Chapter Fourteen

A Widow’s Friend

Wycliff had my hand and he guided me away from the still pond waters, but my soul was anxious. I was not restored.

The baron was smooth, not taking my baiting comments, allowing me to be honest about how I felt about Adam. He took all my hurt and sorrow about his cousin and remained sweet.

I couldn’t share all my truths—that Adam was the hole in my chest, the space where a heart should be. I’ll never feel toward anyone the way I felt for him.

This was for the best. That deep kind of love had too many risks. I’d never gamble like that again. My son needed his mother to be reasonable and smart, not a dreamer.

Wycliff tugged hair away from my face. He thought himself clever, trailing his thumb along my cheek.

It was sweet, a more romantic gesture than the barrister’s.

But I was immune.

Wycliff’s touch would never be a caress that vibrated through me, all the way to my spine. It would never send those tingles and sparks, like embers dancing in a flame.

I’d have to be vulnerable for that. I’d have to trust someone with the intricacies of my thoughts and the intimacy of my body. Never again.

He smiled at me, but I wasn’t stupid. His motives were obvious, despite his patient words. He wanted what Adam had had. He wanted me.

Wycliff cleaned my glasses and returned them to my face. “See. Good as new.”

“You noticed I was broken?”

He frowned but didn’t answer and started us moving again.

He didn’t take the bait of that barb. I was grateful for that. I needed to be me again, a less sarcastic woman who spoke her mind and danced on hot coals because she wanted to. That was me.

“Mrs. Wilky, do you think your mother will approve of me? I left the sjambok in my carriage.”

“A little.” Well, that wasn’t true. Mother would love him, a baron at her house.

If I had to be on a man’s arm, it surely didn’t hurt that Wycliff was big like my father, tall and brawny like him, too.

“Take your time examining me, my Mrs. Wilky, my Ruthy. See what you think of me. I don’t mind the scrutiny.”

With a nod, I did just that and took another glorious look at the handsome man. The beard made him more mysterious. I liked that.

His nose was thin and unremarkable, but his lips, they were smooth and full, something I hadn’t seen on anyone but Blackamoors. “Only Adam called me Ruthy. It’s Mrs. Wilky to you. That will change if I accept the barrister’s offer.”

“Now that is a problem. How did you meet the busy barrister?”

I lowered my head to the baron’s wide chest and couldn’t help but notice how everything fit snuggly to his form.

When I looked up, he smirked. He knew I admired him. “A newspaper advertisement. There’s nothing safe to look at when it comes to you, Lord Wycliff. You are handsome. Maybe I should leave off these spectacles.”

His hands were on mine again. “Is that such a bad thing to be handsome?”

“Yes. Because you do remind me of your cousin.”

“When you speak of Adam, I don’t hear much love.”

“Is it possible to love someone so much and hate him, too?”

The cough, the pause, the next cough said everything I needed to know. No one understood. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so honest.”

“I needed to know this. As you said, I’m nosy.”

“Let’s keep moving, Lord Wycliff. Someone will talk.”

He started guiding me, but I saw questions bubbling.

“Why did you risk everything to come to Blaren House? I know how much of a toll it took to come. I’m a survivor of a war, my personal struggles nearly killed me. What made the difference for you, Mrs. Wilky? What drove you up those steps to Blaren House?”

“Christopher. The chance at getting the other part of that registry is for him.”

A smile came to the baron’s face. One that was unexpected. One that reached for a possibility that I couldn’t confirm. Chris was Adam’s by marriage. I wasn’t sure by blood.

Wycliff put his hands to his back. “I’m glad you came. When you are ready to talk of Adam, the good and the bad, I’m here for it.”

“Find the registry for me. That’s what I need. Nothing else.” I folded my arms about my middle, but this was my truth. “I deserve to be made whole. The proof does that.”

“You are a truth teller, Mrs. Wilky. Never doubt that.”

I had doubted me. Then the trunk had arrived. I would work harder at being me. That hot-coals-walker, the dragon-slayer-in-training. “All this sweetness from an hour of association, half of which I spent unconscious on your steps. I must have mystical powers.”

