Page 18 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“A llan?” Frederica’s voice caught his attention. He turned at the bottom of the stairs to see his wife was halfway down the stairs.

She was wearing another of the gowns he had purchased for her. In a deep, rich, dark blue satin, it looked stunning against the paleness of her skin and the brightness of her eyes. Speechless, Allan’s jaw slackened a little as he stared at her.

She walked toward him, so swiftly down the steps that he had to clear his throat to shift the sudden awe from his mind.

“Good evening,” he said softly.

“You do not call me Freddie anymore,” she whispered, stopping a couple of steps above him so that she was at his height.

“I had a feeling you might not want me to,” he pointed out, grimacing a little when he saw her bite her lip.

“I do not mind it.” She shook her head then fidgeted, her hands wringing together. “You will join us for dinner tonight, will you not?” she pleaded. “I’d like you to come.”

“You would?” Allan said, somewhat startled. He had a feeling that Frederica would be much more content without him pushing himself into every corner of her life, but she was now looking at him with a rather desperate expression. “As you wish, I will come.”

She smiled and stepped past him, urging Allan to follow her. He was still in awe of how beautiful she looked in that gown.

In the dining room, they found Honora already seated. Allan pulled out the chair for his wife, helping her to sit, before taking his own seat. Only when he sat down did he notice the rather intent way Honora was looking at him.

“How was your trip to Covent Garden?” he said hurriedly, in order to get her to stop staring at him in such a way.

It turns out, he couldn’t have said anything better to start a conversation. Honora was off, gushing about what a wonderful trip they’d had and all the samples they had brought home to help Frederica prepare for the redecorating.

As Frederica joined in with the conversation, she became lighter in manner, not so stiff-backed and even a little playful. Quite captivated by the change in her, Allan found himself just watching her as he ate, hanging on her every word.

She was completely at ease and very happy. It was as he had been longing to see her for days now. When they retired from the dining room to the parlor together, Frederica went happily into the room.

“What about a game of cards? Allan? Would you play?”

“Of course.” He smiled, happy to be included in such an invitation.

As he set up the card table and Frederica went off to find a pack of cards, Allan found his arm abruptly caught in a vice-like grip.

“Ow,” he muttered, angling his head around to see that Honora was beside him. He had to hold back his laughter, startled that such a small woman could have such a strong grip. “Everything well?” he asked, doing his best to loosen his arm from her grip. She constantly glanced at the doorway, checking for when Frederica would return.

“It is comforting to see a husband stare at his wife so much in admiration,” she whispered.

Stunned she had noticed, he coughed and pulled out a chair, offering it to her. She took it, smiling at him in a way that suddenly reminded him of Frederica. There wasn’t much likeness in their appearance, but when she smiled, there was something familiar there.

“I do not know what you mean,” he lied to which Honora giggled like a woman far younger than her years.

“I mean that there are so many husbands who marry for arrangement who do not even look at their wives, or if they do, they look at them with ice in their eyes… but not you, My Lord.”

“Allan. Please, call me Allan,” he pleaded as he took his seat beside her.

“Allan.” She smiled at him, all signs of her rigid posture and haughty look vanished. “I just wish my niece would notice the way that you look at her.”

Allan looked cautiously at the door, but seeing that Frederica hadn’t yet returned, he felt a little comfort in confessing one secret.

“She does not wish to notice it,” he explained softly. “She wishes to keep me at arm’s length, so that is where I will stay.”

Honora’s smile faded a little.

“May I tell you a story about my niece and her family?”

He waved at her, urging her to continue on.

“My brother, that is, her father, has always had high expectations in life,” Honora whispered quickly, clearly wary of Frederica returning at any moment. “It was bred into him by our own father. Every tutor he had, every teacher, every word ever uttered by our father impressed such a thought on him.”

She smiled sadly. “I still respect my brother in the way that a relative has to, but any degree of love or warmth vanished long ago. Shortly before I was forced to leave London…” she hesitated, sighing, “I saw Frederica. She was only two years old.”

“What was she like?”

“A child of that age should be carefree, should they not?” Honora asked sadly. “They should be playing and enjoying life.”

“They should.” Allan nodded, thinking of his nephew and niece.

“Frederica was made to sit in a corner like a doll.” Honora’s voice was abruptly cold. “She has been taught since such a young age that happiness, freedom, and dare I say it, even fun is a stolen thing. She has been taught that such happinesses are not for her.”

Allan blinked, shifting in his seat.

He knew Frederica’s home life had been difficult. He’d witnessed repeatedly how cruel her father’s expectations of her could be and even her mother’s high views on life which could belittle Frederica, but this was something new.

“I had never considered Frederica in that light,” he confessed in a whisper.

