He reached for her again, but was distracted by a knock on the door. When he opened it, three waiters entered, carrying large trays. They cleared the table of its knickknacks and unloaded their trays. Two champagne buckets, each holding an iced bottle, were placed beside the table. A waiter opened one and filled two tall stemmed glasses with the golden, bubbly libation.
"Will that be all, my lord?" the first waiter asked.
Wilderlake, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding lip, nodded. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a guinea and tossed it to the leader. "Yes, that will be all. You may clear in the morning. We will not wish to be disturbed again this night."
As soon as the door had closed behind the waiters, Wilderlake said, "Be seated, my lady. Our dinner grows cold." He held her chair.
With a wary glance at him, Chloe sat. She reached for a serving spoon, saying shyly, "May I serve you, my lord?"
"First a toast." He handed her one champagne glass and raised the other. "To us, my dear. May we build a comfortable life together."
Chloe smiled as best she could. She wanted to tell him that her dreams of marriage were for more than comfort. At her come out ball, she had discovered a taste for champagne. Tonight it seemed even better. She drained her glass. "May I have more?"
He refilled both their glasses. When she offered him the plate of spiced beef, he waved it away and pulled the platter of shelled oysters to him. "I have little appetite. I shall just eat a few of these while you enjoy the rest." He ate the slimy shellfish slowly, dabbing occasionally at his still oozing lip. Each time he slipped one of the revolting things between his lips, Chloe had to contain a shudder.
She also had little appetite, but under his intense gaze, she could not admit it. She took a small helping of the beef, a few vegetables, some savories, and a lobster patty. Pushing the food about her plate, she asked, "I wish you would eat something besides those awf...uh, oysters, my lord. Surely so many of them are not good for you."
"Yes, they are. Good for me. May I pour you more champagne?" He fumbled with the bottle. Nearly as much of the sparkling wine spilled to the table as entered her glass. Wilderlake refilled his glass as well.
Finding it impossible to swallow anything solid, Chloe drank off her champagne thirstily. When he saw her glass was empty, her husband opened the second bottle and refilled it again. Her spirits revived after the third glass, and she ate the lobster patty and nibbled at a piece of cake. By the time Chloe had finished her fourth glass of champagne, she was quite in charity with her husband, despite his silence. She looked at him and giggled.
"Wha's so funny?" he mumbled.
"You are, my lord. You sit there scowling while you should be celebrating. Come, dance with me." She rose to her feet and began to waltz around the room, still holding her champagne glass. She curtseyed before him. "Come," she repeated, taking hold of his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet.
Wilderlake clutched his glass and stood, unsteadily.
"Waltz with me, waltz with me," Chloe caroled, as she drew him after her into the steps of the dance. He took three faltering steps, then stumbled onto the sofa. Eyes closed, he sprawled back, breathing heavily. His almost empty glass landed on the rug and rolled, leaving a sticky trail.
Chloe glared at him a moment, then began giggling. "Foxed," she said. "How very odd." She began again to waltz, circling around the room alone. Faster and faster she spun, humming to herself. Suddenly she became horribly dizzy, and grabbed at the nearest solid object, the frame of the bedchamber door. She clung with both hands until the room stopped spinning, then she leaned against it and looked across at her husband. He had slid from the sofa to the floor, and was curled on the rug, snoring.
"Wake up," she said, but her voice was small and shaking. She wanted to go to him, but when she tried to stand alone, she swayed and nearly fell herself. Leaning back against the doorframe, she covered her face with her hands and sank to her knees.
I wanted to be married in a great church, with bridesmaids and a wedding breakfast for all the ton. I wanted to marry a man who would pamper me, who would tell me I am beautiful. A man who would swear his everlasting love.
Instead, her husband lay sprawled on the floor, dead drunk. She knew he had consumed too much champagne because he regretted marrying her.
What have I done?
Chloe's eyes burned but no tears would fall. After a while she slid the rest of the way to the floor and fell into a troubled sleep.
