Perhaps she did know, but she was practiced at schooling her features in situations such as this. Jasper returned her smile and inclined his head. "Until tomorrow then."
As he left the room, he wondered how long it would take her to trust him enough to disclose what had befallen her. Why her right-hand glove contained stuffing where her ring and little finger should be.
Sadness washed over him in a great wave. The sense of what-might-have-been that seemed to be his constant companion. It appeared he and Miss Tessa Penrose had much more in common than he'd ever anticipated.
***
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Lord Arlington, Tessa pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks.
Oh, dear Lord. She'd given into him yet again. Kissed him back like a wanton. But worse than that, he knew…
He'd taken her right hand in his, and his fingers had brushed over the place where her fingers should have been. His reaction had been barely perceptible; a tiny expansion of his pupils and a twitch at the corner of his mouth—but it was a flinch all the same.
Her stomach churned, and she closed her eyes. She truly didn't know whether she was relieved or terrified. Jasper knew she was not quite right.
Maimed.
Honor dictated that he would still hold to his word and marry her. But she doubted the amicable partnership they'd spoken of would eventuate. He'd just discovered that he'd been thrust into a union with a woman who could never properly fill the role of countess, play the assured hostess at dinner parties, balls, and soirees, or, indeed, any sort of function at all. She clutched her hands together. Why, she couldn't even dispense tea properly.
There must be at least some level of resentment inside him to be saddled with her. Her father had been right. She would always be an embarrassment, and if she ever wed, a sorry excuse for a wife.
Perhaps it was for the best if Jasper left her to her own devices at Arlington Abbey.
Tessa brushed away the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks unheeded.
If only Jasper hadn't kissed her. Awoken her desire. He had asked if she wanted a love match. Of course she did. But yearning for that happy circumstance would be like wishing for the moon.
Impossible.
Men like Lord Arlington didn't fall in love with women like her. The sooner she reconciled herself to that cruel truth, the better.
Chapter Five
December 18, 1816
Arlington Abbey
Little Arlington
Surrey
This must be a dream.
The strange feeling of unreality wrapped around Tessa like a cloying mist as she stood beside Jasper at the altar in Arlington Abbey's private chapel, and agreed before the vicar, the small congregation of close family and friends, and God, to have this man as her wedded husband. Dressed in a gown of white satin with an overskirt of gold net, she shivered through much of the service, despite the fact braziers were positioned about the interior of the chapel to help combat the biting cold of the wintry December day. Not even Jasper's appreciative hazel gaze could warm her, or the feel of his large hands upon her gloveless left hand as he slid a plain gold wedding band onto her ring finger, or even when he assisted her to kneel upon a red velvet cushion that had been warmed by heated bricks for the sermon and blessing.
She was grateful, however, that he had not shown any outward sign of revulsion when he'd had to take her satin-gloved right hand during the exchange of vows. But then, he'd had almost two weeks to get used to the idea that his bride was crippled. Not that they'd spoken about it in the preceding fortnight. She'd been too nervous to broach the subject, and Jasper hadn't brought it up. Either he was too much of a gentleman to speak of such things, or he was reluctant to discuss a matter he might very well find unpalatable, perhaps even abhorrent. She suspected it might be the latter. Since their meeting in the drawing room of Penrose House, he had not attempted to kiss her again. He'd been the perfect gentleman—charming and attentive in conversation, considerate and polite. Too polite perhaps; in a way, he seemed distant, and not at all like the Jasper she had first encountered at Emma's ball.
She should have been pleased by his change in demeanor, but for some reason she was reluctant to examine, she was not.
Indeed, the odd feeling that she was in a dream persisted throughout the entire ceremony and into the late afternoon as she pretended a delight she didn't feel, smiling and laughing throughout the long, lavish wedding breakfast, not dissimilar to a Christmas feast. As Tessa's gaze wandered over the enormous wedding cake, the centerpiece of the table, to the platters of roasted duck, goose, and vegetables, the glazed ham, aspic jellies, and the silver sauce boats that the footmen were now clearing away, she appreciated all the trouble Jasper had taken. He was generous to a fault.
