The Marriage Rescue

by Joanna Johnson

  Edward cast his mind back to their brief greeting that morning as he had passed her in the hall on his way out. There had been nothing out of the ordinary in their exchange and he frowned to himself as he dismounted and passed the reins to the waiting stable lad. What could have happened in the intervening few hours between then and now to make her so apparently displeased with him?

  The notion of having upset Selina, even unconsciously, was uncomfortable—and the usual whisper that it was unwise to care for her good opinion had grown quieter of late. He found himself wanting to know what could have transpired that was making it necessary for him to swallow down a sharp disappointment at her newfound reserve. He would have to find out what was bothering her, and indeed where she had been.

  A slow creep of suspicion began to steal over him, and it was with heavy feet Edward climbed the stone steps up to the Hall’s front door—firmly closed only moments before by the wife whom he suspected had just had malice whispered into her ear by those with good reason to dislike him.

  Chapter Ten

  Edward ran his eye over the small white rectangle of parchment covered in elegant script. To anyone else it would have looked like an invitation—he knew it was more of a summons.

  Sir William Beaumont.

  So his annual Twelfth Night ball was almost upon them again.

  Edward had hoped rather than believed his father’s death would excuse him from having to attend, but now, with the invitation in his hand, he had to face facts. His own aversion for high society parties made no difference: Ambrose Fulbrooke and Sir William had been boys together, and the presence of the Fulbrookes at each of the old knight’s gatherings was considered essential to the occasion’s success.

  The real question, he mused as he moved from the hall towards his private study, was how to proceed with regard to Selina. She would have to accompany him—of that there was unfortunately no doubt. Word of his marriage had spread so far and so wide that for his wife not to attend the ball would register as a snub. It would also be a good opportunity for more of his acquaintances to see her, to see them together, so nobody would contest him having met the terms of his father’s will.

  Despite the potential benefits of the plan, the prospect of having to break the news to her almost made him groan out loud. She’d been acting so strangely of late, and his announcement would only make things worse. Any warmth between them seemed to have evaporated, and it was a source of constant frustration that she refused to tell him why.

  I wonder what the old woman said to her to make her behave so oddly.

  Edward had reached the safety of his study and he paced the floor with irritable strides. He could date the change in Selina from the day she had ventured out to visit the Romani camp, and the only explanation could be that her grandmother had filled her head with new doubts. Now she turned away when he greeted her with only the barest of acknowledgements, and she had taken to dining alone in her rooms.

  Her avoidance of him stung. He knew he should be glad that she was making things easier for him in a way—wasn’t that old saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’? She would never feel the flicker of longing for him, coming as he did from the class who had done her people such wrong.

  Instead of managing to withdraw his affections, however, Edward found they were intensifying day by day, apparently undeterred by their object’s indifference. He had cursed his feelings, and himself, roundly and repeatedly. Why could he not break the spell of this madness? Even when she hurried away from him Edward was struck by the captivating shape of Selina’s body, by the fine darkness of her eyes as she turned them from him. Was he to torment himself forever?

  Of course not. She would be leaving as soon as spring arrived; that had been their bargain. The fact that he would be sorry to see her go only made her departure all the more necessary. He feared the power she had begun to hold over him. When a man cared for a woman he handed her the ability to wound him in ways too painful to imagine—as he knew all too well. Even if the prospect of her leaving was more unpleasant than he would have imagined, knowing she would be taking with her the fresh life she had brought to the brooding Hall, he knew there could be no alternative.

  She would never choose to stay with him, and every one of the defences he had constructed around his battered heart reminded him that he should not desire it.

  Selina was in her cosy drawing room when he managed to locate her, curled up in the depths of the most comfortable armchair and gazing into the fire that danced in the fireplace grate. She glanced up as he entered the room, and Edward saw her cheeks flush as she recognised her visitor.

  ‘May I speak with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Selina gestured vaguely to another of the chairs that stood by the fire—the one furthest away from her, Edward noted in frustration. He settled into it, taking a moment to warm his hands before the flames as he considered how to proceed. The poker stood propped against the hearth and he seized it irritably. She was so difficult to talk to of late—how was he to know the best way to go about it?

  ‘We’ve been invited to a Twelfth Night ball. My father’s oldest friend has one every year, and I’m afraid my attendance is compulsory.’

  Edward thrust the poker into the flames, stoking them higher. Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out Selina watching him, her face carefully expressionless beneath her raven nest of curls.

  ‘Given your feelings on the landed gentry, I understand you might not be delighted at such a prospect. I would never try to force you into attending, but I should tell you that it would be considered an insult to the host if you didn’t.’

  She said nothing for a long while, instead looking down at her slender hands as they lay in her lap. The crackle of the fire and gentle ticking of an ornate clock on the mantle were the only sounds, the only movement the soft swirling of snowflakes against the windows.

  Edward waited. It was her silence that bothered him the most, he’d come to realise. At least when she railed at him he knew what she was thinking. When she sat there so quietly, looking demurely down into her lap with her eyes veiled behind long lashes, he had no idea of what was happening inside her head.

