Arran and Grace had arrived with baby Elizabeth two days previous and had tirelessly—and without success—attempted to bring about a reconciliation between Pippa and Calum.
“Should you like a little champagne, Pippa?” Grace asked, getting up and taking a glass from a silver tray. “And a small cake, perhaps. I declare, you have eaten absolutely nothing and you will need your strength for…Oh.” She blushed madly.
“Nothing, thank you,” Pippa said.
She was so lovely. Calum pressed down the urge to take her in his arms. But she had allowed her faith in him to be shaken. And God knew what else she had allowed. “Did that man make love to you?” he blurted out, unable to hold back the question an instant longer.
Grace plopped down beside Arran, who directed a glare at Calum that should have frozen his heart and anything else that lived within him.
“Well,” Calum persisted, “did he?”
“How could you?” Pippa whispered, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.
He bowed his head. “On that night, the night when you were taken, you had told me you thought I only wanted you for selfish reasons. You doubted me. And you believed him when he said I had arranged for your abduction.”
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
“Truly a marriage made in heaven,” Arran remarked. “It grows late. Perhaps it’s time for you to retire to wedded bliss.”
“Arran,” Grace hissed.
A discreet knock announced the dowager’s arrival. Dark mauve had replaced black for the occasion of the wedding, and she smiled benevolently upon the four in the room. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves. Justine is assuming command quite nicely below so that I can come and read you two messages I’ve received.”
Pippa brought a white-gloved hand to her face and Calum saw that her fingers shook. How would they ever overcome this disaster?
“Philipa,” the dowager said, holding a piece of paper in one hand, “I know you will be relieved to know that my letter—actually, the letter I wrote some weeks ago—reached your father. Good fortune brought his reply on this very day. Dear Lord Chauncey sends you his felicitations and says that since the wedding formalities would be complete before he could make the return journey from the Continent, he wishes to be informed of the birth of your first child. He will definitely be present then.”
Calum noted that the white-clad fingers covered Pippa’s mouth now, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
“Well,” Grace said with a puff, “I think that’s perfectly dreadful.”
“Grace,” Arran said mildly.
“Well, I do. I know how it can be to have a less-than-supportive parent. Never mind, Pippa. I shall do my very best to help you in any way I can, and I know Lady Justine is equally devoted.”
“Thank you,” Pippa said.
There were tears on her lashes now. They sparkled like those damnable diamonds.
“Yes, well,” the dowager said. “And this is the really important letter. It came by special messenger not half an hour since. I am so excited, and I know you will be, too.”
He needed to hold Pippa.
“This”—the dowager duchess flourished a piece of creamy parchment—”is from the King himself. Stand up, both of you. It is only fitting.”
Pippa got up immediately and Calum followed. He noted that Arran and Grace also rose.
“Take your husband’s arm, Philipa. This is the appropriate note to send you forth to bear fruit.”
Calum winced at the woman’s insensitivity. Then he straightened his spine and offered Pippa his arm. She placed a hand upon it. Standing close, he could not help but gaze, as he had in the chapel, upon his bride’s skin, so soft and almost as white as her gown against the lustrous darkness of her hair. Her damp black lashes were lowered now, and her full lips trembled before she set them firmly.
In a sudden burst of motion, Arran went around the dowager and opened the door.
“In time you shall be privy to your family’s long history of faithful service to your country,” the Dowager Duchess of Franchot said. “Those years of service are justly rewarded now.”
Calum was not ready for his first family history lesson. “I’m glad,” he said politely.
“All matters of legality are discharged,” the old lady said, reading. “That is what he says. You, Calum, are to assume your rightful title.” She beamed. “In time you will become comfortable with the name with which you were baptized. Until then, of course, you must use whatever name pleases you.”
“Thank you,” he said, glancing at Arran. “I shall always choose to be called Calum by those who are close to me.”
“Perhaps.” Clearly the dowager was not in the mood to be less than generous. “But here are the words that you must take with you to your marriage bed. ‘The King bestows a royal blessing upon your wedding and upon your marriage.’ There.” She stood at her full, diminutive height and held the missive to her bosom.
Calum finally made his feet move and approached the door.
“A blessing from the King!” Grace said, and he heard desperation in her voice.
He looked at Pippa and said, “A blessing from the King? It seems I shall need it.”
The full force of her blue gaze blazed upon him and she snatched her hand away. “It will do you no good.”
Whatever Arran did, he must not remind Calum that he himself had been a fool who needed a thrashing even before the day of his marriage to Grace.
“I behaved like a fool on my wedding day,” Arran said and smiled secretly. There were special moments when pride must be sacrificed for the greater good.
“Are you suggesting that I am behaving like a fool?” Calum asked. Minus his wedding coat and neckcloth and with his back to Arran, he stood with his arms braced on the windowsill in the small study that was part of the quarters he’d chosen over the existing ducal apartments.
“I’m suggesting you are not seeing things quite clearly. Through there”—he pointed toward Calum’s bedchamber, toward the door that led to Pippa’s rooms—“through there lies your wife, man. Use your head and claim her.”
