She murmured curses a vicar’s daughter shouldn’t know as she reached for the familiarity of her ivory-backed brush. Some unseen maid must have unpacked her few things while her new husband had been introducing her to his London household.
A pang of homesickness struck, and Penelope bit her lip to prevent crying out. At home now Augusta would be brushing her hair, and they would be discussing the Smiths’ new baby or the time to plant the spring onions. She would be with friends in the familiarity of her shabby room, instead of this elegant but unknown chamber. Augusta would untangle this wicked mane and soothe her fears—some of them, at least. But Augusta had chosen to stay behind, not wanting to leave the home she loved nor intrude upon the newlyweds.
Remembering her fearsome bridegroom preparing himself beyond the other door, Penelope hastened to make order of her hair. As she brushed, she studied her night shift’s low neckline and wondered nervously if she should not have chosen another gown. Would such lack of modesty entice or enrage the stranger she had married?
But Augusta had made this gown for her wedding night, and it was the most beautiful thing Penelope owned. If only for this one night, she looked almost pretty.
It did not seem to matter to her new husband that she had been an old maid at twenty-two, but it mattered to Penelope. Men preferred young girls. She felt certain his first wife must have been young. How would she compare? It would have been easier if she were some young ingénue head-over-heels in love. There ought to be some tingling of anticipation, some hope of love to brighten this moment, but she felt only apprehension.
What was taking Trevelyan so long? If he would only come, perhaps she would remember what madness had possessed her to agree to this marriage.
Glancing around the shadow-enshrouded grandeur of the room he had brought her to, Penelope knew deep within her what she had done, but her heart had not yet accepted it. In a few minutes she would give her body to a man she scarcely knew, whom she could not and never would love, and her heart and mind and body all screamed denial.
Not that she knew much of what happened between man and wife. Her mother had died before she reached an age when such explanations would normally come, and her father would never have thought of making such explanations even had he lived. And poor Augusta—well, she had tried, dear thing, but Penelope had learned more from barn animals than Augusta could teach her. That little bit of knowledge only multiplied her fears, not just of the act, but of the man himself.
Not knowing if she should wait in the curtain-hung bed or sip the wine on the table, Penelope stirred the glowing embers in the hearth into small flames. She shivered even so, and her eyes filled with tears.
Graham’s shoulders drooped at the sight of his bride’s despondency as she stared into the fire. Exhausted, she had slept in his arms for almost the entire carriage ride to London, and the memory lingered. Her warmth had stirred a protectiveness he had not expected, a protectiveness he had not felt for many years. He had chosen this woman because of her maturity and independence, but he had forgotten how fragile and innocent a young woman could be.
She had never been from her home before. He should not have made her leave on their wedding day. But she had refused to go to his sister’s manor without a trousseau, and he could not impose on the limited resources of the vicarage. The choice had been Penelope’s, but she had only chosen the lesser of two evils with each decision that had led to this moment.
With a sigh of resignation, Graham rapped his walking stick against the hardwood floor and proceeded into the room.
Penelope leapt, startled, from her seat. She had not heard the door open, or noticed his approach. He had a way of moving silently that did not match his size or lameness. Hair tumbling over her barely concealed breasts, she felt naked beneath her husband’s appraising stare. She had never worn anything so revealing in her life, and certainly had she never stood before a man in such disarray. She could not raise her eyes to meet his.
“All women should look as you do when they come to their husbands on their wedding night.”
Did she hear a note of regret in that gruff voice? Penelope raised her gaze, prepared to flee at any untoward movement, but Trevelyan merely rested his weight against his stick and studied her. He had doffed his formal frock coat and cravat and replaced them with a deep green satin robe. She studied his powerful, stockinged legs, then the glove he still wore on his left hand. She had never seen him remove the glove. One more thing she did not understand about this man.
“I am trying. . .very hard, to be a proper wife, but my instructions have been few, I fear.” She said this less smoothly than she had hoped.
Graham caressed a strand of her hair, then gestured toward the chair she had just vacated. “Sit. There are a few things we should have discussed before now, but they did not seem proper topics for an unmarried maiden. You may still be maiden, but you are most certainly married now, for better or worse.”
Trying to conceal her nervousness, Penelope took the chair indicated. Out of habit, she curled her feet up under her. She did not understand the slight upturn of her husband’s lips, but it gave her strength enough to return his gaze. She wished he were not of such a formidable size.
“Penelope, stop looking at me as if I had suddenly grown two horns and a tail. I do not intend to touch you this night or any other night. Does that satisfy some of your fears?”
She blushed as Trevelyan loomed over her. “I am not sure I understand, my lord.” She hesitated, hoping he would help her, but he only waited for her to continue. “I. . . We are man and wife. I agreed to that. You need not. . .” She stammered to a halt, unable to finish.
Graham poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. “You could at least learn my name now that we are married. Most people call me Gray, a rather apt appellation, you must agree.” He ran his hand through his thick silver hair.
Penelope took the glass and almost smiled. “I prefer Graham. It sounds very distinguished. I think I can manage that command. Are there any others?”
