Page 26 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“Give the poor child some time, Martha,” Sandra hissed. “Her entire life was upturned today.”
Martha snorted. “She ought to have thought of that before she threw herself into my son's arms moments before his wedding like a harlot!”
“Mother!”
Martha lowered her eyes, chastened. She dipped her spoon into her soup and took a silent mouthful.
Sandra glanced sideways at Wyatt, trying to determine how he was faring. He had a closed-off look about him, his gaze fixed on his bowl, as though deliberately avoiding contact with anyone at the table. A thick lock of dark hair hung over one eye. Sandra regretted that she had not yet had the chance to speak to him alone. But the moment he had finished arguing with his motherthat morning, he had squirreled himself away in his study with firm instructions that he was not to be interrupted.
Sandra wondered what he was thinking. Was there a hint of relief there that he might have been spared a lifetime with Henrietta Henford? It did not look that way right now. But perhaps with time…
She was glad when, after a stilted and largely wordless dinner, Martha excused herself and disappeared upstairs. Wyatt stared after her, rubbing a hand absentmindedly across his smooth-shaven cheek.
“How are you, my dear?” Sandra dared to ask.
He turned to face her. “That is a complicated question.” Despite the evenness of his words, his ice-blue eyes were flashing. Sandra knew at once that he was aware of her meddling.
In truth, Sandra had not gone to the wedding intending to overturn it as she had. That morning, she had resigned herself to the fact that Wyatt was to marry Miss Henford. She had resigned herself to the fact that she had lost, and cold, hard-hearted Martha had won.
But then the opportunity presented itself. When Sandra had seen Wyatt follow Lady Gemma around the back of the chapel, she had felt as though fate was on her side. She had followed them on a whim, more curious than anything else. And yes, she knew well that Lady Gemma's fall had been an accident. But that did not change the fact that she had been firmly encased in Wyatt's less-than-platonic embrace. And there was no way Sandra was going to pass up on an opportunity like that…
But best to neither confirm nor deny. Best to stay silent, as she had done in the face of Lady Gemma's accusations earlier that day. Let them come to their own conclusions.
“Your wife is a fine young lady,” she told Wyatt. “I believe the two of you can be happy together.”
Wyatt let out a humorless laugh, but Sandra saw something else pass across his face. The faintest hint of a smile. She thought suddenly of the way Wyatt and Lady Gemma had gallivanted around the place at Miss Henford's party. They could deny it all they wanted, but Sandra knew attraction when she saw it.
“Go to your wife,” Sandra said gently. “She is overwhelmed and afraid. Let her know she does not have to feel that way.”
Wyatt sighed. “I do not think she wishes to see me.”
Sandra reached over and patted his hand. “Perhaps not. But I am sure it would do her good to hear from her husband, nonetheless. Go to her, Wyatt. Show her you are a good and decent man. Remind her she is not alone.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gemma closed her eyes as Ivy ran a hairbrush through her long brown hair. When her lady's maid had arrived at Larsen Manor that afternoon, Gemma had almost thrown herself into her arms in relief. It seemed someone had given Ivy a brief rundown of what had happened at the wedding, for the girl had slipped into the routine of Larsen Manor with barely a hiccup and even fewer questions. Gemma was endlessly grateful.
“I am so sorry, Ivy,” she said, as her maid wound her thick hair into a plait. “I know you had many friends at Volk House. I feel dreadful that you have been torn away from them like this.”
Ivy gave her a sympathetic smile in the mirror. “It's all right, My Lady—I mean, Your Grace. I know it wasn't your fault.”
At her words, Gemma reached back and pressed her hand to the girl's. She did not care how inappropriate such a thing was—she was far too overcome with relief that there was someone in the world who believed that this had not been a result of her own underhand scheming.
“Besides,” Ivy continued, “this is a beautiful house. Like a palace, don't you think? I am sure I'll be quite happy here.”
Gemma smiled faintly. “Thank you, Ivy. I am very glad to hear it.”
Ivy set the hairbrush back on the dressing table. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then seemed to change her mind.
“Yes, Ivy?” Gemma pressed.
The girl wound a strand of blonde hair around her finger, meeting Gemma's eyes in the mirror. “I was wondering what you wished to wear to bed tonight, Your Grace. Given… well… Will His Grace, the Duke be…” She faded out, her cheeks flushing scarlet.
Inexplicably, the question made something flip in Gemma's chest. And for a fleeting moment, she was back in the music room at the Henfords' home, feeling the Duke of Larsen's lips against her own. Feeling sensations course through her body that she had never been aware of before. Sensations that had not begun to calm down in the slightest over the past few days.
And now the man that caused them is my husband…
Gemma tried to force away the tug of desire she could feel gathering in her belly. Tried to stop the ridiculous pounding of her heart. These were just foolish physical reactions. They were not to be acted on. Ever.
