Although there were some things her husband should never know, it was probably better to be honest about this. “Yes. I’ve just never actually done it before.”
* * *
She’d never run a household?
He really shouldn’t be surprised, Dev supposed. After all, there was much he didn’t know about her and little that he did. And of course, if her family had their income drastically reduced in recent years, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn the intricacies of running a manor.
Yet she seemed so supremely competent, he still found her admission unexpected.
He also began to wonder what else the woman who was now fully, completely his wife had been less than forthcoming about. What other things might he learn that would make him even sorrier he’d agreed to her proposal and made love with her last night?
He should have ignored her shining, longing eyes, the temptation of her body, the sultry sound of her husky voice and stayed away. He should have used his head.
One of the liveried footmen stepped forward to open the door. Dev disembarked and took a better survey of the gathered servants. No doubt they all wanted to see the new Lady Dundrake, who was still wearing that horrible pelisse and bonnet. Gad, even the scullery maid was there.
He shouldn’t have been in such haste to leave Gretna Green. He should have insisted she get new clothes made before they returned—another mistake it was too late to correct. All he could do now was pretend not to notice.
He slid a glance at Thea and caught her furtively straightening her bonnet and adjusting the collar of her pelisse. Perhaps she wasn’t as completely impervious to the call of vanity as she had seemed and seeing the servants arranged like soldiers on parade might be intimidating even to a woman not easily intimidated.
A memory suddenly arose, strong and vivid, of the day he’d been waiting outside the vicarage while his father criticized the rector’s last sermon. Some of the boys from the village had been taking turns jumping over a mud puddle. When he’d wandered closer, the oldest studied him a moment, then shrugged and let him join the game.
He’d slipped and fallen headlong into the puddle. When his father had seen him, dripping and muddy, the knee of his trousers torn, he flew flown into a temper, charging him with acting like a little ruffian and looking like one, too. He’d made Dev wear those torn, muddy clothes for a week.
He had thought he’d never forget that humiliation, but he had, until today.
He opened his mouth to say something encouraging. Before he could, though, Thea’s expression altered. It was like seeing her transform from vulnerable young bride to impervious Amazon.
Obviously his wife didn’t need any reassurance from him, he thought as he got out of the barouche and reached up to help her from the carriage.
Thea disembarked with the poise and expression of a visiting empress, and as if she were attired in the finest Paris fashion.
The pride he could understand, but her haughty demeanor was unexpected and unnerving, and not the way to impress the servants.
He led her toward the tall, distinguished-looking older man at the head of the line of servants. Jackson’s expression was as stoic as usual, his manner betraying neither surprise nor curiosity. “Jackson, this is my bride. My lady, the butler.”
“Jackson,” she repeated with a slight—very slight—inclination of her head.
“My lady,” Jackson intoned, bowing.
Dev pressed his lips together and continued toward the housekeeper. As always, Mrs. Wessex was impeccably neat, in a dark dress with not a single spot of lint, her ample waist encircled by a leather belt holding a large ring of keys. A pristine white cap sat atop her equally white hair.
“Mrs. Wessex, my bride,” he announced. “My lady, this is the housekeeper.
“My wife has no maid,” he added as Mrs. Wessex dipped a curtsy. “We shall have to hire one immediately. I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Mrs. Wessex.”
Thea’s grip tightened on his arm and this time, it did not lead to a passionate response. It was painful.
“I trust I am to be consulted on the selection,” she said with cool authority, a tone not likely to endear her to the servants any more than her behavior.
This was not the time or place for criticism, however, so he merely nodded and said, “If you wish.”
“I do.”
Annoyed, Dev decided it would be better to postpone the rest of the introductions. “It’s been a tiring journey, so the rest of the introductions can wait until later,” he said to no one in particular.
“Since the servants are all assembled here, I see no reason to postpone,” Thea replied. “If you’d like to rest, I’m sure Jackson and Mrs. Wessex can tell me who everyone is.”
She made it sound as if he were old and feeble and easily fatigued. Gad, what sort of woman had he married? “Of course if you’d prefer to meet the servants now, you may. Mrs. Wessex, please do the honors, then show my wife to my lady’s bedchamber. I have business to attend to.”
That wasn’t strictly a lie. As the owner of a large estate as well as a town house in London, he always had some business to attend to, of one kind or another.
He strode into the house and, without bothering to remove his hat and greatcoat, continued to his study. After throwing his hat and coat onto the nearest chair, he poured himself a stiff drink from the decanter of brandy on the side table, glanced up at the portrait of his father and muttered, “Yes, Father, this time you’re right. I was too impetuous.”
He downed the brandy in a gulp, then slumped into one of the worn wing chairs.
He’d married with the notion that he was making amends, but that act could well prove the old adage that two wrongs don’t make a right.
With a scowl, he rose from the chair and went to his desk. He was no helpless victim. He was Sir Develin Dundrake, baronet, heir to an estate and the toast of the ton. There was no need for him to continue this unfortunate liaison. After all, he had the best solicitor in London and he would write to Roger at once.
