by Farr, Diane
Her instinct was to object to the shocking expense to which Malcolm must have gone to achieve this, but she stifled her protest. She would not argue with him. She would not put her own opinions forward. That was the bargain, was it not? She had agreed to a marriage of convenience. She would give him a conformable, submissive wife, and he would give her his title and his wealth.
And his daughter. That, far more than the outward trappings of title and fortune, would enrich her life beyond measure.
One moment stood out from the blur of her brief engagement period: the moment when Malcolm led her in to Sarah and broke the news that he and Natalie were to be married. Sarah’s happiness brought tears to Natalie’s eyes, and when the little girl flew into her arms with an incoherent cry of joy, she hugged her—carefully, but tightly.
That moment would remain forever etched in her memory, bright and edged with clarity—the moment when her arms went around Sarah and she smiled up at Malcolm through her tears and thought, this will be my family. This man. This child. They were hers henceforward, forever. The enormity of the gift was overwhelming. She had felt, the day she met them, an inexplicable bond that she had never before felt with anyone but Derek. Had it been premonition? Whatever the reason, part of her had known instantly that she belonged with Malcolm and Sarah. And now, incredibly, the informal bonds of rapport and friendship would be tied and sealed in earnest.
She would no longer be Natalie Whittaker. She would be Natalie Chase. Lady Malcolm Chase. The name sounded eerily foreign, but it would be hers. That would be the name carved on her tombstone. It was all very…weird. Too much to get used to, too quickly.
She should never have agreed to marry Malcolm by special license. She realized, too late, that the decorous three-week wait imposed by the reading of banns was the bare minimum that a lady needed, to mentally adjust to the huge changes rushing toward her. But the time ran forward like water in a millrace, and at the end of one short week she found herself bundled into a traveling carriage and heading for London, Malcolm at her side.
For propriety’s sake, Sarah and Mrs. Bigalow accompanied them, but they sat facing the betrothed couple—it was Malcolm whose body was pressed intimately against hers, shoulder, hip and thigh. It was difficult to make conversation while tingling with awareness of Malcolm’s long, lean body beside her. It was impossible to believe that this would be her lot forevermore; that in future, this was how she would always travel. With Malcolm. Very strange.
London was less than a day’s journey, this time of year, and they reached the Chase family’s town house in Mayfair two hours before sunset. When Natalie climbed down from the carriage and looked up, she felt almost dizzy. The feeling of unreality intensified.
Oldham House was definitely a ducal mansion. She was about to be installed in a ducal mansion. From this day forward, whenever she visited the metropolis, this is where she would stay. She was to think of this magnificent edifice as “home.” Merciful heavens. She had admired her stepmother’s elegant little flat in Kensington, but Oldham House made Lucille’s flat look like a hovel.
She was suddenly very glad of her new clothes. She would have looked like the imposter she was, had she entered Oldham House in the modest attire of a country gentlewoman.
It was all too preposterous to take in stride. Still, Natalie said nothing. She allowed Malcolm to lead her in and introduce her to a few members of the staff. She smiled and nodded graciously, pretending to be what she was not: a manor-born aristocrat. The sense that she was walking through a dream turned out to be rather helpful. She sailed through the unforeseen ordeal with the correct air of cool friendliness, too detached to feel nervous. She introduced Mrs. Bigalow to Oldham House’s butler and housekeeper, and made no clumsy mistakes whatsoever.
Sarah and Nurse were escorted upstairs by the housekeeper. Natalie glanced up after them, frowning a little. Something had cut through the fog that seemed to be clouding her brain. Once again, something about Sarah’s behavior bothered her. It was in the way she clung to Nurse’s hand, and the way she proceeded up the steps—head bent, shoulders hunched, even while bouncing with energy and excitement. It meant something, Natalie was sure of it.
The child was, of course, still recovering from her broken arm. Had Sarah become morbidly afraid of falling? Natalie had the oddest feeling that if she only had leisure to stop and mull it over for a few minutes, the solution to some important mystery would occur to her.
