Fourteen

Cora never found Lady Sofia at the ball and concluded she wasn’t there. Naturally, she put the phantom woman out of her mind immediately. It was easy to do because her interest was only intellectual curiosity. She wanted to learn more about this enigma of a man she had married, and what better way than to find the one woman who had apparently piqued his interest. She’d heard how people referred to him as the monk. He was too studious and virtuous to be seen as anything else. They didn’t know how he had come in late that night disheveled and reeking of perfume. Of course they didn’t, because he didn’t flaunt his mistresses like other men might. He took his pleasures quietly and privately because decorum was of the utmost importance to him. She liked that about him.

So she did not think of Lady Sofia much on their way home that night, or after when she lay in bed with her eyes closed remembering how Devonworth had looked at her with that intense gaze that had bordered on something more when he had seen her in her gown. She knew that she was probably misremembering the intensity, but what was the harm while lying in the safety of her own bed? She could imagine that he had wanted her just a little bit. She could remember how his hands had felt on her during their two dances. They had been warm and strong and lit up the parts of her body they had touched. She could even pretend that his fingers had grazed over her bare skin, leaving delicious tingles in their wake. She could imagine what it might be like if their marriage was real.

It was make-believe. An indulgence. It didn’t have to mean that she wanted it. Fantasies were just that. Fantasy. A means to set her mind afloat in the deep of night so that she might find peace and sleep, which is exactly what happened. She most assuredly did not have dreams that involved her new husband entwined with her in bed. And she did not wake up longing for those dreams to be real.

The next morning, the house moved through its normal rituals. Footsteps padded down the corridor as the maids saw to their duties. Cora had slept late to recover from the evening and her slight overindulgence in champagne. She remembered everything about the ball, but her head ached because she was only accustomed to having a glass of wine with dinner.

Monroe came in with her breakfast tray and the chocolate and to help her dress. A small box sat on the tray, wrapped in plain brown paper. She unwrapped it and opened the lid to find a fountain pen sitting on a crimson cushion. It was similar to Devonworth’s in that it was silver, but a sprig of lavender was engraved near the top. Extra nibs and a stand were hidden in the box underneath the little cushion. She couldn’t help but smile at the sweet gift as her fingertips traced over the lavender. How did he know that she liked the scent? Had he noticed her wearing it?

What would he say if he knew about her pen name, Lavender Starling? She didn’t waste a minute wondering if the pen meant he had found out. He would have told her had he found those articles, she had no doubt.

Excitement swirled inside her as she rose to dress. She chose her violet morning dress. Not because it was the prettiest and the closest in color to lavender but because it was the first one she saw in the armoire. It had the typical long sleeves and high collar of a morning dress, but she had always liked this particular collar in how it opened in the front and stopped just above her collarbones. Her neck was long and graceful, one of the few charms she’d inherited from Fanny. She did not let herself think that he might admire that part of her as she dabbed the lavender water to her pulse point.

She drank her coffee as Monroe arranged her hair. She had been listening for sounds from the bathing chamber she shared with Devonworth, but all had been quiet.

“Have you seen my husband this morning?” she asked, hoping to affect a nonchalant tone.

“I believe his lordship is at work in his study.”

It was Wednesday, which meant Parliament was not meeting. Rain poured outside the window of her room, so he had probably decided not to venture out. Her stomach leaped in excitement because he had mentioned the notations she had made on his speech, not because she looked forward to seeing him.

When Monroe had finished and she was presentable, Cora made her way to the end of the corridor to his study. The door was open, a fire burned in the hearth, and the lamp at his desk was on, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Papers were scattered across his desk where he had been working. She couldn’t resist looking them over, her gaze tracing the sharp lines of his handwriting. He wrote with the same efficiency with which he carried out everything else in his life.

Next to the parchment was a pile of newsprint. Her glance might have passed right over the stack had a phrase in bold not caught her eye, Marriage of Concern. A quick skim was enough to understand the unknown author was concerned by the state of an unnamed, unconsummated marriage. She feared it was hers.

Another newspaper was folded open to an article that began, “His lordship has been repeatedly shunned by his American bride. The lady in question is a known shrew who would rather polish her newly acquired tiara than consider her duty to her husband.”

Nausea whirled in her stomach. The newspaper underneath that one was open to a page that was more ribald in tone.

Little Lady D—

Sat and drank tea

Whiling her hours away;

’Til Lord D— came beside her,

Offered to ride her

And frightened Lady D— away.

She recoiled from the vulgarity and pushed the paper away only to reveal several more. All of them were open to articles and letters that lamented, derided, or laughed at the fact that she and her husband had not shared a bed. It was horrifying.

“Cora.” Her husband stood framed in the doorway wearing his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His hair was slightly rumpled as if he’d run his fingers through it several times.

A swirl of pleasure moved through her at how handsome he was, but she couldn’t indulge that now.

“What is this?” she asked. When Jenny had mentioned reading about her marriage, Cora had assumed that one lowbrow publication had printed something vulgar. She hadn’t realized that there would be so many of them.

His furrowed brow of concern slowly changed to a look of resigned disappointment or maybe even regret. “I had hoped you wouldn’t see those.” He walked slowly into the room and approached her warily.

“I don’t understand. Why would they print this?”

“Because they want to sell newspapers and advertising.” He shook his head.

“I expected people to talk, but I never imagined this.” She looked back down at the paper in her hand. “Did you see they made up a rhyme?”

He gently took the paper from her and set it with the others. Then he took hold of her shoulders. His eyes were solemn when he said, “I don’t want you to concern yourself with this.”

“But that one—” She broke off and withdrew the newspaper with a particularly concerning headline and held it up to him. “This one is a letter signed by a concerned MP. It’s almost as if he expects there to be an international incident if we don’t . . . consummate things. He says that it leaves the marriage open to risk of annulment and the earldom must be secured with an heir.”