“I didn’t leave you. I couldn’t. I feel I know you. Call me one of those sentimental fools who becomes entranced by a woman at first sight.”

His dark-gray, almost black, eyes fell upon me like a shadow, a good shadow like the house. “I want your friendship, exactly what you asked of me in the house.”

Why didn’t Barrister Marks look at me like this? We’d corresponded for six months. We’d met on a couple of occasions, but never once had there been anything more than a respectful glance.

Nothing this warm, nothing like this.

I blinked and pushed against the baron’s hard stomach—one that wasn’t scrawny like Adam’s. “If you mention anything about destiny, I’ll leave you and find my way back to the house.”

“The truth gets me sentenced to solitude?”

I stilled my hands on his waistcoat and stopped smoothing the lines of the silken weave. I realized that I kept touching him. I’d crossed that boundary. I jerked my hands away. “Truth is what I need more than anything.”

“Yes. Truth. I see.”

I backed up to put distance between us, to move from the warmth that swirled between him and me. It was too much, too soon, and I was too wary. Turning to run to the house, I rammed into Mrs. Carter.

“Ruth,” the awful thing said, “still clumsy, girl. Never you mind. You look lovely today. So pretty in innocent peach.”

She grinned, but not at me. Her face had lifted toward the baron. “Introduce me to more of your mama’s people. You come fresh off the boat for a visit?”

What?

Why did she mention Mama? What was the dragon talking about? “Mrs. Carter, this is my Mr. Wilky’s cousin, Lord Wycliff.”

“Cousin? Ruth, it’s one t’ing to have a fake husband. It’s an entirely another t’ing to invent fake relatives.”

Lord Wycliff chuckled. “I assure you, madam, I’m not fake. True flesh and blood.”

He took the woman’s hand and kissed it.

Hopefully, the poor man wouldn’t turn into a frog.

“He’s a cousin to my late husband, ma’am. He’s just arrived in London.”

“Odd, we’re hearing of him now. Ruth, your sister’s husband, the actor turned politician, he could’ve picked someone more convincing. All mulattoes are not related.”

Used to jeers, I shook my head and started to the house, but Lord Wycliff didn’t move. “I assure you, I’m Mr. Wilky’s relation, and I’ve been in the Navy a good while. From your accent, I take it you are from Demerara. Ah, Demerara women are so feisty.”

“I’m from Jamaica, my lord, not Demerara.”

He folded his arms and clicked his tongue. “But your pitch. It’s not right for Jamaica. Are you embarrassed about being from Demerara? Such a lovely island. And so friendly. My frigate mates tell some lovely stories about arriving at the hotels for the mulatto balls.”

He winked at her. “You probably were very friendly, Mrs. Carter, a beauty like you.”

I’d never seen such.

The woman turned ruby red. “I am not Demeraran. I didn’t go to the balls.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I hinted at you peddling flesh at the main hotel—oh, there I said it. Sorry.”

Mrs. Carter took a step back. Was that a hand on her hip? “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never peddled anyt’ing. I’m from Villa de la Vega, a town central to Jamaica, not the balls.”

“If you say so, ma’am.” Lord Wycliff winked again. “Perhaps I am confused, your tones… I’ll keep this to myself.”

I wasn’t slow, but the sputtering I heard coming from Mrs. Carter made me laugh out loud. “Cousin, it’s not right to tease.”

Neck shifting, head spinning, the dragon backed up. “I see Mrs. Croome by the refreshment tables. Good day, my lord. Ruth, tell your cousin not to joke so much.”

I’d never known the lumbering woman to move fast, but there she was, tottering away as if the plague had broken out.

Wycliff had defended me. I hadn’t asked him to do that to anyone but my parents.

I was grateful.

Grateful for food and shelter and family and now Wycliff, my new family.

“Shall we continue our walk, Mrs. Wilky?”

He said my name with pride. Today was the first time since my wedding that I’d felt this proud.

I was happy to retake the baron’s arm. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I did lie once about going to her house when I eloped with Adam. She kept my mother encouraged when I disappeared.”

