'No, but –'
His arms tightened around her, pulling her against him once more.
'Then pray lie still and be quiet, for we both need to rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.'
With a sigh she allowed herself to rest against him while he pulled the cloak around them, tucking it snugly around her to fend off the chill wind. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She was comfortable and warm, cocooned against the marquis and rocked gently by the movement of the ship. She listened to the creaking of the timber and the gentle splash of the waves against the hull, breathed in the pleasant tangy smell of soap from the marquis's skin and his clothes, a relief from the more odorous fleeces. So many sensations she wanted to remember. The marquis shifted his position slightly, and he turned his head to plant a kiss on her hair.
'And when I do seduce you,' he murmured, 'it will not be on a noisome packet.'
Rosamund's eyes flew open, but she did not move. The marquis did not speak again and, smiling, she drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The rain held off and Rosamund slept fitfully. Whenever she awoke, still lying snug against the marquis, she remained very still, afraid that this idyllic interlude would end. Once, when she had drifted off to sleep, something disturbed her and she jumped. Immediately those strong arms tightened about her and she felt his lips on her hair.
'Hush, love,' he murmured. 'You are safe.'
And Rosamund relaxed again, comforted.
Finally the noise and bustle of the upper decks pierced her consciousness. It was still dark, but the grey light on the horizon ahead of the ship told her that the day was fast approaching. A sudden realisation of her position made her grow hot with embarrassment and she eased herself from the marquis's knees. The movement woke her husband and his arms held her firm.
'Trying to escape me, Ros?'
'No my lord. I do not want to burden you.'
'You are as light as thistledown,' he said. 'You will never be a burden to me.'
'Oh, what a lovely thing to say.' She smiled up at him, but her breath caught in her throat as she looked into his face. There was something predatory about his smile, and the slant of his grey eyes, dark and hard as slate set her pulse racing. Even as her brows drew together the look was gone. He almost thrust her away from him.
'It will soon be dawn. We should return to the lower deck and look to the health of our servants.'
It was what Rosamund had been about to suggest, but now it did not suit her that the marquis should think of it. She felt cheated. Stifling her vague feelings of discontent, Rosamund followed Lord Ullenwood back to the lower deck and made her way to her cabin, where she found Meggie lying upon the bed. She was very pale, but awake and composed.
'Ooh mistress, have I kept you from your bed? Indeed, I could not help it, I felt so bad, miss!'
Rosamund made haste to reassure her, and felt a little guilty that she had enjoyed the crossing so much. The news that land was in sight acted as a powerful tonic on the maid, who was quickly on her feet and anxious to be moving. Rosamund caught her arm.
'Slowly, Meggie. You are still weak. I am told we have an hour or so before we reach the harbour.'
'Then let me pack our bags and prepare, my lady. The time will pass quicker if I am busy.'
They reached Calais just as the first streaks of an icy dawn were stretching across the sky. A small rowing boat came out to take them ashore, where they were escorted to an inn to break their fast while they waited for the packet to dock and their carriage to be unloaded.
By noon they were ready to travel on and the marquis escorted his lady out of the inn. His coachman was waiting, casting a professional eye over the equipage hired to carry the servants and extra baggage.
'It is well built, I have to say,' he remarked to the valet as he supervised the securing of trunks and boxes to the back of the vehicle. 'Of course this is only a chaise – no driver, you see: only postilions.' The coachman spat. 'Can't hold a candle to my lord's chariot, of course, but with decent nags it will do the job well enough.'
The marquis chuckled.
'Nothing will convince Wilson that his is not the best profession in the world.'
'And so it is, sir,' grinned the coachman, touching his hat. 'King o' the world I am, perched up on the box. Are you ready to be off, my lord? Bags is all packed, you see, so we can be away at your convenience. And I've picked out some rare good 'osses for us.' He used his advantage as a lifelong retainer to wink at his master. 'A few gold coins means the same in any language.'
