The Husband Plot Page 18

  “She can’t marry any man, don’t you see?” Lisbeth pressed on. “She can’t bear to be touched by any man.”

  Adrian stood. Too many thoughts – too many emotions – flooded his mind. He couldn’t quite think clearly. “If any man is the same to her, then she might as well marry Lord Brabourne. It is the perfect arrangement. She’ll be my neighbor at Inglewilde Plantation. She can soften his reaction when I free everyone.”

  “Every man is the devil to her!” Fury had returned to Lisbeth’s words. “You don’t need her for your plan. All she wants is to live quietly somewhere in a cottage with an annual allowance. Can’t you give her that?”

  “I live off my father’s allowance until he dies.”

  Tears stained Lisbeth’s eyes red. “You are her only hope.”

  Adrian took her hands. They were colder than he expected, and clammy. “My father offered Mary to Lord Brabourne in part as recompense for not giving him ten of our slaves. Ten souls rely on Mary to be his wife. Our family enslaved them. Can we not offer our own sacrifice in order to free them?”

  “Mary didn’t enslave them. Mary doesn’t profit from their labor. Mary only wants to live with her love, the way you and I get to choose to live together. I refuse to deny her that in some quest to pay for the sins of your forefathers.” Lisbeth’s words bit, but she still held his hands. Now she straightened, as if shaking off her anger. “So be it. You will do what you think best. Let me see to Mary.”

  Adrian knew the crisis was too large to sweep Lisbeth onto the bed and make it disappear in a flurry of sex. He wasn’t even sure he dared kiss her. Still, he didn’t let her go just yet. “I feel the same way, you know.”

  He waited for her to look at him in confusion before pressing on.

  “When you walk in the room, the sun comes out.”

  Lisbeth smiled. Despite all their quarreling, she beamed. And he did dare kiss her.

  Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lisbeth commanded herself to stop thinking about Adrian. A little subterfuge had never killed anyone, and she would tell him what he needed to know when it was safe to do so. For the moment, her focus needed to be entirely on Mary.

  Said sister-in-law was looking worse for the wear as their carriage came to a stop before Lady Gresham’s townhouse. Even her lips looked pale, and dark circles beneath her eyes suggested a sleepless night. Her outfit, at least, was the spectacular pink muslin of highest fashion, her hair carefully styled with pearl chains threaded in imitation of a mobcap.

  Lisbeth assumed that was Suzy’s doing, either as a grab at more time with Mary or a maid’s stubborn pride in her work no matter the circumstances. Or both.

  She didn’t comment, only nudged Mary’s elbow to prod her out of the carriage. As they passed through the ostentatious gate, she whispered, “I was supposed to be mistress of this house once, until I got myself out of that marriage. So you see, it isn’t impossible.”

  Mary grimaced in response. “Would that I had your parents.”

  Annabelle’s butler recognized Lisbeth by now and delivered them to the upstairs drawing room with the hint of a friendly smile tugging at his lips. As usual, Lisbeth had arrived a few minutes late, and the other ladies were already sipping from delicate cups of tea. Curious eyes landed on Mary, and the volume of chatter dimmed.

  “Good afternoon,” Lisbeth said to the room in general, dipping into a cursory curtsy of respect to all the titled women. “May I have the honor of introducing my sister, Miss Hathorne?”

  Annabelle swooped over from the far corner, where she had been absorbed in discussion with Lady Pemberly. Lisbeth had written ahead of time, requesting a private word after the salon to discuss a matter pertaining to Mary, and she worried now that Annabelle would project concern to the rest of the group. But of course, Annabelle betrayed nothing except the perfect hostess’s smile as she seated them on the center settee.

  The discussion that week was to be around a woman’s right inside a marriage. The previous night, after a near-silent supper, Lisbeth had read the tract on divorce aloud to Mary, though Mary kept interrupting with exclamations of rage that a woman should have so few rights before the marriage, too. Now, she watched the same anger return a healthy coloring to Mary’s complexion.

  Sometimes, the strong feelings governesses tried so hard to squelch from every corner of a woman were useful for finding the energy to wake up in the morning.

