The Husband Plot Page 3

  Adrian glared at her. His eyes were so powerful, if Lisbeth were anyone else, she surely would have shriveled under their beam. But Lisbeth had spent her life being willful, curious, and uninterested in the limits others set out for her. It was widely known in her family that the best way to ensure she did something was to tell her she couldn’t.

  The sooner Adrian learned that about her, the better.

  Ford entered before their little duel could conclude, offering Adrian a letter neatly folded on a silver tray. Adrian broke his glare long enough to read the note, then stood. “I’m called away on business. I shall see you tonight for dinner. I expect to hear that you were at home all afternoon.”

  He strode off without another word or look or bow. Lisbeth watched, letting her emotions settle around her before daring to move. She had no appetite now. She had no desire for anything, except to turn back the clock and choose not to go to the church yesterday morning.

  It was just her lot, to end up with a husband who thought he could order her around. Who found her disgusting. Who couldn’t possibly be her friend, let alone a lover.

  Well, there was no use moping. Lisbeth would simply have to make the best of it.

  Four

  Chapter Four

  So this is marriage, Adrian thought to himself as he hopped into a hackney cab. Awkward encounters in the bedroom and battleground conversations at breakfast.

  He was grateful to be headed to the docks. Mr. Adrian Hathorne, merchant, was a much more comfortable role for him to assume than Mr. Adrian Hathorne, husband.

  He was still embarrassed about their wedding night, or lack thereof, but Adrian refused to let it hang over him like some sort of great shame. Their marriage would never be conventional; perhaps it was for the best that he simply let Lisbeth believe her duties over. They could begin their separate lives that very day, with him off to the shipyards and she seeing to the household. As long as she didn’t completely drag his name through the gutter – at least, not until he was safely in control of the Hathorne fortunes – Adrian didn’t mind one bit what this wife of his did.

  He turned his focus to the streets beyond his cab window. They quickly descended from the clean calm of Soho to dirty chaos. The character of faces changed, too, as they approached the wharves, with Lascars and Chinamen and even lasses with skin like Adrian’s elbowing through the crowds. The faces blended together, though, into the bedlam of the streets. Vendors hawked wares from carts or tables or bags; street urchins darted back and forth; men leered and women jeered. All around him was a battle, the average Londoner’s desperate fight for existence, and somehow, Adrian was lucky enough to be settled above it all.

  It was enough to remind him why he had married in the first place. Why he was headed to the docks, too, and why he would continue plying the ton with complacent bows.

  He had a mission to lift two hundred and thirteen souls from misery, and he couldn’t do it until he had secured his place as his father’s heir.

  The hackney pulled to a stop in front of the West India Docks, where it was quickly assaulted by a new set of vendors eager to offer Adrian everything from a shoe shine to a tup in the nearby pub. Adrian remained in the safety of the cab for a moment, taking a fortifying breath of soupy London air, before jumping out and shouldering his way to the safety of the docks.

  The whole complex had been carefully designed by Adrian’s father’s friends to protect profits. A red-brick wall protected the wharves, keeping undesirables out and preventing underhanded sailors from slipping away with even an ounce of precious cargo. Lining the street behind Adrian was the great warehouse, ready to store the sugar and coffee and cotton unloaded from the masted ships every day. The docks themselves were designed so a ship could arrive, unload, and then turn around at the export docks to pick up new cargo and depart, all in a day if the company so desired.

  Adrian always thought the place gleamed smugly at the rest of London, daring an ordinary man to think better than beings so powerful as the trading lobby.

  If only one could help what kind of dynasty one was born into.

  The Crawler was docked in the Hathorne Shipping preferred berth. She was one of the oldest ships in the Hathorne Shipping line, purchased from the Navy after a healthy life fighting the American colonies. Now she knew no end of problems, from leaks in the hull to deck floorboards prone to giving way under a man’s weight. She had just arrived that morning, according to the note Adrian had received, yet already she teemed with activity. Adrian had to get out of the way of five barrels of sugar hogsheads before he could climb the gangplank.