“She does not trust me.”
“I believe she does.”
“You do not understand all that has taken place here.”
“I understand enough. Claim her, man.”
“I do not need to be told when to take my own wife. It shall be in good time.”
“Good time is now.”
Calum swung to face him and picked up a glass of champagne, one that Arran had poured from a bottle left for the bridal couple. “There is no haste in this thing,” Calum said, and drained the glass before pouring another. “I am assuming this place that is rightfully mine under the suffrage of my family. There will be a great deal of adjustment to be made.”
“Lady Justine and young Lord Avenall could not be more delighted than to claim you,” Arran reminded Calum. “And that old—the dowager is a narrow woman who has made her family’s pride the reason for her existence. She will give you what affection she is capable of giving anyone. Your bride will give you enough affection for all—enough for you to drown in, friend.”
“You heard her last words to me,” Calum said. “She told me I should need more than the King’s blessing this night. Very well. I find I’ve not the stomach for disdain from my wife just now. And things that are a matter of duty must only be accomplished as the need arises.”
Arran smiled. “Are you telling me the need doesn’t arise every time you look at that lovely creature?”
“I am telling you nothing.” The glass descended sharply to its tray and Calum proceeded to all but tear off his sash, waistcoat and shirt. “I am tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Tell me one thing, and I’ll leave.”
“Anything. Just give me peace.”
“Do you love her?”
His childhood friend was not quick enough in assuming his mask. Before Calum’s expression faded, Arran saw naked longing in those familiar dark eyes.
Grace would regard this as practice for when she was called upon to instruct Elizabeth in matters of the world. “He is a bridegroom,” she said to Pippa. “That is all this is about.”
“He hates me.”
Oh, dear. “He does not hate you. Quite the reverse. I have certain otherworldly instincts and I know these things.”
Some mild interest flickered in the other woman’s eyes. “You do?”
“Oh, yes. Arran—the marquess—had absolutely no faith in my gifts until they were proven several times. I would tell you about some of them—and I will, when there is time.”
“There is time.”
“Not now. We have more important matters to attend to. Calum loves you deeply. And you love him deeply.”
“Bother.”
“I beg your pardon?”
To Grace’s discomfort, Pippa began to cry quietly. “I said, bother. It is all such a bother. You are right. I do love him. But he believed that I believed ill of him, and that shows no trust. He also thought I might have…Well, he thought I might have allowed some intimate behavior with Franchot—the man we thought was Franchot. How can I forgive him for as much as considering such a thing?”
“You can forgive him. You are both the victims of such extraordinary circumstances, but now they are over. It is time to share the gift of your love.”
“Posh.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The dowager says it. I’ve never liked the word, but it does seem to fit the moment.”
Grace removed the chocolate pot she’d been heating on a trivet by the fire in Pippa’s bedchamber and poured two small cups. One she handed to Pippa. “Warm yourself. We have a deal of discussing to get through, and it must be accomplished quickly. You need the restorative properties chocolate offers. My husband has had to learn to use chocolate in such circumstances. Fortunately, it is something he has loved since childhood, so he is always pleased when I insist he turn from his work a while. He’s a composer, you know. He writes the most marvelous music…Oh, I am such a chatterer—everybody says so. Forgive me.”
“You are the sweetest creature,” Pippa said.
Grace flushed a little with pleasure. “I feel a charge is upon me that I assist you and Calum through this difficult situation.”
“I expect your own wedding was purely a fairy tale. I am certain the marquess showed his adoration for you then as he does with every look now.”
Grace’s heart squeezed with joy. Then she remembered and said, “Arran used to be a blockhead. An arrogant, self-important noddycock in need of learning a good lesson.”
Pippa’s mouth dropped open a little. “Really?”
“Yes, and…” Grace had to be absolutely truthful. “And I was more than a little silly myself, but that is all another story. I will tell you, very briefly, that our wedding began as a dream and very nearly ended in disaster. Yet you see how we have overcome.”
“You adore each other. That is evident.”
“And it is true. Just as you and Calum adore each other.”
Pippa’s lower lip trembled and Grace feared the tears would flow again. “You see how his adoration has brought him to me this night?” Pippa said. “Obviously he is already taking his rest and has entirely forgotten me.”
Grace took an invigorating sip of her own chocolate and regarded Pippa. “I am going to be your mother tonight. That is, I am going to do what your mother would have done had she been here.”
Still dressed in her exquisite gown, Pippa resembled a beautiful, forlorn child and showed no confidence in the assistance Grace offered.
“Yes, well,” Grace said, setting aside her cup and getting up to examine the night rail and robe that had been spread upon the bed in preparation for the wedding night. “This is a magical thing. A gown meant for dancing in the moonlight. Calum has always had a great eye for beauty and he will love the very sight of you in this.”
A glance at Pippa’s pink and averted face warned Grace to be more cautious. “Let us speak plainly of the problems at hand.”