“I urge you to remember it,” Honora pleaded with him. “I know myself that life is not always easy, My Lord, but sometimes, there are reasons for it.”

“Found them!” Frederica suddenly called.

Honora turned happily in her chair as Allan sat dumbstruck in the seat.

Frederica moved to the table, shuffling the cards.

“What shall we play?” she asked.

Honora’s suggestion of Whist was quickly taken up though Allan lost every game he played that night. He was too distracted. Either he spent his time staring at Frederica, admiring her in that beautiful gown, or he stared at her thinking of what Honora had said.

Is she so afraid of happiness she is unable to indulge in it?

* * *

“Oh, how I shall miss you,” Honora gushed as she embraced Frederica.

The sun was beating down on them, basking the grounds in an intense heat as they said goodbye. Frederica was hardly in a rush to let go of her aunt either, so she just let Honora embrace her for as long as she wanted to, even though they had both been standing on the driveway beside the carriage for some time.

“I shall miss you too,” Frederica said softly as, at last, Honora let go of her. Fussing, Honora gently pushed a loose lock of Frederica’s hair back behind her ear.

“You will take care of yourself, won’t you?” Honora pleaded.

“I will,” Frederica promised.

“And you will write to me?”

“Of course.”

“Every day?”

“Maybe not every day,” Frederica laughed. “How about every week?”

“I should like that.” Honora smiled broadly. She took hold of Frederica’s hand and looked at the house, appraising it with her keen eyes. “I have a feeling you will be very content here, my dear. Just give it a little more time, and everything will come together.”

Frederica didn’t know what to say. She wondered if Honora had always had this same optimism. Was she so certain of happiness when she herself had escaped London to go and hide in Cornwall? Would she really look back on that optimism now and still believe in it? She had been alone for so long.

“Glass half full, dear,” Honora whispered, as if she could read Frederica’s thoughts. “Not half empty.”

“Yes, you are right.” Frederica turned to help her aunt into the carriage when a strange feeling passed over her.

It was as if she was being watched. She felt eyes most determinedly on her back.

As she released her aunt into the carriage, she turned on the spot, looking at the house, but every window was empty. She thought she might find Allan there, looking at her, but she knew that was mad. Lucy had assured her Allan had left early on another one of his walks around the estate that morning.

“Is everything well?” Honora asked from in the carriage.

“Perfectly,” Frederica lied, now peering past the carriage and towards the main gate of the estate. She thought she saw a shadow move, but then a thin strip of white cloud passed in front of the sun, and it was gone.

I imagined it. There was no one there watching me.

She shrugged it off, returning her focus to Honora.

“You will come again soon, won’t you?” Frederica pleaded.

“You do know that sooner or later, news of my visit to you will reach your father,” Honora said with raised eyebrows. “Staff talk, even when they do not mean to. One odd word at a market overheard by someone in the household of your father, and the news will reach his ears in an instant.”

“I am prepared for his wrath on the matter,” Frederica nodded. “He hardly looks at me with any degree of pride as it is. I’d rather have you close, Honora, and brave his displeasure.”

Honora smiled gently. She reached forward and patted Frederica softly on the cheek.

“Then I shall be back very soon indeed. You never know, I may grow used to this old carriage on these bumpy roads up from Cornwall. Take care.”

“And you.” Frederica struggled to say goodbye, but she eventually stepped back, allowing a footman to close the carriage door. Instructions were delivered to the driver, and the carriage was quickly pulled forward.

Honora leaned out of the window, waving goodbye wildly, and prompting Frederica to laugh as she waved back. The carriage soon disappeared through the gate beyond the driveway, and Frederica lowered her hand though she didn’t return inside right away.

That feeling was there again that eyes were upon her. She stared, watching a glimmer of that shadow.

It’s there. I’m certain it is.

It was as though someone stood behind the tall gate post, peering around the red brick to watch her then the clouds moved in front of the sun again, and the figure was gone.

“Maybe I am going mad,” Frederica muttered, turning her back on the gate and walking back toward the house. She had barely reached the front stoop when a sound brought her to a halt.

A horse galloped through the open gate, racing down the driveway. One of the footmen hastened forward, helping the rider to grab the reins and keep the horse under control, so he did not go wild.

“Lady Padleigh?” the man atop the horse called to her.

“Yes?”

“I have a letter for you. It’s from Lord and Lady Campbell.” The messenger jumped down from his horse and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, pulling out a small folded letter which he handed to her.

“Thank you.” She paid him for his trouble and returned into the house, hastening back to the parlor where she found Lucy and Mrs. Long holding up some of the different fabric swatches she had obtained in Covent Garden.

“What do you think, My Lady?” Lucy asked excitedly, trying to hold up a particularly large sample that was in danger of smothering her.

