“Gwenda, Aunt Lydia, I wish you to welcome my wife, Madeline de Marnay, now Madeline Ericksen.” He then turned to her. “Love, this is my sister and my aunt.”
Madeline curtsied politely to the older woman and extended her hand to the younger. Gareth’s aunt regarded her with an austere expression while Gwenda smiled, her cheeks showing dimples similar to those of Gareth.
“This is such a surprise,” Gwenda exclaimed. “When Gareth wrote and told us that he was resigning his commission and returning home, we had no idea it was because he was getting married.”
“Quite a beauty you’ve found yourself, young man,” the older woman said to Gareth as she surveyed Madeline coolly. The voice was rather deep and throaty for a woman; she spoke with crisp authority. “I agree with Gwenda, neither of us ever expected that you would marry.”
“I hope you will make my bride feel welcome,” he said. There was steel in his voice. The remark seemed more addressed to his aunt than his sister, and it was made in the form of a command rather than a request.
“Enchante to meet you both,” Madeline said.
She was led upstairs to a small bedchamber. “This will be your room,” Gareth informed her. “It connects to the master bedroom which I took over as my own a long time ago. I shall not ask you to share it with me until you are ready. I do not wish to make you cry again; therefore, I will refrain from forcing my unwelcome attentions on you.”
He spoke to her in a stiff, formal manner, so coldly unemotional that she felt chilled to her marrow. “Do let me know when you are ready to become my wife.”
Suddenly, she felt very angry with him. How dare he accuse her of holding herself aloof from him when it was just the other way around! He was rejecting her and resting the blame upon her shoulders.
“You have chosen our arrangements. I seem to have no choice but to accept your accommodation. You have given me no decision to make of my own.”
Now he seemed as angry as she was, his eyes flashing with indignation. “Madeline, it is you who have chosen, not I. You have made your feelings regarding me all too painfully clear. I am trying to be considerate and that is why I shall not trouble you.”
When he left, she threw herself upon her bed and began to cry. She hardly heard the door open and someone walk in until a soft, sympathetic voice stirred her.
“Has my brother been quite the brute to you?”
Madeline quickly dried her eyes, not wanting to let Gwenda see the extent of her unhappiness.
“No, he’s made every effort to be considerate of me. He just told me so.”
Gwenda smiled sweetly. “Then why are you so sad?”
“Some things are best not talked about,” Madeline said in a quiet voice.
Gwenda sat down on the bed. “I have always wanted a sister. Should you want one too?” Her question was broached tentatively.
Madeline managed a reassuring smile. “Yes, I would certainly like a sister or a friend – or both. I’ve hardly had a friend close to my own age since I left France.”
Gwenda smiled happily, showing pearly white teeth that were small and even. “You can spend time with Aunt Lydia and myself. I’m certain Gar won’t mind overmuch.”
“No, I don’t think so either,” Madeline said gravely. She wished that he would mind, that he would want to spend his time with her, but she very much doubted it. In marriages where there was no love, husbands quickly divested themselves of their wives. She had seen it all too often among the French aristocracy. Only on formal occasions did husband and wife spend any time together. The thought deepened her mood of gloom.
“Where are you from?” Gwenda asked.
Madeline’s mind was forced to return to the present moment. “From France, but I am also half Scottish. I have family in the Highlands as well.”
“How exciting! I’ve never been anywhere but here. Gar promised to take me with him to London on my seventeenth birthday, but so far I’ve never been south of York. Tell me about France and Scotland, I want to know everything.”
They spent several hours lost in conversation as Madeline organized her clothing in an oak chest and a wardrobe that were in the small room. They opened the windows and the drapes and let the fresh country air sweep in. Madeline could not help but like her sister-in-law. Gwenda was such an open, friendly girl. They were almost of an age but Madeline felt centuries older. Gwenda was so innocent of the ways of the world. Her eyes were wide with interest as she asked question after question and listened with rapt interest to Madeline’s answers. Finally, Madeline grew weary and begged off to take a nap. Gwenda left her but with obvious reluctance.
“You will like it here,” Gwenda said before going. “And my brother really is a good sort of man. He’s always been most solicitous of me. I think he shall be toward you as well. Don’t mind that he’s strict sometimes; like Aunt Lydia, he truly means well.” She offered a sweetly reassuring hug.
Madeline had just settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes when there was a sharp rap at the door. Madeline assumed that it must be Gwenda finding some reason to return.
“Back so soon?” she asked, not bothering to open her weary eyes.
“It’s Lydia,” came the crisp reply.
Madeline immediately sat up and looked across the room.
“I had not meant to disturb you,” the older woman said.
“Quite all right,” she answered quickly.
Lydia paused, her hand pressing back against her hair. Madeline again noticed the spidery wisps of gray in her dark brown hair parted austerely down the middle and brought back to the nape of the neck in a tight bun. Her gown was of plain black cloth, unadorned except for a small, cameo at the neckline. It seemed that Gareth’s aunt deliberately dressed in a drab manner meant to make her look old and unattractive. She wondered at it.
“I wanted to know something of you but it can wait.”
“I have given Gwenda a great deal of conversation; certainly, you deserve some as well.”
