EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE YES, SHE’S GONE

EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE

YES, SHE S GONE

W hen Hobbs opened the door to the house, Miles read his face before he said a word. My wife left, didn t she? He stripped off his outer garments as the butler babbled about the baby, nappies, and rusks. At least Daisy remembered to take some food. Where did she go?

I do not know, your lordship, Hobbs said, wringing his hands. Her ladyship insisted on taking a hackney carriage.

Next time, tell a groom to jump on the back, Miles said. Or summon two hackneys and order the second to follow her.

Next time? Hobbs repeated. My lord, you don t understand! Lady Devin has left you. She talked- He stopped and wiped his brow. The truth of the matter is that she talked of annulling the marriage.

I ll bring her back, Miles said.

And consummate that marriage, so annulment isn t an option , he added silently.

She left you a letter in her bedchamber.

Right. Keep the carriage at the curb. I ll go after her.

I have interviews with nannies, my lord. Should I-

Of course! Miles interrupted. Find us a good one, Hobbs.

He bounded up the steps, feeling oddly light. His wife-his beloved wife-was rightly furious at him. Not for the last time. He had called her a liar, which was cruel but perhaps fair. Yet his own sins were far greater.

She loved him. She would forgive him.

Though when he was staring down at her letter, his certainty wavered. Daisy had obviously been deeply unhappy when she wrote the note; there were blurred spots on the sheet, as if tears had fallen there. Miles rubbed them with his thumb, as if he could wipe away her sorrow.

The sorrow he had stupidly caused.

In truth, he didn t give a damn why they got married. He would never give away Belle. In fact, he felt a distinct pang of alarm at the fact that Daisy was running around the city with their daughter in a basket once again. At least this time a maid was in attendance.

I don t want to remain married to you. I can t live with a husband who despises me.

That was pretty straightforward. He d been a sanctimonious ass. His reaction had sprung from base rage instead of heartfelt truth. Now that he d calmed down, it was inconceivable to him that he had stormed out of the room like a child in a tantrum.

Leaving her there, vulnerable and rejected.

Of course she d left him.

He couldn t read the next line because tears had blurred the ink-something about a laundry basket-but the gist was clear enough: she didn t feel worthwhile enough to marry him. A sour taste rose up his throat.

Worthwhile? She was innocent and good, interested only in saving her sister from an orphanage, whereas in contrast he had nothing to be righteous about. Nothing.

Lord Wharton s scorn wasn t misplaced: even given that he stayed within the bounds of acceptable gentlemanly behavior, that didn t change the unethical nature of his actions.

Belle wouldn t have been mine any longer.

Also true. Had Daisy immediately disclosed Belle s fatherhood after arriving at his house, he would have found Wharton and forced him to accept his responsibilities. Not that Belle would have been dispatched to an orphanage, but likely to a good woman in the country. That was the fate of most infants born on the wrong side of the blanket, at least if they were fathered by men with a conscience. Daisy would have been unlikely to see Belle again.

Yet Miles had flown Belle into the air the way he had his sisters. He had walked the floor all night long, the wailing child clinging to him. Around six in the morning, Belle had looked at him with drenched blue eyes and then, with a shuddering sigh, tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder.

He claimed not to believe in love at first sight, but he was already in love with his daughter.

I want an annulment.

No. His whole body recoiled at the thought.

He wasn t only in love with Belle. He had seen Daisy at the masquerade and gone directly to her side. He had looked for her everywhere, even after Lady Wharton declined his proposal. He may have refused to acknowledge his emotions, but his actions spoke for themselves.

He wanted to give his wife the world-but not an annulment. Never that. He raked his fingers through his hair, thinking hard about what to do next.

Lady Wharton would be unsympathetic, so Daisy had surely gone to Frederick-who was desperately in love with her.

Miles had never considered himself a possessive man; jealousy suggested an unbecoming level of sentiment. But thinking about Daisy in distress, fleeing to Frederick?

He took a deep breath. Then he threw himself back down the stairs and out the door before Hobbs could produce his greatcoat. A half hour later he sprang from his carriage in front of a townhouse so old that it leaned over the street like an aging spinster who d misplaced her cane.

Good afternoon, Oates-Plagitt, he said, greeting the butler.

Good afternoon, Lord Devin. We have been expecting you. Your wife is in the library. Rather than escort him, Oates-Plagitt stepped back and gestured toward a huge oak door.

Where is Belle?

The butler smiled. She has charmed everyone below stairs and is currently taking a nap in the arms of our cook, who has announced that supper will be delayed.

Miles entered the library silently, his eyes going directly to the sofa. Daisy was lying on her side, cozied up against Frederick s shoulder, rumpled hair spilling over his chest. Frederick s arm was wrapped around her, anchoring her against his side.

