The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne Read Online Free Page A

that there could be no children for them if they wed.
    But Freddy had needed her.
    Needed her.
    How could she ever have turned away from him? Even if it meant denying herself everything a woman craved? Even children.
    Well, it would have been the most unchristian, uncharitable thing she could have ever done to leave him.
    “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three…” Sunny mouthed the words soundlessly. “But the greatest of these is charity.”
    As a girl, she had written those lines, with flawless calligraphy, on countless handbills that Mama had handed out to strangers on her weekly pilgrimages into the city to save the souls of so many.
    Think of all the good Papa and Mama had done in India all these years since her marriage. They were saving the souls of the heathens. Relieving the suffering of the poor. Freddy had financed their missionary work.
    Mama was so good.
    Papa was so good.
    Her sisters were so good.
    But Sunny was bad. So bad.
    She had become discontented in her marriage.
    It had been springtime and she had felt so young, so alive. So full of the joy of simply being.
    No, be honest!
    It had been the joy of being a woman. The joy of merely gazing upon a man’s handsomeness and being pleased by it. And knowing that he had gazed upon her and found her just as pleasing.
    She had allowed herself to be excited into unseemly high spirits. She had acted indiscreetly. She had smiled too brightly. Laughed a little too loudly.
    And she had been the baroness. Her behavior should have been beyond reproach, at all times.
    Even in the spring.
    Oh, Freddy, my love, my love, I never meant to hurt you. I am so sorry, so very sorry…
    She intoned the words in her mind, then swallowed against the constriction in her throat and pressed the miniature to her breasts. Freddy, whom she had loved but been forbidden to love as his lover.
     
    I am sorry, love, so sorry for it all.
     
    Freddy’s voice echoed back to her, a haunting refrain from her memory, a fragment of a late-night conversation early in their marriage.
    Freddy, whom she had disrespected.
    Freddy had needed her so.
    She thrust the miniature back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
    The artist’s rendering was so lifelike, she could never bear to look at it for long.
    If the past was too painful, the present was too unsettling.
    James.
    Handsome and virile.
    Carnal temptation personified.
    He drew her just as potently as ever.
    Dear God, help her.
    She hugged her shoulders, staring at the door and feeling her heart pound against her rib cage.
    She must calm herself.
    They would be coming with the bath water soon. Very soon. Her moments alone were limited. If they saw how agitated she was—if they guessed the reason, they would send for Dr. Meeker.
     
     
    * * * *
     
    James drummed his fingers upon his wool-covered thigh.
    The tea had taken forever to arrive. Now Aunt Frances lingered over the pouring of it fussily. The jewel clasps that fastened the feathers in her silk turban caught the firelight of the spacious withdrawing chamber. In the soft glow, her skin still looked quite fine. One might easily think she was no more than forty-five. It was a wonder that she had never remarried. But then, she wouldn’t have wanted to let go of her position of power, would she? She’d been placed in the most perfect position for a woman of her temperament. Dowager to a wealthy estate, with a son who looked to her unquestioningly for guidance.
    Now that son was dead and James was the new baron.
    With an inner sigh, he pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. He had a supper commitment and the time was drawing short. “Where is this Dr. Metcalf?”
    Aunt Frances’ head jerked up, and her gray eyes, so like Freddy’s, met his. “Dr. Meeker,” she said pointedly.
    “Meeker. Right.” He stashed his watch again. “So where is he?”
    “He has just been delayed a bit.”
    James gaped at her. “We had an appointment, did we not?”
    “Well, he is