by Jaimey Grant
“Judging by your earlier comment, Mr. Prestwich, you also seem to believe I am a brazen hussy. I can hardly blame you for that belief when my father worked so hard to put it about that I have the morals of an alley cat.” She gave him a beguiling smile belied by the hard glitter in her eyes. “But, if you don’t mind, I would much rather you did not try to poison my husband against me. Where there is no trust, a marriage cannot survive.”
Then she looked at Connor and repeated her earlier question just as if she had not just given the urbane Adam Prestwich a much deserved setdown. Connor was so impressed he almost told her so. Instead, he simply told her that if they pushed on they could reach Denbigh by nightfall. “We will wait until morning to continue on to the castle, however.”
Verena nodded. “What can I expect at Denbigh Castle?”
“That’s a rather vague question,” Adam said mildly, all visible traces of his earlier pique vanished although his voice still held a tinge of distrust. “Do you want to know about the people, places, or things you will encounter?”
“Places first, perhaps. I will, after all, be seeing the land and property before I make the acquaintance of the inhabitants.”
Connor obliged her request after he recovered from Adam’s about-face. He had never known his friend to be so ungentlemanly, especially to a friend’s wife, and then turn around and almost pretend his hurtful words were never spoken. Connor was now positive something unusual happened to Adam when he had fought under Wellington.
“And the people? Tenants first, I think, and then family.” She flashed a fleeting grin at Adam who smiled slightly in return.
Connor wasn’t quite sure what to make of their unusual by-play. It was exceedingly odd. The innate fear still lurked in Verena’s eyes, so he knew that distrust of Adam remained.
He realized with a mental jolt that this was how she had managed to survive with her spirit still intact—she simply acted as if all was well. She may have bowed to her father’s whims to avoid his abuse, but she never allowed him to break her. She had only ever allowed him to believe he did.
Lord Connor found himself talking about the tenants of his father’s estate with growing enthusiasm. He told her about the doctor who trained him to set broken bones, stitch up deep gashes, even deliver babies—a job usually reserved for a midwife.
“And I can tell you now, that last was useful,” he laughed. “I stopped in to visit one of the larger tenant farms to find the husband frantic and the four youngest children crying—there were ten children in all and what a noise they did make. His wife was in labor and the doctor was busy on the other side of the estate birthing twins while the midwife was tending to a difficult birth that demanded all her attention. It was impossible for either of them to make it in time, so I offered to act as the doctor.
“Mr. Black was appalled at first. The very idea of a duke’s son assisting in the birth of a tenant’s child just didn’t sit right with the man. Then his wife screamed fit to wake the dead and he stood aside, willing to let me do what I could for her. Three hours later they were the proud parents of yet another lusty boy.”
Verena stared at her husband in amazement. He flushed slightly at the look on her face, embarrassed by the whole discussion. He cared deeply for his father’s tenants but rarely spoke of the doctoring he did for them. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn’t care for the attention, whether it be negative or positive.
She urged him to tell her more.
He hesitated. “We can continue this discussion in the carriage, I think. We really should be going.”
They reluctantly stood and Verena set her bonnet on her head. Connor brushed her hands aside and tied the ribbon beneath her chin. Unable to resist, he traced the line of her jaw, his eyes trapped in the depths of hers. Was it his imagination, or did his beautiful bride shiver at his touch?
Connor paid their shot. After retrieving Bridgette from the kitchen, they were soon back in Adam’s well-sprung carriage and on their way. The four occupants of the carriage—even Bridgette was included—spent that day of travel just chatting about everyday subjects: the rising price of wheat; the growing support of the Whig party; the drastic changes in fashion; and Brummell’s falling-out with the Prince Regent.
Connor was surprised at just how informed his wife was. She had first exhibited her intelligence when they were becoming closer at Feldspar’s. She had very definite views on politics with the expected Whiggish leanings, economics, the increased number of poor English, the plight of soldiers who had served their country faithfully only to be treated like dogs once they reached their homeland, and even frivolous topics such as fashion.
She confessed now that she had spent nearly all her time at Greendale reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. She had even read certain books about agricultural techniques that he had to admit, although he had read them in the hope of improving his own estate, he had found them a trifle tedious.
Even more surprising was Bridgette’s obviously educated comments. She had allowed her carefully cultivated servant accent to slip and she sparkled like a débutante embarking on her first London Season. He remembered Adam’s comment about opening a home for runaway ladies of Quality and wondered how much truth was actually present in the snide remark.
Arriving at the posting house, Connor received a setback in his plan to leave his wife alone. The landlord informed them that a nearby fight resulted in his inn being booked solid. Verena frowned at his side but he insisted that the landlord do something.
“Is there not a lady in residence who might be willing to share her chamber with my wife? I will make do as will my companion but my wife must have her comfort.”
A dark-haired gentleman sitting with his friends at a nearby table stood, saying, “You may take our room, my lord, with our compliments.” His friend glared at him, clearly not agreeing to any such arrangement. “I insist,” the gentleman said, ignoring his friend.