“Cora, please, it will all die down. This is what they do. They print things like this to get under your skin, but it will go away as soon as there’s another marriage or scandal or ball large enough to give them new fodder. It’s drivel.” His thumbs brushed slow circles on her shoulders that were distracting despite her anger.

“But who would write such a letter?”

“It’s not a real letter . . . probably.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that the paper had made up the letter and signed it as an anonymous member of Parliament, but the way his gaze suddenly wouldn’t meet hers roused her doubts.

“Do you have enemies in Parliament?”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and gently took the paper from her hands. “I don’t want you to worry about this. I will take care of it, and it will go away soon if we don’t feed the fire.” Gathering up the other sheets of newsprint, he added, “I will, however, feed this rubbish to the fire, which is precisely where it is meant to go.”

The flames burned brighter as he tossed the papers in, one by one, hungry for the fuel. The paper curled at the edges before succumbing to the heat and disintegrating to ash. Though the destruction was only symbolic—there were hundreds or possibly thousands of copies out in the world—it was cathartic. She was able to draw in her first deep breath since she’d found them on his desk.

He turned with a self-satisfied expression. “There.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I disagree on one small point.”

He raised a questioning brow as she approached him. Now that she could breathe again, she noticed all the little details about him that she had been too upset to take in earlier. How his shirtsleeves stretched across his shoulders, for one. Or how the charcoal-gray brocade silk of his waistcoat made her fingers itch to smooth it against his chest. How the lock of thick blond hair that had fallen over his forehead made her want to brush it back. Would it feel coarse or silky?

There was one way she could find out. Not only that, but it would put to rest all the fantasies she’d had last night while dispelling all the rumors. The idea came to her so quickly that she had to wonder how long it had been hiding there in her subconsciousness. She told herself that what she was about to propose was merely logical, but even she couldn’t deny how the thought of it made the blood sing through her veins.

“I’m not certain the gossip will go away so easily. Last night I overheard people talking about it.”

“Who was talking about it?” His eyes narrowed, and the energy around him intensified so much she could practically feel it crackling around her.

It was not at all an unpleasant feeling. In fact, she liked it a little bit too much and took a step back. Goose bumps broke out on her skin. “I don’t know if I should say.”

“Cora,” he said, exasperated. “I can’t stop them if you don’t tell me.”

“You can’t stop them anyway, which is my point. Not by confrontation, at least. I do believe we can . . . mitigate things.”

“How?” His brows furrowed and his eyes focused on her so intently that she couldn’t find her words.

It was only when she turned to face the fire with him at her side that she could say, “I think maybe we should just . . . do it.”

“Do it?” He sounded genuinely confused, but she didn’t dare look at him.

“Yes. Do the deed, so to speak.”

There was a pause. “Do the deed?”

He was going to make her say it. Fine. “Yes, consummate the thing quickly and get it over with.”

This time he paused so long that the delay made her look at him. His expression was serious, but he didn’t appear horrified by the suggestion. The longer he stared at her with that furrowed brow, the more she wanted a hole to open up in the floor and swallow her whole. She couldn’t tell if he thought she was an idiot or simply desperate.

“If we ever decide to consummate the thing it won’t be because gossipmongers forced us into it nor will you want it over with quickly, Miss Dove.”

No, she didn’t think she would want it over with quickly. She didn’t have very much experience with men, but she did understand enough to know that lying with him would be magical. Or at the very least, something she would remember the rest of her life. There was no way she wouldn’t want to savor it.

“Are you offended?” she asked, when she could talk again. She wondered if he realized that he called her Miss Dove, but she didn’t want to risk drawing attention to it and having him stop. For some reason she wasn’t willing to examine, she liked when he did that. It made him seem ever so proper . . . and corruptible.

“I’m still deciding, but that’s neither here nor there. You make a good point.” He strode around her, and she let out a tension-filled breath. “We could make them think we’ve consummated the marriage.”

That did sound more reasonable. She probably should have thought of that first even if the suggestion did leave her feeling disappointed. “How?” she asked.

“Think about it. They have no way of knowing for certain that we haven’t. A servant must have told them that I never visit your room. I simply need to visit your room at night on a few occasions. Problem solved.”

“Yes, that’s very logical.” So logical that she definitely should have thought of it before leaping to the more extreme solution. If her face could flame any hotter, she would be reduced to a pile of ashes. “Do you think my maid is the servant talking to the papers?” She didn’t want to think so, but she couldn’t deny that Monroe would be the one to suspect if they had slept together or not.

“I did, yes, but this morning I had Mrs. Anderson question the servants. We suspect it’s Polly, the chambermaid who assisted you on your first day.”

“Polly?” She had been so kind to Cora. Had that kindness been the mere nicety required of her position?

“Yes, Mrs. Anderson believes that she is in need of money. Something about a sick aunt.”

Her indignation gave way to concern. “Perhaps we could help.”

His lips flattened. “If she’s done this, she’ll be dismissed.”

“That seems harsh.”

“What would you have me do? I can’t have someone in my household who I can’t trust.”

“No, of course you can’t. She was obviously desperate. I just wish there was some way to help her.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Devonworth said.

His secretary walked in carrying a small stack of newsprint. As soon as he saw her, he hid it behind his back. Her heart sank into her stomach. It was more gossip about the state of their marriage. It belonged in the fire with the other papers.

Devonworth cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse us, Beckham and I have more work to do this afternoon.”

She nodded and left them to it.

“Cora.” His voice stopped her at the door. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

The way he said it left no doubt in her mind what he meant. They would pretend to do the deed tonight. Her cheeks burned and she nodded. The very thought of spending time alone with him in her room made her body come alive in ways it never had before.