Sometime in the night she woke, shivering. The room was dark and the bed under her was rock hard. For a few moments she was confused, until she remembered her wedding day. She pulled herself to her feet and fumbled her way along the nearest wall until she came to a bed. On the bedside table, she found a candle and a lucifer. She used the first candle to find and light others. Once she could see her surroundings, she sought her bridegroom.
In the other room, he lay on the floor, snoring stertorously. What sort of man would drink himself into insensibility on his wedding night?
One who married for pity, not for love.
Their wedding dinner still littered the table. As she drew near, she smelled the oysters he had not consumed. They were never her favorite viand, and tonight she detested even the thought of the slimy things. She upended a plate over them, then piled the rest of the dishes and plates together. The waiters must have taken the tray with them, for it was nowhere to be seen. "Bother," she muttered.
She pulled the corners of the tablecloth up and laid them over the table, then shoved the whole thing toward the door. It moved easily. With only a little effort, she had it standing in the corridor outside their suite. Once she had pushed the door closed, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least the air was no longer redolent with the smell of oyster.
Again she went to the bedroom, this time removing the satin quilt from the bed. She tucked it around her husband's supine body. Once she had him covered, she eased herself under it and curled up beside him. Putting her arm around his waist, she snuggled against him and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Wilderlake awoke with a pounding head and a cottony mouth. He lay quietly, knowing it was early morning, for the windows were lit with a grey, cold light. The bed on which he lay was devilishly hard and a weight was pressing against his chest and shoulder.
He remained perfectly still for a few minutes, seeking some memory of the previous night. Obviously he had imbibed far more than he should have, something he had never done before. Why?
Slowly images of the past few days painted themselves on the canvas of his mind. A convivial evening in an inn, good wine, good company. A girl, pretty, distressed.
Oh, my God! Chloe. His wedding. The uneasy silence as they traveled to the hotel, alone at last. The fear in Chloe's face. Too much brandy. Too much champagne.
Dinner, which she had only picked at. The oysters he had eaten, each one sliding down his throat with a nauseating slickness. More brandy. Chloe caroling, "Waltz with me."
That memory, at least, made him smile. She was such a gay little thing. A good foil for his dark pessimism.
He cautiously looked for the source of the weight on his chest, barely moving his aching head. Chloe was sleeping beside him, with her head on his shoulder, her arm wrapped across his body.
Why are we on the floor?
He moved carefully, pulling his half-asleep right arm from between them and easing it around Chloe. She shifted slightly and made a small sound of contentment, then relaxed again. With his left hand, he explored first his chest, then his legs. Yes, he was fully clothed. He wriggled his toes. Even to shoes. He tentatively touched his wife's arm. It was bare. He slid his hand up to her shoulder, finding there a puff of soft fabric.
His touch must have disturbed her, for Chloe tightened her hold on his chest and drew her knee up so that her leg rested on his. He became conscious of the first stirrings of desire. Turning his head, he found that he could reach her forehead with his lips.
He kissed her gently, then tightened his arm around her. Perhaps, if he turned just so, and lifted her chin with his other hand...
Yes. He found her lips and kissed them, softly at first, then with increasing hunger. As his tongue thrust against her lips, he became aware that her arm was no longer resting quietly on his chest, but was creeping up to encircle his neck. Her mouth opened and she moaned against his.
Chloe's response drove away the last of Wilderlake's fears. He was clumsy in his haste, but so was she. They tugged and pulled at each other's clothing, tossing each item aside as it was removed. Finally seeking hands found nothing but warm skin and the urgency grew unbearable. All clumsiness, all uncertainty was gone.
While still capable of rational thought, Wilderlake breathed a mental sigh of relief. In this, at least, their marriage promised to be a success.
Later, as they lay entwined together, Chloe spoke her first words of the day. "No wonder Mama seems to enjoy that. I do too."
Wilderlake smiled, still caught up in the wonder of what they had shared. "To think I was nervous. Why it seems the most natural thing in the world."
