My Lady Coward:
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My Lady Coward started out as a single short story, about 1000 words long. I never intended it to be more than that one story but readers demanded more.
Part 4 was too long to be submitted to Clever Fiction and Parts 5, 7, 9, and 10 were written without a story prompt (thus not qualified to be submitted to Clever Fiction). Parts 4, 5, 7, and 9 are located right here and Part 10 is on my author blog. To read the parts not located on this site, use these links (which will open in new windows or tabs, depending on your browser settings): Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 6; Part 8; Part 10. The Blurb... A lady knows her place, no matter what... With Maria's vows came a title and security. At her wedding she gained a position amongst Society's elite. With her marriage Maria acquired everything a young woman could possibly desire. Except love. Going about her day-to-day activities, all Maria wants is Richard's love, the attentions he lavishes upon his mistress. But can she set aside her ladylike training long enough to tell him? |
My Lady Coward
My Lady Coward, Part 4
By Jaimey Grant (Stormy~Family~Holidays)
Any courage Maria had felt before finding Richard's compass disappeared. Her husband's mistress was in the habit of buying him gifts. Maria may not have been very knowledgeable in the ways of a duke and his mistress but she was fairly certain this was not usual behavior.
Did Richard buy gifts for Lady Hensley with Maria's money? The horrifying thought took up permanent residence in Maria's mind. There was no way for her to find out. The money her father settled on her became her husband's the moment they'd married. What he did with it was his business.
Maria's melancholy kept her to her bed, thunder pounding through her brain while a storm roiled in her middle.
“Your grace? Milady?”
Maria stirred, opening her puffy eyes and raising tear-stained cheeks to her concerned maid, Colette.
“Oh, mistress,” the maid sighed.
“Leave me, Colette,” Maria ordered, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes.
Colette's pretty features hardened. “No, I refuse,” she said roundly, yanking the coverlet from her mistress's determined grasp. “You must rise, madam. How shall you win him if you hide away?”
Shock snapped Maria's eyes open and brought her to a sitting position. “What did you say?” she asked, stunned and angry at the woman's audacity. She'd never felt such overwhelming rage and the fact that it stemmed from embarrassment mattered not at all. Servants did not speak so to their employers. Not if they valued their employ.
Colette squared her shoulders, hands on her hips. Her dark eyes flashed but she said nothing, letting her defiant stance speak for her.
So even her personal servant viewed her as unworthy of the respect due a true lady. Maria's anger dissipated, replaced with the usual calm acceptance for which she was well known. The same calm acceptance that saw her through a wedding to a near-stranger and thrust into a new life amongst people who neither liked nor understood her.
The same calm that masked her love for her husband and the pain of knowing he kept a mistress.
“You overstep yourself,” she warned Colette, her returned calm allowing her training to regain its hold on her emotions.
“Yes, madam,” Colette said, her servile air belied by a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Will madam wear the emerald velvet with the gold piping?”
“Yes, madam will, you impertinent girl. I've half a mind to turn you off for your behavior.”
“You never would,” Colette said confidently as she prepared a bath for her mistress before the fire. “What other French lady's maid would work for the upstart duchess?”
“Is that what they call me?” It was possible, Maria supposed. Richard had been the Season's prize; handsome, titled, and in possession of a very desirable property, he was every young debutante's dream husband.
And he was kind. He treated Maria with respect and gentleness.
No doubt he treated Lady Hensley the same.
On that singularly melancholy thought, Maria fell back on the bed. How could she possibly coerce her husband away from a woman of Lady Hensley's charms? She knew how to go about in Society and, despite her reputation, enjoyed Society's approval.
“You are more of a lady than any title can produce,” Maria heard as Colette left the chamber.
Pleased that her maid, at least, approved of her, Maria allowed a tiny smile to emerge. One that quickly disappeared a moment later as her thoughts returned to her absent husband.
Society had left for country estates and house parties several weeks ago. Only a few families remained in Town. Maria had decided against attending Lady Hensley's ball, the knowledge that the woman stayed while Richard went enough to appease her agitation.
“Madam!”
The groan that emerged from Maria's throat was neither ladylike nor voluntary. But it was heartfelt. Her stomach protested, the storm within building until Maria gasped, diving for the chamberpot beneath her bed. The maid was before her, holding her hair while Maria cast up her accounts. The moment passed, leaving Maria weak and feeling more melancholy than ever. Tears sprang to her eyes but she refused to let them fall.
“Leave me be, Colette. Let me die in peace.”
“Nonsense!” the maid scoffed. “One does not die from your malady. Now, rise and dress, madam. You have guests.”
Images of supercilious ladies and leering gentlemen filled Maria's mind. Surely no one else would deign to call on the upstart duchess. Cracking one eye, she asked, “Who?”
“Madam's sister and brother are waiting in the drawing room.”
Despite the weakness in her stomach, Maria came out of the bed like a shot. “Why ever did you not say so?” In the blink of an eye, she'd bathed and dressed, sitting impatiently while Colette pomaded and piled her blond curls on her head.
She missed her family. She missed her father's gruff affection, her termagant mother whose love wasn't always on display, and her younger brothers and sisters with all their chatter and merriment. She missed the loud holidays with aunts, uncles, and cousins. She missed taking for granted that she was loved.
Marrying a duke raised her up socially but coming from a family in trade resulted in her feeling like a fish on dry land.
“Beautiful,” Colette breathed, stepping back. “Madam is ready.”
But madam had already left the room.
Maria smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since Richard left. Her brother and sister—no doubt Henry and Eliza as they were the oldest of her siblings—had come to visit her, despite the social gulf that now existed between them. Joy flowed through her, erasing any lingering thoughts of a melancholy nature, and even easing the ache in her head.
As she neared the drawing room, she heard familiar laughter, but so intent was she on her joy that she failed to realize it wasn't her brother.
A footman stepped forward and opened the door. Maria smiled at him as she passed, stopping short at the sight that met her eyes.
“Richard!” she blurted, inwardly horrified that she'd used his given name and in front of guests.
“Darling,” he replied, his smile so warm that Maria could almost believe he meant the endearment as more than just a show.
As he strode forward to meet her, she caught a glimpse of her smiling brother and sister. They seemed completely comfortable in the duke's company, not at all ill at ease. The realization eased her sudden tension, allowing her to smile at Richard in a way she normally would not have done.
“I am relieved you are well enough to to join us, my dear.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles.
The gesture sent tremors through her but her surprise was too great for her to enjoy the sensation. He never indulged in such outward displays of affection, especially before guests. Why he chose to do so now was baffling.
