Chapter Thirteen

The Observant Cousin

Wycliff walked with Ruth into the Croomes’ garden.

He thought better of heading straight to the crowded center of the party, but staying close to the house on the stone patio or sitting at the small tables didn’t offer the privacy he wanted. Instead, he steered Ruth to the cobblestone path that edged the garden.

With each step, her nails sank deeper into his jacket. If she became more agitated, she’d push her fingers through his sleeve. That would be a waste of good tailoring.

He stopped as a guest crossed in front of them. Ruth was poised as she introduced him to one person after the other. She could tell who they were without her glasses.

Then why doesn’t she recognize me?

Perhaps he wasn’t giving the observant woman enough clues to his identity. He’d have to do better. Ruth needed to figure out who he was. Wycliff couldn’t risk triggering one of the fits her physicians had described. Lawden’s report on Ruth was heartbreaking and as shocking as the information on the rest of the Croome family and friends.

He tapped his boot and swayed to the enticing rhythm of the fiddler playing near the refreshment table. Wycliff made note of what Lawden had described in his briefing. The Croomes had a controlled lawn that could be observed only by the townhome to the right. The only entrance to the garden was through the Croome house. This place was safe.

Nodding to another guest, he and Ruth started moving. The cobblestone path that circled the grass like a border to an imported silk rug seemed smooth enough for her slippers.

He’d heard of the hidden gardens of Spitalfields but had never seen one. This unexpected oasis of manicured hedges, a sweet stone bench overlooking a glass mosaic birdbath, and a fishpond delighted him.

But did this delight Ruth?

Were these her tastes or her parents’? If it was hers, he’d match it at Blaren House.

He patted her arm and stopped thinking of the future he wanted—her with him in Mayfair, them loving each other again. He’d enjoy this garden today and pay attention to his friend, and protect her from everything fretting that brow.

“This is lovely, Mrs. Wilky.”

Her eyes were shut tight. Her deep-honey complexion had drops of dew along her forehead. It wasn’t raining, but was his love caught in a storm?

He sensed her fear, could hear the rapid changes in her breathing. The echo of throaty hitches stuttered through him.

The panicked fits—was this one?

“You’re suffering in silence, Mrs. Wilky. Not good.”

“Habit.” She brushed at the curls falling to her face. “Ignore me and keep walking.”

“Can’t ignore you. Impossible.”

Ruth wasn’t the same, not the woman he’d married four years ago. He should blacken his other eye for thinking she would be.

Physically, she was the same beauty. Her eyesight was terrible. He’d been close to her face, close enough to kiss that fetching nose—a little wide, a little pointed at the peak, perfect nose.

She no longer had a sense of peace. Wycliff saw glimpses of her spirit and quick wit, but he suspected those moments were few.

Tease her.

He’d tease her to set her at ease. “I’m not a fan of ignoring a beautiful woman. Instead, convince me to be at your beck and call.”

“Make nice with my parents, and then you need not see me again.”

“That was harsh, Mrs. Wilky. Can’t you show your cousin some care?”

“I’m not used to my cousin showing up and having a bruised eye like a ruffian.”

“We make sacrifices.”

Good, feisty girl. His Ruth was in there, trapped behind those long lashes and far too many clothes. “I apologize for being late.”

“Business or personal? Something about Cicely?”

Her voice sounded rushed. Let it be concern for me. See me, Ruth.

But her blank countenance disclosed nothing.

“Both,” he said, “but nothing of Cicely, not yet.”

She nodded and stepped closer. It was intimate, her being next to him. And she smelled like fresh roses.

Being a good cousin was going to be hard. Remembering that she didn’t love him or even care for him as he did her would probably kill him, again. “I was late, and I try never to be such, but I made a stop to John McAllister & Son. I have new spectacles being made for you.”

“Nosy.” Her steps slowed to nothing. “What did he tell you?”

Those nails of hers dug deeper into his arm.

People buzzed all about. This didn’t feel like the place to say anything that could be overheard. “Walk a little more. Let’s go to the end of your wilderness. Then abuse me.”

“No. No. I don’t want to be near the trees.”

“Then we’ll make another circle. I like walking with you.”

“Just like Adam. Fine. Then tell me what you discovered.”

He remained silent until they moved farther from the sea of prying ears—fashionable men and women in sleek top hats and waves of bonnets hosting every color of ribbon.

“The chatter has lessened, Wycliff. Tell me your nosy news.”

