Chapter 11

Dru sat numbly before her dressing table, watching her maid turn her into the perfect bride. Somehow Oliver had persuaded everyone that he wanted her so badly he wasn’t prepared to wait. Her mother had expressed dismay at first but then turned her formidable powers of organization to bringing the wedding forward.

She had done it. “Who would refuse to come to wish the bride and groom good health?” she had demanded at dinner that evening. “I have already sent out the amendments, telling the guests they should come tomorrow. The cooks are busy, and the servants are adding the leaves to the table as we speak.”

They were eating their dinner in the informal atmosphere of the breakfast parlor. After escorting her home, Oliver had returned to his house to make his own preparations. He had shown every sign of the eager lover who wanted to snatch his bride away before somebody else could. Mention of the Prince of Tirolly had him waving the matter away carelessly.

“Let’s give them something else to gossip about,” he’d said, hitting exactly the right note to persuade the marchioness to his side.

“I will pin a rose to the side of your head, my lady,” Forde said, bringing her back to the present. Her wedding day.

Dru nodded listlessly. What did it matter, when she’d shattered all her dreams? She had nobody but herself to blame. All this was her fault. Meeting the secret brother, the person she’d made myth for her own stupid amusement had led to the destruction of everything she had ever longed for. She had never wanted high status, wealth, any of those things. Just love, and she’d been on her way to getting it before she’d wrecked her prospects and her future.

Now she would have everything most women in society would kill for. She should be happy, even if she had lost her betrothed’s regard. However, having experienced a small, tantalizing taste of what she could have and then thrown it away, she doubted she would ever be happy again.

When Forde had done, Dru went downstairs, where the carriage awaited to take her to church. She was marrying in a small, fashionable chapel, one of the gracious buildings erected after the Fire. She didn’t have to go to church, but Lady Bixby had requested it.

She went through the ceremony like a sleepwalker. This wasn’t really happening, it couldn’t be. Two weeks early, to a man who hated her. This was a trial, a case she would lose and then be condemned to lifelong punishment.

At that point Dru had to stop herself. As she gave her responses, she lifted her gaze and met her nearly husband’s cool stare. He affected her deeply, still, and nothing would change that. She might not ever persuade him she would never behave in that way again. Fury still lurked in the depths of Oliver’s eyes. Clearly he remained angry with her.

The final “I do” from her echoed like the voice of doom around the chapel. The trouble was, she didn’t know him. Not really. He dazzled her, enchanted her, but she had no way of knowing how long his temper lasted, what he would do to her. They had been on their best behavior while they were courting. Now, she had to learn all about the man she had married.

If she had known him before, as her brother Marcus had known his Viola, they would have something more solid to build on. The Shaws were known as a family who acted on impulse, let their passions ride over reason. Perhaps Dru would be the unlucky one, the person who took on too much and lost.

Fell in love with a man determined not to fall for her.

Thoughts and speculation skittered through her head, and she lost track, didn’t follow the rest of the service. When her father made the “tsk” sound she knew meant he was growing bored, the vicar ended the sermon. They were done. They had already signed the register, and she had remembered her new title. Having spent her life with aristocrats, she didn’t have to think about her new style.

If ever she needed a mask, it was now.

Three full hours later, Dru entered the house she was to call home on her husband’s arm. He took her straight upstairs to his brother’s apartments. If she had thought, she would have requested the visit, but she had barely spoken a word all day. Only social niceties.

“Well,” Oliver said cheerfully as he opened the door. “Here is my new bride.”

Charles had dressed for a wedding. His coat of blue brocade glimmered in the late afternoon sun, and the gold-embroidered waistcoat was positively blinding. Did he have cut diamonds for buttons? No, probably brilliants, but they flashed like fire when he turned to regard them.

The chair he sat in had wheels. Before, when she’d visited, he’d been in an ordinary chair, but this one was higher than normal and sturdier. Like a throne, since it had wide armrests. Rather intimidating.

His smile blinded her, too. She dropped a curtsy.

“Now that is unfair, when I cannot get up and bow,” he said softly. “Please don’t do it again. I would rather we met as friends. No ceremony. Besides, you are a duchess. You outrank me.”

When she glanced at Oliver, she saw a flush on his cheeks. What had Charles said? Or perhaps the rigors of the day were affecting him, too. The constant smiling and conversations and pretending that she was very happy had taken their inevitable toll. Dru was exhausted. “I’ll do whatever you wish, of course.”

“Drusilla has been kind enough to offer to spend some time with you every day,” Oliver said.

She needed to get to know this man. Perhaps Charles would be more forthcoming about the accident and their childhood. Oliver had told her very little, only the details of the accident itself. That meant she knew more than most other people, but that wasn’t saying much.

