The Wagered Wife (11 page)

“Let me understand this. Are you—are you inviting me to live here—with you?”

Her gaze shifted back to him. “Not . . . not with
me
precisely. Only as Ashley's father.”

“Ah. I see.” He looked into her eyes. She held his gaze, making no attempt to hide her apprehension and doubt. He nodded. “All right. That seems reasonable. It will establish Ashley's claim to the Jeffries name. Regardless of what might happen later.”

“Thank you, Trevor.” She reached out to touch his arm, and the brief physical contact sent a bolt of awareness through her. Did he feel it, too?

“Now. May I meet my daughter?”

Caitlyn went to the bellpull and spoke quietly to the servant who answered. A few minutes later, there was a gentle rap at the door and Ashley came in clutching her doll.

“Thank you, Adams,” Caitlyn said to the nurse, dismissing her.

Ashley stared at this strange man and sidled nearer her mother, apparently sensing something extraordinary. Caitlyn knelt beside her, put her arm around the child, and spoke softly. “Ashley, love. You remember I told you your papa went to be a soldier?”

The little girl nodded knowingly. “Uh-huh.” She looked at Trevor. “My papa is a brave soldier in the 'ninsula.”

Caitlyn was disconcerted by Ashley's revelation, but Trevor would at least know the child had a positive view of her absent father. “Well, darling,” Caitlyn said, “your papa has come home.”

“Really and truly?” Ashley's eyes widened in delight.

“Really and truly,” Caitlyn responded with this catch phrase between the two of them. “This is your papa, darling. He has come especially to see you.”

Trevor knelt before the little girl and opened his arms. He seemed surprised when Ashley came into them immediately and slid one small hand around his neck, the other still firmly clutching her doll. He hugged her little body to him and kissed the top of her head.

“Are you really and truly my papa?”

He gazed into eyes that were a mirror image of his own. “Yes, poppet, I am.”

He hugged her even more tightly, and when his gaze met Caitlyn's over their daughter's head, she saw that she was not the only one whose vision was blurred by tears.

During each of their London seasons, Caitlyn had rented the same town house in Bedford Square. It belonged to a sea captain who planned eventually to retire to the city. In all that time, the master's bedchamber had been empty. Caitlyn had preferred the angle of the morning sun in the adjoining chamber which had a small sitting room attached. Aunt Gertrude preferred a chamber that was not subject to an early morning wake-up by the sun. Now Caitlyn thought it fortuitous that they had left the master chamber free. She dismissed entirely the fleeting notion that some supernatural hand of fate had prompted her to leave that other chamber empty to await just this turn of events.

“Fustian,” she muttered and went about the business of having it aired and prepared and seeing to another room for Trevor's valet. A dressing room connecting the chambers of master and mistress would remain firmly closed.

With little ado, Trevor moved in the following morning, pronounced his quarters “quite comfortable,” and promptly set off for the park with his daughter and a dog Ashley said was her “puppy”—a huge German shepherd blend standing as tall as the little girl.

Caitlyn laughed at seeing his reaction to the dog. “He was a puppy when Ashley found him. I intended to get rid of him, but she became so attached to him . . .”

“Does he have a name?” Trevor asked as the dog greeted its little mistress exuberantly.

“Little Bit.” Seeing his disbelieving grin, she added, “He was such a little bit of a thing when he came to us.”

“And he is all right with a child?” Trevor eyed the dog skeptically.

“Oh, yes. He is very patient and very protective. You should see him in the playroom. He will lie with Ashley's doll on his front paws and never move until she takes up the doll again. Once, she had done something rather naughty—I forget what. I grasped her shoulders and spoke to her quite sternly.”

“What happened?”

“Little Bit began to growl—not viciously, just enough to let me know I was not to be unkind to his darling.” Caitlyn chuckled ruefully. “Now, if I need to reprimand my daughter, I make sure the dog is in another room.”

“Little Bit may come with us, may he not, Papa?” Ashley queried anxiously as she put her hand in her father's.

“Your mother says it is all right. Where is his leash?”

“Oh, you will not need a leash,” Caitlyn said. “Little Bit will not leave Ashley's side as long as she is out.”

Trevor had seemed a little dubious about this, but he accepted her word and set off for the park with his daughter and her “puppy.”

