Ben let go of her so suddenly that her heart sank.
It rose again when she saw him stride to the windows and draw the curtains closed, plunging the room into a dappled twilight from where moth holes punctured the shabby material.
‘You could actually consider this as a bedroom,’ he told her as he practically ran to the door and turned the key in the lock. ‘Since I have been sleeping here.’
‘You have been sleeping here?’ She looked swiftly around the room. ‘Where, exactly? There is no bed.’ But his trunk was there, by the wall next to the fireplace, his sword propped up against the mantelpiece. She’d wondered where it had gone when it had vanished from her room after that first night. But she’d been determined not to ask what had become of it. Like so many of the other questions she’d had, she’d refused to let him, or anyone, suspect she might be interested in anything he did.
‘In the corner, over there,’ he said, pointing briefly before taking her in his arms again.
‘Oh, dear. That cannot have been very comfortable.’
‘I am a soldier. Was a soldier,’ he amended. ‘I have slept in far worse places. At least I was out of the rain and had the hearthrug to soften the floorboards.’
‘I made you feel you could not sleep in your own bed,’ she said, appalled at her selfishness of the first days of their marriage.
‘No, Daisy, don’t feel guilty. The marriage was... You didn’t want it. You needed time to get used to it. Used to me. I didn’t want to make you...’
She didn’t want to talk any more. Talking had served its purpose. Had drawn them closer. But now it was making those wanton feelings fade. Making her wonder about the wisdom of what they had been about to do. Allowing all the lectures she’d had from a series of governesses about ladylike and proper behaviour flood to the forefront of her mind.
In fact, if they went on talking for much longer, she would change her mind altogether, citing the need to go and arrange furniture in the barn with Vale or something of the sort.
She couldn’t have that. Not after finally managing to prise Ben’s thoughts from a mouth that he usually kept as firmly closed as a...as an oyster.
So she walked up to Ben and plunged her fingers into his luxuriantly thick hair, before stopping his generous mouth with a kiss.
It was all the hint he needed that she’d had enough of talking for now. He kissed her back. Took over the kiss. And the position in which they were standing. He backed her up to the desk, lifted her onto it, and reached down to gather her skirts in his hands.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he panted into her neck.
She wasn’t sure of anything but the feelings surging through her, feelings that doubled when he breathed so hotly into her neck like that.
‘Ben,’ was all she could moan, wrapping her arms round his neck and lifting her legs so that he could push her skirts up and step between them. It was all the encouragement he needed. He acted swiftly, with a flattering lack of patience, fumbling his breeches open and simply...taking her. Passionately. Holding her close to him with one arm round her waist so that his powerful thrusts didn’t push her right across the desk.
‘Ben,’ she squeaked, on the verge of laughter now, it seemed so...well, naughty. To be doing this, on a desk, in the daytime. With all those important papers virtually under her bottom.
‘Ben,’ she said again, more on a moan as rational thought started to become impossible.
‘Daisy,’ he panted. ‘Daisy.’
And then it was all either of them could do to breathe under the onslaught of the flames that engulfed them both. It was so intense she felt a scream working its way up her throat. She pushed her head forward and bit into the cloth of his jacket at his shoulder instead, because the last thing she wanted was for anyone apart from him to hear her expressing herself in such a very...basic way. Because they’d know what they were doing.
Ben threw his head back and moaned a second later, as though her release had triggered his own.
And then they just stayed, fused together, panting for a few more moments.
She couldn’t believe it had happened so quickly.
‘I can’t believe we just...’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ben, withdrawing. ‘I shouldn’t have...’
She grabbed him round the waist and stopped him from going anywhere. ‘It was wonderful,’ she said sternly. ‘Don’t apologise for showing me that...well, so much pleasure. I never dreamed... I... I wasn’t complaining. Ben, you have got to stop apologising all the time,’ she said, looking up at him with a frown, as she realised that was what he did. He always assumed that she was going to be cross with him. Or not want him.
‘And,’ she added, ‘you have got to stop sleeping on the floor in here.’
‘I...’ He looked deep into her eyes. His face flushed. Or perhaps it was just reddened from the exertions of a few moments ago. ‘If I sleep in your bed, I don’t think I will be able to keep my hands off you. Not now we’ve...’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Good. I don’t want you to keep your hands off me. Not when they can make me feel so marvellous. Besides, now I come to think of it,’ she continued as something like a flash of inspiration opened her eyes to something that had always puzzled her, ‘my parents always share a room. Even when they were in London they didn’t have separate bedrooms. And they seem far happier with each other than any other married couple I know of.’
It had been a shock when she’d gone to London and seen the way others of her class conducted their marriages, to see how many couples appeared to actively dislike each other. And the gossip mill was always turning with the tales of who was getting up to no good with whom. And speculation ran rife about whose children were fathered by which of a woman’s numerous lovers.
She didn’t want to have that kind of marriage. What was termed a fashionable marriage. She wanted...well, the closeness that her own parents had, if not the exact same sort of relationship.
