Chapter Twenty-Nine

I n the space of a fortnight, to Clarity's dismay, her husband reverted to the stranger she'd met at the Devonshire House ball at the beginning of the prior year's Season. Not that he wasn't still loving, but he no longer laughed nor even barely smiled.

Alex had dark smudges under his eyes and a pinched, haunted look. When she asked him what was wrong, he said he was merely a little tired. She wasn't sure how that could be when they retired at the same time, had a long night's sleep, and rose together for breakfast.

And then one day, his unsmiling demeanor became harshness, and he was sharp with her. They were out together, and with the sunlight in her eyes, she stumbled on a cracked granite pavement.

As if she'd fallen down an uncovered well and broken every bone in her body, he raged against the City of London and even the unfortunate shop owner outside whose business the pavement was situated.

"Get this fixed," Alex demanded of an elderly tailor after dragging her inside to complain. "My wife is expecting the heir to my viscountcy, and she almost sprawled on the street."

"Yes, my lord. I'm sorry. I shall bring it up to the city's commissioners."

"See that you do. I will be back in a week's time, and if it's not repaired, I shall sue."

"Sue?" The man's brow furrowed for what. "Your wife is perfectly fine."

"I have a law degree, and I shall sue nonetheless."

"Yes, my lord." The man looked shaken.

All the time, Clarity was trying to pull him by his sleeve and get him to stop his blustery attack on the shopkeeper.

"I've fallen out of a tree. Twice!" she reminded him. "I believe I can trip without injuring myself."

But his expression was thunderous all the rest of the day. That night, he was still thinking of it.

"I will stop off at William Haywood's office tomorrow. He's the new engineer and surveyor for the blasted commissioners. I shall make sure they're going to do something about it."

"Oh, Alex, don't you think —"

"I do think," he cut her off. "I also look where I am going. Please, Clarity, try to be more careful while you are carrying our child. I know you enjoy fun and games, but don't be selfish right now."

She closed her mouth and bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. He cared for her, and now he had the baby to care for, too. And plainly, he was worried.

"I will be more watchful," she promised.

"Thank you," he said. As if realizing he'd overreacted, his expression became sheepish.

"I apologize. You are not in the least selfish, and I am a dunce. Ignore me." Then he added, "Except do not ignore the part about being careful, or I shall have to swaddle you in a large bunting to keep you safe."

That brought her good humor back, imagining a baby's swaddling cloth large enough to envelop her.

"It sounds cozy," she admitted.

However, the next day, not only did he snap at her for coming down the stairs too quickly, he wouldn't allow her to ride out in the carriage with her maid unless he accompanied them.

"But Alex, I want to go to the office of Mr. Crace, the decorator, and look at the wallpaper samples, and then I'm going to choose fabric for the baby's first gowns at the linendraper's."

"That's what I wish to do, too."

She sighed. He obviously didn't want to do either. He rushed her at the first place and stayed in the carriage reading a newspaper at the second shop. Yet seeing how he wouldn't leave her, she hurried through her choices, unsure whether she'd made the correct ones.

The following day, she told him she was going to her parent's townhouse to consult with her mother.

"I shall go with you."

"No," she put her foot down. "This is a ladies-only tea. My sisters will be there, but not Adam or my father. You would stand out like a sore thumb amongst the female fingers."

He frowned, and she could see she'd practically convinced him. All that was left was to go up to him, look him in the eyes, and kiss him.

To that end, she stood before him. When Alex's arms came around her, she leaned against him, went up on tiptoe, and claimed his mouth with hers.

"Mm," he said.

"Mm," she sighed.

After a few minutes, because her toes and legs were aching, she had to break it off. He grinned down at her.

"That was unexpected."

"At nearly every moment of the day," she confessed, "that's what I want to do. It's simply not always appropriate. And you know, I am nothing if not proper."

He laughed.

"Any time you wish to kiss me, please do. I didn't marry you for your attention to propriety."

With that, he put an arm behind her knees and swept her off the ground.

She squealed with excitement.

"Oof," he said, swaying slightly. "You are gaining a little, and it's not solely your bountiful breasts anymore."

With her cheeks feeling hot, she ordered him to put her down.