“Of course, my lord,” she murmured, struggling desperately to retain her ladylike poise.
Tucking her hand into his elbow, Richard leaned close. “Why have you never invited your family to visit?” he chided gently. “I was never more shocked than when I stepped into your father's drawing room to learn that you've not spoken with your family since our wedding, not even a letter. Why?”
Tears gathered in Maria's eyes. “I understood the connection to be severed upon our marriage.”
“Whatever gave you that notion? They are your family. You will need them with you for I am often called away unexpectedly.”
His statement, while true, rang false to Maria's ears. Called away, yes, but business was not the only thing that called Richard from his wife's side. And his excessive concern on the matter caused more suspicion in her mind.
Despite her doubt, his argument was a valid one. She would need her family. She already needed them. Especially if her other, brand new suspicion proved correct.
On that thought, she threw her ladylike training to the four winds and ran across the room to embrace Henry and Eliza. Tears of happiness mingled with tears of heartache, all three faces damp with joy, voices chattering away.
So caught up was Maria in their reunion, she failed to notice the duke leave the room, his shoulders slumped in weary resignation.
By Jaimey Grant (Stormy~Family~Holidays)
Any courage Maria had felt before finding Richard's compass disappeared. Her husband's mistress was in the habit of buying him gifts. Maria may not have been very knowledgeable in the ways of a duke and his mistress but she was fairly certain this was not usual behavior.
Did Richard buy gifts for Lady Hensley with Maria's money? The horrifying thought took up permanent residence in Maria's mind. There was no way for her to find out. The money her father settled on her became her husband's the moment they'd married. What he did with it was his business.
Maria's melancholy kept her to her bed, thunder pounding through her brain while a storm roiled in her middle.
“Your grace? Milady?”
Maria stirred, opening her puffy eyes and raising tear-stained cheeks to her concerned maid, Colette.
“Oh, mistress,” the maid sighed.
“Leave me, Colette,” Maria ordered, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes.
Colette's pretty features hardened. “No, I refuse,” she said roundly, yanking the coverlet from her mistress's determined grasp. “You must rise, madam. How shall you win him if you hide away?”
Shock snapped Maria's eyes open and brought her to a sitting position. “What did you say?” she asked, stunned and angry at the woman's audacity. She'd never felt such overwhelming rage and the fact that it stemmed from embarrassment mattered not at all. Servants did not speak so to their employers. Not if they valued their employ.
Colette squared her shoulders, hands on her hips. Her dark eyes flashed but she said nothing, letting her defiant stance speak for her.
So even her personal servant viewed her as unworthy of the respect due a true lady. Maria's anger dissipated, replaced with the usual calm acceptance for which she was well known. The same calm acceptance that saw her through a wedding to a near-stranger and thrust into a new life amongst people who neither liked nor understood her.
The same calm that masked her love for her husband and the pain of knowing he kept a mistress.
“You overstep yourself,” she warned Colette, her returned calm allowing her training to regain its hold on her emotions.
“Yes, madam,” Colette said, her servile air belied by a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Will madam wear the emerald velvet with the gold piping?”
“Yes, madam will, you impertinent girl. I've half a mind to turn you off for your behavior.”
“You never would,” Colette said confidently as she prepared a bath for her mistress before the fire. “What other French lady's maid would work for the upstart duchess?”
“Is that what they call me?” It was possible, Maria supposed. Richard had been the Season's prize; handsome, titled, and in possession of a very desirable property, he was every young debutante's dream husband.
And he was kind. He treated Maria with respect and gentleness.
No doubt he treated Lady Hensley the same.
On that singularly melancholy thought, Maria fell back on the bed. How could she possibly coerce her husband away from a woman of Lady Hensley's charms? She knew how to go about in Society and, despite her reputation, enjoyed Society's approval.
“You are more of a lady than any title can produce,” Maria heard as Colette left the chamber.
Pleased that her maid, at least, approved of her, Maria allowed a tiny smile to emerge. One that quickly disappeared a moment later as her thoughts returned to her absent husband.
Society had left for country estates and house parties several weeks ago. Only a few families remained in Town. Maria had decided against attending Lady Hensley's ball, the knowledge that the woman stayed while Richard went enough to appease her agitation.
“Madam!”
The groan that emerged from Maria's throat was neither ladylike nor voluntary. But it was heartfelt. Her stomach protested, the storm within building until Maria gasped, diving for the chamberpot beneath her bed. The maid was before her, holding her hair while Maria cast up her accounts. The moment passed, leaving Maria weak and feeling more melancholy than ever. Tears sprang to her eyes but she refused to let them fall.
“Leave me be, Colette. Let me die in peace.”
“Nonsense!” the maid scoffed. “One does not die from your malady. Now, rise and dress, madam. You have guests.”
Images of supercilious ladies and leering gentlemen filled Maria's mind. Surely no one else would deign to call on the upstart duchess. Cracking one eye, she asked, “Who?”
“Madam's sister and brother are waiting in the drawing room.”
Despite the weakness in her stomach, Maria came out of the bed like a shot. “Why ever did you not say so?” In the blink of an eye, she'd bathed and dressed, sitting impatiently while Colette pomaded and piled her blond curls on her head.
She missed her family. She missed her father's gruff affection, her termagant mother whose love wasn't always on display, and her younger brothers and sisters with all their chatter and merriment. She missed the loud holidays with aunts, uncles, and cousins. She missed taking for granted that she was loved.
Marrying a duke raised her up socially but coming from a family in trade resulted in her feeling like a fish on dry land.
“Beautiful,” Colette breathed, stepping back. “Madam is ready.”
But madam had already left the room.
Maria smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since Richard left. Her brother and sister—no doubt Henry and Eliza as they were the oldest of her siblings—had come to visit her, despite the social gulf that now existed between them. Joy flowed through her, erasing any lingering thoughts of a melancholy nature, and even easing the ache in her head.
As she neared the drawing room, she heard familiar laughter, but so intent was she on her joy that she failed to realize it wasn't her brother.
A footman stepped forward and opened the door. Maria smiled at him as she passed, stopping short at the sight that met her eyes.
“Richard!” she blurted, inwardly horrified that she'd used his given name and in front of guests.
“Darling,” he replied, his smile so warm that Maria could almost believe he meant the endearment as more than just a show.
As he strode forward to meet her, she caught a glimpse of her smiling brother and sister. They seemed completely comfortable in the duke's company, not at all ill at ease. The realization eased her sudden tension, allowing her to smile at Richard in a way she normally would not have done.
