Scandalous Brides

by Annette Blair

  He had been unable to see past the tall silver epergnes, although he heard the odd occasional outburst of loud laughter from that end of the table. And twice the children came to visit him, which he thought charming; Merry sitting on his lap and Ron leaning against his shoulder, intent on telling him what a wonderful time they were having being with all the grown-ups. They assured him they were on their best behavior. He could ask Aunt Jane if he didn’t want to take their word for it. They told him simply that they liked Lady Salt very much and that her brother Tom was a capital fellow who knew a lot about ships and blue glass.

  Later, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the Long Gallery for the recital, he was the last to arrive and found Pascoe Church deep in conversation with his wife. Sir Antony, Arthur Ellis and Tom Allenby were all strategically nearby, not unlike mastiffs guarding the master’s bone. He had to smile to himself at the looks on their faces. None of them were pleased that the silver-tongued Pascoe was intent on monopolizing Jane’s time. Most of the ladies had gravitated to the opposite side of the room where Diana held court; Merry and Ron perched stiffly on the sofa beside their mother, and by their gloomy expressions, not happy to be there.

  Salt felt obliged to rescue them from their enforced good behavior. He spent the hour before the recital playing at snakes and ladders with them, at the far end of the Long Gallery, sitting on the rug in front of the second fireplace, where he and the two children could make as much noise as they wanted without disturbing the adults.

  By the time the last of the guests had left for the evening, Jane had retired and he sat over a brandy with Sir Antony in his bookroom. Finally, Sir Antony bid him a good night and went up to his rooms off the first landing. With Tom Allenby and his mother staying at the Earl’s Arlington Street townhouse, Sir Antony’s usual abode when in London, Salt had given him quarters at his Grosvenor Square mansion; a circumstance the congenial Sir Antony took in his stride.

  It was Sir Antony’s throw away comment about Jane as he bid him good night that decided Salt to seek out his wife before he went to sleep. No wonder the Countess was a slight little thing, what with her sparrow’s appetite. She ate nothing more than a bowl of pea soup at dinner, saying the food was far too rich for her, as she was used to very plain meals, and only one course at each sitting.

  “I ask you, Salt,” Sir Antony continued on a huff of disbelief as he set aside his empty brandy glass, the quantity of wine drunk before, during and after dinner loosening his tongue. “What rich merchant worth his moneybags eats plain meals? And one course only? Tom confided that his uncle permitted Jane a fire only every second day. Can you imagine such a frail butterfly eking out such a frugal existence? Not to mention Allenby leaving a will so bizarre it defies comprehension,” he added as he staggered to the door. “And it gets better, y’know. Wait till you read it! I mean, I would need to see it in ink before I believed your merchant neighbor left Caroline ten thousand pounds. Yes, I knew that would make you sit up and take notice! Yes, your sister Caroline, Salt. Young Tom confided in me that Caroline was bequeathed such a sum by his uncle, and for the life of us we don’t know why. If you ask me, two and two just don’t add up to four where Jacob Allenby was concerned. Good night.”

  Salt was of the same opinion. He was completely astounded by Sir Antony’s confession and was inclined to think too much brandy had fuddled his brain. Still, Jacob Allenby’s resentment went deep where the Earls of Salt Hendon were concerned and mentioning Caroline in his will was just the sort of squalid revenge the merchant was likely to make from the grave. As for keeping Jane cold and fed plain meals…

  He tossed aside the nail file on the cluttered dressing table, dismissed Andrews for the evening and padded through to his wife’s rooms, telling himself he hadn’t wished her a good night. Besides, he wanted to make sure she was putting liniment on his nasty handiwork of the night before. God he had been an unthinking ass… If the food was too rich for her, then why hadn’t she said so? He had a kitchen staff of twenty, not including the pastry chef, baker and scullery servants. Cook would’ve obliged her with a bowl of potatoes with lashings of butter, if that was to her fancy, silly girl!

