by Renee Rose
When the study door opened and the sound of the men’s voices carried down the corridor, she set her stitching down and stood up.
Her father showed Auburn into the room. “Please come in for a visit,” he said.
She clamped her teeth together, silently cursing her father. How could he do this to her? He knew she loved Darlington and detested Auburn. Nothing that passed in a silly parlour visit would change her mind.
She gave Auburn a half-hearted curtsy. “Good afternoon.”
He bowed, looking as well-groomed as ever in his expensive black waistcoat.
“Miss Hunt, how charming to see you again.”
She made a noncommittal noise in her throat as an answer and they all sat down.
“It is a lovely day, is it not?”
“Is it?” she asked. “I have not been outside yet.” She did not know if her father had revealed the excitement of the night before, but she had no desire to explain any of it to him.
“Yes, quite lovely.”
She looked out the window and when her gaze returned, found him staring at the blotch on her face as if hiding his repulsion. She flushed, a lifetime of shame rushing back. She wanted to be rude and simply ask him what he thought of her mark, but her tongue tied in the familiar repetition of every social scene, every ball, every social call in which she had wished she could simply make herself invisible so she never had to speak or be spoken to. She could not summon any sense of desirability or confidence Darlington had sparked in her.
To his credit, Auburn looked embarrassed at being caught, and cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you plan to attend the Devonworth ball?” he asked.
“No,” she said, trying to be curt, but falling short when her voice cracked.
“Oh, that is a shame. I should like to have a dance with you.”
I should rather throw myself in a lake.
She could not manage any kind of reply. She wished she were Lady Westerfield, who could charm any man or woman yet still manage to speak her mind. Instead, she sat with her tongue as tangled as the fingers in her lap, her mind a complete blank. She could neither think of anything polite, nor even what she would like to say if she were as blunt as Kitty Westerfield.
Her mother rescued her, as usual. “Eliza would like that, if we do decide to attend. We simply have not had a chance to make our plans as of yet.”
“I see,” Auburn said. “Would you like to take a walk? The day truly is lovely.”
“I cannot,” she blurted, forcing words out of her mouth. Her corset pinched her sides painfully and she shifted in her seat. “I-I fear I am catching a chill. I mean, I have a headache,” she stammered.
Auburn nodded. “Well, I will not keep you. I will call again another time,” he said.
She stood and gave him a wan smile. “It is not necessary,” she said, wanting to disappear.
He bowed and left the room, and she followed, heading straight up to her bedroom where she stood in the window, blinking back tears.
* * *
After having his broken finger set and splinted, he spent the entire day giving reports on the case. By the time he returned home, exhaustion set in. After two nights with very little sleep, his eyes felt gritty and dry and he still had not cleaned up after the fight, other than to rinse the blood from his mouth.
“Oh, sir, you look terrible,” Mrs. Fletcher clucked when he arrived. “Are you hungry? I will have a warm supper for you in no time.”
“Thank you,” he sighed. “I am famished, now that you mention it.”
“These papers arrived today from your solicitor,” the efficient servant said, handing him a sheaf of papers.
He sat down at the dining table and opened them, skimming quickly for the pertinent details.
A loud rap at the door made him groan and drop his head into his hands.
“Do not worry, sir. I will get rid of whoever it may be,” Mrs. Fletcher promised, bustling out to the door.
Hearing the sound of Mr. Hunt’s voice, though, he stood and went out to greet the man.
“Good evening, Mr. Hunt.” He handed the older man the papers from his solicitor. “You might be interested in these—my petition for the title has been granted.”
Hunt took the bundle and glanced through them before looking up, his beady eyes shrewd. But his words came as a surprise. “With or without the title, Eliza is yours,” he said.
He stared at the older man, his mind slow to comprehend the meaning of his words. “Are you—? Eliza is mine?”
“You heard correctly.”
“I will take good care of her, sir,” he promised, elation erasing all exhaustion.
“I know you will, Darlington.”
He extended his palm, and his future father-in-law took his palm loosely because of the splinted finger. “What changed your mind, if not the title?”
“I misjudged you,” Hunt admitted. “I suspected you were after my daughter’s inheritance. But after seeing you two together, I have no doubt of your genuine affection for her.”
Emotion washed through him: a combination of fierce protectiveness and a sense of pride at the thought of Eliza as his own. “She is the only lady for me,” he declared.
“I believe you,” Hunt said. “Now, are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stand in your foyer like an errand boy?”
He chuckled. “Please come in. Mrs. Fletcher was about to serve a little supper, would you care to join me?”
The two men sat down together, all the former tension between them eased as they ate the hot stew and fresh bread.
“I had my own solicitor look into your case, actually,” Hunt said between mouthfuls of the hearty stew.
“And?”
“It will take quite an investment to bring the property back up to standard.”
The tension he had just released returned to his shoulders. “Well, I suppose I am not surprised. It has gone ungoverned for eight years now.”
“You do plan to restore it, and take care of the land and the tenants?”
