Page 20 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

F lipping open the cover, Gregory glanced through the first few pages. This was long before their paths had crossed, and he found himself enjoying the glimpses into the Stuarts’ life in Leeds. But this was not the purpose of his scouring.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Gregory scanned the pages.

I smell him on her. I see the imprint of his lips upon her flesh.

I sense his specter hovering at her elbow, taunting me.

I have tried so hard to ignore it. To be a good husband till death do us part.

Our vows were not contingent on both of us remaining faithful.

I promised to be a stalwart husband no matter how she behaves, and I will be.

I am so very tired of being the source of all her troubles. I am the reason our marriage is failing. I am the reason her figure is gone. I am the reason it rained during her picnic. I am the force behind every ill in her life.

Yet I am not the one who has changed. Where is the witty, tender woman I married? I feel like a widower, and the woman I married is dead and gone, yet I am not free to seek happiness elsewhere.

I will not break our marriage vows. I will not stoop to her level.

Gregory’s heart shuddered on his friend’s behalf. Thankfully, his parents and siblings all boasted the sorts of marriages that grew stronger with each year, but he’d seen enough of the other variety to know that not everyone chose their spouses so wisely.

Courtship was such a strange thing, a time when couples attempted to discern the truth about the other’s character whilst trapped in a fishbowl, having all and sundry examine every action and behavior.

To say nothing of the blinding flush of attraction that precipitated such pairings.

That alone was bound to make people behave irrationally and choose based on their hearts alone, without any thought for what the future would make of this pairing.

What would it be like to marry, only to discover that the person to whom you were irrevocably bound was an imposter? A fraud?

And then Gregory spied another passage a few entries after:

Trevor Gooding. So many weeks of searching—so much effort expended—and her fancy man is that peacock? Tessa must be desperate to welcome the advances of such a ridiculous fellow. Apparently, he adores her. But that is only because he hasn’t the misfortune of living with the woman.

Every time I attempt to show her husbandly affection, she shies away with all sorts of wailing and moaning about her figure as though I am the reason she grows rounder with each child, when it is she who indulges in anything and everything she wishes.

Tessa hasn’t a shred of self-control and then lays the blame on me and our children when it rests squarely on her shoulders.

I try my best to see her as she once was. But that portly creature isn’t the woman I married.

Gregory’s brows rose at that, a frisson skittering down his spine. After so much difficulty, it wasn’t as though Rodney didn’t have every right to be jaded and frustrated, yet there was a darkness to the words and the criticisms that settled uneasily in his heart.

A bachelor couldn’t claim to be an expert on women. Though he may know much about the fairer sex, one could not say one truly comprehended a thing if one hadn’t lived with it. Especially when one was speaking of a wife: a type of woman that was vastly different from a sister or a mother.

Yet even his bachelor mind recognized the folly of criticizing a woman’s weight.

Bringing children into this world was called an “ordeal” for a reason, and any man of sense knew that it wrought great changes in a woman’s body.

And no one ought to begrudge a woman for that fact—let alone a husband, who ought to adore his wife regardless of the alterations that time and children brought about.

Love that was contingent on outward appearances was not love at all.

Gregory read the passages again and again, trying to ascertain the tone with which Rodney was speaking. Or writing, rather. It was so difficult to discern emotional intent in a pen. Wit and sardonicism were often lost.

Then, of course, there was the context of the writing to take into consideration.

At this point, they had been married some ten years, most of which had been difficult.

And people often spoke more harshly than intended when under such strain.

Doubly so when it was in one’s journal, which was merely an extension of one’s own private thoughts.

To say nothing of his wife’s infidelities. To endure such a thing—

Straightening, Gregory turned his ear toward the door and heard the faintest touch against the wood.

“Is someone there?” he called.

The door inched open, and Daphne peeked through. “Mr. Gregory?”

Snapping the journal shut, Gregory set it aside and rose to his feet as he stuffed Rodney’s letter back in his pocket. “Come in.”

But though she did as bidden and shut the door behind her, Daphne drew no closer. Hands clasped before her, she shifted from foot to foot.

“What is the matter?” he asked, ushering her toward the sofa, though the young lady didn’t sit. Standing by the mantlepiece, she glanced at the unlit fireplace.

“I…” But nothing else emerged as she continued to shift about, her eyes darting around the room. “Was she here? I thought I heard her voice.”

Gregory didn’t need further explanation to know who “she” was.

“I needed to discuss something with her in private. I thought this was the best place as my workshop is empty at present, her inn provides only the appearance of privacy, and it isn’t appropriate for her to pay a call on a bachelor in his rooms.”