“I am relieved you are well enough to to join us, my dear.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles.
The gesture sent tremors through her but her surprise was too great for her to enjoy the sensation. He never indulged in such outward displays of affection, especially before guests. Why he chose to do so now was baffling.
“Of course, my lord,” she murmured, struggling desperately to retain her ladylike poise.
Tucking her hand into his elbow, Richard leaned close. “Why have you never invited your family to visit?” he chided gently. “I was never more shocked than when I stepped into your father's drawing room to learn that you've not spoken with your family since our wedding, not even a letter. Why?”
Tears gathered in Maria's eyes. “I understood the connection to be severed upon our marriage.”
“Whatever gave you that notion? They are your family. You will need them with you for I am often called away unexpectedly.”
His statement, while true, rang false to Maria's ears. Called away, yes, but business was not the only thing that called Richard from his wife's side. And his excessive concern on the matter caused more suspicion in her mind.
Despite her doubt, his argument was a valid one. She would need her family. She already needed them. Especially if her other, brand new suspicion proved correct.
On that thought, she threw her ladylike training to the four winds and ran across the room to embrace Henry and Eliza. Tears of happiness mingled with tears of heartache, all three faces damp with joy, voices chattering away.
So caught up was Maria in their reunion, she failed to notice the duke leave the room, his shoulders slumped in weary resignation.
Part 5 (no prompt)
London in the late autumn months may have been nearly devoid of fashionable company, but enough lingered that parties were still a sad crush and a lady was never without an escort during the promenade through Hyde Park. Lady Maria was no exception. Her beauty, grace, conversation, and charm more than made up for her lack of birth. Her marriage to a duke was no deficiency either.
Maria sat in the drawing room, waiting, the very picture of fashionable elegance in her gray and ruby walking dress with a fur-lined pelisse and matching bonnet. Her gray gloves of softest kid and gray and black half boots completed the ensemble, giving Maria the look of a living fashion plate.
Her features were composed, as usual, ladylike contentment masking the very real nerves pulsating just beneath the surface. Maria was doing something she'd never done before.
She was going driving in Hyde Park with a gentleman who was not her husband.
Richard's feelings on the matter were unknown to Maria. But he often took his mistress driving so why shouldn't Maria be allowed to enjoy the same activity?
As if on cue, the drawing room door opened, the butler entering with a morbidly dressed young man following close behind.
He wore nothing but unrelieved black, from the black riband tying back his unfashionably long black hair to the thigh-hugging black leather breeches tucked into black hessian boots. Even his linen was black and the black depths of his eyes revealed a cruelty she'd failed to notice in the dim candle glow of the ballroom where they'd met.
“His grace, the Duke of Derringer,” Jasper intoned, a seldom heard note of disapproval coloring his tone.
Lord Derringer strode forward, bowed over Maria's hand, and pressed a kiss to her gloved fingers. “Are you ready to depart?” he inquired, his tone so bland as to suggest boredom.
“Yes, of course.” Good manners dictated that she not keep his horses standing longer than absolutely necessary.
Maria's maid entered, sidling around the duke with wide eyes. She held out a pretty ruby velvet driving cape, saying, “You best dress warm, madam. There's a shocking chill in the air.”
The maid's statement and disapproving glare in Derringer's direction earned her a wide smile from that young man. It was the most human expression Maria had seen from him and it brought her much relief. She'd begun to wonder at her decision in accepting his invitation.
Moments later, Lord Derringer helped her into his open carriage. Maria sat stiffly, never fully comfortable on such a high perch as offered by the phaeton.
The daily promenade through Hyde Park was still a well-attended event, despite the lateness of the year. It didn't take long for Maria to note the curious stares and whispers behind gloved hands.
“If you wished to elicit jealousy from your husband, you have succeeded,” came the deep voice of her escort.
“One cannot be made jealous when one does not care,” Maria stated firmly, anger vying with sadness in her breast.
Derringer's answering chuckle was neither kind nor amusing. It had a cruel edge that made Maria's gloved fingers clench as she shot him a sidelong glance around her bonnet's brim.
“One need not care for one's property,” he continued, “in order to care that another man not touch said property.”
Shocked, Maria turned her head to better see her infuriating companion. He gazed back at her, indifferent to the antics his horses decided to get up to with their master's attention elsewhere. Several ladies and gentlemen screamed as the beasts nipped their way through Hyde Park. Maria almost mentioned this when she realized Derringer was well aware of his cattle's bad behavior. Indeed, he seemed quite amused by all of it.
Including her own predicament. What a horrible, horrible man!
With a huff of exasperation, Maria turned forward again, just as Derringer muttered some command to his horses. They settled into perfectly trained, black as sin minions of the devil himself. She stared over the beasts' ears, her eyes not really focusing on anything in particular, while praying for the end of this ill-conceived decision to drive with such an ill-bred gentleman.
“My lady, I've known jealous men. And your husband, despite appearances to the contrary, is a very jealous man.”
“Forgive me if I do not believe you, my lord,” Maria replied stiffly. Shifting to better see him, she added, “What do you know of my husband? And how is my life any concern of yours?”
“I do hate to see a beautiful woman so unappreciated,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Maria distrusted that smile, distrusted the way his eyes slid over her face and continued down her form. What he could determine through her clothing was a mystery to her but instinct warned of the danger she was in.
And when had they wandered off the main thoroughfare? Maria glanced around to find they were relatively secluded, stopped beneath a tree on a little used side path. The horses stamped their impatience to be off again, agitated at their forced inactivity.
“My lord, what—”
But Maria could no longer speak. Lord Derringer's lips silenced hers, giving her no chance to question the wisdom of their having stopped in their current location. The fleeting thought came to her that coal scuttle bonnets were surely invented to protect young women from just such an occurrence but she'd gone with a smaller brimmed bonnet that flattered her features without making it impossible to see what was happening around her. Had she dressed less fashionably, this wouldn't be happening. Then Maria's brain threatened to cease functioning altogether, her whole being caught up in the startling range of emotions elicited by Derringer's assault.
The man was as accomplished as rumor suggested. His kiss seduced her senses, a flutter in her stomach warning that this was not the proper reaction to have when being thoroughly kissed by a man other than one's husband. But Maria had no defense against his onslaught, starved as she was for affection.
One tiny part of her rational mind commanded her to push him away but her hands lay trapped between their bodies. She could feel her heart hammering beneath her ribs, could feel his heart...
And that was really all the knowledge she needed. Lord Derringer was unaffected by their embrace, a horrifying realization to a woman whose only romantic thought previously was taken up with her husband. She was behaving like the veriest slut, melting into the arms of the first man to kiss her.
