Margaret Moore (10 page)

Richard rose. “I have it. Give me some time to get settled at Blythe Hall—say, a fortnight or two—and then come visit us. I am sure there must be some society there into which we can introduce you.”

He smiled conspiratorially. “And i’faith, my dear friend, I have been seriously wrong about country women. We in the city are the ignorant ones if we assume them all to be homely bumpkins.”

“Is that so?” Foz asked, a smile finally lighting his face. “Then you are not displeased with this woman forced upon you?”

Richard began to gather up his paper, quill, and ink to put into the chest. “No, Foz, I am not.”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

Whistling a jaunty air, Richard continued to pack his few belongings. He paused as he checked the stopper on one of the clay vessels holding ink. “Have you read the marriage settlement?
Did you bring it with you? Just relay the pertinent points.”

Foz placed his hat on the small, scarred table where Richard had done his writing, sat in the equally scarred chair beside it, and sighed deeply. “Oh, yes, that.”

Richard stopped whistling and regarded his friend with puzzlement, for Foz sounded uncharacteristically wary. “What is it?”

“You, um, perhaps you should have read it before signing.”

Richard felt the cold finger of dread slide along his spine and settle in the pit of his stomach as he reached for the document Foz now produced. “You were there. You saw that I was not given the chance to do so. What does it say?”

“It says, I’m afraid … that is, the way it is written—and very well written, too, I must say—”

“Spit it out, man!” Richard cried, the legal words making no sense at all to him in his agitation.

“You have no rights to anything except to offer advice concerning the management of your stepson’s estate.”

“What?
That cannot be!”

“Unless I’ve read it completely incorrectly, and you and I both know that is hardly likely given my years with that slave-driver Muttlechop, you have no legal rights at all except to give advice when it is requested of you.”

Richard sat heavily on the bed and stared at his friend in disbelief. “I know I cannot have the estate back, yet I thought… I assumed that I would have control over my wife’s money. That is what the king promised.”

“That is what the king may have assumed, too, given that is the usual way of things.”

“How can they circumvent the bestowing of my wife’s goods upon me?” Richard demanded. “She has become my chattel, has she not?”

“She has, but this document states that all her money and moveable goods remain her property, and when she dies, they are to be equally distributed among her children.”

Richard fought the anger surging within him at the knavish trickery of his bride and her despicable lawyer. “Children, or child?”

Foz pointed at a line on the parchment. “‘All legitimate issue,’” he quoted.

“Thank God for small mercies,” Richard growled. “At least she will not deny an inheritance to whatever children I beget on her.”

“I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings, especially when you seemed so happy before,” Foz said mournfully.

“By God, I wish I had not set eyes upon that woman and that the king had married her to anyone but me.”

“Oh, you cannot mean that,” Foz protested. “Why, if he did, you would not be preparing to go home now.”

Richard blinked, then looked at Foz. “You have a point, my friend. As you say, I am going home at last. And only a fool would ever trust any woman, especially his wife.”

E
lissa had not quite finished putting the last few items into the bossed box when she heard the knocking on Mr. Harding’s door, followed by the familiar sound of Richard Blythe’s deep voice.

“Who is that, Mama?” Will asked, his question muffled from beneath the bed where he was seeking his lost shoe buckle.

“That is Sir Richard Blythe.”

“It is?” Will scooted out from the under the bed, his suit dusty and his gaze full of avid excitement as he scrambled to his feet. “The man we met before?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have business with Mr. Harding, too?”

“No,” she replied, sitting on the bed and patting a place beside her. “Will, come here and listen to me.”

She had convinced herself she had enough
time to tell Will that she was married before they had to leave, and to reveal the identity of the man the king had commanded her to wed. She had postponed the moment as long as she could but couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I want to see Sir Richard! Do you suppose he has his sword with him?”

“I think that very likely. Now, before we go downstairs, come here.”

With a curious expression on his young face, Will obeyed.

She put her arm around him as he settled himself on the bed beside her. “I have some important things to tell you.”

