Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception: The Truth About Lady Felkirk / A Ring from a Marquess - Christine Merrill, Christine Merrill - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

Now that William Felkirk was awake, Justine was discovering the inconveniences of married life. When he had been in a coma, there had been little question as to who made the decisions. On the rare occasions she had been overruled by the duke as to the best method to tend the invalid, it had been the result of discussion and not flat mandate. But now that he was awake, Lord Felkirk expected not just an equal share in his recovery, but the deciding vote in all matters.

After the discussion in the hall, she had hoped that there would be some time to persuade him of the need for caution before a change of location. But when she awakened the next morning, the arrangements for the move back to his own home were already in progress and would be done before noon. The valet seemed relieved to be packing up the limited supply of garments and his lord’s shaving kit. Her own garments were only slightly more troublesome, for she had brought a single trunk with her, when she’d come north. Penny offered her the use of the maid she’d had, until she was able to choose someone from her own household. The girl had already gone ahead and was probably already hanging gowns and pressing ribbons in their new home.

In the midst of the activity, William Felkirk paced the floor as though he could not wait to be under way. Though he had claimed to be reticent, he had obviously warmed to his brother’s advice and meant to act on it immediately. ‘It makes no sense to maintain a second household, less than a mile from the first,’ he said. ‘It is unfair to expect servants to fetch and carry items between the two. I have a perfectly good home, just down the road from here. I mean to live in it.’

‘But you are still so weak,’ she said. She cast a sidelong glance at the crutches in the corner and wondered if their kiss in the hallway had given him this burst of energy.

‘It is not as if I intend to walk the distance,’ he informed her. ‘A carriage ride will be no more strenuous than sitting in a Bath chair. The air of the journey will likely do me good.’

‘The doctor—’ she said plaintively.

‘—lives closer to the old manor than he does to this one. And do not tell me that the stairs will be unfamiliar, or the rooms inconvenient. It is the home I grew up in and I know each step of it. It is also a damned sight smaller than this cavernous place of my brother’s. It feels like I must walk a mile here, just to get from bed to breakfast.’

His words stopped her objections. ‘You did not always live here, in the duke’s manor?’

‘Heavens, no.’ William shook his head and smiled. ‘Mother did not like the old house at all. It had been fine for ten generations of Bellstons, but she wanted a ballroom and a grand dining hall. It is good that she did not live to see Adam nearly burn the place to the ground a few years ago. She would have been appalled. But that is another story.’

‘How long ago was that?’ she asked, trying to suppress her excitement.

‘The fire?’ he asked.

‘No. The building of the new manor.’

‘A little less than fifteen years,’ he said, taking a moment to count on his fingers. ‘In the end, it was a sensible decision. I am able to stay on the family lands without living in my brother’s pocket. The two manors are close enough to share the stables, the ice house and the gardens.’ He grinned. ‘I have all the advantages of being a duke and none of the responsibilities.’

Fifteen years. Her father had been dead for twenty. If there were clues to be had about the murder or the missing diamonds, she had been searching the wrong house for them. Surely they must be at the old manor, the place where she would soon be living.

‘I think you are probably right, then,’ she said, trying not to sound too excited. ‘A change will do you good.’ And it would give her an opportunity to search the rooms there that she had not already seen. When she found a way to get the information to him, Montague would be pacified. It would give her time to think of a next step that might keep Margot safe from his threats.

It also meant that she would be alone with her husband. There would be no duke and duchess to fill the days and evenings spent in company with him. The odds increased that his memory might return, or she would let slip some bit of the truth that could not be easily distracted by turning it to another subject.

But when darkness fell, there would be no reason for them to talk at all. As she had on the previous evening, she felt a strange anticipation, like the stillness in the air before a storm.

‘You will like it,’ he said, mistaking her silence for more understandable worries. ‘Just wait. You shall be mistress over your own home. In no time at all, you will have arranged everything to suit yourself and we shall return Adam and Penny’s hospitality.’

Her own household. What a strange idea. While she had experience in managing servants for Mr Montague, she had seen the way they looked at her, half in pity and half in disapproval, as though it pained them to take their instructions from the master’s whore. Now she was to be the lady of a manor and no one would doubt that it was her proper place. If the situation weren’t so dire, she might have been excited at the thought.

Once they were underway, it appeared that William was right about his need to make the move. As she sat in his side in the carriage, she could see his mood lightening with each turn of the wheels. He stared out the window so intently that she almost thought he was avoiding her gaze. At last, he said, ‘It is good to be coming home again. There is much about the current situation that is strange to me. Having to deal with it in my brother’s house made it no easier.’

‘They have been very kind to me, during our stay there,’ she remarked.

‘I would expect nothing less of them,’ he said. ‘But when we married, I am sure it was not our intent to live out the remainder of our lives in someone else’s house.’

‘True,’ she agreed.

‘We are barely out of our honeymoon, are we not?’ It was a perfectly innocent remark and a logical reason to wish to be alone together. But they both fell silent at the thought.

‘We have not known each other long,’ she answered. ‘And it has been a very unusual few months.’

