Search
Report & Feedback

Chapter no 7

When He Was Wicked (Bridgertons, #6)

โ€ฆ had hoped to have received a note from you by now, but of course the post is notoriously unreliable when it must travel so far. Just last week I heard tale of the arrival of a mail pouch that was a full two years old; many of the recipients had already returned to England. My mother writes that you are well and fully recovered from your ordeal; I am glad to hear of it. My work here continues to challenge and fulfill. I have taken up residence outside the city proper, as do most Europeans here in Madras. Nonetheless, I enjoy visiting the city; it is rather Grecian in appearance; or rather, what I must imagine is Grecian, having never visited that country myself. The sky is blue, so blue it is nearly blinding, almost the bluest thing I have ever seen.

โ€”-from the Earl of Kilmartin to the Countess of Kilmartin, six months after his arrival in India

โ€œI beg your pardon?โ€

Sheโ€™d shocked him. He was sputtering, even. She hadnโ€™t made her announcement to elicit this sort of reac-tion, but now that he was sitting there, his mouth hanging open and slack, she couldnโ€™t help but take a small amount of pleasure from the moment.

โ€œI want a baby,โ€ she said with a shrug. โ€œIs there something surprising in that?โ€

His lips moved before he actually made sound. โ€œWellโ€ฆ noโ€ฆ butโ€ฆโ€ โ€œIโ€™m twenty-six.โ€

โ€œI know how old you are,โ€ he said, a little testily.

โ€œIโ€™ll be twenty-seven at the end of April. I donโ€™t think itโ€™s so odd that I might want a child.โ€

His eyes still held a vaguely glazed sort of quality. โ€œNo, of course not, but

โ€”โ€

โ€œAnd I shouldnโ€™t have to explain myself to you!โ€

โ€œI wasnโ€™t asking you to,โ€ he said, staring at her as if sheโ€™d grown two heads. โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ she mumbled. โ€œI overreacted.โ€

He said nothing, which irritated her. At the very least, he could have contradicted her. It would have been a lie, but it was still the kind and courteous thing to do.

Finally, because the silence was simply unbearable, she muttered, โ€œA lot of women want children.โ€

โ€œRight,โ€ he said, coughing on the word. โ€œOf course. Butโ€ฆ donโ€™t you think you might want a husband first?โ€

โ€œOf course.โ€ She speared him with an aggravated glare. โ€œWhy do you think I came down to London early?โ€

He looked at her blankly.

โ€œI am shopping for a husband,โ€ she said, speaking to him as if he were a halfwit.

โ€œHow mercenarily put,โ€ he murmured.

She pursed her lips. โ€œItโ€™s what it is. And you had probably best get used to it for your own sake. Itโ€™s precisely how the ladies will soon be talking aboutย you.โ€

He ignored the latter part of her statement. โ€œDo you have a particular gentleman in mind?โ€

She shook her head. โ€œNot yet. I imagine someone will pop to the forefront once I start looking, though.โ€ She was trying to sound jolly about it, but the truth was, her voice was dropping in both tone and volume. โ€œIโ€™m sure my brothers have friends,โ€ she finally mumbled.

He looked at her, then slumped back slightly and stared at the water.

โ€œIโ€™ve shocked you,โ€ she said. โ€œWellโ€ฆ yes.โ€

โ€œNormally, Iโ€™d take great pleasure in that,โ€ she said, her lips twisting ironically.

He didnโ€™t reply, but he did roll his eyes slightly.

โ€œI canโ€™t mourn John forever,โ€ she said. โ€œI mean, I can, and I will, butโ€ฆโ€ She stopped, hating that she was near tears. โ€œAnd the worst part of it is, maybe I canโ€™t evenย haveย children. It took me two years to conceive with John, and look how I mucked that up.โ€

โ€œFrancesca,โ€ he said fiercely, โ€œyou mustnโ€™t blame yourself for the miscarriage.โ€

She let out a bitter laugh. โ€œCan you imagine? Marrying someone just so I could have a baby and then not having one?โ€

โ€œIt happens to people all the time,โ€ he said softly.

It was true, but it didnโ€™t make her feel any better.ย Sheย had a choice. She didnโ€™t have to marry; she would be quite well provided forโ€”and blessedly independentโ€”if she remained a widow. If she marriedโ€”no,ย whenย she marriedโ€”she had to mentally commit to the ideaโ€”it wouldnโ€™t be for love. She wasnโ€™t going to have a marriage like the one sheโ€™d shared with John; a woman simply didnโ€™t find love like that twice in a lifetime.

She was going to marry for a baby, and there was no guarantee that she would get one.

