The Viscount's Runaway Wife

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The second design was still tight in the bodice area, but not so low cut, leaving more to the imagination.

‘Good choice, sir.’

As the dressmaker and her assistant stepped away to find their tape measures, Oliver stayed positioned just in front of Lucy. He wanted to reach out, to run a finger over her cheek, feel the softness of her skin, the moistness of her lips. They had barely touched since their reunion, just gloved hand on jacket as he offered her his arm, and already Oliver was yearning for more.

‘Time to take your measurements,’ the dressmaker said, bustling in between him and his wife.

Reluctantly Oliver moved away. He knew this was his cue to depart and leave the women alone to do the more personal aspect of the fitting, but for a moment he lingered, watching his wife hold out her arms obediently as the tape measure was looped around her back. All the time he’d searched for her he’d told himself it was to find out what had happened to their son and to get his wife back for social occasions and the running of his household. Never had he allowed himself to believe there might be a deeper reason for desiring their reunion.

* * *

‘Parker,’ Oliver called, waiting as his young butler promptly turned and faced him. Despite it being four years since Oliver had been his superior officer in the army, the young man still almost saluted. Oliver saw his arm twitch at his side as he struggled to suppress the movement.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Meet me in the dining room.’

The butler grinned, nodding swiftly and hurrying off to prepare the room.

Oliver followed behind. With Lucy still being pushed and prodded by the dressmaker, he was feeling restless and the only solution was to use up some energy.

As Oliver reached the dining room, he saw Parker had recruited two footmen and between them they were moving the dining table and chairs to one side. A couple of the more expensive pieces of furniture had been moved out of the way and an antique vase placed on a high shelf.

Within minutes the centre of the room was clear of any obstacles, a long, wide space big enough for the coming physical workout.

Oliver stretched, pulling each arm to one side, and then opened the large display cabinet at one end of the room. He removed two fencing foils, long and sleek, giving them both an experimental swish.

Parker, the butler, shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a few more scars on his forearms to match the vertical slash down one cheek.

‘I hope you’ve been practising, Parker,’ Oliver said as he handed the foil to the butler.

‘Never fear, sir, one of these days you’ll beat me.’

The younger man was always respectful and deferential in his work as butler, but there was a subtle shift when the jackets came off and foils came out. It was as though they were back in the training camp, still superior officer and soldier, but a comradeship flourished that was peculiar to the army.

‘I’ll go easy on you, Parker,’ Oliver said, getting into position.

They fought, foil clashing against foil with satisfying clinks, moving backwards and forward with lunges and parries. As they clashed Oliver felt some of the tension that had been building inside him the last few days dissipate as it always did with physical combat.

They were fairly evenly matched, with points being traded backwards and forwards as the minutes ticked by. Oliver didn’t really care who won. For him it was more about the thrill of the fight, the wonderful way he felt liberated as his body lunged and defended.

‘What on earth...?’ a small voice said from the doorway as the foils clashed.

Oliver spun around to see Lucy’s shocked face in the doorway.

‘Forgive us,’ he said with a bow. ‘Just a little light exercise.’

‘Shall I put the room right, sir?’ Parker asked, wiping a film of sweat from his forehead.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Lucy murmured, backing away, but Oliver had already tossed his foil to the butler and was following Lucy from the room.

He caught up with her on the stairs.

‘That’s a very peculiar use of the dining room,’ she said. He could tell she was itching to ask for an explanation, but held back from fear of getting overly involved or invested in his life.

‘Sometimes I find I need to work out a little energy,’ Oliver said, offering her his arm.

‘And your butler can fence?’

‘He can fight,’ Oliver corrected. ‘He was my sergeant for a while on the Peninsula.’

‘And now he’s your butler.’

‘And now he’s my butler.’

Lucy looked at him with curiosity and he wondered if she might ask more. He knew she was interested in people, but so far she had kept her enquiries into his life to a minimum, as if asking about it risked pulling her deeper into it.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘Giving him a job. I know many soldiers struggle to find employment after returning from the war.’

It was an awful thing to see when walking the streets of London. Former soldiers who had once fought bravely for their country, abandoned by the very people they’d served. Many of the returning soldiers found their families had moved on and their jobs filled, leaving them without a true place in the world. It was a hundred times worse for those who had been injured, losing an arm or a leg or an eye, unable to find even the most menial of jobs to provide them with food and shelter, and having to resort to begging on the street.

‘He’s a good man—loyal. I never have to worry about my silverware disappearing with Parker running the household.’

Parker was a good man, one of the best, but with his facial scars he would have been turned away by any of the grand households who wanted their footmen and butlers to be aesthetically pleasing, sometimes even more than they wanted them to be efficient at their jobs.

When it became clear she wasn’t going to ask any more he turned the subject back to her dress fitting.

‘Will the dress be ready in time for the ball in two days?’

‘Mrs Farrar assures me it will be ready even if she has to stay up all night.’

‘Good. I don’t want anything to upset our plans.’ He saw her stiffen at the idea of the ball but couldn’t stop himself from adding, ‘It is very important we reintroduce you to society as my wife.’

‘We wouldn’t want the gossips speculating about whom you might have holed up in here,’ Lucy murmured.

‘This isn’t a joke, Lucy.’

‘I know. It’s my life.’

‘Our life. As husband and wife.’

‘But my freedom.’

