A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

“I apologize,” he said rather stiffly as he took his seat. “I thought you would be sleeping later.”

  She shrugged a little, her eyes almost meeting his, but not quite. “I did not sleep well. I mean to busy myself today and not dwell on it.”

  He nodded soberly and tucked his serviette in. “If you think that is best, by all means do so.”

  “I do,” she replied. “I can hardly wallow around forever.”

  “No,” he allowed, as he started on his breakfast, “not forever. But you could certainly take a day or two, if you wanted. Though I hardly think you would wallow.”

  She snorted and sipped her tea. “Have you met me, Kit? I would most certainly wallow, if I wished it.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  Her head shot up, indignation rising, only to find him giving her a bit of a crooked smile.

  She opened her mouth in a retort, then sighed and her lips curved into a smile. “You’re teasing me.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “Over breakfast? I would never. It’s far too early.” He shook his head again and made a show of focusing on his meal at hand.

  “Of course. My mistake.”

  Marianne smiled to herself as she returned to her meal as well. Her husband was teasing her. Well, well, that was a pleasant surprise.

  “What is on your agenda for today?” he asked politely. “Wallowing aside.”

  She pursed her lips as she thought on it. “I hope to finish all of the drawing and receiving rooms, if I can. There is really not much else left on them. Then I really must take stock of the bedchambers, Mrs. Wilton has said some are in a sad state.” She paused for a bite of ham, then made a face. “And then I must decide what to do about Lady Cavendish’s card party tomorrow.”

  Kit raised a surprised brow. “You still intend to go? You could easily cry off, feign an illness or some such. After last night, you need a respite.”

  Marianne threw him a stubborn look. “I cannot cry off, and I am never ill,” she informed him with all of the haughtiness her aunt carried so well. “Lady Cavendish is one of the biggest busybodies in London.” She settled a little, her towering indignation exhausting her strength. “But I really don’t know that I can endure it. Particularly not after…” Her cheeks flushed and she focused on her food intently.

  “You don’t have to,” Kit murmured softly.

  Marianne’s cheeks burned at his gentleness, and she couldn’t find a response.

  “I was wondering, Marianne…”

  At his hesitation, Marianne chanced a glance up at him to find that he was watching her curiously. “Did you really scream at Lord Darlington at Tibby’s party and call him a duck?”

  She gasped. “How did you hear about that?”

  He grinned without reserve. “Your sister-in-law has a remarkable memory for gossip, it seems.”

  Marianne blushed furiously and muttered, “I might have known. Traitor. You were never supposed to know.”

  “But a duck?” he asked, grinning still.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “He is rather duck-like. It was more a confirmation than an insult.”

  Kit suddenly barked a laugh and sat back, covering his eyes as more laughter emerged. Surprised as she was, Marianne joined in with him, and they laughed until tears began to form in both of their eyes and rolled down their cheeks.

  “Why would you do that?” Kit asked as his laughter began to fade, wiping at his eyes.

  She shrugged, still grinning madly. “He was being repulsive and ridiculous and someone had to stop him. He just continued to carry on and on.”

  Kit smiled and shook his head. “What about?”

  She sobered and looked away quickly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing of great importance.”

  “I doubt that,” Kit murmured, still sounding amused and curious. “Tell me.”

  Marianne stared at her husband for a moment, wondering if she dared. She’d been so careful to ensure he never heard of it, and now… What would he think?

  For the first time in a very great while, she felt unaccountably shy.

  “Marianne…”

  The surprisingly gentle timbre of his voice struck her and she exhaled slowly, all resistance suddenly fading.

  Quietly, she began to tell him, and she could not help but become more and more animated as she described Lord Darlington’s rudeness and hateful words, his coldness and his ridiculous assertions, the memory raising her temper with surprising swiftness.

  Kit stared at her steadily throughout, his smile gone, his eyes intense, everything about him still and unmoving.

  When finally she was finished, and she still huffed with the remains of her rage, she looked up at him, wondering why he hadn’t responded.

  Slowly, almost hesitantly, Kit rose from his seat and came over to her. He took Marianne’s free hand and held it for a moment, his thumbs absently stroking her knuckles. Then he brought it to his lips and brushed a feather light kiss to the back of it once, then again.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin in a way that sent tingles all the way to Marianne’s toes.

  “For what?” she half gasped, staring at his lowered head and finding herself somehow without the necessary air for thought.

  Still he looked down at her hand and stood in silence for a long moment. “For thinking enough of me to defend me.”

  She could not mistake the earnest nature of his words, nor the slight hollowness to them. As if he would never have expected her to do so. And that was something she absolutely could not bear.

  “I have always thought very highly of you, Kit,” she told him quietly, “and I will always defend you. To anyone and everyone.”

  That, at least, was something she had never told a single living soul.

  Kit seemed a bit taken aback by her words and stared in disbelief. Then he carefully turned her palm over and gently kissed it, warming her entire body in an instant.

  Before she could do more than exhale her surprise, he pulled a chair next to her, sat, and laced his fingers with hers. “What a mess,” he chuckled softly.