"You, too, my lord?" She kissed his shoulder, which was all she could reach without moving. "I feel so deliciously comfortable that I do not even want to move enough to reach your lips."
"Then I will do the moving, my darling," he said, and did so. After a long, satisfying kiss, he had to ask her, "Did your mother tell you she enjoyed, ah, that?"
"No, but we could always tell. She and Papa used to disappear occasionally in the afternoons, and when they returned, they always seemed so contented. When I was about seventeen, I finally deduced why." She paused. "My lord, you must instruct me in what pleases you. This is all so new to me."
"My name is Herne, lovely Chloe. And if I am to instruct you, so shall you me. For it is equally new to me."
She sat up, the blankets falling from around her upper body. "Never say so!" she exclaimed, shocked. "Do you mean you never had your bits of muslin? Why, Mama said..."
"When I was young, I never had the funds," he interrupted, "and at home there was little opportunity. Or perhaps I never sought one."
"Oh, I am so glad, Herne," she said, snuggling back into his arms. He pulled the blankets back over her. "I was prepared to accept my husband's mistresses, for Mama warned us that most men have them. But Papa, never did, I think, and I confess that I do not like the idea."
"Nor do I. My father was enough of a rake for both of us. I think that I am more exclusive in my tastes."
"See that you stay that way, husband, or I shall show you just how great a temper I have," she warned him. She pulled away from him and stood up. "Now, I am hungry, and this floor is so hard."
He caught at her ankle as she started to walk toward the bedroom. She stopped and looked down at him, suddenly aware that she had not a stitch of clothing to cover her. She was momentarily embarrassed, but told herself that there should be no false modesty between husband and wife.
"Wait, Chloe, let me look at you." He suited deed to word. When heat bloomed in her cheeks, he chuckled. "Why, I believe you blush all over." He rolled out of their improvised bed and chased her into the bedroom.
A long time later Chloe had her breakfast.
* * * *
Phaedra awakened early the day after her sister's wedding, knowing what she must do. At breakfast, she asked that she be allowed to tell Mr. Farwell of her decision.
"You need not, dear," Mama said. "Your father can relay your refusal, thus sparing you the distress of doing so."
"I am not going to refuse him, Mama," she answered, twisting a handkerchief between nervous hands.
Her father looked up from his newspaper, eyebrows raised.
"I am going to ask him for more time to think about his offer. I realized last night that I had never considered Mr. Farwell in the light of a suitor, or at least not for myself. It would be unfair to refuse him until I have time come to know him as a prospective husband rather than a potential brother-in-law."
"Now that's more like it, girl." Papa was obviously relieved. "Get to know the man a bit. Then you'll see there's more to him than meets the eye."
"I probably will still refuse his suit, Papa, so do not be too optimistic. I cannot believe that Mr. Farwell and I would ever deal well together."
"Give the man a chance, that's all I say," Papa told her, rising from the table. "Now I must be off. Got to put the wedding announcement in the Gazette, then I thought I'd drop in at the club." He kissed his wife and ruffled his daughter's hair. "I'll be home in time to take you to the theatre tonight."
"Oh, Mama, must we go?" Phaedra asked. "I had hoped that we could live more quietly now that Chloe is married."
"If anything, I shall require you to accompany me to more affairs, rather than fewer now, Phaedra."
Phaedra caught her breath in surprise and disappointment. She had hoped...
"We must show Society that we are not downcast over Chloe's hurried marriage," Mama told her. "You must be seen frequently enough that all will realize that you are not the hoyden your sister was. I know I can depend on you to behave in a most proper manner for the remainder of the Season."
"I had hoped we would now return home, and forget the rest of the Season," she replied, frowning.
"Absolutely not, my dear. We will continue to be seen everywhere that is fashionable, until the ton is convinced your manners and morals are impeccable. Besides, how could you get to know Mr. Farwell at such a distance?"
