Then there was her scent. Jemima smelled of flowers, of the sweet, pale scent of jasmine that had grown in sun-warmed profusion against the south wall of Delaval when last Rob was there. He had wanted to drink in that perfume from her skin, a desire that led his wayward thoughts in all sorts of interesting but ultimately unfulfilling directions.
Jemima had insisted on driving with the window open, for the day was hot, and gradually the scent of jasmine had mingled with the fresh smell of cut hay and made Rob feel uncomfortably lustful. He was not sure what it was about hot summer days and the verdant sight of the countryside that put such thoughts into his head, but after a couple of hours he was fidgeting uncomfortably and Jemima, who had been engrossed in the scenery for the best part of the journey, commented on his restlessness. Rob wished that he had thought to ride beside the carriage rather than sit with Jemima in the enforced intimacy of the interior. After five hours with her he was so tense that it was with great relief that he realised they had arrived in Barrington and rolled into the yard of the Fox Inn.
Jemima, in contrast, had looked cool and restrained for the entire day. She had shown the greatest interest in the countryside and all the villages that they had driven through, and now, as they contemplated their lodging for the night, she looked as unruffled as Rob felt disturbed. He reflected ruefully that there was no reason why she should feel as on edge as he. She had responded to his kisses with a tentative passion that had hinted at the depths beneath, but she had also held something back from him; quite a lot back, in fact. She was an intriguing mix—the little sweep’s girl who had learned hard lessons on the streets, overlaid with the lady of quality that Mrs Montagu had fashioned. Rob suspected that it might be quite a while before he got to know her properly and even longer before she fully trusted him. But he had months…Months in which to court his own wife. If only his unruly impulses did not get the better of him first.
His good intentions suffered a blow almost immediately when the landlord ushered them into the parlour with much obsequious bowing and many apologies for the fact that the inn was so crowded. They would have to share the parlour and, more to the point, share a small bedchamber. Rob was almost tempted to travel on to Delaval. It was only another twenty miles, but one of the carriage wheels had started to splinter, and as evening was approaching he had decided that there would be no harm in stopping overnight. Now he was not so sure. The thought of sharing a chamber and, moreover, a bed with his wife, a prospect that would fill most newly-wed husbands with cheer, made him feel gloomy and frustrated. There were times when eighty-three days of abstinence could feel like a lifetime and Rob had the lowering conviction that by the end of it he was going to feel much, much worse.
‘This is very pleasant,’ Jemima said, as the innkeeper steered them towards a secluded corner and sent a boy scurrying for refreshments. She liked the crooked low ceilings of the Fox and the golden flagstoned floor. ‘I shall have a pint of ale, Mr Hinton, and some of the mutton stew, if you please.’
The landlord looked briefly scandalised. ‘A pint of ale, my lady? Harrumph! Yes, certainly…And for you, my lord?’
‘I will have the same, Mr Hinton,’ Rob said. He looked as though he was trying not to laugh at the landlord’s outraged expression. He turned to Jemima. ‘I do believe you may set a new fashion in local society, my love, for ladies to partake of ale!’
Jemima slid into her seat on the long wooden bench.
‘I will only have a little, my lord,’ she said with composure. ‘It would be rather foolhardy to drink too much in our situation, would it not? I have often thought that there is nothing like getting foxed for affecting one’s judgement.’
Rob drew on his glass of ale and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘A sound observation, my love. I can see that with your practical common sense we need not concern ourselves with the possibility of breaking the terms of my grandmother’s will.’
Jemima looked at him. ‘It would help if you were to exercise some self-control as well, my lord,’ she pointed out. ‘I cannot be expected to do this on my own.’
Rob grinned. ‘I shall do my best,’ he said. ‘Alas that my self-control may not prove infallible.’
Jemima sighed. She had a feeling that the next few months were going to be very difficult in more ways than one. Young ladies might swoon at the prospect of becoming Countess of Selborne, but she was of a rather more practical bent and knew it would not be easy. There would be a huge adjustment to make in terms of taking on the running of a big house and she had no background that might have prepared her for such an undertaking. If it came to that, she had no knowledge whatsoever of the countryside, where life was incomprehensibly different from her own experience of living in a city.