“One mistake doesn’t equal years of abuse. Besides, I couldn’t resist tweaking her Jamaican nose. They are very prideful of their homeland. Unfortunately, the HMS Liverpool was in the East Indies, not the west. My research says Mrs. Carter’s people indeed owned a series of island bawdy houses. Her mother is rumored to be a result of such an encounter.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’m a nosy man. Knowing things is my business, and I was here in enough time to hear Mrs. Carter disparage you.”

“Oh.” It was all I could say. My shock and my gratitude made my head a little dizzy.

“That woman drinks your parents’ raffia, eats their teacakes, and talks ill of you, even with the lovely lady I assume is your mother. Mrs. Carter is a shameful saucebox, a hellish hun.”

The blood stilled in my veins. Then jolted forward and flooded my eardrums. Adam used to make up insults like that. I looked up at Wycliff again, studying his mouth. “When the hun said you were like my mother’s people, does that mean that those lips are inherited from a different free people, like Adam?”

“Noticing my mouth? Is this a new interest? Would you like to examine how it works?”

He was funny, but I sensed his humor was a way to hide.

“If I’m white or mulatto, does it matter? Your sister’s taste in men, and that of her friends, seems to indicate that race does not matter. Your choice of Mr. Marks seems a preference of young Croome women.”

“No. We loved first, then thought about things like that later. For me, I want an honorable and kind man. Someone to be a father to my son and to protect me. That’s my only requirement. Papa has his own ideas. Mama wants to throw a wedding breakfast. If you don’t want to say or if it’s wrong to ask… I want truth in everything. You’ll never know what it’s like to fight to hold on to truth.”

“I know what it’s like to fight to hold on to my dignity and my rights. I know the pressure to give up on hope. Yet, something burned in my chest that didn’t let me give up. I’m thankful for this strength, for my faith. I look at you, standing here in this garden, in your right mind and beautiful and strong. I think we are both blessed.”

The raspy strain in his voice, harsher and hoarser than before, made me sigh. I wondered what horrors he’d lived. What regrets plagued him now?

My hands shook with shame. I’d assumed that since Wycliff looked good on the outside, that he didn’t have pain. I abandoned my resolve not to touch him again and placed a pinkie upon his wrist, where his sleeve exposed his skin.

His arm was rough, bearing evidence of scars. “Sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about. You are a truth teller, and you know I’m not saying everything. For that, I am sorry.”

We took another silent lap about the party. This had to be the longest I’d been outside.

The world didn’t look so scary in Wycliff’s shadow. I understood he knew pain, probably horror. I found an odd camaraderie in that.

“Honor and kindness are your only preferences for a husband, Mrs. Wilky?”

“Well that, and not a sack of bones. You know how skinny your cousin was.” I sighed. I was more sad than mad about Adam, another first in a long time. “But his kindness won me over. He was very clever.”

The baron looked over my head and then maybe to the sky. “Since I’m not a sack of bones, reasonably intelligent, and wish to lavish attention on you like a queen, do I have a chance to deepen our friendship?”

“No more jokes, Lord Wycliff. Let’s find my mother.”

He bit upon the lip I’d begun to admire. “Or let’s find a truly private place to answer your questions. What Mrs. Wilky wants to know, she should know.”

I threaded my hand more tightly about his arm. He headed us toward the house. A wave of happiness skipped through me like my rocks skimming the surface of the fishpond.

We halted, a dead stop in front of my mother.

“Ruth, Mrs. Carter says you have a guest. I’ve been so busy with the party I assumed him a friend of Mr. Marks.”

“No, Mama. This is my friend. This is Lord Wycliff, my late husband’s cousin.”

I tweaked my spectacles and observed the surprise in her countenance. It was small then broke over her face in an unexpected smile. Then I saw the glint in the baron’s eyes as he kissed her hand.

I hadn’t lied.

I hadn’t lied, and now she believed, at least a little. “This was my Tuesday appointment, to meet him.”

“It’s a pleasure finally to greet you, ma’am, and on such a joyous occasion, a lovely garden party. My beautiful cousin was so gracious to invite me.”

I stared at him. Such earnest words. His tone sounded sincere.

“Yes. Yes, Ruth is.” My mama’s small voice was low, barely a whisper.

But I knew her.

