Laura Martin - The Viscount's Runaway Wife

‘A pleasure to meet you, my lord,’ Mary said, rallying splendidly.

Oliver inclined his head in greeting, catching the puzzled glance Mary threw at his wife.

‘You are reunited?’ Mary asked eventually.

He saw Lucy hesitate for just a moment, and then nod.

‘Lucy has been telling me of the work you do here,’ he said, filling the awkward silence that was stretching out before them.

‘Caro—’ Mary started and then corrected herself. ‘Lucy has been a godsend. I don’t know what we would have done without her this last year.’

‘Miss Caroline,’ an exuberant voice shouted from one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard. Oliver looked up in time to see the flash of blond hair before the boy disappeared, heavy footfalls announcing his imminent arrival down one of the many staircases.

A door flew open and a boy of seven or eight hurtled into the courtyard, throwing himself into Lucy’s arms.

‘Old Bert said you’d been kidnapped,’ he said, his eyes wide with excitement.

‘Not kidnapped, Billy. I just bumped into an old acquaintance.’

Oliver grimaced at the casual way she described him. A husband should be more than an old acquaintance.

‘Is this him?’ Billy asked, squinting up at Oliver. ‘Bert said he had a big knife, more like a sword, and he dragged you off by the hair screaming.’

‘Old Bert can exaggerate sometimes,’ Lucy said, suppressing the smile on her lips as she looked down at the boy with affection.

‘Exaggerate?’ Billy mumbled with a frown. Then his face suddenly lit up. ‘Stretch the truth to make it sound more exciting?’ he asked.

‘Well done,’ Lucy said, ruffling the young boy’s hair.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Billy asked, his voice a loud whisper, a dark glance directed Oliver’s way.

Before Lucy could answer, Oliver saw the boy tense and fling himself towards him, fists swinging as he dived at Oliver, teeth gnashing and eyes dark. Catching the young lad easily, he held him at arm’s length, trying to remain gentle but at the same time determined not to be bitten. Who knew what diseases a street child carried in his mouth?

‘He didn’t hurt me, Billy,’ Lucy said quickly, stepping forward to pull the young boy away with a surprising show of strength.

Oliver received a dark, distrusting look from Billy, but no further attempts to attack him were forthcoming.

‘Get back to your studies, Billy,’ Mary admonished gently, ‘or you’ll fall behind the rest of the class.’

Reluctantly Billy gave Lucy one final hug before racing back up the stairs he’d come down. Within seconds there was a low rumble and a few excited shrieks followed by a dozen curious faces at the window of what must be the schoolroom. Billy had lost no time in informing his classmates about Lucy’s return and her mysterious companion.

‘Back to your seats,’ a deep voice called and slowly the faces trickled away.

‘One of the things I’m most proud of,’ Mary said, stepping closer and taking Oliver’s arm. ‘Our education programme. No child that stays here with us gets out of lessons to read and write. Some of those who stay longer also learn a little mathematics. Probably not enough to allow them to be clerks, but certainly enough to be able to take money behind a bar in an inn, or work out weights and prices in a butcher’s shop.’

Oliver had come across all sorts of people in the course of his life. Those who were selfish and thought only of their own profit; those who were determined to pauper themselves in the service of others. Mary was one of the kind ones, he could see, but she was astute, too. She knew exactly what the young children of St Giles needed, and it wasn’t lessons in French or Latin, but basic skills aimed at allowing them to navigate through life just a little easier than their parents.

‘Come, let me show you around,’ Mary said.

‘I don’t want to inconvenience you.’

‘Nonsense. This is purely selfish. I’m hoping if you see the good work we do here you’ll want Lucy to remain involved.’

* * *

Oliver was safely ensconced in the office. Hopefully his accounts would be absorbing enough to keep him from wandering, Lucy thought.

He’d been remarkably well behaved on his tour of the Foundation, asking Mary insightful questions and greeting the children and adults he met politely. Lucy didn’t know what she’d expected, but not this. Perhaps a surly superiority, or a dismissive air about him, but Oliver had been genial and courteous.

‘What on earth happened?’ Mary asked, pulling Lucy into her private rooms.

Lucy collapsed into one of the low armchairs and let out a heartfelt sigh.

‘Somehow he found me, followed me and insisted I went home with him.’

Mary was one of the only people who knew the truth about Lucy’s background. Most of the residents, as well as the patrons of the orphanage, believed she was the daughter of some minor country gentleman, probably caught up in a scandal that had brought her low in life. Mary had been the one to find her and David shivering on a street corner just over a year ago and she’d been the one to comfort Lucy when David passed away. She’d helped Lucy grieve, then slowly brought back her purpose in life by giving her a role at the Foundation. In return, Lucy had been honest with the older woman, telling her the details of her background and why she’d fled from her marital home.

‘He seems perfectly pleasant on the outside,’ Mary mused. ‘Has he hurt you?’

With the kind of women they helped at the Foundation they were both well aware of the outwardly charming man who beat his wife roughly behind closed doors.

‘He’s been gentle,’ Lucy admitted. ‘Hasn’t raised a hand against me, or even his voice.’

She knew Oliver would be well within his rights to lock her in her bedroom, beat her with a stick for her disobedience and force himself on her until she was with child. And, despite hardly knowing the man she was married to, Lucy did know he would never hurt her.

‘What does he want?’

‘To be my husband. And for me to be his wife.’

‘Hardly an unreasonable request,’ Mary murmured.

Despite the fear of the future Lucy was feeling, she couldn’t help but smile. Mary had never held back from saying exactly what she was feeling.

‘I thought he would have moved on by now,’ Lucy said glumly.

‘Do you want him to?’

‘Of course. I left. I could hardly wish him to wait for me all this time.’

‘But he has. And now you have the chance to be a lady again.’

‘I was never made for that life,’ Lucy said. It wasn’t quite true. The life of a lady was what she’d been born into, what she’d been raised to be. Her entire childhood had been aimed at preparing her for marriage to a respectable gentleman. This life, this vocation she felt at the Foundation, would have been foreign to her younger self, but now she couldn’t imagine returning to a pampered life of idleness, having a maid to help her dress, a cook to prepare her meals.

‘Perhaps there’s a way for your two lives to meet in the middle,’ Mary said. ‘It seems your husband is content to let you continue at least some of your work here and I dare say you could find a way to enjoy some of the perks of being married to a viscount.’

Of course Mary was right. That would be the ideal solution. It was much like what Oliver had proposed.

‘That’s what he said,’ Lucy grumbled, feeling decidedly put out and not quite knowing why.

‘Change, dear,’ Mary said, patting her on the hand. ‘It’s difficult to accept when the decision has been taken from your hands, especially when you’ve been independent for as long as we have.’