  Not finding her in the bedchamber, he went through to the dressing room and discovered her just out of her hipbath and drying herself behind the ornate dressing screen. Puddles of water had followed her the short distance from bath to screen and there was the distinct smell of scented soap in the air.

  Salt propped himself by the fireplace to wait and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the long looking glass behind the screen was at such an angle that from where he stood it was possible to view the candlelight goings on in the shielded dressing area. He would definitely have the looking glass repositioned tomorrow, but not tonight.

  He watched his wife drying herself by the light of a candelabrum, tackling an overlarge bath sheet that was clearly made for someone of his size and width. When she accidentally stepped on a trailing corner and it flew out of her hands to the floor and she scolded the towel as if it were animate, he smiled indulgently. He wondered why she had taken the prudish step of going behind a screen when it would have been much more comfortable and warm to dry herself before the warmth of the fire. But such thoughts evaporated when she bent at the waist to quickly pick up the bath sheet.

  His intention of scolding her for not eating her dinner, and wishing her a good night before returning to his cold four poster bed, vanished as he felt himself stir. Mesmerized, he watched her toss aside the bath sheet then turn to the looking glass. Catching a glimpse of something about herself in the reflection she moved closer and put up her hands to carefully remove the array of pins that held up her waist-length hair. Salt’s discomfort increased, as she stood on glorious display, naked and unselfconscious before her reflection. And when she let down her hair, leaning forward before tossing her head back so the raven-black mane tumbled, untangled, to the small of her back, he was determined to share her bed.

  He wasn’t sure how long he stood by the fireplace admiring her, dazed by the fact that this most beautiful and utterly captivating woman was finally his wife, but it was long enough for her personal maid to squeak a cough and then run behind the screen with head bowed. He quickly turned to the fireplace, face aglow with embarrassment to be caught out furtively admiring his wife, the maid’s intrusion just as effective as an icy dip in the Thames.

  “His lordship? Here? Oh! Why didn’t you say you were here, my lord?” Jane called out, hurriedly wriggling into a thin cotton nightshift and throwing on a silk dressing gown without bothering to button it up.

  She dismissed Anne with a smile, saying she should get some well-earned sleep, she looked quite tired. She hoped she hadn’t given her too many tasks in the one day? She then thanked Anne for staying up so late and said she would decide what she wanted to wear tomorrow, in the morning.

  “You don’t have to thank your maid for carrying out her duties,” Salt told her with a laugh, as Anne hurriedly left the room with head bent and quietly closed over the door, leaving it ajar. “She stays awake until her tasks are complete. If that means her ladyship arriving home from a ball at three in the morning and must needs be undressed, then so be it.”

  “I truly do feel for Andrews’ position,” Jane quipped, standing beside him and warming her hands at the fireplace. “No wonder he’s so efficient. It’s fear, not devotion, that drives him.”

  Salt frowned, realized she was in jest and playfully tugged a long silky lock of her hair, saying with a smile, “And will fear make her ladyship eat her dinner? I’m told you ate only a bowl of soup. That’s not enough to sustain you.”

  “I assure you, the portions your servants dish up could feed me for a week. Well, not a week, precisely, but a bowl of soup and a handful of bread was my usual dinner. So you needn’t glare at me in that way.”

  “What sort of deprived household were you living in that a bowl of soup constitutes dinner?” he demanded incredulously. “Didn’t that man
look after you properly? It’s just as well he was a chair-ridden cripple. His sort of ruthless economizing could not have sustained a wife, the expense of a mistress and the demands of any brats from both!”

  Jane’s throat constricted and she looked away. “I’m sure Mr. Allenby could have learned a thing or two from you. Susannah, Elizabeth and Jenny don’t have any complaints, do they?”

  He grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “We weren’t talking about me, but that man—”

  “I would prefer not to talk about him,” she answered quietly, meeting his brown eyes. “Ever.”

  His brows snapped over the bridge of his long bony nose. “Did he mistreat you? Tell me.”

