Page 38 of Marry in Secret
He drew the blanket around him and listened to the sounds of the city stirring. How long since he’d heard those sounds? Water gurgled noisily down the pipes from the roof, wheels splashed through puddles. He’d never realized how joyous rain could sound. Living in a parched land made you see things differently.
As always, his thoughts turned to the men he’d left behind.
Nearly four years since he’d seen any of them. Dodds,Jones, O’Brien, Dyson and young Pendell. How were they faring? Were they even still alive?
He’d promised to get them home, assured them repeatedly that he’d take care of them, to trust him. And here he was, safe and warm in bed, listening to rain, English rain.
And where were they? Had their wives married again? Did their children call some other man Papa?
He had to bring them home. Somehow.
He’d visit the Admiralty offices again this morning. Yesterday his mission had been cut short by the news of Rose’s imminent wedding and his race across town to prevent it.
Now more than ever, it was urgent he convince the navy to rescue his men. Now that he’d blown the chance of getting the funds he needed from his rich wife.
Ah, Rose. It was for the best, he told himself.
What time was it? The rain had turned the morning sky bleak and gray, and without the sun it was hard to tell time. Downstairs he heard the knocker sound, then the porter’s voice and a low conversation—an early tradesman perhaps. The conversation became an argument, then he heard footsteps running up the stairs and a shout, “Oy, miss, stop. You can’t go in there—”
The door to Ollie’s apartments flew open.
“There you are.” It was Rose, damp and triumphant. She dropped a battered umbrella in the corner, declaring, “Umbrellas these days have no stamina! The wretched thing blew inside out and look at me, I’m completely drenched.” Locks of wet hair clustered around her face like the fronds of a sea anemone. She looked enchanting.
“What the devil—” Thomas sat up, clutching his blanket around him.
The porter followed her in. “I’m sorry, sir, I did tell the young person—”
“Young person?” Rose said indignantly. “I’m a young lady!”
“Young lady, my fat aunt!” The porter’s wife, a small, stocky troll with an impressive bosom, wheezed into view. Dressed in a violently pink wrapper with her improbablyred hair tied in dozens of rags, she confronted Rose, arms akimbo. “You’re no better than you ought, you are, pushin’ your way into a gentleman’s abode at this hour! Now take yourself off, you brazen young hussy! This is a respectable establishment, and I won’t have no—”
“I am this gentleman’s wife!” Rose declared.
“Pfft! A likely tale. Now don’t you back her up, sir—Mr. Yelland knows full well we don’t allow females—”
“Thomas, am I or am I not your legally wedded wife?” Rose asked, spearing her fingers through her hair and feathering it out.
Thomas was very tempted to deny her, the minx, but the porter’s wife was regarding him gimlet-eyed and he found himself saying, “She is, Mrs. Baines, I’m sorry—”
“What’s all the blasted commotion?” Ollie stuck his head out. “Can’t a man sleep in his own apartm—” Seeing Rose, he turned bright red and snatched the nightcap off his head. “Morning, Lady Rose, Mrs. Baines,” he muttered, and retreated into his bedchamber like an appalled tortoise.
“LadyRose?” the porter’s wife said suspiciously, but her eyes were popping.
“Yes, I was Lady Rose Rutherford, but it’s Mrs. Beresford now,” Rose explained, apparently deciding the correct form of address would only confuse the woman. “My husband and I have only just been reunited after four years apart.”
She made an apologetic moue. “Was itverywrong of me to come at such an early hour? Only I’ve missed him so, and I didn’t sleep a wink last night, and this morning when I woke, well, I just couldn’t stay away a moment longer.”
She gave a sigh worthy of an orphan in a melodrama and directed a brave-but-woebegone look at the porter’s wife. “But if you say I must go, Mrs. Baines, I will. I wouldn’t want to sully your fine establishment’s excellent reputation with my thoughtless and impulsive behavior.”
But Mrs. Baines wasn’t born yesterday. “Married, you say?” Her gaze dropped to Rose’s hand. “Where’s your weddin’ ring, then?”
“It’s here.” To Thomas’s surprise Rose pulled a locket from her neckline, opened it and pulled out a gold wedding ring—the one he’d given her; he recognized the design. “We married in secret, you see. I have averystrict and cruel guardian and if he discovered Thomas and I were married, well, he would have locked me up in a horrid dark chamber in the basement. With spiders and rats.”
Mrs. Baines pursed her lips, unimpressed. “I don’t reckon I’d blame him. Lady or not, I reckon you’re a right handful, but since Mr. Beresford swears you’re his legally wedded wife”—she darted a severe glance at Thomas—“I’ll say no more. Come along, Baines.” She swept to the door, then turned back and wagged a minatory finger at them. “But no joinin’ giblets, you understand, or I’ll be giving notice to Mr. Yelland, and that would be a shame, ’cause he’s never given me a moment’s trouble. A proper gentheis!”
The door banged shut behind her.
Rose turned to Thomas. “Joining giblets?Does that mean what I think it does?” He nodded and she collapsed on thechaise longue, gurgling with laughter. Having fought to keep a straight face throughout the entire exchange, Thomas couldn’t help but join in.
