The Husband Plot Page 11

  Even if he hadn’t seen it yet, she didn’t know how she could smile at him, knowing she was the antithesis of the woman he needed in his life.

  Adrian took the proper seat in the carriage, on the opposite bench next to the opposite window. But he turned towards her, saying with a warmth she didn’t deserve, “And so your patroness career begins.”

  “They were quite interesting, weren’t they? I can’t wait to see their work. Mr. Nadin in particular said his favorite painters are Rubens and Boucher. I love nothing more than drama in my paintings. My governess was forever scolding me because I tried to paint fairy battles into my watercolors instead of whatever simple still life she set out for me.” Lisbeth looked down at her hands, folding them into her lap and trying not to fidget. “You see, I’ve always had trouble with obedience.”

  “You’ve always had a passionate imagination, you mean.”

  It was a kind thing to say. Lisbeth didn’t dare look up, for she thought she might cry if she saw the same kindness on his face.

  “Do you still paint watercolors?” Adrian asked.

  “Of course. It is one of the acceptable activities for a well-bred young lady such as myself.” Lisbeth summoned a smile to soften her sarcasm.

  “Do your most recent oeuvres feature fairy battles?”

  For a lone, mad moment, Lisbeth considered lying: no, I have stamped out all such perversions from my person. But he wouldn’t believe her, if she did. “I prefer to illustrate my favorite scenes from literature. That’s why The Harrowing Adventures of Captain Urselious Bigsby called to me so. It had the most beautiful illustration right there in the book.”

  “Naturally. Have you read Captain Bigsby yet? Was it worth the fight?”

  Lisbeth still couldn’t lift her eyes from her lap. She had opened the book and tried to read it earlier, but she had been too excited in triumph to concentrate. She had been too thrilled that Adrian had fought beside her. Her lips and breasts and body had thrummed from the kiss – and the way he had clasped her close to him for the tiniest second before sending her into the carriage.

  She hadn’t realized then what her great moment of triumph meant: that she was absolutely the wrong wife for Adrian Hathorne.

  And now, she likely wouldn’t ever be able to read The Harrowing Adventures of Captain Urselious Bigsby, not when it reminded her of her great folly.

  Adrian slid down his bench to sit directly opposite her, his long legs stretching so close they would have mingled against hers had she not been the shortest woman in the world. He leaned forward, his palms stretching towards her.

  “Are you feeling well, Lisbeth? You don’t seem yourself.”

  If she were a better woman, she would confess the truth. You’ll have to annul the marriage. I can’t be the wife you need. We should end this farce now.

  But she made the mistake of looking up. Adrian’s green eyes were clear even in the dim street lamplight. He took her breath away with how handsome he was, and for a moment – just this moment – he was hers. Her husband. Her friend. Her man, looking after her needs.

  She couldn’t resist putting her hands in his. And she couldn’t resist enjoying the way his fingers curled protectively around hers.

  “What strikes me about painters is that it requires so much courage to devote one’s life to art. For Mr. Nadin in particular, don’t you think? He isn’t even painting portraits to make a living. He simply paints what speaks to his heart and hopes that he will sell enough to pay his rent and buy a bowl of soup.”

  “Courage, yes.” Adrian unfurled the words from his tongue, as if he didn’t quite believe them. “Or stupidity. They both come from good families. They could have been lawyers or clerks with reliable incomes.”

  “It’s only stupid if one gives it up for nothing. Art must be worth it to them. It must be invaluable to their souls. And Mr. Nadin won’t even compromise for a commercial form of art. I don’t think I would ever have that kind of courage.”

  Adrian’s hands were warm through the kid skin of her gloves. He held her so steadily, even as the carriage swayed. “Are you trying to tell me that you wish you could throw off your life to become a painter?”

  “No.” Lisbeth laughed a little. “I wish I had the courage to throw off my life, if I felt so strongly about something that it was worth it. But I’m beginning to worry that I don’t.”

