Liberty for Paul (18 page)

“I know you don’t want to get involved, but we need to,” she urged.

“No, we don’t,” Andrew said with conviction. “What he needs to do is introduce her to St. Peter.” He pressed his chest to his wife’s and ran a large hand up and down her back, gently pressing her more firmly against him.

“St. Peter?” she asked, twisting her lips in confusion. “What good is telling her about a dead saint going to do? They’re not even Catholic, Andrew.”

Andrew clucked his tongue. “Not that St. Peter, my dear.”

She looked at him even more confused than before. “What are you talking about?” she asked, exacerbation filling her voice.

His eyes full of amusement, he smiled at her and said, “You’ve been introduced before, but if you need another introduction, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Thirty minutes later, a breathless Brooke opened her eyes and met her husband’s loving blue eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows to look at his wife’s face. “Yes, she definitely needs to meet St. Peter. He is the answer to all their problems.”

“Told you,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“But unless you want to go into his study and tell him he needs to enforce his husbandly duties, I suggest we do something else,” she said, pushing some of his black hair off his brow.

Andrew groaned. “All right, you win,” he conceded.

“Good. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

Chapter 22

Paul read her note for what must have been the thousandth time in the past fortnight. She’d as good as left him, he thought sourly. And the worst part was he had no idea why. Her note had been nothing if not vague. He read it again.

Going to recover at Elizabeth’s.

What on earth type of disease had overtaken her that she felt the need to vacate their home and take up permanent residence with Elizabeth? He’d gone to go see her every day, just as he’d done when she was still at home. But every time he went, he was informed she wasn’t well enough to allow visitors. He hadn’t believed that for a second. He’d been a minister long enough to know doctors typically informed the family of the bad news if there was any. No doctor had contacted him about bad news. He even doubted she was sick in the first place because he’d never seen a single doctor’s bill. He may be a vicar, and she his wife, but no doctor was going to accept an extra prayer in their favor as payment.

He’d graciously accepted the excuses made by the timid maid that answered the door. At first because he didn’t want to get her in trouble with her employer by pushing past her and searching the house for his wife. But after the third day, he accepted her flimsy excuse because he was afraid he might throttle Liberty when he did find her.

Paul brought his elbow to the table, made a fist and rested his head against it. Closing his eyes, he sighed. Did it even matter if she was gone? Even when she’d been here he hadn’t broken all of her defenses. He’d come close a few times just to have them reconstructed even stronger. As long as he lived he’d never understand women.

Perhaps it was better this way, he decided. Without her here he didn’t have to put a tight rein on his feelings when he saw or heard her. Ever since the night he’d kissed her in her room, he’d been more guarded around her. The realization that he was besotted with her and she may never share the feeling was painful enough. If he let her any closer to him, she could have the ability to devastate him.

But out of sight didn’t necessarily mean out of mind. No, not at all. He’d thought about her every day. He’d tried to evaluate every aspect of their relationship. He’d long ago figured out she hadn’t liked him from the start. However, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Not at first anyway. That came the next day.

He knew without question he hadn’t carried a torch for her before they married. And the more time he thought about it, the more he decided his feelings had developed in the first few days they were married. All the things he’d done to get a response from her were done not only because he couldn’t take the brittle façade she’d presented, but because he wanted to know and see the real her. This realization rocked him to the core.

He wanted her to smile because she was happy, not because she was coerced into it. He wanted her to say what she wanted not because he couldn’t stand her acting as obedient as a trained animal, but because he wanted to hear what she had to say. He wanted the real woman hidden under all the rules and expectations. He wanted to meet the woman John claimed had a heart of gold. He hadn’t believed it when John said it, but he believed it now.

She’d stepped into so many positions since becoming his wife and he never doubted for a minute her charitable works were her superficial way of doing what she thought was expected of her. She wanted to do them. She may not have enjoyed the women in the sewing circle—who would?—but she’d suffered their painful company to make things for others. She’d taken food to the cranky old shut-ins, and they’d done nothing but praise her kindness whenever he went to check on them. She’d volunteered to help illiterate students learn to read. And when she wasn’t doing those things, she was either with him at his church or acting as a companion for Elizabeth. Contrary to what he initially believed, he now knew there wasn’t a selfish bone in her body.

