The Marriage Rescue

by Joanna Johnson

  Take that as a warning, Edward cautioned himself, a frown pinching his fair brows together. Don’t allow that nonsense into your head again; you know better than to be fooled by a pretty face.

  If Selina was pleasing to his eye—as was undeniable, he admitted reluctantly—it was not something to be encouraged. Their marriage was to be nothing more than a convenient lifeline for both of them, and he had no intention of feeling anything more for the woman who now approached him as though marching to war. Feelings led to nothing but pain, and not even his body’s perturbing reaction to this Roma woman would convince him otherwise.

  * * *

  Selina swallowed hard as she saw Edward turn to look at her, her heart leaping within her and her throat as dry as if she’d thirsted for a week. Only a few minutes and he will be my husband.

  How many women would give anything to be in her situation? she wondered as she moved down the aisle towards him, trying to ignore the rush of blood in her ears that obliterated all other sound but her own heartbeat. Rich and handsome. Perhaps she too would have considered herself lucky had they not shaken on their bargain like two hagglers at a market.

  The unfamiliar sensation of lace against her legs only served to add to the strangeness of the moment. The dress had been Zillah’s, made decades before by her own two hands for her wedding to Selina’s long-dead grandfather. The lace had yellowed slightly with age, and Selina knew the cut was no longer fashionable, but it tied her to her people and to the Roma way of life; it gave her courage and she needed all the courage she could get.

  She felt her legs tremble as she neared the altar and redoubled her grip on Zillah’s arm. The older woman’s hand came up immediately to cover her own, and she held it tight with the birdlike claws of her fingers.

  ‘Steady, girl,’ she murmured, too low for any of the three watching men to hear. ‘You hold on to me. I’ve got you.’

  Selina nodded, intent on reaching her goal. Just put one foot in front of the other. You’re almost there.

  Her eyes felt gritty with tiredness, the night before having been spent curled up with Zillah in wordless comfort in her bunk. There hadn’t been much to say—both women knew what had to happen, and that no amount of talking would change what lay ahead. She would be leaving everything and everyone she loved and putting her trust in a man she barely knew.

  At least he didn’t expect her to consummate the marriage, she thought as she closed in on the altar, with Edward looming ever larger at her right-hand side. He’d intimated as much, and she recalled how her cheeks had flared hotly with girlish embarrassment. No Roma man had ever dared venture into such a conversation with her before, and she would have boxed his ears if he had.

  A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that Edward looked well in his wedding suit. The pale blue of his waistcoat was paired well with his fair hair, and cream breeches emphasised the lean shape of his legs—a detail Selina couldn’t help but notice with reluctant admiration.

  Part of her—a very secret, apparently feral part, over which she had terrifyingly little control—had been anticipating seeing him again. Edward’s broad frame and clean-cut jaw had robbed her of sleep the night before almost as much as her apprehension, and now he was before her Selina could feel the same ready blush he always seemed able to provoke in her simmering below the surface of her pallid cheeks.

  The small smiles he insisted on shooting her were kindly meant, she imagined, and his mute expression upon first seeing her had been undeniably flattering—enjoyable, even. Not that any of that mattered, she reminded herself sternly as her stomach fluttered disloyally. What use did she have for flattery or for a handsome face? They both knew why they were doing this—it was a business transaction and nothing more. She was no blushing bride tripping happily to the altar, even if he did cut a figure most women would look twice at and be glad to get to know better—as she herself might have been, in truth, had the circumstances been different.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

  Edward’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper in her ear that stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck. He was standing so close Selina could have reached out and touched him, and the entirely too-tempting urge to do so was one she fought with every fibre of her being.

  ‘Truth be told, neither was I.’

  She felt the air shift as Zillah moved a few paces away and then she turned to Edward, both of them tense and silent before the clergyman, who cleared his throat with a dry cough and began to speak.

  ‘Dearly beloved...’

  Selina saw the man’s lips move as though she were in a dream. He seemed to go on talking for a long time, although she knew it could only have been a few minutes before she heard Edward’s voice and watched with blind eyes as he reached for her hand.

  She hesitated. Last chance, Lina.

  She could still turn and run, and there would be nothing Edward could do about it. He couldn’t force her to marry him—what if she chose not to? What then?

  Papa would be spared the pain of learning of her marriage when he next returned to the camp. There had been no question of sending him a letter to tell him of her situation—neither he nor Selina could read or write, and she hadn’t been able to bear the shame of dispatching one of the children with a message.

  Edward’s gaze was warm as he looked down at her, although she thought she could detect a thread of uncertainty in his expression. I doubt this is easy for him, either, she realised, with a feeling uncomfortably close to sympathy growing inside her.

  How was it that he actively sought a wife who would never love him? She knew he wasn’t ignorant of the knowledge that he was everything she loathed, living his life of genteel idleness, with servants to pander to his every whim and enough money to feed a Roma camp for a full lifetime, let alone one winter. Heaven knew, he could surely have his pick of women, with his good looks and even better prospects. There was no doubt about that.