“I’m looking forward to our time together,” she murmured.

“Burnett will tell you my routine.” Charles wrinkled his nose. “I believe he knows it better than I. However, we will contrive, will we not, Drusilla? Does your family not call you Dru? I believe I heard my brother refer to you like that.”

“Yes. Please call me Dru if you wish to. We have such outlandish names, but we have done our best to make them more acceptable. My brother Marcus Aurelius says he has quite forgotten the second part of his name.”

“I see. And your siblings are?”

His gentle questioning was as precisely efficient as any leader of society. Difficult to believe he had effectively been incarcerated for the whole of his adult life, even if it was by his own choice.

“Marcus Aurelius, Darius, Valentinian, Claudia, and Livia,” she told him.

He raised a brow. “Some interesting choices there. The Roman Livia was not a particularly admirable character.”

“My mother liked the name.” Dru didn’t like any criticism of her family. And although she had joined another group, she would always consider herself a Shaw. “When we read about her, we found she was strong, as powerful as her husband, and she did what was necessary to survive.”

“Did you take your cue from her?”

Dru didn’t see the connection, but Oliver’s “Charles!” told her that he had. Oh, of course, Livia had poisoned and murdered to get what she wanted. How did that play into her situation now? How would publishing that book have furthered her cause? It had not, and it did not. Perhaps Charles thought she was married against her will. A wave of exhaustion swept over her. She had not slept properly and then had had to smile for hour after hour and tell people how happy she was.

She hurt, inside and out. She’d worn a new pair of stays, stiff and uncomfortable, and Forde had drawn them very tight. Every breath was an effort. Her hair felt pulled up, and of course she’d had to powder. She felt as if she had a hard, tight pad glued to the top of her head. Her beautiful blue gown draped and dragged. And the evening had only just begun. She had no idea what Oliver had planned for the rest of the day. The night— She shuddered. She didn’t want to think about it. Thinking of what might have been only sent her into despair.

With the rigorous training she had received and the example her mother constantly set, Dru kept her head up and a polite smile on her face. Nobody looking at her would imagine the depths of agony she suffered, and if she had anything to do with it, nobody ever would.

“I take my cue from God and my parents,” she answered now. “I try to do my best in all things.”

“As you did when you wrote your book? Really, my dear, your reputation will echo down the centuries.” Did she detect an edge of bitterness in Charles’s voice? “As, unfortunately, will ours. You have made us immortal.”

“I thought you said society would forget it.”

Charles met her gaze. His was shuttered and hard, as hers must be. She worked to keep them that way.

“We must pray it does so. Perhaps we may make an effort to create a new scandal. Maybe Miss Chudleigh will oblige.” Elizabeth Chudleigh, one of the late Queen’s ladies in waiting, had scandalized society more than once. When she had appeared all but naked at a masquerade, she had set society about its ears.

“Perhaps she will. Or someone else will. I understand that the book is not a literary masterpiece.”

Beside her, Oliver stirred. “I must read this, I suppose.”

“Oh, you must take mine.” Charles picked up the volume, once more using his bunched up nearly useless left hand to support it. Carefully, he held it out.

Oliver had no choice but to take it. “Thank you. I will obtain my own copy, unless Mama has already done so. I have a clever wife, I am told.”

“No!” The bitterness in his voice hurt Dru more than any sly remark anyone had made today. “I am the stupidest woman alive. I carried it on far too long. I should have put it aside years ago.” Tears stained her voice as her throat tightened, but she refused to let them fall.

“You will tell me, if you please, of all the adventures your family fall into. I am unlikely to meet them, but I have read much about them.” Charles gave another of his sweet smiles, his flash of temper seemingly gone. “I long to hear about them from someone who knows all the secrets. For instance, is it true your brother-in-law discovered your sister in a whorehouse?”

“That is so much a distortion of the truth—” Dru began, but she could not continue. The Emperors were custodians of a fact that would shake the world, were it known. They had blocked every attempt to reveal it, and that was why Claudia had been in that whorehouse. But Dru could reveal some of it. “She had no idea what the house was, but she had inherited it in our great-aunt’s will. She went to view it. That is all.”

“Some people say your brother-in-law was an agent of the king. Maybe more.”

If sitting in a room alone all day led to this avidity to discover every secret society had to offer, Dru wanted none of it. Charles bewildered Dru. The sudden changes in his mood confused her, but she would learn to cope. She had no choice, since Oliver had decreed she should spend more time with him. She did not believe in obeying her husband without question, but for now, she would bow her head and behave. She owed him that at the very least.

“I can tell you nothing about that.”

