My Lady Coward: An Episodic Regency Romance (2 page)

Part 2

In which Maria

demands her marital rights....

Lady Maria waited in her bed, clothed in a diaphanous nightdress. A single candle, burning on the nightstand, kept the room from complete darkness.

It was the fourteenth consecutive night she'd waited thus, a book in hand so as to appear nonchalant, less like a young wife awaiting her husband's presence in her bed.

Would this be the night? She'd listened to rumor after rumor concerning her husband and where he preferred to spend his nights. She'd accepted it as life in high Society, the life of a real lady.

They'd consummated their marriage, of course. Her face warmed at the memory, a tiny smile touching her lips. Even now, weeks later, Maria could still feel Richard's caress, feel his fingers grazing her skin, his lips brushing her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her...

Maria sucked in a trembling breath. The intimacies they'd shared meant everything to her. For him...what did she know of men and their feelings? Certainly, he'd felt something more than duty? Duty didn't demand the tenderness he'd shown her, the whispered words of reassurance, the easing of her nervous fears. And duty certainly didn't demand his continued presence in her bed, holding her in the aftermath of their passion, sleeping in each other's arms.

The following morning, she'd awakened alone. As her maid went about her duties, pouring warm water and laying out drying cloths for Maria's morning ablutions, Maria had stretched, surreptitiously grazing her hand over the opposite side of the bed. The lingering warmth there indicated Richard's recent departure.

This was a circumstance Maria's mother had not mentioned. In fact, she'd told her daughter the opposite, assuring her the loss of her virginity would be unpleasant but quick and her husband wouldn't linger in her bed once the deed was done. And after she conceived, he would cease to plague her altogether.

It seemed he'd already decided to no longer plague her, she sighed. Only her faith in love, in her love for him, could account for her continued belief that Richard would return to her, would eventually choose her over his mistress.

A tiny, cynical voice in her head mentioned the far more likely reason he'd return: He'd yet to beget an heir.

It was true. That was the reason he'd seek her out. At least, for the foreseeable future.

In the utter silence of the moment, footsteps sounded without. Maria froze, hardly daring to breathe, praying her husband would remember his duty, choose her and ignore his mistress. He'd returned home nearly every night since they married, changed from his evening dress and left again. Maria could only assume his destination to be the small house in Kensington, the pretty little domicile one
helpful
lady had pointed out to Maria with a whispered, “Lady Hensley spends most of her time there with—oh! Forgive me.”

The footsteps paused outside her door. A smile tugged at Maria's lips as the latch moved; a smile that swiftly disappeared a moment later. The footsteps moved on, stopped at the next chamber down the corridor. A different door opened and closed, Richard's door.

Had he paused outside her door by mistake, confused and thinking it was his own chamber? Surely a man couldn't make such an error in his own London residence? Even a drunken man could not make such a mistake.

Was it possible that he'd assumed she would not welcome his attentions? It was true she had not encouraged him, but a lady would never indicate her willingness to engage in intimacies. To do so would brand her little better than a strumpet.

Maria carefully placed her book on the nightstand, leaning close to snuff the candle. She settled into her bed, thick blond curls falling over both shoulders. Her mind would not settle, however, truly perplexed by Richard's behavior.

Why had he already tired of her? His need for an heir hadn't changed. She knew the ducal estates were entailed on the male heir and, at the moment, a male heir didn't exist. If Richard died without issue, the title and property would revert to the crown. Honor demanded he sire a legitimate heir.

The darkness enveloped her. She tried to close her eyes, prayed for the sleep that would allow her a few hours of peaceful oblivion. Her mind refused to cooperate, instead conjuring images of her, bold as you please, marching into Richard's chamber to
demand
her marital rights.

Her eyes shot wide, fingers clenching in the counterpane. Dare she attempt it? Her eyes slid towards the connecting door, the only physical hindrance separating her from her husband. It was nothing more than a dim shape in the faint glow of the coals from the hearth.

What she contemplated doing was base, unladylike, possibly immoral and went against everything she was taught. How could she even consider it?

Almost without thought, Maria slid from the high bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the floor. She approached the door that stood between her and Richard and raised her hand. One small tap, that's all it would take, a small tap and a hurried explanation, a whispered plea for his attention.

His love.

Maria's fist opened, her palm flat against the smooth wood door. Her head came to rest beside her hand. A single tear escaped her tightly closed eyes.

What was she thinking? How could she proposition her husband, beg for his favors like a strumpet? He would have even more reason to revile her then.

Shame crawled through her. How very lowering to realize such a thing about oneself! The daughter of a man in trade, married to a duke in need of money, in love with said duke, and begging for scraps of his attention. Her actions screamed of her common blood.

She was common.

Desolate, Maria sucked in a breath, preparatory to pushing away from the door. Before she could move, the door opened, swinging into her husband's chamber. Maria lost her balance and tumbled headlong.

Right into Richard's arms.

Part 3

In which Richard

bestows gifts upon Maria...

They were married in October. No Society marriage ever took place in October. The weather had already turned cold, a harbinger of the no doubt difficult winter to come. Was it an omen, a sign of ill luck?

Shaking her head, Maria turned away from the window through which she'd been blindly staring, watching the servants load boxes and traveling cases into the carriage waiting out front. The soft rustling of her skirts made a strange counterpoint to the occasional crackle from the fire, a necessary luxury on such a chilly morning.