"No, wife, I am going to carry you upstairs and make love to you before you go to tea."

"Maybe we should enjoy ourselves in the dining room or in the parlor," she advised as he staggered on the fourth step up the staircase. "For goodness' sake, Alex, put me down."

"No!" he said. Soon, with him practically on his knees, he'd breached the landing outside their bedroom. Lurching forward, he carried her over the threshold. But after placing her carefully upon the bed, he lay down beside her breathing hard.

"Are you going to ravish me or have a restful slumber?" she teased.

"Both," he said. "Give me a minute."

True to his word, after a minute, he was ready to ravish her. An hour later, she left him stretched out on his stomach, his magnificent bare back and buttocks presented to her.

"I will see you later, my love."

"Not too late. Promise."

"I promise." And she slipped away to her parents' mansion on Piccadilly.

"My husband is immensely caring. I fear he's about to put me under glass like an upside-down apple-and-orange jelly," Clarity told her mother and Purity five minutes after sitting down to tea. Her younger sisters had gone with friends to Kew Gardens and then to a show about "Industrious Fleas" at Covent Garden.

"Did Father become overly protective each time you were carrying one of us?" she asked. "Alex is becoming like a Newgate jailer."

Her mother cocked her head and considered. "Your father is not an anxious man by nature, but when I was carrying you, because you were the first, he demanded I curtail some activities toward the end of my lying in. No horseback riding, for instance."

"How about walking on a London pavement?" Clarity asked wryly.

"Oh dear!" Purity said. "That does seem unreasonably protective."

"In jest, Alex said he would swaddle me, but I think he might actually try it if he can find enough soft wool or bunting."

Her mother and sister looked at one another, raised brow to raised brow, and Clarity felt badly for talking about her husband behind his back. After all, he was only being cautious.

"I wondered if we three could go to the mercer's. I went yesterday, but my dear husband was hovering, and I am not at all certain I made sound decisions, nor at the decorator's, for that matter."

Afterward, they went to Gunter's for ice cream. By then, she knew her husband would be missing her and dashed home, deciding to go directly to his study.

Alex was pacing, running his fingers through his hair when he turned at her footfalls.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed, rushing to embrace her.

"What's the matter?"

"When I went to your parents' home, you weren't there, and neither was our carriage."

"You came to Piccadilly? Whatever for?"

"To make sure you were all right. When I awakened, you had already gone."

"That was unnecessary," she told him. "And you worried yourself needlessly."

"No," he said sharply, " you worried me. You said you were going to your parents' house. Where were you?"

Clarity didn't like his tone or being questioned, but to ease his anxiousness, she answered.

"After tea, we went to Gunter's." No need to tell him she had also returned to the same places he'd taken her the day before.

"You never said anything about gallivanting all over town."

Since she could not imagine a sensible response, she said nothing.

"Anyway, I am relieved you're back," he said.

She left him before she said something that would annoy him, something about his smothering tendencies. More than ever, she missed the Alex who had once tossed her into the River Derwent simply because he could.

The following week, their strained conversation long forgotten, she hurried along the hall to find him. Rushing through the open door to his study, she waved a newspaper at him as he rose to his feet.

"Did you see the advertisement for The Last Days of Pompeii at the Adelphi?" Clarity asked her husband. "I would love to go at week's end."

His expression had quickly changed from interested to scowling.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"I told you I was starting the nursery today."

"I thought you meant you were starting, as in the workmen were starting with you telling them your wishes and then leaving them to it. Surely you don't think you can do any of it yourself."

"Not all of it, but I have nothing to do and thought it might be fun to..." She trailed off at his look of horror.

"What if you overexert yourself?" Alex demanded.

"I won't," she promised.

"What about the noxious fumes?"

Was he serious? "I won't breathe any."

"What if you spill some paint, and it gets in your eyes or mouth?"

She stared at him.

"It is possible," he insisted. "That is why we hire people to do these things. People who are not expecting a baby."

"I was simply going to try my hand at tearing off the wallpaper. I've never removed wallpaper before, but it seems a most satisfying endeavor."

"You will not. You'll be in the way of the workers, and it will cost more if you slow them down."