  His cousin Robert had beaten him to the deck and was conversing with Captain Bertram, making the old salty sailor throw his head back with a laugh.

  Robert and Adrian shared paternal lineage: the former’s father was heir to the Duke of Berkwell, while Adrian’s father was the second son shipped off to the West Indies to make a fortune independent of the family. Only a year younger, Adrian had followed Robert to school. And Robert, grand old goat that he was, took Adrian under his wing. Adrian had dozens of friends because Robert had dozens of friends.

  Adrian would suspect he hadn’t earned anything himself, all inherited from goodwill towards Robert, except for his reputation as teachers’ pet. Robert was too busy having a good time to win over his instructors, while Adrian applied himself so well that three separate tutors took it upon themselves to write letters of compliments to his grandfather, the Duke of Berkwell.

  “Hathorne, what are you doing here?” Robert barked when he saw Adrian climbing the gangplank. To Captain Bertram, he added, “I saw my cousin married yesterday morning. I thought he would be at home, wooing his lovely bride, not seeing to business already.”

  Captain Bertram rose his eyebrows, thick bushy monstrosities that had been bleached by so many hours in the sun. “Indeed, sir, if I were lucky enough to have a bride, I daresay I shouldn’t leave her side.”

  Adrian grimaced at them both. “On the contrary, it is fashionable for a husband and wife to spend time apart. Now, Captain, how was the voyage?”

  They kindly let the subject drop in favor of a tour of the vessel. Captain Bertram summarized the cargo, a misadventure with an almost-hurricane, and the ship’s state of disrepair as they went. They’d lost ten percent of the sugar due to the storm and three crew members to yellow fever. As for the ship, there were patches nearly every three feet, broken steps between decks, and the glass window in the captain’s quarters had shattered during the storm.

  Adrian tried to keep his focus on the matters at hand. These were all serious issues, ones which would require their insurance firm and likely a new ship altogether. But even in the hold of the ship, he could hear seamen on the wharves shouting lewd jokes. Singing bawdy tunes. Discussing how soon it would be that they could reunite with their favorite ladies.

  It only served to remind him of last night. When he missed her lips. When he grasped at her breasts. When he ran away.

  They were back on the main deck when Adrian realized Captain Bertram was waiting for him to say something. He’d missed a question.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, what was that?”

  “I suppose your head is in the clouds dreaming of your bride.” The captain shared a smile with Robert at Adrian’s expense. “I only asked if you’re taking a honeymoon, sir.”

  Adrian tried not to grimace again. “No, Mrs. Hathorne and I are remaining in London through the spring.”

  He didn’t add that he would be returning to Kingston after that, without her. For a groom to say that the day after the wedding wouldn’t be the thing, even though they had agreed to it as part of the marriage settlement. He was supposed to be in love, or at least in lust, not wishing himself half a world away from his wife.

  Taking their leave from The Crawler, Adrian and Robert retired to Carroway’s, their favorite coffee shop a few winding streets away. It was their preferred locale for passing an afternoon, rubbing elbows with sailors and merchants rat
her than holing themselves in a dreary study. Most of the men there didn’t look twice at Adrian’s complexion; more often than not, they were Lascars or West Indian sailors of even darker complexion. Robert ordered them coffee and meat pies while Adrian claimed a table at the window, where they could see the bustle of Poplar High Street.

  Their first order of business, as always, was to review the correspondence carried from Kingston to London by the captain. Rather, it was Adrian’s first order of business. Robert’s was to shake hands with their acquaintances, flirt with the coffee girl, and generally chatter with people until he had no option other than focus on the letters before him.

  Adrian split the pile in two. He handed Robert the notes from assemblymen who wanted support from the West Indies lobby and kept for himself the letters about the Hathorne estate, including one from his father. The family was lucky to have ships arriving every six weeks or so, making it easy to stay in touch though they hadn’t seen each other since Bartholomew had put Adrian and his sister on the ship to England seventeen years ago.

  But Adrian could hardly settle into the letter before Robert started pestering him.