“About Sir Richard?”

“Yes, about him.” She thought a moment, wondering how to begin. “When I went to Whitehall the day we arrived in London—”

“And saw the king?” Will asked, his impatient glance at the door telling her he wanted to finish this conversation quickly.

“Yes, and saw the king, His Majesty gave me a royal command.”

That got her son’s undivided attention. “He did?”

Elissa nodded. “Yes, he did. He commanded me to marry.”

“To marry?” It was quite clear Will thought this sort of command beneath a king—and she could not fault his reaction. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he can. And the person he ordered
me to marry had something in common with me, so that is also why.”

“Who? Who are you to marry?”

Elissa wished she had not left this so late! “Yesterday I became the wife of Richard Blythe. That is why I was not here last night.”

Will jumped to his feet and stared at her. “He is my new papa?” he demanded incredulously.

“He is your stepfather, Will, and I do not intend that he shall replace—”

Before she could finish, Will ran out of the room. As she hurried to follow him, she heard his feet pounding down the stairs.

She lifted her skirts and hurried down the steps and into the withdrawing room located behind Mr. Harding’s offices. It was not a large room, and the small mullioned window overlooking an even smaller yard did not let in much light. The oak wainscoting was dark with age, the plaster yellowed, and the draperies ancient. The furnishings were likewise old and unlovely, but then, Mr. Harding was not the kind of man to care much about such things.

Elissa skittered to a halt and saw Will gazing at Richard with undisguised admiration. His hands clasped behind his thin back, Mr. Mollipont, Mr. Harding’s middle-aged and deferential clerk, seemed equally fascinated by the cavalier playwright as he stood by the smoke-stained hearth.

What was there not for them to admire about Richard’s tall, muscular frame? Or the small smile of cool composure on his darkly handsome face? His black hair curled against his powerful and broad shoulders, and he stood with the easy, natural grace of a large cat, his expression nearly as inscrutable.

As he continued to regard her with his dark eyes, she suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation that he had learned all her secrets in one night.

“Ah, here you are,” he remarked. “When I returned to Whitehall with my baggage, you were not there.”

She would not permit him to act the wounded party over this particular point. “When I awakened, you were gone without leaving any information as to your whereabouts,” she replied just as calmly, “so I told the servants where
you
could find
me,
and here I am.”

She turned to Mr. Mollipont. “Where is Mr. Harding?”

“Indeed, yes, where is Mr. Harding?” Richard seconded. “There are some matters about the marriage settlement I wish to have clarified.”

Elissa looked at him with barely disguised alarm, for despite the evenness of his remarks, there was mtimidation in his tone and, she now realized, barely disguised anger in his eyes.

“Mr. Harding has gone to court, my lord,” Mr. Mollipont offered. “He’ll be there all day.”

“How convenient,” Richard replied. “I suppose I shall have to ask my wife my questions.”

Elissa was no coward, yet she would have preferred to have Mr. Harding answer all questions concerning the marriage settlement, even if he had ensured that she knew and understood the terms completely.

“I have not yet finished packing for the journey home,” she replied with a hint of defiance.

“Since I was compelled to sign the settlement before reading it, and thus render it binding, I daresay my questions can wait until we are in our coach.”

“Our coach?”

“Yes, a coach and four are our wedding gift from the king.”

To be sure, their own coach would make traveling more comfortable and they would likely be home all the faster—but to be cooped up with Richard and grilled on the terms of the marriage settlement without hope of escape …

“Mama says you are my new papa,” Will declared.

Richard answered before she could correct him. “I am your mama’s new husband, and so merely your stepfather, unfortunately.”

Elissa came forward and put her arm around her son. “That is what I told him.”

“But you will come home with us? You are going to live with us? Will you teach me to fight with a sword?”

“Will!” Elissa cried, part of her relieved that he wasn’t angry and upset, the other part perturbed that he was so obviously delighted.

