The Wagered Wife (6 page)

Caitlyn's first thought was a small prayer of thanks that at least one of the guest rooms had been prepared, for it looked at though this traveler planned a stay of some duration. It had to be Trevor's aunt. She waited for Merrill's announcement, which came immediately.

“Lady Gertrude Hermiston, madam.”

“Lady Gertrude?” Caitlyn fairly squeaked in surprise and wonder. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Did that infernal boy not tell you I was coming?”

“Infernal boy?” Caitlyn thought her wits were surely deserting her.

“Trevor. My scapegrace nephew.”

“Oh. No. I mean—yes. He
did
write me that his aunt would come, but he neglected to tell me who she was. Oh, Lady Gertrude, I cannot tell you how glad I am to see a familiar face. I have dreaded meeting Trevor's aunt—and here it is
you
.” She smiled and extended her hands in greeting, aware that she was babbling foolishly.

“Dreading me, were you?” Lady Gertrude smiled as she removed her cloak and handed it over to Merrill along with her oversized hat.

“No. Not you. Just an unknown aunt Trevor said would come.” Caitlyn paused to ask Merrill to bring a tea tray and see to the disposition of Lady Gertrude's luggage, then went on, “Actually, I am extremely happy to see you. It has been a long time since I have seen a truly friendly face.”

“But—I understood that Trevor left here only a fortnight ago.”

Caitlyn felt herself blushing. “You must know that Trevor and I do not know each other well. . . .”

“And I gather he is not in your good graces now, either.”

“No, he is not,” Caitlyn said in a tone that she hoped would eliminate further discussion on this head.

“You and I will talk about it all later, my dear,” her ladyship said as Merrill produced the tea tray. “I have brought you a small gift.” She handed over a gaily wrapped packet.

“A gift? For me?” Caitlyn could not remember the last time anyone had given her a gift. She accepted it eagerly.

“A book. Poetry! Oh, thank you so much.”

“A slim volume by one of your former neighbors in the Lake District—Mr. Wordsworth.”

“I remember seeing him a few times. Mama knew his sister. Oh, how exciting to have one of his books. Thank you again.”

Eventually, they did turn to the topic of Lady Gertrude's stay, and Caitlyn learned that Trevor had not been quite as impervious to his wife's needs in his absence as she had thought. Still, he
had
deserted her.

“I shall never forgive him,” Caitlyn declared. “What is more, as I see it, the only reason to approve a divorce would be to remarry. I never want to marry again. So Trevor—and his family—can just wait until pigs compete with the birds for room in the sky before I shall agree to blacken my name so.”

“You were sorely used,” Lady Gertrude agreed. “But you may change your mind one day.”

“Never.”

“In any event, I am here until you no longer have need of me.”

“Then you shall be here a very long time, I am thinking, my lady.”

“Perhaps you could be persuaded to call me
Aunt Gertrude
as Trevor does.”

“I should be most happy to do so.”

 

 

In the next few days, Caitlyn could hardly believe her luck in discovering a relative who seemed so genuinely concerned about her welfare. She could not help drawing a comparison with the last woman she had addressed as “Aunt.” Gertude Hermiston was a far cry from Sylvia Fiske.

Aunt Gertrude's presence brought an immediate change in the attitudes of certain members of the staff. Mrs. Bassett became positively obsequious, and it was apparent that Perkins took greater care in preparing meals.

Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude actually reveled in each other's company. Gertrude confided that she had always wanted a daughter, and Caitlyn had missed much in losing her mother at such a young age. She became more and more fond of Lady Gertrude.

Then their happy amicability encountered a serious rupture.

Caitlyn was with child.

The two women discovered it almost simultaneously. Caitlyn had not felt well for several days. When she abruptly left the breakfast table two days in a row, Aunt Gertrude followed her to her bedchamber, where Caitlyn lay on the bed after losing her breakfast again.

Aunt Gertrude's expression was grim. “So. You
are
in an interesting condition. I did not believe those rumors, but it appears I was wrong.”