She didn’t ask how he’d found the doctor—Lawden. Or how he’d found time to visit the busy establishment—Lawden. Merely what Wycliff knew of her condition—interesting.

“McAllister’s assistant said your sight—”

“Field of vision.” Ruth glanced up, wide blank eyes, tension set in her jaw. “That is the new fancy term they use.”

Feisty.

That was a smidgeon of old Ruth, and she’d always hated him being nosy. He cleared his throat. “Yes, your field of vision has steadily diminished these past three years.”

“Did he use words like blindness or fits? If you are going to mind my business, get all the details.”

“Yes. He talked of panics and being disoriented.”

Her head moved from side to side, as if she were looking at their peaceful surroundings, but he knew she saw nothing but sunlight and blurs. “Never disoriented. I know where I am when I pay attention. Take me back to the house, Lord Wycliff.”

“As you wish, but I’d rather stare at you in the sunlight.”

“You can do that in the house. I’ll be more comfortable.”

He glanced at her. Pretty, upturned button nose, heart-shaped face. So lovely. “But I like the way you look in the sun.”

A hint of a blush warmed her cheeks. “You are a flirt, my lord, but I’m not. I’m a mother. My head is not easily changed.”

“I don’t want you to change.”

He couldn’t help himself and pushed back that errant tendril that fell upon her scar. The long dark mark made by that foul trunk was vicious, so deep. “I like you as you are.”

Her lip trembled. “Let’s walk some more.”

He led her past the refreshment table. On the other side was a big, tall, solid-looking man. His skin was polished jet. He balanced a young boy on his lap and a babe in his arms.

That was Mr. Croome and both children, his grandchildren—either could be Christopher. But only the older boy could possibly be Wycliff’s son. A newborn couldn’t be the seed of a man dead four years.

He wanted to stare at the older lad, to look for hints of his mother or father in the young scamp’s gold complexion, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready to meet Mr. Croome or Christopher, not until he made Ruth comfortable.

She clutched at his arm. Again, her nails pinched through his jacket. “Are you done staring at the food? Do you need a plate? Mama’s party fare is quite nice.”

Ruth knew where they walked. Good she was aware of her location. He pried at her thumb. “The biscuits and cakes look quite good, but your grip has me thinking I’ll forego eating for now.”

“Tell me what else the McAllister’s tattlers said? What have they hidden from me?”

“Hidden? Mrs. Wilky, your fingernails are sharp. That’s not a sculpture beneath the wool. It’s a true arm, flesh and blood.”

She let go. “What did they say? How long did they give me before I’m blind? They may have given you a direct answer. They don’t say everything sometimes to Blackamoors.”

It was humorous and tragic how she didn’t know him and how she assumed his race. Ruth, we are the same.

He pressed her palm flat on his arm, pumping his forearm to prepare for more abuse. “The physician was unclear. He said it could degenerate in a year or remain as it is forever.”

“Oh. That’s the same as what they told me.”

There was an air of disappointment in her voice. It reminded him of waiting for word from his father on the HMS Liverpool, waiting every day for Captain Collier to come to him and say Wycliff was freed.

“Take me back to the house, my lord. I’m done out here.”

“We have quite an audience watching us. Going back now will seem as if we’ve had words. That’s not a good cousin or the makings of a character witness. I’m your proof, remember.”

She bit her lip.

Her mouth was still the same, a magnificent wonder of taupey-pink flesh in desperate need of exploration.

Soon. Very soon. Then he’d know if he had a chance of winning her from the barrister.

He steadied Ruth, weaving his fingers with hers. “Just a little longer, Mrs. Wilky. I haven’t visited with your parents. Trust me.”

“Then take me closer to the house. I want to feel its shadow. Then we’ll get you to my parents.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Wilky.”

“See, my lord. You are good at being at my beck and call.”

He couldn’t stop his laughter, nor could he miss the number of people watching them.

He bent his head close to her ear but became distracted by the scent of roses clinging to her long neck. “There is a group of women looking this way.”

“Old or young?”

“Young. They’re smiling. Must like what they see. I do.”

“You’re a bad flirt with terrible sight jokes.”

“I’m a terrible flirt, and I’ve been known to be punny. It covers my discomfort. My voice is grating, but I’d never joke about your sight. I’m like you. I don’t trust easily, either. My guard is a thick shield.”

She pivoted and crashed into him.

He held her for a moment, nothing more than a few seconds to keep her from falling. Heaven was in that blink of time. “Cousin, we have to stop these unplanned caresses…while people are watching.”