Despite the fact it was a small wedding with no more than twenty guests—Christopher, Emma, and Aunt Beatrice had naturally attended, along with various close friends and a few relatives of Jasper's—the wedding feast had been laid out upon a massive mahogany dining table that could seat at least thirty, in the abbey's Great Hall. A roaring fire helped keep the chill of the afternoon at bay, to some extent, as did the braziers positioned strategically about the stone-walled chamber. Jasper's servants had also gone to enormous lengths to decorate the room in an elegant, festive, style—large, tastefully arranged wreaths and boughs of holly, ivy, rosemary, and white roses, and orange blossoms from Jasper's hothouse adorned the center of the table, the white marble mantel, and cascaded from the claret velvet curtains dressing the recessed window embrasures.
A string quartet played quietly from a small minstrel's dais at one end of the chamber, and Tessa wondered if there would be dancing after the meal. Not that she would mind if there weren't. She had never been one to dance, given that hand-holding of some sort was required, and in her mind, it was an activity akin to playing a musical instrument— something to be avoided in public at all costs.
She cast a sideways glance at Jasper, who sat beside her. Deep in conversation with Christopher, he didn't seem to notice the direction of her gaze. She sighed. She did not even know if her husband—how peculiar it was to think of Jasper in such a way—liked to dance.
"Are you excited? About tonight?" Emma whispered into her ear. Beneath the cover of the table, she squeezed Tessa's gloved right hand. "It won't be long before evening sets in."
Tessa blushed, taken aback by her younger sister's forward question. Taking in Emma's flushed countenance, she could see that her sister, her only bridesmaid, had most likely imbibed a little too much champagne and mulled wine. If Tessa dared to give an honest answer, she would admit she was both thrilled and terrified by the prospect of joining her husband in their marriage bed.
She reached for her own champagne flute with her bare left hand and took a small sip while formulating a suitable response. Her gold wedding band glowed warmly in the candlelight, and she was reminded all over again that she was a married woman and that her husband could take her to bed whether she was willing or not. Considering her responses to Jasper's early attempts at seduction, she suspected she might readily fall into the category of 'willing' if not altogether 'swooning.'
But Tessa could hardly confess such things to Emma; she was only seventeen. "I am a little nervous, as you would expect," she replied at length, "but I hardly think this is a suitable topic to discuss right now, if at all. Especially with you."
"Oh, pish. I think you will have a wonderful time. I've seen the way Jasper looks at you."
Tessa's eyebrows drew together. "Whatever do you mean?" She really should scold Emma for persisting with this inappropriate line of conversation, but another part of her desperately wanted to know what her sister made of the situation.
Emma giggled. "He looks at you like you are tastier than anything on this table. Now, don't look so shocked, Tessa. It's common knowledge that rakehells make the best… you know," she lowered her voice and whispered, "lovers. And if I were able to lay a wager, I would say that
by this time next year, I will be an aunt."
"Emma," Tessa admonished. She was not sure if she was quite ready to deal with the notion of becoming a mother.
"Well, I think it would be wonderful. You will be an amazing mother, Tessa. If I didn't love you so much, I'd be green with envy."
"Your turn will come next Season, my dear little sister," Tessa said, squeezing Emma's hand back. "And I'm counting on the fact you will follow a more sensible course than I have when finding a partner."
"Hmph. Sensible. That sounds awfully boring. I want romance and a man who will be as besotted as your husband."
"Don't you do anything silly, Emma," warned Tessa. "You know the only reason I agreed to marry Jasper was to maintain the good name of our family."
Emma sighed. "I know. And I promise I won't do anything scandalous. I just pray I find a love match too."