“Are you a genie who will obey my every whim? My wishes are few, but rather impossible, of course.” He leaned against the bed’s edge, keeping a safe distance.
“If I am a genie, I am not very good at answering my own wishes, but I shall try my best to answer yours.” This half-jesting manner of speaking they had fallen into from the first relaxed Penelope to a degree. Talking was something she knew how to do. If she did not look at him, she could almost forget where she was and what was expected of her. She could pretend they sat over the tea tray in the cottage.
“Then we will test your strengths on very small commands, at first. Call me Graham, do not interrupt me until I finish, then say, ‘your wish is my command,’ and hop off to bed and sleep.”
Pressing her lips tight to keep from smiling, Penelope did as told.
“You could have at least said, ‘Yes, Graham,’” he complained with a hint of self-mockery. “Well, then, let me try to say this as politely as I am able. This is London. You will be moving in circles a little different from the one you are accustomed to. Their customs may seem a trifle odd, but they’re all for the best, under the circumstances. You have heard of marriages of convenience?”
The smile slipped away, but Penelope nodded. “Yes, Graham.”
This bit of spirit seemed to reassure him, and he continued. “That is what we have. I wanted a mother for Alexandra, and you wanted a home for Augusta. We have accomplished that. You are very young and inexperienced, and I have no intention of taking advantage of that fact. I want you to learn about London, have the coming out you should rightfully have had, feel the freedom to fall in love as you will. All I ask in return is that you be discreet, that you do nothing to impair your relationship as mother to Alexandra, and that you not interfere with my manner of living. I think I know you well enough to trust you in that.”
Young? He thought her young? A dozen questions danced in her head, but she remembered his command. She nodded her hea
d. “Yes, Graham. Your wish is my command.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Smiling sadly, he dragged himself from the bedroom.
Closing the door between them, Trevelyan leaned against it. With effort, he pushed himself upright again and rang for his manservant. Without waiting for a reply, he peeled off his glove and reached for the gargoyle guarding the heavy wardrobe by the window. A grating noise rose within. Leaning his walking stick against the wall, he threw open the wardrobe door and vanished inside.
The portly servant who appeared shortly afterward was not surprised to find the chamber empty. Closing the wardrobe doors and securing the chamber locks, he settled on a long settee and waited.
Whether from wine or exhaustion, Penelope slept soundly in her grand bed that night. She woke to the distinct impression that she was no longer alone. Judging by the light behind her eyelids, it was daylight, but she feared to open her eyes. She held still, trying to find the source of the impression. She sensed the bed was empty of anyone but herself, and she gave a mental sigh of relief. There could not be anything more frightening in a London townhouse than her husband. She would have to wake and see.
Her first full sight of her new home left her awestruck. Pale blue satin draperies looped about her bed, and a matching comforter kept her snug. A veil of fine gauze hid the room from clear view, but she could detect long windows and a pillow-filled window seat. It would be easy enough to lie here and pretend she was a princess, but it wasn’t in her nature to be idle.
She drew aside the veil of gauze and immediately encountered the dark gaze of an elfin child perched in a blue and gold brocade chair in the corner. The child did not speak as they studied each other.
The girl could be no more than five or six, but her thin features held an unexpected maturity. Black hair tumbled about a heart-shaped face, but Penelope noted a resemblance to the father in the strong line of her jaw and the set of her thin lips. Quiet and sensitive she might be, but Penelope was willing to wager an obstinacy and temper to match her father’s lurked behind that innocent exterior.
The child broke the silence first. “Are you my new mama?”
Word traveled as quickly in London as in the village, Penelope surmised, searching for the proper reply. “I have always wanted a daughter. Do you think we’d suit?”
Alexandra’s face broke into an enchanting and unexpected wreath of smiles. “Will you take me to the park?”
“I should think so, as soon as I find out how. I’ve never been to London before.”
“I’ve been to the park before,” she declared. “I saw a little girl there riding a pony. Can I ride a pony, too?”
“I don’t know why not. Do you know how to ride?” Penelope wondered in which of the massive wardrobes her dressing gown had been stored, but it seemed more important to learn about Alexandra than to look for it.
The child shook her head negatively. “But I know I can if I just have a pony,” she added defiantly.
“I can’t promise you a pony. That’s for your papa to say,” Penelope said.
Alexandra grew paler. “He won’t give me one. I’ve been a bad girl.”
At just that moment the connecting door opened. Without a look back, Alexandra dashed for the hall door on the far side of the large chamber. Penelope cast aside the covers and set her feet to the Turkish carpet, catching Alexandra just as Graham entered.
He remarked dryly, “I see you have met my daughter.”
Penelope regretted her instinctive reaction to the girl’s flight, but now that it was done, she intended to make the best of it. She sat back down on the bed and held the child in her lap.
“We were having an interesting conversation before you came in.” Penelope pushed Alexandra’s hair back from her eyes, but the child buried her face against her shoulder and wouldn’t look up. “Alexandra, why don’t you ask your papa about the pony? If you want something badly enough, you have to be willing to fight for it.”
“I can’t,” came the whisper from her shoulder.
