The Husband Plot Page 9

  Adrian had a thousand responses in mind. He’d only ordered her about when her actions were stupid, endangering his reputation and therefore his plan. But he had thought that was the way a husband handled a wife. His mother had certainly taken orders from his father, and he had never heard his grandmother balk when the duke told her not to do something. Though now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall a time when the duke admonished his grandmother for anything.

  He didn’t end up responding, though, for Lisbeth kept going. “I’m an abolitionist, you know. Slavery is evil, and ending the slave trade was not enough. Every human being should be free to decide how they live. I read all the pamphlets. I attend the lectures. I send my pin money to Sons of Africa. You can try forbidding me, but it won’t work. I won’t stop doing what I know to be the right, Christian thing to do.”

  As a rule, Adrian did not waste too much time wondering how the English around him though about slavery. For the most part, he assumed they did not think hard on it; they rested easy knowing they had abolished the sale of humans in 1807 without worrying about the slaves who were already in bondage. At some point, he had lumped Lisbeth into this group, but knowing her as he did now, it was no surprise that she held strong opinions. Dangerous opinions.

  Perfect opinions.

  For a moment, he considered telling her his secret. That on his father’s death, with the Hathorne properties securely nestled on his shoulders, Adrian meant to free every single soul and offer them a living wage instead.

  But he hadn’t told anyone his secret, not Robert – who stood to lose a fortune when Adrian cut the margins so drastically – and not even Mary, who was the one person that might understand without fear.

  Adrian had never planned to tell his wife. And his plot was too dear to risk in the heat of a dark night moment, when what he truly wanted was to win her over.

  So he stayed silent. He let her think he disagreed. He let the moment slip away, until he heard a soft, ladylike snore from the other side of the door.

  Then he retrieved a pillow and a blanket, and he nestled in the threshold, falling asleep just inches away from a perfect wife.

  Eleven

  Chapter Eleven

  Lisbeth decided to take a walk that afternoon. It was a bright, warm day for March, with a strong sun that called to her to enjoy its beams. Before, she would have been obliged to be escorted at least by Hannah, though her parents had usually always insisted on either accompanying her themselves or assigning the task to her brother.

  Now, a married lady, Lisbeth could walk out the front door onto the street without anyone saying a bloody thing about it.

  It was, perhaps, the most thrilling thing she had ever done.

  Of course, Mayfair in the afternoon had only so many distractions. There were some acquaintances to greet, some street vendors to avoid, but all too soon, her thoughts outpaced her feet, and she found herself turning over the same old worries as she had all day.

  She had told Adrian she was an abolitionist. And he hadn’t said a single thing in response.

  There was no point in regretting it. So her slave-owning husband now knew exactly how she felt about his business. If she truly wanted to bring an end to the evil practice, she would surely have to say the same words – or worse – to much more frightening men.

  So she had confessed it after he explicitly forbade her from mentioning slavery to him. Lisbeth had already demonstrated that she did not care for his unilateral commands. Let him see how well forbidding her to do anything worked.

  Perhaps this was the last straw. Perhaps Adrian couldn’t stomach the idea of a wife who opposed him so fundamentally. Perhaps she would return from her afternoon to find annulment papers awaiting her at the dinner table.

  Better to find that out now, before she wasted any more of her time daydreaming about rainy kisses.

  Lisbeth was just turning away from New Bond Street – for she would rather be anywhere than on that shopping street – when a brougham pulled to a stop beside her and none other than Mary Hathorne stuck her head out the window.

  “What luck running into you! I have just left my card at Upper Norton Street after stopping to see if you would come shopping with me. Will you join me now?”

  Of course, Lisbeth couldn’t refuse, especially not when Mary fairly bubbled with warmth, no trace of that Hathorne mask holding back her features. She climbed into the carriage and let Mary spirit her into the hellhole that was ton shopping during the Season.