  “So how does it feel to be a married man?” Robert asked. “Should I continue putting it off as long as possible?”

  “It is divine, of course.” Adrian tried to smile before directing his attention back to the letter. His father’s handwriting was one of the most comforting things in the world, all the more so because Adrian couldn’t remember the sound of his voice. He knew he should save the letter for later, when he could savor it in the quiet of his study, but first he wanted to glance through it, as if to steal a hug from a long-lost visitor before settling down at the fire to hear their stories.

  “She’s pretty enough,” Robert continued, not caring that Adrian’s attention was elsewhere. “I was worried what your sight-unseen agreement would net you, but she has a good fire behind her eyes.”

  Adrian didn’t want to think of that fire in her eyes, or the one she had lit inside his skin the night before.

  By the time you receive this, you will likely be married to Miss Dawes – that was how his father’s letter opened. I congratulate you on achieving this final step in my dream, with a daughter of the peerage, no less. I have always had such faith in you, and you have never disappointed me.

  “She is witty, too. She said the funniest thing yesterday. I don’t remember it now, since I was a bit in my cups, but I do know I got the stink-eye from Grandmama for laughing too loud.”

  Adrian remembered that moment, too. He’d been on the opposite side of the room, discussing curricles with Lisbeth’s brother, when Robert laughed, the kind of unbridled guffaw one simply didn’t hear in a drawing room. And there had been Lisbeth, bright with a smile of delight, watching her great triumph.

  Adrian didn’t care to admit he’d felt a spike of jealousy. It wasn’t unusual for him to be envious of his cousin, who had grown up at Adrian’s side yet had such an easier life. But Lisbeth was Adrian’s wife. Robert was the one who should be jealous of him.

  He set his attention to the letter again. His father waxed on about how glad he was Adrian would return soon, and how sure he was news of the marriage would secure the privilege bill. They were waiting for that final approval before Adrian could return to Jamaica, and they both hoped that would pass before Bartholomew succumbed to the disease in his lungs.

  Then Adrian’s eyes settled on one last sentence, one that seared him so badly that he folded the letter and put it away.

  Fanny Mae had her child – a boy – and we purchased five more hands, so we are building a new set of shacks in the back forty.

  That brought it to two hundred and nineteen souls in misery, waiting for him.

  “I think it is time we sell The Crawler, if we even can,” Adrian said, as much to redirect his own thoughts as Robert’s. “She might be so bad that she must be sold for scraps.”

  “Yes, yes, that much is obvious.” Robert waved an impatient hand in the air. “But what of your wife? Are you pleased with your wife, now that you’ve actually met her?”

  Adrian considered telling Robert the truth. That Lisbeth was lovely, if a little headstrong. That he was the problem. That he was an embarrassment to mankind.

  But the trouble with Robert was that he couldn’t possibly understand. He was a dashing heir with skin so white that it peeled red if he sat too long in the sun. He assumed Adrian had lived the same easy life he had, that Adrian had lost his virginity somewhere between Eton and London. That Adrian was as much of a gentleman as he was.

  Adrian took the coward’s way out, slapping on the perfect smile that always appeased his peers. “Of course. She is the perfect lady. Now, about The Crawler, I think it would be wise to dispose of her and purchase a new ship before we formalize the partnership with Brabourne.”

  “Blast The Crawler! You don’t fool me, Adrian. Something is wrong with Mrs. Hathorne. I won’t let this drop until you tell me, so forget trying to distract me.”

  Sometimes, Adrian wanted nothing more than to throttle his cousin. Was it unreasonable for a man to want to keep certain issues close to the vest? What gave Robert the right to insist to information?

  But Robert being Robert, Adrian had no choice but to give in.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Mrs. Hathorne,” Adrian hissed. “There’s something wrong with me.”

  Robert took a sip of coffee, waiting.

  Adrian supposed he had to keep going. “I can’t consummate the marriage.”

  Now Robert’s eyes widened. He visibly tried to keep a curl of distaste from his lips as he whispered, “Can’t get it up, or can’t keep it up?”