She filed the moment away in the back of her mind, promising herself that she would think on it later. In the meantime, Malcolm had left the butler to direct the unloading of their baggage, and wanted to take Natalie on a brief tour of the main area of the house.
She trailed after him from room to room, murmuring polite admiration. In truth, she found it overwhelming. The public rooms had last been decorated in the middle of the last century, and were, as a consequence, almost ridiculously ornate. Natalie had never seen anything as intimidating as the flamboyant display of wealth and power exhibited in every gorgeous detail. No surface was left undecorated; even the door handles were carved into flourishes and plated with gold.
Natalie’s spirits sank lower and lower as the tour continued. She could not help fearing, perhaps foolishly, that her fingerprints would smear the polished surfaces, or that the edge of her skirt would knock some priceless ornament off its perch and break it. And Malcolm had grown up in such surroundings! He took it all for granted. He turned those gold-plated handles with no more thought or care than if they were the leather latches on a tenant cottage.
They finished the tour in the morning room and Malcolm rang for tea. He then glanced down at her, a slight, apologetic smile lifting the corners of his mouth when he saw her expression. “I suppose it’s a bit much,” he admitted, looking about him. “No wonder all this gilding and what-not has gone out of fashion. I’m so accustomed to it that I don’t realize how it must strike someone seeing it for the first time.”
“It’s lovely,” said Natalie politely, sinking, with great care, onto a satin-covered settee.
“The bedchambers have been redone in a more modern style.”
Bedchambers. Natalie shivered. So many images suddenly swirled in her brain, she could not think of a single word to say.
“You are tired,” he said, looking keenly at her. “Shall I have tea sent up to your room, rather than let you wait for it here?”
“Oh! No.” She shook her head, embarrassed. “I will drink it here—with you.”
Her answer seemed to please him. He came over and sat opposite her, leaning earnestly forward. “I mean to make you happy, Natalie,” he said softly.
She gave him a wavering smile. “I know it, Malcolm. And I shall do my best to give you a…a comfortable life. A peaceful life.”
He looked surprised, and a little disturbed. He seemed to search in his mind for a moment, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “You had hoped, at one time,” he said at last, “for something more than a comfortable marriage.”
“Yes.” She straightened hastily, afraid she had said the wrong thing. “But I do not require it, Malcolm. We cannot pick and choose whom we will love. It apparently strikes at random, like…like lightning. I will not pine for what I do not have. I value what you have done for me, and I am grateful. I know the terms of our bargain. I will honor them.”
She had meant to reassure him, but he did not look reassured. “Grateful!” he exclaimed. “What is it that you think I have done for you?”
She blinked at him, surprised. “Why, Malcolm, how can you ask? You have given me a new home. A new family.” Sudden emotion rose in her, constricting her throat. “You are sharing Sarah with me. No one has ever given me such a beautiful gift. I promise you, I treasure it.”
His eyes darkened with answering emotion. He reached to take her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. It looked as if he were about to speak, but a discreet knock heralded the entrance of the tea tray. Whatever he had been about to say remained un
said, and Natalie wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry. She had been treading on dangerous ground.
Don’t crowd him, she reminded herself desperately. Don’t display what is in your heart. Malcolm would have to come to her, not the other way about, or it would never be any good.
* * *
She looked tired and dispirited. Malcolm, his appetite vanished, crumbled a biscuit into his saucer. All he wanted in life was to make Natalie happy. Was she right, that this falling-in-love business struck one out of the blue, like lightning? Was there nothing he could do to make her love him? The thought made him fierce with desire to prove her wrong. He longed to set down the blasted saucer, yank her up off of that settee, and kiss her senseless. But he kept his seat—with difficulty.
Don’t crowd her, he reminded himself sternly. Don’t display what is in your heart. Natalie must come to him, not the other way about, or it would never be any good.
Tomorrow was their wedding day. After that, she would be his. His to woo—without distraction. No separation at the end of the day. His home would be hers. Their lives would be joined.