  It came out more baldly than she expected it to. It was clear as day she was talking about the annulment. She looked up in terror, to see what Adrian thought of her mash of words.

  He only looked at her with that solemn, unreadable green gaze. When he spoke, his voice came in a soft rasp. “You don’t lack courage, Lisbeth. If anything has changed, perhaps it is that you’ve gained a reason to stay.”

  Lisbeth’s stomach flipped. She didn’t want to care for him if he couldn’t care for her. But Adrian still held her hands. And he was still leaning towards her. The air between them suddenly wasn’t the chill of a March evening; it was hot and electric like a summer storm. Lisbeth’s eyes dropped to his lips, which were just a few inches from hers now. They were perfect lips for kissing, large and plump and begging for her to take a taste.

  But then – right then, when Lisbeth had decided what she wanted to do – the carriage stopped. They jostled, just enough that they let go of each other’s hands, and the next thing she knew, the footman had opened the door and placed the carriage steps for her to descend. Adrian leaned away to collect his hat from the bench.

  She was cold again.

  Fourteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adrian wasn’t quite sure what demon seized him the next day. It happened midday, when he innocently crossed from his study to the rear drawing room in search of better daylight for reading the latest letter from his grandfather. He made the mistake of looking up as he passed the dining room – and spying Lisbeth lingering at the table, staring at nothing out the window.

  She had been upset in the carriage the night before, though Adrian still wasn’t sure exactly what bothered her. At dinner, she had been her sparkling, vivacious self – the Lisbeth who had so gleefully kissed him on the street – but alone with him, she had wilted like a morning glory that lost the sun.

  And then, he thought she might admit something, something huge and wonderful, something that didn’t explain her wilting at all.

  If only the carriage hadn’t stopped when it did.

  If only he had kissed her anyway.

  It was all of these thoughts, and the sight of his wife wilting again there at his dining table, that seized Adrian. Pushed him forward. Opened his mouth. And asked, “Would you like an adventure today?”

  In the moment, it felt worth it. Lisbeth instantly lit from within, excitement leaping to her eyes, a perfect smile stealing her lips. “Oh yes, please!”

  However, now that they rumbled together in the hackney cab towards the Isle of Dogs, Adrian was beginning to regret his rashness. Lisbeth practically hung out the window to see the streets, as if she had never been outside Mayfair before. She chattered, too, switching between exclaiming over what she saw and repeating how excited she was to go to a coffeehouse. “I shall be the envy of every bluestocking in London. A woman, patronizing a coffeehouse! Can you believe it?”

  It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. Adrian had to go meet Robert; equally, he didn’t want to leave Lisbeth alone at the table with a pout on her lips.

  He’d thought he was above giving into impulses. Apparently not.

  To make it all worse, of course, the cab was small, and Lisbeth smelled heavenly. She wore a simple beige muslin; the fabric was fine enough that, from where Adrian sat, he could see white petticoats beneath and the shape of her thighs as she leaned towards the window. How he yearned to steal her from the window and land her on his lap instead.

  This was an impulse he still had the wherewithal to resist.

  Robert had a window seat at Carraway’s when they arrived. His friendly wave froze midair when he saw
Lisbeth at Adrian’s arm. Adrian couldn’t blame him. Women weren’t welcome in coffeehouses, unless they were serving.

  But Adrian had promised his wife an adventure, and he couldn’t turn back now.

  The place went from the din of a hundred conversations to a flat silence as soon as they crossed the doors. Standing straight as possible, Adrian nodded at his acquaintances, met the stare of strangers, and said in the direction of no one in particular, “Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Hathorne.”

  Lisbeth smiled wide enough to catch every man in her net. When she beamed like that, no man stood a chance against her. At least, Adrian didn’t.

  He led her to Robert’s table. His cousin kissed Lisbeth’s hand as if it were the most natural place in the world to find her. “Mrs. Hathorne, I’m delighted you can join us this afternoon.”

