Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 21

  Chase had hurt Bethany this morning. To protect her as much as himself.

  He’d thought he’d made the right decision. At the time. Now… he wasn’t as certain.

  Chase exhaled. His wife needed to be his priority today. “Who needs a marquess when one receives such sage advice from his butler?”

  “Who indeed?” Blackheart bowed with a smirk.

  Damned duke. He was enjoying this far more than he had a right to. The realization had him feeling more confident that come June, it would be Westerley and Greys running through the park.

  He’d just turned for the front door when a laconic voice stopped him from behind.

  “Chase, old boy. I thought I heard the door earlier. Mr. Cockfield here, it seems, didn’t see fit to announce you.” Greys frowned at Blackheart, who didn’t look at all bothered by the insult, and then gestured for Chase to precede him upstairs. “Mantis, the Spencers, and I were just about to open a bottle. We’ve been discussing rain, or our lack thereof. You’re just in time to get in on this particular wager.”

  Reeling from Blackheart’s advice and the doubt it ignited, Chase was only too happy to delay his return to Byrde House, if only for half an hour or so. He had an equally acceptable excuse if a wager was involved.

  “What are you drinking?” He ignored Blackheart’s disapproving stare and climbed the steps behind the well-dressed marquess.

  “American whiskey generously provided by Lady Westerley’s father.”

  The mention of Westerley’s name sent unease sliding down his neck.

  All the more reason to indulge in a dram or two of liquid courage.

  His mouth watered at the prospect. Although he’d never admit it to any of his fellow countrymen, he far preferred Charley Jackson’s whiskey to the much dryer versions he stored in his own cellars.

  He’d have one drink, weigh in on the bet, and then make for home.

  “Just received a new shipment of cigars, too,” Greys added.

  And perhaps one cheroot.

  Bethany was likely still abed. He had managed to keep her up most of the night.

  “Say, what time do you have?” Chase squinted at the timepiece attached to his pocket. Which hand was which…?

  “Quarter to two.”

  Chase placed his whiskey on the table beside the settee where he lounged, legs sprawled, arms wide. These fellows could be pains in the arse at times, but they understood him… for the most part.

  “Blackheart told you all that, eh?” Stone asked from where he lounged at the opposite end of the divan, all but mirroring Chase’s position.

  “Didn’t think His Grace cared about such matters.” Mantis sat on one of the comfortable tall-backed chairs, one leg hooked over an armrest. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised. He concerns himself with everything else.”

  “I’ve discovered his secret.” Greys exhaled a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and carefully placed his cheroot on the edge of a small gold plate. “He doesn’t sleep.”

  “Everyone sleeps,” Stone contradicted.

  But Greys shook his head. “I’ve clocked him four nights running. He functions on an average of three and one-half hours of sleep a night.”

  The five of them fell silent and contemplated this information. If Greys said it, it was likely true. The marquess wasn’t one to fabricate or exaggerate.

  “Makes sense, I suppose.” Chase leaned forward. “Before he had to quit school, I recall him pacing the dormitory at all hours of the night.

  “Lord Lucas is in love, eh? Who do you think she is?” Stone mused.

  “He didn’t say. My guess is he met her while informing one of the widows.”

  “One of those casualties was Tempest’s younger brother, Arthur Gilcrest. Hell of a tragedy.” Mantis shook his head. “None of the bodies could be recovered. His mother’s in a state.”

  Mothers were always in a state. Chase downed his remaining whiskey. How would his own mother cope in the event of his demise? The thought didn’t bear imagining.

  “Gilcrest hadn’t been married even a year,” Stone offered. “Ran off to Gretna with that Barrington chit. I imagine her father will have no choice but to take her back now that he’s gone. She’s with child.”

  “Tempest will do right by his brother’s widow. The child could end up his own heir,” Chase added thoughtfully. Tempest wasn’t the most affable of fellows, but he wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities.

  “You three gossip more than a bunch of hens,” Greys scoffed.

  But Chase couldn’t help but imagine Gilcrest’s poor wife. God, life could be cruel. All the more reason a gentleman needed to provide for the women in his life, while he yet lived but also after he was gone.

  “Speaking of hens.” Stone shot Chase a level stare. “What are you going to do about yours?”

  Chase leaned forward and rubbed his thighs. “Blackheart hasn’t failed me yet.” Guilt soured the smoke in his mouth as he recalled the words he’d pummeled her with on his way out. He’d told her to keep her love to herself. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t hurt her and then done just that.

  Was it possible he could endure love without it becoming a burden?

  He’d damn sure had no trouble “enduring” it so far.

  In fact, he’d barely been gone a few hours and already inexplicably craved her company.

  “Do you love her?”

  Chase stared across at Mantis—scarred, gruff, and the least romantic of them all. “I don’t know. How does anyone know? What the hell kind of question is that anyway?”

  “You could always ask Westerley.” Stone tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “He and his countess are cutting short their distillery tour.”

  Chase knew this already, having sent for the earl himself. He touched the bruise around his eye where it had only just begun to heal.

  “Perhaps Westerley will be so kind as to slug you in the other one,” Peter offered helpfully.

