by Rose Gordon
At his urging, Regina stepped inside to look around.
“It might need some redecorating,” Edward said sheepishly. Gads but this room was in desperate need of repair.
What was left of the sunlight flooded the room through threadbare drapes held up by a brass rod with a large bend in the middle that might suggest someone had pulled the curtains for all their worth. Under the window, was a game table and chair. The top of the game table was worn and cracked; a small book was shoved under one of the legs. The chair next to it had been so sun-bleached, it was impossible to know if the original color had been blue or green. The footstool that matched it was positioned on the opposite side of the game table. And it was little wonder a stool had been used in place of another chair, since there wasn't another chair in the room. The only other piece of furniture was a settee that was in such bad repair, not only was the fabric faded, but it was transparent in places. The wooden floor, which was scuffed and badly in need of several large rugs to hide its faults, was the best looking thing in the room. Even the walls were lacking with their peeling paper and a wall sconce every six feet as decoration.
“It's very—”
“Bare,” he supplied for her.
“Modest,” she corrected.
“Now that you are the lady of the house, you may decorate this room and any of the others however you wish,” Edward said softly.
Regina bit her lip and nodded. “Thank you, but I don't need to redecorate.”
“Of course you do. It's a privilege you were granted at the wedding.”
Regina cocked her head to the side and tapped her index finger against her jaw. “I don't remember hearing anything about decorating in our marriage vows.”
“Ah, then you must not have been listening very well.” He lifted his brow and twisted his lips in mock contemplation. “If I recall correctly, there was some sort of mention about it being your duty to see after my health, wellbeing, and to decorate my eerily barren house. Yes, yes, that's what it was.”
She shook her head, her lips curling up into the slightest hint of a smile, but not fully there. “I remember no such thing.”
“As I said, perhaps you just weren't listening.” He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “Now that you've admitted to not listening to our vows, I wonder what else I might convince you that you agreed to...”
“You're incorrigible.”
“No, not incorrigible, just determined.” He turned to face her and wrapped his hands around hers. “Regina, as lady of the house, you are welcome to change whatever you wish at Watson Townhouse and order whichever decorations you'd like.”
“Surely you wouldn't like for me to redecorate the entire house.”
Edward looked around at the bare furnishings in the room. “Surely, I would.” He gestured to the fading, threadbare settee. “If you're afraid that I have some sort of attachment to the furniture in this house due to my ancestors resting their arses upon them to the point of making the fabric transparent and the stuffing visible, rest assured I do not. I cannot be certain, but I do believe my father once told me that his grandfather used to tell him stories of being caught jumping on this very settee as a boy. He mentioned something about getting his muddy boots all over the newly delivered furniture.”
“Perhaps it could use a little redecorating.”
He bit his tongue before he could suggest that he show her to another room that could use a little redecorating, specifically in the form of her gown in a fallen heap on the floor. He thrust that thought from his mind immediately. Considering how she'd reacted to him last night, a sentence like that might make her never want to accept him into her bed again. “I trust that you'll decorate it beautifully.”
She looked at him; a queer look on her face.
He coughed and turned his head. “Would you care to see any other rooms?”
“Just my bedchamber.”
Was that her polite way of telling him she'd like to part company or was it an invitation? “Very well,” he said, trying to keep his voice even so not to embarrass either of them.
He led her from the drawing room that could be mistaken for a tomb to the stairs. An unusual sense of emptiness overtook him as he led her down the darkened hall. Other than a lighted sconce every four or five feet, the wide hall was devoid of any other decoration. No rug, only endless planks that made up the hardwood floor. No wall hangings, small decorative tables holding vases, or miniatures lined the walls as he'd seen in several of the other townhouses he'd visited.
Perhaps it wasn't necessarily that the house was empty that created this eerie feeling while showing it to his new bride, but why it was empty. He twisted his lips. That must be it. Mother and her lack of love for anyone but herself was the reason for the lack of decorations, love, and life in this house. Her hatred for Father had turned her cold to everyone around her and left their house as empty as her heart.
With a mental shrug to rid himself of the memory, Edward opened the door to the baroness' bedchamber.
Regina winced at the loud creaking of the oak door swinging on its hinges.
“Sorry about that. I'll have Calvart order these oiled first thing in the morning.” He gestured for her to enter then followed her inside and lit the candles in the sconce closest to them.
A low glow filled the large room.
This room was just as empty as the last.
Standing side by side, they both studied the furnishings of the room. The bed was what could be termed simple, at best, covered with only a solid red counterpane and one white-cased pillow in the middle. Each of the four corners had a square post that extended only three inches above the mattress. Next to the bed was a crude table with a surface not even large enough for both a water pitcher and a basin. As it was, the pitcher was sitting inside the basin with a good two inches of the basin hanging past the end of the table.
Along the wall that had the connecting door was a small vanity and above it a mounted mirror with a series of cracks that resembled a spider web. These walls were just as empty as the walls in the hall had been.
