The Secrets Of Wiscombe Chase. Christine Merrill
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could both express her emotions and welcome him properly. He was pretty sure that none of what he saw resembled gratitude or joy. But before any of it could truly register, she gave up and her eyes rolled back as her knees began to fold under her.
‘Bugger.’ He lunged forward, putting his battlefield reflexes to good use, and caught her before she could reach the ground. The woman in his arms was heavier than she’d appeared at the altar. Hardly a surprise. He had changed, as well. But she was not too heavy. Had he found her in Portugal, he’d have described her to his mates as a ‘tidy armful’.
‘The bench, Captain.’ The butler gestured to a place beside the stairs.
‘The sitting room,’ Gerry corrected.
‘I will send for madam’s maid with the hartshorn.’
‘Nonsense,’ Gerry announced, carrying his wife through the open sitting-room doors to a divan by the fire. ‘She just needs to get the blood back to her head.’ He settled Lillian on the sofa and sat at the opposite end, taking her feet into his lap to elevate them.
The feel of her dainty slippers against his thighs did more to redirect his blood flow than hers. He snatched a pillow from behind him and slipped it beneath them to give her more height and him a chance to regain his sanity.
Her eyelids fluttered, the long lashes revealing flashes of eyes as soft and brown as a doe’s. It must have been God’s own joke to give such an innocent face to a woman like Lillian North.
He smiled to hide his thoughts. ‘There. See? It is working already. Fetch her a ratafia, or some other restorative.’ Damn it all, he could use a stiff brandy himself. But he needed a clear head if he was to stand against the Norths, so he asked for nothing.
His wife was fully awake now. When she realised her position, she hurriedly pulled up her feet and righted herself, swaying slightly on the cushion beside him as she tried to regain her poise.
‘Easy,’ he cautioned. ‘Do not rush or you will become dizzy again.’
‘You startled me,’ she said, rubbing her temple as if her head ached. More likely, it was to shield her face so she did not have to look him in the eye.
So she was startled. How unfortunate. Even though she had not expected to see him again after their wedding breakfast, she must have heard of him in these past years. It had probably vexed her and her family to find him so stubbornly hard to kill.
The butler signalled the footman, who stepped forward with a glass. Gerry pressed it into her hand.
She drank deeply, as though desperate for anything that gave her an excuse not to talk.
‘So it shocked you to unconsciousness to see me again,’ he prompted, enjoying her discomfort.
‘I was aware that you had returned to England. But if you had notified us of your impending arrival, the house might have been prepared for you.’ She had the nerve to sound annoyed with him.
He smiled all the wider. ‘In my time away, I’ve learned to value the element of surprise.’
‘I must tell the servants to air out your room.’ She set aside her glass and made to stand up.
‘No need.’ He grinned at her and took her hand, pulling her none too gently back to the seat next to him. ‘They saw my arrival and are most likely doing so without your instruction. I am sure they would not expect you to leave my side so soon after our reunion. We have been apart for ages. We have much to discuss.’
She looked so miserable at the thought of their impending talk that he almost pitied her. Then he remembered that she had earned any misery a hundredfold for the way she had treated him.
Before they could begin, they were interrupted by voices in the hallway. A man and boy were coming towards the sitting room in animated conversation about the quality of the trout they had caught for tonight’s dinner.
In truth, it was the younger one that did most of the talking. The man with him answered in annoyed monosyllables before shouting, ‘Aston! What would it take for a man to get a drink before dinner? And what the devil is all the ruckus about? The rest of the party is not yet back from their hunt, but servants are running around as if the house is on fire.’
Lillian’s eyes widened and she looked ready to call out a warning.
Gerry laid a hand on her arm to silence her. Then he spoke in a voice that carried easily to the hall. ‘You have but to ask the lord of the manor, Ronald North. Or have you been playing that role yourself, in my absence?’ He’d meant it to sound joking, but it came out as an accusation. Gerry softened the words with his most innocuous smile, as his wife’s brother appeared suddenly in the doorway and braced a hand against the frame as if to steady himself.
‘Wiscombe.’ Though his voice had been clear and jovial a moment before, now Ronald seemed winded. He looked even more shocked than his sister had been.
Gerry took care to hide the malice he felt behind a wide-eyed, innocent look. ‘What a surprise to come home and find you still in my house.’
‘Surprise?’ The man stammered over the word, still trying to decide what his reaction should be.
‘Well, not really,’ Gerry added, his grin broadening. ‘Of course I expected to find you here. I gave you permission to live here in my absence. But there appears to be a house party in residence. Is it to honour my return? You must have heard of my homecoming and gathered my friends to welcome me.’
‘Of course.’ Ronald leapt for the lifeline he’d been offered, clinging to it for all he was worth. ‘When we heard that you had survived Waterloo...’ He gave a capacious wave of his hand to encompass the frenzied celebration that his success had caused. From one who had no right to set the comings and goings of the household it was more than a little presumptuous.
‘It was a dashed piece of good luck that I am here at all,’ Gerry answered him, with a pleased nod. ‘I’ve been within ames ace of coming home in a box so many times over the years that I quite lost count.’
‘How did you manage to survive?’ By his tone, Ronald North was annoyed that he had done so.
Gerry shrugged. ‘I suspect it was the prayers of my lovely wife that did it. There always seemed to be an angel who could grab me by the collar and pull me back from the brink.’ He gave a deliberately expansive wave of his hand and jostled the glass Lillian had been holding, sending a splash of her drink on to the rug.
‘I suspect so.’ Ronald was staring at him intently as if wondering whether he might still be the lucky idiot they wanted him to be. Gerry smiled back, doing his best to look harmless. Let him think what he liked. Better yet, let him think what Gerry meant him to.
‘But Waterloo is several months passed,’ Gerry continued. ‘Do not say you have been rejoicing all this time without me. Judging by the red in your nose, the cellar must be quite empty by now.’ The same years that had toughened Gerry had softened his wife’s brother. The chestnut hair he shared with his sister had lost its lustre. His waist had thickened and his face was bloated from over-indulgence. In school, Ronald had been a handsome fellow with an easy manner and enough blunt in his pocket to ensure his popularity. But now it was hard to see his brother-in-law as anything other than the dissolute wastrel he had been even then.
‘You need not fear that the house is dry,’ Ronald said, matching his tone to Gerald’s. ‘Your cellar is excellent, Wiscombe. I know, for I stocked it myself. And the guests that are here for your arrival?’ He gave another flourish of his hand. ‘The cream of London society, dear boy. The very pinnacle.’
‘The pinnacle? Then they are likely strangers to me.’ He’d been a young nobody when he’d left for Portugal, well beneath the notice of the ton. It had flattered him that Ronald North might think him a fit match for his beautiful sister. He had been a fool. He gave Ronald another empty-headed smile to prove nothing had changed. ‘But I am sure we will get on well. The chaps in my regiment said as long as I was paying for the wine I