by Gaelen Foley
“I’ll never tell. Go on, open it. Don’t try to lift it, though. It’s too heavy. Just take off its clothes.”
Her cousins shrieked at his mischievous whisper. Aunt Denbury’s eyes widened; Miss Trent choked; the earl scowled. Suppressing laughter, Carissa gave him a warning look that scolded him to behave. Then, pink-cheeked from his flirting, she did what he suggested. As she untied the ribbon, she realized that never in her life had anyone made such a fuss over her. It really was bizarre.
Taking hold of a corner of the silken square, she glanced at him where he sat in the nearby armchair; he stared back at her like a man at a card game, his face revealing nothing. He rested his chin on his fist.
Then she whisked the silk away and gasped in amazement at the ornate, gilded, vase-clock sort of a thing built in layers. The bottom was a sturdy wooden pediment ornamented with flower garlands and medallions. Above that was a small pastel painting of what looked like the main pavilion at Vauxhall, and above that, there sat golden figurines of four musicians with their instruments.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, staring at the mystery. “But, um . . . what is it, then?”
“Hold on thirty seconds, and you’ll see.”
She turned to him, brow furrowed. “Why is that?”
“I know what that is!” Horace announced, stepping closer. “It’s an automaton clock!”
And right as the hour struck, the clock came to life with a single, melodious chime.
A great whirring and clicking gathered from inside its wooden mechanical housing. The chimes turned to music, the gilded players striking their instruments, their tiny arms working to produce the little, tinkling, music-box melody.
At the same time, a tiny placard popped down in front of “Vauxhall” that said: Dance.
On this command, painted figures of waltzing couples only as tall as her pinky finger emerged from the side of the vase and began revolving across the front of the Vauxhall painting and back into the other side. She counted ten different pairs of little painted dancers, each clothed in the first stare of fashion.
The girls exclaimed in wonder as the next feature clicked into motion—a miniature Cupid flew out of a tiny golden door and began circling above the dancers, bobbing up and down mechanically with his bow and arrow, as if looking for a target.
“Oh, how perfectly delightful, Lord Beauchamp!”
“It’s a marvel!”
They all clapped when the little show was over. The musicians stilled their bows; the dancers retired until the next set on the quarter hour; and Cupid flew back into his hiding place.
“Do you like it?”
“I do! Thank you so much, you dear man. It’s magical,” she told him with a warm gaze.
“You forgot to read the inscription on the back,” he added softly.
Mystified, Carissa stepped around the corner of the table to view the back of the musical automaton clock. She leaned closer to read the small brass plaque attached to the wooden base. She saw he’d had it engraved.
Flowing script letters recorded their names and the date of their marriage, and then in plainer block font beneath this, she read the inscription: TO MY SWEET CARISSA. DANCE WITH ME FOREVER. YOUR LOVING HUSBAND, BEAU.
Her heart fluttered as she read it a second time. Speechless, she went over and hugged him.
When he drew her into his arms with a low, fond laugh, she kissed him fervently on the cheek. I think I’m going to like being married to you.
As she pulled back, he captured her face between his fingertips and gazed, smiling, into her eyes. His lack of a droll comment filled her with exquisite, trembling hope that he actually meant every word of that romantic inscription and that it was not just his usual, droll hyperbole.
Maybe he wasn’t just marrying her in order to make sure she didn’t spill his secrets. Maybe he truly cared.
When he chucked her gently under the chin and told her to continue opening presents, she could not find her voice. His generosity and the words engraved on that splendid clock had practically melted her into a puddle of honey on the floor. “Go on,” he urged, nodding toward the other boxes. “I’m not done spoiling you yet.”
The dreamlike feeling returned as he awed her yet again, with a beautiful opal necklace made small and delicate enough not to overwhelm her petite stature. So much of the Renaissance-Revival-style jewelry so popular was too much for a lady of only five-foot-one. Miss Trent helped put the necklace on her, and they all admired her while he beamed with husbandly pride.
“I had a feeling that stone would look perfect with your skin.”
The smolder in his eyes was growing stronger as she kissed him in thanks, this time a cautious peck on the lips. His fourth present, thankfully, lightened the mood. She knew he was up to something when he set the largest of the three pasteboard boxes on her lap. It was wide and tall, circular in shape, but for its size, it felt lighter than it looked.
She pulled off the ribbon, then lifted the lid. And promptly burst out laughing as she lifted out the most hideous bonnet the world had ever seen.
“What? You don’t like it?” he exclaimed, pretending hurt.
“It looks like a drowned peacock on top of a rat’s nest!” She laughed uproariously, as much in release of nervous tension as with real humor.
Her relatives were silent; politely baffled, they knew not how to react. They could not imagine why the man would give her such a thing—or why she’d laugh—but it was a private joke between the two of them.
The promised hat.
The moment was seared in her memory from that night at Dante House, when he had promised to take her to the best milliner’s shop in London and buy her any hat she wanted if she’d just hold still and let him make the stitches.
