by Cheryl Bolen
The gray moors and the eternally cold winds of Northumbna very much suited her mood, Bonny thought as they walked along in silence, her mind whirling with emotions. Here in this land of mists her parents had lived, loved and died. And nothing of them now remained. Save her. She thought of the quiet man at her side—her husband now—and wondered if she would bear his children, and if those children would have a part of her cherished parents in them.
She and her husband came to a stop atop the knoll where first he had kissed her. They stood amid a bed of wild crocuses that failed to die, despite the wind and ice that unrelentlessly surrounded them.
She felt the whistling winds sting her face as she raised it to meet Radcliffs gaze. “The ring—my wedding ring—is lovely.”
“It was my mother’s.”
She eyed the cleft in his chin. His somber face reflected her own mood. “It seems you remembered everything when you went to London.”
“Which reminds me. I placed the notice of our nuptials in the papers.”
“I am most gratified.” She still could barely believe Radcliff had gone through with the marriage, let alone had taken pains to inform the ton of his intentions. She should feel elated, but she didn’t. She could not entirely blame her mother’s death for her lack of enthusiasm. Her discomfort with Radcliff stemmed from the distance between herself and her husband. There was no easy intimacy between them. No words of love. Not that she could fault him for that. No woman had ever married a more compassionate, unselfish man than her Richard. She had observed so many of his kindnesses during their long journey to Milford. He had made her mother’s final days very happy ones. And with every action and every gaze at his bruising masculinity, he stole another piece of her heart.
If only he could love her with the depth of emotion her father had felt for her mother. If only he cared for more than a lovely face and young body to bear his children.
She looked into his weathered face. “What a wretched wedding day for you,” she said shakily.
“Quit worrying about everyone else, Barbara. It’s all right for you to hurt for yourself.”
“You’ve been in my shoes, haven’t you.”
He nodded solemnly. “When I was three and twenty, my father died. Less than a year later, my mother joined him.”
She swallowed hard, tears once again springing to her eyes. “How did you handle your grief?”
“I thought getting foxed would lessen the pain, and the habits I adopted after my parents died very nearly had me joining them.”
“You must have felt so terribly empty.”
“Utterly.”
The thought of him lonely and suffering nearly overpowered her. She wanted to love him so thoroughly he would never know pain or loneliness again.
They stood facing each other, the wind slashing its chill into their very bones. She raised her head to kiss him, her arms slipping under his greatcoat to pull him into her as his arms encircled her. The feel of his lips on hers was just as powerful as before, but this time he did not pull away. And this time she parted her lips. When she had heard of the French custom of kissing with tongues, she had been horrified, but now she couldn’t get enough of him as they exchanged hungry, wet kisses, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She no longer felt chilled, but rather fevered, as she clung to him, the evidence of his own ardor swelled against her skirts.
He pulled away ever so slightly, his hands brushing stray strands of hair back from her damp temples. “What a passionate little baggage you are, my love, but I shall wait to take you in the marriage bed at Hedley Hall.”
“When will that be?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We shall leave tomorrow.” He pulled her cloak tightly about her, lifted her gloved hand and kissed it.
Walking back toward the hollow, her hand in his, Bonny said, “But I need to go through the things here.”
“This is not a good time for you to do that. We will come later—after you have had time to heal—and my servants will help you pack and go through everything. In the meantime, I have arranged for Mrs. Melville to stay on here.”
God, but he was glad to change to talk of the mundane. He had already revealed to his wife far more than he had ever revealed to anyone, telling her of the suffering when he had lost his parents. He had never admitted the pain to anyone before. Only a weakling let people see his wounds. Just as weak was letting those he loved know how deeply he cared.
He remembered setting off for Eaton like a miniature man, hearing his mother’s soft cries in the distance, while he willed himself not to break down and run back into her secure embrace and admit how desperately he wanted to stay back with her.
But always his father urged him to behave like a man. And a man did not give in to weakness. A man concealed his deepest emotions.
With a grim set to his mouth, he remembered how he had sat beside his mother’s grave and spoke of his love for her—words he had never been able to tell her while she was alive.