  They visited the glove maker, the haberdasher, and the modiste, all to fill various gaps in Mary’s costumes. They walked the whole time, the carriage trailing them from store to store to collect Mary’s packages. They talked of the previous night’s play, of the fabulous soprano, of their shared horror at dancing with clumsy-footed Mr. Lansdell. Mary made a point of including her maid, Suzy, in conversation wherever possible, asking after her opinion in the best country dances and wondering who was wittiest below stairs. It was a cozy chat, like three old friends enjoying an afternoon together, so much so that Lisbeth nearly forgot any shopping was being done.

  “I was so afraid my brother would marry someone tedious, wasn’t I, Suzy?” Mary drew her maid into the admission. “When Father wrote that Adrian should marry this Season, Suzy and I listed the different ladies who might accept, and each of them seemed worse and worse to have as a sister.”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” Suzy said, a twinkle in her eye. She was a larger girl of sturdy English stock, tall as a man and with both wide hips and a large bosom. Lisbeth often wished she had that type of frame, rather than resembling a flat, squat box. “I daresay you were choosier than Mr. Hathorne himself.”

  “In many ways, I am more committed to the relationship than he is.” Mary smiled at Lisbeth as she said this, as if to turn it into a joke in case Lisbeth didn’t take it kindly. “After all, a husband only spends a sliver of the day with his wife. But sisters are much more tightly bonded. Why, we might see each other for tea and then in the ballroom the very same night.”

  Lisbeth clucked her tongue in agreement. “It would be quite shocking should a husband and wife do that, but I would be surprised if you and I did not spend every day in town together.”

  “Especially when I shrivel into an old maid and must rely on my brother’s household for safekeeping.”

  Mary said this just as lightly as before, but it caught Lisbeth’s attention. After all, Mary had to know that Adrian planned to decamp to Kingston before the year was out. And she didn’t seem to be looking for a husband. What was her plan for the future?

  “Surely an old maid doesn’t shrivel,” Lisbeth said. “Should you choose to do so, however, I shall be quite alone at Upper Norton Street when Adrian leaves for Kingston, and I will welcome your company whenever you choose to share it.”

  Mary tucked her hand through Lisbeth’s elbow. It was not a comfortable angle, as Mary was at least half a head taller than Lisbeth, but Lisbeth appreciated the gesture. They were sisters, and there was no further question.

  Unless, of course, Lisbeth or Adrian decided to annul the marriage.

  “Do you plan to disappoint the men of London and remain single?” Lisbeth asked. They had turned down a side street, much narrower and quieter, which made the question feel less dangerous to ask.

  A little bit of the Hathorne mask drew across Mary’s face; her eyes stilled, and her lips assumed a careful, neutral position. “Who can say, really,” she said, in that same empty tone Adrian used when he spoke to Lord Everly. Then she warmed a little. “As long as I have a warm bed and Suzy to keep me civilized, I’m sure I shall be happy.”

  Lisbeth noted the look that mistress and maid exchanged, something slightly more than a smile. But before she could think too hard on it, her eye caught on the nearest shop window.

  More specifically, her eye caught on a book in the nearest shop window.

  It was perhaps the most splendid book she had ever seen, and she had grown up amidst the largest
private library in London. It was not a large tome, perhaps as tall as a man’s hand and not as wide, but it stood proudly splayed with gold-edged paper and a beautiful, perfect illustration of a ship at sea. A man stood at the prow, painted yellow as the sun, and behind him a girl whose purple skirts billowed in the wind.

  Lisbeth’s imagination unspooled at the image. Her heart galloped fast, knowing a story awaited her. It would be romantic and adventurous and melodramatic and perfect. It would keep her up all night. She would mourn all through the next day’s breakfast, wishing she hadn’t read it so fast.

  She needed that book.

  Mary and Suzy, of course, had noticed her interest. “Would you like to go in?” Mary asked.

  “I didn’t bring my purse,” Lisbeth admitted. She never did; usually her maid or whoever escorted her around carried the money. Besides, she hadn’t planned on shopping that afternoon.

  “I’ll pay for it. I derive great pleasure in collecting debts from Adrian.” Mary tugged her elbow. “Come on, then, let me buy it for you.”