  Adrian couldn’t believe they were discussing this. In public, no less. His whole body flashed hot with embarrassment. “No, it’s not that. I don’t know how even to get that far. I’m a virgin.”

  Lifting his gaze from the oak tabletop, Adrian tried to gauge his cousin’s reaction. Robert had wiped his face of all expression, which meant he didn’t want Adrian to see how he felt. Which probably meant Robert was disgusted with him.

  As well he should be. Not only was Adrian incompetent, but he’d let his cousin believe otherwise all this time.

  “What about…” Robert started, but he didn’t even try to finish his own sentence. Adrian had never tried to spin a lie about a dalliance. He’d simply let his cousin assume that he got into such activities.

  Robert cleared his throat. “Well, that’s not so bad. All you have to do is…do it. It’s easy. Did you give it a try last night?”

  This was too excruciating. Adrian could barely handle living the humiliation. He wasn’t sure he could survive telling Robert about it, too.

  “Look, plenty of gents mess it up the first time,” Robert said. “The problem is when you’re in your head. You can’t overthink it. You’ve just got to let nature take over.”

  Groaning, Adrian let his head fall to the table. He couldn’t take this. How could he possibly explain that he’d tried to let nature take over, only to completely offend Lisbeth and humiliate himself in the process?

  “To be completely honest – and I wouldn’t tell just anyone this – I myself don’t enjoy it when I don’t know the woman,” Robert pressed on. “Maybe that’s your problem, too. Maybe you simply need to get to know her more.”

  “Get to know her?” Adrian flashed back to their disastrous breakfast. He’d been so focused on not letting his embarrassment show that he’d ended up snapping at her like some heavy-handed lord.

  No, he was as inept at conversation as he was with intercourse.

  “Yes, that’s the thing. Squire her around town. Take her to a dance or two. Make her laugh. Steal a kiss in a garden. You’ve missed the courtship, that’s your problem. Well, now make up for it.”

  He’d skipped the courtship on purpose. His wedding was a calculation in his father’s bid to place the Hathorne estates firmly in Adrian’s hands. He would abandon whomever he married within months.
Adrian hadn’t wanted to fall in love with her.

  He had two hundred and nineteen souls waiting for him in Kingston. He didn’t want to leave one here in London, tugging his heart in distraction.

  But even as Adrian thought this, he remembered Lisbeth at the fireplace last night. Hair down, skin gleaming, eyes glowing.

  All around him, people were struggling, and somehow, he had the luck to be married to a woman whose hair smelled of cinnamon.

  Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “So you’re a few years behind on the race. You’ll catch up. You always do.”

  Adrian wasn’t sure he believed his cousin. He wasn’t entirely convinced he should even try, with his father’s letter burning heavy in his pocket.

  Yet he had a sinking sensation that Lisbeth was not a person he could ignore.

  Five

  Chapter Five

  Lisbeth’s palms left damp handprints on the muslin folds of her skirt as the carriage drew near to Lady Gresham’s townhouse. The idea of the afternoon tea was growing less and less appealing, though she couldn’t say whether it was the fact that Adrian had so clearly forbidden it or that it was hosted by the woman Lisbeth was supposed to be.

  In any case, she wiped the fear away. If she was nervous on Adrian’s behalf, that was plain silly. As his wife, she needed to teach him early and soundly that she was not to be ordered around. Let him bluster at her about it – if he found out. She should like to see him try to stop her from doing anything.

  And if this ridiculous sweating was on Annabelle’s behalf, well, Lisbeth had no interest in comparing herself to the woman. Lord Gresham had fallen in love with Annabelle well before he ever met Lisbeth. It was she who had no claim to him, nor any wish to claim him. She wanted nothing but his happiness with Annabelle.

  The Gresham townhouse stood behind a fine wrought-iron gate tipped with gold-painted spears. A liveried footman ushered her through, up the marble steps, and into an upper story drawing room. A murmur of voices pervaded the whole corridor, so that Lisbeth was expecting – rather than surprised by – the large group already assembled.