His way of apologizing for having to clip a little of her hair to clean the wound. “Well done! You are true to your word, my lord!” she declared.
“Put it on. I want to see how beautiful you look.”
She did, presenting herself with a flourish.
“Gorgeous,” he declared.
“Oh, but, cousin, you can’t wear that in public!” Araminta burst out, unable to help herself.
“She’s right,” Joss agreed sternly. “It’s horrid.”
Carissa laughed harder. “No, it isn’t! It’s all the kick.”
“She’s just jealous,” Beau said knowingly, folding his arms across his chest with a sly nod.
“Don’t be jealous, Min. You can borrow it anytime you like!”
“You two are mad,” Uncle Denbury muttered.
“The Batty Beauchamps,” little cousin Horace suggested.
“Hmm, I rather like that,” Beau replied. The final gift proved a return of his cheeky humor: the perfect gift for a lady of information.
He waited for her reaction as she opened the box and carefully brushed aside the tissue wrapping to discover the next bit of jeweled frivolity he’d bought her.
Nestled in the tissue paper, she found a diamond-encrusted opera glass, so she could snoop in style.
She looked at him in adoring amusement, not knowing whether to laugh or to shake her head at him in chiding.
He grinned, apparently knowing what this gift meant to her. Acceptance of her foible. Affection for her anyway, in spite of her being a . . . gossip.
There, she could admit it.
Then it was time to go, leaving as a resident of her uncle’s house for the last time. It was oddly difficult, even though she was only moving a few blocks away. She’d still be in Mayfair.
Amid the cycle of farewells, she was still nervous about the wedding night ahead. He must have known she would feel that way, which was why he had looked for props to make her laugh to help dissipate the tension.
The touching realization of his kindness also helped put her at ease. If she could just get through their first time with all its uncertainties, then she had to believe everything would be all right. Besides, in her heart, she knew the truth: This man had long
since seduced her.
All that remained was to consummate the match.
Chapter 9
A married man. Fancy that. Beau was quiet, musing in the carriage on the fact that his rakehell days were done.
He would’ve thought a part of him would bemoan the close of his career as a seducer, but he found himself glad to put old ways behind him. All it had taken was finding the right woman. He glanced over at his new bride beside him. Hand in hand, they rode in companionable silence after their long, eventful day. Studying her, he noticed that she looked a little apprehensive about tonight.
Touched by her innocence, he smiled to himself. He’d soon dismiss her maiden fears. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles to give her silent reassurance.
She sent him a grateful smile.
“It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” he murmured.
She nodded. “I think it all went well.”
“I’m glad you liked your presents.”
“I have something for you, too.” She turned to face him. “I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”
“Oh, really?” he teased her with a playful leer.
“It’s nothing improper, you rogue,” she said with a grin. “Though I did buy something special to wear for you tonight.” She bit her lip shyly.
“You did?” He sat up straight. “What color?”
She laughed. “You’ll see soon enough.”
He moaned.
She studied him in amused affection. “You were wonderful with my uncle’s family. Thank you for that. They can be difficult to manage at times.”
“So can we all.” He paused. “Will you miss them?”
“No, they’re just a few blocks away. That is far enough,” she added archly.
“Then why were you looking so somber a moment ago?”
She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I was just wondering what the gossips will make of all this. What do you suppose Society will think of our hasty marriage?”
He leaned back against the cushioned squabs with an idle shrug. “Who cares?”
She looked startled. “Well, I do, for one!”
“Why?”
“I don’t like people to gossip about me. What?”
He eyed her skeptically. “Nothing. It’s just, well, it’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?” she exclaimed.
“Putting the speed of our ‘courtship’ aside, you will be a countess, dear. I’m afraid being the subject of talk and observation comes with the coronet. Especially when it’s me you married.”
She stared at him.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you are equal to the task.”
“I’m glad you’re sure,” she muttered. “Don’t you know what people are going to think?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “You’re the expert on such things. Enlighten me.”
“That improprieties took place between us—you being you. That this hasty marriage was necessary—if you take my meaning!” She pointed to her stomach.
“Oh, nobody’s going to think that, and even if they do, they’ll see they were wrong when no little Junior arrives before the requisite nine months.”
“Yes, but in the meanwhile, I don’t relish being the subject of rude and indecent speculation.”
“Very well, if anyone gossips about you, you come tell your husband, and I’ll shoot ’em.”
“You’re not taking this at all seriously.”
“No.”
“But of course not. You’re not the one whose name will be dragged through the gutter. Mine will!”
“Why on earth do you think that?”
“Because you could’ve had anyone!” she exclaimed. “ ‘Why would he pick her?’ That’s what they’re going to say. No one will be able to make sense of it!”
“Are you daft?” he asked indignantly. “Look at you, Carissa! You’re beautiful! Clever. Charming. You’re perfect for me.” He sat back again, scowling mildly at her. “You’re the only one who seems to think it strange that I should want you.”
“But you didn’t,” she replied, holding his gaze in challenge. “You were forced to marry me because I snooped in Dante House, remember? Your only purpose was to keep me quiet.”