And lightning was going to strike, by God, if he had to drag her out in a thunderstorm with a key tied round her neck.
He had reached this point in his cogitations when Derek Whittaker was announced. He barely had time to stand up before an energetic young man bounded into the room, not waiting for a footman’s escort. Natalie flew up out of her chair with a glad little cry and went straight into the young man’s arms, laughing with delight.
“Derek! Oh, I can’t believe it! How did you know I had arrived?”
“Why, you named the date in your letter, goose. I’ve been hanging about Mount Street all day on the look-out for you. Nearly got picked up for loitering, by Jove! Dashed particular, your new neighbors.” He held her at arm’s length, grinning at her. “And then, after all my patience, you sneaked past me when I stepped round the corner for a bite of bread and cheese.”
Natalie was glowing. It gave Malcolm a queer sort of pang, to witness her happiness in the arms of another man—even her brother. The polite, depressed young lady who had inhabited Natalie’s person a few minutes ago had vanished, leaving behind this laughing, animated girl.
“What! All day long?” she was exclaiming. “I am astonished that Lord Stokesdown could spare you.”
“Oh, I’m strictly window-dressing.” He winked. “Not really necessary to him at all.”
Their laughter combined, two bells ringing the same peal in different octaves. The family resemblance was remarkable. Natalie had told him that she and Derek were often mistaken for twins, and, seeing them together, it was difficult to believe that they were not. Derek was much taller, of course, and his movements had a careless, loose-limbed freedom that hers lacked, but these were gifts bestowed by virtue of his gender. He had the same charismatic smile and expressive brown eyes. It seemed that his hair was slightly darker, and perhaps less curly than his sister’s, but that might, again, be a gender-bestowed difference. Young men aspiring to fashion cropped their hair at a length that resisted curl, and tamed it with oil if it refused to obey the mode. Derek sported a Brutus cut, neatly-tailored clothing, and a well-tied cravat. He looked every inch the young man-about-town.
He looked his sister up and down and his brows flew up. “Gadzooks. It’s a good thing I bearded you in your lair, for I’d never have recognized you on the street.”
Natalie rolled her eyes at him. “Pish-tosh. I’d have known you anywhere, even in your London finery.” She seemed to recall herself, then, and with a startled, “Oh! Where have my wits gone begging?” turned to introduce the two men to each other.
To Malcolm’s appreciative amusement, there was a distinct air of animosity in Derek’s bow. He could almost sense the young man’s hackles rising as he took Malcolm’s measure, his brown eyes wary and deadly serious. “How do you do, my lord?” he said, with arctic politeness. “I had hoped to know you better before you wed my sister.”
“Yes, an awkward business,” said Malcolm affably. “But I daresay we can make up for lost time later.”
Derek gazed steadily at him. “I’m very fond of Natalie, sir.”
Malcolm knew a warning when he heard one. Excellent! He was inclined to approve of young Mr. Whittaker. It was gratifying to find that Natalie had one brother, at least, who was worthy of the name.
He nodded, a faint smile curling his mouth. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “I’m very fond of her, myself.”
Derek did not noticeably thaw. “I always thought,” he said, steel in his voice, “that a man aspiring to my sister’s hand would look me up prior to contracting an engagement. I know that Natalie is of age, but—”
“Oh, great heavens!” exclaimed Natalie. “Do you think Malcolm should have asked you for my hand?”
Derek stiffened. “As the eldest of your brothers —”
“Oh, no! Derek, I promise you, it never occurred to either of us! How absurd you are.”
He dropped the stiff pose and rounded on her, glowering. “Natalie, someone must look out for your best interests, and Hector’s not the man to do so.”
“Well, that’s true,” she admitted. “But I am perfectly capable of minding my own affairs, you know.”
He gazed searchingly at her, his brown eyes full of trouble. “May I speak privately with you?”
“No,” she said promptly. “I want you to become acquainted with Lord Malcolm.”
“Well, that’s just it! I don’t know this chap, and neither do you. Not well enough to marry him—and not in such all-fired haste!”
