The Rusticated Duchess (39 page)

He stepped back, his jaw clenched, his gaze focused on her.

She’d sat but she was hardly going to wait for him to stare at her or pounce. “What
are
you going on about, Jeremy?” she asked, crossing her arms over her stomach and meeting his gaze.

Her question seemed to be the breaking point for her new husband, because he hissed, turned and paced around the desk. Jerking open a drawer, he tossed something clunky and metal onto the desk top, and Gloria flinched.

The pistol. Why was he in a temper about
that?

When he spoke, the opening words were deceptively smooth, silky even. “Let’s start with a simple question. Where did you acquire it?”

Gloria looked at him, shrugged. “Devon bought it. He and Meriden taught me to shoot it before we left England for Ireland.”

Clare shook his head. “Just like this? No case to keep it in?”

What was he about? “Of course. The case and the supplies to clean it and re-load it are upstairs in my trunk.” She held out her hand. “Colman will—”

“Oh no. You’re not getting it back,” Clare sniffed. He leaned over the desk, his fists clenched. Gloria’s eyes drifted to his shoulder and she hoped the blood pumping through his arm didn’t slow the healing process. “But yesterday? Yesterday, you simply slipped it into your pelisse on your way to
our wedding
? Were you afraid I was going to rescind my proposal?”

“No! It’s been in my pelisse pocket since before I met you. I’d forgotten about it, until—”

Whatever she’d said was apparently too much for Clare. His face reddened. “Forgotten about it in your pocket?” His voice rose, and continued to roar. “You’ve kept a loaded pistol
in your pocket
for weeks? Were you
trying
to hurt yourself? Or someone else?”

Gloria felt her temper surge. “Fiddlesticks!” she argued, jumping to her feet. “What would give you such an idiotic notion! Stop misunderstanding the situation on purpose. It was only to protect me from Winchester and his motley crew, which is exactly what I used it for, in case you’ve bloody well forgotten already!”

“I know exactly what you used it for,” he said, articulating each word precisely, deadening the words. “I’ve been reliving the horror of it for nearly a full day now. You had no business shooting a gun at Winchester or anyone else. No business carting it around like it’s some damned piece of embroidery you’re working!”

Gloria let loose a scream of frustration. “I had no business? It’s my
life
we’re talking about. I had every right to protect myself. It’s not like I aimed at his heart or his head, you patronising fool! You had a pistol too.”

Clare’s hand came down hard on the top of the desk. His words were clear, despite the rage in his face. “My pistol had been cleaned the night before, was kept neatly in a safe place inside my jacket, and you’ll notice I didn’t discharge it because I didn’t yet see the need!” To Gloria’s surprise, his fingers shook as he unclenched his fist. Besides the loud exchange, he clearly was exercised. “And what would have happened to you,
angel
, if you’d shot Winchester and he’d died? Which he still might, I’ll add. I doubt the surgeon at Jedburgh fussed over him anywhere as much as you and the other two did me. Suppose Wickers hadn’t believed our version of events, or even worse, that the damn pistol had gone off while in your pocket and you’d shot some innocent bloke, like the rector at our wedding or one of the drivers, or your Astrid. The soldiers could have arrested you—
my wife—
for shooting that bast—arrogant prick yesterday, even if he did live! He’s a poor excuse for a man, but he’s still titled and enjoys the protection of that rank.
You
, however, are a commoner and a woman. You’re fucking
lucky
that everything turned out as it did, maybe even that Hammond died, because that clearly placed Winchester on the wrong side of those soldiers.” His voice evened out, even as Gloria stared at him in shock.

Both the scold and the passionate worry in his voice surprised her, so she said nothing and simply let him rage on.

“Where would Eynon be then, Gloria? You’d lose him, because there’s no way that Lennox would let his grandson associate with a murderer. Your sisters would have had to sit by and watch a farce of a trial, and God help us all if you’d been convicted—” He broke off at that, shook his head, paled and stared at her.

Gloria shook, crossed her arms over her stomach. “Lennox, Meriden, Devon—they all agreed I should have it.”

“Then they should have impressed upon you the possible consequences of using it.”

