This is nice, she thought on a yawn, and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER 20
Damon stretched, and opened his eyes to see a totally unfamiliar ceiling. It had been a while since he had not recognized the room he woke in. He went still when he realized he had stretched without pain. He enjoyed the loose, relaxed feeling, and tried stretching again, to have his fingers brush against something soft, wrapped in silk.
Verbena.
He had shared her bed last night without a thought of moving to his own room. At the memory of what had happened here, Damon smiled. He was well and truly married. Whatever happened outside the bedroom, at least inside her bed he was well content.
Rolling to his side, he propped his head on one hand and watched her sleep. A slender mound running down the bed, she lay facing him. Her lips were soft and still puffy from the kisses of last night, her cheeks glowed pink in the soft light. Strands of hair slipped down along her jaw and across her neck, tickling her even in her sleep. One slender hand came out from under the covers and brushed at the annoying itch. Soon it would wake her, and he was not ready for that. He was not done looking. Damon caught the tendrils and slid them behind her ear, careful not to touch, tempting as it was.
His finger hovered over her skin, tracing in the air the shape of her jaw, showing determination in such a tiny woman. Her cheeks a beautiful color, the palest ivory with the softest hint of pink, but too thin. Rest and good food would take care of that. Moving on, his finger went, close but not touching, to her nose, so pert and so refined, and her lashes, dark on a woman so fair. Lastly her brows, just darker than her hair, lighter than her lashes, and so expressive, a perfect frame for the summer-green eyes and, he had learned, softer than he could have imagined.
A shiver told him it was time to get up. Damon got out of bed, careful not to wake Verbena. The air outside the covers was sharp with cold. Shivering in his robe, Damon stirred through the blackened chunks in the grate, each sound seeming as loud as thunder. Surely Verbena would hear and wake, but the bed was still, her shape unmoving.
A thread of orange peeked through the black. Damon fed it kindling from the basket until the coals went red, and a tiny finger of flame stretched up into the icy air of the fireplace. He held his hands out to catch the first tendrils of warmth. A sound from the bed made him turn.
Verbena yawned, gave a mighty and unladylike stretch under the covers, then froze in that silly position like a deer who senses trouble. She looked up, staring at him with huge startled green eyes.
They gazed at each other for a long, heavy moment. Red rushed up her face.
Damon enjoyed the sight and let it go unremarked. “Good morning, wife.” He leaned against the mantle and just looked at her, enjoying the rumpled sunlight strands and her bleary green eyes. “If I woke you, I apologize, but we must collect your brothers and sisters today.”
She a rubbed her eyes as if trying to brush away the sleep. “What time is it?”
Damon looked for a clock. “Nearly eight.”
“Nearly eight!” Her mouth gaped. “I have never slept this late!”
“We have an excuse, don’t you agree?” He grinned at her.
The color that had begun to fade came back. She shifted the subject. “Is your leg better today?”
Damon bowed to her. “Yes, it is much better, and I thank you. I see I married, not just a beautiful woman but a woman of many skills. I believe I have chosen well.” He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly sober. Perhaps he should have done this with more ceremony. “I want people to know at a glance that we are wed.”
Leaning over, he pulled open a drawer under the rim of the table next to the bed and lifted out a small black velvet pouch tied with satin strings. It looked feminine and out of place in his large hand. “I meant to give this to you last night, but other things drove it from my mind.”
He untied the string and pulled the sack wide.
*
Verbena caught a glint of shiny yellow, and held her breath, not wanting to breathe for fear the moment would vanish like a bubble, she would wake and find this just a dream.
His large fingers pulled the shiny circle out and her eyes filled with tears, staring at what he held. He set the pouch aside. Almost lost in his hand, he held a solid gold band, wide but not ostentatious.
When he looked up at her, his face was both determined and vulnerable. “I know I did not ask you what kind you would like, I don’t even know what your tastes are yet, but this reminded me of you, both strong and delicate. It was from my grandmother’s jewelry, held for when I wed.” He reached for her left hand. It shook, she could not make it stop. “It is yours.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the finger where the band would go. “Now the world will know how much I value you,” he whispered as he looked up at her through the ebony curls that always tumbled over his forehead.
It was cold as it slid over her knuckles, but it fit perfectly, and began to warm with her body’s heat. How had he known her finger size?
She felt his eyes like a touch, but could not take her gaze from that golden band. Everywhere she went now, people would look at her and know that she was wed. No one would be able to call her a dirty name.
A silver drop fell on her hand, shimmering like a jewel there. Value. He valued her. He was suddenly playing father to nearly-grown young men and being followed around by two little girls whose very name was an affront to his own family, taken on his brother’s child, and he valued her.
She scrambled to her knees on the bed, and reached for his face, holding it in her hands – her strong and delicate hands – and looked at him, into his dark eyes that were like pools of midnight, pulling her inside to drown and be safe. His lips began to curve, and she leaned close until she could taste them, pressing her mouth against his, trying to thank him in the only way she had to give.
He did not move for a frightening moment and she felt a flash of fear and embarrassment, then suddenly his arms came around her, holding her tight.