“Nonsense.” Natalie’s cheeks were turning pink. “I must tell you, Derek—and this is quite my own fault, for not making it plain in my letters to you—that Lord Malcolm and I have become fast friends during the past month or two.”
Derek did not look persuaded. His jaw jutted pugnaciously. “Well, since you won’t let me say my piece to you in private, I must say it here. There’s something dashed smoky about this business. Besides which, any man whom Hector chooses for you is liable to be a bounder. I don’t mean to offend Lord Malcolm—”
“Well!” Natalie gasped. “If you don’t mean to offend him, I suggest you stop calling him a bounder! For pity’s sake, Derek, do you think I would marry anyone at Hector’s bidding? I am not such a simpleton.”
Derek looked harassed. “But I had a letter from Hector, preening himself on your betrothal and implying—” He stopped in mid-sentence. Doubt seemed to shake him. “Do you mean he was blowing smoke? He seemed to think that you had initially refused Lord Malcolm’s offer. Gave me the impression that he had coerced you into accepting him.” He shot another hostile glance at Malcolm. “Daresay I’m behaving scaly. Sorry! If the wedding is still set for tomorrow, there’s no time for me to beat around the bush. If your plan is to drag my sister to the altar unwilling, I’m here to thrust a spoke in your wheel. And I don’t give a fig who your father may be.”
Derek rose another notch in Malcolm’s estimation. He stepped forward and said in a mild tone, “I see no reason why you should. Would you care to sit down, Mr. Whittaker? My cook has sent up some excellent biscuits.”
These were words calculated to win the heart of any vigorous young man. Derek still looked wary, but he sat. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “I don’t mean to fly up into the boughs over nothing—”
Malcolm handed him the plate of biscuits. “I would hardly call your sister’s happiness ‘nothing.’ You have every right to feel concern on her behalf.”
Derek took a biscuit, hesitated for a fraction of an instant, and took two more. “Good of you, my lord,” he said gruffly. “Not to take offense.”
To Malcolm’s intense, if silent, gratification, Natalie sat beside him on the high-backed sofa and leaned slightly against his knee. “You will like Lord Malcolm,” she told Derek. Her voice was soft, but filled with conviction. “I am giving you a far better brother than Hector has ever been.”
Her brother’s eyes lit with quick good humor. “Oh, marrying for my sake, are you? Thank you very much.”
Malcolm had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Your sister has asked Mrs. Bigalow to stand up with her tomorrow,” he said. “I would be greatly honored if you would act as my best man. It’s a private ceremony, no guests, but two witnesses are required.”
Natalie’s hand crept into his and gave it a grateful squeeze.
Derek’s eyebrows flew up. “Nurse is standing up with you?” he exclaimed. “Well, that’s something. She would never do so, did she disapprove of this union.” He looked from one to the other of them, apparently digesting this information. A slow smile gradually lit his features. “I’m disposed to rely on her judgement,” he remarked. “She loves Natalie nearly as well as I do. If Nurse approves of you, I must be making a cake of myself.”
He took a deep breath and expelled it. Then he rose and bowed. “Thank you, sir,” he said formally. “I would be honored to stand up with you tomorrow.”
Chapter 18
Natalie’s wedding day dawned in the soft gray of mist. The mist seemed to shroud the morning in a drifting softness, as if London itself had donned a wedding veil. She scarcely knew whether she had entered a dream so vivid that it felt real, or a reality so impossible that it felt dreamlike. She rose and dressed like a sleepwalker.
Nurse and one of the Chase family maids helped her, tucking and lacing and smoothing her into her wedding dress. The two women worked with suppressed excitement, exclaiming at Natalie’s beauty, which only added to her sense that none of this was happening. She had never been a beauty. A box of hothouse flowers arrived, sent from the hotel where Malcolm had spent the night. When she opened the box, a heavenly fragrance filled the room. The orange blossoms were too lovely to be real. It was all too lovely to be real. Natalie held the bouquet reverently to her face, drinking in the perfume. And then she caught sight of herself in the pier glass.