop behind a little as they approached the main hall. She should not greet the guests as if she was the lady of the house.

Two ladies stood there. D’Argento had already arrived. When he saw Ruth, he lifted his chin and sent her a steady look before he nodded, just once. Ruth could not see Marcus’s expression, but it was enough to still his elegant friend. D’Argento flicked another glance at Ruth before going into action.

He introduced the ladies with consummate skill. Lady Damaris Carswell, the older of the two sisters, was a tall lady, easily equalling Ruth in height, but there the similarities ended. Lady Damaris was elegantly attired in a red riding habit braided with gold, but although the garment was obviously fine, it was not over-elaborate. She had given her man-style cocked hat to a footman. Her curtsey was graceful and practiced. She looked perfect with Marcus, her fine eyes glinting at him with a touch of speculation as he bowed over her hand.

The younger sister, Lady Nerine Carswell, was made differently, on more delicate lines. She wore a gown of green sprigged wool which looked freshly pressed, even though they had travelled some distance to get here.

A moment—it was too early in the day for them to have driven here from Scarborough, which was easily three or four hours away. They must stopped somewhere else on the way, in order to appear here looking so perfect. That meant this was more than a casual visit. For some reason they wanted something from this.

Lady Nerine’s delicate beauty stunned Ruth until Marcus’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts. “May I introduce a relative? Well, not strictly a relative. Miss Simpson is the aunt of my wards.”

Lady Damaris’s expression froze. Her sister glanced up at her and then down at the tiled floor. “Indeed. Were the children not born out of wedlock?”

“Indeed. I could only take the children into my care. Miss Simpson possesses none of the approbation cast on her sister. She is a lady from a respectable family in Cumbria, who agreed to help me care for the children.”

“Could she not take them to their grandparents?” Lady Damaris said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice. She did not even glance in Ruth’s direction. Ruth prepared for the cut direct. It appeared she would be leaving sooner than she planned because she would not remain here as a disgraced person.

“No, she could not.”

Lady Damaris must have heard the warning tone in Marcus’s voice, for she favoured Ruth with a full-on stare. Her eyes, grey-blue, took in Ruth’s appearance at a glance. As if she was a woman of doubtful origins. Ruth did what she always did when people looked down on her. She lifted her chin and stared back.

Lady Damaris let her eyelids droop, then nodded. “Miss Simpson.” She held out her hand, obviously a favour.

Men sometimes shook hands instead of performing elaborate bows. Taking her cue from them, she did the same. “Lady Damaris. I’m delighted to meet you.” From now on, she would appear as the most austere governess who ever lived. She refused to give them any cause to despise her, apart from their social differences. That she could not help. “My father is squire of a village in the north, my lady. I came here at his grace’s request to ensure the babies are cared for.”

“Are they?”

“I believe so, but some organisation was required. I am seeing to that.”

“Not to mention receiving advantages Cumbria does not offer.”

Ruth inclined her head. She could hardly deny that. “As you say, my lady.”

Then Lady Nerine’s turn came. On her introduction, her curtsey defied gravity, so low did she make it. Her lovely features would melt rock as she gazed wondrously into Marcus’s face. “I am indeed very pleased to meet you. When my sister told me we were to visit, I wondered about you.”

“I’ve been from home,” Marcus said gruffly.

“Our eldest brother is away from home too,” Lady Damaris put in. “Else he would have escorted us. He has gone to the continent on some business he was undertaking for a friend, but he will be delighted when he hears we’ve recommenced the connection.”

“I heard you have two brothers,” Marcus said.

The two ladies exchanged a swift glance. “Our other brother, Barnabas, is not strong enough to travel,” Lady Damaris said.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Marcus said gravely.

“He’s better at home,” the younger lady said. “We do take him abroad from time to time, but his understanding is not great, and he prefers to stay in familiar surroundings.”

“I look forward to meeting your other brother when he returns from abroad, however,” Marcus said. “Miss Simpson has kindly agreed to act as hostess for your visit, else you could not have visited with propriety.”