  Marianne giggled and found herself settling rather comfortably against her chair, her fingers twining with his. She could not pretend this solved all of their problems, for she was still willful and he was too proud, but in this moment, they were friends again.

  She sighed and looked at her hands, her nails still perfectly formed and pristine, despite her recent adventures. “I don’t think I was ready for London.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s quite different being at the center of the gossip, and not in a good way, and knowing what is truly being said… I don’t think I fully understood what it would be like.”

  He exhaled and rubbed her arm a little. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, and bit her lip, wondering if she dared to voice what she had been thinking all morning. “In fact…”

  He stiffened at her hesitation. “Yes?”

  She met his gaze steadily. “Can we go somewhere, Kit? I don’t want to be in London, and no one will miss me. Take me someplace that I can breathe.”

  He pulled back, staring at her in shock, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. Then his eyes narrowed and gave her a searching look. “What if I told you the only house open would be in Surrey?”

  She resisted making a face and exhaled noisily. “At this point, I would even take Surrey over London…” She waited for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to go to Surrey?”

  He chuckled and toyed with her fingers. “No, we don’t.”

  She sighed heavily with her relief, for truly, Surrey might have been the worst.

  Kit leaned back against the seat and pursed his lips a little, watching her. “How would you feel about Somerset?”

  She looked up at him with a half smile. “You have a house in Somerset?”

  “We have a house in Somerset,” he corrected with a nod, a hint of warmth flashing in his eyes. “Glendare Court. It’
s a relic, though we’ve refinished it comfortably. No doubt you will enjoy getting your hands on it.”

  Marianne grinned fully and gave him a speculative look. “You’d let me change things?”

  His face was carefully composed, as ever, and he shrugged one shoulder as if he were carefree. “You’ve done a fine job with the house here, so I don’t see why I should fear for any of the other estates. Don’t prove me wrong, though.”

  The offhand compliment warmed her and she grinned once more. “Tell me about Glendare. I’ve never been to Somerset, and I want to picture everything.”

  “I am hardly the person to tell you,” he sighed a little sadly. “I’ve not been there often, just enough to keep it up. The only reason I’ve suggested it is because I have business with the estate manager there that needs my attention.”

  “Ah, so we shall both find ourselves suitably occupied, is that it?” she asked with a bit of a laugh.

  “Something like that,” he answered, his fingers gripping hers more securely. “But let me see if I can give you an idea of the place anyway. What I remember is the gardens seem to stretch from the back of the house to the front, as if the house were merely a fixture in the garden itself.”

  Marianne found herself enraptured by him at the moment, as he used his hands to gesture, emphasizing the descriptions, and his voice was warm with fondness. Despite what he said about not knowing the estate well, his voice betrayed him. He was attached to this place, no matter how he tried to play otherwise. And she suddenly wanted to know everything about it.

  “The gardener there is probably seventy if he’s a day and all he’s ever wanted is to take care of Glendare, and he does a masterful job of it. We’ll never get him to retire. Nor will we be rid of the cook. The kitchens are the most elaborate I’ve ever seen, including the brief glimpses I’ve had at Tibby’s kitchens, and those belonging to the Duke of Ashcombe.”

  “When have you seen the kitchens of the Duke of Ashcombe?” Marianne asked on a laugh.

  Kit sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t always a stodgy, reserved man. And Derek had some very fine ideas for amusement when Colin and I were young.”

  Marianne could well imagine that, but the idea of Kit participating was preposterous. Intriguing, curious, yes, but hardly realistic. Hardly Kit.

  And yet…

  “The grand hall is very grand,” Kit continued with resignation. “Marble everywhere and statues that I am desperate to be rid of, if you don’t mind…”

  Marianne snickered. “I shall reserve judgment until I see them, but your opinion is noted.”

  He sighed as if she had already forbidden their removal. “There is also a very fine staircase in the family wing that many a young lad would be tempted to slide on.”

  She jerked her head up to look at him. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” he asked, mildly surprised.

  She rolled her eyes. “Slide the banister.”

  “Never,” he said very succinctly. His mouth quirked and a brow lifted. “Colin did, and almost broke an arm. After that, I saw no need to do so.”

  Marianne laughed and fell back a little against her chair, her fingers sliding from his. “It sounds lovely.”

  “It is,” he said on a swift exhale. “The grounds are vast, and partially border the seaside, so it is really quite picturesque in places.”

  “And the nearest village?”

  “Rifton. A few miles away. Two, perhaps three. You can partially see the main thoroughfare from the terrace sometimes in the evenings, all lit up and sometimes quite festive. It is small, but the people seem warm enough.”

  Marianne nodded again, warming to the idea already. She bit her lip, hesitating. “I may not behave well, Kit. I’ve never done well in the country.”

  He laughed softly. “Yes, Duncan warned me.”

  “He was right to do so.” Really, they both ought to be nervous about it. Could she endure rustication and only Kit for company? Or would this be the proof they needed that this marriage was a foolish idea?

