* * *
Dace waited for his wife. His wife! He could scarcely believe he’d managed to say the words that bound him to her at their wedding. He opened the door to the hallway in case Lizzie set off without him.
He went to listen at her adjoining bedroom.
Silence.
He wondered if his bride could manage to dress herself. Her uncles had isolated Lizzie from all her familiar servants to better force her to marriage.
Molly was in no fit state to help. Poor Molly had refused to mourn her soldier husband, but suffered torments none the less. Ma had sent her to find work at the Folly to take her mind off her loss.
Dace had not mourned his father. This was the closest he had ever been to his sire, sleeping in the suite of rooms designed for him. Turquoise and cream bed curtains and carpet. The ceiling and walls gothic arched in the Folly’s golden stone, only the dressing room plastered and painted a deeper turquoise green. Certainly, the most elegant bedroom he’d ever slept in.
He tapped on Lizzie’s door. “Come, dearest wife, they are waiting for us below. You should be glad the custom has ended of visiting the bridal couple before they rose from the bridal bed.”
He turned the handle.
The door was locked from the other side.
Dace raised his voice, “We only have to endure this meal. If you can think of a way to get rid of your guests, please do.” Throwing the family out of the Folly might be a pleasure to tempt his wife to answer him.
The door opened a few inches, a faint perfume wafted out. His invisible wife spoke, “I can’t fasten my dress.” A distinct pause, then a reluctant, “Dear Felmont.”
“Let me help you.”
“No.”
“Why not? Lizzie, come here and I’ll do it for you.”
“Send for James.”
“Do you let Jim see you in your chemise, dearest Lizzie? He has worked his last day in your employ.”
The door opened. His irate bride showed herself attired in her mourning clothes, the bodice slack on her thin body, her hair woven in a low bun. “He would find me another maid if Molly is busy.”
“Turn around. Not that dressing ladies has ever been one of my skills, but I’ll try to fasten your laces.” Dace brushed past his bride to get behind her, he’d rather not see the fear on her face. He stopped her from fleeing by closing the door with his foot, tactics Wellington would have praised.
He laced every ribbon he found while his bride fumbled with the door handle.
“Finished, my dear.”
In her terror at his touch, she had not noticed his foot against door. He stepped away so she’d dare take a breath. If this went on, they’d both need another dose of laudanum before midnight.
She let him lead her out and down the hallway towards the stairs under the cupola. He could see his devilish self painted on the dome. His angelic wife had the grace to look guilty. He pretended not to notice.
“Got any plans for the Folly, dear wife. Does it need any more repairs?” The only topic he could think of to distract her.
“Did you mean what you said about this house being mine, dearest Felmont?” Her hand held his arm with the lightest touch to descend the stairs.
“Better in your keeping than in mine, I’d burn it down and dance naked in the ashes. Do what you want with it. The Priory is mine. You do not visit there without an invitation, dear heart.” He knew as soon as the words were out his mouth that his bride suspected he meant to install a mistress there.
Did she think him stupid enough to whore at a house just a mile away across the home park? Evidently, yes. After all, her stepfather had brought whores to the Folly before his marriage to Lizzie’s mother. Only the Tempest brothers’ close watch had made the third viscount act with any temperance.
Jim appeared in the hall when they reached the main floor. From the looks of it, he’d been up all night. Dace stopped to talk to him. Poor Lizzie carried on for a few steps before she noticed he was missing.
The doors to the long gallery stood open. His bride tottered over the marble floor to stare in at the antique armor and ancient weapons.
Dace followed her. The gallery gave access to the formal reception rooms and ended at the ballroom. Did his bride have an urge to arm herself with a sword or lance and run him through? He doubted she wanted to dance with him.
Jim hurried to stand in front of dear Lizzie. “Good morning, my lady, my lord. Everyone is waiting in the Chinese dining room. May I enquire if you slept well?”
His bride did not answer.
Dace took Lizzie’s arm. “Like the dead, Jim. Are the vultures waiting to pick the flesh from our bones?”
“Too tired for it, I reckon. They saw you both safely to your rooms then returned to celebrate. Been at it all night. Mr. and Mrs. Tempest and Mr. Percy Tempest left early. Mr. Tempest instructed me to give Lady Felmont this letter with his compliments.”
His wife took the letter and broke the seal. She read the few lines slowly, carefully, and then read them again. A rare smile appeared. What did that damn letter promise?
“Have they abandoned you to your fate, dearest wife? Your banker uncles didn’t even wait to see if you survived the night.”
A slight shudder ran over his bride. The letter shook in her hand as she looked up at him. “They have restored my fortune. You require my signature on any expenditure but that should not trouble you, dearest husband, since you have only to send your bills to me.”
He took the letter from her, glanced at it quickly and gave it back to her. “A slip of the tongue, Lizzie? Send them to you? Am I to be let out of your sight? What if I stray?”
Her smile faded. “If you stray, do not expect me to be here when you get back, dearest husband. James, where is Gordon?”
“In the Chinese dining room, trying to keep order in bedlam, my lady.”
“Are the servants ready? The family’s carriages?” His bride smiled at Jim. He’d be damned if he liked it. His foster brother was too handsome by far, strutting around as if he owned the place, showing off to Lizzie. Jim gave him a warning glance before ushering them over to the doors leading to the East wing. He swung them open. They walked as if in a funeral procession towards the Chinese dining room.