  Most of the ladies in the room were not in favor with divorce, since it usually meant the mother lost all rights to see her children. “I cannot imagine choosing a fate that would forbid me from seeing my daughters,” Lady Pemberly said.

  “What if your husband were cruel? What if every time he paid a visit to your chambers, he left you bruised as a boxer?” Annabelle asked.

  Mrs. Ludlow paled. “Lady Gresham, we have innocent ears present.”

  “Should they not be prepared for such a fate?” Lisbeth defended. “Should not unmarried women have some sort of education of what might come, so they can prepare to respond to it?”

  “There is no response to such behavior,” Lady Pemberly said. “One must simply submit to it and do what one can to prevent it.”

  “Submit?” Lisbeth could hardly believe her ears. “Surely the proper response is to return to one’s family until they can sort the man out.”

  Mrs. Ludlow and Lady Pemberly looked at her with the exact same pitying expression. It was the look she used to receive from married women when she ventured her opinions on matrimony, before she herself married.

  Underneath her petulance at being treated as an idiot, Lisbeth was aware of a deeper horror.

  Annabelle reined the conversation back towards policy. “Should the law provide protections for a wife?”

  Though still heated, the debate returned to safe ground as it lost a bit of personal fire. Even as she chimed in with her opinions, Lisbeth was aware of Mary beside her, silent yet watchful. Her sister-in-law’s reactions were locked behind that infuriating Hathorne mask, but Lisbeth sensed Mary would erupt with her own arguments once they were in the safety of Upper Norton Street.

  The salon carried on a bit longer than usual, the topic being so close to the hearts of everyone in the room. When the butler announced Mrs. Ludlow’s husband had arrived personally to accompany her home, however, the group seemed as one to decide to go. In a matter of minutes, it emptied from twenty women to three.

  Annabelle turned her smile to Mary. “Now, then, shall we retire to the garden?”

  It had improved considerably since Lisbeth’s first visit in March. Then, she had glimpsed brown plants awaiting spring warmth. Now the flowerbeds dazzled with irises, crocuses, and daffodils. Annabelle led them to a set of delicate iron table and chairs. “I would offer something to drink, but I imagine we’ve all had our fill.”

  “I certainly have,” Lisbeth said, modeling her tone after Annabelle’s. Mary only twitched her lips in something that once may have resembled a smile.

  Annabelle’s blue eyes drifted to Lisbeth’s in question. There was no point in delaying it, then. She might as well open her mouth and start speaking.

  If only it didn’t feel like a betrayal of Adrian to do so.

  Lisbeth pushed down the rising fear and focused on the matter at hand. “We find ourselves in a delicate situation, and I thought you would be a sympathetic ear, if not a brilliant mind to find us a solution.”

  She checked on Mary, who stared at her hands, locked in white gloves and folded neatly in her lap. They had discussed this the night before. Still, Lisbeth felt a bit like she was breaking a vow of secrecy as she continued.

  “Mr. Hathorne – that is Bartholomew Hathorne, Mary’s father – sent word two days ago that he has betrothed Mary to Lord Brabourne. He expects the marriage to proceed by the end of June. The duke and duchess are both eager to oblige. Tonight, in fact, Mary is to formally accept Lord Brabourne’s offer. However, Mary does not want to marry.” Lisbeth paused here. S
he had not quite broached the subject of Suzy with Mary, and she was reluctant to trot it out unless absolutely necessary. “She does not want to marry anyone, you see. She would like to live a quiet life in a cottage, with her maid if not any household servants. I should like to help her do so.”

  Annabelle’s soft gaze settled on Mary. She spent a moment in silence, perhaps weighing their story, perhaps waiting for Mary to speak. Then, she said, “I wonder if Lisbeth has told you a little of my story. I met dear Lord Gresham after my first Season. He was too young to marry, they said, and didn’t have enough money anyhow. My parents married me to the Duke of Surrey, who was already past sixty and whisked me off to Europe. To marry someone you don’t love, when your heart belongs to someone else, is a terrible ordeal.”

