Page 22 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

“P eter Drew has offered for me,” Rachel wailed as she opened the door.

Alarmed by the reaction, Annabel pushed her sister into the hall before sweeping her into a tight embrace. With no hands to spare, and no servants in sight, Annabel kicked the door closed as Rachel dissolved into sobs.

“Dearest, I don’t understand. Aren’t you fond of Peter?” The last time she’d visited, just the thought of dancing with Mr. Drew had sent her sister into wild blushes and giggles.

Rachel nodded, smearing tears across Annabel’s neck.

“And do you want to marry him?”

Another watery nod.

Then this was some overdone happy reaction, and Annabel was in no mood for histrionics—happy or otherwise. She lifted Rachel’s head and stepped away, prepared to lecture her on how a future countess should behave, but the grief on her sister’s face stopped her words.

Father said no? Annabel didn’t dare ask the words for fear of sending Rachel into a swoon. She didn’t need an answer anyway. “Where is he?”

“In the library,” Rebecca said as she joined them. Her red-rimmed eyes blazed with a familiar fire, but she cradled Rachel with a gentleness that put Annabel to shame. “I have her. Go.”

Annabel removed her hat to give her a full view of the room, but didn’t bother with her cloak. She wasn’t staying long, and she needed all the protection she could get—even if it was nothing more substantial than velvet.

She entered the room without knocking and found her father bent over a book, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. “How dare you.”

He didn’t even look up. “You have no right to lecture me on the choices I make for my marriageable daughter, not when you’ve left me no option.”

No option? “Your debts are paid. You have a roof over your head and food in the larder. Rachel and Rebecca are having a Season at no cost to you. How is that not an option?”

“Your husband has pots of money, but he’d rather look down his nose at me than offer a few quid to family for the chance to make a fortune.” He glared at her. “If you were a better wife, he’d look more favorably on me.”

“What gives you the impression I’m a bad wife?” Never mind that she’d spent weeks thinking the same thing.

His eyes narrowed as realization dawned. “You told him not to help me.”

“I asked him not to throw good money after bad, because you are an endless well of bad decisions.”

Purple splotches bloomed across his red face. “To think that I would live to see the day that a daughter of mine would speak to me so.”

Annabel resisted the urge to step away, to apologize. She’d done that before, when she’d discovered his ledgers. But now she wasn’t just his daughter, and she wasn’t dependent on his goodwill. “Someone should have done it a long time ago.”

“If Rachel wishes to marry, I will choose her husband.” He thumped his hand to his chest. “There are several men who are wealthier than Drew could dream of being, and they would look favorably on their new father.”

“Father.” She snorted in disgust, both at his suggestion and his whiskey-soaked breath. “They’ll be your age or better, and they’ll treat Rachel like property because that’s what you’ll make her. You’ll sell her into marriage for the price of worthless stocks and then look the other way when they take their losses out on her.” She was lucky that—or worse—hadn’t happened to her.

“You’ll give your mother tea and sisters dresses, but you won’t spare me an investment that will put me back—”

“I will give the girls a chance at a better life, which is the same as you have now. Your debts are paid. Your rents are yours again.”

“Rents are a pittance.” It was his turn to snort. “It would take years to finance an investment that would make any difference.”

This was not the father she knew. He’d spent hours tromping through the fields surveying fence lines and livestock, laughing with the farmers who depended on him. Some of her fondest memories were of him rowing across the small lake as she listened to stories from his childhood.

“When did our home, our family, stop being enough for you?” she asked. “When did it become all or nothing, and this grasping desperation?”

“You know nothing of what it takes to make a success.”

He was wrong. She’d watched Jasper since their marriage. He worked diligently at both building his reputation and protecting his family. He was honorable and kind, intelligent and patient.

He was also an arse who had just put his mistress in the room across the hall.