Adam leaned close, lowering his voice to a whisper only Connor could hear. “I recognize him, Con. Lord Fitzwilliam Devenish. You should accept his generous offer. He accounts himself a gentleman above all others and takes personal insult when refused in matters such as this.”
“What is that to me?”
“He is a better marksman and swordsman than even you.”
Impressed despite himself, Connor smiled, bowing to Lord Fitzwilliam. “I thank you, my lord, for your kindness and gratefully accept.”
Verena, surprisingly, piped in, adding her thanks and curtsying to Lord Fitzwilliam and then to his nameless friend. The friend thawed a bit in the face of the beautiful Verena’s gratitude, but he was still clearly displeased with Lord Devenish’s decision to give away their room.
Following the landlord to the alloted chamber, Verena asked, “What will his lordship do? It’s wrong to displace him just because I am a woman.”
“You would have equality for woman be exactly that? You would give up being treated as more delicate and thus more deserving of tender treatment?” Connor chuckled.
As they were ushered into a richly appointed room, Verena gazed around, saying, “I would have women treated as though they have brains in their heads and are capable of more than just having babies and catering to the whims of some man.”
The landlord looked scandalized at her statement and Connor had the feeling the man was glad his own women weren’t about to hear such “rubbish” from the mouth of an aristocrat. Thanking the man, he dismissed him, asking him again to convey his gratitude to Lord Fitzwilliam, to whom he was truly indebted. The room was comfortable and Verena deserved some comfort.
And they were alone. The newly married pair eyed each other nervously, Connor’s state due entirely to the fact that there was no wall separating him from his wife. Dear God, how would he be able to stand it?
“My lord, I—”
“If you believe formality will make me want you less, rest assured, it does not,” Connor heard himself say with
uncommon bluntness.
“That was meant to reassure me?” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
“I am a bear, my love. Forgive me.” He approached against his better judgment, brushing a finger across her pale cheek. The candlelight cast a soft glow over her features, giving her the appearance of a heavenly being. The thought should have tamped down his ardor but it had the opposite effect. His mother would despair of him ever learning the error of his ways.
Verena laughed. It was a charming sound, a trifle shaky with disuse, but uninhibited.
It was also unexpected. Connor stepped back, dropping his hand and studying her for signs of hysteria. There were none.
“I apologize, Con. I’m just so nervous. This is the first time I’ve been alone with you.”
“Nonsense. We’ve spent hours together without this nervousness. Why does it infect us now?”
“You own me,” she whispered. “By law, I am yours to do with as you please.”
Anger surged through him, not at her, but at the conviction in her voice. “I do not own you, no matter what the law says. Never think that.”
“Where does that leave us this night?” she asked, stepping slightly away.
“That leaves me sleeping over there,” he said, pointing to an uncomfortable looking chair in the corner, “and you will rest peacefully there,” he added, pointing to the bed.
“You cannot sleep on that chair,” she protested, giving him a look of utter disbelief. “You wouldn’t sleep at all.”
While inwardly praying for patience, Connor admitted, “I will get far more sleep in that chair than in that bed. With you.”
“What of the floor?” she offered, the rushed words sounding desperate. She snatched up the counterpane and tossed it on the floor. “Will that not be much more comfortable?”
Connor gazed blankly at the untidy blanket on the floor, amusement tickling his insides. “You know, Doll, you are right. I shall sleep on the floor. I will go and send Bri to you. We dine in an hour’s time.” Stepping forward, he kissed her cheek. “Your concern for my well-being is much appreciated, my love.” So saying, he stooped to retrieve the coverlet and toss it back on the bed.
Their journey continued the following morning. Connor watched his bride, his lips tipped up at the corners as she asked question after question about her new home. As they drew further from her father’s tyranny, her face brightened, her laughter increased, and her tension eased.
Except when Connor’s knee brushed hers with the rocking of the carriage or Adam made a sudden movement. In those moments, her slight form stiffened and she pushed herself into the back of the carriage seat, every line in her body emanating fear. In those moments, Connor hurt right along with her.
He’d listened to her cry in the night, held powerless in his makeshift bed on the floor. Bri’s soothing voice had calmed her mistress and finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Connor fell into a disturbed sleep.
Watching her laughing countenance now, so beautiful in the mid-morning light that filtered in through the carriage window, he would never have guessed that her sleep had been at all disturbed.
During a lull in the conversation, Verena took the opportunity to ask Adam, who sat directly across from her, if she could ask a rather personal question. His look became guarded as he nodded his assent.
“Did you fight at Waterloo?”
“Yes, but that’s hardly a personal question. Everyone knows I served under Wellington.” His tone suggested she should have known that, as well.
“I assume you were invalided out?”
Connor frowned. Adam’s reasons for returning home were not generally discussed. When Verena’s lips pinched and she shook her head, he knew he’d not imagined the slightly malicious edge in her words.
“Forget I said anything, sir. I apologize. That was impertinent. I was just wondering if, perhaps…well, my brother died there.”
