The Fifth Wife

by Sahara Kelly

  “I warmed the bed.” She pointed at a lump beneath the quilt. “Warming pan. Don’t touch it with bare skin.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well then, I’ll leave you to it. As soon as the stew’s ready, I’ll bring you up a bowl and then you can rest.”

  “You don’t have to wait on me, Hannah.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Of course I do. I work here. You’re a guest.”

  He waved her objection aside. “Very well. But bring two bowls. We shall dine here by the fire. And then we shall talk.”

  She sighed and looked away, then stood. “I can’t escape it, can I?

  “Escape what?”

  “Fate. It’s about to crash down on me.” She walked to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “All right.”

  He watched her leave with the oddest feeling he’d made her unhappy somehow, and that he needed to make her smile again.

  It puzzled him and plagued him as he poured hot water in the ewer, made good use of the small piece of homemade soap and finally felt more like himself. Shedding the old robe helped, replacing it with his own thick nightshirt and dressing gown was a vast improvement.

  He did, however, check the pockets just in case. One never knew with cats.

  Clean and finally comfortable, he took the small stool and added a log to the cheerful blaze.

  Then he leaned back against the brick and let his thoughts loose.

  They ranged from the face of that pathetic sheep caught in the brambles, to the look in Hannah’s wondrous eyes when he’d told her they had to talk.

  And for the first time, Charles’s thoughts wandered into an area he’d never explored before. He asked himself if he wanted to marry. And if so, whom?

  He’d always known, in that vague sort of way, that at some point he would have to do the necessary and provide the Fontaine line with an heir. Now it would not be vague at all, since he was a Penvale and had a title to go along with the Fontaine fortune. He must marry and sire the next generation of Penvales.

  Which brought his thoughts around to the next generation of Penvale brides.

  That really was an onerous burden to place on one family. What if the Derby lineage happened to produce no daughters? What happened then? What would have happened if Hannah hadn’t been born and Lord Penvale’s unlucky fourth wife had been the last daughter?

  There must be some accommodation for the vagaries of fate, since this entire process had—according to Tothill—been ongoing for damn near a thousand years or so.

  God, that was mind-boggling and didn’t really help Charles unravel the complexities of his current situation. He couldn’t change the past, only deal with the present. And Hannah was his present.

  He chuckled at the double meaning of what he’d just told himself. She was a present indeed. A gift. Less than a day and he was on the way to being enchanted. And this was after swearing off women forever thanks to his disastrous affair with Amelia.

  Life certainly walked one down twisted paths on occasion. This looked like it was going to be one of those occasions.

  *~~*~~*

  Hannah mounted the stairs, the tray secure in her hands. She carried two bowls of fragrant stew, a tankard of Martin’s prime ale and a small sherry. It was not the evening meal of an aristocrat, for certain. But it was the best the inn had to offer and she knew Charles would get no better stew anywhere in the New Forest.

  The wind shrieked around the old building, making Martin’s prophecy come true. The storm had exploded into a full-grown blizzard.

  She was glad to be indoors, happy that the horses were tucked up in the barn and that nobody she knew was out in the freezing chaos. They had wood for warmth, the simple needs of life and a snug, dry place to sleep. And she was on her way to see Charles.

  This was a dreadfully improper meeting, of course. She was in her flannel nightgown and a thick robe, with her hair tied back in a simple knot. She knew he had nightclothes, thank God, because she’d seen his garments earlier. Especially since his daytime attire was presently spread over several chairs and a table to dry, down below in the bar.

  So they’d both be well covered, but it didn’t eliminate the fact that she was unwed and would be in the bedroom of an eligible male. To many eyes that was all it took to declare an imminent marriage.

  She was hoping for exactly the opposite.

  It wasn’t that she had anything against Charles. On the contrary, he seemed to be a very nice man and one with whom she wouldn’t mind pursuing a friendship. But as a husband? She didn’t think so.

  Tapping on his door, she waited for him to answer, and when he did so she carefully guided herself and her tray into his room. “Stew, as promised. And I can assure you it is delicious.”

  He was coming toward her, and he took the tray from her hands. “And ale. Unless that’s for you and the sherry is for me?” His smile was charming, wicked and did odd things to places inside her.

  She shook her head. “Don’t tease. Gentlemen drink ale. Ladies drink sherry. Or ratafia. Urgh. Disgusting stuff.”

  He put the tray on the window seat and beckoned her. “Come sit. Let’s eat. I don’t know about you but I could probably devour an entire herd of sheep right now. Rescuing them certainly creates an appetite.”

  She smiled at that and joined him, sitting so that the tray was between them. Glancing out of the window, she shook her head. “This is going to be a good sized storm, I think. I’m glad the sheep are safe. You did well, my Lord.” She lifted her glass in a toast.

  He clinked his tankard against it. “Just Charles, please. We’re sharing stew in our night garments. I believe that is about as informal as it can possibly be.”

  She nodded at that and then began her stew.

  He did the same. “My God, this is incredible.” He blinked and proceeded to devour his meal.

