The Viscount's Runaway Wife

‘Even after all this time?’

Oliver fixed her with a stony stare. ‘I knew I would find you, Lucy, even if it took ten years.’

Her cheeks flushed and she looked hurriedly away.

‘We could...’ She paused as if summoning up the courage to continue. ‘We could get divorced.’

Trying to suppress the snort of laughter, Oliver grimaced. ‘Why would we want to do that?’

Divorce was uncommon and scandalous, requiring the husband to make an application to Parliament and for a private act to be passed. It was extremely costly and, if Oliver wasn’t very much mistaken, required the husband to prove his wife had been adulterous. He’d only known one person to get divorced in his entire life and the woman’s reputation had been completely ruined by the ensuing scandal. The gentleman in question had been left free to remarry, but Oliver had often wondered if the palaver had been worthwhile for the man.

‘I know it is unheard of and damages reputations, but it is possible. It would allow you to remarry, get on with your life, start afresh.’

‘I don’t need to remarry. I already have a wife, Lucy.’ He said it sternly.

‘You truly mean for us to pick up where we left off a year ago.’

He nodded gravely. ‘It will take time. I’m aware of that. The trust between us has been broken and it will need to be built up again, but I am willing to put in the work.’

‘And what about me?’ Lucy asked quietly.

‘I’m not a monster, Lucy,’ Oliver said. ‘It won’t be that terrible living with me as your husband.’

‘I didn’t mean...’ She rallied. ‘I have a life, responsibilities.’

‘Ah, your Foundation.’

‘It’s important to me.’ She bristled.

‘Then I’m sure we can find some acceptable compromise.’

‘I don’t want a compromise,’ she muttered, but Oliver chose to pretend he hadn’t heard the mutinous comment.

‘We are married, Lucy, and we shall be until one of us dies. It is best you accept things are going to change.’ The words sounded harsh even to his own ears, but he wasn’t about to pander to the whims of a woman who’d abandoned him a year ago and prevented him from ever knowing his firstborn son. ‘I am your husband and you are my wife. That’s the end of it.’

She studied him for over a minute in silence and Oliver could see his quiet perseverance was getting his point across. They were married, no matter how they felt about one another, and he didn’t want to hear any more ridiculous suggestions about divorce or separation. He didn’t plan on letting Lucy slip away, even if the next few weeks of adjustment were awkward and uncomfortable.

* * *

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. It was hard to tell exactly what her husband was thinking. He always spoke in that same calm, infuriating voice, his words carefully considered and chosen. She had to admit she felt a little suspicious. An entire year she’d kept him in the dark as to her whereabouts, her safety, and now he was talking about compromise. Although in the short time they’d spent together after their wedding he had always appeared courteous and kind, if a little distant, Lucy had expected something different when he’d manhandled her into the carriage bound for St James’s Square. Perhaps to be locked in a room and physically punished; perhaps to be denied her freedom to walk in the fresh air ever again. Instead he was suggesting they resume their roles as husband and wife, as if nothing much had happened in the intervening time.

‘We barely know each other,’ Lucy said quietly.

‘Luckily we are not alone among married couples of the ton—many of them have spent less time together than us.’

She knew it was true. Many marriages were made for reasons of money or titles, with the husband and wife meeting only on important occasions. Theirs had always been a marriage of convenience, allowing Lucy to escape from an overbearing family and Oliver to gain a wife to give him heirs.

She swallowed, trying to suppress the heat in her cheeks despite knowing it was an uncontrollable reaction to what she was about to ask. ‘What do you expect of me?’

His eyes met hers and she fancied she saw a flicker of amusement behind the serious façade. Surely he couldn’t be enjoying this.

‘I expect you to be my wife,’ he said, his voice low.

A shiver ran down her spine, not of fear or dread, but anticipation. In the month after their marriage they had been intimate a number of times, as was expected of a husband and wife. Far from the painful, awkward encounters her married friends had whispered about, Lucy had found to her embarrassment she looked forward to the nights Oliver had quietly knocked on her door and slipped into her room.

‘We will attend functions together, entertain here and at our home in Sussex, you will oversee the household...’ he shrugged ‘...all the duties of a wife.’

Lucy felt the blush on her cheeks deepen. He wasn’t even thinking about intimacy in the bedroom. She lifted her eyes to find he was looking intently at her, not even the hint of a smile present on his lips.

‘And the Foundation?’ Lucy asked, forcing herself to focus on what was important.

‘You may visit, of course. Properly chaperoned.’

‘Visit?’

‘Yes, advise them on their books, play with the street children, whatever it is you do,’ Oliver said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

‘We keep dozens of families alive,’ Lucy said, the pitch of her voice rising. ‘Provide shelter and food and education to those who truly have nowhere else to turn.’

‘I’m sure they managed perfectly well before you became involved—they will survive if you take a step back now you have other responsibilities.’

‘I won’t do it,’ she said quietly.

‘Won’t do what?’

‘Attend your parties, organise your household. Not if I can’t continue with my work.’

Oliver sighed, rubbing his forehead with the fingertips of one hand as if he had a headache coming on.

‘There will be changes to both our lives, Lucy,’ he said quietly, his reasonable words and measured tone inflaming her spirit even further. ‘We shall have to compromise.’ Again he paused before pushing on, holding her gaze as he delivered his next words. ‘And if you can’t compromise, then I am your husband and you need to remember the obey part of your vows.’

She supposed she’d pushed too far, but his words inflamed her anger and reminded her why she’d stayed away for so long.

‘They need me,’ she said, forcing herself to be reasonable.

‘Then you will have to find a way to make them need you less.’ He held up his hands in a placating gesture as she pushed her chair away from the table. ‘Do not take offence, Lucy. All I mean is the kindest thing to do for any person or organisation is to make it more self-sufficient.’

Forcing herself to calm down, she settled back into her chair. He wasn’t saying she couldn’t go, not exactly, although it was clear he meant for her to step back from her responsibilities at the Foundation and focus more on those at home. She probably should be thankful. She’d feared he might keep her under lock and key to ensure she didn’t disappear again. Perhaps he would send a footman to accompany her for the first few days, but once he realised she wasn’t going to run away she doubted her husband would interfere too much in her life. After all, he had his own life to lead. Just over a year they’d been separated; surely he would have built his own life for himself in that time. Friends, a mistress, regular social engagements. He wouldn’t want to disrupt his routine too much either, she was sure of it.

Pausing for a second, Lucy glanced again at the composed profile of her husband. Surely he had moved on, built a life for himself. He’d told her he’d been searching for her this entire time, but she wasn’t quite sure she believed that. It wasn’t as though theirs had been a union of love. They’d barely known one another, not enough to inspire that sort of devotion.

‘That’s settled, then,’ Oliver said, laying down his cutlery. ‘I shall arrange for you to have a schedule of our social engagements over the coming weeks and mark in a few suitable dates for you to visit the dressmakers. I brought some of your clothes from Sussex, but it is by no means a full wardrobe.’ He paused and Lucy wondered what it must be like to have such an ordered way of thinking. ‘We shall refuse all visitors this first week and I shall reintroduce you to society at the Hickams’ ball next week.’

Involuntarily Lucy’s hand rose to her throat, rubbing the skin of her neck as she tried to control the urge to flee.

‘After that, I expect acquaintances will be very curious—we may be inundated with well-wishers for quite a while—but I shall leave it up to you to decide how to deal with them.’ He waved his hand dismissively as if not wanting to be concerned with the minutiae of running a household and maintaining a social calendar.

Lucy didn’t plan to be at home to visitors; she had much more pressing things to occupy her time than to sit sipping tea with nosy old women.