Watching them leave, Caitlyn felt a twinge of sadness and—yes—jealousy. Well, resentment, at least.
She
had always been the central figure in her daughter's life. Now she would have to share that position with a man who had previously been but a distant shadow. Suddenly the shadow was disconcertingly real flesh-and-blood substance.

Aunt Gertrude looked up from a newspaper she was reading as Caitlyn returned to the glassed-in sunroom where they often spent their mornings.

“Caitlyn? Is something wrong?”

“Not really. I am merely trying to adjust to the idea of my daughter's having two parents.”

“Ashley seems pleased at the idea.”

“
Ashley
is ecstatic.”

“But you are not?” Aunt Gertrude put down her newspaper as Caitlyn took a seat in a cushioned wicker chair.

“I do not know
what
to feel. I am, of course, happy that Trevor has acknowledged our child.”

“But . . . ?” Aunt Gertrude left the word hanging.

“Since he has done so, he has the power—the authority—to take her from me.”

“Improbable—though it is within the realm of
legal
possibility.” Aunt Gertrude spoke slowly and deliberately. “We both know of women who have suffered so.”

“Lady Lennington—”

“Is a complicated case. Her husband is a mean-spirited, vindictive man, using innocent children to avenge himself on a wife who cuckolded him.”

“Still—”

“Still,” Aunt Gertrude interrupted, “Trevor is not Lennington.”

“That is precisely what Trevor said himself.”

“Well? Believe him. I have known Trevor his whole life. Impetuous as a youngster. Sometimes gullible—because he always expected the best of everyone he met. But never mean-spirited or deliberately cruel.”

“Perhaps he changed.” Caitlyn thought of the way he had been so quick to believe the worst of her.

“Oh, he has changed, I think. I doubt this is still the boy who went to the Peninsula. The earl and Gerald will find this man much less malleable than that boy was.” Obviously, Aunt Gertrude found such an idea immensely pleasing.

“Well . . .” Caitlyn hesitated, still uncertain.

“And you have changed also,” Aunt Gertrude went on. “I doubt either of you will ever again be pawns in someone else's game as you once were.”

“I surely hope not.” Caitlyn then changed the subject as they made their plans for the day.

In a surprisingly short time, Trevor found his days settling into a routine. Rising early, he would take a brisk walk before returning to share the morning meal with Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude. Once, Caitlyn had asked him if he would care to ride in the park with her. He was rather abrupt in telling her no. She did not ask again. Talk over breakfast was usually filled with polite nothings—as, indeed, most of their conversations were. Trevor thought none of them wished to be the one to introduce a discordant note.

Later in the morning, he would accompany Ashley on some excursion or another, usually to the park to feed the birds. Once, however, he took her to see the menagerie at the Tower of London. The tower housed a pathetic collection of animals, but Ashley was excited at seeing an elephant and a tiger.

Still later, he would visit Gentleman Jackson's establishment for a pugilistic workout, often accepting the great man's or another's offer of a sparring match. Trevor rarely won these matches, but he held his own and was regarded with increasing respect among that sporting crowd.

Despite his aversion to the
ton's
delight in making “morning” calls—which rarely occurred before two in the afternoon—Trevor made a few such calls, some of them with his wife. The recipients of these calls were chosen with care, for Trevor was determined—with Caitlyn's concurrence—that Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Jeffries should establish themselves in society for the sake of their child.

He spent other afternoons in more worthwhile endeavors—seeing to the welfare of men who had been in his command. Several were in hospital here in the city, and Trevor visited them regularly. He also made himself available to other men—or their widows, in some cases—as an advocate with the War Office. Now that the war was over, and even the action in the former colonies was winding down, England seemed all too ready to forget her debts to the common soldier. Trevor was quietly determined that this should not be allowed to happen.

“Jeffries, you are becoming a source of genuine irritation to us, my boy,” said an older officer, whose entire experience of battle had been from the fortress of his London desk. The man's jovial tone was hard-edged.

“I am sorry to hear that, Colonel Blake.”

Blake went on as though Trevor had not spoken. “Hard to ignore a man with your connections, though.”

“My connections?” Trevor asked dumbly. Well, he supposed being related to an earl had
some
attractions, even if one were the proverbial black sheep of the family.

Blake lifted his brows. “Your father and that brother of yours. When Wyndham speaks, Parliament listens. And Wyndham has had much to say about the interests of this office.”