Jealousy gnawed at Miles s gut. His teeth clenched as he fought a wave of anger and betrayal. Daisy was his . She had vowed-only this morning-to be his.

Except he had left her first.

He had walked out, leaving her unclothed and unloved.

Shouldn t you be wearing a fool s cap? Frederick asked in a hushed voice, glancing up from his book. I haven t got around to trimming one with diamonds, but for you, I could make an effort.

Miles walked over and looked down at the two of them. Daisy was pale with exhaustion, her golden lashes dark against her cheeks. The way her hand clung to Frederick s lapel sent a piercing ache through his heart that hurt as much as the fact that she was lying beside another man.

Fool s cap? he muttered, collecting himself enough to remember the long-ago conversation in the ballroom. I suppose so.

Frederick lay his open book down on his stomach. I m not sure a hat would sufficiently signal your idiocy, given that you apparently concluded that this darling girl had a virgin birth.

Miles sat down opposite them. May I please take my wife home?

No, Frederick said pleasantly enough. Just how did you think that Daisy managed to carry a child for nine months without you or anyone else noticing? Didn t you scold her for riding too fast in Hyde Park-during the period when she would presumably have been heavy with child?

She said Belle was hers. I believed her. His voice came out gritty with emotion. Obviously, he was an idiot.

You wanted to believe her. There s a difference.

Miles absorbed that, nodding. Please stop embracing my wife.

Frederick didn t move a hair. I suppose your pride stung when you found her gone. But I gather you left first, rashly dashing out of the house to attack her buffoon of a father. And yet you accused Daisy of impulsivity? Leave her alone. She s exhausted.

Despite himself, Miles s hands curled into fists. Frederick.

Exhausted, Frederick repeated.

I will carry her to the carriage. His words grated like rocks on a dry riverbed.

No, you will carry your daughter after Daisy wakes up. Frederick squinted at him. Do you have any bloody idea how lucky you are?

I am learning.

She wants you. The aching tone in his voice spoke for itself. If you re not fool enough to drive her away again, you ll keep her forever, because she s loyal, even to a drunken sod like me.

I won t. It was a vow that came from the heart, unlike those he had spoken that morning.

Then sit down and let her sleep. Frederick picked up his book.

The only sound in the room was the popping of sparks in the fireplace and the gentle swish of Frederick s pages turning. From where he sat, Miles could see a pale wash of Daisy s hair. It wasn t precisely moonlit silver; pale straw would be a better comparison, with a few strands of amber woven here or there. As he sat, her cheeks gradually flushed from sleep and her hand relaxed, setting free Frederick s lapel and lying flat against his chest.

His chest.

Not Miles s chest.

Never again , he told himself silently.

He had betrayed their marriage by storming out in a rage. His punishment was to see her pressed close to another man, a man to whom she d fled for comfort.

Her husband should be comforting her. Hell, her husband should have made sure that his wife wouldn t run away in a hackney cab. The truth slowly dawned on Miles. He didn t know how to be a husband, and he d failed at the task in a matter of hours.

His parents had died years ago, and searching his memory didn t help. Were they loving toward each other? Kind? He had no idea, though five children suggested that if nothing else, they liked each other better than Daisy s parents did.

Still, he remembered his father s burst of anger after his youngest sister was born; even at thirteen years old, he had understood that his father wanted a second boy. A spare heir, in case his only son died.

The work Miles did at the House of Lords had consolidated his belief that marriage was a matter of money and birth. Heirs were important. Spare heirs were also important. Emotions should be corralled outside of the house, and definitely outside the marital bed.

He had tried to protect himself by labeling Daisy as impulsive, but so was he. He d called her foolish, but so was he. Strong-willed? So was he. He could picture himself twenty or thirty years from now, arguing with his beautiful wife at the breakfast table. The picture wasn t quite right, so he added Belle, cheerful but naughty. And then two more children with Daisy s eyes.

If he could talk her into staying married to him.

Oh, for God s sake, Frederick muttered.

Miles opened his eyes.

Frederick waved his book in the air. Don t bother reading this absurd piece of drivel. He tossed it to the carpet and then gently slid away from Daisy, who didn t stir. As Miles watched, Frederick strode across the room and snatched up the brandy decanter.

Well, go on, he said, heading for the door.

Miles rose. Wake her?

Frederick rolled his eyes. Your wife. My couch. I ll warn everyone that you are finally consummating your marriage and not a minute too soon.

I am not consummating my marriage on your couch!

I admit to being grateful to hear it, Frederick said. Stop being an ass, Miles.

I will.