The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mayville awoke naked in his own bed, very much alone. He hadn’t even drunk himself into oblivion, a decision he’d regretted through much of the night as he’d lain there in a permanently aroused state. Rock hard and aching for the touch of his virginal wife until the wee hours of the morning when sleep had finally claimed him, he’d cursed her and himself for every kind of fool imaginable. Time, she’d asked for. Christ above, if he had to endure the torture of another night like the one before, she’d be a widow before ever being relieved of the burden of her innocence.
Pushing back the covers, he rose and stood beside the bed for a moment, contemplating the many contradictions of his wife. His wife. How easily he had accepted her in that role, he mused. Perhaps, in part, because he’d never imagined anyone else in it. Not for many years, at any rate. Not since Charlotte.
Her name crept into his memory and, as it always did, cast a pall over him. It had been a decade since she’d married another, a decade since he’d discovered he was not truly fit to be anyone’s husband, given the dark and ugly secrets he’d inherited. By now, she would know he was in town. She would also have heard that he’d taken a wife. It could complicate matters when he introduced Althea into society. Charlotte wielded a great deal of influence amongst the Ton. She could ease Althea’s way, or she could make it impossible, if she chose to.
Striding purposefully toward the washstand, he splashed water on his face to clear the cobwebs of his sleepless night and then began dressing. His valet would no doubt be terribly put out, but he’d never been the slave to fashion that other gentleman of his ilk were. It was an unnecessary use of his time to belabor which knot would be best for his neckcloth on any given day.
Dressed simply in breeches, boots, and a dark waistcoat over his white shirt, he tied his neckcloth in a simple knot and donned his overcoat. He would ride in the park that morning and see what he could discover about Charlotte’s whereabouts and her current frame of mind.
During their last meeting, when she’d sought him out to ask for his assistance with her brother and his less-than-above-board dealings with Lawrence Russell, things had been said that could make his current situation very difficult.
As he opened his bedchamber door to step out into the corridor, his valet was standing there looking utterly dismayed at finding him dressed. Ignoring the man’s disappointment, Mayville said, “Inform Lady Mayville that I will be out for most of the day.”
“But she has gone, my lord.”
His stomach sank. “Gone?”
“Yes, my lord. The Countess of Winburne arrived early this morning and swept her away. I believe they have gone shopping.”
“Oh,” he said, inordinately relieved. When he’d heard that she’d gone, his first thought had been to interpret it as a more permanent sort of absence. “Then, should she arrive home before I do, you may inform her then, Dutton.”
“Your hat, my lord?” The valet reminded him gently.
“It can hang,” he snapped.
Leaving the valet sputtering behind him, Mayville headed for the stables. He’d see to his own mount. It would be quicker.
The shopson Bond Street were filled with ladies and their maids. As she perused the wares, eyeing delicately embroidered stockings and lovely, colorful garters, Althea could feel their curious gazes on her.
“You’re doing wonderfully, you know?”
Althea glanced at Sabine, who stood at her side. “I feel like some sort of caged beast in a menagerie.”
“It’s an apt description. But, as someone who weathered a great deal of gossip, I can assure you it does fade quickly. The viperous ladies of the Ton are as fickle and flighty as they are vicious. Another scandal will come along. It always does,” Sabine offered reassuringly. “In the meantime, you are a newly married woman, and your underpinnings and nightwear should reflect that. If I catch you looking at anything even remotely sturdy or serviceable instead of beautiful and seductive, I shall be very cross.”
Althea couldn’t help but smile at her teasing tone. When the time came for her to depart London and leave Sinclair behind, she would miss Sabine and the Earl of Winburne. They were perhaps the first friends she’d ever known. But she felt compelled to confess the truth to her. “It isn’t like that with us. Not…well, not yet.”
Sabine’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean that you haven’t—that is to say—”
“No. At first, he wasn’t certain we would stay married. There was a great deal of talk about annulments in the beginning. But, well, I’ve made him an offer of sorts. That, if we have a child, we may live separately, and he can do as he pleases,” Althea explained in a halting whisper.
“Is that truly what you want?” Sabine’s concern was palpable.
“It is better than the alternative, I think. To live with him and know that he would rather I were anywhere else. I didn’t ask for any of this, but the truth is neither did he. It was all a terrible misunderstanding, and now we are paying the price for it.”
“Do you know, Althea, that last night was the first time I have seen him when he is not deeply in his cups,” Sabine admitted. “I adore him. He’s charming and wicked, and yet he is a true friend to Gray and to me. His assistance with my late husband was invaluable. Were it not for him, I doubt that Gray and I would be where we are now. I might have run out of fear. I think you could be very good for him, and I think, given what you’ve shared and what you haven’t shared about your life in Boston Spa, perhaps he could be good for you.”
Althea became aware then that the shop had grown terribly quiet. Looking up, she realized that all eyes were no longer on her. They were glued to the ridiculously beautiful woman who had just entered the shop. With startlingly blonde hair piled in a riot of curls atop her head, that cascaded gently onto her forehead to frame her piercing blue eyes, she was striking. The delicacy of her features was almost doll-like, except for her very full lips, which had to be rouged. No woman had lips the color of cherries, regardless of what bards and troubadours might say.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Charlotte Farraday, Lady Bruxton. She was Miss Charlotte Hill before she married,” Sabine answered.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Althea asked.
Sabine looked at her with what could only be described as pity. “Many years ago, she was betrothed to Mayville.”
Althea looked back at the woman who had drawn every eye as if it were her due. “Oh. I see.”
The woman approached them, her full, red lips curved in a patently false smile. “Countess! How lovely to see you again! And how strange it is to think that when last we met, I was coming to you to have my dresses made.”
“I still have a shop, Lady Bruxton, and we still produce the finest gowns in London,” Sabine said, making no apology for her past or current affiliation with trade.
The false smile never faltered. “Naturally. But I cannot only frequent one shop. When so many ladies in society look to me for guidance and inspiration, it would be terribly unfair of me not to provide other shops with equal attention, wouldn’t it?” The last was addressed directly to Althea. “I do not believe we’ve met.”
“Lady Bruxton, may I present to you Althea Wortham, Lady Mayville. Althea, Lady Bruxton,” Sabine introduced them reluctantly.
“Mayville?” Lady Bruxton repeated. “How utterly delicious. Where is your wicked husband, then?”
“I would presume he is at home,” Althea replied carefully.
“You would presume? My dear, one should always know where one’s husband is,” the woman replied with a tittering laugh.
“Yes, well, he was sleeping when I left for the morning, and we did not have an opportunity to discuss his plans for the day,” Althea replied.
Lady Bruxton’s gaze hardened. “I see.”
“We should go, Lady Mayville. I find there is little enough in this store to tempt me,” Sabine inserted.
“Indeed. I shall inform my husband of our introduction, Lady Bruxton.”
Lady Bruxton’s smile tightened, giving the impression of a grimace. “You do that, my dear Lady Mayville. No doubt he will find it quite interesting, indeed!”
Once outside the shop, Sabine began to laugh. “Oh, dear heavens. The look on her face when you told her you’d left him sleeping… She was positively green with envy. You do understand what you implied with that statement, don’t you?”
“I understand perfectly…in theory,” Althea replied. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Like a piece of fruit rotting from the inside out,” Sabine answered, linking her arm with Althea’s. “But she’s not your problem. She has a husband, and he is very, very rich. She will never leave him, and Mayville would never settle for being her lover.”