“Yes, I am going home with you to where I spent my boyhood. Yes, I shall live with you since I am your mama’s husband.” He glanced at Elissa and that simple glance seemed to set the blood dancing in her veins.

Mercifully, he stopped looking at her and turned his attention back to Will. “And I will teach you to fight with a sword as a gentleman should—when your mama agrees it is time.”

Richard settled himself on a plain wooden chair. “The coach is in the mews even now. I told the driver I wanted to leave at once, so he is undoubtedly cursing us with every coarse expression at his disposal for taking so long. Therefore, I suggest you make haste, wife.”

Elissa knew she was being dismissed, and while his patronizing tone bothered her greatly, she thought it wiser to do as he said. “Come, Will.”

“I don’t want to go!” her son protested, shrugging off her maternal arm. “I want to stay with him!”

“I’m sure Sir Richard doesn’t want to be troubled with you.”

Richard slowly got to his feet and if Elissa thought he had seemed intimidating before,
she knew now she had seen a pale shadow of the ire of which he was capable. “He will be no trouble at all to me, and indeed, I welcome an opportunity to get to know this fine young man, as I would hope he would have the opportunity to get to know me without being prejudiced against me.”

Elissa flushed hotly beneath her husband’s gaze. Nevertheless, considering what she knew of Richard Blythe, her mind rebelled against leaving Will alone with him. It was not that she feared any harm from one meeting; it was rather that she would guard her child’s mind from an infatuation that might prove harmful in later years. “I need Will’s help.”

“Mr. Mollipont will surely do,” Richard replied.

Elissa looked at her son and saw his suddenly fearful and uncertain glances from his mother to his stepfather.

“I promise not to teach him fencing while you are gone from the room,” Richard said, his tone genially bemused.

As Will visibly relaxed, it occurred to her that the change in his tone was meant to reassure her son. She could not do less.

“Very well, he may stay,” she agreed.

After all, she told herself as she joined Mr. Mollipont at the door and exited, it would be merely a few moments.

“Tell me about the battles you’ve been in!”
Will demanded excitedly after his mother had departed.

Richard turned his attention to the sturdy, inquisitive, obviously bright lad before him. “Battles?”

“Yes! Weren’t you in battles?”

Richard shook his head. “No. I was too young to fight in the Civil War.”

“But you were with the king.”

“I joined the king in exile, when the battles were long over.”

Except the battles for money, which this lad would not want to hear about. There had been domestic battles before that, of course, but he preferred to forget those.

Apparently Will was not about to give up. “Then tell me about your duels.”

“They are not very exciting.”

“You
have
dueled?” Will inquired dubiously, his brow furrowing with suspicion.

Even though the person questioning him was only a child, Richard’s pride was pricked by any doubt of his willingness to defend his honor. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, then, tell me about them,” Will said, good humor restored.

“Very well,” Richard replied, “I shall tell you all about them on our journey.”

That would be as good a time as any to instill in this young man-child that duels were no more great and glorious than two stags
locking horns over a doe, even when honor was at stake.

And if it would also take his mind from his distractingly lovely, wily wife while they shared such close quarters, so much the better.

His disgruntled thoughts took quite a different turn, for Will gave his stepfather an admiring and happy smile.

Suddenly, a pang of paternal longing struck Richard harder than any blow he had ever received. He would give almost anything to have a son as fine as this boy.

As he regarded the trusting, upturned face, he vowed he would protect and nurture this child and ensure that Will’s life and his memories were untarnished and untainted.

Unlike his own.

Elissa hurried to complete the packing. She did not want to leave Will too long alone with Richard Blythe, with his aura of exotic danger and surprisingly changeable manner.

She hoped Will’s presence would dissuade Richard from discussing the settlement on their journey. Unfortunately, as she thought of the look in Richard’s eyes, she didn’t think this likely.

“There, that’s the last one,” Mr. Mollipont said, huffing as he pushed down the lid of the large, wooden, leather-covered chest which was all that remained of her baggage. “Now you can have a bit of a rest. You look as overheated
as a horse at the Newmarket races, my lady.”