“I . . . I do not know what you are talking about.” Then Caitlyn remembered that cartoon. “Oh. Oh, no. You have it all wrong. I am not with child—I cannot be. Trevor and I . . . we . . . Well, we were only together for a week or so.”

“And before that?” Aunt Gertrude's voice was distant, unrelenting.

“Before . . . ? There was no ‘before,' ” Caitlyn said. “Please. You must believe me. I just have a touch of the flu.”

“The nine-months variety. I would stake my life on it.”

“Oh, no. It cannot be.” It came out as a wail of utter despair. Caitlyn, caught up in her own emotions, did not immediately notice Lady Gertrude's reaction. Later, when she considered the scene again, she thought there was a softening in the older woman's demeanor.

“Well, my girl, you must know it takes only once.”

“Truly?”

Lady Gertrude looked at her in surprise. “Truly. When
was
your last monthly?”

Embarrassed, Caitlyn told her and watched as Aunt Gertrude's face registered the mental calculation she was doing.

“Well. If you are telling the truth—and I must say I am inclined to believe you—the babe must be Trevor's.”

Caitlyn felt anger and indignation rise at this. “Of
course
it is Trevor's. I went to my marriage bed a virgin—and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

“What about that Latham lad? Your name was linked to his in London gossip.”

“Bertie? Bertie never touched me.” Then she blushed and added, “That is, not beyond a few
very
innocent kisses. Even I know it takes more than a kiss to make a babe.”

“Well, now. Calm down, my dear. Strong emotion is not good for the babe. This situation puts a new twist on matters.”

Eight months later—give or take a few days—Caitlyn Maria Woodbridge Jeffries was delivered of a healthy baby girl whom she promptly christened Ashley Gertrude.

 

In the aftermath of Wellington's successful campaign against French forces in the Iberian Peninsula, the British army was sent home. London's citizenry threw themselves into victory celebrations. Every ball or rout—the streets themselves—boasted a sprinkling of uniforms.

Among the soldiers returning to civilian life were Major Ruskin and his friend Captain Jeffries. Nearly five years of warfare had toughened them, turning naive youngsters into men, incompetent officers into seasoned leaders. Among Peninsula veterans Ruskin and Jeffries were quite well known—and respected—as a formidable team.

The journey from Portsmouth, where their ship had landed, had been long and tiring, but they had dropped into a gentlemen's club briefly. Prior to their Peninsula campaign, other club members had barely tolerated them as encroaching puppies. As returning veterans, they were accorded accolades, their company actively sought by others. Now, at the end of their first evening back in London, Theo and Trevor sat in Theo's father's study.

“Here's to us. We survived the misery, the rotten food, and enemy shot.” Theo raised his glass.

Trevor returned the salute. “And to absent friends.”

“And to absent friends.”

As they sat in silence for a few moments, Trevor contrasted the elegant luxury of the modest Ruskin town house to the hardships he and Theo had endured as the army fought its way through dust and heat in Spain, and mud and cold in the Pyrenees.

Theo broke into his reverie. “What will you do now that we are home, Trev?”

“I hardly know. For five years, I have thought about this—and suddenly I have no answer. How about you?”

“Derbyshire calls. My father wants me to take over running the textile mills and the pottery so he can devote himself to being a gentleman farmer.”

“Going to turn you into a cit, is he?” Trevor grinned.

“Perhaps.” Theo laughed and held up his hands. “But as the heir to a title, I have to keep these pristine hands above the stench of trade—”

“Even as you grow increasingly rich on the produce of such.”

“Does not make much sense, does it?” Theo shrugged. “So—do you think you will return to Atherton?”

“Eventually, I expect to do so. Probably not while Caitlyn is still there.”

“She
is
still there, then?”

Trevor looked up, mildly surprised. Theo had carefully refrained from probing into his friend's marital affairs in the years since the initial fiasco, but now Trevor himself had introduced the subject.

“Yes. She adamantly refused to go along with the divorce when my father's solicitor approached her—about two years ago, I believe.”

“Why?”

“Sent him away with a flea in his ear about how such an action would be damaging for the child.”