“Yes,” he said, though the thought of returning to Stenwick turned his stomach. For Eliza, he would do it. She deserved the title of lady and to preside over an estate. She also deserved a husband who did not shrink from facing his demons. He could hardly call himself a man if he could not let go of a childhood long ago.
“Where will you get the capital for the necessary equipment and modernization?”
He set his spoon down and sighed. “With all due respect, sir, I have not had the opportunity to investigate my options yet.”
Hunt wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I can fund the improvements.”
He eyed his potential benefactor. “As an investment or as a gift?”
The corner of Hunt’s mouth turned up. “I like you, son. You are suspicious in nature, like me. I would give the money as a gift, after you marry my daughter.”
He nodded. Part of him—the prideful man—wanted to refuse the gift for fear Hunt would forever look over his shoulder with demands and expectations for how he ran his estate. But it was not fair to Eliza to refuse it, and he probably would have Hunt’s strong opinions regardless of whether he took his money or not.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your generosity.”
“When will you marry?”
He covered his surprise at being asked rather than told. “As soon as possible. I suppose it is up to the ladies. Your wife may have some firm ideas on how these things should be done.”
Hunt chuckled. “I am quite sure you are right.” He stood up. “Speaking of Mrs. Hunt, I should get back. I will allow you to come around and give Eliza the news yourself.”
He stood as well and offered his hand again. “Thank you. I will come to call tomorrow, then.”
He saw Hunt to the door and immediately retired to his room and tumbled into bed. Sleep did not come, though. Instead, memories of his early childhood and the home at Stenwick flitted through his mind, causing his fists to clench and his teeth to gn
ash as he tossed back and forth on his pillow.
Chapter Six
“My dear… a married woman has certain… responsibilities,” her mother said, wringing her gloved hands as she paced around her bedroom.
She smoothed her wedding gown across her knees, picking off an invisible speck as she watched her mother.
If she were a more compassionate daughter, she would interrupt the speech and tell her she already had an adequate understanding of the expectations a husband might have for his bride. Instead she waited, curious to hear how her mother would explain it.
“Your husband will have needs… And, well, you have responsibilities.”
She stifled a giggle.
“He will expect you—” Her mother waved her hand in the air. “He will be—” She whirled and saw her amusement. Looking cross, she huffed. “You understand your obligation to provide him with heirs?”
Now she did laugh. “Yes, Mother, I am aware it is a wifely duty.”
Her mother started to smile a bit herself. “Well, do you know how it is done?”
She dropped her gaze to her skirt again, examining it for any more threads or specks. “Not precisely, but I am certain Lord Darlington will know.”
Her mother sat down on the bed. “Yes, yes, I suppose so. It is just—I want to tell you…”
“You have some advice?” she prompted. “How to do it well?”
“Oh, heavens, no!” her mother said, looking even more flustered. “Only that it may hurt, but you must never refuse him.”
She frowned. “That is your advice?”
Her mother stood up. “Well, never mind!” she snapped. “I am sure you will find your way through it as all brides do.” She began to walk toward the door.
“Wait, Mother,” she said, soothingly.
Her mother stopped and turned back to her.
“Will it always hurt?”
“No, no,” her mother said. “I should not have said that. It hurts a bit at first, then not at all once you have had children. The more you think about it causing you pain, the more uncomfortable it becomes, so it is best not to think at all.”
She felt a wave of sympathy for her mother, whose words did not match the sort of experiences she had already had with her fiancé. Even though she had experienced pain—from his spankings and when he had taken her rear entrance—the pleasure she received had outweighed any discomfort. Perhaps the act of lovemaking her mother so scrupulously avoided describing was much worse, but somehow, she doubted it.
“Is it ever… pleasurable?”
Her mother stiffened. “It is not for pleasure, it is for procreation!”
“So you no longer…”
“Well, of course we still do,” her mother said, her cheeks turning pink. “As I tried to say earlier, men have certain needs. Your duty is to accommodate him whenever he requests it of you.”
“I cannot imagine Lord Darlington would give me much choice,” she said, thinking of the liberties he had already taken with her.
Her mother looked scandalized. “Well, do you have any more questions?”
She stood. “No, I think I can muddle through, as you say.”
“Well, come, let us wait in the parlour for your father to take us to church.”
As it turned out, her father sat waiting for them and the three proceeded to the carriage.
“Are you ready?” her father asked gruffly, looking from her mother to her when they had settled.
She flushed, thinking her father knew the topic of their discussion. “Thank you, Father,” she said to change the topic, “for allowing me to marry Andrew. And for the money you offered to help him restore Stenwick. It is very kind of you.”
Her father waved away her thanks, but looked pleased. “You thought I was going to force Auburn on you when he came to call, did you not?”
“You could have disillusioned me,” she chided.
He smirked, his gaze resting on her with fondness. “In truth, I am none too eager to be rid of you, Elizabeth Grace. You have brought your mother and me a great deal of joy over the years.”
Her eyes smarted. “Oh, Papa, stop,” she implored.
