‘And what of your sisters? I saw them as well, today. Are they a corrupting influence on me? Or do you fear I shall ruin them?’
‘Judge for yourself,’ he retorted. ‘I doubt my sisters were responsible for the horde of men that were swarming after you all night.’
‘They were not a horde,’ she said. But there had been a great many introductions made at Steven’s. Even though he had no reason to fear, she had been sure her husband would be angry.
But he was not just angry. He was furious beyond all sense. ‘Can I not let you out of the house, even for an afternoon, without you coming home with an immodest gown, trailing half a regiment of admirers?’
‘If you had a problem with my dress, you had but to say so and I’d have changed before we left the house.’ Instead, he had draped her in gold and kissed her.
But he was far past seeing reason, near to shouting in rage. ‘I warned you not to flaunt your indiscretions in front of me. And now, in the first week…’
‘Indiscretions?’ She could not help a surprised laugh. ‘I danced at a ball with men that had been introduced to me by a member of your family. If I was indiscreet with anyone, it was with you.’
‘Do not worry, madam. It will not happen again.’ He rapped his cane on the side of the coach and called out to the driver. ‘Wilson. Stop, immediately.’
They were passing Jermyn Street. If she looked out of the window, she could almost see the black lacquered door of Vitium et Virtus. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, regretting it immediately. She had nothing to threaten him with other than to announce that it would make her cry. And by the tight feeling at the back of her throat, she was likely to do so no matter what he did.
‘Since you have no care for propriety, why should I?’ he said. Then he opened the door and leapt to the street without the help of a groom, slamming it behind him. As if he had not embarrassed her enough, he shouted to the coachman in a voice loud enough for half the street to hear. ‘Take Mrs Challenger home, Wilson. And see that she stays there.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next morning, George came downstairs to find the breakfast table set for one. It was not a surprise as much as a confirmation of what she already knew. She had been awake most of the night, alternately crying into her pillow and listening for a step on the stair that had had never come.
When it came time to rise, Polly fussed over her red-rimmed eyes offering cool cloths, powdering her nose and allowing her to pretend that it was the beginning of a cold and not the end of an argument with a man she had never meant to care about. If Mr Challenger worried so much about the opinions of the servants, he should not have behaved in a way that informed the household, from stable groom to scullery maid, that he hated his wife and refused to stay in the same house with her.
His prolonged absence and the lack of explanation for it was precisely the sort of marriage she’d expected to have. If he had given her the life she had asked for on their wedding day, she would not have shed a single tear over him. She might have retreated from London entirely. In the country, with notonto gossip about her, there would be no need to worry about social missteps and ruined reputations. Nor would she have to care about what her husband did when he was not at home. He could have spent every night of his life at Vitium et Virtus and she would have neither known nor cared.
Instead, he had tried to seduce her. At least, she assumed that was what had been happening. His behaviour had been very confusing. When she had come down the stairs, he’d acted as if he liked her, smiling and giving her gifts. Then, they’d arrived at the ball and he’d been purposely difficult, refusing to have fun. Then he’d changed his mind and agreed to dance.
The waltz had been magical. He had murmured apologies while holding her in his arms and gazing into her eyes. She had never wanted it to end. Then, they’d gone to the terrace.
Her heart beat quicker at the memory. She could still feel his kiss on her breast. It had been scandalous, but he had been the one to suggest it. Nay, he had insisted. He had been reckless as she tried to be the responsible one. It was not a role she was good at and she had never been so happy to fail.
Once they got home, she had been sure that there would at least be more kissing. Quite possibly, there would be other, even better things, but she had no idea what they would be. He had admitted that he had been wrong about her and was showing signs of becoming less strict. It was as if she had suddenly discovered she had married a handsome, loving gentleman and not Frederick Challenger at all.
But when they’d set out for home, he been worse than his usual, disapproving self. He had been irrationally angry and accused her of things that made no sense at all. Had the kisses on the terrace been some sort of test? If so, she had failed it. Or did the Challenger family have some streak of madness that he had stopped trying to fight against? Or perhaps, whatever was about to change between them was as great a mystery to him as it was to her.
The breakfast room door opened and the butler stopped just inside the threshold. ‘A visitor, ma’am. Mr Challenger.’
‘Bring him to me immediately.’ None of that mattered any more. She turned towards the door with a smile, ready to forgive him, without another thought. Then, she remembered that Jenks would never have introduced his own master as a guest.
Christian Challenger stepped into the room, clearly as surprised to see her as she was him. ‘I expected Fred,’ he said by way of introduction.
‘Hello, Mr Challenger,’ she said as a gentle reminder of a proper greeting.
‘Mrs Challenger,’ he said, stumbling over the words.
‘Please, call me George,’ she said, allowing her brother-in-law a familiarity that she had not yet heard from her husband. ‘Frederick is not here this morning. Would you like to join me for breakfast?’
He hesitated.
Before he could find a way to escape, she signalled a footman to set him a place.
At last, Christian surrendered, thanked her for her hospitality, filled his plate, and ate his eggs in silence.
When he offered no explanation for his visit, she asked, ‘Was there something that you wished to speak to your brother about? And can I help in any way?’
‘I came to apologise,’ he said, looking glumly into his coffee.