  Lisbeth had known the story, as told by Bernard. She had never discussed it with Annabelle. She had never imagined – not even just now in the salon, when all they thought about was marriage – what Annabelle might have experienced as the reluctant bride of an old, demanding duke.

  “In the absence of assistance from the family,” Lisbeth said, “the only plan I have come up with is for Mary and Suzy to run away.”

  “Yes.” Annabelle reached out, taking Mary’s gloved hand in her own. There was a flicker of hope in Mary’s face as she looked up in response. “There’s a little cottage outside of Lisbon that should do nicely.”

  Lisbeth’s skin prickled with fear as much as it did with relief. Somehow, she hadn’t imagined Annabelle would go along with what Lisbeth thought the craziest idea of her life.

  When Adrian found out what she had done, would he still want anything to do with her?

  Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Adrian couldn’t shake the queasy feeling from his stomach. Not after watching his sister accept Lord Brabourne’s hand at dinner with the whole family looking on. Not after bringing her home to Upper Norton Street, incomparably pale and silent. And not after being forced to accompany the newly-engaged couple to Lady Leighstor’s afternoon at-home, as if he approved of the match.

  Mary hadn’t spoken to him in two days, not even a pass-the-salt-please, and Lisbeth kept glimmering with anger.

  He wished he could think of a way to protect Mary without sacrificing the slaves he needed so desperately to free.

  After half an hour or so of polite chit chat with the other guests, Lord Brabourne looped Mary’s arm through his and suggested a visit to Lady Leighstor’s hothouse. Adrian nearly yanked Lisbeth to his side as he announced they would go, too.

  Lord Brabourne ushered them to the glass house where Lady Leighstor kept her favorite plant varieties growing all year long. Adrian noted the gardeners – two of them boasting darkened skin, like him – scattering upon their entrance, melting into sheds or dark corners to avoid being seen by guests. Lisbeth looked all about, her eyes dancing in delight as they passed through a bower of ivy into a lush landscape of ferns and flowers. Ahead, at Brabourne’s side, Mary walked more sedately, arms tucked against her ribs, chin resolutely still.

  Lady Leighstor’s plants were not particularly exotic, certainly not enough to earn attention from the Royal Botanical Society. On the whole, they were English: pink roses, yellow mums, delicate orchids and swaying daffodils. A round cistern in the center of the hothouse boasted a wreath of lily pads, though no white lilies bloomed at the moment. Adrian wondered if one of the gardeners brought in buckets of bull frogs for the artificial pond; if he snuck in with Lisbeth in the quiet of moonlight, would they hear a chorus of croaks?

  What a thought. Adrian shook his head, trying to focus instead on Brabourne’s drone. Before his marriage, he never would have been so fanciful. And if he had been fanciful, his daydreams only included people he didn’t know. He imagined the men and women on Inglewilde Plantation walking freely and joyfully. He pictured children leaping in the air at the news they were free. Sometimes, he allowed himself to dream far ahead into the future and glimpse a warm body beside him in bed, tucked inside his arms, though he could never picture her face or laugh or even nationality.

  Now here he was, plotting to sneak into a hothouse at midnight only to steal a ridiculous kiss from his wife.

  Said wife grabbed him – softly, familiarly – by the elbow. “Look at the morning glories! What luck they are open for us.”

  The flowers in question climbed a white trellis as part of the backdrop to a collection of geraniums and pansies. The blooms were small and dainty with petals eagerly spread to show off their whites and blues and purples. Lisbeth beamed. “There was a vine of morning glories that always climbed to my window every summer, no matter how much poor Mr. Trawley tried to cut them back. I would wake up with the sun and run to my window to see them open. They always made me feel anything was possible.”

  Adrian remembered them from Maidenheath House, too; the gardeners had forever been trying to remove the morning glory vines from every fence, hedge, and haha. When the day grew too warm, the blooms closed up tight, as if to declare to the world, You’ve lost the right to see me.

  He had always admired that. He’d wished there were a way to do that as a person, too; pull your folds around you and stop someone from staring.

  “Put us together and we’re a morning glory, don’t you think?” Lisbeth said this with a little laugh at the back of her throat. “I love to be on display in all my favorite colors, and you’re too shy to let anyone see you.”

