Slightly Married by Mary Balogh Page B

fact, for example, that all the servants and children had been gathered on the terrace as the carriage approached earlier, not in neat lines of silent, respectful welcome but in a noisy cluster, all laughing and talking at once. And that infernal dog had barked its head off unrebuked. It was his wife's bourgeois background that gave her so little control over her underlings, he supposed—and that had impelled her into marrying a stranger for their sake.
    Yet he had to admit that there was an undeniable warmth about the household that he had not encountered elsewhere. And what other woman would have abandoned everyone out on the terrace in order to take her children in person back to the nursery instead of turning them over to their nurse's care—and then spent all of fifteen minutes with them there while they unwrapped their gifts? Yet she was not even the mother of any of the children. He wondered suddenly if she had ever wanted children of her own. But it was too late to think of that now.
    “Eve,” Miss Rice was saying now into a short lull in the conversation, “and Colonel Bedwyn, I must say this.” She spoke all in a rush as Aidan turned to look at her. “I must thank you both from the bottom of my heart. On behalf of the children, who have been frightened half out of their wits without quite understanding why, thank you. He came here again yesterday, you know—Mr. Morris, that is. Agnes told him you had gone out for the day with Mrs. Pritchard, Eve. He went into every room in the house and inspected every cupboard and drawer. He brought two servants with him to count all the silverware and china and crystal and linen so that all will be accounted for after your departure. And he had Agnes gather everyone in the hall before he left. He made us all stand in two lines, like soldiers at attention, and he told us that tomorrow we must all be gone from here or he will have us taken up for vagrancy and thrown in jail. He was looking very pleased with himself indeed.”
    Yes, he would have been, Aidan thought. He could just picture the scene.
    “Oh, Thelma,” his wife said in dismay. “Every room? How could he! Every cupboard and drawer?”
    “Yes,” Miss Rice said. “He said he will give us until noon tomorrow. That is when he will be coming here.”
    “I will write to him without delay.” His wife got to her feet and turned to look at Aidan. She looked paler today than she had yesterday, he noticed. She was all in gray again. The lavender-trimmed bonnet had not made its appearance for today's journey. “But I will see you on your way first, Colonel. I hope the rain will hold off for you.”
    “Write?” he said. “You are going to
write
instead of confronting him in person and seeing his expression when he learns the truth? You are either a coward, ma'am, or you lack a sense of drama.”
    She half smiled. “It
would
be delicious to behold, would it not?” she said. “I do not believe I can resist.”
    “Neither can I,” he said. It had not occurred to him until this moment that he should see this thing through to the end. He strode farther into the room and set his cup and saucer down on the nearest table. “I do not believe I can deny myself the pleasure of witnessing the comeuppance of Mr. Cecil Morris and even participating in it.”
    “You are going to
stay
?” his wife asked, her eyes widening.
    “Yes,” he said with sudden decision. “Yes, I am going to stay—until a few minutes after noon tomorrow. I would be very surprised if the gentleman is late.”
    Lindsey Hall and freedom—relative freedom—could wait another day, he thought reluctantly. He owed her this much support. One day was not a great deal in the grand scheme of things.
    “Wonderful, Colonel,” Mrs. Pritchard said, getting laboriously to her feet. “I will go and talk to Mrs. Rowe right away and tell her there will be one extra for dinner. I bet she will serve a wedding banquet suitable for royalty.”
    Behind him Aidan