“Oh, my father.” Trevor shrugged. He had grown up only vaguely aware of his father's political power. Not vitally interested in politics himself, Trevor had assumed his father's power came largely from his great wealth. It had only lately occurred to him that he might subtly use his family connections to help the men of his regiment, though God knew he did not want to incur any debt to his father or Gerald on his own behalf. “My brother? You mean Gerald?”

Blake's response was emphatic. “No! Marcus. He is the one Wellington thinks is a miracle worker, and everyone knows Wellington has Prinny's ear.”

Trevor was unaware of a connection between Marcus and the commander-in-chief of the Peninsula armies, but he was careful to hide his ignorance from Colonel Blake. “Hmm. Well, you will see that Sergeant Hillyard's pension goes to his widow, will you not?”

The other man gave an impatient sigh and shuffled some papers on his desk. “Yes, I will see to it.”

In the evenings, Trevor and his wife only occasionally attended a social affair together. Caitlyn had made it clear that she welcomed his presence in her life only in his capacity as Ashley's father. In truth, Trevor was not sure that he even wanted another role in Caitlyn's life.

Yes, she was a remarkably attractive woman, and she stirred his senses whenever she was near. And yes, Ashley was surely his child. But, denied her own choice of husband, had Caitlyn not been a willing party to her uncle's duping a naive young man? And God knew both he and Caitlyn were truly locked into the trap now. However, Caitlyn seemed not to worry about the shackles overmuch, judging by the number of gentleman callers she entertained and by the floral offerings that arrived on a regular basis.

Her most persistent admirers were Ratcliff, Graham, and Latham, though there were others who gathered at every soiree, ball, or rout they attended. Trevor tried to adopt an indulgent, “modern” attitude to his wife's flirtations, but often found himself grinding his teeth. Nevertheless, he had to admit that if she
were
carrying on affairs with any of them, she was extremely discreet about it. Had his mother not said as much to him?

Initially, his days seemed quite full. But as he settled in more completely, he began to feel they were not so full at all—at least, not with anything of importance outside of his time with Ashley and his efforts on behalf of his regiment.

“I am beginning to feel decidedly useless,” he confessed to Theo one evening. Trevor had met Theo at the club after seeing Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude home from a musicale. He and his friend had intended to play a few hands of cards, but seeing the boisterous company at the tables, they had settled for quiet conversation in another room.

“The season will be over soon,” Theo observed, “and you can get back into the harness at Atherton.”

“What you mean to say is it
should
be over soon. The general euphoria over Boney's defeat has prolonged it this year.”

“ 'Tis absolute madness,” Theo said. “Traffic had to be rerouted around Pulteney's Hotel because of the mob hanging about for a glimpse of the czar.”

“Our prince must be in his element, what with entertaining the Russian czar and the Prussian king at the same time to celebrate ‘their' great victories over Napoleon.”

“Not according to some accounts.”

Trevor raised his eyebrows in question. “But he has all these elaborate doings planned.”

“They do not always turn out as he would like them to.” Theo's voice turned thoughtful. “I think Prinny may have seen this state visit as a means of recouping some of his lost regard with his own subjects, but the czar and the Prussian are getting far more attention than our regent. And—the star of his show is missing.”

“Ah, yes. Wellington is still in Paris.”

“And Prinny must make do with Blucher.”

“The German general is very popular with the public.”

Theo laughed. “Yes. Probably because he loves drink as much as they do—and holds it no better than most do. Blucher aside, Prinny's real problem remains.”

“Princess Caroline.”

“Princess Caroline. Despite our regent's aversion to his wife, she is extremely popular with the lower orders.”

“Almost makes one feel sorry for the Prince of Wales.” Trevor's tone was distinctly ironic.

“Actually, yes,” Theo agreed. “He planned a fine evening at the theater for his exalted guests the other night, and she managed to upstage him.”

“What happened?”

“The curtain had just gone up with the last chorus of ‘God Save the King' when Caroline appeared in her box opposite his. She was resplendent in a black wig and many diamonds.”

“You were there, I take it?”

“Oh, yes. A grand piece of theatrical timing. The audience went wild cheering her—with their backs to her husband, I might add. The Czar of All the Russias and the King of Prussia bowed to her, as did Prinny, but I daresay he was silently wishing her to perdition.”