Page 24 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
As though he had conjured them with his thoughts, Wyatt heard the front door opening, and the butler murmuring greetings to his mother and grandmother. Heard the deliberate click-clack of footsteps heading across the foyer.
“I've got to go,” Wyatt told Gemma. “I shall have your things brought up the moment they arrive.”
No doubt she had heard the Dowagers' arrival too because his wife managed nothing more than a pale-faced nod.
Wyatt closed the door and headed in the direction of his mother's footsteps, trying to summon his courage and wishing he had had a third whisky.
Chapter Twelve
Wyatt stepped into the parlor, his heart thundering.
What is the matter with me? I am a grown man!
He found his mother perched on the edge of an armchair, a look of unwavering ferocity fixed onto her steely features. And yes, Wyatt acknowledged, Martha, Duchess of Larsen was something of a terrifying creature, with her severe gray hair and narrow, angular face. In a gown of such dark blue, it was almost black, she looked more like she was dressed for a funeral than her son's wedding.
Perhaps she had had a premonition of what was coming…
His mother did not turn as Wyatt stepped into the room. She took a colorless blob of pastry from the plate beside her and bit into it with more force than necessary. “Rabbit croquettes,” she said tautly. “The cook made sixty of them for the wedding breakfast. It seemed a shame for them to go to waste.” The words came out dripping with coldness.
Wyatt rubbed his eyes, his thoughts knocking together. How was he to begin this conversation?
“Explain yourself,” Martha snapped, putting a merciful end to Wyatt's dithering. He was not sure he had ever heard his mother speak with such a brusque and unfeeling tone. Before he could open his mouth to respond, his mother said, “I have never been more ashamed in my life! How can I ever show my face among thetonagain? Can you imagine what people are saying about our family?” She shook her head. “Thank heavens your father was not here to see this. He would have been horrified. And to think that now you've latched yourself to that… that…vagrant'sdaughter!” She shook her head in disgust. “How could you have been so foolish to let yourself be taken in by her? How could you not have seen what she was playing at?”
Wyatt felt a sudden flicker of anger at hearing his mother speak of Gemma in such a way.
Does she truly think Gemma did this on purpose?One glance at his wife's tear-streaked face would surely convince her otherwise.
“None of this is Lady Gemma's fault,” he said firmly. “Believe me, she does not wish to be here anymore than you wish her to be.”
His mother huffed. “I doubt that very much.”
Muscles tightened in Wyatt's shoulders as he felt a sudden protectiveness toward his wife.
My wife! —The reality of it would almost be laughable if it weren't so… real.
“How long were you planning this?” his mother asked.
“Planning this?” Wyatt repeated incredulously.
“Yes. You do not truly expect me to believe Lady Gemma justhappenedto fall into your arms moments before your wedding, do you? Did you hatch this foolish plan the night you were running around the Henfords' home like street urchins?” She threw a hand up in dismay. “I know you had no fondness for Miss Henford. But I never imagined you might stoop to something so… underhand.”
Wyatt drew in a breath, forcing himself to keep his composure. He fixed his mother with cold eyes. “There was noplan, Mother. But you are right about one thing. Lady Gemma did fall into my arms. I simply caught her on instinct to prevent her from hitting her head. As for the rest… well…”You can thank my grandmother for that.
But something stopped Wyatt from saying it. Not because he had any doubt about the Dowager Duchess's utter engineering of the situation to suit her own agenda. But because he felt oddly reluctant to throw his grandmother into his mother's line of fire. The house was feeling like enough of a battlefield already.
Nonetheless, that underlying sense of dread that had been tugging at him since he had been betrothed to Miss Henford had disappeared. And in spite of the scandalous—and utterly ludicrous—situation he now found himself in, Wyatt could not deny he felt something bordering on relief.
In truth, he had not had the time—nor the will—to explore how he truly felt about having Gemma Caster as his wife. But the fact that he was now free of Henrietta Henford had loosened a knot in his stomach that had been there for so long he had almost ceased to become aware of it.
“In any case,” he said firmly. “I will not have you breathe a word of these accusations to my wife, do you understand? To suggest that she was responsible for this iscompletelyunfounded.”
Martha huffed. “I should have known something like this would happen,” she said, with a faraway look in her eyes. She took a savage bite into another croquette. “I never should have allowed you to run about the city for so many years. Look what it has turned you into. I should have forced you to marry the moment you returned from Eton.”
Wyatt sighed. He knew there was little point trying to reason with his mother right now. It was like trying to wrestle with an angry crocodile. “Well,” he said sharply. “What's done is done, Mother. And nothing is going to change that. Lady Gemma is my wife. The new Duchess of Larsen. And I expect you to treat her with the same respect you did Miss Henford.” He held her gaze, despite the fierce urge to look away from her scrutiny. “The respect due to a duchess.”
He turned on his heel and strode from the room before she could respond, surprised when her fierce eyes did not turn him to ash.
Gemma splashed her face on the washstand, gasping at the feel of the cold water against her cheeks. The chill of it went some way toward steadying her. Anchoring her in the moment, before she was swept away in a torrent of grief and overthinking.