  It was not as if Lisbeth needed any further encouragement. Suzy entered the store first, holding the door open for them, and then Lisbeth hurried in.

  The shop smelled of books. A perfume indescribable and irresistible. Dim candlelight revealed wall-to-wall shelves, all brimming with tomes. Lisbeth could spend the whole day there, breathing the air, fingering the books, letting her imagination run wild. But she was with friends, she reminded herself. She would keep herself in check and only indulge in the one book.

  She was interrupted from turning to the window display by a gruff voice that fairly shouted, “No women in the shop!”

  Lisbeth turned in surprise. The man in question was old and stooped, with scraggly gray hair escaping from a queue. He had sprung from a desk at the back of the shop and toddled forward on uneven legs. Yet his glare was fierce.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Lisbeth said, gathering her voice into as friendly a voice as she could manage. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”

  “No women in the shop,” he repeated. “Hartley’s is a gentleman’s club only.”

  Lisbeth had never heard of such a rule – no women in a bookshop! But then, she had never heard of Hartley’s either, and she was sure she knew every bookstore in London.

  She tried a smile. “I’m sure you can make an exception. You see, I am Mrs. Lisbeth Hathorne, previously Miss Lisbeth Dawes, daughter of the Marquess of Ipswich.”

  Usually when a bookseller found out who her father was, she received royal treatment. They offered her tea – once, even champagne! – and a cozy chair and a shop assistant to retrieve whichever titles she wanted. After all, her father never neglected to buy Lisbeth whichever books she preferred, and often he ended up buying half the shop’s inventory in the same purchase.

  Her words worked no magic here, however. The shopkeeper only advanced closer. “No women in the shop!”

  Mary touched Lisbeth’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should go.”

  But Lisbeth had begun to comprehend the situation at last. This man really wasn’t going to sell her the book – he wasn’t even going to let her look at it – all because she was a woman.

  In fact, he was going to glare at her, to spew at her, like she was some kind of demon.

  Because she was a woman.

  “I have never heard of such an insulting policy, and I refuse to abide it. If you want me to go, sir, you’ll have to sell me that book.”

  The man followed her pointed finger to the window display, and if possible, his eyes darkened with even deeper fury. “Leave at once, or I’ll call the watch.”

  “Fine. I should like to see the watch remove two granddaughters of the Duke of Berkwell all because one lowly man was afraid to sell them a book.”

  Behind her, Mary gasped as Lisbeth invoked the duke’s name. A little piece of her mind rang with alarm. This was Adrian’s family, after all. They might not take kindly to being dragged into scandal.

  But Lisbeth was too infuriated to care. This was pure prejudice. Worse, it was pure hatred. This man had something against women, and he would pursue it unchecked if she backed down now.

  The shopkeeper surged past her, carefully not touching her, and let out a holler on the street for the watch to come. Lisbeth saw Mary nod at Suzy, who then fled the store. Out the window, Lisbeth saw the maid heft up her skirts and sprint towards New Bond Street.

  Fine. Let Suzy do whatever she would do. Let the man call the watch. Let all of London know: this man had refused to sell a book to Mrs. Lisbeth Hathorne, and she would not stand for it.

  At least if Adrian returned her to her father’s house after this, her father would completely sympathize.

  A clock somewhere deep in the store ticked away each second that they waited. The shopkeeper had positioned himself in the doorway, so his eyes could stay on Lisbeth while he continued yelling for help. It would only be a matter of minutes before the watch arrived, Lisbeth supposed. They might actually lay their hands on her when she refused to move. But surely they would do no worse than that.

  She refused to shiver.

  The shopkeeper was starting to holler again when movement flashed out the window. Only it wasn’t the watch. It was Suzy, revealing striped petticoats as she dashed around the corner, and behind her, Adrian.

  As with all things, he ran gracefully. His coat flapped behind him like a cape, and he showed no sign of physical exertion as he came to a stop beside Suzy.

  Lisbeth could not tell whether her heart thumped because she was so glad to see Adrian, or so afraid.

  He would surely hate her now.