* * *
After the introductions had been completed and the servants dismissed, Thea was given a brief tour of the main floor of the house. There were two wings leading in opposite directions from the entrance hall. One wing was composed of the formal drawing room done in shades of Wedgwood blue and white, a large dining room with mahogany furniture brightly polished, a slightly less formal sitting room and the morning room, a very pretty chamber papered with depictions of songbirds. Like the room in which she’d first met her husband, this, too, opened onto the terrace. The other wing held the library, study, a large ballroom with mirrored walls and immense chandeliers, an anteroom for refreshments and the billiard’s room. Mrs. Wessex didn’t say the house was set up as if to separate the female members of the family from the male, but it certainly seemed that way. Nor did Thea give any sign that she’d been in the study before.
Not surprisingly she was not shown the lower level, where the kitchen, pantry, buttery, servants’ hall, laundry and wine cellar were located. Nor would she be shown the topmost level, where the servants slept, no doubt with the maids on one side and the male servants on the other.
After returning to the hall, she followed Mrs. Wessex up the ornately carved staircase to the family and guest bedrooms and dressing rooms.
“The guest rooms are to the left,” Mrs. Wessex explained, nodding at the wing over the masculine side of the house.
She gestured at the first door in the right corridor, on the side that would overlook the garden. “This is the master’s bedroom, with his dressing room just beyond.” She continued to the third door. “And this is your room. I do wish we’d had more notice about the wedding. All Sir Develin said before he left the other day was ‘Make up my mother’s room. It will be needed when I return.’ Well, you could have
knocked me down with a feather. This room hasn’t been used in years.”
Thea smiled in response, trying to make up for the way she’d acted when she first got out of the barouche. She was unfortunately sure she had made a terrible first impression. She had been too tense, too anxious, too stiff and unyielding. But she’d also been too aware of the strange nature of their marriage as well as her lack of beauty and fine clothes to be more herself.
Develin’s attitude hadn’t been helpful, either. He’d been cold and formal, then deserted her.
Yet she couldn’t lay the blame for her unfortunate first impression at his door. It was her fault, so it was up to her to try to undo any damage her manner had caused.
“It must be even more shocking that he came home with a wife,” she offered, speaking in her usual tone.
The housekeeper blushed. “Unexpected, to be sure, but he’s always been an impulsive fellow. His father used to chide him for his heedless ways.”
Thea remembered the portrait of that stern man in the study and wondered what it would have been like to be chided by him—surely far from pleasant.
“I can be rather impulsive, too,” she said, “although I more often take time to consider.”
“Do you, now?” Mrs. Wessex murmured as she opened the door to the lady’s bedroom and moved back to let Thea enter first.
She stepped into the bedroom of her dreams.
Tall windows provided ample light and a canopied bed dressed with light green silk coverlet stood against one wall papered with twining leaves. Across from the bed was a fireplace with a marble front, carved with vines and plump little cherubs. A looking glass rested in one corner, and a delicate dressing table boasting another mirror was against the other wall. Silver candleholders rested on the two bedside tables.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” she cried, clasping her hands as if offering a prayer of thanks, which wasn’t far from the truth.
“I’ll leave you to rest, my lady, and I’ll send Ella to help you dress for dinner,” Mrs. Wessex said.
“I can manage for myself,” Thea said, wanting more than anything to be alone. So much had happened today and in the few days before that...and then she saw the furrowed brow of the housekeeper. “Until Ella arrives,” she hastily added.
Mrs. Wessex gave her a very small smile, nodded and left her.
Alone at last, Thea wandered around the lovely chamber. This was also what she’d dreamed of when she decided to ask Develin Dundrake to marry her—a beautiful home, evidence of a new and prosperous future. She need no longer dread that she would be all alone in the world, poor, cold and starving, with no home and no family, no husband, no children.
But what of love, Thea? a little voice inside her queried. Don’t you want to be loved?
Surely love would come, too, if not from her husband, at least from her children.
* * *
Thea didn’t see Develin again until he joined her in the drawing room before dinner that evening.
She had ignored Ella’s shocked expression when the maid discovered Thea had only three dresses to her name, and the one she wore now, of plain blue taffeta, was the finest. The youthful maid had hesitatingly offered the information that there was an excellent dressmaker in the village, as well as a milliner. Thea had thanked her and silently vowed she would visit them as soon as possible.
Upon entering the drawing room, whose glories she had only glimpsed earlier that day, she’d managed to avoid gawking like a stunned peasant. She had never seen so much gilt furniture richly upholstered in blue velvet, or so many delicate figurines as those on the mantle, not to mention the silver sconces and candelabra and the very fine pianoforte in an alcove.
She’d wondered if her husband would expect her to play. If so, he would be disappointed. She’d only begun her musical education when the family funds started to be depleted, and her music lessons had been one of the first economies.