Other than the bed, the rest of the furnishings included: one faded, threadbare chair positioned in the corner, that ancient, heavily scratched bedside table, the equally unattractive vanity, a scuffed and cracked wardrobe, and a wobbly old secretary.
“As I said, you're welcome to redecorate the entire house, if you'd like.”
“Perhaps I'll just make changes in this room, for now,” she said as her eyes continued to travel over the forsaken room.
Edward shrugged. “If that's what you want to do. But don't be concerned. There isn't anything you can do to any room of this house that could possibly make it any worse.”
~Chapter Ten~
Edward's pacing would wear a hole in the rug were there actually a rug separating his bare feet from the wooden floor, that is.
His eyes drifted to the adjoining door. Should he knock? Even with the day's sour downturn, she had allowed him entry into her bedchamber last night. But she'd not been quite the same as she’d been other nights. She'd seemed cold and guarded. It was as if she'd let him come in because it was his right, and he hated that.
He speared his fingers through his hair and sighed. He'd never know her response if he didn't knock on her door.
Pushing aside any feelings of doubt and screwing up every ounce of courage in his twenty year-old body, he rapped on her door.
She murmured something he couldn't understand.
Taking that as her acceptance, he swung open the door.
Moonlight poured into the room from the large window on the opposite side of her bed, giving him just enough light to see her standing silhouette.
“May I join you?”
“Yes.”
Oh, what power she held over him. With only one simple word, she could send his blood firing through him. He took a
step closer to her, commanding himself to go slow. His body, however, had a mind of its own and wouldn't heed his command, too excited at her promise of things to come. Unlike last night, she hadn't stammered when she'd spoken.
He shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Just as every other night he'd been to her room, she wore the nightgown that he could only assume was made from the sails of one of Columbus' ships. Perhaps it was best he had a vivid imagination and could envision what she might look like under all those yards of fabric.
He moved closer still until he was but inches from her face. It was basked in the moon's glow, and he took her in. My, but she was beautiful. Only eighteen, two years his junior, and far more beautiful than any other lady he'd ever seen.
He lifted his hand and, using the ends of his fingers, caressed her cheeks. He frowned. What the devil? Why was her jaw locked? She swallowed, the movement rigid under his fingertips.
He continued his caress. She must be nervous, wary of his touch now that she knew the truth. He lowered his head a fraction, which was a silly thing to do since she couldn't see him well enough to read the feelings of shame that must be stamped on his face.
Edward bent in to kiss her more slowly this time. Last night he'd been too quick with his attentions and had startled her. With as much control as he had left, he pressed his lips to hers. But hers weren't as soft and pliant as he remembered them. Similar to last night, they were stiff. He pulled back and cupped her face. Her cheeks felt tight, unyielding.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, the slightest waver in her words.
He fought to keep from scowling at her. He positively hated it when she asked him to forgive her as if she'd done a great wrong. “I won't hurt you,” he murmured, trailing his hand from her locked jaw, down her neck, and to her shoulder.
Perhaps it was his own words, or her shaky nod of acceptance, or even the way her body had the slightest jerk at his touch, but something that had just transpired made his blood freeze as the gravity of the situation set into his mind. She wasn't purposely trying to be cold or push him away, nor was she denying him what had become his right upon their marriage. She was still willing to share her bed and body with him, but only because it was expected of her; not because she wanted to, or with the same eagerness she had when she believed theirs to be a love match.
He dropped his hands to his sides, every ounce of ardor he'd had but a minute ago draining from his body at a rapid pace. Fury pumped through him. Fury at her for pretending everything was fine, when it clearly wasn't; fury at her for not standing up for herself and allowing herself to be treated as if she were nothing more than just an outlet for his primal urges; fury at her father and aunt for teaching her to be this docile creature who let anyone and everyone trample all over her; and, most of all, fury at himself for not treating her any better.
Time evaporated as the deafening silence engulfed them.
It wasn't until the moon dropped behind the leafy treetops outside Regina's window, cloaking them in utter darkness, that Edward dared touch her again. But this time instead of initiating love making, he used his hand on the small of her back to steer her toward the bed.
Then, just as he'd done last night, he shed his dressing robe, climbed in bed beside her, and held her until they both drifted off to sleep.
~Chapter Eleven~
As much as she hated to admit it, Edward was right. Watson Townhouse was barren. Even her father's townhouse had more embellishment than this one. Not that dozens of portraits of Toby at various ages was something enjoyable to feast one's eyes upon, but at least it was something. Not only did Watson Townhouse have no ornamentation, it didn't even have adequate furniture. Why? Neither Edward nor his father had been Father's clients and his encouragement of her redecorating his house didn't seem false. So he couldn't be impoverished. Why then was his house so empty? Perhaps she'd ask him sometime, but not now. Not when he seemed so bent on pleasing her in order to soothe her pride.