  How was it he found himself wanting to know? The ceaseless task of fighting against it was starting to wear him down, and the seductive temptation to give in to it and abandon his restraint whispered to him, its voice sweet in his ear. Edward shook his head quickly, to clear it, but an echo of that whisper still remained.

  ‘How many people would be there? Is it a very grand occasion?’

  Edward rubbed his jaw, hesitating before he answered. He couldn’t lie to her, but he knew she wouldn’t like his reply. ‘Unfortunately, yes. Sir William extends an invitation to all the old families—there will be a good number of guests, all of them exactly the type of people you’d rather avoid.’

  ‘I see.’ The clock ticked in the quiet that settled between them for a few moments. Then, ‘What would be required of me?’

  ‘Required?’ Edward had dropped his head into the cradle of his palms at her silence, but now he looked up from his hands. ‘Why, nothing—aside from perhaps pretending my company isn’t too distasteful to you. If such a thing can be managed.’

  He realised as soon as they left his lips that his words had come out entirely wrong. He had meant for them to sound darkly comic; instead he’d heard an edge of bitterness, and he saw Selina’s expression change as she too caught the dour note.

  Perhaps it was too close to the truth for both of them? he wondered. He feeling slighted and she unwilling? He cursed internally at making such a mistake.

  He saw her open her mouth to speak—to defend herself or upbraid him? he wondered—but she evidently thought better of it, for she closed it again and returned to staring into the flames.

  He thought he saw tension in the way she held herself stiffly upright, but when she even
tually turned to him her voice was restrained.

  ‘If you think it would be for the best, you may accept the invitation. For both of us.’

  ‘Oh?’ Edward attempted what he hoped would turn out to be a normal smile, although a warm flood of relief washed over him. Perhaps he hadn’t made such a grave error after all. ‘Excellent. I shall reply to Sir William at once.’

  Selina nodded, although Edward saw that the line of her jaw looked a little tight and a shadow of something like unease dimmed the usual sparkle of her black eyes.

  ‘I’ll look over my best dress. It isn’t quite the height of fashion, but it might do with some fresh lace and a flower or two—if you can spare some from the hothouse.’

  ‘I can do better than that.’ Edward felt his smile become less fixed as an idea crept into his mind. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d allow me to buy you a gown for the occasion. I know you don’t like the idea of me spending money on you, but I would consider it a favour if you were to oblige me in this.’

  Selina’s brows twitched together, but Edward could have sworn he saw her hesitate before she replied. ‘We’ve talked about this before. I don’t wish for you to waste money on me.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a waste. It would be my way of thanking you for doing something I know you have little inclination for.’

  He watched as Selina thinned her lips and fidgeted with the tasselled edge of her shawl, apparently wrestling with her thoughts. When she finally looked up her cheeks were tinged with the slightest hint of colour.

  ‘Very well. If it means that much to you.’ She toyed with the woolly trim again, her eyes hidden by the black sweep of her lashes. ‘I can’t pretend it wouldn’t be a relief not to have to wear my shabby dress to a gentry ball. Thank you.’

  In a sudden movement Selina uncurled her legs from beneath her and stood up. Spurred on by his usual good manners, Edward rose likewise, and watched as his graceful wife crossed the room, moving away from him. She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn when he had first ordered her down from that tree, he realised belatedly, and the contrast of scarlet against the black of her hair was just as striking now as it had been then.

  He felt the now familiar stirrings of that something he still couldn’t name move within him at the thought.

  * * *

  Selina had never seen such a stunning display in her entire life.

  The inside of the dressmaker’s shop was like something out of a picture book: shining rivers of silk gleamed in the wintry sunlight that streamed through large windows, and mirrors reflected the jewel tones back to dazzle her with their lustre. Long rolls of muslin, some plain and some printed with intricate patterns, were laid out carefully according to colour, demure next to the more flamboyant gloss of satin.

  The shop assistants were far more welcoming than she had expected—but how much of that was due to Edward’s presence on the other side of the painted willow screen was open to interpretation. He was seated in a fine chair, calmly perusing the morning’s news sheets, and she could just about make out his silhouette against the barrier the ladies had so thoughtfully erected to save her modesty.

  Apparently it wasn’t usually the done thing for a man to invade such an exclusively feminine space, but the winning combination of Edward’s handsome pocket book and even more handsome face had apparently been enough to overcome that particular obstacle.

  Her own feelings at Edward being in such close proximity while she wore nothing but her slip were more complicated, and the thrill that crackled down her spine at the idea didn’t bear thinking about. It wasn’t decent, and it certainly wasn’t proper, but some secret part of Selina wondered how warm his hands would feel with only one flimsy layer of material between them and her sensitive skin.

  It was enough to make her breath come a little faster and that ever-ready blush to threaten to flood her cheeks once again. He was close enough to cross the room in a handful of those slow, long-legged strides. It would take him mere moments to reach her, to pull her into another heated embrace—

  ‘And if you’d turn just a touch to the left, please, madam...’