Before she could shove him away, an icy voice broke through their embrace.
“Unhand my wife!”
Shoving Derringer away, tears started to Maria's eyes. All the air left her lungs, her vision growing black around the edges. She refused to give into the blessed relief a good faint would bring, however. She must face her husband, face her escort, and fix the mess she'd manage to create.
Noticing her husband, though approaching quickly, was still some distance away, she whispered, “You knew he was in the park. How could you?”
He shrugged. “There is so little entertainment. One must make merry where one may.”
“You trifle with me for fun?” Unable to comprehend such behavior, such complete disregard for another person's feelings, she could only stare at him, praying for a miracle to rescue her from the situation she'd managed to embroil herself in. Why, oh why, hadn't she listened to the rumors surrounding this man?
While her husband catching her in the arms of another man was hardly the stuff of miracles, Maria decided to take whatever rescue she was given.
Richard rode up beside them, his normally sunny expression darkened with an intense anger that Maria had never before experienced. Trembling inside, she forced a smile. Appearing guilty would only worsen matters and they were in public. Indeed, a crowd gathered even as they sat there, all staring at each other.
“I wish to return home, Richard,” she said so only her husband could hear. She dared much using his given name in a public setting but her emotions were not up to prevarication at the moment and Maria only wanted her husband's understanding, his forgiveness.
Forgiveness seemed the last thing on Richard's mind. Turning his attention to Lord Derringer, he leaned closer and said, “Name your seconds, Hart.”
“Really, Richard? You'd duel me? I don't lose but I do kill. Would you take the chance over a strumpet dressed as a lady? Simply because she's your wife?”
Oh heavens. They were on a first-name basis. How could Maria have missed that they knew each other? Two young dukes would surely be acquainted. And what did he call her?! A strumpet?
Maria's temper snapped. Drawing back her fist, she punched the Duke of Derringer. Her blow caught him off guard, knocking his hat from his head where it rolled under the horses' hooves. They happily stomped it into the ground.
The gentlemen didn't move, their shocked expressions saying far more than any words could convey. Reining in her simmering temper, Maria turned her now composed face to her husband where he still sat, stunned, atop his horse.
“I would like to return home, my lord.”
Regardless of propriety, Richard nodded, and reaching over, swept her up into his arms to sit before him on the horse. Winded, Maria couldn't speak. It had been weeks since she'd been this close to her husband and that had been...
Her face flamed at the memory. Stamping it down, she refused to glance up at Richard, but in avoiding his gaze, she caught Derringer's. The man winked at her with the eye she'd just recently done her best to black for him. Of all the insufferable, irritating—!
“My seconds will call on you, Hart. You must answer for this insult, make no mistake.”
Maria sat in the drawing room, waiting, the very picture of fashionable elegance in her gray and ruby walking dress with a fur-lined pelisse and matching bonnet. Her gray gloves of softest kid and gray and black half boots completed the ensemble, giving Maria the look of a living fashion plate.
Her features were composed, as usual, ladylike contentment masking the very real nerves pulsating just beneath the surface. Maria was doing something she'd never done before.
She was going driving in Hyde Park with a gentleman who was not her husband.
Richard's feelings on the matter were unknown to Maria. But he often took his mistress driving so why shouldn't Maria be allowed to enjoy the same activity?
As if on cue, the drawing room door opened, the butler entering with a morbidly dressed young man following close behind.
He wore nothing but unrelieved black, from the black riband tying back his unfashionably long black hair to the thigh-hugging black leather breeches tucked into black hessian boots. Even his linen was black and the black depths of his eyes revealed a cruelty she'd failed to notice in the dim candle glow of the ballroom where they'd met.
“His grace, the Duke of Derringer,” Jasper intoned, a seldom heard note of disapproval coloring his tone.
Lord Derringer strode forward, bowed over Maria's hand, and pressed a kiss to her gloved fingers. “Are you ready to depart?” he inquired, his tone so bland as to suggest boredom.
“Yes, of course.” Good manners dictated that she not keep his horses standing longer than absolutely necessary.
Maria's maid entered, sidling around the duke with wide eyes. She held out a pretty ruby velvet driving cape, saying, “You best dress warm, madam. There's a shocking chill in the air.”
The maid's statement and disapproving glare in Derringer's direction earned her a wide smile from that young man. It was the most human expression Maria had seen from him and it brought her much relief. She'd begun to wonder at her decision in accepting his invitation.
Moments later, Lord Derringer helped her into his open carriage. Maria sat stiffly, never fully comfortable on such a high perch as offered by the phaeton.
The daily promenade through Hyde Park was still a well-attended event, despite the lateness of the year. It didn't take long for Maria to note the curious stares and whispers behind gloved hands.
“If you wished to elicit jealousy from your husband, you have succeeded,” came the deep voice of her escort.
“One cannot be made jealous when one does not care,” Maria stated firmly, anger vying with sadness in her breast.
Derringer's answering chuckle was neither kind nor amusing. It had a cruel edge that made Maria's gloved fingers clench as she shot him a sidelong glance around her bonnet's brim.
“One need not care for one's property,” he continued, “in order to care that another man not touch said property.”
Shocked, Maria turned her head to better see her infuriating companion. He gazed back at her, indifferent to the antics his horses decided to get up to with their master's attention elsewhere. Several ladies and gentlemen screamed as the beasts nipped their way through Hyde Park. Maria almost mentioned this when she realized Derringer was well aware of his cattle's bad behavior. Indeed, he seemed quite amused by all of it.
Including her own predicament. What a horrible, horrible man!
With a huff of exasperation, Maria turned forward again, just as Derringer muttered some command to his horses. They settled into perfectly trained, black as sin minions of the devil himself. She stared over the beasts' ears, her eyes not really focusing on anything in particular, while praying for the end of this ill-conceived decision to drive with such an ill-bred gentleman.
“My lady, I've known jealous men. And your husband, despite appearances to the contrary, is a very jealous man.”
“Forgive me if I do not believe you, my lord,” Maria replied stiffly. Shifting to better see him, she added, “What do you know of my husband? And how is my life any concern of yours?”
“I do hate to see a beautiful woman so unappreciated,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Maria distrusted that smile, distrusted the way his eyes slid over her face and continued down her form. What he could determine through her clothing was a mystery to her but instinct warned of the danger she was in.
And when had they wandered off the main thoroughfare? Maria glanced around to find they were relatively secluded, stopped beneath a tree on a little used side path. The horses stamped their impatience to be off again, agitated at their forced inactivity.