โ€œFrancesca?โ€

She didnโ€™t look at him, just sat there and blinked, des-perately trying to ignore the tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

Michael held out a handkerchief, but she didnโ€™t want to acknowledge the gesture. If she took the cloth, then sheโ€™dย haveย to cry. There would be

nothing stopping her.

โ€œI must move on,โ€ she said defiantly. โ€œI must. John is gone, and Iโ€”โ€

And then the strangest thing happened. Exceptย strangeย wasnโ€™t really the right word. Shocking, perhaps, or altering, or maybe there wasnโ€™t a word for the type of surprise that stole the pulse from oneโ€™s body, leaving one immobile, unable to breathe.

She turned to him. It should have been a simple thing. Sheโ€™d certainly turned to Michael before, hundredsโ€ฆ no, thousands of times. He might have spent the last four years in India, but she knew his face, and she knew his smile. In truth, she knew everything about himโ€”

Except this time was different. She turned to him, but she hadnโ€™t expected him to have already turned to her. And she hadnโ€™t expected him to be so close that sheโ€™d see the charcoal flecks in his eyes.

But most of all, she hadnโ€™t expected her gaze to drop to his lips. They were full, and lush, and finely molded, and she knew the shape as well as the shape of her own, except never before had she reallyย lookedย at them, noticed the way they werenโ€™t quite uniform in color, or how the curve of his lower lip was really quite sensual, andโ€”

She stood. So quickly that she nearly lost her balance. โ€œI have to go,โ€ she said, stunned that her voice sounded like her own and not some freakish demon. โ€œI have an appointment. Iโ€™d forgotten.โ€

โ€œOf course,โ€ he said, standing beside her.

โ€œWith the dressmaker,โ€ she added, as if details would make her lie more convincing. โ€œAll my clothes are in half-mourning colors.โ€

He nodded. โ€œThey donโ€™t suit you.โ€

โ€œKind of you to point it out,โ€ she said testily. โ€œYou should wear blue,โ€ he said.

She nodded jerkily, still off balance and out of sorts. โ€œAre you all right?โ€ he asked.

โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ she bit off. And then, because no one would ever have been fooled by her tone, she added, more carefully, โ€œIโ€™m fine. I assure you. I simply detest being tardy.โ€ That much was true, and he knew it of her, so hopefully heโ€™d accept it as reason for her snappishness.

โ€œVery well,โ€ he said collegially, and Francesca chattered all the way back to Number Five. She had to put up a good front, she realized rather feverishly. She couldnโ€™t possibly allow him to guess what had really transpired within her on the bench by the Serpentine.

She had known, of course, that Michael was handsome, even startlingly so. But it had all been an abstract sort of knowledge. Michael was handsome, just as her brother Benedict was tall, and her mother had beautiful eyes.

But suddenlyโ€ฆ But nowโ€ฆ

Sheโ€™d looked at him, and sheโ€™d seen something entirely new. Sheโ€™d seen aย man.

And it scared the very devil out of her.

Francesca tended to subscribe to the notion that the best course of action was more action, so when she returned to Number Five after her stroll, she sought out her mother and informed her that she needed to visit the modiste immediately. Best to make truth out of her lie as soon as possible, after all.

Her mother was only too delighted to see Francesca out of her half- mourning grays and lavenders, and so barely an hour passed before the two of them were comfortably ensconced in Violetโ€™s elegant carriage, on their way to the exclusive shops on Bond Street. Normally, Francesca would have bristled at Violetโ€™s interference; she was perfectly capable of picking out her own wardrobe, thank you very much, but today she found hei motherโ€™s presence oddly comforting.

Not that her mother wasnโ€™t usually a comfort. Just that Francesca tended to favor her independent streak more often than not, and she rather preferred not to be thought of as โ€œone of those Bridgerton girls.โ€ And in a very strange way, this trip to the dressmaker was rather discomfiting. It would have required full-fledged torture to get her to admit it, but Francesca was, quite simply, terrified.

Even if she hadnโ€™t decided it was time to remarry, shrugging off her widowโ€™s weeds signaled a huge change, and not one she was entirely sure she was ready for.

She looked down at her sleeve as she sat in the carriage. She couldnโ€™t see the fabric of her dressโ€”it was covered by her coatโ€”but she knew that it was lavender. And there was something comforting in that, something solid and dependable. Sheโ€™d worn that color, or gray in its place, for three years now. And unrelenting black foi a year before that. It had been a bit of a

badge, she realized, a uniform of sorts. One never had to worry about who one was when oneโ€™s clothing proclaimed it so loudly.