‘It’s down to more than just sharing a bedroom, Daisy,’ said Ben gently. ‘Your father loves your mother, and she loves him back.’
Daisy considered that statement. No matter what she thought of the way Father treated Mother, the truth was that they were both happy with each other. She supposed Father did love Mother, in his way, even though he was always telling her she wasn’t pretty. And Mother loved him back, even though he had a temper, and was autocratic, and often unfair. She knew that neither of them had ever been unfaithful to the other. She knew that because Father was always boasting to his sons about it and urging them to follow his example. It wasn’t just about keeping free from diseases, she began to suspect. It was about so much more. It was about trust. Building trust. And showing the other person that they were special.
‘You truly believe that my father loves my mother, even though he doesn’t think she’s beautiful?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said without a moment’s hesitation. ‘It’s as plain as a pikestaff. He loves your mother because she is such a...good-hearted woman. She...well,’ he said, nuzzling her nose with his own. ‘She was more of a mother to me than my own ever was. It wasn’t just your brothers that made me look forward to my times at the Priory.’
So Ben liked her mother, as well as her brothers. The temptation to become one of the family and have the mother figure he’d clearly lacked in his own home must have been overwhelming. Well, clearly he had been overwhelmed because he hadn’t argued the case for not marrying her for long, had he? What with his longing to be part of her family, and the extremely generous dowry...
No, no, she wasn’t going to yield to the temptation to feel sorry for herself because of the route she’d travelled to reach this point. The point where they both wanted each other so much they couldn’t wait until nightfall. This, between them, was real, and precious, and she wasn’t going to allow anything to spoil her pleasure in it.
‘I am going to ask Vale to move your trunk to my room. To our room,’ she amended.
‘But,’ he said, his brow wrinkling, ‘what if I want...and you...?’
‘If, for any reason, I don’t want to do...this,’ she said, wriggling her bottom, ‘I shall tell you. And we can just curl up together and keep each other warm.’
* * *
Although over the next few days that never happened. He only had to climb into the bed next to her to make her wish he’d do all those wonderful things that made her feel such pleasure. Some nights she was the first to reach for him. Just to make sure he knew that she was willing. Because there was still that air of restraint about him. Not just at night but during the daytime, too. She would have thought he would have felt like singing all day long, the way she did, after discovering how wonderful it could be to share the pleasures of the marriage bed. But he never even smiled at her during the hours of daylight. Instead, he would watch her gravely. With an air almost of suspicion. As though he was waiting for her to say she’d had enough and give him his marching orders.
She sighed as she slipped her arm through his the next Sunday as they prepared to set out for church for the second time. This time with not only Vale and Marcie fell in behind them but Sally and Wilmot too.
Why, she wondered, as the vicar climbed into the pulpit, couldn’t Ben just enjoy being married to her? Why was it so hard to...to read him?
Because he wasn’t a character in a book, that was why. She didn’t have the benefit of an author to tell her what was going on inside his head. She picked at the seam of her glove. It was possible, she supposed, that she’d spent too much time growing up reading about fictional people, instead of paying attention to the ones living closest to her. For she’d learned more about her family since she’d been married to Ben than she’d ever observed from living with them for seventeen years. So if she wanted to understand him she’d have to...well, the only way she could start to guess at what he might be thinking, or feeling, would be by closely watching the things he did, and paying attention to the things he said.
As the Reverend Knowles droned on through a sermon that had nothing to do with anything that interested her, she started mulling over all the things she knew about Ben. And re-examining all the conversations they’d had to see if she could somehow find the key to understanding him.
He’d always been prone to look on the dark side. Even as a boy, he hadn’t had the same carefree attitude of her brothers’ other friends.
He hadn’t been loved, though, had he? When he’d broken his collar bone she’d been shocked, as had her parents, that his parents had not immediately come to take him home. They hadn’t even enquired as to his health. And now she’d learned that her mother had been more of a mother to him than his own had. Nobody had ever just been kind, without an ulterior motive, he’d said.
She hadn’t exactly given him a very good impression of a doting wife so far, either, had she? She hadn’t spoken to him at all for the first few days of their marriage. And now, all of a sudden, she’d turned about and told him she wanted him in her bed all the time. Was it any wonder he was behaving as though he was waiting for her to change her mind again and kick him out again?
Well, she’d just have to show him that she wasn’t as fickle as she’d probably made him think she was, wouldn’t she? Show him that she was capable of not being selfish and spoiled. By working hard on the estate, and being loyal and loving to him, too. Eventually, he’d stop looking as though he was waiting for something awful to happen between them.
Wouldn’t he?
The congregation stirred, alerting her to the fact that the vicar was, finally, coming down from the pulpit. She smoothed her gloves and stood to sing the last hymn.