Then there were family, friends and neighbours to meet. And then there was Rob himself…
Jemima studied her husband as he drank his ale. He had a kind of careless authority that made his presence felt without being overpowering. Rob was no dandy, but he had a casual elegance that Jemima found all too attractive. She had never spent five hours in close contact with a man before and she had found the enforced intimacy of the carriage to be strange, though not in an unpleasant manner. She and Rob had conversed easily on all manner of topics prompted by the journey, from the time it took to travel from Delaval to London to the different crops that were being harvested in the fields around them. It was only when she had caught Rob’s gaze upon her, bright and hard with a desire that she could read all too easily, that she had felt her colour rising and a strange warmth seep through her veins.
When she had gone to bed the previous night she had told herself that it was essential that she kept her head when in company with her husband. Her heart had already shown an erratic and unhelpful inclination to override all common sense, but Jemima felt that her position was still tenuous in the extreme and if she allowed herself to fall into Rob’s arms then she would have surrendered completely. She had to remind herself that they did not know each other well despite the strange and persistent conviction she had that she already knew and understood him. Such flights of fancy were alien to her nature and they worried her, at the same time as exciting her. Now, seeing that Rob was watching her in that particular way again, she squashed down the excitement and sought a safe topic of conversation.
‘So you say that we are now some twenty miles from Delaval, my lord? Whereabouts are we exactly?’
‘We are close to the town of Burford at present,’ Rob said. He glanced away from her as the two steaming plates of mutton stew were delivered. ‘In point of fact, we are near the estate of the Duke of Merlin at Merlinschase. We turn south from here to reach Delaval…’
Jemima was no longer listening. When she had heard the name of the Duke of Merlin she had felt frozen and a little sick, with a buzzing sound in her ears that made her wonder if she might faint. The Duke of Merlin. Merlinschase. Tilly’s home. She had had absolutely no notion that her niece would be so close to Delaval. Since the angry exchange with Jack that day she had thought no more about seeking Tilly out and now, ironically, it seemed that she would have to do the opposite and do everything in her power to avoid her.
‘I thought…’ Her voice sounded croaky and she cleared her throat. ‘I thought that the Duke of Merlin resided somewhere in Gloucestershire…’
‘He does.’ Rob looked up, a faint frown creasing his brow as he took in her face. ‘Are you quite well, Jemima? You have gone a little pale.’
‘I? Oh, yes…’ Jemima pulled herself together and picked up her fork. She toyed with her stew, then put the fork down again and picked up her ale. The drink felt cool against her lips, but she could not seem to taste it.
‘I do not suppose…That is…I imagine that the Merlins are far too high in the instep to have anything to do with the rest of us?’
‘Not at all,’ Rob said easily. ‘We shall see them once we are established at Delaval. The Duke’s nephew, Bertie Pershore, is one of my oldest friends. Merlin is, in fact, my go
dfather.’
Jemima’s glass of ale trembled in her fingers and some of the liquid jumped and spilled on the oaken table. Aware that Rob was looking at her quizzically, she put the glass down. She hunted for an excuse to explain her sudden nervousness.
‘A Duke for a godfather? Good gracious!’
Rob smiled. ‘There is no need to be concerned. Merlin is a very pleasant chap. You will like him.’
Jemima had no intention of ever meeting the Duke, but she could not tell Rob that. She imagined ruefully that she would need a whole host of imaginative excuses to avoid his godfather. She drew a deep breath and tried to think calmly. There was no immediate danger. Delaval was twenty miles from here, in Oxfordshire. She need not meet the Duke of Merlin and there was no reason to suppose that she would ever meet Tilly. Unless the child resembled her closely, there would be nothing to connect them at all. Jemima felt tired and dispirited. She thought about trying to explain to Rob about Tilly, but shied away from it. It was bad enough that Rob was saddled with a chimney sweep’s daughter as a Countess. To spring upon him the fact that her illegitimate niece was his godfather’s ward…Well, that would have to wait until she knew him a little better. Just for now, for the sake of both Tilly and herself and the secrets they hid, she would have to avoid any possibility of seeing her niece.