“I only wanted to ask why Gareth married you. You see, my nephew never struck me as the sort of man to marry any woman, at least not after the dreadful incident which precipitated his joining the army.”
The directness of Lydia’s comment both surprised and embarrassed her, but she could be just as forthright. Unlike her Papa, she had not developed skill in the art of diplomacy or evasion.
“Madame, I fear the reason for this marriage is all too obvious. Gareth insisted that his child have a name when it is born. I am not as convinced as he that this marriage was wise since your nephew does not have the sort of feelings for me that I believe make for a good marriage.”
“Yet you married him anyway.” Lydia’s eyes were sharp and intense.
Madeline nodded. “It is not something I wish to discuss further, Madame. I am certain Gareth will tell you all that you wish to know.”
“Frankly, girl, I doubt that he would be so inclined. My nephew is not overly fond of me. The fact that I am even tolerated has much to do with Gwenda’s need for a female companion who can provide a steady, guiding influence upon her.”
“I don’t understand,” Madeline said in a confused voice.
“It is really quite simple. When the children’s mother met her tragic and untimely demise, Gareth was a mere lad of twelve and his sister not even a year in age. His mother had left the estate to him but he needed a guardian. It was part of her bitterness that she would not appoint his father as guardian. I volunteered to live with the children. The Duke is my younger brother, you see, and having no family of my own, nor any intention of ever marrying, I simply stepped in and took over. Gareth resented my presence, but there was no question that Gwenda needed me. Servants alone could not be expected to raise an infant, and Gareth was still a boy himself and a troubled one at that. Of course, he was forced to grow up most abruptly. His mother’s death was a terrible tragedy for him. After my brother married, she became severely despondent. Gareth took care of everyone including her.
He was the man of the family. With his mother’s death and my coming into the house, he at least had the opportunity to get some proper schooling. I tried to relieve him to some extent of his burdens and responsibilities. But he was always a very serious lad with a strong sense of honor and duty.”
“Thank you for being so candid with me,” Madeline said.
“Not ‘t all. You see, I have a motive in that. I wish you to be just as honest with me. I dearly love my niece and nephew and want always to help them. I know Gareth quite well and recognize what a difficult man he can be, but he is also decent and generous. I could tell from the first that relations were strained between the two of you. I do hope you will give him a proper chance. He has his moods, but he has a fair mind in most matters.”
When Lydia had gone, Madeline lay back against the pillows and rested thoughtfully. What would come of this marriage between herself and Gareth? She did not know.
♥ ♥ ♥
Neither Lydia nor Gwenda had asked him about his marriage for which Gareth was grateful. He sat in the study looking over the accounts, realizing that his aunt had, as usual, done a good job of keeping the estate going properly. She had taken care of all the problems with the tenants in his absence while the stock was well-tended and the farm was running smoothly. He could have done little better himself.
Gwenda seemed to be blooming. Soon he must think in terms of finding a suitable match for his sister – something that troubled him almost as much as his marriage to Madeline. Many men would consider Gwenda too tall and possibly even too plump. She was a great beauty in his eyes, but her looks were not what the fashionable people favored. Of course, she would have the estate as her dowry portion and that should certainly help. Then again, there was the matter of parentage, he considered bitterly. He could not help but recall how cruelly the people of quality in London had cut him. He was not good enough to marry one of their daughters, only good enough to service their bored and jaded wives. He had promised to bring Gwenda to London, yet he dreaded it. She was such a lovely, innocent child. He had kept her in the country, ignorant of the ugly side of polite society. Perhaps with any luck, he might find her the son of a country squire, someone who would not care that she was a bastard.
There was a knock at the study door and when he called out to enter, Lydia walked in. He stiffened his spine as he always did when she came into the room. She looked so much like his father that he could not feel any affection for her. She was a tall, almost gaunt woman with clear, penetrating dark blue eyes. She rarely smiled and that made her different from the Duke who had always laughed a great deal. Where the Duke had an easy charm, his sister was rarely one to banter. He could not recall his mother smiling or laughing very much either. The Duke would often say that Gareth reminded him of his mother. He could still remember his father speaking to him when he was a small boy.
“Come now,” the Duke would say, “you are too grave a fellow. I fear the Dane in you makes you tedious.” Then the Duke turned to his mother, “Helen, you and the boy take yourselves much too seriously. You must learn to laugh at life.”
Gareth readily admitted it was something he’d never learned to do, but then neither had his father’s sister. At the moment, she was regarding him solemnly.
“What do you want?” he asked. He realized that he sounded irritable, but he had felt despondent because of Madeline and couldn’t seem to shake his bad mood.
“I trust the accounts are in order, Nephew.”
“Perfectly so as always, Aunt. Was there something else?”
She seemed to hesitate but then spoke right up. “It’s about your wife.”
“Forgive me, I do not wish to be curt, but I have no desire to discuss her with anyone.”
“I just wanted to tell you that both Gwenda and I approve of her.”
“Indeed?” He raised a brow, not expecting her comment.
“She’s a lovely young woman. I hope you will be kind to her. I believe she will bloom with the proper ministrations of affection.”