Her calm words masked her shock. I reveled in that moment. I wanted to strut in lacy puce slippers and dance with Wycliff spinning me in a crazy waltz. But I stood still and smiled.

“You must come to dinner, Lord Wycliff, sometime next week. My husband has gone inside to rest. He’s still gathering his strength.”

“Yes, from the warehouse fire. I used to love that warehouse. I saw it often from the docks.”

Mama’s face looked different. Something worse than shock, maybe conviction bloomed in that quivering lip. Maybe she was sorry for not believing me. Maybe she could be proud of me for surviving.

“It would be my honor, Mrs. Croome. I intend to see a great deal of Mrs. Wilky these next few weeks. I intend to get to know this part of my family and seek my fair cousin’s advice on decorating my Mayfair townhouse.”

“Mayfair? Yes, if Ruth is up to helping.”

“Mrs. Wilky was going to show me more of your house. I do love the Huguenot architecture.”

“Show him, Ruth.” Mama kissed my cheek and went back to the party.

My joy at her shock disappeared. This couldn’t be this easy.

One word from a man couldn’t be all it took.

I was shaking when Wycliff placed my hand on his arm, livid when he guided my slow steps toward the house, ready to erupt when I saw the dark hall floor under my slippers.

People came inside, stepping around us, but I could go no farther.

Wycliff put his hand to my waist and moved me to the side, into the hall near Papa’s study.

This wasn’t proper, but it felt natural, his hands on me.

His countenance was close. His breathing was as labored as mine. “Let’s let you rest, then go outside onto the street. Privacy for us.”

“The front of the house? No. I’ve had enough of being outside of these walls.”

“I see, Mrs. Wilky. You still don’t trust me?”

“I just met you this week, Lord Wycliff. You’ve studied me and my family. I know nothing of you.”

“It’s enough. It’s more than enough when you just know we are to be friends. I need you to—Lawden’s at the door.”

He lowered his head as if he were pained. “It seems I have to go. I’d like to come for a walk tomorrow.”

My pulse raced. “No. There’s something planned.”

“The next day.”

“Saturday, no, and Sunday’s church.”

“Then Tuesday, it is, cousin. Please, no refusing me, Tuesday, Mrs. Wilky. I haven’t met my little cousin, Christopher.”

I remembered how I dreaded Tuesdays. I thought of how the knitters would act when they saw the baron. And Chris, Chris needed to meet him. “Yes, Tuesday.”

“Look at me, Mrs. Wilky. I cannot wait to be here again. I’ll do what it takes to win your trust fully.”

Against my better judgement, I leaned in, on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but I missed. I brushed his lips, then his furry dimple stroked my nose. It didn’t feel bad. The opposite of bad.

Mistake.

His Bay Rum scent clung to me as his strong hands returned to my waist.

Bigger Mistake.

I let him.

Part of me wanted to linger like this. I was lucky he had to go.

“I’m loath to leave, Mrs. Wilky.”

“A walk on Tuesday with my son, Lord Wycliff. You’re smart, smart like Adam, but he’d never trick me. He’d never hurt my boy. I’m taking a risk to introduce you to my greatest treasure, my Chris.”

“You’ve always taken risks.” Wycliff’s gray-black eyes bored down upon me. “I’m worth it. I’m sensitive to your predicament. You can trust your friend to protect you.”

He pressed his mouth to my open palm. The heat of his breath burned through my glove down to my damp skin. The softness of his lips on my wrist whispered trouble. “Tuesday, noon, Mrs. Wilky, we begin with another walk.”

Beginnings.

They brought fortunes and dangers. Was knowing Wycliff—mysterious, nosy, sensual Wycliff—worth the bargain?

Everything screamed yes. I clenched the hand he’d kissed to my bosom. “Tuesday. No being late. No new bruises.”

With a larger, wicked smile, he turned, tugged on his hat, and then he and his manservant left.

There was no reason to venture back into the garden party.

My friend was gone. The only person who truly believed in me and Adam had left. Little Christopher didn’t count. He believed in Father Christmas, too.

I unfurled my palm.

And thought of Wycliff returning Tuesday. It couldn’t come fast enough.