Her Counterfeit Husband

Her

Counterfeit

Husband

Ruth Ann Nordin

Chapter One

October
1814

“I
c
ame to see my ailing
brother,”
Lord Mason
said as he entered the drawing room.

Anna, the Duchess of Watkins, turned from the window and inwardly shuddered, not caring for the way he scanned her body. 
She glanced at
Appleton,
her butler,
and
said a silent prayer of thanks for his calming presence.  If there was
one ally she had, it was him.

T
urning her attention back to
Lord Mason
, she cleared her throat. 
“I don’t know if my husband is u
p to seeing visitors.  His health
has taken a turn for the worse.”

Lord Mason
gave a slight frown and clucked his tongue.  “I hope he gets better soon.  I’d hate to see you
become a widow.” His gaze lingered on her breasts
.  “However, if he did die,
you’ll always have a place here
at Camden.
  Never doubt that.  I believe in taking care of family.”

She crossed her arms in a protective measure, feeling as
if she was naked before him even though
she was fully dressed.
She forced a polite smile but darted a silent pleading look at App
leton who stepped forward.

“
Lord Mason
,
” Appleton began,
“
perhaps it might be better if you’d return at a later time.  The doctor will be here in an hour to tend to him.”

“
Oh, that’s not necessary.  Jason’s my brother
,”
Lord Mason
replied, turning to face him.  “
Seeing me will lift his spirit
s
.  And in any case, h
e might have some last words to pass along to me,
should I need to take over the estate
.”

She averted his gaze
.

“Your G
race?” Appleton asked her.

She nodded h
er consent, and Appleton led
Lord Mason
out of the drawing room.  There was little she could do to stop her brother-in-law.  When he decided to do something, he did it, regardless of what she wanted.  The only person who was abl
e to stop him was he
r husband.

She released her b
reath and glanced at the piano. 
Many times, she’d used music as a way to esc
ape the harsher realities of
lif
e, but there was no escaping
Lord Mason
or the threat he posed if he
became the Duke of Watkins.

She walked over to the window and pulled aside the
curtain so she could see if
Lord Mason
left his carriage by the front door.  He did that if he planned to make it a quick visit, and thankfully, on this day he
wouldn’t
stay long.  She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.

“Your G
race?”

She opened her eyes and let the curtain fall back in place as sh
e turned to face Appleton.  “
Lord Mason
won’t be here for long.  There’s no need to bring tea.”

He nodded and came closer to her so that no one else could overhear them.  “I’m afraid your husband looks worse than he did this mornin
g.  I didn’t say anything to
Lord Mason
, but…”

He didn’t have to say it.  She knew what he was thinking.  “Is my husband
able to talk to
Lord Mason
?”

“Yes.  He’s still well enough to speak.”

“I wonder what they
’re
talking about.”

“
I’m sure whatever they’re discussing
, it can’t be of any c
onsequence.”

“
Pr
obably not.
”
And she doubted
Lord Mason
cared about what he
r husband
had to say.  Most likely, he had come to judge how close he was to becoming the next duke.  “He’s like a vulture circling a dying prey.”

“Not unlike His G
race was when their father died,” Appleton softly replied, not hiding the displeasure in his voice.

“I wish I’d known their father.  It sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was.  It was a privilege to be under his employ.
”

A
nd their mother had been a fortunate
lady to have been married to him.  What she wouldn’t give for a noble husband wh
o would have treated her well.

“Your G
race?” Appleton whispered, bringing her attention back to him.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she swallowed the lump in her throat and let out a weary sigh.  With a humorless chuckle, she made eye contact with him.  “H
ow I envy you, Appleton.  Your
lot isn’t fixed upon what men decide to do with you.
  I’m afraid things will only be worse once my husband dies.
”

He op
ened his mouth to speak, but
Lord Mason
strode into the room with a wide smile on his face.  “My brother looks good today.  Perhaps he’ll cheat Death,” he
said with a smirk
.

He didn’t believe that any more than she or Appleton did.  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. 
“In case he doesn’t, t
hen I will move to a cottage
so you may bring the woman you’ll marry here.”

“Oh, I wouldn
’t dream of doing that to you, Your G
race,”
Lord Mason
objected as he approached her.

Without thinking, she shifted
closer to Appleton who made it a point to
step in front of her
.

Lord Mason
’s eyes drifted from her to the butler, and a low chuckle rose up in his throat.  “I
assume there’s nothing of a more personal nature
going on between you two.”

“Most certainly not!” Her cheeks warmed at his insinuation.  “I have been faithful to your brother.”

“It matters not to me how you
conduct your private affairs, Your G
race,” he commented, a trace of amusement in his voice.  “But I wouldn’t dare send you away to a cottage.  You are my brother’s wife, and as such, I will provide for you here.  You needn’t worry about your future.”

