Lady Eve's Indiscretion

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Eve was in the library without willing her steps to take her there. No pillows lurked in questionable locations, not a slipper peeked out from beneath the sofa, not an inkwell betrayed the many occasions when the desk had served some purpose other than the composition of correspondence.

Three days ago, however, Deene had stuffed a handkerchief into one of the desk drawers. Eve dreaded to think of Anthony searching for sealing wax and coming across such a thing. She sat in Deene’s high-backed chair and began opening drawers one a time, only to find the very handkerchief—crumpled, but otherwise inoffensive—in a drawer that also sported two bundles of paper, one tied with a red ribbon, the other with gold.

Was this also something Anthony should not happen upon? Deene was very sensitive to the need to avoid slighting Anthony’s feelings, for though he held a courtesy title, the man was essentially the senior steward over the entire marquessate holdings, Deene’s heir, and family into the bargain.

Eve and her husband were a unit of marital trust. She’d coined the term not an hour earlier, and that meant she was bound to protect her husband’s confidences even before such confidences could be bestowed.

In this spirit of protectiveness, she tucked her husband’s linen into a pocket and unrolled the document tied with a red ribbon. By the time she’d rolled up and retied the one with a gold ribbon, three quarters of an hour later, her focus had shifted.

She was feeling protective not of her husband, though she would at least allow him a chance to explain himself in private—but once again of her own heart.

* * *

Something was off with Deene’s wife. He sensed this without knowing how, sensed it as a certainty all through dinner. Eve was gracious and charming to Anthony, who looked a little dazed to be on the receiving end of such smiles and warmth.

Prior to the meal, when Deene would normally have been helping his wife to dress and perhaps helping himself to a small taste of marital pleasure as well, their timing had been off. Deene had been quick to bathe, while Eve had lingered at her ablutions, the dressing room door closed “to prevent a draft.”

She’d brushed out her own hair, she hadn’t asked his opinion regarding her choice of gown, and most telling of all, she’d worn very plain undergarments. No embroidery, no lace.

As the fruit and cheeses were finally brought out, it struck Deene that his wife was perhaps getting her courses. This little insight was warming in the extreme, an intimacy such as a husband might guess without being told, such as he might intuit before the lady herself realized she was leaving her devoted spouse any clues.

“Wife, if you’d like to retire early, Anthony and I can take ourselves to the library. I’m sure your day has been long, and I would not tire you unnecessarily.” He added a small, smoldering look, one that had Anthony studying the cheese tray.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Eve got to her feet and aimed a wide smile at Anthony. “Cousin, you must make our home your home as well for the duration of your stay. Husband, good night.”

She withdrew before Deene could offer to light her way upstairs, before he could do more than bow her from the room and hope Anthony wasn’t going to want to linger over the damned port.

“The library has the best selection of libation,” Deene said. He turned to the waiting footman. “Bring the fruit and cheese along, if you please. Anthony, shall we?”

“Sounds just the thing to settle a wonderful meal. Having spent some time with your marchioness, Deene, I can see why you’re keeping her all to yourself out here in the shires. It fuels the talk, I’m sure, but what’s one more rumor?”

Damn Anthony, anyway. Deene waited until they were in the library, the door closed, drinks in hand, before he inquired further. “What are you hearing now?”

“Just more of the same, and that you’re ruralizing with your wife to make sure your firstborn is truly yours. The usual innuendo and nastiness. How did the interview with Dolan go?”

Deene turned to study the fire. “The stage lost a considerable thespian talent when Dolan decided to keep his dirty hands in trade. He was angry to think I’d invite him to my wedding, then turn around and accuse him of spreading vile gossip regarding the nature of the union. Shocked and livid.”

But quiet with it, not reeling with melodramatic outrage, which was puzzling.

“Did you tell him about the lawsuit?”

“In no uncertain terms. Suffice it to say an amicable settlement is not in the offing.”

A soft rustling in the shadows near the door suggested the fruit and cheese had been brought along.

“You’re married now,” Anthony said, coming up on Deene’s elbow. “Eve’s dowry can finance the lawsuit, her respectability will lend your petition impeccable credibility, and if you can knock her up posthaste—I assume you’re giving that a decent go as well—then you’ll be a parent yourself by the time anything reaches a public courtroom. Well done, Deene. Too bad the rest of our family business doesn’t come as neatly to hand as your litigation strategies have. And from the look of the lady, you’re even enjoying the duties the union has imposed on you, while she believes this whole marriage to have been at least half her idea.”

Deene was forming some snappish, off-putting rejoinder in the ensuing silence—he did not care in the least for Anthony’s tone—when a cultured female voice spoke from the door.

“I’ll put the food on the desk, gentlemen, and once again bid you good night.”

Eve had turned her back before Deene could utter a word, while Anthony reached out and plucked a succulent bunch of grapes off the tray, and the door clicked quietly closed.

“She even waits on you hand and foot, Deene. Very well done of you. Well done, indeed.” Anthony popped a grape into his mouth, his smile conspiratorial.

Eve’s voice had been calm and more than civil. She’d spoken with a terrible, ducal cordiality Deene found as unnerving as the prospect of charging into a French artillery barrage.

“You will excuse me, Anthony, and if you ever make such cavalier comments again about the nature of my marriage, my motives for marrying, or my regard for my wife, I will disinherit you, call you out, and aim to at least terminate your reproductive abilities.”

Deene stalked toward to the door, only to be stopped by Anthony’s hand on his arm.

“You are not going to fly into high dudgeon and act the besotted spouse on me, are you?”

“I am in high dudgeon, and I am a besotted spouse, but more to the point, Eve has every right to be in high dudgeon.” She had every right to go home to her parents, to eviscerate Deene in his sleep, to bar Anthony from the house… Deene recalled Anthony’s words phrase by phrase, and aimed a thunderous scowl at his cousin.

“If she’s truly that sensitive, Deene, then give her a few moments to compose herself. She’ll want her guns at the ready before you wrestle her into coitus forgiveness, and believe me, I know of what I speak in this regard.”

He popped another grape into his mouth, the picture of a man undisturbed by what could be the end of Deene’s domestic bliss. Deene’s determination to join his wife wavered in the face of such sangfroid. “You will apologize to her at breakfast, Anthony. You will apologize on your knees and mean it.”

And still, Anthony merely smiled. “But of course. Now, you’ve been pestering me these weeks for a discussion of the profits to be had from the estates in Kent. Pull up that decanter and prepare to listen.”

Now, now when Deene wanted nothing so much as to crawl into his wife’s bedroom and explain that his only adult relation was an insensitive oaf with execrable timing, Anthony started spouting facts and figures at a great rate. The very information Deene had been seeking for weeks, provided in an orderly, articulate fashion.

He listened, he asked questions, he asked more questions, and even though he nearly glared a hole in the door and paced a rut in the carpet, Deene did not join his wife above stairs until it was quite late indeed.

* * *

Eve did not cry. Not this time, perhaps not ever again. She wasn’t going to give the situation that much effort.

She’d been a fool, again, believing herself cared for and valued, when what had been sought was her wealth, her position, her standing, her status.

Perhaps even her body—her womb—but not her heart. Again, she’d tossed the best part of herself at an undeserving, scheming, handsome man, and found her greatest treasure of no value whatsoever.