She honestly didn't know which was worse, his lying by omission to protect her feelings or his overcompensation for his deed by trying to keep her pleased.
She shrugged out of her heavy nightgown then pulled a pair of stockings from the bureau and looked around her new bedchamber again. She didn't know about the rest of the house, but this room was certainly in need of some new decorations. Not that she knew what she'd do differently, mind you. She hadn't decorated a single thing before. Ever. Her father had instructed her mother how to decorate her family home, and she hadn't been allowed to change anything in her room at Sloan's.
A light scratching on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“No nightgown this morning?” Georgie asked, coming into her room.
Regina blushed fiercely. “It's not...” Why bother to explain? The admission that she'd once again been unable to perform her marital duties would be far more damning than the assumption that her husband had seen her nude.
Georgie smiled. “Never mind what I think, my lady.” She walked to the wardrobe, which had been filled with half of Regina's gowns while she'd be in the country. She pulled out a dark green morning gown. “This is beautiful. Would you like to wear it?”
“Of course.” Not that it mattered what she wore anymore. Nobody would be around to see it. She chastised herself for her moment of self-pity then allowed Georgie to help her into her dress.
“Beautiful, indeed,” she said. “Lord Watson left for Eton before sunup and isn't expected back until tonight, but Master John should be about.”
Regina nodded. Just as well. At least with him gone, he wouldn't feel compelled to spend time with her.
Georgie brushed and repinned her hair then excused herself so Regina could go take breakfast.
She ate with deliberate slowness. Having no real friends to speak of who lived close and never having been allowed to pursue interests not considered necessary to her role as a female and approved by her father, she had no idea what to do with her day.
Fortunately, her state of tedium came to a close when a missive was delivered for her shortly after luncheon.
Unfortunately, the missive was from her father. Even worse, he'd be arriving at her house at exactly half past four this afternoon to discuss a matter of great import with her.
“Lady Watson,” her father greeted, as Calvert led him into the drawing room.
“Father.”
He nodded then took a seat in the chair opposite where she sat on the settee. “I trust you enjoyed your stay in the country with your doting husband.”
“I did,” she said through clenched teeth. How could he possibly think to keep up his charade? “About that—”
“Now that you've returned from your wedding trip, I trust you'll be hosting that breakfast you spoke of soon.”
Regina's pulse tripled. He'd lied to her, and all he wanted to talk about was that breakfast she'd promised to host back when she'd been too excited about whom she'd be marrying, and why, to care what she'd said. “Why did you lie to me?” she burst out.
His lips thinned. “I beg your pardon, Regina, but even as a baroness, you have no call to speak to your father that way.”
“Forgive me,” she said automatically. She hated saying those words. They tasted so bitter on her tongue, but she feared he might strike her the way he often struck Toby when he felt Toby was being defiant.
“I grant you forgiveness.” Father steepled his hands in front of his face. “Now let's discuss this breakfast you're hosting, shall we?”
She'd rather not. “Isn't there anything else we could discuss?”
He frowned. “Regina, you are not reneging, are you? I should hate for my only daughter to make a liar of herself.”
Regina tightened her hands into tight fists, determined not to let him see how much his words had stung. She doubted she was skilled at keeping the truth of her feelings from him as his eyes seem
ed to have developed a knowing gleam. “Of course not,” she said softly. “I'm still planning to hold a breakfast.”
“Good,” he said, nodding his approval. “Is it safe to assume there will be at least one earl and countess present at your first breakfast?”
Images of Lord and Lady Sinclair flashed into her mind. “Of course.”
“Excellent.” He stood. “I don't mean to keep you. I'm sure you have plenty of baroness duties to attend to.”
Regina watched his retreating back. Even married to a lord as he'd always told her was to be her duty, he still held her in little regard.
She sighed. Perhaps if she planned out the perfect breakfast, she could prove herself to him. She rang for a quill, inkpot, and paper then sat down at the game table to write out her plans.
“Penning a letter to the king to make an exception and allow you to file for a parliamentary annulment?” John asked, taking a seat on the stool opposite her.
“However did you know?” she teased.
He grinned. “I know my brother best. He has this fascinating ability to entertain with his quick wit and naughty jests one minute and bore a body into a comatose state the next.”
Despite herself, Regina laughed. “You do know him well, indeed.”
“I told you I did.” He shrugged out of his royal blue coat and dropped it on the floor beside him. “Are you acquainted with his friend Lord Sinclair?”
“Yes. And his wife.”
John curled his top lip. “I hope my wife is nothing like her.”
Regina shook her head. “I'm sure she won't be. Ladies like her are rare.”
“I'd say. Lord Sinclair offered her marriage after only meeting her twice. I once overheard him tell Edward that a lady like her was too good to pass by and had to marry her before he lost his chance.” His blue eyes were wide in sheer bewilderment. “I have no idea why.”