Rosamund made herself comfortable in the large travelling chariot beside her husband, and glanced out of the window to watch Davis helping Meggie into the second carriage. As the door closed upon the servants she observed for the first time the damaged door panel.
'There was used to be some decoration on the bodywork,' she remarked, frowning. 'I cannot quite make it out, for it has been so badly scratched. How careless to mark such fine paintwork.'
Lord Ullenwood stared at the coach for a moment.
'It was not carelessness, my dear,' he said. 'The coat of arms has been deliberately obliterated. I would wager the vehicle once belonged to some noble family and has been confiscated for the new regime.'
Rosamund turned shocked eyes upon her husband.
'Oh dear. Do, do you think the family is … dead?' she finished on a whisper.
Lord Ullenwood shrugged. 'Possibly. So many perished in The Terror.'
She sighed. 'It makes it all so much more real. I read the reports at the time, of course, but it meant very little to me then.'
'Try not to let it overset you. It was years ago. France's new consul is now firmly in control, and we are told that France has never been so prosperous.'
Rosamund heard the note of irony in his voice but said nothing, preferring to keep her own counsel.
As they travelled on towards Paris there were many signs that the country was recovering from its revolution. The fields were well tended and the people seemed healthy and happy enough. Women in their red camlet jackets and aprons smiled at them as they passed, but there were also signs of the terrible upheaval the land had suffered; Churches with their windows smashed and grave stones knocked down, and through the trees the occasional glimpse of some once-magnificent chateau, now a blackened ruin.
The road to Paris took them through Montreuil, and Chantilly with its ruined castle. It had seen so many English travellers in the past months that the journey was accomplished in reasonable comfort. With handsome profits to be made, the posting inns were only too happy to offer their best rooms for the rich English milor' and John Wilson had his pick of the horses at each stop, but Rosamund could not be easy. As they neared Paris she stared out of the window, a frown creasing her brow.
'Why so pensive, my dear?'
Lord Ullenwood's words roused her and she forced a smile.
'I am a little apprehensive of Paris, my lord. I am not at all sure that I approve of this new government. I have learned during our journey here that the churches are open again, but the priests are not free to follow their consciences, the newspapers report only what they are told and Bonaparte has made himself First Consul for life. Our parliament has its faults, sir, but in France it seems the people have no right to say anything against their leader. If we go to the court, will I have to smile and bite my tongue, if I disagree with anything that is said?'
'I am afraid that is so, madam.' He smiled at her. 'If it worries you so much, you need not go, I shall not insist upon it. In fact, I would rather you stayed away. I must deliver my messages to the Ambassador, and I have promised James that I will do nothing to antagonise the authorities here, but I see no reason to show them more than common civility. After all, they have taken my land, and put kinsmen of mine to the guillotine. I cannot readily forgive them.'
'Then if you will not object, sir, I will absent myself.' She regarded him anxiously. 'As long as it does not jeopardise your po
sition here.'
'No, it will not do that.'
Reassured, Rosamund settled down to enjoy the final stage of their journey. She felt extremely tired, but this was accounted for by the hours of coach travel each day. The inns had been comfortable but not sumptuous, and the marquis had insisted each night that a truckle bed should be set up in her room for her maid. Rosamund knew it was quite usual for married couples to have separate bedchambers, but she found the practice quite disheartening. The marquis had made it plain that their honeymoon would begin once they reached Paris, but as the days passed and he made no move to do more than kiss her hand, Rosamund's spirits began to droop. It was clear her husband found her unattractive.
They drove into Paris at the end of a particularly fine spring day, but Rosamund's first view of the city was not encouraging. She disliked the numbers of soldiers on the streets, and shuddered at the sight of the numerous grand houses that stood empty and derelict. She thought there was an air of sadness about the city and the dusty streets made her sneeze.