“Mothers in any species get mightily protective.” Theo sounded deeply philosophical. “So what now? Will you pursue a divorce?”

“Perhaps—in time. No hurry for that. I have no desire to remarry any time soon.”

The conversation then turned to other matters, chief of which was a huge celebration the Prince Regent was planning to honor Wellington. But later, Trevor lay awake a long while thinking of the wife he had known for less than two weeks over five years ago.

He had never heard from her. Now,
there
was proof—if any was wanting—of her supreme indifference. He had received rare bits of information
about
her—mostly afterthoughts and asides in very infrequent missives from his family.

Thus he had learned about three months after his departure that, yes indeed, the gossip had been true. The girl was definitely breeding. Then, several months later, his mother had added a postscript to a letter. “By the bye, I suppose you have heard your wife was delivered of a babe—a girl—several weeks ago. ”

Despite his determination to remain nonchalant about the whole affair, these bits of news came as blows. Somehow, he had been hoping it really was all a lie.

There had been little else—besides the news from the solicitor about her refusing either a divorce or legal separation. Well, eventually . . .

Eventually, he told himself firmly, he intended to resume living at Atherton. She would simply have to move to town—or wherever else she wanted to go. It made no difference to him.

Finally, he slept And dreamed of aquamarine eyes that changed to teal. He arose early the next morning, shaking his head over that dream—one that had not troubled him for many, many months now. Why had it suddenly returned?

Theo had not risen yet, so Trevor decided to take a walk before breakfast. Ruskin House was located near Hyde Park. At this hour, there would be serious riders on Rotten Row—people whose interest in good horseflesh and skillful riding counted for more than the desire to see and be seen which motivated the
ton
's elite dominating the park later in the day.

Despite his vow to give up owning, riding, or driving excellent horses for sport and pleasure, Trevor had never lost his interest in them. As an army officer, he had been mounted much of the time—soldiers needed to be able to see the men leading them. He had a reputation for knowing horses, and was often consulted about purchases or problems with the animals. Still, he adhered to that vow—and became something of an anomaly among his companions.

It was a fine morning. The sun had been up long enough to disperse the night's dew and promised a lovely day. War and death were a world away, and Trevor found himself happy just to be alive. There were a few people in the park, mostly grooms clearly charged with the duty of exercising blooded horses. Trevor watched idly, mentally weighing the merits of the animals paraded before him.

Then he saw her.

Actually, he noticed the horse first—a sleek black going at a hell-for-leather pace. Then his attention went to the rider, drawn there by the fluttering skirt on a riding habit. A woman. A very attractive woman—and in total control of her mount. She was dressed in a dark-blue habit designed in the popular military style. Her hat was a silk top hat with a blue veil, its ends fluttering behind her as she rode. Having let the horse run for some distance, she pulled it up, apparently waiting for someone. The horse was spirited, frisky, but the rider seemed to control it with ease. Finally, her companions caught up with her—a gentleman in the ultra-fashionable dress of a veritable “pink of the
ton
” and a man who could only be a groom.

Trevor was too far away to distinguish what she said to the fashionable one, but he heard clearly her throaty laughter. He caught a glimpse of shiny brown hair with a reddish glow and noted a proud, confident air about her. Unexpectedly, he found himself envying the gentleman. As they turned to leave the park, he noted again how in tune with her mount she seemed.

He stood aside as their horses trotted toward him. When they were almost upon him, the woman seemed to look at him directly, though he could not be sure that she did so because of the veil on her hat. Her mouth formed a round O. Then she was gone.

For a moment, he could have sworn she seemed to recognize him. Throughout the day, the image of the woman in the park stayed with him. That night he dreamed of her—only this time
he
accompanied her. The next morning he made sure he was in the park at the same time. However, she did not appear and he felt foolish for even anticipating she might present herself.

In the evening, he and Theo attended the opera, accompanied by two other officers with whom they had served in the Peninsula. From their box on the second level, they were able to observe a good deal of the audience as well as the stage. One of the other men had been jokingly checking out the women in the audience with his opera glasses.