“My lord, what—”
But Maria could no longer speak. Lord Derringer's lips silenced hers, giving her no chance to question the wisdom of their having stopped in their current location. The fleeting thought came to her that coal scuttle bonnets were surely invented to protect young women from just such an occurrence but she'd gone with a smaller brimmed bonnet that flattered her features without making it impossible to see what was happening around her. Had she dressed less fashionably, this wouldn't be happening. Then Maria's brain threatened to cease functioning altogether, her whole being caught up in the startling range of emotions elicited by Derringer's assault.
The man was as accomplished as rumor suggested. His kiss seduced her senses, a flutter in her stomach warning that this was not the proper reaction to have when being thoroughly kissed by a man other than one's husband. But Maria had no defense against his onslaught, starved as she was for affection.
One tiny part of her rational mind commanded her to push him away but her hands lay trapped between their bodies. She could feel her heart hammering beneath her ribs, could feel his heart...
And that was really all the knowledge she needed. Lord Derringer was unaffected by their embrace, a horrifying realization to a woman whose only romantic thought previously was taken up with her husband. She was behaving like the veriest slut, melting into the arms of the first man to kiss her.
Before she could shove him away, an icy voice broke through their embrace.
“Unhand my wife!”
Shoving Derringer away, tears started to Maria's eyes. All the air left her lungs, her vision growing black around the edges. She refused to give into the blessed relief a good faint would bring, however. She must face her husband, face her escort, and fix the mess she'd manage to create.
Noticing her husband, though approaching quickly, was still some distance away, she whispered, “You knew he was in the park. How could you?”
He shrugged. “There is so little entertainment. One must make merry where one may.”
“You trifle with me for fun?” Unable to comprehend such behavior, such complete disregard for another person's feelings, she could only stare at him, praying for a miracle to rescue her from the situation she'd managed to embroil herself in. Why, oh why, hadn't she listened to the rumors surrounding this man?
While her husband catching her in the arms of another man was hardly the stuff of miracles, Maria decided to take whatever rescue she was given.
Richard rode up beside them, his normally sunny expression darkened with an intense anger that Maria had never before experienced. Trembling inside, she forced a smile. Appearing guilty would only worsen matters and they were in public. Indeed, a crowd gathered even as they sat there, all staring at each other.
“I wish to return home, Richard,” she said so only her husband could hear. She dared much using his given name in a public setting but her emotions were not up to prevarication at the moment and Maria only wanted her husband's understanding, his forgiveness.
Forgiveness seemed the last thing on Richard's mind. Turning his attention to Lord Derringer, he leaned closer and said, “Name your seconds, Hart.”
“Really, Richard? You'd duel me? I don't lose but I do kill. Would you take the chance over a strumpet dressed as a lady? Simply because she's your wife?”
Oh heavens. They were on a first-name basis. How could Maria have missed that they knew each other? Two young dukes would surely be acquainted. And what did he call her?! A strumpet?
Maria's temper snapped. Drawing back her fist, she punched the Duke of Derringer. Her blow caught him off guard, knocking his hat from his head where it rolled under the horses' hooves. They happily stomped it into the ground.
The gentlemen didn't move, their shocked expressions saying far more than any words could convey. Reining in her simmering temper, Maria turned her now composed face to her husband where he still sat, stunned, atop his horse.
“I would like to return home, my lord.”
Regardless of propriety, Richard nodded, and reaching over, swept her up into his arms to sit before him on the horse. Winded, Maria couldn't speak. It had been weeks since she'd been this close to her husband and that had been...
Her face flamed at the memory. Stamping it down, she refused to glance up at Richard, but in avoiding his gaze, she caught Derringer's. The man winked at her with the eye she'd just recently done her best to black for him. Of all the insufferable, irritating—!
“My seconds will call on you, Hart. You must answer for this insult, make no mistake.”
Part 7 (no prompt)
If you've not read part 6, you can find it HERE. The link will open in a new window or tab, depending on your browser settings.
The exquisite gown of black watered silk boasted fifty perfectly matched black pearl buttons marching down the back. Jet beads and more black pearls decorated the high-waisted bodice, glinting in the light of no less than a dozen beeswax candles. Matching jet beads encircled the pale ivory throat and adorned the honey gold locks of the gown's wearer.
Lady Maria slid her feet out of matching black satin slippers, frowning at the jet beads winking from the toes. How she hated jet. She always had.
Mourning was a terrible thing. It sapped all the strength from one's limbs, weakened the mind, and shattered the heart. It killed as surely as any bullet. And Maria mourned. Oh, how she mourned.
As deadly as grief was guilt. The guilt lodged forever in Maria's heart, a lead weight where once love reigned.
Colette entered the room, her presence a mere wisp in Maria's grief-clouded consciousness. When the maid moved to help her undress, she shied away, one small hand raised, an odd defensive reaction.
“Leave me,” Maria ordered, voice heavy with unshed tears. “See that my mother is comfortable.”
Colette dipped her head but hesitated. Meeting Maria's eyes, she said, “I am deeply sorry, madam, for your loss.” And she fled before she disgraced herself with tears of her own.
Maria collapsed. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hugging herself and rocking in a pool of shimmery black. The faceted jet beads on her bodice cut into the delicate flesh of her arms, into the barely healed cut on her wrist.
She ignored the pain and the fresh welling of blood. Didn't she deserve a little pain for what she had done?
Tears soon dotted the black fabric. Her heart hurt, lodged so tight against her ribs as if trying to escape the pain in her mind and body. Oh, how she longed for her father's comforting embrace! How many times in her childhood had he spared a moment to draw her close to his heart when she was sad?
Rage tore through her chest, stopping her lungs mid-gasp. Her fingers clenched, digging into her shoulders, the sharp jet gouging her palms.
The slash in her wrist began to throb, reminding her that this was all her fault. No one was to blame but her.
She should have remembered her place. The duke's wife, submissive, complacent, content to bear his children, manage his home and decorate his arm. Accepting. Demure.
She should have turned a blind eye to her husband's affairs, done as the other Society matrons and pretended Richard's mistress didn't exist.
Had she behaved as a true lady ought and not as the ill-trained daughter of a Cit that she actually was, she'd never have sought to make her husband jealous. She'd never have gone driving with Lord Derringer and Richard would never have challenged that heartless rake to a duel.
And Maria wouldn't have sliced her wrist in a hair-brained attempt to stop the duel. And then...
Grief slammed into the guilt, a fresh wave of tears seeping from Maria's tightly closed eyes. Her arms tightened around her body, as if she could give herself the comfort she so desperately needed.