They reached the hôtel Cerutti just as it was growing dark and were shown to their suite by bowing and scraping attendants who assured them that the English milor' had been given the very best and most comfortable rooms in Paris. Milady was called upon to admire the fine gilding on the ceilings, the magnificent reception rooms, and, if one might be permitted, the excellent arrangement of the two main bedchambers with their connecting doors. An excellent arrangement for milor' and his new bride, non?
Rosamund blushed a little at the knowing looks. Now that the travelling was finally over, her head was beginning to ache, and she was relieved when she was left alone with Meggie to change out of her dusty travelling robes and into a fresh grey gown before going back to the elegant salon where a cold supper had been set out for them.
The marquis came in, dressed in a tight-fitting black frockcoat and white knee breeches. The severe elegance of his dress caused Rosamund's heart to miss a beat. She thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. And he was her husband.
Lord Ullenwood dismissed the servants and bent an apologetic look upon his bride.
'Would you think me unpardonably impolite if I left you to eat alone?' he said. 'I really think I should see Lord Whitworth as soon as possible.'
Rosamund was surprised to find herself close to tears. She swallowed her disappointment.
'No, of course not, my lord. That is after all the reason we came here.'
He kissed her fingers. 'You are very good. I will conclude my business as quickly as possible, you have my word.'
Rosamund's throat felt very tight.
'You must do your duty.'
He smiled. 'When I return, you shall see how well I do my duty, madam wife!'
Rosamund blushed furiously. With a laugh, Ullenwood flicked her cheek with a careless finger.
'I shall return as soon as I can.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lady Ullenwood had lost her appetite. The little delicacies prepared so carefully by the French chef tasted of nothing. She drank a glass of wine, sent Meggie to hunt out her reading book, and settled down to wait for Lord Ullenwood to return.
Rosamund sneezed. She looked at the gilded ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Eleven o'clock. It was quite possible that the Ambassador had been from home, and Elliot had decided to wait for him. Or perhaps he was entertaining, and the marquis had been obliged to join him, and pay court to a host of French beauties. Rosamund quickly dismissed this disturbing image from her mind. Despite the fire blazing in the hearth she felt very cold, and decided that she might as well go to bed. She sent for Meggie and asked her to warm the sheets before slipping into the filmy nightgown of muslin and lace that Mrs Tomlinson had insisted she should bring with her.
By the time Meggie helped her into bed, Rosamund knew that she had developed a chill. Her throat was sore and her skin felt by turns hot then ice-cold. Meggie shook her head, and went over to bank up the fire.
'I don't like the look of you, Miss. We must make sure you keep nice and warm.'
'I am sure I shall be very well presently,' murmured Rosamund from behind her handkerchief. She leaned back against the soft, snow-white pillows and said with a hint of desperation, 'I cannot be ill now.'
Clucking like a mother hen, Meggie came across to the bed and smoothed out the covers.
'Well my lady, who knows but what you may be much better by the morning. Perhaps I should have my bed made up in here.'
'No! No, Meggie, I shall do very well: only leave me a cup of lemonade, and my book and my candle.'
After much huffing and puffing the maidservant was at last persuaded to go, and Rosamund was alone. She tried to read, but found her head hurt too much. Gradually the noise from the street died away. She lay back against the pillows, listening for any sound in the house that would herald Lord Ullenwood's return. At last she fell into a fitful doze and awoke some time later with a sneeze.
The adjoining door opened and the marquis entered, carrying a branched candlestick. Rosamund regarded him with a sleepy gaze. He was wearing a richly patterned dressing gown, the bright colours glaring to her sensitive eyes.
'I saw the light under the door,' he explained, coming towards the bed. 'I did not expect you to wait up so long for me.'
'Is it very late?' she murmured, struggling to sit up. 'I did not know … I have been asleep.' She sneezed. 'Did you see Lord Whitworth?'
'No. He is out of town for a few days. I must wait for his return.'
'Oh dear.' She sneezed again. 'I am sorry, my lord. I think I have developed a chill.'