Gareth had the clear notion that his aunt was trying to tell him something but did not wish to come out directly with her advice or opinion. Suggesting by indirection was her usual approach with him.
“Thank you. I am glad that my choice of a wife pleases you.” He gave her a nod of dismissal and she quickly left him.
How could he make his wife happy? She obviously detested him. As much as he desired her, it seemed evident that his attentions made her miserable. Where Madeline was concerned, he felt a lack of self-assurance, uncertain that it would ever work out between them. The Scot had talked of wooing her; should he try to do so? Now there was a novel idea, a man wooing his bride after the wedding ceremony was performed, after he’d bedded and wedded her!
He went back to examining the accounts, thinking that financially things were going better than he ever would have expected. He’d been steadily making money from his shipping investments in the American colonies. Even as he soldiered, his investments had grown rapidly. His analytical skills seemed as keen in business as they were in military matters. How absurd that he could prosper so well in affairs which demanded exercise of the intellect yet do so badly in affairs of the heart. Bloody ironic! He who prided himself on never getting emotionally involved with any woman now had a wife who presented nothing but difficulties.
He could, of course, go to London and ignore the situation for a time. In Madeline’s condition, she could not possibly expect to come, nor would he consider taking her. He had business there that he’d been postponing because of her. There were any number of ladies who would welcome his presence and bestow their favors generously upon him. Not one of them would have cried after the pleasure he had given, not one of them would make him feel like a villain. He suddenly realized that he was very angry with his wife.
He tried to bring his mind to the business at hand, deciding whether to buy more livestock for the farm. Sheep, cows, horses? Perhaps some of each, although sheep had proved the most profitable. Farming in the north required both talent and luck. He understood the principles of farming well enough, having read the most modern tracts on the subject, but he preferred raising livestock. His farm in Cumbria was devoted to sheep, though here, for Gwenda’s sake, he thought to diversify.
He had built up the value of the estate considerably in the past ten years. That gave him a certain sense of pride and self-satisfaction. He could not give Gwenda legitimacy, but he could make certain that she would never want for anything. He was fiercely determined that her husband would be someone worthy. English gentry would overlook a great deal if a young woman were an heiress. He would buy his sister the very best sort of fellow. Long ago he’d vowed that she would be denied nothing of importance. The fact that he made certain she never knew her father was a benefit. Hadn’t it brought him only grief? He sought to protect Gwenda from that.
Gareth closed his account ledgers and put them away. He was feeling tense and uneasy, though he could not understand why. His sense of restlessness made him consider taking a ride on his stallion, but thinking of the beautiful black coat of his horse made his mind drift to thoughts of Madeline’s glossy black hair. How he loved to touch the silky softness of it. Where was she now, he wondered? They had hardly spoken to each other since arriving at his farm. The tension between them had been palpable. He could barely tolerate it and wondered if she felt the same.
He rang for Yarber and inquired in a nonchalant manner as to his wife’s whereabouts.
“I believe the lady is resting, sir,” Yarber replied.
Gareth thought that the old man looked more wrinkled and shriveled than ever then quickly dismissed the depressing thought from his mind. He would always keep the butler on. It was Yarber who had seen to him that day after he found his mother. He had never forgotten and he never would.
Quickly and quietly, he negotiated the steps. He wanted to see her, perhaps talk to her. Really, he very much wanted to make love to her. His body ached for her. If he�
�d thought about it, he wouldn’t have gone to her room, but moving as he was, taking two steps at a time, he hardly had time to think at all and decided that was for the best.
He knocked quietly at the door to her chamber, but when no answer was forthcoming, he tried the handle and found the door unlocked. The draperies were drawn yet there was enough light in the room to see her lying on the bed. She was fast asleep, looking like a little girl with her hair spread across the pillow and her thick, black lashes feathered against her rosy cheeks. He seated himself on the edge of the bed, watching, studying, admiring the swan neck and the perfect alabaster of her skin. He leaned down and kissed her rosebud lips ever so gently. She reminded him of a princess in a fairy tale.
At that moment, Madeline’s silver eyes flickered open and she looked at him in surprise. “Why are you here?”
Twenty-Five
“I’ve come to ravish you of course.”
At that remark, she sat bolt upright and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, her great gray eyes opening wide. He threw his head back and began to laugh at her reaction; her face turned red.
“I said it in jest, only to tease you.”
“To provoke me you mean.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her delicate hands in his own. “We’ve been behaving like strangers toward one another and I confess that I do not like it.”
“If you mean that you wish to have your way with me again then…”
He interrupted her irritably. “Perhaps I would like it, and what would be wrong with it? We are married after all.”
She looked at him thoughtfully and he was sucked into the quiet quicksand of her gaze. “You are right; we really don’t know each other, not the way a husband and wife should. We’ve barely held a conversation, hardly ever, at least about the things that matter to us.”
Gareth wondered with sudden alarm if she were right. He had not actually considered opening himself to her in the manner she suggested. Such a thing meant total trust and he could trust only himself. Sharing his innermost feelings with this mere chit of a girl, making himself wholly vulnerable to her, the very thought was terrifying.
The Chevalier Page 25