Page 6 of Rake in Disguise (Wicked Widows’ League #33)

Chapter Five

While Orlando strolled in the gardens behind the inn to give her privacy, Blythe unpacked her valise and placed her clothing in the armoire, along with the a small case for her jewelry that had been tied to her thigh with the garter.

It wasn’t the case where she had originally kept her jewelry though.

That one was back in the trunk and no doubt John would be angry when he opens it to find it empty.

She glanced at her hand where the wedding band circled her finger.

Legally and in the eyes of the church she was still married, but Blythe did not feel like a wife and hadn’t for some time.

John’s happiness with her had always been contingent upon how her father treated him and thus, their marriage had soured within that first year and she became little more than a servant seeing to his meals and laundry and sharing his bed when he demanded it of her.

There had been such love and tenderness in those early days. She had enjoyed her husband’s caresses and soared high until she crested with a release. She had welcomed his attention then, but after a year, he barely took the time to bring her pleasure before seeking his own.

Blythe started to remove the ring that no longer held any meaning but stopped.

She was to be introduced as the wife of Dr. Orlando Valentine, thus, she should continue to wear the simple band.

Further, if she knew anyone at the dinner table, they would wonder what became of John if it was not on her finger.

Though, that would be the least of their questions when Orlando introduced her as his wife.

It would be much easier if she could just hide in this chamber until the war was over and then return to England and ask her father to use his connections to petition for a divorce.

Supposedly only a man could do so, but her father was not without power and influence and would see it done if that was her dearest wish, which it was.

At the scratch at the door, she called for him to enter.

“They are gathering for dinner,” he told her.

Maybe she should reconsider and ask Orlando to learn the names of everyone else staying in the inn, then at least she could be somewhat prepared, but it was too late for that, unless she claimed illness and sent him on ahead.

No. She would not act the coward. She would face those below whether they were acquaintances or strangers and carry on from there.

After a deep breath, she allowed Orlando to escort her down the stairs and into the parlor where everyone had gathered.

The aromas of roast chicken drifted from the back of the house.

Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled.

She’d not eaten since early in the morning, right before John informed her of his decision and told her to pack.

She slowly looked at each person and much to her relief, none of them were familiar and once introductions were dispensed with, she listened to various conversations.

They were charming couples who were in Brussels from England, to take in the town.

Some names were familiar but nobody that she had previously met.

They were couples who lived on the fringes of the Society and hoped to be a part of it.

They may have recognized the name, Lady Blythe Claxton, daughter of the Duke of Arscott, but Blythe Valentine, wife of Dr. Orlando Valentine, meant nothing to them and for that she was grateful.

After dinner was announced, Orlando led her to a seat and then settled beside her.

He was much more comfortable engaging in conversation than she was.

Odd, when she was younger it had never been much of a difficulty, but after following the drum for nearly four years and only being surrounded by men in the cavalry, and the few wives who were present, Blythe had lost her skills at polite conversation.

It was probably better that they thought she was shy, then maybe nobody would seek her out, not that she had intended to make herself available anyway.

Once dinner was complete, the ladies were excused to the parlor but the men remained behind for port.

This had struck her as odd. It was a practice she’d witnessed in English households but had not expected at an inn in Brussels.

As the doors closed on the men, Mrs. Desmit led them to the parlor before she retrieved tea for them go enjoy.

That was also when the questions began, all manner of barely veiled intrusive questions.

Blythe could not understand the sudden interest in her, other than she was the newest to take a room, but she did her best to answer what it was like being a wife following the drum, how she lived, and also remembered each and every response because she would need to tell Orlando so that if he was questioned, their answers were the same.

Except, what if the men were questioning him now, and he responded differently. Then if husbands and wives compared conversations…

Oh, this was the difficulty in entering into a ruse—keeping the facts and information the same.

Maybe she should have just remained at the camp. Or maybe she should just return to England.

By the time the men did join them, Blythe had developed a headache that began in her shoulders, then spread up her neck and into her head.

“I believe I will retire,” she told Orlando as he stopped beside her chair.

“I shall escort you upstairs.”

The two said nothing until they were once alone in the chamber with the door closed and then they only whispered because someone had mentioned that sometimes one could hear through walls.

Blythe walked to the dressing table and removed her gloves.

She had chosen them earlier to cover her bandaged wrists, and one of her explanations during tea was that she had burned herself over cooking fires and gloves helped protect the tenderness of her skin.

She hated the lie but it would allow her to keep wearing the gloves until her wrists healed because those bandages would be much harder to explain.

“I was asked many questions,” she said.

“What did you tell them?”

The two quickly compared their responses and were quite pleased that they were not so different because both had been intentionally vague.

“I hope you do not mind, but I will not leave until everyone has retired and I believe them asleep.”

She had thought he would leave immediately and to be honest, she wanted to get lost in slumber.

“Men have a mindset.” His face began to redden. “Because we are wed and have been living in a tent in the middle of a military camp, they assumed that I would take advantage of the privacy of a room with a soft bed.”

Her face heated. “I understand.”

She certainly was not going to ask him to leave because it would only invite more questions that she had no desire to answer.

“What do you suppose we do?”

“We could come to know one another,” he suggested as the corner of his mouth quirked. “You do belong to me.”

Blythe pulled back. She had been her husband’s property, was Orlando going to claim control of her as well?

“Blythe, I am teasing.” Orlando reached out and took her hands.

The warmth spread up her arms and a soothing calmness settled over her. It was the oddest sensation.

“You turned nearly white with fear.” He chuckled. “I only meant to make light of this unusual situation.”

“I am sorry. It is just…” what did she say? She had been afraid of losing what little freedom she had gained today and feared that she had misjudged him or once again foolishly trusted the words of a man.

“It is just proof that despite our circumstances, we are still very much strangers.”

She looked into Orlando’s grey eyes and her heart calmed. “You are correct,” she finally admitted with a smile.

“Then we should change that.” He let go of her hands and Blythe immediately suffered the loss of comfort.

Maybe it was because she hadn’t been touched with gentle affection in such a very long time that she hadn’t realized that it was something she craved.

She had experienced the care when he treated her wrists earlier, but her hand in his was simply for comfort.

* * *

It had been a mistake to touch her. First, she was married to another man, but Orlando wanted to do more than hold her hands. He wanted to hold Blythe, pull her close. This had been such a trying day for her and his instinct was to comfort, but it was not his place to do so.

“Where do we begin, if we are to come to know one another?” she asked.

He had many questions, but he needed to ask the ones that reminded him that Blythe belonged to another, especially now that they were alone in her chamber.

He hated that she was married. Especially to such an arse that would sell her.

“How long have you been married?”

“It will be four years, next month on the twenty-eighth.”

“I will claim the same date if anyone were to ask, then you will not have to remember a separate piece of information.”

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile.

“What prompted him to sell you now?”

Blythe blew out a heavy sigh and settled on the side of the bed.

To keep his distance, Orlando sat in the chair beside the window.

“Because he wanted out of the military but did not want to be a sheep farmer,” she answered.

“Sheep farmer?” She was the daughter of a duke, certainly her father would not allow them to live in such reduced circumstances.

Then again, her father had warned Blythe not to marry Lieutenant Clay.

Would they gain no support from him when they did return?

He was certainly familiar with such rejection when a daughter married against a parent’s wishes. It had happened to his own mother.

“John did not want to be in the military at all, but he is the third son of a viscount whose coffers were nearly dry and the estate crumbling. It was John’s grandfather, his mother’s father, who purchased his commission since he would no longer be receiving quarterlies because there were no funds.”