Page 20 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY

A llan peered through the doorway into the parlor, not daring to enter.

It had been three days since Frederica had been to see her parents, and each day, she seemed to be growing worse. Though she came to breakfast and dinner, sat with him, and even managed the occasional little smile, she did not talk freely.

Even now when she was sitting with her maid, Lucy, and the two were talking together about the renovations on the house, she was lackluster in conversation. Pale and wan and lacking in energy, she was lost.

A distant bell rang in the house, and Allan turned away, unable to stare at his sad wife any longer. He burned with anger as he walked away, all that fury directed at her parents.

When he reached the entrance hall, the butler had beaten him to the front door, opening it wide.

Stephen stepped in, and at his side was Peter, who was waving one of his favorite wooden horses in the air.

“Uncle Allan!” Peter declared happily, releasing his father and running forward.

“Hey,” Allan said happily, reaching down and lifting his nephew up under his arms. “What have you got there?” he asked, pointing at the horse.

“My horse,” Peter said. “I’ll be a great rider when I’m older. I’ve told Pa as much.”

“That he has,” Stephen agreed, walking forward with a laugh. As he reached Allan’s side though, his laugh faltered a little. “Are you all right?”

“Well enough. Come, let’s get something to drink.”

Allan led the pair of them outside into the rose garden. As Peter ran off with his horse, a footman trailing behind him to make sure he didn’t fall into one of the rose bushes, Stephen and Allan shared a pitcher of lemonade.

“Out with it,” Stephen said, waving a hand at Allan. “In this brief moment of respite, come, tell me what is bothering you.”

“Frederica is wandering around this house like a ghost,” Allan muttered, shaking his head. “Something happened. What, I cannot tell you, for it is her tale to tell, not mine, but ever since, she has acted as if she isn’t really here at all. She’s too trapped in here —” He tapped his own temple. “I don’t know what to do to bring her out again.”

“Forgive this question, Allan. If Dorothy were here, she’d shout at me — probably curse at me too if she thought no one else was listening — but I have to ask as your friend.” He checked around his shoulder then leaned toward Allan. “Do you think you and Frederica can be happy together? Someday?”

The question took him so much by surprise that he didn’t answer right away. He stood there, staring at his lemonade, stuck for words.

“If you think it possible, then I’d suggest doing something about it. Perhaps giving her a way to show that she could be happy here. If you think that you will never be happy…” Stephen sighed and took Allan’s shoulder. “I would hate to see you miserable in your life, Allan. You deserve to be happy in your marriage.”

“There’s so much talk of happiness and misery these days, I feel as if I am going to drown in it. You know, doctors call it the melancholy. Have you heard of that?” Allan asked with exasperation.

“I have heard of it. Do you think that is what you and your wife suffer from at present?”

“No.” Allan shook his head quickly. “I know what you are saying, Stephen, but I do think we could be happy together. There have been moments in this house where we have been happy.”

He thought of Frederica’s first few days here, how much they had laughed together, how he would sit with her as she played the piano and she would come walking with him in the garden.

Then there was that kiss…

For all of her insistence for him not to kiss her again, she had kissed him back. It offered him a glimmer of hope.

“Then perhaps find a way to prove to her that you are here for her, no matter what comes between you,” Stephen suggested.

Allan toyed with the idea, intrigued by it, just as Peter shot out of the nearest bush and almost tackled Stephen to the ground. There was raucous laughter as Stephen and the footman both ran after Peter, trying to get him to come back again.

Allan sat down on the nearest bench, watching Peter as he laughed joyously with a little envy lodged deep in his gut.

By the time Stephen and Peter came to take their leave, Allan knew exactly what he was going to do. He didn’t intend to confront Frederica with any big sweeping statements of affection or any declarations. Instead, he would show her incrementally, a day at a time, that he would always be there for her.

When he found her later that day in the music room, rather than playing the piano, she was humming one of the tunes to herself, looking at sheet music for the harp.

“Freddie?” he called to her. She looked up from the music, looking through him, like she had done the last few days, rather than at him. “Will you come for dinner?”

“Is it that time?” She turned and checked the clock over a mantelpiece. It seemed she had lost track of time completely. It reminded him again of just how lost she was truly feeling. “Oh, yes. Yes of course, I’ll come now. First, I’ll just change.” She moved past him without giving him a second glance.

Coming so near yet feeling so far from her made him ache all the more. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her go. As she disappeared up the stairs, he moved into the music room and looked down at the harp sheet music.

It gave him an idea, a first step in showing her that here, she was completely free.

* * *

“My Lady? This has just arrived for you,” Mrs. Long said, entering the parlor.

“Oh, thank you.” Frederica took the letter woodenly, distracted, for she had still been staring at the swatches of curtain material, unable to make up her mind on what to go for.

