Andrew Lord of Despair(65)

Fairly shoved away from the door and crossed to the sideboard, where he did not pour a drink, but instead began organizing the bottles: griffins with griffins, dragons with dragons, and so forth.

“I have the sense this whole business would be much clearer if we understood Douglas’s motives. One hears things when one owns a brothel, and there were whispers at the time of Herbert’s death that one of the Allen brothers has—or had—unusual tastes. When I delivered to Douglas the news of your recent nuptials, I all but accused Douglas of murder, and could detect no emotional response at all.”

A lone chimera sat across the room on an end table. Andrew would have left him there, but Fairly collected the prodigal and placed him with his fellows.

“We are back to Douglas’s motives,” Andrew said, “which remain known only to Douglas. Heathgate had the only sensible proposal at this point: watch and wait. Watch very carefully.”

And the rest of Andrew’s plan didn’t bear repeating: spend every possible moment in his wife’s company, because once he was sure she and her child were safe, Andrew would have no choice but to leave her again, even if it meant he must once again face a sea crossing.

***

Married life was a lonely business—yet again, a lonely business—even with Andrew for a spouse. He took Astrid to Enfield, and while she loved the property, she found little to do there.

Astrid reached an uneasy truce with Gwen when it became clear Astrid had no intention of usurping Gwen’s role, particularly as it related to managing the property. Not so, the formidable Lady Heathgate.

Lady Heathgate had managed Astrid’s two social seasons, her wedding, and Gwen’s come out. She managed her own house in town, a “cottage” on two thousand acres in the country, and numerous investments. Astrid had not yet found the nerve to ask Andrew if he’d gone on his travels in part to avoid his mother’s managing tendencies—particularly her matchmaking managing tendencies—but she had her suspicions.

That Lady Heathgate’s sons had inherited both her height and her blue eyes was never in doubt—also her determination and her commercial expertise.

What was in doubt, from day to day and hour to hour, was to whom the role of lady of the house would go. Gwen and her aunt bickered constantly. They sniped, they glowered, they made veiled threats and polite insults. Their verbal battle, waged in sniffy asides and muttered ironies, might have been amusing had Astrid not felt both women were being inconsiderate of her, and worse, of Andrew.

He, smart fellow, absented himself from the manor for most of each day when weather permitted. If it was truly too miserable to be out on the property, Andrew closeted himself in the study, poring over account books, reports, and treatises.

Astrid found him there one night after yet another tense family meal, several weeks after their remove to Enfield.

He stood and held out a hand in welcome. “Hello, Wife. Are you hiding as well?”

Astrid tucked herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Why did a grown man hide from the mother whose life he’d saved? Why did he hide from the wife whose life he’d vowed to protect?

“May we send your mother back to Town now that you are married and your wife is in residence here?” She’d intended to tiptoe up to that question, but pregnancy rather ruined a woman’s ability to tiptoe.

Andrew sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. Astrid was coming to understand his sighs, and that one was… dismal.

“God knows Mother is wearing out her welcome.”

“But?”

“But it would hurt her feelings. The Little Season is of little interest, to hear her tell it. Then too, she is another pair of eyes and ears here at the house should you need them. Finally, I have wondered if Mother’s abrasive carping might not effect a change in Gwen’s position.”

Strategy. Astrid’s husband had an interesting penchant for strategy—one she lacked. “You think your mother will wear Gwen down on the matter of holy matrimony?”

One did not refer to Lady Heathgate as Mama—at least, one hadn’t been invited to do so.

Andrew patted her bottom, another aspect of his husbandly vocabulary. His bottom pats were seldom flirtatious, and he was careful not to do it when company was present. “I don’t know if Gwen can be worn down, but I cannot deed her an entailed property, and marriage would give her options other than becoming my dependent spinster cousin. It might come down to building her a second dower house, or resigning ourselves to her company when we reside here.”

Gwen had a sense of humor, and her daughter, little Rose, was a positive delight.