  Selina felt another pang of that instinctive attraction Edward seemed able to inspire in her without even needing to try. Despite his explanations, it didn’t make sense.

  But she wouldn’t run. The bait on the hook was too precious. With just a few months of worry she would buy a safer future for her people, and for that she would have done almost anything.

  She placed her hand in Edward’s and almost gasped aloud at the jolt of electricity that thrilled through her at the contact. His palm was warm and she could feel the steady beat of his pulse in the thumb that brushed her knuckles, a gentle caress of reassurance that took her by surprise. Even as her lips moved in the vows that would save them, all she was truly conscious of was that small movement of his skin on hers, lighting up her every nerve and inviting her to enjoy the sensations of that tiny comforting gesture—and then a ring was slipped onto her numb finger and the deal was done.

  * * *

  The sound of a tray being placed down somewhere close to her head roused Selina from her sleep. Dimly, as though muffled by something soft, she heard the trickle of liquid being poured, punctuated by metal clinking gently against china.

  Selina raised her head slightly from her cloud-like pillow and slowly cracked open one eyelid. Blinding sunlight poured through the windows of the unfamiliar room she was in, and she instinctively brought a hand up across her face to shield her eyes—her left hand, where a slim gold band winked cheerfully at her from the third finger.

  Blackwell Hall—Edward.

  She had spent the rest of the previous day packing her admittedly meagre possessions into a trunk supplied by Edward—her husband—and saying tearful farewells to her family and friends. He’d come to claim her as night had fallen, and they had ridden together in silence up the long drive to his great home, Djali bearing her steadily onwards to meet her fate.

  She’d fully expected to lie awake all night, with the events of the day running ceaselessly through her mind. Instead,
however, it appeared that distress had sapped her energy and she’d been asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow.

  A young woman hovered at her bedside, holding a teacup and saucer in her hands. At Selina’s questioning glance she held out the cup to her uncertainly. Selina noticed her hand trembled slightly.

  ‘Who—who are you?’

  ‘Dinah, ma’am.’ The girl bobbed a neat curtsey. ‘I’m to be your maid.’

  ‘My what?’

  Selina’s eyes were still bleary from sleep, and she rubbed at them with a clenched fist. Looking at the girl clearly for the first time, she took in her short stature and round, honest face, sprinkled with a constellation of freckles. They must be around the same age, and she found she liked her immediately—although the deference in her tone made Selina wince. She hadn’t been ma’am-ed in her entire life, and she would have been quite content to keep it that way.

  ‘Your maid, ma’am...if you please.’ Dinah peered at her nervously, apparently anxious for her reply.

  My maid? Truly?

  She stared blankly at the girl. Was it some kind of joke? Surely Edward knew she could fend for herself, for goodness’ sake. Why had he sent her this poor creature, who now looked every bit as uncomfortable as Selina felt?

  ‘But I’m not in need of a maid.’

  The very idea of it—a Roma with a servant? It was almost an insult, and Selina bridled internally. Of course women born to upper-class life needed help: gentry ladies were more ornaments than functional beings. But surely Edward didn’t dare lump her in with them?

  ‘Oh, please, ma’am! Don’t send me away!’

  The girl seemed close to tears, and Selina regarded her with baffled horror.

  ‘I’m a good worker, honest, and I’ve waited so long for a chance to wait on a real lady and not be in the kitchens anymore.’ She whisked a handkerchief from the pocket of her drab dress and patted at her eyes.

  Selina hesitated, unsure of what to do, then set her cup down on her bedside table with a sharp click of porcelain against varnished wood.

  ‘Are you saying you want to be my—?’ She couldn’t finish that sentence; it was too ridiculous for words. Dinah nodded vigorously into the cloth folds that concealed her face, only increasing Selina’s amazement. ‘I see. Well...if it means that much to you... I would never want to—to—deprive you of—’

  The girl whipped the hanky away and peered short-sightedly at her, her expression so absurdly hopeful that Selina had to fight the perverse desire to laugh.

  If only the girls at home could see me now.

  At Blackwell for less than twelve hours and already somebody’s superior. ‘But I’ve never had a maid before, and I’m certainly no real lady. I think you might be disappointed.’

  ‘Never, ma’am! If you’ll have me, I promise you won’t ever regret being my mistress.’ Dinah picked up the cup again and placed it back into Selina’s hand, her homely face creased in determination.

  Selina smiled ruefully. ‘I’d really rather be your friend than your mistress, Dinah. I have a feeling I’ll need all the friends I can get.’

  The girl didn’t understand—she could tell by her face—and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to elaborate further, Selina supposed. Instead, she slowly sipped her tea as she allowed her gaze to wander around the bedchamber she had slept in. It had been night when she’d arrived, and it was only now, in the cold light of day, that she was able to see her surroundings clearly.

  She could barely believe how huge the blue-papered room was. The contrast between the cabin of a vardo and this vast cavern of a bedchamber was immense; Selina wasn’t sure she liked it. She felt too exposed. Where was the cosy snugness of a caravan? Certainly nowhere in this room, for all its fine furnishings.