“I like it very much,” Frederica said, laughing with Mrs. Long as the housekeeper practically wrestled the fabric off Lucy to keep her safe from dropping it.

“A letter, My Lady?” Mrs. Long asked.

“Yes, from my parents.” Frederica sat down, staring at the letter but not quite opening it for a minute.

She could sense Mrs. Long and Lucy both looking at her, waiting for her to open it. A nervousness lodged deep within her stomach was what made Frederica hesitate, like a giant moth trapped in her gut that would not settle from fluttering his quivering wings.

“Tea, My Lady?” Mrs. Long offered, clearly wanting to be helpful.

“Or something stronger?” Lucy’s suggestion earned a harsh glare from Mrs. Long though Frederica felt the tension dissipate with it.

“Maybe,” Frederica said smiling. She opened the letter, tearing through the red seal that bore the emblem of her father and flattening the letter so she could read it, and she read the first line.

My dearest Frederica,

At once, she knew the letter was from her mother, not her father. It made some more of the tension slacken from her stomach.

It has been too long since we have seen one another. I know that things were not easy when we last parted from one another, but I am keen to make amends. Please, come to see us. Come for dinner this Friday evening.

I long to speak with you, to find out if you are enjoying your new life. Forgive a mother her curiosity, but someday you will see how a mother’s love can eat her up inside — how she can go mad with wondering if she has no answers to her curiosity.

Please, come. I long to know you are happy.

Your loving mother, Margaret.

A smile crept across Frederica’s face.

“Judging by that expression, tea will be fine then, My Lady?” Mrs. Long offered.

“Yes, please.” Frederica couldn’t stop smiling as she stared at the letter. There were two words in particular that kept leaping out at her.

‘…make amends…’

It was possible that Allan’s words when her parents were last here had shaken them up after all. Maybe they intended to apologize for all that had passed and begin again. Such hope rippled through Frederica that she could not sit still, and she soon found herself standing, waving the letter in front of her to try and cool down in the heat.

“Has Allan yet returned?” she asked Mrs. Long, wishing to speak with him and talk about the letter.

“I believe he has, My Lady,” Mrs. Long nodded. “He is in his study.”

Frederica thanked her and hurried off through the house. In her excitement, she practically ran, gripping the skirt of her gown. When she reached the study, she knocked as quickly as she could.

“Come,” Allan’s voice came from inside. As she entered the room, she stumbled in surprise.

Allan was not wearing his tailcoat because of the heat, and a couple of his waistcoat buttons were undone too. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. The whole appearance of the man made her mouth feel suddenly dry rather unbidden.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked in sudden panic. Whatever paper he had been looking at, was put down and he hurried toward her.

Trying to ignore the joy she felt at him wanting to protect her, she pushed the letter forward for him to read.

“Maybe they want to apologize,” she whispered to him. “What do you think?”

“Maybe.” He smiled with her. “Would you like to go alone to this dinner? Or should I come with you?”

“Alone, please.” She nodded. “If this is an apology, my mother might feel better about it if it is just us.”

“Then I wish you luck.”

It did not escape her notice that he didn’t smile quite as much as she did as he read the letter.

* * *

Frederica stood on the front step of her old home, fidgeting constantly as she waited for the door to be answered.

Such excitement rippled through her that her cheeks continuously pulled upward into a smile.

This is it. It is a chance for me and my parents to begin again. We’ll be as we should have been. It’s a new beginning!

The door opened, and the old butler smiled widely to see her.

“Come in,” he said pleasantly, beckoning her inside.

“How are you?” Frederica asked, but before she could talk much with the butler, a door nearby was thrust open, and her mother appeared.

Her mother had dressed finely for their dinner, so affluently in fact that it actually made Frederica think twice about the gown she had chosen. She had opted for the rich blue gown Allan had gifted to her. She loved it, and though it was an evening gown, it was hardly in the realms of her mother’s dress.

Margaret looked as if she was about to attend a ball. She was wearing an excessively pink and ruffled dress with a white feather thrust into her elaborate updo.

“Frederica!” Margaret declared, already gripping a glass of bubbling champagne in her hand. As she moved toward Frederica and wrapped her other arm around her, it was not difficult to tell from Margaret’s unsteadiness that it was not her first glass of champagne that evening. “I am so glad to see you,” Margaret whispered in her ear. “Come, come, there is much to talk about.”

She gripped Frederica’s hand and dragged her through the doorway and into the sitting room. Frederica followed, smiling at her mother’s happiness, when suddenly, she stopped dead in the doorway.

She knew that smell. How would she ever be able to forget the stench of that cologne?

It cannot be him. It can’t be.

Across the room, her father stood pouring out two glasses of claret from a decanter, one for himself and one for Lord Wetherington.