She looked at Rob. He was still applying himself to his stew and did not seem to suspect that her sudden pallor had stemmed from anything other than surprise and a natural apprehension at meeting more of his acquaintance. She started to eat her stew. It was hot and reviving and after a few mouthfuls she felt a little better. She had another sip of her ale. One day soon, she promised herself, she would tell Rob the truth about Tilly. There should not be any secrets between them.
‘Do you think that the landlord might light the fire?’ she asked, deliberately seeking a change of subject. ‘Although it has been a warm day, these old stone buildings have quite a chill.’
The landlord, when applied to, was apologetic.
‘I am sorry, my lord, my lady, but the chimney smokes like the very devil. Plenty of business it’s lost me in the winter, spewing smoke all over my guests, and me spending a fortune on a chimney doctor all the way from Oxford to no avail! Charged three guineas and made not a ha’porth’s worth of difference!’
‘Have you tried putting the goose up the chimney?’ Jemima enquired. ‘They say that the flapping will brush all the soot down.’
The landlord looked embarrassed. ‘Thought of that, my lady, but yon goose is the wife’s pet and she’d no more put it up the chimney than she would one of our children! Besides, the soot is nasty sticky stuff. Take more than a goose’s wing to dislodge that.’
Jemima finished her ale. ‘I know the very thing. Do you have a shotgun, Mr Hinton?’
The landlord looked a little perplexed. ‘Course I do, ma’am. Most country people do, like.’
‘Then pray bring it in. And bring some big sheets with you as well.’
The landlord looked even more puzzled. ‘Ma’am?’ He turned to Rob. ‘Milord—’
‘If my wife wishes to inspect your shotgun, Hinton,’ Rob said smiling, ‘then I should comply.’
‘Well, yes, my lord…’ Now the landlord evidently thought that they were both mad. He hurried out, to return a moment later with an ancient-looking shotgun, his wife, four curious children, a pile of sheets and a mongrel dog.
‘Spread the sheeting around the fireplace,’ Jemima instructed, ‘so that you may catch the soot. That’s it—hang that one across the beams so that it acts as a curtain. Robert, would you move that table back, please? Thank you. Now, Mr Hinton—’ she turned to the landlord ‘—take your shotgun and stand in the inglenook and fire it directly up the chimney.’
‘Madam!’ The innkeeper looked aghast.
‘Would you like me to do it for you?’ Jemima asked, in kindly fashion.
The other guests had gathered around by now and watched in amazement as the landlord stepped into the grate, pointed his gun up the chimney and released a deafening report. The building shook. Outside, the chickens and geese set up a huge honking and squawking, and all the birds rose from the surrounding trees giving calls of alarm. The ladies screamed and pressed their hands over their ears. All except Jemima, who stood, hands on hips, smiling broadly. Then there was a rumbling and a shaking, like a cart going along the road outside, and with a huge whoosh the soot fell down the chimney to engulf the landlord and pile up on sheets in the fireplace.
‘I do apologise,’ Jemima said, looking at the landlord and trying not to laugh. ‘I forgot to tell you to step away from the fire.’
The landlord shook himself like a dog coming out of the water and the soot flew in all directions. He was smiling, a big white grin that split his face.
‘Well, I’ll be damned! You’re worth more than any fancy chimney doctor, Lady Selborne, and that’s a fact!’
‘Thank you,’ Jemima said modestly. The other guests, realising that the inn would not be tumbling down, gave a big round of applause and went back to their seats and resumed their meals. The landlord and landlady scooped up the sooty sheets and went out and Jemima sat down again and tucked into her stew quite as though nothing had happened. She gave Rob an innocent look.
‘What is it, my lord? Do you wish me to give the chimneys at Delaval the same treatment before the winter comes?’