“I know it’s not being blind to what you’ve done to the people who loved you.” Annabel blinked away her tears. She would not cry in front of him. “It’s not drinking in a shell of a house and bemoaning the luck you made for yourself. And it isn’t selling your nineteen-year-old daughter to a man old enough to be her father.”

“In time she will realize how this decision benefits her family.”

The man she’d loved would have never treated his daughters like commodities to be bartered for his own benefit. If he had, she never would have left them alone with him. She wasn’t going to abandon them again. “I have risked more than you will ever know,” she said. “And I will lose more than you will ever understand.” She drew a deep breath. “But my sisters will marry men who love them.”

“You have no say on this matter.” He reached for the copy of Debrett’s .

She pushed it away. “I have no say, but I have a voice. If you barter Rebecca and Rachel for foolish schemes, everyone in the ton will know.” She knew better than anyone how one whisper would become a chorus. “All of London will learn that you would see your wife in the poorhouse and your daughters sold as broodmares and mistresses so long as your pockets are lined.”

“You wouldn’t court a scandal like that.”

She had married a man to spy on him and ended up in his bed. She had shot at highwaymen and held that same husband’s bleeding body in her arms. She’d confessed her mission but withheld her heart, and he’d installed his mistress under her nose. “I am already scandalous. It won’t make a difference.”

Especially if she was never seen in London again.

“Annie—”

She ignored his wheedling tone and lifted a page from the sheaf of paper he always kept nearby. “Go upstairs and do something about your appearance.” She took his pen. “I’ll summon Mr. Drew here immediately. When he arrives, you will apologize for being out of sorts and give your permission for this marriage.”

If he didn’t, she’d loan Rachel the Ramsbury carriage for a run toward Scotland.

He remained in his chair, daring Annabel to move him like a child. Unlike the last time they’d argued, when she’d let him continue driving them toward poverty, she stared him down. Relief only came when realization dawned, and he pushed himself upright and walked toward the door with a straight spine but wobbly legs.

Once alone, Annabel finished the letter before ringing the bell. She was blotting the ink on the envelope when Symes, their beloved butler, appeared. His face was lined with concern.

“You rang, Lady Ann—Lady Ramsbury?”

She wasn’t sure what kept him with a family who couldn’t pay him, but she was forever grateful for his steadying presence. “Please have this letter delivered to the Drew household immediately, and ask Cook to prepare for visitors.” She stopped. “Father will require a strong pot of coffee.”

“A maid just took up a tray.” The old butler smiled. “We thought it would be wise to have on hand.”

“Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his rough cheek as she left the room. “And Lady Annabel is fine, Symes.”

There were times, like today, where she missed being Lady Annabel. She would forever be tied to the Ramsbury name now, whether or not she and Jasper lived together. Unless, of course, he divorced her, which he might do.

She’d always known divorce was possible, even likely, given her reasons for entering the marriage and her ties to the man who wanted to see him hang. It was even more possible now that Claudette was in the house. There was no reason to hide behind a charade, was there?

Pain lanced through her at the thought of all she’d never get to do again, and none of it had anything to do with ball gowns, teas, or grand houses—unless you counted the gardens.

Misery filled the gap that regret had created, but Annabel forced it to flow through her before she wept rivers that would shock even her romantic youngest sister.

Admit it. You fell in love with a man for the best and worst of reasons, and he sat in his room laughing about his poor decisions. You knew this was a possibility.

She had been through worse, and those experiences had taught her how to survive.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she walked down the hall, past the staircase, and to the drawing room. By the time she arrived at the door, her back was straight and her smile was wide.

“Rachel, dearest, Peter is returning to speak with Father. Let’s get some cold cloths for your eyes so he doesn’t second-guess his decision.”

*

“Where the bloody hell is she?”

Jasper looked at the book in his lap as though it could answer his question. It couldn’t even hold his attention past the first line.

He wasn’t worried. Lawrence and Frederick would look out for her—unless she convinced them to help her make a run for it. Given her state when she’d left, he wouldn’t be surprised. Though more likely she’d send them home without her to avoid witnesses and to get a running start.