  The shopkeeper stopped yelling, eying Adrian suspiciously. Lisbeth heard her husband’s soft, strong voice: “What is going on here?”

  “Are you with the watch?” the shopkeeper asked at the same time as Suzy huffed, “Mrs. Hathorne, Miss Hathorne, inside.”

  “I don’t allow women in the shop,” the man barked.

  Adrian had to duck to enter the warped shop door. Lisbeth saw his green eyes blink in the darkness of the store, and then they settled on her.

  The watch may not have laid hands on a gentlewoman, but her husband had every right to. He might very well throw her over his shoulder and carry her all the way home to Upper Norton Street.

  She checked that her posture, at least, was impeccable.

  “Lisbeth.” Adrian did not give any thought away as he flicked his eyes across her. “You look well. Suzy came running up to me on the street and I thought you were on fire or kidnapped or worse.”

  “This man has called the watch on me because he refuses to sell me a book.”

  The shopkeeper cleared his angry throat. “Hartley’s is a gentleman’s-only book club. No women in the shop.”

  Adrian looked from the man to Lisbeth to the walls of bookshelves. She still couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Which book is in question?”

  Lisbeth gestured to the window. “I have not even been allowed close enough to discover the title.”

  “The women must leave, sir,” the shopkeeper huffed, following Adrian as he stalked to the window display. Her husband picked up the book – gently – and examined the illustration before closing it to read the title.

  “The Harrowing Adventures of Captain Urselious Bigsby.”

  “A one-of-a-kind edition, sir,” the shopkeeper said. “For men’s eyes only.”

  Lisbeth scoffed. As if anything could be more insulting. But Adrian lifted his gaze to her at the noise, and she couldn’t tell if he hated her or not. She bit her tongue.

  “If it was for men’s eyes only,” Adrian said, “why was it on display on the window where anyone – man, woman, and child – could see it?”

  The shopkeeper started to sputter a reply, but Adrian held up his hand.

  “No matter. I don’t care. My wife shall purchase it, and then we will leave you to the peaceful slumber of an empty club.”

  The man opened his mouth. Lisbeth knew what he
was going to say. So did Adrian, who crossed to stand next to her, so close that his arm rested against hers. He placed a pound coin in her palm and raised an eyebrow at the shopkeeper.

  “Unless you prefer for us to walk out without paying? You may always collect from my grandfather, the Duke of Berkwell. He is currently at court at St. James’s Palace, if you do not find him in residence.”

  Lisbeth had never seen anything more glorious than Adrian – her husband! – staring down the small man with his beautifully ferocious green eyes. Trying not to smile too smugly, she dropped the coin into the shopkeeper’s hand, then followed Adrian and Mary out of the store.

  The sun washed the whole street in warm, rosy yellows. Adrian handed her the book as Mary’s carriage rolled to a stop. “All this for a novel. I hope it is worth it.”

  Lisbeth hardly even cared about the book now. She had caused a shocking scene, and Adrian hadn’t even scolded her for it. She couldn’t do anything but throw herself at him, wrapping two arms squarely around his neck and hauling herself up to claim a wet kiss.

  He exclaimed in surprise. His arms wrapped around her waist, making her feel light and tiny and safe. For a moment or two, he kissed her back – perfect moments, where his lips were soft and warm and eager – before setting her back down on the cobblestone.

  “Enough of that. One can only take so much spectacle in any given afternoon.” But he was smiling. “May I trust you to return home without incident in Mary’s company?”

  Lisbeth wanted to steal him into the carriage with her. Then she noticed Mary was looking a little pale, and poor Suzy was red from her run, and Lisbeth supposed she had caused enough trouble.

  “Thank you,” she said, clasping the book to her heart. “Sincerely.”

  Adrian grinned again. “You’re welcome, sincerely.”

  Twelve

  Chapter Twelve

  Adrian had been on his way to White’s when Suzy nearly bowled him over. She’d only been able to huff “Mrs. Hathorne,” one tired hand pointing back the way she came, and shockingly, that was all it had taken for Adrian’s heart to drop.