  She swallowed and shook her head. No, she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. She couldn’t. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want him to be kind to her out of a sense of sympathy for the life she had led under Jacob Allenby’s protection. How he had treated her as a whore in need of solid correction; how she had had to listen to his endless sermons on the Earl of Salt Hendon’s immoral ways: that she was much better off as she was than as the wife of an unfaithful husband. So she held back her tears and kept the tremble out of her voice to say cheekily,

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me about Susannah and Elizabeth and Jen—”

  “Don’t be absurd!” he said with a huff of embarrassment and let her go. “That’s another matter entirely.”

  “Oh?” she said curiously. “I’m supposed to ignore the existence of these women whom you consort with and yet it bothers you that Jacob Allenby gave me a roof over my head when my father would not?”

  “Of course it bothers me!”

  “Why?” she asked simply. “I may have been tossed onto the streets by my father for one night of illicit passion, but in the intervening years you’ve cavorted with—how many women—ten, twenty, thirty, possibly more; not all at the same time… Though… given half the chance…”

  “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”

  Jane sighed. “No, I really don’t know anything about orgies.” She looked at him openly, as if considering the matter. “And I don’t ever want to know. So, please, if you must participate in such activities, I would prefer you do so here, in London, and not in Wiltshire.” When Salt goggled at her in disbelief, unable to respond, she giggled behind her hand saying, “I may be a complete novice in the marital bed but I am not ignorant.”

  “Marriage is no laughing matter!” he snapped. “It is to be taken very seriously.”

  Jane immediately lost her smile. He was mutinous, as if she was the guilty party. She wondered what he meant. His idea of marriage was surely quite different to hers. She may have had stars in her eyes as an eighteen-year-old but when he had broken off their engagement those stars were quickly extinguished. And just so she never forgot what it was like to fall in love with a nobleman, Jacob Allenby had painted for her a very clear and gloomy picture of what life would be like to be the wife of a wealthy vigorous nobleman who could have any woman he wanted. She thought she had prepared herself for this marriage, but she was wrong. She really could not bear the thought of sharing him.

  She guessed he was naked under his red silk banyan. It gaped wide at the throat to reveal an expanse of bare chest, and where the banyan ended at the knees his strong legs were bare. With his light-chestnut hair tumbled about his shoulders and that intense, long-sighted gaze that made him dip his high forehead to look at her, he was devastatingly handsome. Such good looks coupled with his skill and stamina as a lover, of which she was now acutely reminded after their lovemaking of the night before, made it easy to understand why the Susannahs, Elizabeths, Jennys and most certainly the Dianas of Polite Society, were all ears over toes in lust with him.

  She did not think fidelity and constancy were part of his marriage vocabulary, as she brought her gaze back up to his brown eyes. She might take their wedding vows seriously, even consider them romantic and heartfelt, but men of the Earl of Salt Hendon’s stamp would see the exchange of wedding vows much as they did any contract, legally binding and entirely to their advantage.

  “I do not disagree with you, my lord,” she replied quietly. “Indeed, I would go further and say that wives take their marriage vows far more seriously than do their noble husbands.”

  “Now you are showing your ignorance of the nobility,” he said and looked away into the fire, as if the topic was distasteful to talk about openly. “Noble wives are deceitful; husbands are uncomplicated about their sexual needs. Trust me. I know.”

  She did not doubt his first hand experience. His mistresses must have a husband somewhere and at sometime. She mentally sighed and wished he would just pick her up and carry her to bed and make love to her. All she wanted at that moment was love, laughter and sharing the physical expression of that love with him. She did not want to think about his love life with other women. For this night at least he was exclusively hers.