And then he was there.
“Maria.”
The deep whisper shivered through her mind, calling her from the whirlpool of desolation into which she'd plunged. Her heart stuttered. She so badly wanted to hear his voice and did not trust her sleep-deprived, grief-stricken mind to tell her the truth.
But opening her eyes would only prove he wasn't there, that she was alone. So she squeezed them tighter and prayed with all her might, prayed he was real, he was there, that the past days hadn't happened at all.
Strong fingers covered her hand, gently easing her grip until her fingers were enclosed in his. She felt him ease down beside her, unwinding her stiffening arms from around her body. And then he drew her close to his heart and whispered, “You are not to blame, my love.”
The grief in Maria's heart eased the slightest bit at the tender words. She opened her eyes and drew strength from the man who held her.
“I miss him,” she whispered.
“I know. As do I.” His concerned gaze fell to her wrist. He frowned at the blood. “You've done fresh damage. Let me call your maid.”
“No, don't! Please, Richard.”
Richard eased back down and held her as tight as he could without hurting her. He let her cry into his once-immaculate cravat, twist her fingers into the black silk of his waistcoat. What did an immaculate appearance matter when one's wife grieved for the loss of her beloved father?
The exquisite gown of black watered silk boasted fifty perfectly matched black pearl buttons marching down the back. Jet beads and more black pearls decorated the high-waisted bodice, glinting in the light of no less than a dozen beeswax candles. Matching jet beads encircled the pale ivory throat and adorned the honey gold locks of the gown's wearer.
Lady Maria slid her feet out of matching black satin slippers, frowning at the jet beads winking from the toes. How she hated jet. She always had.
Mourning was a terrible thing. It sapped all the strength from one's limbs, weakened the mind, and shattered the heart. It killed as surely as any bullet. And Maria mourned. Oh, how she mourned.
As deadly as grief was guilt. The guilt lodged forever in Maria's heart, a lead weight where once love reigned.
Colette entered the room, her presence a mere wisp in Maria's grief-clouded consciousness. When the maid moved to help her undress, she shied away, one small hand raised, an odd defensive reaction.
“Leave me,” Maria ordered, voice heavy with unshed tears. “See that my mother is comfortable.”
Colette dipped her head but hesitated. Meeting Maria's eyes, she said, “I am deeply sorry, madam, for your loss.” And she fled before she disgraced herself with tears of her own.
Maria collapsed. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hugging herself and rocking in a pool of shimmery black. The faceted jet beads on her bodice cut into the delicate flesh of her arms, into the barely healed cut on her wrist.
She ignored the pain and the fresh welling of blood. Didn't she deserve a little pain for what she had done?
Tears soon dotted the black fabric. Her heart hurt, lodged so tight against her ribs as if trying to escape the pain in her mind and body. Oh, how she longed for her father's comforting embrace! How many times in her childhood had he spared a moment to draw her close to his heart when she was sad?
Rage tore through her chest, stopping her lungs mid-gasp. Her fingers clenched, digging into her shoulders, the sharp jet gouging her palms.
The slash in her wrist began to throb, reminding her that this was all her fault. No one was to blame but her.
She should have remembered her place. The duke's wife, submissive, complacent, content to bear his children, manage his home and decorate his arm. Accepting. Demure.
She should have turned a blind eye to her husband's affairs, done as the other Society matrons and pretended Richard's mistress didn't exist.
Had she behaved as a true lady ought and not as the ill-trained daughter of a Cit that she actually was, she'd never have sought to make her husband jealous. She'd never have gone driving with Lord Derringer and Richard would never have challenged that heartless rake to a duel.
And Maria wouldn't have sliced her wrist in a hair-brained attempt to stop the duel. And then...
Grief slammed into the guilt, a fresh wave of tears seeping from Maria's tightly closed eyes. Her arms tightened around her body, as if she could give herself the comfort she so desperately needed.
And then he was there.
“Maria.”
The deep whisper shivered through her mind, calling her from the whirlpool of desolation into which she'd plunged. Her heart stuttered. She so badly wanted to hear his voice and did not trust her sleep-deprived, grief-stricken mind to tell her the truth.
But opening her eyes would only prove he wasn't there, that she was alone. So she squeezed them tighter and prayed with all her might, prayed he was real, he was there, that the past days hadn't happened at all.
Strong fingers covered her hand, gently easing her grip until her fingers were enclosed in his. She felt him ease down beside her, unwinding her stiffening arms from around her body. And then he drew her close to his heart and whispered, “You are not to blame, my love.”
The grief in Maria's heart eased the slightest bit at the tender words. She opened her eyes and drew strength from the man who held her.
“I miss him,” she whispered.
“I know. As do I.” His concerned gaze fell to her wrist. He frowned at the blood. “You've done fresh damage. Let me call your maid.”
“No, don't! Please, Richard.”
Richard eased back down and held her as tight as he could without hurting her. He let her cry into his once-immaculate cravat, twist her fingers into the black silk of his waistcoat. What did an immaculate appearance matter when one's wife grieved for the loss of her beloved father?
Part 9 (no prompt)
If you have not read Part 8, it can be found HERE. (Link will open a new tab or window depending on your browser settings.)
“I do not care for her. I do not care for her at all.”
Richard's mouth fell open, golden eyes widening until they'd surely pop. Maria inwardly cringed, but refused to recant her opinion. A lady didn't express such an opinion, not to her husband, and certainly not about her husband's mistress.
“You do not care for Lady Felicia Hensley?” His bland tone told her nothing. He stood before her, the very picture of an elegant gentleman preparing for a day's ride in buckskins, frock coat, and topboots.
One brow lifted as the silence stretched. “Well?”
In the months since they married Maria had come to know her husband well. She'd come up in the world through her marriage, rising from the daughter of a tradesman to the wife of a duke. There were pitfalls and Maria encountered most of them.
Her husband's mistress was the worst of those pitfalls. Feigning ignorance was the accepted response in Society. Maria turned a blind eye for as long as she could. Now, a year after their marriage, her considerable forbearing had run out.
“I do not care for her company,” she repeated, raising her chin a notch. “She offends my sensibilities.”
His bark of laughter jarred her, sending a shock through her bulging middle. Her hand came to rest there, flutters from inside confirming the baby's discontent.
Richard strode over, dropping to one knee before her. “I am sorry, my love. I should not have reacted so.” His cheeks dimpled, eyes dancing as he squeezed her clenched fingers. “You simply looked so... so...”
“What?”
“Grand Dame!” he laughed.