It was silly to believe in such superstitious nonsense. Her marriage was not doomed due to an October wedding or an early chill in the air. No, her marriage suffered the insurmountable odds of unequal birth.

And now her husband had business in the country. His valet was busy packing his master's personal effects for an extended stay. Maria could hear the bustle of activity, the occasional muffled word as Richard directed his servant for this or that item that he couldn't leave behind.

Richard chose to leave his bride of three weeks alone in London, away from him but still in the middle of all the gossip and spite Society deemed necessary to make her feel like the outsider she assuredly was. How she longed to go with him! But he didn't offer and she daren't ask. She could think of few things more humiliating than his inevitable rejection.

His departure was set for that very morning, just as soon as the carriage was readied. While he traveled to the ducal estates, indeed by the time he arrived, Maria would be readying herself for the evening's entertainment.

Lady Felicia Hensley's ball.

Part of Maria wondered at her sanity in proposing to attend a ball at the home of her husband's mistress. What lady would do such a thing?
Would
a lady do such a thing?

In this, Maria was afraid her true breeding was showing itself. If her being born something other than a lady gave her the courage to face one of her fears, so be it. If having a father in trade prevented the ladylike reaction in her current situation, so be it. No lady would acknowledge her husband's inamorata.

Maria's fingernails cut into her palms. She'd failed to notice her hands clenching. The existence of Lady Hensley agitated her far more than it ought.  After all, according to Society, when one has his name, nothing else matters.

But for Maria, nothing mattered except Richard's heart. Did he love Lady Hensley?

A knock sounded on the connecting door. The sounds of activity in her husband's chamber had ceased. This led her to believe it was Richard on the other side, begging entrance. Good servants never knocked and none of the resident family dared show her any acceptance lest they lose their places in the
ton
. So of course, it had to be Richard.

“Enter.” She started across the room,  reaching the door as it opened.

“My lady,” Richard greeted, nothing revealed in his serious expression. He was dressed for traveling in frock coat, buff breeches, and topboots, but he carried a locked box under one arm.

“My lord, I trust all is well?”

Richard smiled. The slight curving of firm masculine lips sent a jolt through Maria, warming her from head to foot. Was it only a week ago she'd literally fallen into his arms? They'd both been so startled that neither moved for several long moments.

And then he'd kissed her. Just like that. No whispered apologies, no permission sought, just a heated pressing of his lips to hers, culminating in a night of passion that should have dispelled any social barriers between them.

Indeed, Maria's doubts were assuaged until the following morning brought a dawning awareness that physical intimacy did not mean the same thing for him that it did for her. He still held her at arms length and so she placed a few more bricks in the wall she'd built to protect herself.

Now, while she reminisced about kisses and caresses, Richard's smile grew strained at the corners, his impatience making itself known. Maria glided forward, her many years of training in ladylike deportment coming to her rescue.

“I was woolgathering, my lord. My apologies.”

Richard's strained smile eased. “You seemed many miles away just now.”

“Not so far, I assure you.” She couldn't meet his eyes, for fear of revealing exactly what it was that distracted her. “You have something to show me?” She gestured to the ignored box under his arm.

Glancing around the room, Richard frowned, just a bit, before noticing the table placed in a ray of sunlight, just under the window. He grasped her hand and tugged her across the room, pushing her down in a straight-backed chair. Placing the box before her on the table, he inserted a key. The lock gave with barely a sound, a clear indication that this box was opened often. In a melodramatic gesture completely at odds with his normal dukely mien, he threw the lid back.

Maria's eyes widened. Emeralds, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and garnets winked up at her in the sun's light. The array of wealth startled her, as she'd been given to understand that the duke faced penury, thus his marriage to the daughter of a man in trade.

“They're all paste, of course,” he said, solving that particular mystery, “but they're very good and exact copies of my family's heirloom jewels. As the debts mounted, the real gems were replaced with glass. By the time I had need...” He trailed off, a quick glance at her the only indication he'd spoken without thought and regretted his words.

“They are beautiful, my lord,” Maria told him sincerely as she trailed one finger over a sparkling emerald pendant.

“They are for you.”

Her head shot up. “For me?”

“Of course. You are the duchess. My duchess.”

Maria's breath caught.
His
duchess? Had she just imagined that note of tenderness in his voice?

“I know they are nothing compared to what you father bought for you, but these will be recognized for what they represent.” He stepped back as he spoke. By the time he said his final word, he'd reached the door to the corridor. A second later, he was gone.

It was a full twenty seconds before Maria managed to drag her eyes from the door and focus again on the jewels. Pushing a few pretty baubles from side to side, thinking of her husband more than what she was doing, she almost missed the dull gold shine of an object at the bottom of the box.

At first glance, she thought it was a pocket watch. It was certainly a cheap little thing, assuredly not a bauble for a duke. She released the catch. Not a pocket watch, she mused, but a compass. She turned in the chair, smiling as the little needle jumped and jiggled its way north.

And then she saw the engraving.

For Richard. May you never lose your way. FH.

FH? Felicia Hensley?

Richard burst through the door. Maria snapped the compass shut, dropping it back in the box as she rose to her feet, hiding her trembling hands in her skirts. “My lord? What's amiss?”

“Forgot something, that's all,” he said, reaching into the box and extracting the compass she'd just dropped in. Shooting her a smile, he exited as quickly as he'd entered.

A dark cloud passed over the sun, mirroring the darkness in Maria's heart.