Rob was looking slightly stunned. ‘Good God, Jemima, that was remarkably effective. And not a spot of soot in my stew either.’
‘I thought you knew what I intended to do,’ Jemima said, her mouth full. ‘When I sent for the shotgun—’
‘Oh, I guessed what you had in mind.’ Rob frowned. ‘I suppose I should have stopped you, but I fear I am not that sort of husband.’
‘No harm done,’ Jemima said. ‘The landlord is very grateful. But first the ale and then the chimneys…’ She looked at him, head on one side. ‘I do believe that you are very tolerant, Robert Selborne. How far would you let me go before you stopped me?’
Lavender-blue eyes met brown. Rob smiled slightly. ‘Do not put it to the test, Jemima,’ he said. ‘You might be surprised.’
And Jemima, remembering how much steely determination lay beneath Rob’s deceptively cool exterior, shivered a little. She thought that he might be right.
‘We may put a bolster down the middle of the bed,’ Jemima said, as they stood in the chamber later that evening. ‘I am sure that that would help.’
Rob was not at all sure that it would help at all. He had been temporarily distracted earlier by Jemima’s chimney-cleaning exploits, but as the evening had worn on, his lustful thoughts had returned to plague him with increasing intensity. He had watched entranced as Jemima drained her second beaker of ale and her elbow slid along the table top, causing the neckline of her dress to dip a little and reveal the enticing, shadowy cleft between her breasts. He had watched her animated little face in the candlelight as she chatted to him and had found it difficult to concentrate on the answers to her questions. Now they were alone in their bedchamber he was so tightly wound up that he thought he might explode.
‘I will get ready for bed first,’ Jemima said, still briskly practical, ‘if you would be so good as to leave the room, and then, when I am ready, you may come back…’
Rob repressed a groan. All he seemed capable of seeing was the image of Jemima in her nightgown, lying in the big four-poster bed. And that was only in his imagination. Once he saw her in reality…He shifted, feeling the hardening in his body that presaged an extremely uncomfortable night.
‘Perhaps I could sleep in the chair,’ he said, nodding towards the overstuffed and distinctly uncomfortable-looking armchair that stood before the fire. The chair, the bed or the taproom—it made little difference, since he knew he would not sleep a wink.
For a moment Jemima looked amused.
‘If you wish it, my lord.’
‘Of course I do not wish it,’ Rob ground out. ‘It must be obv
ious to the meanest intelligence that I would like to share the bed with you—in every sense—’ He broke off, trying to get a grip on himself. He saw Jemima’s gaze drop to his pantaloons and a blush suffuse her cheek as she saw what was outlined there. She stood clutching her nightrail to her chest and she suddenly looked very young and innocent. Rob cursed himself and tried to speak more gently.
‘Forgive me, Jemima. I did not mean to be rude. It is simply…’ He gestured hopelessly. ‘This marriage seems to be a great mistake…’
He was aware of having made things much worse. Now Jemima looked positively miserable. He tried again.
‘I mean that it was a mistake to marry someone—you—whom I find so very attractive. It would have been better to wed cousin Augusta and then I could have endured her company beside me in bed with the utmost indifference.’
Jemima gave a little giggle. She looked slightly happier. ‘Pray do not worry, my lord. I will sleep on the floor.’
Rob stared. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Jemima had put the nightgown away in her bag and was now folding her cloak and laying it down on the floorboards beside the fireplace.
‘I will sleep on the floor. I have done so many times before.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
Jemima stopped abruptly at his tone and looked at him, her blue eyes widening. ‘Not at all. I merely thought that you could take the bed and I will lie on the floor. I used to sleep on the floor a lot when I was a child.’
‘You may well have done so. However, the Countess of Selborne does not sleep on the floor.’
Rob knew he sounded pompous and Jemima’s look of amused disgust underlined the fact.
‘Good gracious, Robert, you sound so stuffy!’
‘Nevertheless…’ Rob took a deep breath. ‘I will sleep on the floor. I have done so a great deal on campaign.’
The Penniless Bride Page 12