  “He’ll want to defend his sister’s honor.” Bethany would be devastated. “Unless I can convince him otherwise.”

  Chase no longer had any desire to linger. “Many thanks for the cigars and the whiskey.”

  “Going home to grovel?” Stone taunted.

  “Yes, and yes,” he answered. “On my hands and knees if necessary.” But there were better ways to make this up to her. Perhaps instead of walking the distance between Knight Manor and Byrde House, he’d hail a hackney. Suddenly, he felt an urgent need to go home.

  He wanted to be with his wife.

  Chapter 25

  Settling In

  Bethany peeked into the pantry, nodding as Mrs. Maples provided a detailed description of what foods were kept in which bins, how often each item was ordered, and the name of the vendor who offered the best price and quality.

  She’d been unable to sleep after Chase stormed out, but rather than allow herself to languish in self-pity, she’d decided today was the day to tackle household management.

  For the most part, aside from minimal instructions from Chase, Mr. Ingles and Mrs. Maples ran the staff and property autonomously. From what Bethany gleaned, his mother hadn’t interfered for years.

  A cat leapt off a shelf and Bethany ducked to avoid a mouthful of fur.

  She’d known it wasn’t a good idea to reveal her feelings to him. Even as the words tumbled past her lips, her brain had been screaming for her to keep quiet.

  She had then gone on to make it even worse, implying that he must love her as well.

  What precisely was it that she had said? Oh, yes. I don’t want you to be anyone other than who you are. Which had been perfectly fine, as far as sentiments went. But then she’d tacked on…

  That’s what love is.

  He had told her that he would have a problem if she loved him. Why hadn’t she listened?

  She knew the answer to that question before it formed in her mind.

  In the very short time since they’d entered into this unli
kely marriage, her feelings for him had changed drastically.

  How foolish she’d been to imagine what she felt for him before had been love. She’d hardly even known him.

  Lying together had changed everything. The physical act—consummation—no, more than that—physical intimacy—had changed who they were to one another. More than that, it had enhanced her understanding of love.

  She’d imagined it had for him as well.

  Her heart ached. When they had made love in the garden, he had been different. Their first night had been physically satisfying, exhilarating, and all-consuming but last night…

  He’d watched her, stared deeply into her eyes, creating a connection that went beyond the physical. It had been emotional… spiritual even.

  As much as she wanted to scoff at herself for such fanciful thoughts, she couldn’t help but believe she was right.

  Which was why she’d made her foolish declaration before he left. She’d assumed he’d been telling her things with his body, telling her things he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.

  “And here’s where most of the silver is kept. Mr. Ingles and I are the only members of this household with a key. Aside from his Lordship, of course.” Mrs. Maplesunlocked a large cabinet and opened it for Bethany’s inspection.

  “Very good.” Years of watching her mother deal with servants had her adding, “I’ll expect keys to everything as well, just as soon as they can be made up.”

  “Of course, My Lady.” Mrs. Maples gestured toward the stairs. “Linens are kept in this one.” She opened the door to reveal shelves that contained exacting stacks of napkins and tablecloths folded into perfect squares. Such symmetry was a beautiful thing.

  “This is lovely.” Bethany couldn’t help but commend the housekeeper as she reached out to touch one of the neatly folded corners.

  “I am partial to orderliness,” the woman said proudly.

  “As am I,” Bethany murmured. “Perhaps more than is natural, according to my sister.” Bethany met the housekeeper’s stare and knew in an instant that they were going to get along.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, My Lady, there’s no such thing as too much organization.”

  When the housekeeper had acquainted Bethany with the belowstairs procedures, she then graciously extended an offer of a tour of the upstairs chambers, regaling Her Ladyship with the history of design and past notable guests who’d stayed in various rooms.

  The majority of bedchambers featured normal doors and elegant, yet understated décor.

  “Most of the manor’s interior was implemented by his lordship’s grandmother.” Bethany had wondered about this. “His Lordship’s mother’s taste tends to be considerably more… flamboyant.”

  Bethany nodded. “It’s important that the lady of the house make it her own, even in small ways.”

  “Indeed, it is, My Lady,” Mrs. Maples agreed.

  The sound of a door slamming at the opposite end of the corridor cut into the affinity building between mistress and employee, and Mrs. Maples sent Bethany an apologetic glance. Doris, one of the younger housemaids whose name Bethany had been reminded of earlier that afternoon, half-ran, half-walked toward them wearing a concerned frown.

  She dropped into a hasty curtsey and then turned to the housekeeper. “She’s done it again. But this time she’s locked the doors.”

  Doris had approached them from Bethany’s chamber—from the baroness’s chamber.

  “Lady Chaswick?” Bethany nodded toward the jib door where thumping sounds echoed from within.

  Mrs. Finch stepped out, closed the door behind her, and sighed. “I’m so sorry, My Lady. I’m afraid that His Lordship’s mother hasn’t exactly… taken to her new quarters.”

  This didn’t really come as a surprise to Bethany.

  More rumbling vibrated from inside, almost as though the occupant was moving a large piece of furniture.

  Mrs. Maples grimaced. “She’s extraordinarily strong when she wishes to be.”