The urge to slap the smile from his face rose up to tempt her. But Maria was not so lost to propriety as to strike her own husband.
“I see,” she murmured, extracting her hands and rising. “I am pleased to have entertained you, my lord.”
“Oh, come now, my love. Do not take on so,” he entreated, rising as she did. “I was merely jesting. Does my son cause so much discontent that you can no longer find amusement in that which is amusing?”
“What one finds amusing another may not,” she muttered, caring for his idea of a joke not at all. “My daughter has nothing to do with what I find amusing.”
“Our daughter or son,” he told her, reaching for her fists. “Son or daughter, Maria, this child is ours. I tease and I am a beast to do so.”
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, sending a warm rush through her veins. His next words splashed icy water over her flesh.
“My relationship with Lady Felicia is my business.” His tone brooked no argument.
Maria withdrew her hand again, and this time she was allowed to keep it. “Then I apologize for stepping beyond the bounds of propriety to indicate my selfish discontent, your grace,” she uttered in freezing accents.
“There's no need to—”
“What, your grace? Address you properly, your grace? As the daughter of a tradesman it is only correct that I address you with the utmost formality, your grace.” She was unable to stop the sharp edge in her tone. “Will there be anything else, your grace?”
Thunderclouds gathered on Richard's brow. “Maria!”
“Forgive me, your grace, if I am ignorant of the ways of a proper lady. My upbringing was less than ideal.” The words choked her but she forced them out, tears gathering in her eyes. “If you'll excuse me, I must make sure all the preparations are in order for this evening's entertainment.” She moved away from him, gathering her skirt about her as if afraid of contamination.
“Maria!” Richard's voice snapped out, disbelief warring with anger in his tawny eyes.
Maria considered walking out but thought better of it. She met her husband's eyes, regarding him as impassively as she could manage. Clasping her hands together until her fingers lost all feeling, she said nothing. She would not cry, she would not apologize, and she would not let him see how much his need for a mistress hurt her.
But Richard seemed unsure what to say in the face of her stoic resolve. When a full minute passed with nothing said, she bobbed a subservient little curtsy and made her escape.
***
It was nothing more than a small soirée for a few close friends. Richard's friends, of course. Twenty guests, in acknowledgment of Lady Felicia Hensley's engagement to the aging Lord Roth. Good breeding did not allow for a larger celebration, in light of the passing of Maria's father only months prior.
Rage congealed Maria's blood. How could Richard ask this of her? How could he expect her to not only entertain his mistress but to entertain in her honor?
And for the first time, as she saw a lady whisper to another lady, fans raised to hide their mouths and both pairs of eyes locked on Maria, she wondered what was being said about her. What did the other wives say about the upstart duchess whose husband made her entertain his mistress? That it was no more than she deserved?
Shaking off the lowering thought, Maria lifted her chin, determined more than ever to feign indifference.
Her resolve faltered a second later when Lady Felicia paused beside her. “My dear Maria, I am so grateful to you for this little gathering.” Her gaze swept the room. “It is all so beautiful, far more than I deserve.”
“It was the least I could do, my lady,” Maria murmured, dipping her head to acknowledge the praise. How she agreed with the lady's assessment! Felicia Hensley most certainly did not deserve Maria's time or effort.
When Lady Felicia did not move on, Maria's heart sank. Must the woman rub the open wound with her acid presence? Must she make Maria the laughingstock of London?
One protective hand crept to her middle. The baby sensed its mother's agitation, turning this way and that in Maria's rounded belly. She knew such a display of her pregnancy was frowned upon but Maria was quite sure it was the last thing Society cared about when her husband's mistress stood at her side.
“The child moves?”
Maria's eyes shot to Lady Felicia's. “Yes, very much.”
“It is your upset that causes it. The baby does not care for it.”
Her matter-of-fact tone incited Maria's curiosity. “Indeed. You speak as though from experience, my lady. Have you children of your own?”
Lady Felicia's dark beauty lit up from within. “I do, indeed, my lady. They are my treasures. It is for them I marry Lord Roth, to give them the security they deserve.”
Maria didn't know what to think of such a confession. Did Felicia love Richard so much that she would settle for an aging lord? The question perched on the tip of Maria's tongue, begging to be asked. But her ladylike upbringing dove to the rescue.
“I was unaware you have children,” she murmured, watching the dancers and avoiding Lady Felicia's too sharp gaze. “Do they favor you? Or their father?”
“Their father, bless their little hearts,” she laughed. “I would not wish my delicate features on any male.”
But who was their father? Maria wanted to ask. Her fingers curled into her palms, her deepest desire in that moment to know once and for all just what Felicia and Richard meant to each other. The need to know shivered through her, winding through her veins and into her brain. She had to know, had to ask--
“Are you my husband's mistress?”
She'd spoken much louder than she'd intended. All sound ceased. Whispers ended on many gasps, the swishing of skirts crescendoed and silenced as all bodies spun to face Lady Maria. Even the band stopped playing, one discordant note echoing through the chamber.
If only the floor would open up and swallow her, Maria thought. Knowing such a thing for the pipe dream it was, she braced herself for the aftermath of her careless exclamation.
“My lady, I beg your—”
Her words ended in a pained squeak. Richard grasped her arm none to gently, his lips nearly touching her ear. “That was very poor form, my love.” He leaned away, pulling her arm through his and raising his voice just enough to be heard by everyone gathered there. “I think the heat overwhelms you, my dear. Perhaps a breath of fresh air will put you to rights.”
As Richard led her away, Maria caught a glimpse of Lady Felicia Hensley's face. Pity and a tiny glimmer of something else colored her dark eyes.
It was all the confirmation Maria needed. Her stomach clenched, pain blossoming behind her eyes. Darkness rimmed her vision and before she'd made it from the chamber, she collapsed into Richard's arms.
“I do not care for her. I do not care for her at all.”
Richard's mouth fell open, golden eyes widening until they'd surely pop. Maria inwardly cringed, but refused to recant her opinion. A lady didn't express such an opinion, not to her husband, and certainly not about her husband's mistress.
“You do not care for Lady Felicia Hensley?” His bland tone told her nothing. He stood before her, the very picture of an elegant gentleman preparing for a day's ride in buckskins, frock coat, and topboots.
One brow lifted as the silence stretched. “Well?”
In the months since they married Maria had come to know her husband well. She'd come up in the world through her marriage, rising from the daughter of a tradesman to the wife of a duke. There were pitfalls and Maria encountered most of them.
