Page 11 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

L udicrous. Gregory huffed at himself as he tossed those thoughts aside. Crossing his ankles, he sank lower into his seat, his head resting against the back as he propped his interlocked hands on his stomach, his eyes turning toward the heavens.

Mrs. Stuart was simply good at feigning kindness. No doubt she’d known precisely who he was the moment he stepped into the carriage and had used the situation to her best advantage.

Yet even as his bitterness longed to embrace that, logic couldn’t.

As Gregory himself hadn’t known he would be taking that carriage until boarding it, there was no reason to believe Mrs. Stuart could’ve planned their meeting.

The only reason the girls had known when he was to arrive was because he sent a message ahead at Brackenfell.

Unless Mrs. Stuart had discovered he was in Leeds and followed him about the city. But if that were true, the lady would’ve hied to Thornsby all the quicker to insert herself into the children’s lives whilst their guardian was absent.

Gregory straightened, his arms falling aside as he considered just how close he had come to leaving them in Mrs. Stuart’s clutches. If he had taken the next carriage, she would’ve arrived before him. The thought sent prickles along his skin, and he forced himself to relax once more.

His family had been watching over them. The entire household as well.

He hadn’t left them unprotected, and there was no need to work himself into a dither like Sadie or Joanna; he adored his sister and sister-in-law as much as any brother could, but he needn’t mimic the easy manner in which they fretted, quick to imagine the very worst coming to pass.

Turning his thoughts backward, he tried to recall precisely when he’d veered into the ridiculous… The carriage ride with Mrs. Stuart.

Gregory's heart panged, but he ignored it.

When testing the popularity of a product or marketing strategy, one couldn't evaluate efficacy on a single point of data; an array of information was required, and the same could be said of first impressions.

Though a decent metric for determining a person's character, they were only to be believed when supported by additional evidence.

And Rodney had provided enough information to prove that Mrs. Stuart’s behavior this afternoon had been an outlier. An anomaly. Even the worst of people could be pleasant at times.

Of their own volition, his eyes turned to a section of books stacked in the corner of the bottom shelf beside Rodney’s desk; the spines were blank, giving no indication as to their authorship or subject, but Gregory was familiar enough with the volumes.

Having not opened the journals, he couldn’t vouch for their subject matter precisely, but a letter jutted from the top, peeking up from between the pages.

As investigating Mrs. Stuart had seemed unnecessary when she was safely tucked away in Leeds, Gregory hadn’t bothered diving into the “evidence” that lay within.

Between funerals, wills, seeing to the children, and his own business’s demands, there’d been precious little time to bother with such things.

Gregory had hoped Rodney had been wrong in his prediction, but clearly, the fellow had been generous in his assessment of his wife’s character.

Despite having suffered such a great blow, the children were now to be subjected to their mother’s antics. Heaven help them all.

Rising to his feet, Gregory strode to the bookshelf and drew out the book that held the letter, settling back into his seat once more.

For all that he’d been privy to many of Rodney’s darkest secrets, it was unnerving to have those most private thoughts available at his fingertips.

One did not intend for one’s journals to be explored by anyone other than oneself, and although he’d been directed to this very moment by his friend, Gregory still felt like an interloper.

The book opened to where the letter sat as a bookmark, and the script pulled his attention to the page.

Faith has developed an obsession with the hallway rug.

Every morning without fail, she toddles down the corridor and stops at the fringe.

She crouches, inspects it like a scholar poring over a scientific treatise, and straightens every last tassel.

Woe betide the person who walks across it afterward.

Though she says not a word to anyone who dares disturb her work, the heated glare she levels upon them makes one afraid that one will spontaneously combust at the sight.

Then, silent as a wraith, she smooths the whole thing again, patting each corner as though sealing a deal…

The entry was dated some nine years previous, meaning that Faith would’ve been about two years of age, and the corner of Gregory’s lips lifted into a half-smile.

He’d met her when she was five years old, and the child had grown out of such peculiarities by then, but he could well imagine her quietly flitting about the house and setting the rugs to rights.

But as much as he enjoyed the happy peek into the Stuarts’ past, it did not serve his purpose, and there was no point in wasting his time and avoiding what needed to be done.

Breaking open the seal, Gregory unfolded Rodney’s letter:

If you are reading this, I am no longer here to speak on my behalf…

How could just a few words cause his heart to twist so completely?

His friend was gone. Gregory had seen his passing with his own eyes.

Heard his last breath. Seen his casket lowered into the ground.

Yet reading those stark words written in Rodney’s hand sent new sparks of pain skittering through him.

…and so I must bear witness from beyond the grave—plainly and without embellishment—about the woman who bears my name.

I married Theresa Rush in 1836, and in the na?veté of youth, I believed that charm and beauty were virtues enough to build a happy life.

And perhaps they would have been, had they not been accompanied by pride, discontent, and a tendency to incite conflict.

From the earliest days, Tessa found fault with everything I did.

No mistake went unpunished, no failing unremarked.

Her criticisms were constant and, more often than not, public. She relished in her dissatisfaction.

When sorrow visited our household in the form of a stillborn child…

Gregory straightened, his brows rising. Despite such things being commonplace, such a loss could never be deemed insignificant. And though Rodney had told him so much about his life, he hadn’t shared this detail—which told Gregory just how greatly the loss had affected his friend.

…I did what I could. I tended to the household, our children, and all the daily burdens that required attention. I did not collapse. I could not afford to, yet she called me heartless for it. Claimed I abandoned her, leaving her to suffer alone. I did not, but it suited her to say so.

I worked. I provided. I endured. She sulked, needled, and withheld her affection from me, though she was quite willing to entertain the attentions of other men.

What began as petty flirtations to provoke me soon became something far more serious, and when Tessa announced she was expecting, I had every right to question the legitimacy of the child she claimed was mine.

Too right. Despite knowing how that portion of the story ended, reading it in black and white was still jarring.

Infidelity of any sort within a marriage (either husband or wife) was inexcusable.

One’s marriage vows were not to be broken.

But at least a woman couldn’t be tricked into believing that her husband’s byblow was her own—raising, providing for, and even loving a child who was the evidence of her broken marriage.

But for all that this was compelling reasoning for their estrangement, Gregory wasn’t certain such hearsay would be accepted in court.

Perhaps he ought to hire someone in Leeds to dig into Mrs.Stuart’s affairs.

No doubt there was ample evidence of her infidelities, which would secure their case and the children’s safety.

With her sins brought to light, Tessa fled our home and rushed into the arms of her paramour, but she did not leave empty-handed.

She stole many items of great monetary and sentimental value, which she sold off to line her pockets, as she deemed the allowance I granted her was insufficient for her needs.

Yet even that wasn’t enough for her.

As I didn’t wish to embarrass our children by securing a legal separation or petitioning for a divorce (both of which were well within my rights because of her immoral behavior), I was unable to protect myself or our finances from her wrath.

Tessa accumulated massive debts that, as her husband, I was legally responsible to settle, regardless of our living arrangement.

Without an official separation in the eyes of the law, my wife could spend me into debtor’s prison.

That devious minx.

Gregory had often wondered why anyone would make their separation known publicly by formalizing it in the courts.

Living apart raised speculation, but society would accept the idea without complaint as long as the couple went about their business in private.

Once they stepped into the courts, the gossipmongers feasted upon the scandal for years to come, tainting them and their families.

Yet here was a prime example of why such a thing might be not only desirable but necessary. A wife’s debts were her husband’s responsibility, after all.

With those ill-gotten funds, Tessa had established some disreputable bazaar in the city without any regard to how her inappropriate behavior would reflect on either her family or mine…