  “You said ‘this time?’ Was she distraught over the move before?” Poor Christine!

  The two servants caught one another’s eyes, and then Doris answered, wincing. “She was, My Lady. While you were visiting your sister. But we managed to, er, convince her to vacate before you returned. I’m so very sorry we haven’t been able to convince her...”

  “But you’ve done nothing wrong.” Bethany certainly wasn’t angry. If anything, guilt pricked at her. She ought to have realized Christine might not take well to abandoning a chamber she’d occupied for decades. It had been the woman’s sanctuary, a place for a safe retreat. “This is easily remedied.” She held up one finger. “Allow me a few minutes with Her Ladyship and then, if all goes according to my plan, we’ll have some work to do.”

  Rather than bother trying to enter through the locked door, which Bethany suspected might have a small wardrobe or a chair blocking it from opening, she located the entrance to the master suite and entered through there.

  Chase’s suite.

  Of course, it was empty. She’d heard nothing of his return but that didn’t soften her pang of disappointment.

  Ignoring the massive bed, as well as the memories spent with him in it, Bethany passed into the anteroom and opened the door to her chamber with no difficulties whatsoever.

  Christine sat huddled on the large upholstered chair wearing a Georgian-style gown and a petulant expression.

  Upon seeing Bethany, her mother-in-law pursed her lips and sat up straight.

  “Hello, dear. Isn’t that a pretty gown?” She tilted her head with a smile. “You’re welcome to send your maid to retrieve your other belongings. I don’t mean to be unyielding, but the Gold Room isn’t going to work for me. I’m confident my son will understand. He’s rather tolerant that way.”

  “So…” Bethany began tentatively. “You wish to move back into these chambers?”

  “Yes, dear. I made a valiant attempt at settling elsewhere but nothing works there. The windows are in the wrong place. The carpeting is the wrong thickness, and the colors are far too subdued. I’m afraid that I won’t be giving up this chamber after all.”

  Chase stepped into the foyer of Byrde House and immediately experienced the familiar awareness that his household had fallen into an uproar. Normally he’d assume it had to do with his mother. But when he’d left earlier, he’d not been on good terms with his wife.

  A banging overhead, where the baroness’s suite was located, had him shooting a questioning glance toward Mr. Ingles, who was rushing down the stairs to man his station.

  “You’ve no hat or gloves, My Lord?”

  Chase glanced down, momentarily forgetting that when he’d left that morning, he’d not cared at all about his appearance.

  “What in the devil is going on up there?” He gestured to the ceiling pointedly. He’d be the one asking questions here.

  Ingles, who normally handled the occasional commotion in stride, winced.

  Oh, hell, it must be bad.

  “Your mother was in one of her tempers—” More banging sounds. “And your wife…”

  Chase held up a hand. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear this from his butler after all. “No need to go into details, Ingles. I’ll handle it.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he followed the sounds of commotion coming from the chamber adjacent to his. God save him, just when he thought he could count on something in his household running smoothly. If Bethany couldn’t get along with his mother…

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. One of them could remove to his country estate, Easter Park, and he already knew his mother’s opinion on this. Sending Bethany away was no way to begin a marriage.

  He was already contemplating a third residence in Mayfair when Polly flew out of the baroness’s chamber, nearly colliding with him and carrying what appeared to be some of his wife’s belongings.

  Was she leaving him? She couldn’t!

  “You’ll be returning those to their right
ful place if you value your position.” Chase rarely spoke harshly to any of his servants, and yet, he’d be damned if his own household would facilitate his wife abandoning him.

  The possibility that she was leaving sent ice running through his veins.

  “Bethany!” Chase slammed his palm against the jib door, sending it flying inward. Without waiting for permission to enter, he stomped into her chamber prepared to do whatever he had to convince her to stay.

  Mrs. Maples hovered, Doris and Polly cowering behind her. “She’s asked us to move these for her, My Lord—”

  Chase raised his arm and pointed at the dressing room. “Put all of it back. Now.”

  At the look on their faces, he suppressed the urge to groan. In less than a single day, he’d managed to chase his wife away and alienate half his staff.

  One glance around the room, and his mood plummeted farther. Was his mother reclaiming the chamber before Bethany had even vacated?

  “There you are, darling.”

  In all the moments he’d had to deal with his mother’s eccentricity, he’d never felt so much the urge to shake her. “What are you doing?” he demanded. But it was obvious. He easily recognized many of his mother’s belongings already restored to the room.

  “Not to worry, Chaswick. Bethany doesn’t mind.”

  “Did my wife tell you where she was going?” But he knew the answer to his question before he’d finished asking it. She would wish to return to her mother’s home—to Westerley’s townhouse.

  “She’s around somewhere. Such a nice girl, insisting the servants restore my belongings without delay. And we’re going to put a lock on your side, dear, so you needn’t fear I’ll interrupt.” Had his mother just winked at him?

  Chase scrubbed his hand across his face again. He should have come home earlier. Not only was he going to have to convince Bethany to stay, but he was going to have to have his mother removed from the baroness’s suite again.

  Served him right for wasting the day wagering, drinking, and smoking in Greys’ study.