He wasn’t worried. Family matters, he knew, could get complicated. Dressmaker appointments took hours; packing for travel took weeks. Jane and Johanna always ended up sniping over who had more lace on their sleeves, or the larger trunk.

“She’ll be back, and you can talk. She knows the consequences of Claudette staying in Kit’s home alone better than anyone.”

It’s how she got into this marriage in the first place .

Jasper swung his feet over the edge of the mattress and let his feet take his weight, ensuring he wouldn’t fall if he stood. He was lightheaded, true, but the room didn’t spin and his knees stayed firm. All he had to do was not twist.

If he’d been more careful this afternoon, he could have explained things to Annabel while looking her in the eye. He also could have avoided passing out—though at least that had spared him the torture of new stitches.

I don’t wish to marry you .

She’d told him that the day he’d proposed. And, in the name of his mission and his family name, he had convinced her to do it anyway. He’d promised her everything but love. She’d told him she didn’t even expect loyalty. Was it any wonder that she had assumed the worst of him?

How did he begin to convince her—

A muffled scream had him moving toward the door as quickly as he could manage. Once through, another noise from across the hall, a sharp wail that would have proven to Annabel how well their room muffled sound.

Jasper entered Claudette’s room without knocking—it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—and went to her bedside. She was bolt upright, eyes open but unseeing.

“Claudette.” He took her hand. “ Très chère, réveille-toi. ” French always worked best to rouse her. “ Réveille-toi. Tu es en sécurité .” She had quieted, but her stare was still vacant. Her short, panting breaths sounded as though she’d run a foot race in her sleep. “ Tout est bien .”

Her shoulders sagged, taking her chin with them. Jasper perched on the edge of the bed and braced himself as she fell against him. He kept a steady stream of comforting French platitudes until her breaths grew longer and more even.

“ Je suis désolé, ” Claudette mumbled. “I had hoped my… cauchemars would not reappear.”

She said the same thing every time she visited. Nightmares would likely hound her until they found Gareth. Seeing Jasper weak and bloody this afternoon likely hadn’t helped. He shifted, working to relieve the pressure on his stitches so it didn’t happen again. “Would you like to tell me?”

She shook her head. “They are always the same. I can hear him but not find him, and the longer I search, the more desperate he becomes.” She gave a watery sniffle. “I miss him, Jasper.”

They all did. The man’s laugh, his sense of adventure, had been impossible to ignore. “He was a special man.” If they were right, if Collins had taken Gareth from them, the man would pay. One way or another, they would all have peace.

“I hope I did not disturb your wife.” Claudette sat straighter and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her ridiculously frilly nightdress.

Jasper shook his head. “She is still with her family.”

“You are worried,” Claudette said. “I can hear it in what you do not say.”

Annabel shouldn’t have to deal with things alone, but Jasper couldn’t have gone even if she’d asked. Which she hadn’t done. That was almost more worrisome than what might have been waiting for her.

“Her father is very challenging, and she is very determined.” He wasn’t certain what else he could say. Annabel had left without a word or even a backward glance.

“That can be a difficult combination,” Claudette said. “She seemed plein d’émotions when she left.”

Full of emotions. With the French, that could mean she was weeping hysterically or carrying a gun. “She can handle herself.” He said it as much as for his own reassurance as for an explanation to Claudette. Whatever her family’s problem, Annabel had the strength and intelligence to manage it.

“Even strong women need their husbands,” Claudette whispered. “Sometimes more than others. Perhaps even more than they may realize.” She pushed his arm. “Go wait for her return. She will need you more than I.”

Jasper waited until she was settled against the pillows and then left the room.

He felt Annabel’s presence before he saw her at the top of the stairs.

Bollocks. Would he never learn to check the hallway before he stumbled from a room in a compromising position?