Her husband's mistress was the worst of those pitfalls. Feigning ignorance was the accepted response in Society. Maria turned a blind eye for as long as she could. Now, a year after their marriage, her considerable forbearing had run out.
“I do not care for her company,” she repeated, raising her chin a notch. “She offends my sensibilities.”
His bark of laughter jarred her, sending a shock through her bulging middle. Her hand came to rest there, flutters from inside confirming the baby's discontent.
Richard strode over, dropping to one knee before her. “I am sorry, my love. I should not have reacted so.” His cheeks dimpled, eyes dancing as he squeezed her clenched fingers. “You simply looked so... so...”
“What?”
“Grand Dame!” he laughed.
The urge to slap the smile from his face rose up to tempt her. But Maria was not so lost to propriety as to strike her own husband.
“I see,” she murmured, extracting her hands and rising. “I am pleased to have entertained you, my lord.”
“Oh, come now, my love. Do not take on so,” he entreated, rising as she did. “I was merely jesting. Does my son cause so much discontent that you can no longer find amusement in that which is amusing?”
“What one finds amusing another may not,” she muttered, caring for his idea of a joke not at all. “My daughter has nothing to do with what I find amusing.”
“Our daughter or son,” he told her, reaching for her fists. “Son or daughter, Maria, this child is ours. I tease and I am a beast to do so.”
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, sending a warm rush through her veins. His next words splashed icy water over her flesh.
“My relationship with Lady Felicia is my business.” His tone brooked no argument.
Maria withdrew her hand again, and this time she was allowed to keep it. “Then I apologize for stepping beyond the bounds of propriety to indicate my selfish discontent, your grace,” she uttered in freezing accents.
“There's no need to—”
“What, your grace? Address you properly, your grace? As the daughter of a tradesman it is only correct that I address you with the utmost formality, your grace.” She was unable to stop the sharp edge in her tone. “Will there be anything else, your grace?”
Thunderclouds gathered on Richard's brow. “Maria!”
“Forgive me, your grace, if I am ignorant of the ways of a proper lady. My upbringing was less than ideal.” The words choked her but she forced them out, tears gathering in her eyes. “If you'll excuse me, I must make sure all the preparations are in order for this evening's entertainment.” She moved away from him, gathering her skirt about her as if afraid of contamination.
“Maria!” Richard's voice snapped out, disbelief warring with anger in his tawny eyes.
Maria considered walking out but thought better of it. She met her husband's eyes, regarding him as impassively as she could manage. Clasping her hands together until her fingers lost all feeling, she said nothing. She would not cry, she would not apologize, and she would not let him see how much his need for a mistress hurt her.
But Richard seemed unsure what to say in the face of her stoic resolve. When a full minute passed with nothing said, she bobbed a subservient little curtsy and made her escape.
***
It was nothing more than a small soirée for a few close friends. Richard's friends, of course. Twenty guests, in acknowledgment of Lady Felicia Hensley's engagement to the aging Lord Roth. Good breeding did not allow for a larger celebration, in light of the passing of Maria's father only months prior.
Rage congealed Maria's blood. How could Richard ask this of her? How could he expect her to not only entertain his mistress but to entertain in her honor?
And for the first time, as she saw a lady whisper to another lady, fans raised to hide their mouths and both pairs of eyes locked on Maria, she wondered what was being said about her. What did the other wives say about the upstart duchess whose husband made her entertain his mistress? That it was no more than she deserved?
Shaking off the lowering thought, Maria lifted her chin, determined more than ever to feign indifference.
Her resolve faltered a second later when Lady Felicia paused beside her. “My dear Maria, I am so grateful to you for this little gathering.” Her gaze swept the room. “It is all so beautiful, far more than I deserve.”
“It was the least I could do, my lady,” Maria murmured, dipping her head to acknowledge the praise. How she agreed with the lady's assessment! Felicia Hensley most certainly did not deserve Maria's time or effort.
When Lady Felicia did not move on, Maria's heart sank. Must the woman rub the open wound with her acid presence? Must she make Maria the laughingstock of London?
One protective hand crept to her middle. The baby sensed its mother's agitation, turning this way and that in Maria's rounded belly. She knew such a display of her pregnancy was frowned upon but Maria was quite sure it was the last thing Society cared about when her husband's mistress stood at her side.
“The child moves?”
Maria's eyes shot to Lady Felicia's. “Yes, very much.”
“It is your upset that causes it. The baby does not care for it.”
Her matter-of-fact tone incited Maria's curiosity. “Indeed. You speak as though from experience, my lady. Have you children of your own?”
Lady Felicia's dark beauty lit up from within. “I do, indeed, my lady. They are my treasures. It is for them I marry Lord Roth, to give them the security they deserve.”
Maria didn't know what to think of such a confession. Did Felicia love Richard so much that she would settle for an aging lord? The question perched on the tip of Maria's tongue, begging to be asked. But her ladylike upbringing dove to the rescue.
“I was unaware you have children,” she murmured, watching the dancers and avoiding Lady Felicia's too sharp gaze. “Do they favor you? Or their father?”
“Their father, bless their little hearts,” she laughed. “I would not wish my delicate features on any male.”
But who was their father? Maria wanted to ask. Her fingers curled into her palms, her deepest desire in that moment to know once and for all just what Felicia and Richard meant to each other. The need to know shivered through her, winding through her veins and into her brain. She had to know, had to ask--
“Are you my husband's mistress?”
She'd spoken much louder than she'd intended. All sound ceased. Whispers ended on many gasps, the swishing of skirts crescendoed and silenced as all bodies spun to face Lady Maria. Even the band stopped playing, one discordant note echoing through the chamber.
If only the floor would open up and swallow her, Maria thought. Knowing such a thing for the pipe dream it was, she braced herself for the aftermath of her careless exclamation.
“My lady, I beg your—”
Her words ended in a pained squeak. Richard grasped her arm none to gently, his lips nearly touching her ear. “That was very poor form, my love.” He leaned away, pulling her arm through his and raising his voice just enough to be heard by everyone gathered there. “I think the heat overwhelms you, my dear. Perhaps a breath of fresh air will put you to rights.”
As Richard led her away, Maria caught a glimpse of Lady Felicia Hensley's face. Pity and a tiny glimmer of something else colored her dark eyes.
It was all the confirmation Maria needed. Her stomach clenched, pain blossoming behind her eyes. Darkness rimmed her vision and before she'd made it from the chamber, she collapsed into Richard's arms.
My Lady Coward © 2011-2012 Laura J Miller (Jaimey Grant). All Rights Reserved. No portion of the above may be reproduced without permission from the author.
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