"But Alex —"

"I suggest you take that handkerchief or whatever it is off your head and change out of that awful frock and apron. You don't look like a viscountess. The workers will think you're a maid and start asking you to bring them cups of tea."

That made her giggle. In truth, the men had already arrived and something like her husband's imagination had in fact occurred. Clarity hadn't minded the request for coffee, not tea as it turned out, but she most definitely had not cared for Lady Aston's attempt to take over.

After they'd almost engaged in a quarrel, Clarity had banned Alex's aunt from the nursery.

That had gone about as smoothly as spreading rocks on bread. She didn't want to get into a similar argument with her husband.

"If I change and stay out of the workmen's way, may we go to the theater?" she asked.

"Yes," he agreed. "To see the lighthearted, wildly amusing Last Days of Pompeii ."

She laughed at his tone. "I know it sounds grim, but the novel was good, and reviews of the performance say the spectacle on stage is most entertaining."

"I said we could go," he reminded her. "Now keep up your end of the bargain."

"Fine, I will leave you to your work." Clarity hesitated by the door. His aunt was livid with being thwarted over interfering in the nursery, and Alex ought to know.

"By the way, I argued with Lady Aston and called her overbearing and bumptious. She may be in a bit of a tweague if you see her. Rather testy, in fact. Just a warning."

And then before he could ask her anything, she blew him a kiss and retreated.

"Carriage rides are as perfectly safe as ever they were," Clarity found herself arguing with Alex in bed the night of the theater. They'd thoroughly enjoyed the live drama of Pompeii, and she'd had no idea telling him she was going to Twickenham the following day would start a quarrel.

"I only wish to explore Marble Hill," she insisted, referring to a famous old Palladian style mansion that had twice been the home of a royal mistress.

Now standing vacant, she and her sisters wished to poke around the old house and the Italianate gardens with the pretty river view.

To her consternation, Alex had told her she couldn't go.

"Not in your present condition," he said.

"I wasn't really asking permission," she muttered. "Besides, think of all the people out upon the roads even now."

"Now? At two in the morning?" he asked, rolling over, apparently ready to end their discussion and go to sleep.

"Granted, they are not there this minute but tomorrow. And think of all the trips you have taken in your lifetime."

Clarity implored him to be reasonable. The alternative was his crippling fear for her safety, which was restricting her beyond all measure. Despite his parents' accident, most carriages managed to go from one place to the next without incident. And while she hated to keep bringing up carriage rides, she was not going to become a prisoner.

Tapping his shoulder to make sure he was still awake, she continued, "I am as safe in a carriage as I am here in our home."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than they heard an unfamiliar thump. Perhaps it sounded louder in the Stygian darkness of their bedchamber, but it made her jump nonetheless, especially as it was so unexpected.

Alex was on his feet and reaching for his dressing gown before she could gather her wits.

"It sounded as though it was directly below us," she whispered, leaning over to light the oil lamp.

"Stay here," he ordered. But when he drew a pistol out of his bedside table, she gasped.

"Don't you think it might be Mr. Berard?" she asked.

"In all the years I've known him, my butler has never made such a sound, particularly not at this hour."

With her heart pounding, she watched her brave husband rush barefoot from the room, his robe hanging behind him like a cape. Chewing her lip, Clarity tried to stay put as ordered. Yet when she heard another noise from the room directly below, she donned her slippers and reached for her own dressing gown. Cinching the belt closed, she crept silently from the bedchamber.

The house was quiet on their floor. Apparently, Lady Aston at the other end of the hallway had not been disturbed. As Clarity went down the stairs, the hair on the back of her neck rose upon hearing more noises. In the foyer, the housekeeper approached from the back of the house, her hair in a cap, wearing a robe, and yawning broadly.

"What is happening, my lady?"

Before she could answer, Mr. Berard arrived, holding a fire iron. She would have found his appearance humorous if she weren't terrified. Robbers were common, especially pickpockets. People were desperate, but some were career thieves. And those who dared break into houses were bold, indeed. Moreover, some worked in gangs. Alex might be facing more than one cracksman.

"Lord Hollidge is in the —"

She was interrupted by a gunshot.