  She grinned. “Yes it is. Mrs. Marsh makes great vats of it for the neighbors every winter, I’m told. And after my first bowl, I understood why.” She took another spoonful and savored it. “Unfortunately, the recipe is a family secret that goes back to some ancient ancestor who liked to cook. They refuse to part with it. I asked.”

  He smiled, but remained silent, immersed in the fragrant glory of the meal.

  She did the same, observing that he was a man unafraid to enjoy his food. No picky aristocratic preferences here, just a good appetite for good stew. And heaven knows he must have eaten plenty in his time.

  Sitting this close to him, Hannah finally realized that he was a big man. His shoulders, his arms, his hands, all the bits she could see—they were big. She could probably put her entire hand inside his and doubted her fingers would reach around his wrists.

  And yet it was all in proportion; one had to study him to see that he was perfectly built, yet larger than normal.

  She realized that she was studying him, and hurriedly returned her attention to her food, lest he notice. The sherry had calmed some of her nervousness, but being so close to him, in such an informal and intimate setting—she wished she’d brought a bigger glass.

  Finally they were done, and he put the tray on the bureau, snagging the quilt from the bed as he returned to the window seat. He tossed it over her, and pulled half over himself as they resumed their positions bookending the window.

  “Here, wrap this around your legs. I love watching the snow too, but these windows aren’t as thick as they should be and I don’t need any more cold feet, thank you.”

  She chuckled and did as he suggested, enjoying the rapid warmth that built beneath the thick goose down. She glanced out at the white landscape, and then at the man across from her. “And now it’s time?”

  “Yes, Hannah. It’s time.” He shifted himself and crossed his arms comfortably over his chest. “You and I have an intertwined fate that neither of us arranged.”

  “I know.” She looked down at her hands as they lay on top of the quilt. “I was raised knowing our connection to the Penvale heritage.”


  “And your sisters also?”

  She nodded. “Yes. They were older, by several years, but we all knew that Matilda, the oldest, would be Lady Penvale. Then she passed away, as did Susan, in childbirth.”

  He reached out and touched her hand. “I’m sorry, Hannah. Sorry for the loss of your sisters.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced up, appreciating his easy sympathy. “It was hard, but it is part of being a woman. Losing Lucy was a shock.”

  She swallowed down a lump of grief. The sudden death of her nearest sister had shaken her world and left it changed. “It was hard on us all.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to begin.

  “I can’t begin to imagine.” His voice was gentle. “And then you realized you were next?”

  “That was an awful shock too.” Looking up at him, she winced. “Forgive me. I would not wish you to think me impertinent.”

  “Hannah, we are talking about things that are very important to both of us. You couldn’t be impertinent right now if you tried. All I want is your honesty. And in return I shall give you mine.”

  She thought about that. “Very well Charles. Honesty. For this conversation at least.”

  “So you knew you were in line to be the next Lady Penvale. Why did you leave?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I was frightened, I think. I’m not much of a dreamer or someone who has it all planned out. There are things that interest me and I hoped I might have the chance to pursue them. Marriage was never one of my priorities, and being the fifth daughter, my parents never made it an issue. I don’t think either of them noticed me very much. We lived a simple life, Charles. Not one that stressed arranged marriages or settlements or anything like that. The Penvale heritage was an established fact, but that was all. The rest of the time we were just like every other ordinary English family trying to make a comfortable life for themselves.”

  Charles smiled. “We’re alike in many ways, then. I had never heard of the Penvale business. Didn’t even know we were related. I vaguely remember hearing about some fellow with a strange name, and then there were all the jests about Vikings…” He laughed. “That wasn’t easy at University, let me tell you.”

  She laughed too. “I can’t begin to imagine. Although you must confess that you have the look of them.”

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. “I cannot help my ancestry any more than you can help yours. And it has served me well on occasion.”

  “Such as being able to lift a sheep onto a horse?”

  “Exactly.”

  They both grinned at the memory.

  “And yet, if we follow the dictates of our ancestry, we are betrothed.” The smile remained in his eyes as he spoke, yet his voice was sober.

  “It is a ridiculous situation, Lord Penvale.”

  Hannah pulled the quilt up and retreated into formality.

  “I agree, Miss Derby.” He shifted. “Take a little more cover. Your toes are showing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh all right. I know ‘t’is absurd to call you by your title when we’re here…like this.” She waved her hand over their shared warmth.

  “But it serves to remind us both of the problem at hand, I’ll give you that.” He stared from the window. “Hannah, we need to think on this and think hard. It is not an easy task to overset a tradition that has been in place for almost a thousand years. Some might even view it as breaking the law.”

  She frowned at him.

  “I’m not jesting. We should take all the aspects of our circumstances into consideration before making any kind of decision.”

  “What aspects?” her curiosity made her ask.

  “Are you involved in any kind of emotional relationship with a gentleman? Had you perhaps become fond of anyone? That would be an impediment to our marriage, certainly.”

  She snorted. “No. There isn’t anyone I’ve favored in that way. I have friends, of course, but that’s all they are.”

  “As it happens, at the present time I am also quite free of entanglements.”

  There was something in his voice that caught her attention. “At the present time?”

  “Yes.”