*
Five
The coach jerked to a stop at the great double doors of the Denbigh’s country estate. Verena’s surprising confidence received no response as they were inundated with helpful servants, welcoming family, several yappy little dogs and more voices than anyone could make sense of. Even Bridgette received the same warm welcome.
Verena soon found herself separated from her husband and maid. A chattering girl of about her own age latched onto her and practically dragged her into the Great Hall of the very large—and very modern—house that the Northwicke family called a castle. Her grace’s astonishingly friendly dresser took Bridgette in hand, promising to see that the new addition to the vast household of servants was made comfortable in her new home.
Neither young woman understood such odd behavior from complete strangers but they accepted it as normal in the duke’s household.
Verena stared around her in awe. The vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. A large crescent moon and literally thousands of stars were painted across a blue-black sky.
Verena expressed her delight and unwittingly made a friend for life in the duchess whose pride in her home was well known. The girl on Verena’s arm took her upstairs to her chamber, which she blushingly informed her, adjoined Connor’s bedchamber.
It took a Herculean effort to resist her own tendency to blush.
“It is very lovely,” Verena murmured dutifully, privately hating the heavy dark furniture dominating the room.
Considering how the duchess positively doted on her home and she herself was such an elegant person—according to Connor and Adam—it was strange to think that she could have had a hand in the furnishing of Connor’s chambers. The whole setting was dreadful. The furniture was so heavy and so dark, the walls and hangings following the same somber pattern, that she was reminded of medieval torture chambers and haunted tower rooms. All it lacked was the dust and cobwebs. Oh, and the ghost.
Verena felt an almost hysterical desire to flee.
Instead, she removed her bonnet and laid it carefully on a chair. She thought longingly of a bath and wondered if she dared ask the girl about the possibility of acquiring one sometime within the next half-hour or so. The day had been unpleasantly warm despite the lateness of the year and she felt gritty from even the relatively short distance they had traveled that morning.
Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t the least clue as to the name of her companion, she asked, “Judging by your fashionable frock, I assume you are a sister or a cousin. I’m afraid I didn’t mark your name when we were introduced.”
The girl laughed sweetly. “That’s because we were not properly introduced. I am Con’s sister Lady Genevieve. I do hope you will call me Jenny for I just know we are to be the very best of friends.”
“Then you must call me Verena. Although, those closest to me call me Doll.” Jenny’s exuberance was contagious and she found she had to suppress a giggle, albeit a somewhat nervous one.
“Why Doll?”
“My name is Verena Idalia. The servants at my old home called me Lady Doll from the day I was born.” Verena shrugged and hoped the trace of sadness she felt at the loss of such faithful servants didn’t show on her face. She refrained from mentioning her mother, her brother, and her friend who had also called her Doll. Those memories were too raw to mention.
Another girl, identical to Jenny, burst in and exclaimed how ecstatic she was to have a new sister. “I vow, when we received Con’s letter, we were like to perish from shock, him all but a confirmed bachelor.”
“I have no doubt you were teetering on the very edge of death, Gwen,” Connor’s amused voice interrupted from the doorway. He leaned negligently against the doorpost with a look of patient indulgence on his face.
Verena gasped as she turned to face him, a twinge of fear suffusing her frame. The quick flash of concern in his features told her he had noticed. She chided herself for her reaction.
“Have you met the twins?” She nodded and he grinned, addressing the twins. “Now,
my dear sisters, I would beg that you give me a moment alone with my wife.”
The twins hugged and kissed their brother, then, much to Verena’s surprise, they hugged and kissed her, repeating again how pleased they were to have her there. They disappeared into the hall in a swirl of matching pink muslin.
Verena met her husband’s eyes, her own shimmering with tears of shock, fear, and overawe. She hadn’t expected such an open-armed welcome from complete strangers who had every right to believe she entrapped their darling relative.
She saw a strange look in the blue depths of Connor’s eyes that had her moving instinctively toward the door.
“Doll, please come here,” he said softly.
Despite discovering her true identity, Connor had not ceased calling her Doll. She smiled inside at the thought that he remembered their friendship so fondly, that he admired her enough not to condemn her for her actions.
Or perhaps he did condemn her. She frowned at the thought, unwilling to admit the pain she experienced had anything to do with her feelings for him. He rescued her and for that she was grateful.
Glancing up into his compassionate blue eyes, she sighed. She liked him. Very much.
Obeying his command reluctantly, she stopped just out of arms’ reach. Lord Connor stepped forward and grasped her hand, drawing her closer until she stood just in front of him, her eyes carefully lowered for fear he’d see her high regard for him reflected in her eyes.
“Look at me, Doll.”
The command feathered the curls by her ear. She shivered, looking up.
“Do you like your room, my love?” A twinkle of laughter lit his eyes. What did he find so amusing?
Verena thought for a moment before answering cautiously, “It is very efficient and the dark colors will not show the dirt, I’m sure.” Even she had to admit that she sounded less than convincing.