So it was all right for her, Ruth, to be here, but not them?

Yes, it was. Ruth represented nothing but herself. These two ladies were more than themselves. They bore a noble name, and when they married, they would carry that influence through to a new family, and create a bond of blood each family would benefit from. They were the pivots, the meeting points. That was the work of women born to important families. Ruth possessed none of that, or at least only in a small way. If she had taken, she might have married a squire from another county, or even a neighbour, as two of her sisters had done, and continued the family name that way. As it was, she meant nothing to anyone. She was never intended for that, right from the end of her first season.

“Do you remain here for some time?” As if it came naturally to her, Lady Nerine set her hand on Marcus’s arm and gazed around. “This is a most astonishing hall, is it not? What does it depict?”

“The Garden of Eden.” Marcus gazed at her, as if she transfixed him, as well he might. She was the loveliest creature Ruth had ever seen. Her gown emanated waves of delicate scent when they swept past Ruth, who stood, waiting for them to leave. She would not join them.

It appeared she had no choice, as d’Argento took her in, offering the support of his arm to her, and his other to Lady Damaris. “I can imagine you two ladies stunning society,” he said as they ascended the stairs. They took them at a leisurely pace, each movement studied and graceful.

Ruth just climbed the stairs and made sure she did not trip over her skirts. Some grace that would have been, and she’d have felt even more clumsy than she did already. She did not belong here. For the rest of the visit, she’d keep to the nursery. Let them cavort like the members of society they were; she would stick to what she knew best.

“Are you totally exhausted from your journey, or would you like to see the state rooms?” Marcus asked.

Ruth said nothing, but prayed they were tired.

“Not at all, sir, I would love to see the apartments.”

“We may get to the drawing room from there, so we will not need to retrace our steps.”

Ruth had never seen the state rooms opened up before. They were kept firmly closed and only cleaned once a week by the servants, but the new influx of domestics set to and readied them. She meant to view them, but she hadn’t found the opportunity before.

Now she saw them in all their glory. A succession of rooms, each grander than the last, opened up from each other. Although the doors were closed today, when they all lay open the visitor would be able to see all the way to the end. That would not happen. Ruth knew enough about the hierarchy of state rooms to realise that. The visitor’s importance was gauged by how far they were allowed to penetrate the great enfilade of rooms. The first two rooms—the drawing room and the music room—astonished her with the quality of the furnishings. They gleamed with polish, as did the floors, what could be seen of them, because elaborate carpets covered the central parts of most. Elegant chairs and sofas, exquisitely veneered chests and side-tables abounded, and in the music room the harps, violins and the central harpsichord looked as beautiful as they must sound.

Marcus lifted the cover to the keyboard and played a few notes, grimacing when the sound emerged. “Perhaps they are only for show. I should get them tuned.” He smiled at Lady Nerine, who had not left his side. “Do you play?”

“Excellently,” her sister put in. “If she were born to a lesser family, Nerine would have become a performer. London would have flocked to hear her.” Her voice warmed when she talked of her sister, so the Lady Damaris did possess feelings after all. She was not the cold fish Ruth at first thought her. She would never forget the chilly stare Lady Damaris sent her. It had pierced through her like an icicle.

The next room was the double drawing room, the largest room in the enfilade. Marcus talked them through it. “The painting is of the estate before my grandfather refurbished it and added the façade to the frontage.” He barely glanced at the picture. He must have seen it many times. The house was smaller, but just as imposing, dominating the landscape. The rolling fields and woodlands were similar to the way they were now, with fewer pavilions and grottoes. Just as beautiful, but in a different way.

Ruth gazed in wonder, losing herself in the landscape.

The rest of the room was laid out elegantly, with furniture that was polished and gilded to within an inch of its life. It must be worth a fortune. Uncomfortable and out of place, she continued through the rest of the tour, and breathed a sigh of relief when they got to the antechamber at the end that led to the corridor leading to the rooms assigned for the everyday use of the family. Which, at the moment, was one person.