The carriage arrived at the church and she looked out the window to see her groom leaning against the stone wall, the graceful line of his relaxed limbs both comforting and enervating to her at the same time. Just as he had been so familiar with her from the very beginning, she had the peculiar sense they were already married, that he had always been her husband and now he stood simply waiting for her to arrive.
He walked to the carriage, taking her waist into his large hands to assist her from the carriage, smiling into her face with dancing eyes.
I love you, his look seemed to say. I have always loved you.
He took her hand and looped it over his arm, escorting her inside. “You have not changed your mind, have you?”
“You know I have not,” she murmured.
“I cannot wait until you are Lady Darlington,” he said, a wolfish glint in his eye.
She smothered a giggle.
Ordinarily, moments like these would have her ill at ease. She did not like to be on display, even if it was only the vicar and his wife and her parents. But Andrew’s powerful presence, his teasing intimacy demolished her usual tensions and she strode to the front of the parsonage with her head high.
The vicar opened the Book of Common Prayers and began the long ceremony. At last he instructed them to hold hands for their vows. Andrew produced a gold band, which he laid upon the book of prayers for the vicar to bless before he placed it on her finger. He had already given her a beautiful large, square-cut yellow-green stone set in gold to wear as an engagement ring. They knelt for the prayer, before the vicar at last instructed them to hold hands again, and pronounced them married.
Andrew shot her a sidelong glance as the vicar sang the psalm, the same wicked expression on his face he had worn when he escorted her in. She flushed in shame that the vicar should see her husband’s carnal intent.
At last, they signed the register and Andrew led her to his carriage.
“I wish we could forgo the reception and go straight to my house,” he murmured in a low voice.
“Andrew!” she admonished. “I do believe the vicar knew exactly what you wished, as well!”
His mouth twisted into a naughty grin. “Oh, I seriously doubt that. If he had any idea what I plan to do with you, he might never allow us to marry.”
“Well,” she said, pulling an innocent face. “My mother just informed me I must accommodate you whenever you demand it of me.”
Andrew threw back his head and laughed, a rich, deep sound that warmed her.
She batted her eyelashes. “Should I be frightened?”
He picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth, surprising her by taking the fabric of her glove between his teeth and tugging fiercely.
She shrieked and giggled and he wrestled it from her hand like a wild animal.
“Yes, my dear. You should be terribly afraid.”
* * *
He admired Eliza’s shapely figure in her elegant white muslin gown from across the Hunts’ drawing room. Mrs. Hunt had thrown a modest wedding breakfast party to celebrate their wedding. Two dozen guests gathered, including the Westerfields and other members of the ton. His mother-in-law had offered to invite his director Dinshaw as well as Jenners and Smith, but he declined, not wishing to force the mixing of two distinct social groups.
It was painful enough to watch his bride attempting to make herself invisible. Her grip on his arm had turned steely when they had arrived and began to circulate through the crowd. He had tried to reassure her, covering her hand on his arm with his own, or murmuring little jests only she could hear, but they had been separated and he could see from the shuttered look on her face, she would like nothing better than to disappear.
“Will you excuse me?” he murmured to the gentlemen with whom he stood talking. “I have been separated too long from my bride.”
The men chuckled as he left, crossing the room to rescue Eliza.
“You are the most beautiful lady in this room,” he murmured in her ear. “If you do not act like it, I shall be forced to spank you on your wedding night.”
“I would gladly take a spanking from you if it would excuse me from this party,” she replied, causing his cock to press against his trousers.
To hear how amenable his bride might be to his discipline made him ravenous for her. He forgot his original intent of coercing her into socializing as he scanned the room, wondering how long they would have to stay. “You cannot possibly understand the state in which you put me, my dear.”
She lifted her gaze, the stiffness of her mask softening into a seductive smile. “I do not know what my mother meant to impart to me this morning about my responsibilities in the bedroom, but somehow I doubt it had anything to do with spanking.”
He grinned. “Perhaps she is not as naughty as you are?”
“Come to think of it, I do believe Lady Westerfield enjoys a good spanking.”
He struggled to cover his surprise as his cock jerked with excitement. “I know it was I who brought up this topic, but I fear if you continue, I shall be unable to contain my eagerness to pursue the matter immediately.”
Eliza giggled, a melodious sound so free of her earlier restraint it lifted his heart to hear it.
“We shall take it up again tonight, right after I have given you your first spanking as my wife.”
“How did you proceed from threatening chastisement to promising it?”
He grinned. “You have not yet remedied your behavior.”
She arched a brow. “Have you given me a chance?”
He held out his arm. “All right. Let us circulate together. Do your best to obey your husband on your wedding day so you might avoid his lash later this evening.”
His pretty bride did improve her socializing. Though she did not speak much, she did not grip his arm with quite as much vigor as earlier, and she did smile and meet a few eyes before murmuring her thanks or pleasantries.
It was not till evening when at last the party ended and they could escape to his home—no, their home, at least until they moved to Stenwick. He led her to his bedroom, noting the chill in her hands as they entered.