  “Adrian is indulging me,” she said, taking her seat. “I’m the cat who got killed by curiosity, so he decided he had better take me here himself before I found a way to sneak in without an escort.”

  She was trying to smooth things over for him. Adrian wondered if it were true, too, that she had contemplated sneaking into a coffeehouse. It was not without the realm of possibility.

  He certainly had not married a fainthearted lady of the peerage.

  “I hope the experience lives up to your expectations.” Robert said this with a wink, earning one of those smiles from Lisbeth that sent a dagger of jealousy through Adrian’s stomach.

  Mrs. Carraway, the proprietress of the coffeeshop, approached. She didn’t exactly look pleased, but neither was she thundering with hands on hips to scold them. She curtsied to Robert. “Coffee for you and your guests, my lord?”

  “Yes, and you had better put everyone’s next round of coffee on my tab as well, in apologies for any disturbance we have caused.”

  No one cheered this, but it was the cue to send everyone back to their conversations. Lisbeth had to raise her voice a notch to say, after Mrs. Carraway had sashayed away, “You shouldn’t have to bribe an entire coffeehouse to tolerate my presence.”

  “Perhaps I don’t have to, but it is one of the perks of being a marquess, dear cousin. I enjoy throwing my money around to arrange an ideal world for myself.”

  “If only it would make the world ideal for everyone else,” Adrian said, mostly because he was tired of Lisbeth looking at Robert.

  It worked. She turned to Adrian with a glow. For a moment, he thought she might reach out and clasp his hand. Instead, she said, “Is that what you do here? Invent ways to make the world more ideal?”

  There was such hope in this wife of his. She nearly vibrated with it. If only he could live up to her.

  Robert scoffed. “Mostly, we invent ways for Hathorne Shipping to make more money.”

  And like that, the hope disappeared, replaced by something harder and darker. Lisbeth turned to Robert again. “How do you feel about your wealth coming from the blood and sweat of slaves?”

  “Lisbeth,” Adrian said as warning. He was all too aware of the ears around them – friendly and not – straining to hear their conversation.

  Robert shrugged. “I wish it were not so, but the economy has been powered by slave labor for too long. There is no going back now.”

  Lisbeth pressed on. “Your family owns slaves. You could set the example and free them.”

  “I believe, dear cousin, you mean our family owns slaves.” Robert leaned back in his chair, but the edge in his voice belied his casual posture. He didn’t like where the conversation was going. “Furthermore, we can’t simply free the slaves. First, there is the matter of our industry. Who is going to pick our sugar cane, if not slaves? Second, what would happen to the slaves? We feed them, clothe them, house them. They would not know how to survive without us. Is it not better that they have shelter and occupation than be stranded to beg in the street?”

  Lisbeth opened her mouth to argue, but Robert pressed on.

  “And what of our family? Were we to free the slaves, your line of the Hathornes would no longer have income. You would have to live on your savings, and once they dwindled, either rely on me for kindness or find yourself on the streets. Is that the future you envision? Raising your children poor as church mice?”

  Adrian’s stomach clenched. There was an anger lining Robert’s voice that he hadn’t heard before. An anger he would have to face, sooner or later.

  Mrs. Carraway returned, placing clay mugs before each of them and a plate of sweet buns in the center of the table. Thanking her, Adrian decided it was time to change the subject. “Are you coming to Everly’s ball tonight, Robert?”

  “I think not. There’s nothing at balls for me but meddling mothers trying to trap me into marriage.”

  But before the topic could take hold, a man sidled to their table. Adrian had seen him at Carraway’s before, though they’d never been introduced. His skin was darker than Adrian’s, and his clothes were the shabby wool of a sailor. “Pardon me, sirs,” he said in a broad accent that betrayed his origin from somewhere else. “I heard a discussion of slavery and thought you might be interested in my most recent pamphlet.”

  “Why yes, thank you!” Lisbeth said quickly. She took the parchment the man offered, which had cheap type proclaiming The Evils of Human Bondage: First-Hand Accounts. “And what is your name, sir?”