“Can you not?” His tone turned wheedling. “We are family now, Drusilla. Surely you have no secrets from your family. I would like to hear of your brother, too. I stay here in this room, and others like it, wondering what is going on in the world.”

Before she could stop herself she asked, “Why don’t you go outside? People would welcome you. I am sure.”

A stony silence fell. Belatedly, she remembered the fit she’d witnessed. How could he fall into one of those in company? True, she had seen appalling examples of grown men throwing tantrums and ignoring polite behavior, but she had never seen anything half as terrifying as what she’d witnessed in this room a short time ago. “I’m sorry.” Heat rushed to her face. “I should not have said that.”

“No, you should not have,” Charles said.

To her surprise, Oliver joined in. “I have asked you to attend a few small, intimate gatherings. I know how much you enjoy music. I can take you to concerts. Perhaps a booth at Ranelagh?” Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens was famed for its music, along with a few other, less respectable things. “The booths are dim, and you can extinguish the lights completely if you wish.”

Charles sighed. “I cannot take the risk. You know that, Oliver. You, of all people, to go against me!”

Dru glanced at Oliver. He nodded, a small sign of approval. Something in the region of her heart eased.

“We could look into the matter for you,” she told Charles. “People would love to meet you. My parents can help.”

She saw the shutters come down. Charles shook his head. “It is impossible. Please go now.”

Oliver got to his feet. “We can look into it. We shall have to see.” He sighed, his powerful chest rising, sending the cut-steel buttons on his waistcoat glittering. “But I know we cannot force you. You are tired, and you should rest. I will send Burnett into you.”

Charles turned his head, refusing to look at them, rather like a child ignoring its nurse when refused a treat. Except he was doing the refusing. When Oliver offered his arm to Dru, she took it gladly. Was he thawing toward her? She had experienced his fierce temper before, but it had passed quickly. Her transgression was far more serious than anything she’d seen rile him before, though. Was his temper proportionate?

She felt bewildered, at sea. Lost, with nobody to talk to, nobody to share her fears with. She could not scuttle back to her mother at the first sign of trouble, but oh, how she wished she could! Her mother would remind her of her fault, but she would hold her while she did it. Oliver’s coldness hurt her so badly. She had never been so alone in her life before.

He took her downstairs. She thought perhaps for a late supper, but he stopped and opened a set of double doors. “Your bedroom, ma’am.”

Dru gaped. She had seen beautiful rooms before, but this space awed her. Probably because he’d just said this was hers. The canopied bed was upholstered in white hangings embroidered with flowers and vines. The headboard had a carving of the family coat of arms, overlaid and padded with the same white fabric, but not embroidered. Underfoot, rich Aubusson carpet cushioned her feet. Matching cabinets of Chinese lacquer, black and gold, stood either side of the room.

“It’s lovely.”

“I’m gratified that you think so. You have a dressing room, a powder room, and a private boudoir next door. Anything you wish for, you need only ask.” He nodded at a silver-gilt hand bell standing on a bonheur-du-jour. “I have assigned you two footmen to run any errands you require.”

Inside the magnificent space, Forde waited. She dropped a deep curtsy. “Your graces.”

Was that right? Dru had no idea, which surprised her. She presumed Forde had done proper research, since her maid was always meticulous about protocol. “Forde,” she said stupidly. Her maid had a perfectly clear idea of who she was. She didn’t need anyone else to identify her.

“I will leave you, my dear,” Oliver said. “I have a number of urgent matters to deal with.”

“I thought—” What had she thought? That he would stay with her? That— Yes, she had one question. “Your other room—”

“Is still my room,” he assured her. “This is yours, to do with as you will. If you dislike the decorations, please order them changed.”

“How could I dislike anything so lovely?” Dropping his arm, she turned to face him. “But you won’t be here?”

“That would not be proper. I will have a supper served for you in the boudoir.” Thus leaving her alone.

He bowed his head, turned, and left the room, closing the doors quietly behind him. They sounded like the clang of the doors of hell to Dru.

* * * *

When a gentle tap came on the door of her pretty sitting room, Dru smiled and called out, “Come!” Had Oliver changed his mind and come to her?

But no. It was her mother-in-law. Arrayed in fetching pink and white, Lady Bixby entered. “I saw Oliver upstairs, so I knew you were alone. Do you mind if I come in?”

“Of course not.” Dru made haste to get to her feet and make her curtsy. Her ladyship settled herself on the gold brocade sofa while Dru poured her a dish of tea. She took it over herself. “This has only just been served.”