They both fell silent again.

He took a breath and began again. ‘I will be frank with you, since it makes no sense not to be. I do not know you, as a husband should.’

‘Your accident...’ she said, searching for a way to explain the perfectly logical absence of romantic memories.

‘Is in the past,’ he finished for her. ‘I do not remember you. But if we are to be married, it does no good for me to be dwelling on that fact. I... We...’ he amended. ‘We must move forward with what is left. And it will be impossible if we continue to avoid each other, relying on family and friends to fill the gaps and sleeping on opposite sides of a closed door.’ Then he exhaled, as if it had taken an effort to state the obvious.

‘It was you who sent me away,’ she reminded him, careful to keep the censure from her voice. If they had truly been married she likely would have been hurt and angered by his rejection. But the sensible reaction was the one most likely to reveal her lies.

‘I was wrong to do so,’ he replied. ‘If we are married...’

‘If?’ she countered.

‘Now that we are married,’ he corrected, ‘we must accept the fact that the last six months change nothing. I have spoken to my brother and I do not think an annulment is possible.’

How could one dissolve a marriage that did not exist in the first place? She ignored the real question and chose another. ‘Did you wish to cast me off, then?’

She could see the change in his face, as he realised how cruel his words had been. When he spoke again, it was after some thought. ‘If I did, it was unfair of me, just as it was when I sent you from my bedroom. When we arrive at the house, I will instruct the servants to place your things in the room beside mine, for the sake of convenience. But from this point forward, I expect you to share my bed.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’ When Montague had informed her of her future, he had done it with a similar lack of passion. She had been foolish to imagine, after a kiss or two, it would be any different with this man.

Beside her, Lord Felkirk swore under his breath. ‘I did not mean it to sound like a command.’

‘You are my husband,’ she said, with as much confidence as she could manage. ‘I have promised to obey. It shall be just as you wish and I will do my best to give you no reason to be unhappy.’

Apparently, she had failed in that already. He was frowning. Despite his earlier excitement, he looked no happier when they reached the house. ‘My home,’ Will said in a tired voice, and waited for her comment.

She was not sure what she had expected, but it had not been this. It was not the thoroughly modern manor that the duke inhabited, with its large windows and perfectly matched wings. The old manor still held traces of the fortress it had once been. On the left, a square tower ended in wide crenellations. There was nothing left of the right tower but a low wall of grey stone to mark the edge of the kitchen garden. Though a Gothic stone arch remained around the iron-bound front door, the rest of the main building had been rebuilt of brick by some misguided architect of another century.

It was a hodge-podge of styles and Justine could see why the previous duchess had been eager to build a new manor. She understood, but she could not agree. ‘You live in a castle,’ she announced, then scolded herself for stating the obvious.

‘Part of one,’ he said. ‘There is not much of the old building left.’

‘It does not matter.’ She stared up at the tower in front of them. ‘It is magnificent.’

‘You like it?’ He seemed surprised at her enthusiasm.

‘You do not?’ She stared back at him, equally surprised.

‘Well, yes, actually. I do. But I grew up here. Perhaps that is why I am willing to overlook its obvious flaws.’

She stared back at the old manor and could not help smiling at its lopsided grandeur. ‘Well, I see no problems with it. It has character,’ she said, wondering why he could not see it.

‘As you wish,’ he said, giving a dismissive nod of his head and turning away from her again. The servants had lined up at the door, eager to greet the master on his homecoming and to officially welcome the lady of the house. William walked unsteadily before her, smiling more warmly at the butler than he ever had at her, and accepting the arm of a footman to help him up the last steps and into his home. Though he had claimed the trip would be an easy one, it was clear that the activity had tired him. ‘I think, if you have no need of me, that I shall retire to my room for a time.’

‘You must do as you see fit,’ she said. ‘We will have more than enough time to talk, now that we are home.’ The word stuck in her throat, but she forced it out.

He nodded and muttered something to the footman at his side, who took his arm and helped him to climb the stairs to his room.

Which left Justine alone with the servants and the house. She gave a sigh of relief at being free of him, if only for an hour or two. Then she gave instructions for the unpacking of their things and discussed the luncheon menu with the housekeeper. Then she enquired, oh so casually, about the best room to find pen, ink and paper. She wished to write to tell a friend of her move.

The housekeeper, Mrs Bell, directed her to the morning room without further enquiry and left her to pen a hurried note to Mr Smith, the nom de guerre that Montague had chosen for his stay at a nearby inn.

She imagined the way it would travel to him, on the road to the village, which lay equidistant between the two manors. Her father had travelled that road, on the night he died. At the turning, he had gone left and not right, as she’d assumed. She had thought, on her morning walks, that she had been retracing his last footsteps, but she had not gone far enough. His goal had been this house. His death had been on these grounds. Any clue to the murder, or the missing jewels, would be under this very roof.

She had but to find it and then the jewels. Then, she would rescue Margot and they would run away, all without revealing the truth to either William Felkirk or John Montague.

When put that way, it was hard to be optimistic.