  Admittedly, the huge oak-framed bed she had slept in was the most comfortable she had ever experienced—and, she realised with a jolt of shock, the first proper one, with luxurious pillows and a richly embroidered powder-blue coverlet, but it wasn’t a patch on the familiar nest of her own bunk.

  She traced the design worked on the borders of her blankets with one finger as Dinah fussed busily in the background. My own bunk. How had Zillah slept last night without Selina lying there opposite? The two had shared a cabin ever since Diamanda had died, never missing a night in twelve years. Had she managed to snatch a few hours of rest after such an emotional day? Or had she lain there, staring up at the ceiling, wishing her granddaughter home, until the first light of a new day had crept beneath her shuttered windows?

  Selina felt a lump rise in her throat and forced it back harshly. No. She had to be strong. It wasn’t as though she would be away forever, and besides: it was because of Zillah she had to stay. Wasn’t it for all the Roma? If she could just focus on the end goal, and keep her nerve despite the circumstances...

  ‘Mr Edward has asked if you’d honour him with your company for breakfast, ma’am. I’m to do your hair and show you to the dining room.’

  Dinah was waiting at a fine-looking dressing table—her dressing table, Selina realised with a start—in front of one floor-to-ceiling window, and the built-in looking glass reflected Selina’s face back at her as she sat there in the great island of her bed.

  ‘Has he?’

  The maid was too busy rearranging a set of silver hairbrushes to notice Selina’s frown. So it had begun already—Edward acting the husband, summoning her to him for...for what? The pleasure of my company? The notion made Selina’s heart skip a little faster, before she dismissed it quickly. Of course not. He’s just being polite.

  A flicker of something suspiciously close to disappointment passed over her and she shook her head slightly against it. There was no reason to suppose Edward wanted to spend time with her, even if her own thoughts on the matter were confused at best.

  The idea of seeing Edward filled her with an uncomfortable mixture of dread and, mortifyingly, an anticipation that only made her irritation at herself grow in strength. You really must try harder to master this effect he has on you, Lina, she chastised herself privately. It was already becoming an annoyance she could have done without, having to battle her rational mind against her apparent weakness for Edward’s slow smile, or the way his hair curled delightfully at the base of his neck...

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl. She pinched the back of one hand—hard enough to snap herself out from her reverie. Enough! Aside from during the wedding ceremony she had barely exchanged two words with her new husband—what would they possibly find to talk about for the duration of a whole meal?

  She thought back to their silent ride up the drive to Blackwell Hall, and how her heart had thumped within her chest as the grand old building loomed closer and closer. Edward had treated her kindly then. Even she had been able to recognise that his actions had been sympathetic as he rode near her, making no attempt to force her to talk but instead allowing her to wrap herself in quiet as fear and worry had risen up to twist her lips into a silent grimace.

  She’d cursed herself for her weakness when she’d realised he’d seen, but other than the look of concern that had crossed his face he’d given no sign that he had noticed her distress. She’d been grateful for that at least—but not for the simultaneous realisation that the expression had made Edward look even more handsome than ever, if such a thing were possible.

  Now, as she sat swathed in blankets that cost more than her entire wardrobe put together, she recalled how he had handed her down from Djali’s wide back with more gentleness than she would have thought his strong frame capable of. The candlelight that had spilled from the windows had illuminated the striking lines of his face, and Selina had once again felt the curious sensation of flames licking at the base of her spine at the touch of his hand on her waist as he guided her, still in calm silence, upwards.

  The memory was strong, and it made her shiver despite the fire that blazed merrily in
her bedroom grate. How was she to manage a normal conversation with the man over breakfast? Selina wondered bleakly. Everything she had thought normal for twenty years had been taken from her overnight, and she could barely look at him without staring.

  She took a deep breath and made to get up, approaching her dressing table cautiously, gingerly settling down on the seat like a wary cat. Her reflection in the looking glass gazed back at her sombrely, dark eyebrows drawn together above eyes clouded with doubt. What was she doing, allowing herself to be groomed like a doll? Pulling a comb through her thick curls and then binding them back from her face with a ribbon was as far as her hairdressing skills stretched. Occasionally she made a braid for special occasions, but most often her hair was left to its own devices, playing around her shoulders like a raven cloak.

  Dinah brandished one of the silver-backed brushes. ‘How does Mr Edward prefer it? You’ll be wanting to look your best for your first full day as a married lady!’

  Selina screwed up her nose. How was she to know Edward’s thoughts? The idea of inspiring her new husband’s admiration was a tempting one—would it really be so bad to want to make a good impression?—but reality flooded back to hit her.

  She doubted he would notice if she were to come down to breakfast with no hair at all. Her presence in his house was a mere puzzle piece, part of a bigger picture and a necessary evil. He had made it clear he wouldn’t have chosen her otherwise. What she looked like would matter less to Edward than a bonnet would to a horse, and she would be foolish to think otherwise, despite any confusing or borderline panic-inducing stirrings to the contrary.