She had rushed to tell Silverton of his poisoning because it was the right thing to do, the Godly thing, and it was. But there was another reason, and the panic and fear that beat through her as she hurried from Dr. Copeland’s side had another aspect at play. A stronger, more irrational side—a side which focused less on the moody, solipsistic husband and more on the kindly, flower buying, well-groomed and debonair gentleman Silverton could be. One of them she cared for deeply, more so that she dared admit even to herself, but the other side of him, that was harder to know…
The whole of their marriage had been built on the idea Silverton would die, would leave her a widow. Now that plan was gone, why would he wish to stay wedded to her, when the only thing they seemed to share was a passionate desire for each other? They were so dissimilar that Maeve wondered if Silverton would seek an annulment—if that was what he had meant when he had said “things would be taken care of.”
Why precisely this brought her so low, she could not admit even to herself, but the arrival of Trawler into her parlour broke her from her contemplation. The cheerful rogue stepped in and bowed to her, the butler immediately departing without asking Maeve if she cared for refreshments. Trawler glanced between her and the door, his eyebrow cocked in a knowing manner.
“Please don’t say anything,” Maeve said, thinking he meant to cause a scene.
The man drew nearer. There was a such a friendly, kindly aura to him, and the nervous energy that lingered around Maeve seemed soothed by his presence.
“I don’t suppose you know much about me, my lady.” Trawler sank into a seat opposite Maeve, his hands smoothing out his handsome buff breeches, the perfect picture of a gentleman. “You have no knowledge of London, no experience of dealing with thebeau monde. I mention it merely because I don’t belong in this world either. Silverton is too much of a gentleman to mention it to his wife, but my father was never married to my mother—I am therefore completely adrift in this world. Do you want to know a secret?”
“I feel sure I already know too much about you,” Maeve answered.
Trawler laughed, the sound bright and generous. “Well, that I am a bastard is not much of a secret. Since I am the spitting image of my father, the Duke of Grisham, there was no hiding it. No, what I meant was more, do you want to know my trick for getting through high society? When all around me wishes me out, or gone, or never born?”
“My case would be different. They will wish I had never married someone of the aristocracy.”
“Taking matrimonial advice from theton,whose leader is famously the most unhappily married of men, never seemed wise to me,” Trawler said, referring to the miserably wed Prinny. He moved across to the bell pull and rang it decisively. “The trick, I have found, is to care where one can, and then not to give a fuck when one can’t. It is easier said than done of course.”
Shocked by his swearing, Maeve looked up into his face. There was such a clear-sighted kindness that she was touched to see her husband inspired such loyalty. She wondered if Silverton appreciated or was even aware of what he motivated in others.
“Silverton has always been a cold fellow,” Trawler said, “but a thoroughly good man lies beneath it all. I wanted you to know, from what I have witnessed between the two of you, he is lucky to have found you.”
“Is that why you came here today?” Maeve asked.
“No,” Trawler said, “I came here for tea and company and to inform you that the runners have confirmed that Charles Brennan boarded a boat bound for Northern Spain last week.”
Maeve let out a small sigh, and it was then the door opened. Trawler stood and said with calm authority to the butler, “Your lady wishes for tea and cake. See that is sent up immediately. Her ladyship requires much better care than I have observed. I am sure that his lordship would not wish to hear of any wrongdoing done to his viscountess.”
The silence echoed, and then Danes bowed his head and said, “Very good, Sir.”
“I think,” Maeve said, looking across at Trawler after Danes had left, “I will very much enjoy having the Oxford Set as my friends.”
“Ma’am, you will always have that.”
With a slightly soothed mind, Maeve enjoyed her tea with Trawler and agreed to visit the Vernes that afternoon—until she heard otherwise, she would proceed as Silverton’s wife, even if she doubted how long it was would last.
CHAPTER15
Tapping his foot restlessly against the floor, Silverton played out what he hoped would happen on his arrival to Silver Hall. His mother would finally agree to reveal to the world Charles’s guilt. The dowager would accompany him back to London, and in the meantime, Trawler or Robinson would have located Sprot and found out where Charles had hidden himself. The latest reports indicated his brother had gone to Spain, and if Silverton had to traipse over there to hunt his brother down, so be it.
Letting out an uneven sigh, Silverton closed his eyes. All his plans were elaborate and would take days if not weeks to complete, and they would require great attention to detail as well as a level head. Yet all he desired was to see Maeve again, to beg her pardon, and to see if she would be willing to….
“Fuck,” he muttered as he shifted once more in his squab, cutting off the direction of his thoughts. There were practical matters for him to consider, to rationalise, and all he could do was moon about what flowers he might be able to bring back to his wife. Or whether she might like to see a firework display.
God, it was daft.
The rest of his Oxford Set had not suffered from such bouts of stupidity, he was sure. Well, maybe Verne had, as Olympe had led him on a merry chase before settling down to matrimony. But Heatherbroke had simply kidnapped his bride, and as for Lynde… the point was, all three of them were happily wed. Only he seemed incapable.
He knew he needed to apologise to her, but that was only the start. The next thing to work out was whether she wanted a real marriage with him. Part of it would need to involve every single one of her nights wrapped in his arms. Once she had agreed to that, there was the matter of convincing Maeve that he was worthy of her… that might take a lot longer.
“Fuck,” Silverton repeated, but this time the noise was one of frustrated sexual annoyance. How on earth was he supposed to propose that to Maeve, and what could he possibly offer her in exchange that would be remotely tempting? No sensible woman would ever see him as anything more than a bloody unlovable bastard, and as she had so adequately shown, she already knew he was that.
* * *
Silver Hall lookedbeautiful in the springtime. The dying afternoon light brought a reflective glow to the windows, and the gardens beneath it ran wild with daffodils and bluebells, which scented the air with a rich, sweet, and floral smell, clear enough to taste. The additional funds Silverton had sent his mother to help pay for the house and garden upkeep seemed to have been ignored. Silverton allowed himself a smile, despite this. He was feeling a lot more settled in himself after the long carriage ride.
In the intervening hours, he had come to a radical conclusion—he was being given his life again, which meant he could make fresh decisions on how he was going to act. First and foremost, his aim would be to win his wife around. Ensuring Maeve was happy would become his primary goal. No, she had not agreed to the whole marriage scheme, but she wanted a child, and he was more than happy to give her as many of them as she liked. He would let her have Silver Hall, and do it up as extravagantly, or as modestly, as she wanted. Welcoming in her father would also be a good start, and her sister—what else could he give her?