“Is there anything you need?” Mrs. Long asked. The rather worried expression made Frederica ache all the more.

She was not ignorant. She had not missed that Mrs. Long, Lucy, and even Allan these last few days had been looking at her as if gunpowder was about to be lit. Somehow, their concern made it all the worse. It made her even more listless and confused by their worry.

“No, thank you,” Frederica said softly. Mrs. Long smiled comfortingly then left the room.

At first, Frederica gave no attention to the letter. She continued with her task, trying her best to ignore it, but in the end, she decided she would have to read it. She couldn’t suspend reality and live in this happy moment for too long.

Frederica broke the seal of the letter, not really paying attention to it at first. However, when she opened the letter, she was hit with a sudden scent. It made her gag. She realized at once who it was from.

She moved to the edge of her seat, staring down at the letter, trying her best not to let her fingers shake in fear.

My darling Frederica,

I cannot bear to see you turn your back on me again. You cannot persist in your ignorance of what we share.

I must see you. I must have you as mine. That husband of yours be damned, and maybe that’s what it will come to? Maybe that’s what needs to happen to him for you to see that we should have always been together from the very beginning?

There is no other way.

Come to me, today. I shall be waiting for you in the corner of Hyde Park where the streams intersect.

Come to me, and we will talk this through. You will see that we must be together.

If you do not come, that husband of yours will pay the price.

M.

A shuddered breath escaped Frederica.

I could never leave Allan!

The thought came to her suddenly and overwhelmingly. She leapt to her feet and ran from the room, hastening down the corridor, nearly tripping on the hem of her skirt though she narrowly managed to avoid doing so.

“Allan?” she called. “Allan?”

“My Lady?” Lucy appeared through the nearest doorway, a silver bowl in her hand that she had been polishing. “Is all well?”

“Where is my husband?” Frederica asked in a panic. She had to see him; she had to know that Lord Wetherington hadn’t hurt him because of her. “Is he here?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Lucy nodded. “I believe he just had a visitor. Something of a surprise.” She smiled, giddily. “They went into the music room.”

“Thank you.” Frederica took off at a run again. She stuffed the letter into her sleeve, not wanting to share exactly why she was so concerned, for how could she share this with Allan? How could she admit that his life could be in danger all because of her? It was too awful to bear!

She dived into the music room, only to find it was empty. She turned on the spot, panic threatening to drown her, when her eyes saw something in the corner of the room.

It was not a person, but an instrument.

The most beautiful harp she had ever seen in her life stood there with a note pinned to one of the strings. The note, written in Allan’s handwriting, read: For you.

With her hand still quivering, Frederica ran her fingers across the top of the harp, the golden carvings beautiful, shining in the sunlight that gleamed through the windows. She pulled gently on one of the tight strings. It chimed in the air, a perfectly tuned sound.

Such happiness rolled over her that the feeling collided with her fear. She felt quite sick, nauseous from these rushing emotions. With so many emotions warring to win inside of her, a new one came to the forefront and beat the rest.

Anger.

She stumbled away from the harp and ran out of the room. She could no longer remember where she had even hid Lord Wetherington’s letter as she searched for Allan. She flung open doors but couldn’t find him in any of them.

The only thing she managed was to make poor Lucy and another maid in the dining room jump out of their skins as they were polishing the silverware. Frederica hastily apologized and ran on again, eventually ending up out in the rose garden where she at last found Allan.

He was sitting on his usual bench, surrounded by roses, his nose buried in a book.

“What are you doing with that thing?” The words erupted from Frederica. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was mad to act like this, but she couldn’t help it.

“What?” Allan looked up from his place, putting down the book. “Frederica, what’s wrong?”

“Why on earth have you bought me that harp?” she asked, running and stopping in front of him.

“You ask me that?” His expression changed to a look of ferocity she had not known him capable of.

He looks like a different man.

* * *

Allan slowly stood to his feet, taking in Frederica’s frantic demeanor. She couldn’t stand still as she rounded on him.

“Why have you bought me that harp?” she asked again. “Why would you give me such a gift?”

“Have you not just answered your own question? It’s called a gift,” he reminded her. “I bought it to try and make you happy. Clearly, an endeavor that was worth the effort,” he said with thick irony.

She grunted in frustration, turning on the spot.

Allan was beginning to realize the helplessness of his situation. He could offer to defend her, and that wasn’t enough. Now he could buy her gifts and sit patiently to show her that he would be there for her, but that was clearly the wrong thing as well.

What does she want from me?

“I thought you liked the harp.”

“Of course, I like the harp. I love it.”

“Then what is the problem? I gave you something you wanted.” He waved back at the house. “What’s so wrong with making this place somewhere you want to be?”