Penelope glanced from the child’s head to the father’s expressionless face. Her heart went out to both of them, and she prayed she had the ability to bring them together again. If Trevelyan could save her home and Augusta, surely she could show this terrified child the love behind that wounded face.
“Alexandra would like to be able to ride in the park, but it seems she has no pony and cannot ride. I know nothing of London, Graham. Is it possible for little girls to go riding in the park?”
“I see no reason why not. She will need to learn to ride, first.”
Alexandra’s head jerked upward, and she peered suspiciously over her shoulder. Saying nothing, she clung tighter to Penelope.
“I can, I know I can,” she whispered.
“I could teach her, Graham. I’m not a great equestrienne, but I can certainly teach her to ride a pony. Could it be arranged?”
He studied the small dark head turning with a wary look of hope in his direction. A similar look appeared on his face as he met Penelope’s eyes. “I will have my groom hunt for a suitable mount for both of you today. There shouldn’t be any difficulty.”
The tension left the child’s small frame. She abruptly scrambled down from her seat. With a quick, bobbing curtsy halfway between her father and Penelope, she said formally, “Thank you very much. Mrs. Haywood will be looking for me.”
This time, when she ran for the door, Penelope let her go. When she turned back to Graham, she found him studying her, and she remembered her attire. Blushing, she pulled the covers up, to find her efforts rewarded with his half smile.
“You will do very well, Lady Trevelyan. Shall I have your maid come up now that my daughter has introduced herself in her own inimitable manner?”
Penelope frowned. “I think I must talk with this Mrs. Haywood. Is she the governess?”
“Yes, a very respectable widowed lady. She has done well given Alexandra’s propensity for disappearing at any hour of the night or day. Shall I send for her?”
“Not yet.” Penelope wriggled under his gaze, not certain if she should reveal her suspicions. “Alexandra said you would not give her a pony because she was a bad girl. Have you told her that?”
Graham looked startled. “Me? The child runs every time I come in sight. I would have no idea if she were good, bad, or indifferent, no less the opportunity to tell her so.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, I will talk to Mrs. Haywood and take care of that shortly.”
“Devil take it, Penelope, what are you trying to tell me? That the prim, upright Mrs. Haywood has been calling my daughter a bad girl? From all reports, the child is incorrigible, but bad will suffice. I admit, calling her bad does not sound like a healthy practice, but what else can you say?” He sounded exasperated.
Penelope returned his irritation. “The child is neither bad nor a model of good behavior, as any child that age would be. What concerns me is that she connects you with her bad behavior. I very much suspect Mrs. Haywood has threatened to hand her over to you every time she misbehaves, rather like the mothers in the village threaten their children with hobgoblins if they don’t behave.”
Graham uttered a curse that was new to Penelope’s repertoire, but her curiosity as to the origin of the word did not prevent her leaping from the bed once again to keep him from storming off after the governess. She spread her arms over the door and met his glare.
“If she is a good governess, you do not want to lose her. Let me take care of this, Graham.”
The fire in that one golden eye warned he was severely tempted to bring his stick down over her head, but taking a deep breath, he refrained. “Only with the exception that if you find she is the one who has made my daughter fear me, you will allow me the pleasure of tearing her limb from limb.”
“Thank goodness I never met you before you learned to curb your temper. We would most certainly not have got on at all.” Penelope stalked from her position before the door and threw open the wardrobe. Somewh
ere she had to find her dressing gown. “And I won’t tell you anything if you’re going to lose your temper with some poor old woman who doesn’t know any better. People can be very stupid sometimes, but that is no reason to tear them limb from limb.”
“What happened to my wish is your command?”
“I’m still working on it.” The wardrobe muffled her reply.
“Work harder,” he murmured from right behind her.
Before Penelope could react, a strong arm caught her by the waist and lifted her into the wardrobe. Overwhelmed by the heat and strength of him, she failed to even peep a protest at the mishandling. She heard him call out as the door closed, “I’ll send your maid to rub the magic lantern,” and then it went dark.
Once released from her embarrassing imprisonment, Penelope did not see her husband again that day. He had apparently made it known to the staff that they were to defer to her wishes on all household matters, for she spent the remainder of the day answering questions that had long been neglected by the master of the house.
She also had a long talk with the prim Mrs. Haywood who objected coldly to any interference in her realm. When Penelope made it clear that dismissal would result if she threatened the child again, the governess hastily reassessed her position. They parted with the decision that Penelope would be the one to deal with misbehavior.
Even as she took the reins of the household in hand, Penelope could not let go of the embarrassment of being locked in a wardrobe on her wedding morning. That the maid hurried in shortly after did not excuse Graham’s behavior, though by the end of the day Penelope was able to look at it with humor. Still, if he thought she truly was a foolish girl who would accept such treatment, he might as well learn otherwise right now.
When she learned that the cook routinely sent up a cold supper platter to his lordship in the evenings, Penelope offered to carry the tray herself. The kitchen staff approved with knowing smirks, but when she also removed a large measure of pepper from the condiments cabinet, they gaped with incomprehension.
Love Forever After Page 3