Page 7

7

During breakfast Andrew was moody. Last night she believed he loved her. In their bed, he did not say, I love you, not even once, but she felt it. His touch was reverent.

She wanted to know everything about him, every side of him, so she could understand him. She hoped if he introduced her to his family, that would be like a key and unlock everything. It would explain why he felt uncomfortable among her family, and why he was so fiercely self-reliant.

‘May we ride this morning?’ she asked. It was cloudy but it was not raining.

‘Yes. If you would like to.’

He claimed his family did not care about him, but they must.

‘Then I thought we ought to call on your parents before luncheon. I would not wish to call when they may be expecting others. If they do not like me?—’

‘I did not say they would dislike you, I said they would not be interested in you.’ His pitch was cold as he added sugar to his coffee.

‘Yet we will go?’ she questioned.

His eyebrows lifted as he watched the spoon he spun around in his cup, dissolving the sugar.

She made a face at him, because he was not looking. But he looked up and caught the tail end of her expression.

‘Are you sure you want me to take you? I will warn you only once more, it is a bad idea.’

‘Yes, I am sure.’

That was not the last time he tried to discourage her. He tried to persuade her against it again on their ride to the park. Then after they’d given the horses their heads for a while and pulled up, he warned her another time; as though he had thought about nothing else for the whole gallop. When he lifted her down from Athena in the stable yard, he pressed her to change her mind and continued trying to dissuade her all the way home. He even ignored the lad who swept the street, who he always spoke to.

His warnings became more adamant as he helped her with her buttons as she took off her habit and put on a day dress.

Then he said repeatedly in the hackney carriage on the way to his parents’ town house she would not enjoy this.

Yet in all these warnings not once did he explain why he did not want to take her, beyond saying they would not care that he was married.

She thought they would. She thought she could find out why he was not close to his family and help him fix the problem.

When they reached the town house, which was a tall, wide building in Cavendish Square, Andrew climbed out from the carriage and offered a trembling hand to help her down the step.

This area of London was old money. His family, therefore, had held a place in society for generations. Of course, she could have looked Andrew’s family up in The Peerage at John’s house, the book which indexed the members of titled nobility. But she had not because it would have felt disloyal to research him rather than ask him.

His skin paled as he looked up at the house.

Yesterday he was hesitant when they reached John’s – here, he looked afraid.

She wrapped her hand about his arm, it felt as stiff as iron.

He coughed, clearing his throat as though it were dry as they walked to the front door.

I should not have made him come.

The front door opened and the hired carriage pulled away.

It was too late to leave.

As he stepped over the threshold, he became so pale she thought he might be ill.

‘Andrew?’ she whispered.

‘Remember, I warned you,’ he said through the side of his mouth, before facing the servant who had opened the door.

‘Good morning, Master Drew.’

A stiff-lipped smiled acknowledged the welcome. ‘Is the Marquis at home, Mr Potts, and my lady mother?’

She remembered Andrew saying it was the servants who had shortened his name.

‘Indeed. Shall I ask if you may be received?’

Mary just managed to stop her jaw dropping. Why would he need to ask for their permission?

‘That would be the point of me standing here. Please tell the Marchioness, I am here because my wife would like to be introduced.’

‘Your wife. Forgive me.’ He bowed towards Mary. ‘Lady Framlington.’ Then he said to Andrew, ‘Please wait, I will ask if it is convenient.’

The muscles in Andrew’s cheek twitched as the man walked away and climbed the stairs to the family rooms, leaving them standing in the hall.

Being left in the hall was not odd to him. Nor was it a surprise that the servant had no knowledge of their marriage. That meant if his parents had seen the announcement, they had not discussed it in the house. Servants heard everything.

They stood in silence for five minutes or more before Mr Potts returned.

‘The Marchioness will see you.’

They were escorted upstairs to a drawing room, and en route, Andrew established his roguish look of nonchalance.

She could see through this front now – he hid how much he did care behind that swagger.