  “Samson. I’m a free sailor, ma’am, and when I’m in London, I stay at the Friends’ Society on Ewer Street to advocate for human liberation. Perhaps you would like to join us sometime. We need more volunteers to teach us to read.”

  He spoke rapidly, as if he knew he only had seconds to get his words out. Indeed, Adrian rose to his feet as Samson delivered his speech. There were too many eyes on them, watching as the new Mrs. Hathorne conversed with an abolitionist. All it took was for one person to report back to Everly or Brabourne or even his grandfather.

  “Thank you, but Mrs. Hathorne won’t be needing this.” Adrian tore the pamphlet from Lisbeth’s hands before she could react and handed it to Samson. “You may go.”

  Samson returned the set-down with large, disappointed eyes before walking away. Lisbeth, meanwhile, leapt to her feet in outrage. “How dare you! I will read what I want to read, when I want to read it, from whom I want to read it.”

  She took a step as if to follow Samson, but Robert stood now, too, and blocked her way. “We are in public, cousin. Control yourself.”

  Adrian’s fists curled. Robert had no business admonishing Lisbeth, no matter how shocking her behavior. But he had too many battles to face right now, and his primary goal was to keep anyone from painting him an abolitionist.

  “It is time to go,” he said, as calmly and quietly as he could manage. He held out his arm to Lisbeth, praying she wouldn’t make him force her out of the coffeehouse. They didn’t need any more of a scene than they had already caused. Yet he would throw her over his shoulder and carry her out, if he had to.

  Lisbeth glared at him for a long moment. Then she swept past him, ignoring his arm. “You disgust me,” she hissed as she headed for the door.

  Adrian tried not to let her words land beyond his skin. He didn’t need her approval or admiration or even tolerance. He just needed her cooperation.

  That’s what he told himself, anyway, though it did nothing to stop his heart from descending into his stomach.

  With a bow to Robert, he followed his wife onto the street and called a hackney cab.

  Fifteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lisbeth trembled with anger. She knew Adrian didn’t want scandal; she knew he wasn’t an abolitionist; she knew he didn’t agree with her or the way she lived her life. But she still couldn’t believe he would do something so humiliating as to rip paper from her very hands. To dismiss that poor man with such short words. To let Robert scold her like she was some kind of disobedient child.

  The sooner they annulled this disgrace of a marriage, the better.

  Adrian didn’t try to speak to her when he joined her
outside. She told herself she preferred it that way. She wouldn’t be able to prevent bitter words from pouring forth, and they were still in view of the coffeehouse window. Lisbeth focused on ignoring her husband, though that meant she had to inhale the stench of sea water mixed with human refuse.

  This was not what she had pictured when Adrian invited her on an adventure.

  She did not let him hand her into the hackney cab, instead grabbing the wooden doorframe in her gloved hands and hauling herself up. It was not as if she had any further dignity to salvage. Adrian had torn that to shreds in front of his friends.

  For his part, Adrian pulled closed the shutters on the cab windows, plunging them into a dim, sickening light as the carriage rattled across the cobblestone road. “I’m sorry I had to be so brusque.”

  He said it so calmly, so quietly, as if he was guilty of something as small as spilling a drink down her dress. It soaked Lisbeth with fury.

  “You had no right. You are a horrible tyrant. That man was simply spreading ideas. You had no right.” She couldn’t even control her own words; that was how upset she was. Lisbeth peeled off her gloves to let the anger simmer off her skin. “You should take me home to Frampton Square. I would prefer not to live with you any longer.”

  Adrian didn’t move, yet Lisbeth could still sense how he stiffened into a statue. “Lisbeth, one can’t simply speak of abolition in a coffeehouse. You don’t know who was there. You don’t know who they work for. You don’t know who they are going to go tell.”

  “What do I care who hears? Everyone should hear. Slavery is evil. Your family is evil. The more people who hear it, the better.”

  “Our family,” he corrected softly, but Lisbeth barely heard it.