“Everything is ready, my lady. The sooner this lot has gone, the better. No offence meant, my lord.”
Drunken laughter grew louder when they reached the room where the family waited. He could hear his young cousins. With their widowed mothers and the occasional raddled survivor in the older ranks, they were all that remained of the once numerous Felmonts.
Dace offered his arm to his wife, she stared at it silently. “Take my arm, dearest Lizzie, it cannot be worse than a cannonball fusillade.” He felt her slight tremble as she obeyed him.
Jim rapped. The two footmen inside swung open the gothic doors.
The dining room walls were striped with painted silk wallpaper depicting fire breathing dragons, surrounded by blood red paint. Blood red everywhere. Even the furniture was a red mahogany. He gritted his teeth. He could smell blood, taste it! Hellfire! That damned nightdress covered in his blood tainted the room.
Jim shouted to be heard above the din. “Lord and Lady Felmont.”
Cheers rang out. The two young men holding the nightdress aloft on lances taken from the armory display, waved their gory trophy. Everyone began to laugh and shout a welcome.
Rax saw the bridal couple and hurried towards them. His thought of covering the bride’s eyes with his handkerchief had to be discarded. It was too late. The lady had seen that which he had been trying to retrieve. The delicate white nightdress covered in blood stains was paraded about the dining room again.
It was like some medieval ritual. There could be no doubt the lady had painfully lost her virginity after this public exhibition—if the screams had not been enough to haunt him all night.
The noise the family made in play was most peculiar. Raucous laughter from the younger branches, interwoven w
ith their eerie silences after Bertram Felmont quelled them with a quiet word or a glacial stare.
Rax had fallen amongst them on his quest for breakfast. He appeared to be one of the few guests who had risen from his bed, most of the others smelled stale and wore their clothes from the wedding.
Dace beckoned him closer. “Make sure my wife doesn’t fall over.”
The bridegroom advanced on his cousins with a look of such ferocity on his face that Rax was glad he had only to guard the bride. Lady Felmont stared at him through pupils so large they almost hid the forget-me-not blue color of her eyes.
The young Felmonts laughed, though they had the good sense to back away. “The nose lives! Health to the viscount’s nose! The nose! His nose survived!”
The viscount laughed. It must be some Felmont code, for he seemed to take no offense at all, only ordered the nightdress thrown into the fire. His command was obeyed, while Rax’s pleas for them to do the same thing had fallen on deaf ears. There was something about Dace that made a man loath to cross him.
Strangely enough, the bride kept her composure. She blinked sleepily, no doubt tired from a most uncomfortable night of passion. All eyes were upon her as Bertram Felmont, jeweled cane in hand, bowed before her.
The cheers abated.
“Mourn not your lost virginity, Cousin Elizabeth, the world of earthly pleasure but awaits your welcoming sighs. We, the family, offer you our deepest good wishes for your swift recovery from the viscount’s depredations on your sweet innocence. A new family motto has been coined in your honor, the torment before the pleasure.”
The family gave a gasp, pretending to be shocked at the old man’s words. Not that they hadn’t said worse to Rax as he waited with them. They just didn’t want to offend the bride who had so much to offer.
Lady Felmont held a letter in her gloved hands as if it was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. The sight of the bloody nightdress had even less effect on the bride than it had on Dace. After seeing it, Rax had reconsidered marriage. He’d put it off to twenty years hence, unless he could find a pretty widow. Virginity was highly overrated.
Lady Felmont addressed Dace with tender appeal. “Dear husband, if I may reply?”
What poise! Rax admired her with all his heart. Her whispered question made everyone lean closer to hear her words, including the viscount. His gaze unnerved the bride. She looked up at him in silence, even though he gave his assent to her request.
Dace turned to study the wallpaper with an innocent expression on his face.
The bride stared at her husband’s nose in profile. With a slight shiver, Lady Felmont addressed her audience. “Good morning. It may please you to know that my uncles have restored my fortune to me.” The letter waved in her hand.
The Tempests had departed in the night after Mr. Tempest had shouted himself into hoarseness, turned mad by his niece’s distress at her bedding. The only thing Rax knew without a doubt was that Dace had not used his bride ill. Proof was in her appearance this morning looking relaxed and rested, if a little sleepy. The lady swayed on her feet and closed her eyes for a moment to lean against her husband until his touch awakened her. She held herself aloof from him to address the family. “If any of you wish to apply to me for a loan or the restoration of your pensions, the same rules apply.”
The lady yawned delicately. “Write to me from your home, assure me you are living quietly and soberly, then and only then, will I consider your petition. Your carriages will be ready after breakfast, as I am sure you cannot wait to be on your way.”
Rax wondered if Lady Felmont could be drugged. She didn’t seem to notice Dace’s arm holding her up.
A worried hush fell over the assembly. Lady Felmont smiled graciously and stared about with huge, dark pupils. “Any item left behind will be burnt this afternoon to satisfy my dear husband’s wish for a bonfire.”
For what Rax was sure was the first time, admiration for his wife crossed Dace’s face. Rax wished he dared cuff his friend, a deserving reproof for thinking the lady had no countenance. After what must have been a difficult night, her beauty was undiminished, her air of delicate grace beguiling, her ability to withstand a public attack on a most private subject—astounding.
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 8