“Ooh! Found one!” he said with a note of triumph. “How would you like to storm
that
fortress?”

Trevor and the others followed his gaze to a neighboring box occupied by three women and two men. Two of the women were young, as were the men. The other woman, older, was turned away from Trevor and his friends.

There was no doubt about which of the women had caught his friend's attention. Trevor drew in a breath. The beauty from the park! Instantly, he wondered how he could meet her—and just as instantly he told himself what a foolish notion that was.

A woman like that was probably married anyway—as was he, he reminded himself. There was something oddly familiar about her. Her head was uncovered tonight, and that glorious hair was arranged in a stylish manner that complemented her features. She was dressed in a gown of deep iridescent green of what he thought must be silk. He glanced at the other people in the box. He recognized none of them. Wait. The older woman was turning her head.

Aunt Gertrude? Could not be. But it was, indeed, Lady Gertrude Hermiston. He looked more closely at the beauty.

“Here, give me those,” he said, grabbing the glasses, too agitated to be polite.

“Hey! I saw her first,” the other fellow said.

Just as Trevor focused the glasses on the woman, she looked in his direction. He knew the instant she recognized him. Those distinctive eyes—aquamarine darkening to teal—registered surprise and shock.

He lowered the glasses and sat stunned as the orchestra stopped their discordant tuning noises and the conductor made his appearance.

No wonder she looked familiar. Caitlyn. A very different Caitlyn, but it had to be she with Aunt Gertrude. There was no mistaking those eyes.

Dumbly he handed the glasses back to their owner and sat unseeing and unhearing through the first act. At the interval, he and Theo rose at the same time. Theo gave him a questioning look.

“You all right, Trevor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Seem distracted—or something.”

“I . . . uh . . . saw someone I know. Going to pay my respects.” He walked away hurriedly to discourage Theo's following him.

When he reached the other box, it was occupied by only one of the gentlemen and the other young woman.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I thought Lady Gertrude Hermiston was in this box. I intended to pay my respects.”

“You just missed her. She and Latham left to take her niece home. Mrs. Jeffries was feeling unwell.”

“Oh. Another time, then.” He bowed and left without giving his name.

Caitlyn said barely a word on the return to their London residence and on arrival she bade Latham a hurried good night. When they had divested themselves of gloves and cloaks, Aunt Gertrude steered her into the drawing room.

“Now—would you mind telling me what, precisely, is going on?” the older woman said, taking a seat beside Caitlyn on a settee.

“N-nothing. I told you. I am not feeling well.”

“You were fine earlier. Something has upset you. In fact—now that I think on it—you have not been your usual self for a couple of days. What is it, love? Perhaps I can help.” Her companion squeezed Caitlyn's hand affectionately.

“Oh, Aunt Gertrude, I am so frightened.”

“Of what? Or whom? Surely Lord Latham has not—”

“No. No. Bertie has been kindness itself.” She took a deep breath. “Trevor is back.”

“Trevor? But he has not called.” Caitlyn thought this a foolish statement of the obvious, but surprise did that to people sometimes.

“I saw him in the park two days ago. Tonight he was there—at the opera.”

“And he said nothing to you? Nor has he called. How strange. I have heard nothing of his being in town. And I saw Lydia only yesterday at the Seymours. Believe me, had she known he was about, she would have said something, hoping thereby to hurt you.”

Caitlyn caught the hint of protectiveness and loved Aunt Gertrude all the more for it. “I—I do not think he recognized me until tonight.”

“Well, you
are
much changed from the girl he married.”

“I am—thanks to your efforts to turn an ugly duckling into a swan.”

“And such a swan!” Aunt Gertrude smiled, then sobered. “But why are you afraid of Trevor?”

“I am afraid of what he might do.”

“Do?”

“He may be angry that I refused to agree to the divorce.”

“I am sure he will understand that you could not allow it because of Ashley. A divorce would label our darling a bastard—all of society would be assured she is not Trevor's—which she
is!
” This last was added in a most vehement tone.

Caitlyn smiled and kissed her companion's cheek. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, you
are
a love. You are probably the only one in all of England who believes that.”