โ€œMother?โ€ she said, before she even realized that she had a question to ask. Violet turned to her with a smile. โ€œYes, dear?โ€

โ€œWhy did you never remarry?โ€

Violetโ€™s lips parted slightly, and to Francescaโ€™s great surprise, her eyes grew bright. โ€œDo you know,โ€ Violet said softly, โ€œthis is the first time any of you has asked me that?โ€

โ€œThat canโ€™t be true,โ€ Francesca said. โ€œAre you certain?โ€

Violet nodded. โ€œNone of my children has asked me. I would have remembered.โ€

โ€œNo, no, of course you would,โ€ Francesca said quickly. But it was all soโ€ฆ odd. And unthinking, really. Why would no one have asked Violet about this? It seemed to Francesca quite the most burning question imaginable. And even if none of Violetโ€™s children had cared about the answer for their own personal curiosity, didnโ€™t they realize how important it was to Violet?

Didnโ€™t they want toย knowย their mother? Truly know her?

โ€œWhen your father diedโ€ฆโ€ Violet said. โ€œWell, I donโ€™t know how much you recall, but it was very sudden. None of us expected it.โ€ She gave a sad little laugh, and Francesca wondered if sheโ€™d ever be able to laugh about Johnโ€™s death, even if it was tinged with grief.

โ€œA bee sting,โ€ Violet continued, and Francesca realized that even now, more than twenty years after Edmund Bridgertonโ€™s death, her mother still sounded surprised when she talked about it.

โ€œWho would have thought it possible?โ€ Violet said, shaking her head. โ€œI donโ€™t know how well you remember him, but your father was a very large man. As tall as Benedict and perhaps even broader in the shoulders. You just wouldnโ€™t think that a beeโ€ฆโ€ She stopped, pulling out a crisp, white

handkerchief and holding it to her lips as she cleared her throat. โ€œWell, it was unexpected. I donโ€™t really know what else to say, exceptโ€ฆโ€ She turned to her daughter with achingly wise eyes. โ€œExcept I imagine you understand better than anyone.โ€

Francesca nodded, not even trying to stem the burning sensation behind her eyes.

โ€œAnyway,โ€ Violet said briskly, obviously eager to move forward, โ€œafter his death, I was just soโ€ฆ stunned. I felt as if I were walking in a haze. Iโ€™m not at all certain how I functioned that first year. Or even the ones directly thereafter. So I couldnโ€™t possibly even think of marriage.โ€

โ€œI know,โ€ Francesca said softly. And she did.

โ€œAnd after thatโ€ฆ well, I donโ€™t know what happened. Maybe I just didnโ€™t meet anyone with whom I cared to share my life. Maybe I loved your father too much.โ€ She shrugged. โ€œMaybe I just never saw the need. I was in a very different position from you, after all. I was older, donโ€™t forget, and already the mother of eight children. And your father left our affairs in very good order. I knew we would never want for anything.โ€

โ€œJohn left Kilmartin in excellent order,โ€ Francesca said quickly.

โ€œOf course he did,โ€ Violet said, patting her hand. โ€œForgive me. I did not mean to imply otherwise. But you donโ€™t have eight children, Francesca.โ€ Her eyes changed somehow, grew an even deeper blue. โ€œAnd youโ€™ve quite a lot of time ahead of you to spend it all alone.โ€

Francesca nodded jerkily. โ€œI know,โ€ she said. โ€œI know. I know, but I canโ€™t quiteโ€ฆ I canโ€™tโ€ฆโ€

โ€œYou canโ€™t what?โ€ Violet asked gently.

โ€œI canโ€™tโ€ฆโ€ Francesca looked down. She didnโ€™t know why, but for some reason she couldnโ€™t take her eyes off the floor. โ€œI canโ€™t rid myself of the feeling that Iโ€™m doing something wrong, that Iโ€™m dishonoring John, dishonoring our marriage.โ€

โ€œJohn would have wanted you to be happy.โ€

โ€œI know. I know. Of course he would. But donโ€™t you seeโ€”โ€ She looked up again, her eyes searching her motherโ€™s face for something, she wasnโ€™t sure whatโ€” maybe approval, maybe just love, since there was something comforting in looking for something she already knew sheโ€™d find. โ€œIโ€™m not even looking for that,โ€ she added. โ€œIโ€™m not going to find someone like John. Iโ€™ve accepted that. And it feels so wrong to marry with less.โ€

โ€œYou wonโ€™t find someone like John, that is true,โ€ Violet said. โ€œBut you might find a man who will suit you equally well, just in a different way.โ€