For a moment he considered explaining Claudette’s terrible nightmares, but one look at his wife’s stiff shoulders and white knuckles hinted she wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t move from her place, halfway between the stairs and her door. Too far to reach, but close enough he could see her struggle for what to say next.

“Annabel,” he began. “I—”

“You’re pale.” She was strangling her gloves as she stared at him with eyes that were too bright. “Are you well?”

“I overdid it while you were gone.” Jasper kicked himself when her eyes went to the door behind him. “How did you leave your family?” he asked as he stepped toward her.

“Peter Drew offered for Rachel.”

He knew Drew’s family. His uncle was an honest man who ran his estates well. He was also a formidable proponent in Lords for agricultural protections. From what Jasper knew of Peter, he was a levelheaded chap who would do credit to the title when he inherited it. “It would be a good match, if she’s agreeable.”

“She’s over the moon.” Annabel walked to her door, away from him so that all he could see was her simply styled hair. “They are madly in love.”

She should have sounded happier, and, if all she’d been doing was celebrating a happy match, she should have been home hours ago. He followed her. “What happened?”

“Father.” She sighed. “He decided if Rachel was ready to marry, he could match her to someone with a larger purse, someone so grateful for a young wife that he’d support any scheme her father suggested.”

Any goodwill would end the moment the investment soured, and Rachel would likely suffer the consequences. “You fought him.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need it to be. Annabel would do anything for her sisters, even marry the devil himself.

“I blackmailed him into agreeing and then stayed until the contracts were signed. They are downstairs in your safe, along with his copy of Debrett’s .” She looked at him then, and the disappointment dulling her eyes and muting her happiness made Jasper ache to hold her.

“I also promised to help them elope if he became a problem, so we might need to borrow the carriage.” She sighed. “But you’ll be relieved of sponsoring Rebecca. She’d rather go to college than have another Season.”

She hadn’t moved from her dressing table, but the distance between them was widening. “We should host a party for Rachel and Peter,” Jasper said. “A proper engagement ball.” Every young woman in love deserved that.

Annabel hadn’t had one. She’d never asked.

Her smile was too quick and too thin. “Thank you, but we agreed to a Season and a match, if possible. We didn’t negotiate a party. We didn’t even say anything about lessons or house parties, which you’ve already provided.” She looked around the room as though she were trying to memorize it, but she wouldn’t look at him. “You’ve been far too generous already.”

“Dammit, Annabel.” She was turning their life into a balance sheet, and though all the numbers were in his column, he was still losing. “Don’t do this.”

“You were coming out of her room, Jasper.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to rail at her for sending a vulnerable young widow to his room when he was a bloody mess and then judging him for settling that same woman’s nightmares, for walking away from him when he’d needed her to hold his hand. But she hadn’t been aware of any of that. If she had been, she would have stayed with him.

He knew that because he knew her. He’d felt it at Amelia’s blasted house party and that silly limerick contest, where she had skewered everything Society held dear with one simple rhyme.

There once was a man with a daughter,

Whom he led like a lamb to the slaughter.

And though she did bleat,

He swore she was sweet;

But pity the young man who caught her .

The woman in front of him was no lamb to be led anywhere, but she also wasn’t aware of how magnificent she was. And she didn’t know him at all.

“After everything that has passed between us, that’s what you think of me?” He kept his tone quiet. He didn’t want to fight with her, but he wouldn’t let her assumptions stand. “That I would be callous enough to do that to you?” He walked to the door between their rooms, careful not to shuffle, though he felt ancient and frail. Today had drained him of everything he had.

On his side of the threshold, he turned back to face her. It felt wrong to see her this way, to leave her alone. “I’m sorry that your father has disappointed you, Annabel, but I’m not him.” His fingers tightened on the latch. “Not everyone in your life wants to hurt you.”

He made himself close the door, and he made himself stay quiet when the floorboard creaked as she approached—only to twist the key in the lock.

And later, as he lay in the dark in his cold bed and stared at his boring ceiling, he balled his fingers into fists as his wife cried herself to sleep.