'The devil you have!'
He sounded angry, and her spirits plummeted. She retreated behind her handkerchief, tears threatening.
'Pray do not come near me, my lord,' she begged him. 'I may be infectious.'
She heard him laugh.
'You may indeed. Very well, madam wife, I had best leave you to your rest. Goodnight, my dear.'
As the door clicked shut behind him, Rosamund sank down into her bed, thinking herself the most unfortunate wretch in the world.
***
Rosamund's illness was violent but short and in three days she felt well enough to sit out of bed for her dinner, and the following morning she joined her husband for breakfast. His welcoming smile cheered her.
'I am relieved to see you out of your room at last,' he said, escorting her to the table. 'I was concerned for you.'
'Yet you never came to see me.'
'I was following your instructions, ma'am. Your maid was adamant that I should not be admitted. You were too ill, to bear visitors.'
She gave a rueful smile.
'I think my words to Meggie were that you must not see me looking such a fright! I am sorry, my lord. I never expected her to treat my ramblings quite so seriously. But I have not thanked you for sending up fresh spring flowers to my room every day. They cheered me.'
'I am glad they pleased you, Ros.'
'I trust my absence has not caused offence, my lord. I would not want to make difficulties for you.'
'It is unfortunate that you have had to keep to your room, but we had already agreed that you would not attend the Drawing Room. It was of course necessary that I should do so but having attended once I hope I shall not have to do so again. Lord Whitworth is due to return to Paris tomorrow. I expect him to be at Madame du Taille's salon, and since we have also been invited I shall be able to see him there and hand over Ashby's letter without raising any speculation. However, today I am at your disposal, my dear. I shall devote myself to showing you a little of Paris. Do you feel well enough to go to the Louvre?'
'Oh yes, Elliot, if you please. I should like that very much.'
Despite her assurances that she was quite well, Rosamund found herself exhausted by the time they returned from their outing. The gallery had been hot and overcrowded, and they had been obliged to stop frequently for the marquis to make his new bride known to the many English visitors they met. A glance in t
he mirror upon her return showed her that she was looking grey and wan, and she was grateful when her husband ordered her to take dinner in her room. He kissed her cheek.
'Sleep well, Ros. I would have you in your best looks tomorrow, for your first introduction to Paris Society.'
She went off to her room, her cheek tingling from the touch of his lips, and it was in a mood of optimism that she prepared to attend Madame du Taille's salon the following day. Meggie might deplore the period of mourning that precluded her buying and wearing the latest French fashions, but secretly Rosamund thought she looked very well in her new white muslin with silver embroidery. Her dark hair was confined by bands of white ribbon and she added a pair of fine pearl ear-drops and a single string of matching pearls enhanced the flawless skin of her neck and shoulders.
'Well, sir?' she murmured when she joined her husband in the hall. 'Will I do?'
'Admirably.' Her heart soared as he took her silk cloak from the footman and placed it about her shoulders. 'You have never looked better, Ros. Has that maid of yours learned how to dress you at last?'
She gave a gurgle of laughter.
'Yes, Meggie is very impressed by Paris fashions and has taken great pains to make me à la mode, despite my being in mourning.'
'So that is another of the dresses you chose with Arabella. You are to be congratulated, it suits you very well.
'Thank you, my lord. And that reminds me, I received a letter from Bella today: she tells me that your aunts have yet to descend upon her, but she is very busy keeping Sir James entertained. Is that not good-natured of her?'
'If the choice is between sitting with my aunt Padiham or flirting with James, I do not think it difficult to know which she would prefer.'
Rosamund shook her head at him.
'I think you are too harsh on your cousin. She makes a point of telling me they do not flirt: they read together and discuss literature.'
'Good God, pray do not tell me Bella is falling in love with James! He is a confirmed bachelor: it will end in a broken heart. You smile, madam, do you think me wrong?'
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