โ€œYou didnโ€™t.โ€

โ€œNo, I didnโ€™t,โ€ she agreed, โ€œbut I didnโ€™t look very hard. I didnโ€™t look at all.โ€ โ€œDo you wish you had?โ€

Violet opened her mouth, but not a sound came out, not even breath. Finally she said, โ€œI donโ€™t know, Francesca. I honestly donโ€™t know.โ€ And then, because the moment almost certainly needed a bit of laughter, she added, โ€œI certainly didnโ€™t want any more children!โ€

Francesca couldnโ€™t help but smile. โ€œI do,โ€ she said softly. โ€œI want a baby.โ€ โ€œI thought that you did.โ€

โ€œWhy did you never ask me about it?โ€

Violet tilted her head to the side. โ€œWhy did you never ask me about why I never remarried?โ€

Francesca felt her lips part. She shouldnโ€™t have been so surprised by her motherโ€™s perceptiveness.

โ€œIf you had been Eloise, I think I would have said something,โ€ Violet added. โ€œOr any of your sisters, for that matter. But youโ€”โ€ She smiled nostalgically. โ€œYouโ€™re not the same. You never have been. Even as a child you set yourself apart. And you needed your distance.โ€

Impulsively, Francesca reached out and squeezed her motherโ€™s hand. โ€œI love you, did you know that?โ€

Violet smiled. โ€œI rather suspected it.โ€ โ€œMother!โ€

โ€œVery well, of course I knew it. How could you not love me when I love you so very, very much?โ€

โ€œI havenโ€™t said it,โ€ Francesca said, feeling rather horrified by her omission. โ€œNot recently, anyway.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s quite all right.โ€ Violet squeezed her hand back. โ€œYouโ€™ve had other things on your mind.โ€

And for some reason that made Francesca giggle under her breath. โ€œA bit of an understatement, I should say.โ€

Violet just grinned.

โ€œMother?โ€ Francesca blurted out. โ€œMay I ask you one more question?โ€ โ€œOf course.โ€

โ€œIf I donโ€™t find someoneโ€”not like John, of course, but still not equally suited to me. If I donโ€™t find someone like that, and I marry someone whom I rather like, but perhaps donโ€™t loveโ€ฆ is that all right?โ€

Violet was silent for several moments before she answered. โ€œIโ€™m afraid only you will know the answer to that,โ€ she finally said. โ€œI would never say no, of course. Half theย tonโ€”more than half, in truthโ€”has marriages like that, and quite a few of them are perfectly content. But you will have to make your judgments for yourself when they arise. Everyone is different, Francesca. I suspect you know that better than most. And when a man asks for your hand, you will have to judge him on his merits and not by some arbitrary standard you have set out ahead of time.โ€

She was right, of course, but Francesca was so sick of life being messy and complicated that it wasnโ€™t the answer sheโ€™d been seeking.

And none of it addressed the problem that lay most deeply within her heart. What would happen if she actually did meet someone who made her feel the way sheโ€™d felt with John? She couldnโ€™t imagine that she would; truly, it seemed wildly improbable.

But what if she did? How could she live with herself then?

There was something rather satisfying about a foul mood, so Michael decided to indulge his completely.

He kicked a pebble all the way home.

He snarled at anyone who jostled him on the street.

He yanked open his front door with such ferocity that it slammed into the stone wall behind it. Or rather he would have done, if his sodding butler hadnโ€™t been so on his toes and had the door open before Michaelโ€™s fingers could even touch the handle.

But heย thoughtย about slamming it open, which provided some satisfaction in and of itself.

And then he stomped up the stairs to his roomโ€”which still felt too bloody much like Johnโ€™s room, not that there was anything he could do about that just thenโ€”and yanked off his boots.

Or tried to.

Bloody hell.

โ€œReivers!โ€ he bellowed.

His valet appearedโ€”or really, it seemed rather more like he apparatedโ€”in the doorway.

โ€œYes, my lord?โ€

โ€œWould you help me with my boots?โ€ Michael ground out, feeling rather infantile. Three years in the army and four in India, and he couldnโ€™t remove his own damned boots? What was it about London that reduced a man to a sniveling idiot? He seemed to recall that Reivers had had to remove his boots for him the last time heโ€™d lived in London as well.