Ruth shook her head. They walked on.

He steered her to the little area within a square of hedges, close to the house but private. He stopped at the stone bench he’d spied earlier. “How about we sit? Perhaps, if we are still, a dove might land on your birdbath.”

“Yes, to sitting, but I fear the party is too noisy for birds. You didn’t say why you trust me.”

He waited for her to sit, tucking her slippers beneath the hem of her beige gown. This dress was billowy and beige. The sleeves were long, almost balloons. So not Ruth, the color part or the style. She had been stylish, bold with gowns that had shown her fine figure.

It was almost as if she tried to hide. How do you hide a sun?

Smoothing his waistcoat, he plopped down beside her. “It’s quite simple. Adam trusted you with his life. He was a great judge of character. Thus, I trust you.”

Her cheeks warmed. A bronzy tint kissed her deeply honeyed skin. “It’s that simple for you?”

“Yes, that simple. Adam was a great reference.”

She relaxed more, but her posture remained straight and composed. Good baroness stock.

But he wasn’t composed, not on the inside.

His arms wanted to be about Ruth again. The feel of her, the scent of her—all was a torture for a man who was desperate for her. He forced his gaze to the birdbath and the deep pond in which it stood. The water was a little cloudy with slick water lilies floating on top. White dead nettles plants rimmed the pond with large shells, seashells. A few of the white heart-shaped petals stirred into the emerald broth. In the middle was a fragile-looking pedestal that supported a large bowl. The birdbath was formed from small indigo blue tiles.

“This is lovely, Mrs. Wilky. It’s peaceful here.”

“What peace? The party is quite loud. I still want to be in the house.” She lifted her palm. “May I have my lenses.”

“Only if you promise to hand them back if things overwhelm you.”

“What?”

“You were at Blaren House in the company of a stranger. You were poised and calm, especially after my lousy greeting.”

“I’m an expert at adapting. Ask my family.”

He reached in his pocket and produced her spectacles. “You’ve learned to survive. There’s strength in that.”

She slid them on and looked over her shoulder. “I do like it here. This is close to the house. I watch my son gather rocks. We skip them across the pond.”

“How will you handle new places when I escort you out?”

She scooted away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I need my cousin’s help. Blaren House will be completely redone, rejuvenated from top to bottom. I’d like your opinion on everything. Adam said you had great style and a way with color.”

“Stop. I only need you here to convince everyone of Adam’s existence. I’m not looking for anything more. I don’t need you gaining ideas.”

This courtship was becoming trickier by the second. She’d talked of wanting a friend, but now she retreated. Women and consistency, was this a fleeting notion?

Go slow, Wycliff, he told himself. He was in love with Ruth. She tolerated him for her own goals. Such were the inequities of his life, but rather shrewd on her part. “Fine. But may I ask your opinion on things upon occasion? Would you help me out a little, dear cousin?”

Ruth nodded but her focus was upon the pond. Perhaps she loved the stone birdbath. He could install one at Blaren House for her.

Rubbing her temples, she removed her spectacles, laying them between them on the bench. She stretched and picked up a rock from a small pile by the foot of the bench. A smooth, black basalt stone was in her palm. She skipped it across to the other side.

Her aim was perfect, a straight line close to the birdbath. She didn’t strike the pedestal.

“Nice aim or beginner’s luck?”

“Shall I do it again?”

“Yes, but on the other side of the birdbath.”

Her smile became a little bigger. She picked up another rock. This was a round piece of gray slate. She flung it and again it skipped the surface of the water, like a gull. The trajectory matched the last but on the left of the birdbath like he’d asked.

He clapped his hands. “Wonderful. This is your pile of rocks and you practice often?”

“Must have party tricks. My son likes it here the best. Doing something with my hands helps when I have to be out here.”

Son. The baby or the little boy? Time to find out. He leaped up. “While you are smiling, let’s find your parents.”

“No. Wait. Just stay and watch the ripples in the small pond. Sometimes, you’ll hear a frog’s moan.”

Her mood had changed again. What a puzzle she was. Well, that hadn’t changed. She had intrigued him before, and he’d fallen for her before he’d even known it.

“I can’t decide if you want me to leave, Mrs. Wilky, or if you want me to stay. I have rather large shoulders to comfort you in this turmoil.”

“That you do.”