  The word closed the door on that avenue of conversation. In fact it might be said the door slammed. Hard.

  Hannah noted it but let it go. “Very well. We are both free to wed should we so choose, with no outside involvements.”

  “Correct.” He leaned his head back against the embrasure and stared from the window. “I have a pleasant estate, not large, but respectable. Fontaine House has been in my family for quite a few generations and I would certainly like an heir so that the property can move on with time and retain the name.” He paused. “Although I suppose I’ll have to add Penvale to it now.”

  “I can understand that. ‘T’is the way of things.”

  “Marriage hasn’t been on my mind very much, although I am not far away from my thirtieth birthday. It is certainly time I thought of taking a bride. I just haven’t felt the need to begin the process yet.”

  “That makes sense.”

  He looked back at her. “Twenty-three. You are twenty-three years old, and yet unwed. You must be aware that is unusual? Especially for a woman like you.”

  She straightened. “What do you mean like me?”

  “You have a mirror, Hannah. You have a rare and unusual beauty. Why have you not been pursued, conquered and wed before now?”

  She snorted. “Let me see. It might have something to do with the fact that I have no dowry whatsoever. No estate. I’m not from a long line of important people, in fact there’s probably a horse-thief or two in my lineage. And as for beauty, my sisters all outdid me tenfold.” She blinked. “My father…well, he never really paid much attention to any of us except to walk my sisters down the aisle to marry Lord Penvale. I only came to his attention these last few weeks, and even then he was away on business for most of them. But…er…thank you kindly for the compliment.”

  He smiled. “I would argue those points, but I never had the pleasure of meeting your sisters. It was a genuine compliment, my dear. You are quite lovely. But perhaps Fate was deliberately keeping you unwed. For me.”

  “I doubt it. And you must have a high opinion of yourself if you imagine Fate is busy on your behalf. For my part, I don’t believe Fate has anything to do with it. She’s off making a nuisance of herself elsewhere.”

  “A valid point.”

  Hannah was mildly offended at his smothered grin. “Charles. This situation is not supposed to be cause for amusement. We could not anticipate the twists and tragedies that have brought us to this point. It’s not of our making or our wanting. So what are we going to do about it?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?”

  He moved then, swinging his legs down and turning so that his back was to the window. Then he sighed and glanced at her. “We both find ourselves caught here, Hannah. And not by our choice. But I will tell you now that I’m not sure I can find a way out of it. Mr. Tothill, who administers the Penvale business matters, was quite firm about the terms. I inherit the title and the obligation to wed a Derby. Who possesses the identifying birthmark, by the way.” He looked hopeful. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you don’t have the darn thing?”

  Sliding from beneath the quilt, she stood in front of him, the fire warm against her back as she unfastened the belt of her robe and loosened the ribbon at the neck of her gown.

  With care she slipped it off one shoulder and let it slide down until it was halfway between her elbow and the top of her arm. Then she turned her back to him and showed him the mark.

  She could feel his gaze, hotter than the fire, as he looked at her bare skin.

  Chapter Six

  He had never believed that one could develop a massive case of desire or lust or whatever one chose to call it, in an instant. Charles was a firm believer in time. Time to get to know someone, time to let matters develop naturally.

  Even with Amelia, they’d
known each other for nearly a year before the passion exploded between them. And almost killed him.

  So this shock of awareness he felt at the sight of a smooth shoulder—it threw him off his game.

  “Uhhh…” He stuttered like a raw youth at his first sight of a naked woman.

  “Well?” She glanced over that delicious naked shoulder. “Can you see it?”

  He blinked, cleared his throat and paid attention this time. Sure enough, just below her armpit on the side of her back was a mark. He leaned forward, and reached out a finger, tracing the shape. “Triangles. Interlocking triangles.” He leaned back and moved his finger away with a great deal of regret. Her skin was as soft as it looked.

  “I’m told that it is, in fact, a Viking talisman.”

  That caught his attention and he looked at her, skepticism making both his eyebrows rise. “Really?”

  “Yes really.” She frowned and pulled her clothing back into place, tying the ribbons and the belt with a certain amount of vigor. “You can be assured that I wouldn’t mention it otherwise. I wish I didn’t have the bloody thing and I’m not apologizing for my language. It’s an honest sentiment that deserves blunt words.”

  Charles tried to stop his mind from wandering down paths leading to that astounding back, that skin and all the other bits he’d not been able to fully explore. God, what was wrong with him? He’d recently parted ways with one of the great beauties of the Season, and yet he couldn’t remember Amelia’s shoulder affecting him like this.

  “All right, Hannah. I’ll forgive the language because I understand the sentiment. But it doesn’t change anything. In fact it solidifies it. I’m afraid we are destined for the altar.”

  “Oh God.” She sat back down next to him with a thump. “I’m doomed.”

  “Thank you. That was a most charming insult.”

  “No.” She darted him a quick look. “That was not my intention. You know that.”

  “Well I will try, but announcing that marrying me would lead to your doom…there’s not a lot of room for misinterpretation.”

  She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “It’s just that…marriage. Becoming Lady Penvale. All that stuff that goes with it.”