He looked down. Theyย wereย different boots. Different styles, he supposed, for different situations, and Reivers had always taken a stunningly ridiculous pride in his work. Of course he d have wanted to outfit Michael in the very best of London fashion. Heโ€™d haveโ€”

โ€œReivers?โ€ Michael said in a low voice. โ€œWhere did you get these boots?โ€ โ€œMy lord?โ€

โ€œThese boots. I do not recognize them.โ€

โ€œWe have not yet received all of your trunks from the ship, my lord. You didnโ€™t have anything suitable for London, so I located these among the previous earlโ€™s belongโ€”โ€

โ€œJesus.โ€

โ€œMy lord? Iโ€™m terribly sorry if these donโ€™t suit you. I remembered that the two of you were of a size, and I thought youโ€™d wantโ€”โ€

โ€œJust get them off. Now.โ€ Michael closed his eyes and sat in a leather chair

โ€”Johnโ€™sย leather chairโ€”marveling at the irony of it. His worst nightmare coming true, in the most literal of fashions.

โ€œOf course, my lord.โ€ Reivers looked pained, but he quickly went to work removing the boots.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and let out a long breath before speaking again. โ€œI would prefer not to use any items from the previous earlโ€™s wardrobe,โ€ he said wearily. Truly, he had no idea why Johnโ€™s clothing was still here; the lot of it should have been given

to the servants or donated to charity years ago. But he supposed that was Francescaโ€™s decision to make, not his.

โ€œOf course, my lord. I shall see to it immediately.โ€ โ€œGood,โ€ Michael grunted.

โ€œShall I have it locked away?โ€

Locked? Good God, it wasnโ€™t as if the stuff were toxic. โ€œIโ€™m sure it is all just fine where it is,โ€ Michael said. โ€œJust donโ€™t use any of it for me.โ€

โ€œRight.โ€ Reivers swallowed, and his Adamโ€™s apple bobbed uncomfortably. โ€œWhat is it now, Reivers?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s just that all of the previous Lord Kilmartinโ€™s ac-couterments are still here.โ€

โ€œHere?โ€ Michael asked blankly.

โ€œHere,โ€ Reivers confirmed, glancing about the room.

Michael sagged in his chair. It wasnโ€™t that he wanted to wipe every last reminder of his cousin off the face of this earth;ย no oneย missed John as much as he did, no one.

Well, except maybe Francesca, he allowed, but that was different.

But he just didnโ€™t know how he was meant to lead his life so completely and smotheringly surrounded by Johnโ€™s belongings. He held his title, spent his money, lived in his house. Was he meant to wear his damned shoes as well?

โ€œPack it all up,โ€ he said to Reivers. โ€œTomorrow. I donโ€™t wish to be disturbed this evening.โ€

And besides, he probably ought to alert Francesca of his intentions.

Francesca.

He sighed, rising to his feet once the valet had departed. Christ, Reivers had forgotten to take the boots with him. Michael picked them up and deposited them outside the door. He was probably overreacting, but hell, he just didnโ€™t want to stare at Johnโ€™s boots for the next six hours.

After shutting the door with a decisive click, he padded aimlessly over to the window. The sill was wide and deep, and he leaned heavily against it, gazing through the sheer curtains at the blurry streetscape below. He pushed the thin fabric aside, his lips twisting into a bitter smile as he watched a nursemaid tugging a small child along the pavement.

Francesca. She wanted a baby.

He didnโ€™t know why he was so surprised. If he thought about it rationally, he really shouldnโ€™t have been. She was a woman, for Godโ€™s sake; of course sheโ€™d want children. Didnโ€™t they all? And while heโ€™d never consciously sat down and told himself that sheโ€™d pine away for John forever, heโ€™d also never considered the idea that she might actually care to remarry one day.

Francesca and John. John and Francesca. They were a unit, or at least they had been, and although Johnโ€™s death had made it sadly easy to envision one without the other, it was quite something else entirely to think of one with another.

And then of course there was the small matter of his skin crawling, which was his general reaction to the thought of Francesca with another man.

He shuddered. Or was that a shiver? Damn, he hoped it wasnโ€™t a shiver.

He supposed he was simply going to have to get used to the notion. If Francesca wanted children, then Francesca needed a husband, and there wasnโ€™t a damned thing he could do about it. It would have been rather nice, he supposed, if she had come to this decision and taken care of the whole odious matter last year, sparing him the nausea of having to witness the entire courtship unfold. If sheโ€™d just gone and gotten herself marriedย last

year, then it would have been over and done with, and that would have been that.

End of story.

But now he was going to have toย watch. Maybe even advise. Bloody hell.

He shivered again. Damn. Maybe he was just cold. It was March, after all, and a chilly one at that, even with a fire in the grate.

He tugged at his cravat, which was starting to feel unaccountably tight, then yanked it off altogether. Christ, he felt like the very devil, all hot and cold, and queerly off balance.

He sat down. It seemed the best course of action.

And then he just gave up all pretense of being well, stripping off the rest of his clothing and crawling into bed.

It was going to be a long night.

You'll Also Like