  Oh, he was in trouble. When had he handed Lisbeth his heart? When had she learned to read his mind? Who could have predicted he would love to have her there to interpret the wild thoughts beating across his brow?

  If they had been alone in the hothouse, Adrian would have stolen a kiss. As it was, he pulled her close, breathing in the salty scent of her skin and lapping up the bosomy view presented by her bodice. Her eyes darkened in response, and he knew her mind was racing downwards to his body, too.

  “Oh look, Adrian!” The interruption came from Mary, three yards ahead of them. “Did we not have a plant just like this growing outside our nursery?”

  His sister, like him, did not wear her emotions plain for all the world to see. But for Adrian, it was as easy to read Mary as it was to read a book. The look she gave him now – wide eyes and too much breath behind her words – told him she was miserable.

  His stomach twisted with guilt.

  “What kind of plant is it?” Lisbeth advanced, cooperatively burrowing all her attention into the bush Mary pointed at. It was nothing particularly interesting, simply a tropical plant with wide green and pink leaves. It wasn’t until Adrian stepped closer and smelled it that he remembered: playing blocks with Mary in the nursery, hoping Mama would come find him, fearing she wouldn’t say goodnight.

  “Jamaican Croton,” Brabourne answered, launching into another lecture with more details than anyone could possibly care to know.

  “You have a strong admiration for plants,” Adrian observed when the man seemed to be winding down.

  “I am a farmer at heart.” Brabourne finally looked at Mary, his icy blue eyes crinkling just slightly. “That is why I am so thrilled to be marrying a gentlewoman who can stay by my side in Jamaica.”

  Mary paled. She looked down, then sideways to Lisbeth. She did not look at Adrian, her own brother.

  He tried not to be hurt.

  “Our families have long been intertwined,” Brabourne continued. “It would bring my own father such joy to know that we are officially joining destinies. As I know it pleases your father, Miss Hathorne.”

  “Apparently so,” Mary agreed.

  Lisbeth stepped forward, a polite smile across her lips. “Lord Brabourne, seeing as how you are an expert on such things, would you be so kind as to show me the irises? And what do you know about removing slugs from the garden? Our man has such a trouble with them.”

  Mary stayed behind, assuming Lisbeth’s place at Adrian’s side. She still tucked herself into a shriveled straight line, as if afraid he would reach
out and grab her if she dared relax her arms.

  “Are you having a good afternoon?” Adrian asked, even though he knew she wasn’t. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Mary didn’t reward him with an answer.

  “I know this isn’t your first choice, Mary, but Brabourne will be a good husband. You won’t have any worries about money; he’ll leave you to your own pursuits; and Lisbeth and I will be your neighbors. There’s not so much wrong about that, is there?”

  She absorbed his words in silence. They had always had a quieter rhythm, conversations filled with pauses, compared to the ratatat of Robert’s wit.

  Adrian realized suddenly that he hadn’t had a good one-on-one with Mary in far too long.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she said finally.

  Adrian didn’t like the disappointment that swelled her words. “You can take Suzy with you, too. There’s nothing unusual in having a loyal lady’s maid.”

  Mary let out a little cry. “Do you think that is enough? If you could only have Lisbeth as your personal valet while forced to bend to the whim of some other wife for your whole life, would that be enough for you?”

  It was a natural enough situation. Most men in Adrian’s class weren’t lucky enough to love their wives; they married for money and gave their hearts to mistresses.

  But how would it feel, if he couldn’t take Lisbeth with him on this type of tedious social call? How would he cope, having to kiss another woman while thinking of Lisbeth’s collection of smiles?

  It would be no different than how he felt now, thinking of the 219 souls on Inglewilde Plantation. His happiness was false. His heart was incomplete.

  Could life exist without a corner of despair always whispering, This could be better?

  “How I wish I could make you happy, Mary.”

  It was all he could say to her. He had no more words, and he had no more time, for Brabourne had returned from the irises with Lisbeth. Adrian saw the impatience on her brow, and even a little glimmer of anger in her eye.