“Because you are confusing me!” She threw the words at him.

“Confusing you? Ironically, that is going to need more explanation.” He motioned a hand toward her.

“Why are you so kind? Why are you so protective and encouraging when you made it plain this is a marriage of convenience?” At her words, he stood still, suddenly understanding what he had not been able to see before. “You married me to save my reputation and your own. You said as much when you proposed. Why be so kind now?”

Her breath hitched, but if she was tempted to cry, she stopped it and pushed on, “Why confuse me and buy me such gifts as this?”

More than anything, Allan wanted to show her what she truly meant to him, that all this dancing around one another had simply made him want her more. He didn’t just want her as a wife in name; far from it, for he wanted them to truly be man and wife.

She has said not to kiss her again.

“And what would be wrong if this was more than a marriage of convenience, Freddie?” he asked softly.

She raised a hand across her chest, perhaps trying to soothe the wild beating of her heart, for his was certainly off the scale in its mad beating. He could hear it drumming in his ears.

“Would it be so bad if I did want more than that?” he asked, pressing the point a little more.

She stood her ground, still not answering him.

I have to break through her walls.

When he realized she hadn’t run away from him, he saw his chance and moved toward her. She took a step back in alarm at his sudden movement, but she still didn’t run from him.

He caught her hand first, kissing the back, then turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist too, listening as she gasped at the touch, then he moved toward her, not kissing her on the lips but on the forehead.

Her hand came up between them, her fingers latching around the top of his waistcoat. That touch was enough to make his stomach flutter with hope.

She is not pushing me away. She’s keeping me close.

He moved his lips down to her cheek, kissed her there. Then, as she angled her head up an inch, he saw an opportunity and offered the softest of kisses to the base of her throat. That same gasping sound escaped her again.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice stammering.

He offered another kiss to her forehead before halting and turning his face down a little to look her in the eye.

“You told me not to kiss you on the lips again, and I will not break my promise to you,” he whispered, “but I had to find a way to show you what you mean to me. If words are not enough, then maybe this is.”

He lifted his hand between them, turned it over, and placed his lips gently to her palm. He watched her the whole time, seeing the way her chest moved up and down with her quickened breathing.

She was not pulling away from him. Her eyelids even closed as she indulged in the feeling of his lips.

She feels it too.

“Don’t pull away from me now,” he begged, his lips still against her skin.

“I don’t want to.” Her words were in a rush. He pressed his lips just that bit firmer to her palm, hearing her gasp. He couldn’t help smiling as her eyes opened, and she looked up at him.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered though there was no heat in her words.

“Me? I’m the impossible one?” he jested, chuckling lightly. “Maybe we both are a little.”

She smiled too.

He felt utter elation, it was all consuming, then she raised herself on her toes. Allan couldn’t believe it. After all that had passed, all that she had asked him not to do, here Frederica was being the one to kiss him.

Their lips brushed softly together. It was a temptation, the promise of something that was nearly there but not quite yet fully indulged. Allan didn’t want to push his luck, but he held the kiss for as long as possible, basking in the delight of her passion.

It was the briefest of things. He went from elation to sadness as she stepped back, her smile faded away, and she retracted her hand from him.

“You are pulling away,” he surmised, noting every way in which she moved.

“There’s… there’s something I have to do.” With a sudden and determined movement, she walked away from him. She didn’t head back toward the house but strode through the garden, walking around the building.

“Freddie?” he called, following her. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go and do something. I’ll be back later. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“I hope so; it’s still the morning!” he reminded her.

“Is it? Oh.” She looked up at the sky, clearly marking where the sun was, so high in the sky, then walked on. “Then yes, I’ll be back long before dinner.”

“Where are you going?” he asked as they reached the front of the house, heading toward the stable.

“I… I cannot tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?”

As they entered the stable together, Allan felt himself increasingly losing control. Frederica was not only running from him again but running from their home!

“I’ll be back,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. “I promise, I will come back. It’s just something I have to do.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what?” he said in a deep undertone, aware of the two groomsmen who had stopped attending to the horses to listen in.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The pain radiated through his gut again. Knowing he would never hold her prisoner somewhere she didn’t want to be, he shifted his attention to the groomsmen.

“Prepare a carriage for Lady Padleigh, please,” he asked.

The groomsmen nodded and hurried to their task.

“Trust me?” Frederica pleaded.

Allan turned to face her once more, putting his back to the groomsmen and lifting her hand to his lips. He kissed the back, holding her gaze.

“Just please, come home again.”

“I will.” Then her hand slipped out of his.

As Frederica was placed in the carriage and Allan was forced to watch from the front step as his wife rode away without him, he couldn’t help feeling this was a bad omen.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself. “What if she doesn’t come home again?”