She would have taken his hand but he held it away from her, over his midriff, giving her the impression he did not want to be touched. He was utterly insular, just as he had been yesterday at John’s and during their carriage ride back to London after they’d eloped. Then, as they followed the servant to an open door, she saw his eyes harden with his devil-may-care expression. That look always came before an argument.

‘You owe me for this,’ Andrew whispered as the servant entered the room ahead of them.

‘Lord and Lady Framlington, my lord,’ the butler intoned.

‘Yes, yes, bring him in,’ an impatient woman’s voice answered.

Andrew led the way, a pace ahead of Mary.

An older woman with a generous, curvaceous figure, who she presumed to be his mother, sat in a chair near the hearth. She wore a vivid emerald, taffeta morning dress and a matching turban. A stately gentleman with a large, crooked nose sat opposite her, reading a newspaper. Andrew’s father, she assumed, although there was no resemblance, either in his face or his build. A tall, slender gentleman, who did have a similar nose to the Marquis, sat on a sofa beside a woman, who was reading a book. Mary noted the wedding ring on her finger. Two younger men lounged in other chairs, sitting sideways, their legs hooked over the arms.

None of them stood to greet her. The men who lounged did not even sit up straight. And none of them acknowledged Andrew.

‘Sir.’ Andrew bowed even though his father did not look up. ‘Mother.’ He bowed again. ‘I have brought my wife to be introduced to you, at her wish. She did not want to be embarrassed by not knowing you in a public meeting.’

‘Potts told us your reason for being here, get on with it,’ Andrew’s mother said.

Andrew glanced at her, his eyebrows rising. ‘Mary, allow me to introduce you to Lord Framlington, the Marquis of Philkins.’

His father looked up, his expression saying he thought Andrew was something abhorrent. He glanced at Mary without comment, then looked back down at the newspaper.

Andrew’s Adam’s apple slid down and up as he swallowed, it was a nervous gesture.

‘And my mother, Lady Framlington.’ He looked at his mother.

Mary dropped a deep curtsy, ignoring their lack of interest.

If this was her family, Andrew would have made some silly quip, but he merely progressed. ‘My eldest brother, the Earl of Alder, and his wife.’ Again, they ignored her as Mary curtsied. ‘And my brothers, Lord Jack and Lord Mark.’ Mary bobbed a less eloquent curtsy as they stared rudely, still not sitting upright.

The Marquis cleared his throat. ‘I cannot see why you have brought this woman here. She is naught to do with me, is she.’

Mary heard Andrew take a deep breath, she imagined him holding in an insulting retort.

It was a mistake to make him bring her here.

‘No, sir,’ he said. His eyes looked cold and dark with emotions that were fathoms deep. ‘However, as we are here, perhaps you could offer Mary tea, Mother?’ Belligerence – anger and a false note of arrogance – had slipped into his pitch.

This is where he learned to mask his true emotions.

Warmth spread through Mary’s skin, the heat of embarrassment. She had never imagined that he would need to beg for their hospitality. How could she have foreseen this?

‘She’s a prize beauty,’ Jack said to Andrew. ‘How the devil did you win her, she’s Marlow’s, is she not? I suppose she’s bloody rich as well, knowing your luck.’

Mary saw a muscle in Andrew’s cheek tick.

If one of her brothers had spoken to her like that her father would have reprimanded them, even if they were not children any more.

Her hand wrapped about Andrew’s arm. They had not been asked to sit, and his mother had neither confirmed nor denied the offer of refreshment.

‘ She is my wife.’ Andrew glared at Jack. ‘And therefore Lady Framlington. She is also the half-sister of the Duke of Pembroke so if you do not wish to offend the better half of society, mind your words.’

Mary’s embarrassment continued as the men stared at her, the Marquis’s gaze piercing.

‘Edward Marlow would not have given his permission,’ the Marquis stated.

Andrew’s eldest brother, the Earl of Alder, stood. ‘I imagine Drew has been about his usual mischief.’

Mary expected Andrew to reply, but he was silent. His brother walked to a tray of decanters and poured himself a drink. He did not offer Andrew one. He looked at the Marquis. ‘Father…’

The desire to get Andrew out of the house pulsed into her limbs. This is a poisonous place. We should not have come.