Although she’d waited with growing impatience for her husband to appear, she hadn’t chided him when he finally arrived to escort her in to dinner. Nor had she pestered him with questions or forced him to make conversation as the meal progressed. After all—and so she fervently hoped—he might not be annoyed with her. He might simply be a quiet man.
And what a meal it was! There was a lovely cream of mushroom soup, followed by breaded haddock, then roast beef and chicken with peas and carrots in a thick sauce. The dinner ended with three kinds of pie, a cake and other confectionaries arranged on a tiered plate. There was also ample wine, although she was very careful not to drink too much. She was unused to fine wine and wanted to keep her wits about her. She had made enough mistakes already today.
At last the meal ended, and she retired to the drawing room again, alone. She perched on a gilt chair near the ornate marble fireplace where a fire warmed the room. After a time, Mrs. Wessex arrived, as well as Ella bearing a tea tray. The silver service gleamed in the firelight, and more delicate cakes and sweets were on a pretty china plate beside it.
“Shall I pour, my lady?” the older woman deferentially inquired.
“No, thank you,” Thea replied, determined to prove she wasn’t completely ignorant about such things.
She didn’t get the chance. The housekeeper simply nodded and she and Ella left the room.
With a heavy sigh, Thea poured a cup of tea and sipped it while she waited. And waited some more.
Just when she had decided Develin wasn’t going to join her, he strolled into the room as if no time at all had passed since dinner. Or as if she was of no importance whatsoever.
“I was about to give you up for lost,” she said, trying not to sound irate or frustrated, although she was both. “The tea is probably cold. Shall I ring for more?”
“No, I don’t want any tea,” her husband replied. He walked past her and leaned against the mantelpiece, his forearm casually draped across it and all the while regarding her with an enigmatic expression.
“That was a very sumptuous meal,” she said at last.
Still no response.
“Do you usually have such meals? It seemed quite extravagant.”
“I’m quite rich.”
She would not continue this uphill struggle to have a conversation. If he was upset with her, she would rather find out. He did have some cause to be annoyed—but then, so did she.
She rose and faced him squarely. “I appreciate that I may not have acted as you might have wished when we arrived here today.”
He lowered his arm and raised an eyebrow, but did no more than that.
Even if he was going to persist with his silence, she would admit the truth, at least about her feelings that day. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid? You were afraid?” he repeated, as if that was hardly to be believed. “Of my servants?”
“Not precisely. But I...that is, this house...” Annoyed with herself for being so incoherent, she began again. “This house is so large and there are so many servants, I was afraid of making a mistake, or saying the wrong thing. Instead I may have appeared more haughty and arrogant than I intended.”
Her husband’s lips turned up a little at the corners in a manner that struck her as condescending, as if she were a naughty child. “I did wonder what had gotten into you,” he said, his tone no less patronizing.
Her pride piqued, she rather tartly replied, “If you’d talked to me more in the carriage, I might not have been so anxious.”
Develin frowned. “I suppose it didn’t occur to you that I might have some cause for concern about how we would be received when word of my marriage got out.”
“Did you not take that into account when you accepted my proposal?”
“I didn’t expect you to act like an arrogant—”
“I’ve explained that,” she interrupted. “I suppose I shouldn’t
expect a man like you to understand. As for arrogant...” She ran a coolly measuring gaze over the man standing arrogantly before her. “I believe I’ve met my match in that.”
“If I am arrogant, at least I have cause to be,” he returned. “I am a baronet, you’re the daughter of an impoverished gamester who abandoned you. Yet you acted like the Queen of Sheba—hardly a way to ensure good relations with the servants whose help and favorable opinion you’re going to need if this house is to run smoothly.”
“I may not be the Queen of Sheba,” she replied frostily, “but I am the woman you married. I’m the woman you made your wife in every way. Whatever you may be thinking, there’s no undoing that now.”
He didn’t answer. He simply regarded her with cool, unnerving confidence.
Dread flooded through her. They were married, truly married. Surely nothing could change that.
Except that he was a rich and titled man. He would have powerful, influential friends and could afford the best attorneys, men capable of finding ways to overturn any contract or agreement.
“We had a bargain,” she reminded him, her voice rising even as she fought to maintain her composure. She went closer to him, until she was a mere handbreadth away. “If you’re an honorable man, you will keep it, as I shall keep my word. I shall run your household as required, and first thing tomorrow I will go to the village and order some new clothes from the dressmaker there. Ella has informed me she’s quite excellent, and I’ll visit the milliner, too. And tonight, should you wish to come to my bed, I will not refuse you.”
She caught the sharp intake of his breath, saw the flash of desire in his dark eyes. Yet that look of bridled passion was followed quickly by another frown.
Not wanting to hear his response, Thea turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
* * *
Breathing hard, frustrated and aroused in spite of all his efforts not to be, Dev was tempted to slam the door behind her, but that would only alert the household that something was amiss between the baronet and his bride—although they’d probably find that out soon enough, just as he had come to realize he’d made a grave mistake.
A Marriage of Rogues Page 5