‘Freedom?’ he asked, letting out a cold laugh. ‘I thought you’d grown up in the year we were apart, Lucy. No one is free, we all have responsibilities, all have to do things we don’t want to.’

‘You get to choose how your life ends up,’ Lucy said, turning to face him, lifting her chin so she was looking him straight in the eye. ‘And how mine does.’

‘There you are wrong. No matter what I feel, we’re still married—I’m just as trapped by that as you.’

Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to work out his true feelings.

‘You have the power to at least apply for a divorce—only men can do that. You have the power to set me free from this marriage, let me go back to my old life.’

‘That’s not going to happen, Lucy. We’re married and married couples live together and they socialise together. I’m not asking you to chop off a limb or scale a mountain. All I want is for you to fulfil your part of our wedding vows.’

They stared at each other in silence for over a minute before Lucy turned on her heel and stalked away. Oliver waited until he was alone in his study before he sagged. That exchange had not gone as he’d hoped. Every time he clashed with Lucy he wished it ended differently, but she was so distant, so difficult to engage and he could feel the simmering anger beneath his own words. How could she treat him like this when it had been she who’d run away? She who had taken their son? She didn’t have the right to remain aloof and angry. Admittedly she’d built a life for herself in the year they’d been separated, but that was none of his concern. He wanted her back here as his wife and if he could, he’d wipe out all trace of the world she’d been living in, but realistically he knew that wasn’t an option.

He wondered if she would ever thaw, if she would ever look at him with anything more than distant coolness. Surprisingly he wanted that, even though he doubted he could ever return the feelings. Perhaps they were destined to live their lives as many married couples did, putting on a front for society events and then barely speaking at home. It was what he’d imagined, when he’d first found her, but every so often he wondered if that would be enough or if one day, when his vexation had burnt itself out, whether he would want more than a cold and unfeeling marriage.

Chapter Six (#u5ec3ef9e-a5f0-502a-970d-e80f8cac0b31)

Lucy shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling the layers of petticoats clinging to her legs and making her hot despite the cool October air.

‘Try to at least pretend you’re enjoying the evening,’ Oliver said from his position across the carriage.

Lucy felt like screaming. He was so calm, so unfazed by the evening Lucy had been dreading ever since he’d found her again.

Tonight was the night of the Hickams’ ball; the night when Oliver would introduce Lucy to his friends and acquaintances as his wife. All week she’d seen this event as the point of no return; once he’d brought her out in public there was no way he’d ever let her slink off into the night as a free woman.

‘Remember to smile once or twice.’

Suppressing the urge to deepen her frown, Lucy contented herself with looking out the window. They were barely moving, the press of carriages thick as they approached the house, and the temptation to get out and run was strong.

‘It might not be as bad as you’re dreading,’ Oliver said more softly, even giving her a brief but reassuring smile.

His words threw her. It was much easier to build her husband up into a heinous villain, but deep down Lucy knew that wasn’t the truth. Oliver was asking her to do something she didn’t want to, but he wasn’t a monster. He’d kept his side of the bargain and allowed her to continue her work at the Foundation. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to keep her husband happy and play the part of the dutiful wife tonight.

Somehow she couldn’t follow her own advice. Something inside was driving her to keep pushing, keep fighting. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was a certainty that she didn’t want to return to the mundane routine of her old life, but whatever it was kept her from doing what she knew was right; plastering a smile on her face and pretending she was happy to be there.

Letting a deep sigh escape, Lucy looked out of the window. They’d inched forward, but still weren’t at the front of the long line of carriages. This felt so different from her Season as a debutante, before she’d ever met Oliver, when her mother had whisked her around London in the hope she would find a suitable husband to marry. Lucy had hated it, not the balls or the socialising, but the constant pressure from her mother to impress a gentleman with a title and a fortune, when Lucy had been young and shy.

That had been part of the reason she’d accepted Oliver’s proposal so readily. Of course he was titled and rich, which kept her parents happy, but also marriage to him meant she wouldn’t have to endure another Season as a young woman seeking a husband. It wasn’t the main reason, which had been escape from her odious father and unhappy home life, but it had certainly been an added incentive.

Their carriage finally reached the steps in front of the house and a footman opened the door.

‘Come,’ Oliver said as he took her hand to help her from the carriage. He ensured she was steady on her feet before leading her up the steps and into the house.

The press of people was suffocating as they edged through the guests to the ballroom. Lucy had certainly been in more crowded places, but the scent of perfume and the press of layer upon layer of fabric was a different kind of crowded to the jostling mass of people in St Giles.

‘Lord and Lady Sedgewick,’ a footman announced as they entered the ballroom.

Lucy wondered if she imagined the slight pause in conversation that followed their names. No one looked directly at them, but there were a number of sideways glances directed their way. For a moment she wondered what the gossips had said about her absence from society for the year she’d been away. Then, just as her nerves were getting the better of her, she felt Oliver squeeze her hand.

Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she smiled, surprised at how reassuring she found Oliver’s subtle reminder of his presence at her side.

‘Sedgewick, what a surprise,’ a tall, thin man shouted as he made his way through the crush of people. ‘And the elusive Lady Sedgewick.’ The man leaned in closer to Lucy and gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘We all thought he’d made you up.’

‘You’re not meant to actually say that,’ Oliver grumbled.

‘Seeing as Sedgewick has forgotten his manners, I’m Lord Redmoor.’