A knot tightened in her stomach, and she averted her gaze from his so she wouldn’t give away her apprehension.

“I must be going,” Lord Mason said.  “Until we see each other again
, Your G
race.”

She curtsied as he bowed, and when he tur
ned to leave, she breathed an
audible sigh of relief.  Once Appleton led hi
m out
of the room, her shoulders relaxed.  She went to the chair by her writing desk and collapsed into it.  Thankfully, it was over.  She hated it when he came to visit.  Though he never came out and asked for a more intimate relationship with her, she saw the intent in his eyes.  Once her husband died, there was nothing to stop him from taking what he wanted.  She shuddered and closed her eyes, focusing on her deep breathing in order to calm her nerves.

After the knot in her stomach loosened, she opened her eyes and stared at the wall, not seeing the portrait of her husband’s grandmother.  The sound of footsteps brought her attention to the doorway where Appleton came in with a tray.  Usually, she’d welcome the tea and biscuits, but today, she had no appetite.

“I can’t eat or drink anything right now,” she softly told him before he could place the tray on the desk.

“
Your G
race, far be it
from me to pry, but you’ve hardly
had anything to eat or drink in two days.  Please at least take a sip of the tea?”

Though her throat constricted at the idea, she nodded.  “I’ll try.”

As he poured the hot liquid into her cup, he said, “I have unpleasant news for you.”

She cringed.
  “Lord Mason plans to return
tomorrow?”

“
No, but His G
race wishes to have a word with you.”

Her stomach grew queasy
.  She took a deep breath and stood up.  The sooner she got this over with, the better.

“Won’t you have some tea first?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“There’s no need.  He can’t do anything to me on his deathbed.”

Without waiting for his reply, she strode out of the room.  Perhaps her husband would be exhausted after his brother’s visit and fall asleep while talking to her.  She hurried up the stairs
, knowing if she delayed, things would be worse
.  When she reached the door of his bedchamber, she stopped and waited for a moment, hoping the pounding of her heart wouldn’t give away her anxiety.  Clearing her throat
, she quietly turned the knob.

She nudged the door open and peeked into the room.  The curtains were drawn, blocking out the sunlight.  A few candles were lit around his bed.  He had t
he covers pulled up to his neck
, and his hands were folded on his chest.  She saw his eyes were closed and swallowed the lump in her th
roat. 
She stood still, unsure of whether she should whisper his name or take her chances and leave.  Her g
rip tightened on the doorknob.

“There’s no need to stand there like a statue, Anna,” he rasped, his eyes still closed.  “I know you’re here.”

Disappointed, she stepped into the room and shut the door behind
her
.
  She approached him, her slippers quiet as she crossed the large ro
om.  It would be over soon.

She sat in the chair next to his bed and got ready to ask him if he’d been abl
e to keep any liquids down
when he opened his eyes and shot her a critical glance.  “Did it occur to you
that I might want some
water?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your G
race,” she mumbled and went to the table by his bed.

She picked up the pitcher and poured the water into the glass.  She turned slightly away from him so he wouldn’t see how badly her
hands were shaking.  As much as she kept telling her
self a sick gentleman didn’t have
enough strength to do her any harm, she couldn’t so easily forget how powerful he’d once been.  She managed to perform the task without spilling any water and set
the pitcher down with relief.

Turning back to him, she
held out the glass to him.  “Here
it is, Your G
race.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.  “Dimwitted woman.  I need to sit up to drink it.”

“Right.  Yes.  Of course.”

She quickly set the glass
on the table and
gathered the pillows behind him and helped him sit up. 
Slightly out of breath from the task, she grabbed the glass and held it out to him.

He examined the gl
ass and grunted
.  “I’m parched
and you give me a mere drop’s worth?”

She ignored his snickers as she poured more water into his glass.  When she presented it to him, she feared he would demand she bring it to his lips, but fortunately, he took it and drank the water.  All she needed was to spill water on him.
  When he was done, he handed the glass to her, and she set it back on the table.

He
managed
to keep the contents down for
a minute before
he threw up into a bowl.  She looked away from him and pressed her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t gag.  Her only reprieve was knowing she didn’t have to dispose of his vomit.  Thank God the servants did that.  She waited until he stopped retching before she dared a look in his direction.

Gulping the swell of nausea in her throat, she retrieved a handkerchief from the table and gave it to him.  He wiped his mouth with it and flung it in her direction.  He laughed as she yelped and jerked away from it.

“If nothing else, you were always amusing,” he remarked.  “Pick it up and dispose of it.”

S
he knelt down and picked it up by the
hem
so she wouldn’t touch anything wet and threw it into the bucket by his bed. 

“Sit and listen to me!
”
he barked.

She sat in the chair, praying he’d grow tired from sitting up.
“What is it you’d like to say, Your G
race?” she managed to ask, resisting the urge to look at the door which wasn’t too far from her.