“What should I have done then? Let Winchester take me? Troutwell would have raped me before we were five miles into England.” Gloria made sure the words were harsh. If she wasn’t to defend herself, then who would have?

“You could have trusted me,” Clare returned. “Hammond and Wickers both knew we were marrying today, my father was in the other carriage and they all knew him and didn’t dare touch him—his own privilege insured that. Winchester and Troutwell wouldn’t have made it past the bridge into England with you, anyway. Little did you know it, but I had an entire contingent of guards—all armed—waiting on the English side of the bridge.”

Gloria swallowed. “I didn’t know that.”

Clare’s eyes held hers, steady now, the expulsion of anger having apparently calmed him. “I didn’t tell you,” he acknowledged. “I don’t think you should have to worry about such things.”

Gloria blinked, a year and a half of worry and pain and fear flowing through her mind. What would it be like, she asked herself frantically, if she was safe again? Tears rose to the corners of her eyes, and Clare was around the desk. His arms enveloped her, and her body was held tightly, and his lips brushed her forehead and pressed to her scalp. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she whispered.

Around her, his body jerked convulsively at her words, and he pressed a hand to her bottom to wrap her even more securely in his arms. “You don’t have to be, angel. You’re safe now. Trust me to keep you safe.”

Clare held her for a long time, moving them to the reading chair by the fireplace so that he could settle her on his lap. She cried a bit, but he didn’t mind. It would take her a long time to truly trust that Winchester’s threat had been eliminated, and just as long for her to depend upon him for her protection. He understood that trust did not come easily, and particularly not to one whose heart and mind had been scarred as Gloria’s had been. He was amazed daily that she’d survived this much with her sexuality and her clear mind intact. They were precious, and doubly so to him.

There were no circumstances under which he’d give her the damned pistol back, though, and he was still of a mind to give Meriden the tongue-lashing that one deserved for trusting her with the thing and not making sure she was equipped to do so safely.

Eventually he spoke, changing the subject. “Arwyn is leaving in the morning at dawn so he can get back to school in two days.”

“So soon?” Gloria objected. “You’re not sending him away so soon?”

Clare grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not
sending
him away. He has to take his exams. He’ll be home soon enough for the summer recess.” He pulled back enough for his gaze to roam over her trim black gown, from the small cap set in her hair to the tips of her shoes and frowned. “Glory, I used to think you were lovely in black, and you are. But after yesterday, in the chapel—I never want to see you in this drab colour or fabric again.”

She winced. “We have fabric, and the maids are working on a few day gowns in their spare time. But the Castle can’t be neglected for the sake of my wardrobe. Besides, it will require a proper shopping trip of at least a week in Edinburgh or London to properly outfit my wardrobe, with evening silks and ball gowns and all the accessories. I don’t even have gloves that aren’t fully black.”

Clare lowered his head to gently press his lips to hers. After a moment, he opened to murmur against her soft, welcoming, pink flesh. “We’ll wait until Winchester and his cronies are locked in the Tower and Chancery has settled, and I will happily take you on a tour of all the family properties, including Blessing House in Edinburgh and London. Now then, are you settling in?”

Glory blinked. She had to withdraw and stop to think before she could answer, a sight that pleased him. “I’ve spoken to Mrs Flannery and I believe we’ll muddle through famously. She’s taking me on a tour after you and I have finished, and is making noises about retiring, because she’s run this establishment for thirty years and you’ve never once had a dinner party for more than eight or more than a single overnight guest and that’s already changing. We need to be prepared for my sisters or even Lennox to appear as soon as they hear of our marriage.”

Clare nodded. He, too, expected Lennox as soon as was practical. He sighed and set Gloria on her feet, then followed her up out of the chair. “I suppose we should start organising then, hmm?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Clare stood in a shadowed doorway and listened as Mrs Flannery related some piece of knowledge about an archaic treasure in the front hall. Late in the afternoon, Gloria was still at work, learning Clare’s legacy. Even so, the urchin who ran through the Great Hall to his new mistress surprised Clare. He seemed out of breath and alarmed, almost shaking. “My lady, Ma’am, there are two big, black travelling coaches rolling down the drive right now, coming to the gate. Two of them.”