And yet, for all his musings, he still didn’t have an answer. What had he done to drive her away this time? Sure he’d been guarded around her. But he hadn’t done anything to purposely push her way. Perhaps he should just ask her. Now that was a brilliant idea. Tomorrow he would find her and ask what he’d done. As painful as it was to see her everyday knowing she held no regard for him, it was far less painful than not seeing her at all. Perhaps it was time to think of earnestly trying to woo her. He’d dismissed the idea initially because he wasn’t crazy about her, nor she about him. Now, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem so miserable.

Mrs. Siddons stomped into his room and he started. “Forgive me, I was woolgathering,” he said with a smile.

“’Tis quite all right, Mr. Grimes. I have a message, just delivered,” she said, tossing a folded missive on his desk.

Fingers shaking, he quickly picked up the missive and broke the seal. He gave a dismissing nod to Mrs. Siddons who had taken to treating him coldly since Liberty’s departure. He unfolded the paper and read the message.

Paul,

It appears I need another favor. Can you meet me at my townhouse tomorrow about noon? I promise this favor will be nowhere near as demanding as the last.

John

Paul groaned. He had no desire to go to London and see John. Likely the whole family had heard about the separation by now and he had no wish to discuss the details with any of them.

***

Paul looked at the clothes laid out on the bed, then swung his gaze back to John. “You want me to do
what
?” he asked in disbelief.

John shrugged. “It’s nothing really. Just go to the ball, dance a few dances with her, take her for a stroll of the gardens and such. It couldn’t be simpler. You’ll have a good time.”

“Except you’re forgetting one thing: she’s not my wife,” Paul said irritably. He could not believe he’d been dragged to London to go to attend a pre-Season masquerade ball thrown by Brooke and asked to entertain one of Liberty’s cousins. He should be home trying to woo his wife. “Why not get Alex to do it?” he suggested.

“
Alex?” John echoed, rolling his eyes. “Are you insane? He’d either bore her with ‘fascinating’ details from his latest issue of
Popular Plants
, or shock her with information about the mating habits of his equines. He won’t do. As for your complaint about her not being your wife, perhaps I should ask you where your wife is currently residing,” he said shrewdly, his clear blue eyes daring Paul to lie about the state of their relationship.

“You know very well where she is,” Paul responded angrily, crossing his arms. The realization that she’d still rather be anywhere other than with him felt like a knife to the heart. And knowing her family knew all about it only made him more sour about the whole situation.

“
Yes. She’s ill and
you’re
not taking care of her, are you?” John asked coldly.

“No,” he agreed. “But not for any lack of trying on my part. I’ve taken care of her before when she needed it.” He knew his words sounded bitter, but he couldn’t care enough to change his tone.

“I know,” John conceded softly.

“I even have Mrs. Siddons there to help her with a bath this time,” Paul said wryly, uncrossing his arms and falling into a chair. “I just don’t understand what she finds so offensive about me. I honestly thought we’d been making good progress. Then one day she just closed up tighter than a clam; and a week later she disappeared.” He shook his head.

“So then take a break. Just for this one night. Go out and have a good time. Go dance with this young woman and talk to her until midnight. Forget your problems with Liberty. Have a good time,” the older man urged again, picking up the clothes. “Nobody will recognize you in this getup. Plus, we’ll change your name. You can be ‘Mr. Daltry’. Come on, Paul. Please do me this one last favor.”

Paul eyed him warily. Would it really be this “one last favor” or would there be another one day? Did it really even matter? John had helped him more times than he could count. What was one more favor? “All right,” he agreed. “However, I want it noted this is the last one.”

“Agreed.”

Paul stood up and with an inaudible mumble, he dressed for the masquerade. John had left nothing out when considering his disguise. By the time he finished dressing and looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself. The black walnut oil in his hair had turned it so dark brown it bordered on black. The fake mustache served to harden his facial appearance and make him appear older. The rest of his costume was a bit awkward but he wouldn’t have expected anything less from John.