“Thank you, my dear. I wanted to drop in, because Lord Bixby and I are planning to return to the country tomorrow. We will leave early, so I’m unlikely to see you for a while, though I do want you to visit us. My dearest Bix isn’t comfortable in town. I will stay, if you think you need me.” She took a sip of her tea, looking at Dru over the gilded rim of the dish. She replaced it in the saucer without a sound.

Dru was overwhelmed. Nobody had shown her kindness until then. Her husband was cold as ice, her mother sorrowful, her father deeply troubled. Her brothers had laughed, called the book a fribble, but she hadn’t allowed them to see her distress.

When the first tears trickled down her cheeks, her ladyship abandoned her tea and her sofa. She came across to hold Dru in her arms, rocking her as she wept, and talking to the top of her head.

“Hush, my dear. It will work itself out, you see. You wrote that book, did you not?”

Dru nodded, sobbing all the more. What was the point of denying it?

“Oh, dear, but society does not know.”

“But Oliver, he is so…so angry!”

“That will pass too. He cares for you, Dru. He really does. He needs someone to help him with Charles, to share his burden. I pleaded with him to start his nursery because I thought having someone else to care for would be good for him. But the way he wrote to me and used terms so fondly. I had to meet you, dear.”

“What happened?” She needed to know more than ever before. “I know so little.” Only what everyone knew, and the snippets of what Oliver had told her. Enough for her to realize how guilty he felt about the carriage accident that had crippled his brother. Gulping down her tears, she blew her nose. But the tears still came.

Her mother-in-law held her in silence for a moment. “Charles and Oliver were driving their carriage in the parklands of our country home. They often did that. Being so close in age, they were always devoted to one another, and since I could have no more children, they knew they were the only ones. They went out that day in high spirits. I received a message an hour later.” She stroked Dru’s hair absently. “I raced out to where the servants were headed and discovered the carriage overturned, smashed and useless. They had found Charles lying under the wheels, barely alive. Oliver was conscious but frantic, out of his mind. Despite the servants holding him back, he got to his feet and staggered to Charles. He watched as they brought a door out from the house and carried him back on it.” She sighed.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to bring the memories back. I’m so selfish!” Dru wailed into her capacious maternal bosom.

“I do not speak of it often, but you need to know. From the start, Oliver took all the blame. He would not leave Charles’s bedside. We called a physician, who dressed Charles’s legs, but at the time all our concerns were for his poor head. Part of his skull had been crushed in the fall, you see, and he was in a deep coma. Nobody thought he would live. We put the house into mourning and prepared the notices for his funeral.

“But ten days after the accident, he opened his eyes. We were overjoyed.” Her voice warmed. “Especially Oliver and I.”

“And your husband.” She had mostly stopped crying now, but she remained in Lady Bixby’s arms. She had needed comforting so much over the last few days.

She paused. “No, he was resigned and, well, frustrated. He was not a warm man. When we married, I was sixteen and he was forty, so we never had too much in common. But he was a well-set-up man, and he was kind.”

Kind! What a terrible thing to say about your husband!

“At least at first, until it became obvious that the complications of Charles’s birth meant I would have no more children. But I had done my duty, so he tolerated me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush,” she murmured, stroking Dru’s hair in a way that made her sigh as tension seeped away. “I have found love with Bix, and my first marriage gave me two fine sons. She moved, and reluctantly, Dru sat up. Lady Bixby held her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “I feel I don’t know Charles well any more, but I think that’s because he prefers to keep people at a distance. He is close with his servant. They are like brothers. Closer, since Burnett sees to all Charles’s needs. They say that a person changes after such a severe knock on the head. Certainly it has given him the terrible fits. He changes his moods frequently, often in the course of an hour. He does not remember everything he says, at least that is what he claims. He keeps the household on its toes, despite insisting that he is only seen by his personal servants and his closest family. I have seen him once since I arrived in town, and only for a quarter of an hour. He has sent messages that he is not feeling well enough, or he is asleep, which might well be so. But I cannot deny I am a little hurt that he cannot spare time for me.”

Dru gazed at this woman who had suffered so much. She deserved all the happiness she could find now. “I found Charles astonishingly well-informed. I do not understand why he refuses to enter society, at least in a small capacity, but he does. He is not the only person who cannot walk or who has fits.”

Her ladyship nodded. “However, that is his choice, and we have to respect it.”

Dru agreed. But she would try to help Charles. Considering all the trouble she’d brought to the family, she could do nothing else. “A wheel came off his carriage in Hyde Park. Oliver was very distressed, as if the fault lay with him, but the cause was a fault to the wheel. Nothing else.”

“My oldest son takes the troubles of the world on his shoulders,” she said, smiling now. “Come, my dear. Wash your face and drink your tea. You are a duchess, after all.”

The twinkle in her eyes showed what she thought of that.