He stared at her. “You still think that’s the only reason, even after what I had inscribed on the automaton clock?”
She tilted her head, searching his face for a long moment. “You puzzle me.”
“You think too much. Relax a little, love.” He gave her cheek a fond caress. “I’m not going to let anyone say anything bad about you. In the meanwhile, I suggest you try not to let the silly gossips bother you so much. Whatever they say, it’s really quite meaningless, believe me. After all, you know who your true friends are. Their opinions are the ones that matter. And they are going to be very happy for us.”
She was silent.
He looked at her intently. “Surely you are not so entirely untrusting that you even doubt your friends?”
She stared beseechingly into his eyes.
“You doubt me?”
“No—I doubt myself,” she admitted.
Trailing his gaze over her lovely face, he saw the distress in her green eyes and tried to understand. “You doubt that you deserve affection?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just—if I rely on it, if I let myself need anyone . . .” She struggled with her words, dropping her gaze. “Every time I’ve ever let myself depend on someone, they disappear. That’s why I always try to rely only on myself.”
“Carissa,” he said softly, “I’m your husband now. You can count on me. Do try to get used to that fact, all right?”
She conceded with a nod, but a wary smile tugged at her lips.
“Now put all your cares out of your mind, my lady! These are my orders, as your lord and husband. It’s your wedding day! Be happy!” He seized her about the waist and pulled her onto his lap, planting a loud kiss on her cheek just as the carriage rolled to a halt.
“You’re mad,” she chided in a soft, breathy tone right before he captured her mouth for a more serious sort of kiss. The light caress of his lips evoked a dreamy sigh from hers that told him he had succeeded in chasing away her fears, at least for the moment. The silken stroke of her tongue gave him a tantalizing taste of what was still to come tonight, while the thrill of the chemistry between them heated every inch of his body.
Then his servant came and got the carriage door.
As the man put down the step, Beau gave her a smile. “Welcome to your new home.” He got out, straightened his coat, and called cheerfully to his butler: “Get the door, Vickers!” Then he turned back for his bride.
When she appeared in the open doorway of the carriage, he swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold.
“Welcome home, my darling,” he was moved to whisper as he stepped into the entrance hall. He felt like she needed to hear it.
Her embrace tightened around his neck as she returned his kiss. Then he set her down and steadied her while she blinked back tears of emotion. As she regained her composure, he began introducing her to the entire domestic staff assembled there to welcome the new lady of the house.
Under the rule of the ever-capable butler, Vickers, the domestic staff numbered about twenty in all, not including the outdoor gang of stableboys and gardeners. The footmen wore their full Lockwood livery for their master’s wedding day, gold brocade with peacock blue; the maids were dressed in their best uniforms, with starched white aprons. They bowed and curtsied to her, presenting her with flowers and a few small gifts.
Beau was quite pleased with how his household made her welcome. The staff were always wonderfully efficient, but more importantly to him, they were a cheerful bunch. He had never been one to tolerate a rudesby under his roof. It was one of his greatest needs in life to have a happy home; therefore, any troublemakers or dark clouds were soon sent packing. Those who passed muster and rema
ined appreciated their situation, for he was a generous master and treated his people well.
As a result, they were devoted to him and took pride in their work, especially in their frantic preparations over the past week in readying for his domicile for the new Lady Beauchamp’s arrival.
When he had introduced everyone, they then embarked on a tour of the house, for he was determined to make his bride feel at home. His town house was not vast like the mansion, Lockwood House, which he’d inherit when his father died. Obviously, he was in no hurry for that day to come. Besides, his present dwelling suited him well. It was equal parts elegant and snug; it was convenient in every respect, and with minimal upkeep, it gave him no headaches when he had to travel for long periods of time. He just hoped it was grand enough for Carissa.
He got the impression there were a lot of marriageable young debutantes out there who would have insisted on something more magnificent. Beau had no desire to move.
Years of roaming the Continent like a nomad made him grateful for the stability of having one set address to come home to.
Showing her first the rooms on the ground floor where they had entered, he opened the door to the anteroom off the entrance hall. With its rows of bookshelves and its bay window overlooking the street, he generally used it as his study, and the likeliest place for receiving business callers when he had meetings.
Next, he led her down the corridor, past the foot of the grand staircase, to the formal dining room. Every candle had been lighted: He had wanted the room to sparkle so she would be impressed.
He glanced at her and saw he had succeeded. Her eyes shone in the candlelight. Good, he thought, relieved to escape the disruption of noisy, dusty home renovations to suit his lady’s tastes.
Moving on, he led her toward the back of the house to the well-appointed kitchen. Cook had made sure not a crumb had been left on the floor. Carissa admired the very modern cooking range and declared she had no idea how to use it. Mrs. Tarleton assured Her Ladyship she would explain all about its many features if she wished.
“Some other time,” Beau replied, playfully tugging his viscountess along toward the back door at the far end of the central hallway. He took her outside for a peek into the garden and beyond that, the mews, where her new carriage had been stored.