Mrs Flannery blinked, nonplussed, but Gloria straightened and she shot a rapid-fire question at the boy even as Clare emerged from the shadows. “Were they crested? Could you say?”

“Aye!” The boy nodded vigorously, his hair flying. “They were green and blue crests, they were.”

“That will be Lennox. If there are two carriages, probably also my mother, servants and perhaps Fiona or Genevieve.” She paused, obviously thinking, before ordering, “Mrs Flannery, we’ll need at least three or four guest rooms, preferably with Lord Lennox and my mother beside each other, or even sharing a sitting room. Can you get the maids started on that while we see who has arrived? I expect you’ll need to warn Cook about dinner as well. Set it back to half-past seven if needs be, and let me know if there are changes from the usual time.”

Mrs Flannery’s eyes were wide with surprise, but she shook herself up proudly. “Aye, my lady, we’ll get started immediately and I’ll have refreshments sent to the drawing room right away.”

She hurried away, even as Gloria turned to Clare briskly. He blinked in surprise—she hadn’t indicated she knew he was even watching. “They must have left even before they knew about the wedding.”

Clare agreed. They’d come in response to the letter he’d sent to Lennox before leaving Ireland.

Their guests were not surprised by the marriage, nor made any indication of disapproval. But they were shocked by the events of the previous day, and generously said nothing when Clare appeared in the drawing room later in only shirtsleeves and waistcoat. The bandage was still too bulky for Clare’s tailored dinner coats to fit over his upper arm.

He gazed around at the menagerie of people who filled the space. It was not a shabby room, but had been little used since his mother’s death, and in truth, had been rarely used even then. Norham Castle had not been home then, he remembered.

The thought of Killard Castle did not pain him as much as it had the last decade. He had Gloria to thank for that. Indeed, he even looked forwards to returning. He still hadn’t seen her spread out in his bed there, as he’d so often fantasised.

Tonight, though, he could see and appreciate the old-fashioned genteelness of the room that his mother had decorated twenty years earlier. Gloria would want—and need—to update it to fit her as well as she fit him. She was fiery and impulsive when slighted, but gracious and graceful. She was proud and so very insistent on being independent, but had been so very tender with him during the preceding days. She had been abused and derided and undervalued, but she still welcomed those who had been caught up in Winchester’s game and sacrificed her.

Clare didn’t know if he could forgive as easily. Lennox and Gloria’s mother had much to answer for.

His eyes flicked to Gloria. He couldn’t quite believe she was his wife. Intellectually, of course, he understood it quite well. She was Lady Clare, and he was responsible for her welfare, her happiness and her security. That was clear enough. She was also Glory, the angel whose rare beams of brilliance—whether publicly or in private—so transfixed him.

Even now, at this moment, she was gently organising and re-organising the invading Swensons and entourage into small knots of conversation prior to dinner. She’d welcomed them, listened to them, organised for dinner, held tea for the ladies in the late afternoon sun in the garden, sat down in the morning room with Clare, Jenson and a curiously restrained Lennox for a discussion about her son, been satisfied with the outcome, sipped at the herbal tea he’d seen delivered to her room with the dinner gong, dressed for dinner in a black silk gown accessorised by a vibrantly burgundy silk shawl brought north by her mother, and still been in the drawing room before her guests.

She’d be exhausted by the time the gathering retired, but Clare couldn’t find it in him to complain. In this sphere, she shone.

On the settee, Lauderdale conversed with Johna, who’d insisted Clare call her by that name. Nearby, the chair drawn close so that Lauderdale could pat her hand as they spoke, was Lady Fiona. Clare knew Lauderdale most wanted to speak to Lady Meriden but that couple had not come north. Across the room, Gloria and Arwyn chatted with Lady Arlington, a garrulous old woman Gloria had named as Winchester’s half-sister, their collective Aunt Betsy.

These days, Aunt Betsy despised her half-brother almost as much as Johna and the girls. Just now, though, she was lecturing Arwyn on the early history of the Napoleonic Wars, which she remembered quite well as she’d lived through them. Clare hoped she didn’t confuse the boy, as modern history was one of the subjects he would have examinations on at the end of the week. Gloria, sensing Arwyn’s incipient panic at the old lady’s blunt manners and social niceties, was gently extracting him.