  She could not predict the future, whether he would remain hers for one week or two, perhaps a month, so she was prepared to jump right in and enjoy him and their time together without fear or favor. But she was no fool. She was not prepared to wait until he had had enough of her then play the cast-off passive wife when he returned to his usual way of life. Tom had told her at dinner that he and his mother had taken a house just around the corner in Upper Brook Street. Lady Despard intended to remain in London a further six weeks before Tom returned to take her back to Bristol. Jane had every intention of leaving London with them. She just hoped Salt didn’t tire of her before then. She didn’t want to be around when he cast her aside for his newest favorite; nor suffer Diana St. John’s gloating triumph when he did.

  Love and laughter and making love, that’s what she needed tonight.

  “Of course, I’m sure you have no regrets making love to all those women,” she said in a light conversational tone, knowing she was goading him terribly. “Not to mention the orgies, where you probably don’t remember how many women you cavorted with. But did it never occur to you that there was the possibility of you contracting some terrible social disease from such cavorts?”

  “Of course it occurred to me!” he bristled, angry embarrassment overriding whatever shock he felt at her raising such a topic. “What do think me? Mad?”

  Jane looked to the ornate plaster ceiling and tried hard not to smile. He was even more handsome when out of sorts and embarrassed. “Jacob Allenby told me once about a type of pox that often infects Lotharios and if left unchecked will send you mad. He says that’s what killed King Henry—

  “We are not having this conversation!” he snapped.

  “But if I can’t have this conversation with my husband, then who can I have it with?” Jane asked earnestly, looking up at him expectantly.

  He cleared his throat, ill at ease yet knowing she had every right to a response.

  “You have no need to be concerned,” he said haltingly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve never… That is, I have never consorted with a common prostitute. As for the others… I was—I am—extremely careful, and since October when I—we—I haven’t—as I said,” he added abruptly, seemingly unable to complete a sentence under her steady gaze, “you have no need for concern.”

  “How very comforting,” she said, seemingly unimpressed. She picked up on the month of October, the month they had officially become engaged, but for the moment was content to push that to the back of her mind in her pursuit of teasing him mercilessly. “But what about the women you have consorted with? Did you ever stop to ask them if they were just as considerate?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he said, horrified at the thought, his awkwardness increasing with every sentence she uttered. He had never been spoken to with such frankness, a habit that was all her own, and he certainly had never openly discussed his love life with anyone. And here his bride was questioning him about his sexual history, no less! He was too dumbstruck to be furious.

  “Did it never occur to you that yo
ur mistresses and any of your casual lovers might have caught something from their other lovers?” she continued with all the casualness of one discussing the day’s menu with the housekeeper. “It’s all very well for you to tell me you’re disease free, but what about Elizabeth and Susannah and—”

  “Enough! This conversation has gone far enough!” he growled. His brow furrowed. “How do you know their names?”

  “Or were they expected to give you a full medical history before you bedded them?” she added, backing away from him to the bedchamber door. “Names?” She shrugged. “I was under the dining room table while you were talking to Sir Antony, remember? And the spectator boxes of your Royal Tennis court have very thin walls. You’d be surprised what I learnt from your gaggle of female admirers.”

  He was appalled. “They are not my admirers and—”

  “No? Well you certainly can’t blame them for ogling you in your tennis breeches, which, by the way, leave nothing to the imagination—”

  “—I wouldn’t take as read the tittle-tattle of a bunch of frustrated hens. Nothing?” he added, face deepening to a nice shade of puce. “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all,” she stated, and was surprised he was self-effacing at being so openly admired. A dimple showed itself in her left cheek. “So I shouldn’t believe that little theatrical display, either? I’ve never seen so much female underclothing in full public view before. And on a tennis court no less!” She smiled sweetly, a hand to the doorjamb. “It was very chivalrous of you to return Jenny Dalrymple’s stocking and garter. No doubt she’ll be only too pleased to offer up a full medical history now that you’ve offered her the post of mistress.” She put up her little nose, not expecting an answer, and, turning on the balls of her bare feet, disappeared into the bedchamber, saying over her shoulder with a toss of her long hair, “Not very romantic, but quite sensible under the circumstances.”