  “I’m not sure I’ll behave either,” Kit finally said, “but we won’t know until we try.”

  That, in the least, was very true.

  Chapter Twelve

  The manner in which Marianne left London was far different from how she had arrived. Oh, the carriage was similar, though this one was far and away more comfortable than that beastly rented hack. And she was dressed rather similarly to that day, though her grey travelling gown was really much better suited to her figure than the horrid, dark wool creation she’d worn then. She’d been tempted to burn that one after the inns along the way and those awful days in Leeds and Yorkshire, and she still might.

  The distance they travelled was less, but so was the pace of the horses. Her heart was racing, but this time it drew a smile from her rather than a grimace. Also, this time she was not riding alone.

  Nothing had shocked her more than when Kit had followed her into the carriage. He’d caught her shocked expression and merely smirked at it. “Don’t think anything of it,” he’d said rather gruffly as he adjusted himself against the seat. “Last time it hurt to walk for a week, I am not about to do that again.”

  Her surprise had been all the more compounded by the fact that they’d hardly spoken since their decision to leave had been made. He’d gone about his usual manners and activities, reserved aloofness and all, practically ignoring her and letting her do as she pleased. It hadn’t been unpleasant, but she had wondered why he should be so warm… kissing her bare hand and palm, after all!… and then to go back as if it had never happened. But Kit had always been a mystery, and his resistance to emotions of any kind was typical, and strangely comforting.

  But riding in a carriage with her? That was progress, despite his return to normalcy, whatever he might say.

  They had been travelling for three days now, and conversation had been limited, but pleasant enough. He asked after her comfort at fairly regular intervals, ensured they had food and rest aplenty, did not plague her with inane conversation, and gave her the best of the rooms at the inns, which were a wonderful change from before. This, she had thought several times, was how a married couple should travel. Whatever had occurred before had been… unfortunate.

  They’d seen a great number of people before they had left, each of their family calling to consult and wish them well, no doubt wondering as to what would send them off so suddenly. But by unspoken agreement, they kept their reasons quiet, and only said some time away would be good for them.

  Bitty had been quite upset about their going, though Rosie could not have cared less, and Ginny did not understand any of it and was not perturbed in the least. Annalise advised Marianne to enjoy herself, and to try and find peace between herself and Kit. Marianne didn’t know if peace would ever be in her future, but she had nodded and promised to try anyway. Duncan had hugged her tightly and told her not to kill Kit, which she felt quite safe to promise. Tibby… well, Tibby thought they were mad to go anywhere together, and vowed she did not know how she would explain their absence.

  Marianne had no doubt she would come up with something.

  Armed with several pieces of music from Lily, who secretly swore that some might be scandalous, and some entertaining suggestions of ways to pass the time from Gemma, she thought she could actually quite enjoy the country. It was an astonishing notion, as she had always found herself quite bored when they’d been forced to Duncan’s country house.

  She’d always preferred the excitement and pull of London and stayed there whenever she could, no matter the season or popularity. Considering what she knew of London and Society now, however, the country had a great deal more charm for her than it ever had.

  After three days of being in this lovely and spacious carriage, however, she was desperate to be rid of it, and longed to stretch her legs. But dozing as she was… as well as any woman in a corset and a bonnet can ever doze in a moving carriage cramped by a long-legged husband… was almost comfortab
le. Kit had somehow managed to make himself fit into the smallest place possible considering his size and that of the carriage, so she had far more space than she would have otherwise. It was really rather sweet of him, all things considered, though it could hardly have been comfortable for him. If this was his way of trying to make up for being a lackluster husband and not giving her the wedding she liked, then he was sadly…

  “Marianne.”

  She stirred and squinted over at Kit, suddenly realizing his hand was on her arm. Had she really fallen so completely asleep under these conditions?

  He smiled at her, which was impossible under these conditions, and he indicated the window with his head. “We are approaching Glendare Court.” He sat back and raised a brow at her, as if her reluctance to excitement amused him. “I thought you might like to see the place straightaway. And right yourself before meeting the staff.”

  Marianne sat up and rubbed at her cheeks, feeling very sluggish all of a sudden. But as she processed the words he’d said, she nodded in agreement. She absolutely wanted to take stock of her house while she could, and not have several servants watch her gape at it. Heavens, she must look a fright. She smoothed her hair under her bonnet, adjusted her bodice and cloak, then patted the skin beneath her eyes so it might not seem so puffy from sleep.

  She nodded again, ignoring Kit’s look, and sat forward to catch a glimpse, grateful that the day was clear and bright. Surely the house would prove at its greatest advantage under these circumstances.

  The sight before her caught her breath in her throat. Never had she seen a place look so magnificent as this. Kit’s description, though quite accurate, had fallen far short of the glory and splendor of its reality. The sun seemed to glint off of the majestic arches and peaks, sparkling off of the windows like on water, and even the faded stone façade seemed brightened by the light. It was an older house, as she had anticipated, but with none of the cold formality she had come to expect from such a place. Even her brother’s house was more marble than anything, and though she loved it, and always would, it had never quite felt like home.