A love match. That most vexing idea again. Tessa slid her husband another glance. Resplendent in a midnight-blue tailcoat, elaborately tied ivory silk cravat, gold brocade waistcoat, and buff breeches, he was so handsome, her heart all but stopped every time she looked at him. But it was more than just Jasper's appearance that attracted her. As the fortnight had progressed toward this, their wedding day, she realized she genuinely liked him, despite the fact he'd been more guarded around her than she would have liked. Witty, intelligent, caring, if a trifle flippant at times, his opinion of her mattered, more than she cared to admit. She might be bordering on a state of being besotted, but she certainly couldn't see that Jasper returned the feeling. But then, Emma was caught up in the romance of the occasion and was undoubtedly viewing everything through the optimistic eyes of the very young.
Perhaps sensing her appraisal at last, Jasper turned away from his conversation with Christopher and fixed her with such a knowing look that her toes curled in her white silk slippers, and the now-familiar ache of unfulfilled lust throbbed low in her belly. Even she, naïve bluestocking that she was, recognized his look was heavy with desire… certainly not love. The polite gentleman was gone, and the devilish rake she'd first encountered was back. Confusion assailed her. How could he look at her like that when he knew?
Her husband's mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile, and he leaned close to her ear to murmur, "I am not one for dancing, but shall we take a turn about the room, my lady? Our guests might appreciate us signaling it is quite all right to get up from the table. And I don't know about you, but I think the cutting and serving of the cake can wait until later." He ran his fingers lightly over the bare flesh on the underside of her left wrist. "Much later."
Tessa felt a blush creep up her neck and scald her face. "We cannot," she whispered back in an urgent tone as her heart began to trip and tumble about in her chest. Jasper clearly didn't mean what he'd said about only wanting to take a turn about the room.
Her husband simply smiled. "Of course we can, my dear wife," he said in a soft, dark voice that made her shiver. "We can do anything we like on our wedding day."
Tessa was suddenly aware that all eyes were on them. "You test the boundaries of propriety, my lord," she murmured, hoping her answering smile looked genuine rather than apprehensive. "I will agree to quitting the table, as long as the cake is served first."
Jasper sighed, but nevertheless acquiesced. Champagne and wine glasses were refilled, the cake was cut and distributed between the merry-making guests, and after taking a polite bite or two—Tessa's stomach churned so much, she really couldn't eat any more than that—she allowed her husband to escort her away from the table, her left hand on his arm. As was her usual habit, she tucked her gloved right hand into her gown's specially sewn-in pocket, hoping no one would notice it as they traversed the room.
Jasper led her over to the fire, and for several minutes, they stood in apparent companionable silence and watched some of the other guests dance a sedate quadrille. But Tessa's mind was elsewhere. She smiled as the newly wed Countess of Arlington should, but the entire time, all she was aware of was the feel of Jasper's large warm hand at her elbow, and the other at the small of her back, and how, in a very short while, those same hands would be exploring every part of her body. She shivered, not with cold, but nervous anticipation.
Jasper seemed to notice how she trembled. He frowned down at her. "It's dashed cold in this hall, my wife, and I can see that you are turning blue, despite being so close to the fire." The twinkle of mischief in his hazel eyes had been replaced with a shadow of concern, and he began to gently chafe her bare left hand between his own large warm ones. "Pretty as your wedding gown is, I feel duty bound to get you into something warmer."
Tessa frowned. "I have a matching pelisse trimmed with fur—"
"Ah, I have something much better in mind." He leaned closer, the tip of one of his fingers brushing a sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Our bed."
"Jasper—"
"Shhh, my sweet, our guests will notice."
"We can't leave—"
"Yes, we can, and we will. This is my home and you are my wife. Besides that, I've been on my best behavior for two weeks, and I'm not waiting any longer. I want you, Tessa."
Jasper really wanted her?
Yes, she was definitely in a dream. Another, deeper shiver slid through her, even as confusion swamped her yet again. She wanted her husband too, but she was afraid. He might not love her, but the novel sensation of being desired was, frankly, intoxicating. But she also knew she wouldn't be able to bear seeing the hunger die in Jasper's eyes when he saw her disfigurement.