As the vicar intoned the dismissal, Daisy considered all those years Ben had spent in the army. They must have had an effect on him, too. When she’d seen him, in the Danverses’ ballroom for the first time after the years he’d been away, she really had thought how manly he looked in comparison with all the other men there. And it hadn’t just been due to his uniform. There had been many other men in uniform in London, but they’d just looked...gaudy in all that scarlet and gold lace. Ben, on the other hand, had looked...hard. And the scar on his face had made her wonder what being a soldier was really like. And once she’d thought about how Ben may have come by that scar, she’d started to notice soldiers begging in the streets, with only one arm or leg. And their faces, too, had been...hard. Wooden. As if they didn’t dare let anyone see what they felt like.
Did they all have wounds to their souls, as well as their bodies? The pain of losing a leg or an arm must have a terrible effect on a person’s mind. She recalled the one time she’d fallen over, on some ice, and broken her wrist. It had shaken her up. She hadn’t cried but she hadn’t been able to stop shaking for a long time after. And that had only been a silly accident.
And then there was the way he believed that anyone looking at his scarred face must think him ugly. Repulsive.
With all that going on inside, no wonder Ben was so often grim and taciturn. How she wished there was something she could do to help him...heal.
At last the churchwarden was opening the door, allowing the congregation to begin trickling out into the sunshine.
As usual, people didn’t immediately set out for their homes but took advantage of the fine weather to gather in little groups around the church porch and along the path through the churchyard, sharing gossip and extending invitations.
She strolled down the path on Ben’s arm, nodding to those she was beginning to recognise. And after a while they naturally parted company, he to converse with a cluster of men he informed her tersely were some of the tenant farmers, and she to chat with the village women, who were keen to tell her that they could do laundry, or fine needlework, or that their sons or nephews were skilled carpenters or glaziers, who might come back if pay and conditions were tempting enough.
They were both making their way, slowly, and separately, in the general direction of the lychgate when Miss Fairfax bounced up to her.
‘Lady Bramhall,’ she gushed, dropping a curtsey. Daisy blinked. It felt so strange to hear someone call her Lady Bramhall. But, then, this was the first time anyone had done so. But that was who she was now. Not Marguerite, the lonely girl, shoring up her own self-worth by clinging to an impressive name, or even Daisy, the butt of her brothers’ practical jokes. She was Ben’s wife now. That was who Lady Bramhall was. And even Miss Fairfax was obliged to acknowledge it.
She smiled at the girl, who’d unwittingly given her a rare moment of self-awareness. But the girl wasn’t smiling back. ‘You may think you are something special, but you’ve won a hollow victory,’ said Miss Fairfax a little wildly. ‘And anyway, now I’m glad you married him before I got the chance,’ she hissed, pushing her face close to Daisy’s ear. ‘Because I’ve discovered that he isn’t what he seems. Mother says he isn’t the true heir, at all, and that everyone feels sorry for you because he only married you for your money, and what’s more, if you weren’t so rich, nobody around here would have accepted him back either.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ben couldn’t believe how different everyone was with him this week at church. It seemed they all wanted to stop him and have a word. And not to grumble either. Word must have got around about Daisy’s plans to spend her money restoring the fortunes of the village, he supposed. And they knew on which side their bread was buttered. Daisy and Ben were the ones who would be able to hand out jobs and authorise repairs to the cottages.
No matter what they felt about him taking up residence as the Fifth Earl, he was the one who was going to make it possible to undo the damage the Fourth Earl had done. Even the most belligerent farmers were prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.
The women were all clustering round Daisy, trying to get into her good graces, he could see. And she
was dealing with them all with both charm and dignity. None of the coldness or haughtiness she’d displayed last week.
Until Miss Fairfax stormed up to her and spat something vile into her ear. At least it looked as if it had been, both by the expression on her face as she’d spoken and Daisy’s recoil immediately after.
He cut the conversation with Farmer Brightwell short, made his way to Daisy’s side, and took hold of her arm as he led her from the churchyard.
He waited until they were well up the high street before speaking.
‘What did Miss Fairfax say to upset you?’
She glanced at him before answering. ‘Something very silly and spiteful.’
‘I could see that. What, precisely, was it, though? I don’t want her upsetting you with her...well, lies, if that is what she did. You know that there was never anything between her and me...’
‘Oh, no, that was not what she implied. No, it was...well, I didn’t really understand it. Perhaps you can explain?’
His heart gave a lurch. Miss Fairfax wouldn’t have...would she?
‘What did she say?’
‘Well, she said that my marrying you was a hollow victory because you aren’t the true heir, and people only accept you because of my money.’ She worried at her lower lip. ‘Ben, what did she mean? Why did she say that you don’t belong here? Is she...mad?’
His heart sank. He’d hoped she would never find out. That nobody would be crass enough to tell her. He might have known he would not have that kind of luck.
‘She is not mad,’ he said. ‘Just...bitter. Possibly even a bit vengeful.’ That must be the only thing that could have driven her to tell Daisy what she had. Because it certainly wouldn’t have bothered her had she been the one to have married him.
‘So...she was just...making up some kind of...’
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 19