Daphne nodded but said nothing more. Nor did she settle.

Gregory longed to sit, but with her on her feet, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

She may be his ward and hardly more than a child, but those hard-won manners his mother had instilled in him wouldn’t allow him to take that liberty. So, he stood and waited.

His eyes tracked her as she paced before the fireplace, and it wasn’t long before she paused and turned to face him again.

Jerking her hand forward, Daphne opened it to reveal a brooch resting on her palm.

Though he was no expert in jewelry, Gregory could see that the piece was quite fine: a flower formed from silver, the leaves and petals spiraling out like a sunburst from the blue stone set in the center.

“This was the gift she gave me.”

Gregory glanced at it and then at Daphne. “It is lovely.”

The young lady peeked up at him as though expecting something more, and that hesitancy made understanding dawn.

“You may keep your mother’s present if you wish, Daphne,” he said, pausing to consider how to explain his thoughts without leading her deeper into her parents’ discord.

“I was surprised that she sent you gifts, and I was concerned about how it impacted you children. That was all. I will not begrudge your keeping it.”

Gregory doubted he could pry the doll or book from Eva and Faith. Not that he wished to. He hadn’t even asked the boys what Mrs. Stuart had sent them; Walter hadn’t thought the presents inappropriate, so they were free to keep them if they wished.

Daphne shook her head, though she also tucked the brooch into her pocket. “Her note claimed that it is an heirloom, passed down the family line to the eldest daughter.”

When she paused, Gregory felt as though she expected a response, though he couldn’t think how to do so.

“That is nice,” he said at last, but she shook her head again.

“No, it is not.” Daphne continued her pacing, her words growing more heated as she continued.

“It is naught but a bribe. Something to make me believe she thought about me over the years, holding onto this bauble in hopes of giving it to me someday. It’s likely just a trinket she couldn’t sell at her business . ”

She said the final word with such a sneer, as though trade was beneath her.

“Providing for oneself is nothing to disdain,” said Gregory, the defense springing to his lips. “However wrong her other behavior may be, starting a shop and building it into a success is something to applaud. Unless you disdain me and my family as well.”

Daphne paused and turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. “But you know she stole from Papa to finance the whole thing—”

“How do you know that?”

“Papa told me,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, though Gregory didn’t think that was worthy of overlooking.

Just how much had Rodney told the children of their troubles?

“If this brooch is genuine, it means she kept it. Sold off his things to spare hers. And somehow, she believes that will soften my heart toward her?”

“Or it means that not only does the brooch matter dearly to her, but that it was important for her to safeguard it for you. Perhaps she wished you to have a piece of your family legacy.” Again, Gregory didn’t know what possessed him to defend Mrs. Stuart.

Surely her behavior didn’t warrant his support, yet hearing Daphne’s sweet voice speaking such hard things demanded a retort.

Turning away from him, she retrieved the brooch again, staring at the jewelry. “It’s just something she purchased.”

Yet even his uneducated eyes saw the way the silver gleamed as only silver could, and the style was old enough to give the appearance of having been from a few generations ago. Gregory doubted it was the sort of piece that found its way to bazaars.

“At church, the ladies were speaking of her,” she said, staring at the piece in her hand. “She’s already received invitations from several families. They all seem to think she’s delightful.”

It had been only a fortnight since the lady’s arrival, and it was easy enough to maintain a good reputation for such a short time, but even Gregory couldn’t deny just how quickly the parish had embraced her.

Despite whispering about the notorious Mrs. Stuart for years, the villagers were eager to ignore the past and welcome her into their circles.

But Gregory’s own doubts weren’t for Daphne to hear. The poor dear had heard enough of the bickering and backstabbing between her parents, and he wouldn’t allow this to continue.

“If she truly cared about us, she would’ve come the moment Papa passed,” she said, tucking away the brooch again.

“He didn’t wish us to post an announcement in the newspapers, but from what I gather, she came the moment she heard.

” Again, it felt odd to defend her, but Gregory wasn’t going to allow the children to continue in this festering mess of misunderstanding and speculation.

Just as he wouldn’t tell them that Rodney hadn’t wanted his death made public to spite his wife.

Straightening, Daphne turned her dark eyes to him—those eyes that were a mirror of her mother’s.

“This is still a trick,” she said, though there was a hint of doubt in her voice.

There were too many questions. Too many attempts to paint the picture in black and white, but life was rarely that stark. Or clear. Glancing at the journal he’d abandoned, Gregory considered Rodney’s words and all he’d learned, and he gave Daphne the only answer he could.

“I don’t know if it is genuine or a manipulation, but I think you should keep the brooch safe until you know for certain one way or another.”