“You must be tired,” Pippa said. “I’ve detained you far too long already.”
“Posh. No, I don’t care for that word, either. I take it the dowager has been responsible for your instructions in wifely behavior?”
“Oh, bother,” Pippa said softly.
“Exactly,” Grace said. “I imagine she did make it all sound quite a bother. You are not to believe a word of it.”
“I don’t.”
Startled, Grace returned to take another sip of chocolate. “You don’t believe the dowager’s instructions?”
“That wifely duties are frightful and to be borne without complaint despite inevitable suffering? No. Of course not.”
“I see.” Grace puffed up her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Well, that is certainly a very splendid beginning. Because they certainly are not. As to the matter of Calum’s behavior…Becoming a bridegroom has provoked an attack of nervous sickness. That is it, pure and simple. I shall always believe some of Arran’s strange behavior was the result of nervous sickness.”
Pippa’s brow furrowed. “Nervous? Calum?”
“Why, certainly! He has a great responsibility. It is his task to ensure that all goes smoothly between the two of you. After all, he is the man. He is the one who thinks he must lead in all things.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “Men can be such perfect cabbage heads.”
“Can’t they just?” Pippa said, shaking her head. “Calum is the most cabbageheaded of all.”
“Will you allow me to guide you?”
“I really don’t think—”
“Good. That is just as it should be. You will not think, and I will think for you. Let us get you into your beautiful, gossamer night rail.”
“Why?”
“Because you are going to go to him.”
“I cannot!”
“You most definitely can. Up with you. Begin as you mean to continue. All that is necessary in the management of these things is to allow men to think they lead us. Allow them to stride about assuming they are the heads of their households. We are the true leaders, my dear friend. And with my help, you will begin exactly as you will be happy to continue with this new husband of yours.”
Pippa rose silently and suffered through Grace’s ministrations until she was dressed in a gown and robe that together were still as transparent as cobwebs. Grace turned discreetly aside so as not to embarrass the young bride.
“Now we are ready to proceed. I imagine Calum will have partaken of a measure or two of strong drink. One hopes not too much, because I understand that can have most undesirable effects.”
“What undesirable effects?” Pippa asked anxiously.
“That discussion is entirely too advanced as yet. Let us pass on. Calum will be in his bed—or so I imagine—and he may most likely have fallen asleep. You will learn that men have another facility most women do not seem to possess. Whilst we remain awake and desolate over our troubles, they manage to set their troubles aside and fall into a deep slumber almost at once.”
“So what purpose would be served by my going to him?” Grace braced herself to be strong. “You will…hmm. You will arouse him.”
Pippa’s lips pursed.
“There are certain ways by which a male may—without exception, almost—be caused to want his wife. Want is what a husband feels toward his wife in such moments when his body, and sometimes his mind, wish to be…hmm. When he wishes to join with you.”
Pippa’s face cleared and she nodded. “Ah, yes. Of course.”
Grace frowned. “There are touches which are guaranteed to produce a response in these—”
“Yes. Yes, quite.” Pippa looked toward the door that led to the dressing room and Calum’s room beyond. “And you think I should…you think I should?�
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“I think you absolutely should. And I think I can promise that Calum will be a most considerate husband. Of course, men have…appetites. The odd thing is that they think their appetites are not necessarily matched by their wives. Fortunately, Arran and I have passed that…Oh, dear.”
“I expect they think this matter of appetites is closely related to the matter of the giving of their seed,” Pippa remarked.
Grace stared.
“You have been most helpful,” Pippa said. She picked up her chocolate cup, drained it and faced the dressing room. “I shall follow your instructions.”
“But I did not finish—”
“I assure you I am well informed—via my studies.” Ethereal in her lovely gown, Pippa approached the dressing room. “Thank you for giving me the courage to do what must be done. I shall go to him now. And I am prepared to receive Calum’s seed as often and for as long as is required to bring forth fruit.”
When the dressing room door closed behind Pippa, Grace found she must sit a moment before going in search of Arran. And when she did return to him, she would definitely need more chocolate.
Charmed Thirty
Calum’s bed sheets had become twisted ropes that bound his blazing body. A small breeze through the open casement did no more than grow warm on his hot skin.
Sleep began to claim him, a fitful, drowning sleep. Darkness slipped upward past his seething brain and he grew still at last.
Faint sounds came to him, the settlings of a strange room in an ancient castle.
A soft hand rested on his ankle.
Now there were to be tormenting spirits in his unkind dreams.
The hand smoothed upward to his knee, then slipped behind and passed over his calf to return to his ankle once more.
Somewhere deep within him, Calum shuddered. He rolled his face toward the windows and willed his nerves to release him from this torment. Sweet torment.
From ankle to knee went the fingers once more. And a second hand began a similar ministration to his other leg.
The outsides of his thighs stiffened under this feathery touch.
And the insides of his thighs.
He was not asleep.
Carefully, he turned back just far enough to look down upon a figure in white that stood beside his bed.
Fascination -and- Charmed Page 73