Was that a smidgeon of appreciation for him? Ruth used to tease him for being tall and lanky. He picked up her lenses, thin brass like the ones broken at Blaren House but made with slimmer glass. “Tell me why we’re procrastinating.”

A small grin bloomed then disappeared.

A check of their surroundings—Mrs. Bexeley and a few other women edged closer. “Talk to me Mrs. Wilky, before we have an audience.”

“They know. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

Crossing her arms, she held on to her elbows as if she were cold, but even her vacant eyes brimmed with fire, something akin to defiance. “For four years everyone wanted me to forget Adam. They wanted to take my memories away. They wanted Adam to be a lie. He wasn’t.”

“I know.”

“You can’t know. He was a flesh and blood man who loved me more than he loved himself. You’re here at my parents’. You will tell them the truth. Perhaps they will believe you. Why not? You’re a man. A peer. Why wouldn’t they?”

“Use me for your advantage.”

Her hand popped up, palm wide, fingers stretched.

“Four years of branding me a liar are ready to magically disappear. You think the pain goes away, too?”

Wycliff put his hand to her wrist and lowered it. “You know Adam was a person. You’re no liar. You’re a truth teller.”

“But I want to forget everything. I wish I was a liar. I’m disappointed in how my life has gone. Then I feel guilty, for that means denying Adam, a man who died for me.”

She pressed at her temples. “I want to feel justified, but what if you’re not believed? What if we never find the other half of the document? What if I never have a legal, valid way to show I was loved and honorable? These are my fears. Please, sit with me, not moving. I need another minute before this sliver of hope is put at risk and destroyed.”

Wycliff wanted to confess right now, to honor what she’d suffered. This was his fault, thinking that taking the registry would keep her safe.

Yet, his admission now would make her seem more of a liar or foolish for having him here at her party. She needed him to be Wycliff, the eccentric peer, not Adam the fool.

It was good she still thought him dead. A dead man couldn’t be a live friend.

Wycliff pulled her hand to his chest. “If Adam had known how you would suffer, he would’ve done things differently. He should never have headed to London. He’d been warned. He knew better, but he still went. It’s his fault.”

“See, you weren’t even there, and you know the fault is mine. He wanted to head to Scotland. I should’ve let him. He made the choice to please me.”

“You weren’t responsible. Adam made up his own mind. Even if he valued your opinion, he still made the decision.”

Ruth picked another stone. This time, when she tossed it, she hit the birdbath dead center. A piece of tile chipped. The bowl moved. The rock fell with a big splash into the pond.

“My fault. He listened to me. He died doing what I asked. I’ve suffered every day since. Maybe that is my punishment for causing his death.”

No.

The attack was his enemy’s fault and his.

Yes, he’d headed toward London to make her happy and to protect her from her fears for her parents and their disappointments, but the decision had been his.

Wycliff was a wiser man. Security outweighed everything. He’d do anything to keep her safe.

“I’m your friend, Mrs. Wilky. What happened was the fault of the evil men.”

She held out her hand. “My spectacles. I wish to see you change my mind.”

He put them in her hand.

After balancing them on that button nose, she squinted and leaned into him. “Well friend, what happened to your face? I don’t think my physician punched you. Or did he? Is that what you warrant for being nosy?”

“No. I typically get people to tell me what I want without these consequences.”

“I don’t have your special powers, my lord. I don’t need them. People whisper just loud enough to ensure I hear their horrible thoughts.”

“Hear mine. You deserve better.”

She shrugged. “Who hurt you, Wycliff?”

“Someone who vented his anger because his crimes have caught up to him. He’s angry because I won’t help him. He’ll not do it again.”

“Well, Lord Wycliff, I won’t punch you in the eye for being nosy.”

“There’s that.”

She reached to the ground again, but her pile was empty. “Chris will have to get me more. I like flat stones.

Chris…Christopher. An older child who could gather stones. Possibly his son.

“Mrs. Wilky, let us get on with the introductions.”

He stood and helped her up, slipping her hand firmly into his. “I’m with you, my dear, like a knight to his queen. I’ll make sure that you are believed. I won’t rest until everyone knows that Ruth Wilky is a truth teller.”

“Queen, hmm.” She wiped at her long lashes, then took his hand and kissed it. “Stop letting people hit you.”

That was unexpected, such an open expression of affection. She still had that power to confuse him. “Let’s find your parents so I can tell them of the goodness of Adam Wilky.”

“No, let’s walk a little more.”

More time to prepare was good. He needed to be convincing. There’d be no chance to win Ruth if he failed.