*
The chiming of the clock reminded him of all the work still ahead. “I am going to dress. There is a lot to do before we leave for London, starting with collecting your brothers and sisters this morning. I want plenty of milk for Roderick to carry him through today and most of tomorrow, carriage robes for all the children, and food for us. Do you have carriage blankets over at the house to bring for them?”
Verbena shook her head, and frowned, but it did not stay long. “You know we don’t.” Her gaze slid back to the ring.
Going through his grandmother’s jewelry had been a stroke of genius, he thought smugly. “I’m going to have the staff check through the attic for clothes from my brother and myself for the boys. I think we might find something up there that would fit for the girls as well. There must be trunks filled with my sisters’ outgrown dresses.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Her dreamy expression vanished. “You can’t think of giving away clothes from your family without asking permission! You are going to cause us trouble!”
Damon scowled at his wife. “In the first place, any clothes for your brothers would be mine and my brother’s. He is dead, and I certainly have the right to give my clothes to whomever I wish. As far as my sisters, why would they mind? They are both out of the schoolroom and far too stylish now to care about the children’s clothing they wore ten years ago.”
He heard the sharp edge in his voice. With a calming breath, he continued more quietly, “I doubt Margaret and Catherine will even recognize them. We just need clothes that fit until we can get to the tailor’s and modiste’s and get everyone fully garbed. Once their own clothes come, if you wish you can box these back up and ship them back here.”
He took her hands, running a thumb over the ring he had just placed there. “It is both my pleasure and privilege to take care of your brothers and sisters. This is not a burden for me. I like them, all of them, and I have plenty to share
. Please let me do it.”
Verbena watched his thumb move over the ring she already loved. Pleasure and privilege. No one before Daman had been the least bit interested in her because of the children. She had never received so much as an invitation to go for a walk. The very least she could do was give in gratefully. And hope she was wrong about the antipathy between their families. “Very well. I am certain the children will think they are in heaven.”
*
Roderick had been left at Thernwood with a couple of delighted maids who would much rather cuddle a baby than mop floors. It was a wrench to leave him with anyone belonging to the Therns, but Verbena suspected there would be bigger battles ahead. Besides, they would be back soon
The children were happily eating when she and Damon arrived at what had been her house. The breakfast spread across the scuffed table was nearly identical to the one she had eaten, or at least tried to eat, in the small, elegant breakfast room at Thernwood: eggs, bacon and ham, muffins and sweet rolls with currant preserves.
Their meals would likely be this fine from now on. Verbena found that hard to imagine, endless food that someone else had cooked, dishes that someone else would have to clean up.
Verbena watched a maid – a real maid in her house, fancy that! – scurry around the table, refilling familiar worn, chipped mugs with milk, serving eggs from gilt-edged plates with silver serving spoons that had clearly been carried over from Thernwood
She looked at the old dishes her siblings were eating from. They were like those little cracked dishes, poor and worn and faded. Soon they would be surrounded by well-dressed, fancy people as elegant as the furnishings that surrounded them.
The children had no idea what was ahead of them. They had never even been in Thernwood, seldom even seen it from outside. It was shielded by trees and they were held away by the fences.
Frankly, even after a night at Thernwood, footmen carrying in her bath, a maid offering to help her undress, not even she knew exactly what lay ahead.
It had to be better than what they were leaving behind. By the end of the day, they would have decent clothes. She looked around the room, and remembered how hard she had worked in the kitchen cooking whatever they could afford, how often she had scrubbed the floors on her knees. She had sat in the parlor and patched pants, cut and stitched old gowns into dresses for the girls.
And done without.
She felt the first stirrings of excitement. Those days were over. Thank God.
And thank Damon. But that did not mean she was not nervous. Scared was a better word. Edeline’s tales were stuck in her brain like a bell bouncing from the hills. They might fade for a while, but like an echo they kept coming back.
As she looked at him, Damon directed his attention to the children sitting around the table. “How is the packing coming?”
Lizabeth propped her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to go to London. Why do we have to leave?”
“Me, neither,” Annabelle piped in, with a rare agreement.
“I already explained that to you yesterday. I live there.” He smiled down at them, his gaze going from one to the other, but Verbena could tell he had not expected this outright rebellion.
London was much larger than this small village, It had to be much easier to avoid the Therns there. “Girls, you will have a wonderful time in London.”
“I want to go.” Every head turned to stare at Julius. “Well, I do. I never thought I would be able to see it, and now that I can, I’m glad.”
“Now, Damon is kindly sending more servants over to help you carry whatever you wish to bring to London, so go get whatever you chose last night.” Fixing the children with a narrow-eyed stare, she added, “Now.”
The girls looked between her and Damon, and slid away from the table. Julius and Matthew followed.
As they dragged themselves away, the maid came back to the table from the counter where she had been trying to be invisible and began collecting the mugs. Verbena took a knife and scraped the breakfast leavings off the nearest bowl. “I will get the dishes ready for you, we can get it done in twice the time,” she said to the maid.