  The dressmaker knelt at Selina’s hem, a measuring tape dangling from her practised fingers. Selina jumped guiltily, flushing scarlet as she hoped her train of thought hadn’t shown on her face.

  ‘Very good...thank you...almost finished...’ The woman sketched a quick note on a piece of paper with a silver pencil and got to her feet. ‘Excellent. Perhaps if madam is agreeable we could now pick out what fabrics might suit?’

  Edward’s voice issued suddenly from behind the screen, as firm and decided as ever. ‘She’d like silk, if you’d be so good as to pull out your finest. Satin, too, and also lace—and perhaps some embroidered detail in places?’

  Selina bit back a retort and instead arranged her face into an expression of calm interest as the girls fussed around her, leaping to do Edward’s bidding and bring swatch after swatch of rich fabric for her consideration. She just knew he would be smiling that confident smile at having the last word, and it was with a twinge of irritation that she could picture just how much the upward curve of his lips suited him.

  He seemed almost pleased to be indulging her. It was as though it wasn’t merely a necessary evil for him to be spending the time and the money—enough to buy several weeks’ worth of food for a Romani camp, she thought regretfully—needed for her to play what she knew was only a mummer’s role.

  For wasn’t that all her wifely position amounted to?

  She had been considering that very question when he had found her in her drawing room the previous day, striding in to interrupt her solitude with his all too alluring presence. Zillah’s words had echoed in her ears as he had explained his reason for disturbing her, stoking the fire as he did so with such vigour that he had caused a shower of sparks to rain down upon the hearth rug.

  He’d seemed distant, ill at ease, and Selina had wondered how much of his manner was her fault.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Lina. Her rational mind rejected the notion. As if Edward cares two straws whether you’ve been avoiding him or not.

  But something about that immediate dismissal didn’t ring true. Edward had sounded sour in his remark about her aversion to his company—surely she hadn’t imagined it. His face had been set, too, in an expression of studied indifference—perhaps a little too set to be genuine. He had meant to sound comical, of that Selina had no doubt, but could it be that his real feelings on the matter had been laid bare instead?

  She sighed internally. Was that why she now found herself here, pretending to have an opinion as to which of four almost identical shades of silk was the most fitting for a gown to wear to a landed gentry ball? Out of some misguided regard for Edward’s feelings?

  The very idea that she had agreed to his request was absurd. Sir William’s ball would be everything she loathed: filled to the rafters with gentry folk, a pit of lavish excess and vain chatter that would make Selina sick to her stomach.

  There were so many reasons for her to refuse to attend. But the bitterness of Edward’s words had forced her to confront her own most secret thoughts, and after that how could she have resisted the powerful urge that had risen up within her, whispering in her ear that to grant him his request would please him? And—damn it all—wasn’t that what she seemed to want these days, somewhere in the darkest recesses of her heart?

  ‘I think perhaps this one? Would this be the best choice?’ Quite a pile of swatches had built up before her. Selina hesitantly patted one of the fabrics, feeling its sheen beneath her fingers.

  The dressmaker clapped her hands together softly. ‘Perfection. Madam has a very fashionable eye.’ She waved her assistants away and stepped a little closer to Selina. ‘Now, if we were to move on to cut... As it happens, madam, we have a gown at the moment that was ordered but is no longer required. Perhaps trying it would give you an idea of
the style you might prefer?’

  ‘An excellent idea. She’d be delighted.’

  Edward’s voice drifted across the shop once again, and once again Selina bit down on her tongue to silence her reply.

  The gown was brought forward from a gilded armoire—borne towards her with such reverence it might have been made of pure gold. Selina was forced to submit to the attentions of the army of assistants as they dressed her deftly, praising the slim shape of her waist and the slender length of her neck, until she was encased in the silky garment, complete with some gilt hair accessories that nestled within the softness of her curls.

  ‘There, madam.’ The dressmaker stepped back to admire the effect, satisfaction clearly written across her face. ‘It’s almost as though it were made with you in mind. Would you care to take a look in the glass?’ She paused for a moment. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer your husband to take the first look? He has been very...involved in the process, so far.’

  Selina forced her lips into what she hoped would pass as a sweet smile. ‘He most certainly has. Indeed, why would he stop now?’

  She flicked her eyes towards Edward’s silhouette. He had paused in the action of smoothing the page of his newspaper. She turned her back. He would have to see her in such ridiculous rig eventually—at least if she allowed him to observe her at this point he could tell her how far short of the image of a perfect lady she fell. He would likely be far more honest than the complimentary ladies who peered at her, good-natured but disturbingly unblinking.

  ‘I suppose it’s only fitting that he sees it through to a conclusion.’

  ‘Very good, madam.’

  Behind her, she heard the dressmaker instruct an assistant to bring Edward forward. When the heavy tread of a large pair of fine leather boots grew closer Selina sighed and turned around to face him. There was no going back now, and she could do nothing but wait for his verdict as she peeped into his face.