He was dressed head to toe in black. He wore only a shirt, trousers and leather boots. Tied around his neck, he wore a ridiculous black cape. A small, and thankfully dull, rapier lay across the bed, still waiting for him to slide it into the sheath that was attached to his belt. He considered leaving that part of his costume here, but knew John would question him about it and he didn’t relish the idea of trying to talk his way out of wearing it. So with a sigh, he picked it up and slipped it into its sheath.

After another quick glance in the mirror to satisfy himself that nobody would recognize him in this ridiculous costume, he went downstairs to go wait for John and Carolina.

To his surprise, they were both already in the drawing room waiting for him. “Oh, you look dashing,” Carolina cooed, coming over to straighten his cape. “Allison will fall in love with you on the spot.”

Panic momentarily swelled in Paul’s chest. “Let’s hope not,” he remarked, thinking of the bitter irony. His own wife had known him for nearly a year and despised him, and yet, Carolina seemed absolutely certain his wife’s cousin would fall in love with him at first sight.

John coughed and patted his chest. “Right you are. Perhaps you should leave your spectacles here,” he suggested, reaching up to Paul’s face to remove his spectacles for him. “Oh, stop that scowling, boy. Tonight you are Mr. Daltry, Knight Swathed in Black; and Mr. Daltry does not wear these.”

Paul groaned. Without his spectacles he was hopeless. He could see large things, but for the life of him he couldn’t read or make out fine details. With how dark ballrooms typically were, it was going to be nearly impossible to get through the night without incident.

“Oh, do you know how to imitate a Welch accent?” Carolina asked, a hopeful expression on her face.

“No. Accents aren’t really my thing, ma’am. How about if I try to drop my voice an octave or two? Will that do?” He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when she nodded enthusiastically. He’d never tell her, but he was glad she’d mentioned that. It wouldn’t do for someone to recognize his voice. Not that he really thought that was possible, but one could never be too careful.

For some reason Paul couldn’t understand they rode in the carriage to the Townson’s residence. They were only a few blocks away and it would have made more sense to walk. His suggestion was met with a simple, “It’s not fashionable,” and he knew better than to argue with that.

They walked in and made their greetings with the hosts. Paul was rather shocked to see a recognizably increasing Lady Townson acting as hostess. Even he knew it wasn’t custom for an increasing woman to be in town taking part of social events. Yet, Brooke was Brooke and he knew as well as anyone she would do whatever she pleased. At least she was able to wear a costume that disguised her state. Her husband, on the other hand, was a very lucky man who appeared to have escaped the trap of wearing a costume.

John introduced him as Mr. Daltry to Brooke and Andrew who accepted it with not a hint of disbelief or question in their eyes. “And this,” Brooke said, grabbing hold of the arm of the young woman who was dressed as a queen and standing behind her, “is Miss Allison Ellis. She’s my cousin.”

“How do you do, Miss Ellis?” Paul asked with a slight bow, making sure not to injure himself or anyone else with his wayward sheathed rapier. He remembered Liberty’s middle name was Ellis, it must have been a family name, he decided.

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Daltry,” she said with a curtsy.

“Miss Ellis has just arrived from America and this is her first ball,” Brooke explained.

“Is that so?” Paul said evenly. Was it his imagination or had Miss Ellis winced both times Brooke said her name? He couldn’t see much in this dim room, but he was almost certain she’d winced.

“Actually, Mr. Daltry,” John cut in smoothly. “I know it might appear presumptuous on my part, but would you be willing to keep my niece company this evening?”

No,
Paul wanted to say,
I wouldn’t. I’d rather be with my wife. You remember her, don’t you? You ought to, she’s your daughter!
But he couldn’t say that, he’d already agreed to go through with this nonsense. “It would be my pleasure,” he said smoothly, offering Miss Ellis his arm.

“Excellent!” Carolina chirped with a staccato clap. “As her official co-chaperone, I give my consent for her to waltz.”

“Waltz?” Paul echoed. The only time he’d ever waltzed was with his dancing master. He couldn’t possibly have his first public waltz be while he was wearing a disguise and dancing with his wife’s cousin.