Damon firmly took the bowl from her hand and returned it to the table. “Come with me.” He firmly marched her into the parlor and pulled the doors shut, then faced her, his folded arms straining the seams of his coat. “Verbena.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to do that work anymore.
That work. She could not read his voice, did not know him well enough to know if there was a hidden meaning in the words. Was he ashamed of her? “I have worked in this house my whole life. It feels strange to sit around and do nothing.” Verbena rubbed her forehead against the sudden twinge of headache.
Damon crossed to her. His hands came down warm and heavy on her shoulders, his fingers soothing the tense muscles there. “I know. But I am trying to make your life easier. Everything you used to do, I have servants to do for you now. You don’t need to divide your attention like you used to, raising the children, cooking cleaning, washing and mending. All you have to do now is raise Roderick.”
Verbena thought she saw a bit of emptiness in the world ahead of her. She did not mind less work, in fact relished the possibility. But if she did not do something useful, would she lose herself? “I don’t think I know how to be indolent.” Her jumbled emotions fought for words. “Damon, I’ve done this very work ever since I was old enough to reach the tabletop. It is good, honest work, and I will not ever apologize for doing it.”
He drew back. “I never said anything to make you feel you had to apologize.”
Verbena grabbed his hands, and clutched them tight, holding him so he would not move any further away. She would not think about how easy it was now to touch him, even for something so innocuous. “No, you never have. I just want you to be aware that this is not easy for me. I realize I will make foolish mistakes. Before you carry us off to London, you need to know how patient you must be.”
Somehow their hands shifted, and he was now holding onto her. He squeezed her hands. “Now you are being a snob in reverse. You are far more refined than you realize, my dear. Trust me when I say, you will fit in.”
Without warning, he gave her a quick kiss. Resting his forehead against hers when their lips separated, his breath tickling her mouth, he murmured, “If I had been ashamed of you, why would I have asked you to marry me?”
“For Roderick,” she answered without thinking, wishing she could take the words back as soon as they left her mouth. They were unworthy of her, unworthy of him.
He had already let go. “Yes. Roderick. Of course. By all means, let us not forget Roderick.” He sighed and moved back another step, out of arm’s reach, running a hand through his hair, tousling the night-dark waves.
Feet clomped above them.
Damon ushered her out of the parlor in a rush and pulled the double doors shut. It was too late to apologize.
They were standing in false calm when the children came down with their scant prized possessions wrapped in lumpy scarves.
Verbena looked at those pitiful bundles and was fiercely glad to leave.
*
Verbena looked at the room before her. Damon’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. Like a true wedded couple, she thought. No one watching could possibly guess how awkward they were together.
“I thought the boys could stay here tonight,” Damon said in a matter of fact tone, not even looking at her. She could hardly blame him. “This was Andrew’s room,” he continued. “Mine is next door. The girls’ rooms are across the hall.”
It looked masculine. And large. The decoration was plain, the bed and matching armoire were unadorned and cut out of some dark wood. Just to add to the somberness, the walls had been painted dark green.
“Verbena, Damon says we are staying here until it is time to go to London. Can you believe the size of the bed?” Matthew pulled open the armoire doors without even asking permission.
Verbena gasped. “Matthew! Don’t op
en things without asking permission first. We are guests here!”
Damon’s hand tightened. “I don’t mind, Matthew,” he said, his voice calm as a summer lake. “What do you think about going to London in style?”
The footmen walked in just then, a mound of breeches and shirts, waistcoats and coats in their arms. Matthew’s eyes went huge.
“I want you and Julius to pick out enough for the trip to London and at least another two weeks after that.” Damon turned her around toward the door. “There will likely be clothes for the girls in the room next door, Verbena. I will help your brothers go through their clothes if you would be so good as to check what was found for the girls.”
“Yes, Verbena,” Matthew agreed, hardly able to drag his attention from the wealth of clothes waiting on the bed. “We can’t get dressed with you watching us.”
Damon stepped out into the hallway with her, pulled the door mostly closed, and took her arms. “I want you to remember, Verbena, I knew what I was doing when I asked you to marry me. Everything will be fine.” He drew her closer, and closer, until the tips of her shoes brushed against his boots. She stared up at him. They were in the hallway!
He ran a finger down her nose, stepped back, and turned her toward the room across the hall. “Go help your sisters.”
Verbena pulled the opposite door open and stopped short. It was pink. Pink walls, pink curtains, pink coverlets. Even the wooden bedframe had a distinct pink wash. The room was a veritable pink frame for the display of garish wealth that confronted her. The girls’ beds were laden far heavier than the boys’. Her little sisters were pulling gowns off the pile as fast as they could grab.
“Look, Verbena!” Two excited voices spoke in unison. Annabelle held out a gown. “I want this one. Damon says we can have anything that fits. Can I have this one? Can I, please?”
Beribboned gowns in every color imaginable and petticoats with ruffles, bonnets and miniature pelisses mounded both beds. Verbena was horrified that any girls could own so many gowns when she and her sisters had barely managed two or three apiece.
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