"Yes, Mama." Phaedra sighed. "If we must, we must. So what is our schedule for today?"
"Today you are free to do as you wish, after you have spoken with Mr. Farwell, that is. Tomorrow, there is a tea at Lady Sefton's, then in the evening is the Duchess's musicale."
Phaedra had folded her napkin carefully while her mama was speaking. Now she rose and went to the window, which looked out upon the small garden at the back of the house. Her breath made a small smudge of steam upon the cold glass. "And the day after that, I will drive in the park with Lord X, attend the opera with Lady Y's party, and then drop in at the Earl of Z's ball, I suppose."
For a moment she let her hands clench into fists and her back teeth grind together. Then she turned, forcing herself to smile. "Very well, Mama, I will be cooperative. I warn you, though, I will not enjoy most of it."
"I think you will, despite yourself. Except for the musicales, perhaps, and I will not insist you attend any except the Duchess's. You may have two afternoons to yourself each week, after this one. Cousin Louisa and you can go about as you please each Tuesday and Friday."
"Thank you, Mama. You have always understood."
* * * *
Lady Gifford went in search of Cousin Louisa, whom she found in the sewing room, mending sheets.
"What on earth, Louisa?"
"I felt the need to do something soothing. The past few days have been almost too exciting."
"Have they not?" Lady Gifford replied, as she too picked up a sheet to turn. She related Phaedra's hope for time to consider Mr. Farwell's proposal. "I have been thinking. If--No, when Phaedra marries, I shall be in need of female companionship. Would you consider coming to the Court with us? I cannot promise peace and contentment, for the boys keep us hopping, but I would very much like to have you there."
"I could come and visit you for a while, and we shall see. I admit I have been lonely myself, this past while. But before we make our plans, should we not see that Phaedra does indeed marry."
Lady Gifford laid down the sheet and smoothed it across her knees. "Do you think she will have him, Louisa?"
"I cannot guess. Phaedra keeps her own council. I confess myself surprised that she will ask him to wait. Perhaps she is not so averse to his suit as she says."
"We can but hope. I like that young man, Louisa, despite his outrageous costumes and his sleepiness. I am not certain in my own mind he is the right husband for her, although I do believe his offer will make a difference in Phaedra's life,
whether she marries him or not."
Cousin Louisa patted her hand. "At this point, we can only wait and see."
The pile of mended sheets grew as they sewed in silence, content in quiet domesticity, after the excitement of the past few days.
* * * *
Phaedra greeted her suitor with damp palms and a shaking voice. After the usual polite exchanges, she said, "Mr. Farwell, I must thank you for your offer..." She could go no further. She simply could not imagine kissing him, let alone sharing his bed for the rest of her life.
At her words, his lips tightened, then relaxed, so quickly she was unsure she had really seen the subtle change. He stepped to the fireplace and stared down into it for a moment, then turned and laid his arm along the mantel. His stance showed him at ease and prepared to wait as long as was necessary for her to find her voice again.
"Oh, why did you have to do it?" she cried angrily. "Now I cannot be comfortable with you, and I was, before."
This time the tightening of his lips was unmistakable. After a brief silence he said, in an uncharacteristically serious tone, "Will you sit, Miss Phaedra, while you rail at me? I confess that I do not wish to receive your refusal while standing."
She sat on the sofa, expecting that he would take the chair whence he could look into her face. Instead he seated himself beside her.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and stared at them, waiting for him to speak.
After a moment, his hand covered hers. His skin was warm, firm, his touch somehow comforting.
How strange. His hand does not look like I would have expected the hand of a fop to appear. It is strong, not delicate and useless.
She stole a peek at him. His expression was guarded, and his gaze was fixed steadily on her face.
Phaedra took a deep breath, seeking courage. "I am not refusing you, Mr. Farwell. Not yet. But I cannot accept you, either."
"So I am to hang about on tenterhooks until you make up your mind?" His lips twisted in a grimace.
A Sisterly Regard Page 20