‘If you wish for refreshment, Drew, you must tug the bell pull,’ his mother said. ‘There is no point standing there thinking someone will serve you.’

Mary’s cheeks burned on his behalf, but she was not going to let the woman continue to treat her as if she did not exist. She walked across to pull the bell herself.

‘She’s got a hell of a fine figure on her, ain’t she?’ Mark said. ‘You’re a damned lucky basta?—’

Mary heard a sudden movement and a strangled sound.

She turned back.

Andrew had gripped the knot of Mark’s cravat and twisted the fashionable neck cloth into a noose. ‘You will respect my wife. Do you hear me?’

‘Drew!’ his mother shouted.

The Marquis stood. ‘Out!’ He pointed at the door. ‘You are not welcome here. You never were, and you never will be. You are not my son and I regret the day I let you have my name. Go!’

Andrew thrust his brother back into the chair with a hard shove, let him go, and straightened.

Mary was unsure what to do.

He looked at his mother with scorn, glared defiantly at the Marquis, then held out his hand towards her.

If she could only turn back time, she would hear what he told her and not have brought him here. But how could she have imagined this? What had he done to deserve this? Why had they disowned him?

She took his hand. His fingers closed tightly about hers.

Andrew nodded a scarce bow in the direction of his mother. ‘Forgive me for reminding you of my existence.’ His voice was cold and condemning.

He turned, pulling Mary in his wake, and they left the room. She looked over her shoulder in the last stride. ‘Good day.’ His family were not polite, but she had been raised better.

As Andrew’s hard footsteps resonated along the hall, his father’s voice followed. ‘Good riddance!’

The butler encountered them mid-flight. ‘Master Drew…’

Andrew cast him a look that was so cold it could have turned him to stone. ‘I will show myself out without thieving, Potts. There is nothing I want from this house.’

The butler hurried after them.

‘Andrew,’ Mary said, in an attempt to slow him down as she struggled to keep up with him. He did not slow. But when they reached the stairs, he released her hand and left her to follow as he jogged down.

If he could have sprouted wings and flown from the house, she thought he would have.

In the hall he opened the door, and left it open for her to follow.

Her heart pounding, she hurried out. He had stopped on the pavement and reached into a pocket of his morning coat. He withdrew a thin cigar and matches. He placed the cigar in his mouth, squatted and struck a match on the pavement, then rose and lit the cigar, drawing heavily on it. He looked upward and blew the smoke out, then looked at her. ‘Are you ready then?’ His voice sounded emotionless. ‘We will walk home, if you do not mind. I cannot smoke in a hansom and it will take several streets to find one anyway, by which time we will be halfway home.’

His arm lifted, offering her the option to lay her hand on his forearm. The action denied what happened only moments ago, as though he did not care.

But he did care. She had seen his anger and she knew him now; she knew that beneath his anger was pain.

She accepted his arm, unsure what to do, and he walked on.

The muscle in his arm beneath her fingers gradually relaxed as he spoke animatedly about the weather, commented on passers-by and carriages, occasionally sucking on his cigar, and then blowing the smoke out away from her.

He had shut what had happened out of his mind in the way a maid might sweep dirt beneath a rug. The memory would still be there to find later.

When arguments exploded among her brothers, her brother Robbie was the quiet one. But he would let disagreements fester. Andrew reminded her of Robbie. How long has the argument with his family festered?

If she knew the cause, she could help. Maybe if he apologised, then he and his father could lay new foundations.

As they walked, and he talked nonsense, her mind plotted. Considering ways to help him establish a truce with his family. The argument was hurting him, there must be a way to repair the rift.

When they reached his rooms, she untied the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘Why did you fall out with them?’ she asked as he closed the door. She pulled the ribbons loose. ‘What did you do to upset them?’

‘What did I do…’ He glared at her.

Her lower lip caught between her teeth for a second, but she wished to speak. She would not be able to stand being at odds with her family. ‘I shan’t judge you if you tell me, and I might be able to help you heal the rift.’