The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“Marcus, we haven’t spoken yet.”

Now he did turn to face her. In a voice that held no passion, no anger, naught of anything she could hear, he said, “I fear I am not up to it now, Duchess. There are things I must think about, things that concern only myself and only my future. Surely you must understand that?”

She was very afraid that she did. The words were choking in her throat, but she couldn’t make herself ask if he was now considering an annulment. She said nothing, merely stared at him in silence until he turned again and strode quickly from the dining room, from her.

11

BADGER TUGGED ON his right earlobe. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He tugged more, then said finally, “Mr. Spears, it worries me nonetheless. We have discussed this and we are in agreement. I understand the need, indeed, but she is very innocent. It was her mother, you see, and the situation she was in. She was a mistress, Mr. Spears, and thus her daughter was a bastard. She sought to protect the Duchess, and that, in her mind, meant keeping the girl appallingly ignorant.”

“Mr. Badger, I realize this situation is not one that either of us would wish, but you must stop pulling on your poor earlobe, it’s getting quite raw. The strain these two have created is enough to drive a sane man to immoderate drink, or to yanking at his earlobe. Would you like a brandy, perhaps? No? Well then, it must be done and you know it. His lordship just might be seeing to an annulment this very moment. She would be most upset were he to succeed. She is willing to do it. Indeed, she must do it. I will myself ascertain his lordship’s mood this evening before she proceeds.”

“And if he’s in a ripping foul mood?”

“Then, Mr. Badger, she will have no choice but to wait. I wouldn’t trust him with her if it were so.”

“Damned bloody young fool! I should like to snaggle him in an alley and pound that stiff pride out of him.”

Spears sighed. “He is a young man, Mr. Badger. Young and strong and proud and he sees her as the source of all his problems.”

“But she saved him!”

“Yes, but it changes nothing. In his view a man should do the saving, and if he isn’t able to, then no one should, particularly a female.”

“Poor little mite,” Badger said.

“Then she had the gall to inherit that fifty thousand pounds, leaving him in a most humiliating position. An allowance, Mr. Badger, an allowance! For the earl of Chase. Could you think of anything that would belittle him more than that?”

“But none of it was her fault!”

“Certainly not. But she was there, don’t you see? She went from being a harmless bastard to being a legitimate heiress, and the heiress part took all that belonged to him, by right. Ah, it makes no matter what is in his mind. She will do what she must. She always has.”

“She shies from nothing, I’ll say that,” Badger said, rising from the comfortable rocking chair near the fire in Mr. Spears’s sitting chamber. “Well, she shies but she makes herself act.”

“Do let me tell you, Mr. Badger, that the chicken with orange and tarragon was superb.”

Badger nodded, still clearly distracted. “But Mr. Spears, what if he hurts her?”

“She will bear it. And then it will be done.”

The Duchess was wondering if she hadn’t suddenly stepped over the edge of sanity and become quite mad. She paused at the closed door, listening, but hearing nothing.

Was he already asleep? It was just past midnight. If it were a normal night, she certainly would be sleeping by now.

It was a reprieve if he was.

She shook her head. She didn’t want him to be asleep. She wanted him awake and willing. A reprieve would only put it off and she was afraid to put it off. Marcus was unpredictable, he was slippery, she had no idea what he would do and when he would do it. Very quietly, she turned the brass doorknob. The well-oiled door eased open with no betraying creaks or groans. There was a sluggish fire still burning in the fireplace, casting off shadowy light. She stepped quickly into his bedchamber, quietly closing the door behind her. The room was warm, which was a relief, she supposed.

The carpet felt thick and soft beneath her bare feet. She followed the line of his discarded clothing beginning from near the fireplace toward the bed. She saw that his sword was still in its scabbard fastened to its leather belt. The belt was carefully wrapped and laid atop a table. She very nearly tripped over one of his Hessian boots that stood drunkenly at right angles to the bed. His cloak was spread on the floor, looking for the world like a black bat in flight.

She stood beside the wide bed, staring down at him. He was asleep, lying on his back, one arm flung over his forehead, the other at his side, palm up and open. There was a single sheet covering him and it stopped at his waist.

He was big, his chest covered with black hair and hard with muscle, as were his arms. She realized he looked as splendid out of his uniform as he did wearing it. She smiled before she realized that she hadn’t yet really begun to sift through their differences. She could see him outlined beneath the sheet, the largeness of him, and that was surely something to think about.

She saw that his ribs were green and blue with faint tinges of yellow. She wondered if they pained him much.

It was then she wondered what to do. She thought of the book Badger had handed her silently that afternoon, not quite meeting her eyes, just mumbling, “This might be of some assistance, Duchess. There are, er, drawings.”

“Drawings, Badger?”