She'd never felt more vulnerable in her life. And today, on her wedding day, there was nothing she could do to hide.
Before she could think of another excuse to avoid the inevitable encounter, Jasper tucked her hand firmly beneath his elbow and led her from the hall. The embarrassingly enthusiastic cheers and clapping of their guests followed them into the vestibule, but thankfully faded from earshot by the time they'd negotiated the main staircase and gained the second floor. Within moments, she was being escorted into an opulent suite of rooms, the likes of which she had never seen.
Completely transfixed by the scene before her, she hardly registered the sound of Jasper closing the door behind them.
A set of enormous, arched, mullioned windows afforded her a magnificent view of Arlington Abbey's snow-covered gardens and the setting sun behind a bank of low clouds and the woods beyond. The large sitting room was decorated in a tasteful palette of dark green, rose hues, and cream, and through a connecting doorway, Tessa caught a glimpse of a very large, very ornate, mahogany four-poster bed swathed in curtains of dark green velvet. She swallowed and clenched her right hand tightly inside her pocket.
She had an idea of what transpired in the marriage bed. She'd heard enough gossip over the years, courtesy of her fellow bluestocking friends. Perhaps Jasper would let her keep her glove on, if nothing else.
Jasper drew close behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Kissed her flushed cheek then touched his nose to her neck, inhaling. "You smell divine, Tessa. So, so sweet." He gently turned her around to face him and tilted her chin up with a crooked finger. "I know you are nervous, but I promise you won't regret this." His hazel eyes glowed like sun-warmed topaz as his gaze travelled over her face. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"
She shook her head, her cheeks burning. While she was quite proud of her hair, she could never be considered a conventional beauty—aside from her maimed hand, her mouth was too wide, her chin was a little too pointed, and her eyes were an unremarkable shade of brown. She couldn't accept his compliment, even if it seemed sincere. Not until he truly knew what sort of wife he'd been landed with. "I think you have had a little too much wine, my lord, and your vision has been affected."
His gaze softened, and he cupped her cheek, running the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Tessa—"
She jerked away. There was now pity in his gaze instead of desire, and she couldn't stand it. Turning her back on him, she crossed the ro
om and grasped the back of one of the brocade-covered chairs before the fireplace with her bare left hand. "My lord… I mean, Jasper, you are charging ahead too quickly. There are things we need to discuss before…" She trailed off, embarrassment and anxiety stilling her tongue.
Jasper approached her from behind and caught her gently about the right wrist, withdrawing her hand from her pocket. "You mean this," he murmured against her ear, entwining his fingers with what remained of hers. "Whatever you tell me, Tessa, it won't change anything. I can barely breathe for wanting you. There are parts of me throbbing like the very devil." He slid his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him so her back was flush against his powerful, lean, body, and there was no doubting he spoke the truth. The evidence of his arousal was obvious. Even though she'd never felt anything like it before, she immediately knew what that hard press against her derriere must mean.
"Jasper," she breathed, wanting so, so much to relax against him, to let go and let him initiate her into the art of lovemaking. But she didn't. Somehow, she forced herself to pull away from his sinfully warm embrace before pacing over to one of the windows. If she could put a bit of distance between them, perhaps she could think and regroup. Do what needed to be done.
However, not unexpectedly, Jasper followed her, taking up a position on the opposite side of the window embrasure. He lounged against the wooden paneling with such an air of careless elegance, she wanted to cry. He'd said she was beautiful, but there was no way on earth that she could measure up to him.
Taking a deep breath, she made herself meet his expectant gaze. "Jasper. Since our meeting in the drawing room of Penrose House, I have suspected you are aware of my hand… that it is damaged. And I truly wish I could believe you that it doesn't matter. But before we continue with…" she glanced toward the open bedroom door, "with anything else, I feel I must let you know exactly what to expect. I cannot always keep my gloves on, and… well, you have a right to know. Indeed, I am sorry I have not disclosed any of this to you sooner, but confessing such things to someone you have only just met… it is… it is difficult."
Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 5