Before the dim sun went down that night, Bonny, her husband and cousin, along with a couple dozen villagers, buried her mother in the kirkyard beside her father’s grave. As she stood within the confines of the low rock wall that surrounded the yard, hstening to the lonely whoop of the wind and the words of the vicar, she wiped but a single tear from her eye. She remembered the smile on her mother’s face as she breathed her last breath. And Bonny knew her mother had joined her beloved husband.
After the ceremony, Bonny turned to her own beloved husband. He raised her chin with his knuckle. “Tomorrow, my love, we go to your new home.”
Chapter Six
On this day Radcliff had chosen to ride in the carriage with the ladies, for they would soon arrive at Hedley Hall and he wanted to see his bride’s face when she first set eyes on her new home. Throughout the journey he had continued his practice of riding by himself, rather than undergoing the torture of being so close to his wife, whom he still had not made truly his own.
When he told Bonny on their wedding day he would wait to take her in the marriage bed at Hedley Hall, he had meant it. Making love to her on their actual wedding night was out of the question. She had just buried her mother that very evening. After she was dressed for the night in an embroidered white muslin gown, he had entered her chamber with a sleeping draft and coaxed her into bed, gently pushing the glorious black hair from her beautiful face. “Here, my dear, this will help you sleep,” he had told her.
She looked at him curiously and obeyed. “You are not sleeping here, sir?”
“We can wait until we get to Hedley Hall. We’ll have the rest of our lives. Tonight, we will show respect for your mother.” He had brushed his lips across hers and left her room.
Consummating their marriage in a drafty inn along the way held no appeal to him. Bonny deserved far more grand surroundings, as well as privacy not afforded in the close quarters of the country inns.
Bonny would truly become his wife on his mother’s bed, the bed where he was conceived and born, the bed where his heir would be conceived and born. He had written ahead to his capable housekeeper, Mrs. Green, to redo his mother’s room for his bride. He instructed her to have the room done in a turquoise blue to match Bonny’s eyes.
He turned away from the coach window and took Bonny’s hand in his. “I had best warn you, my love,” he said, “that Hedley Hall is a bit, how should I say it?—awesome for a residence.”
Her eyes flashed. “How so, Richard?”
“I am given to understand the first duke was close to Queen Elizabeth and welcomed her at Hedley Hall, so he wanted it to be quite as magnificent as a palace. Actually, it looks rather like a Tuscan palace. In fact, Cosimo de’ Medici visited Hedley Hall in the sixteenth century and said as much.”
“Oh dear, I assure you I will not know how to act.”
“You will make it a home once again, I am sure. My staff will be at your complete disposal to show you the linen closets and—well, all
the things a mistress of the house knows about.” He shifted his weight on the soft squabs of the carriage. God, this was far more comfortable than his mount. He had ridden enough these past few weeks to last a lifetime. It was a wonder he was not barrel-legged.
“I hope your servants don’t find me meddlesome,” Bonny said.
“They will love you.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “In truth, Hedley Hall is more cozy to live in than one might think. During my parents’ time, they took up residence chiefly in the west wing. That wing, which was added later, has less marble and more wood and seems to me more English. The main building is rather grand and is only used now for large assemblies—of which there have been none since my parents died.”
“You don’t want to open your house to friends?”
“As soon as you are out of mourning, my dear, I want to have the biggest ball ever thrown at Hedley Hall to show you off.”
The duke knew the road well, and as they neared their turnoff, he tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart. “After the next turn, my love, you will see your new home.”
She moved to look through the window. The road they traveled split into two long roads that approached the magnificent Hedley Hall from either side and formed a semicircle which met at the pedimented portico entrance of the symmetrical three-story building. The afternoon sun struck the building in such a manner that the stuccoed brick walls looked golden. The building stretched across a neatly mowed park, and chimneys and dormers jutted from the roofline.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said softly, squeezing his hand.
Her reaction pleased him very much.
In anticipation of meeting their mistress, the liveried servants lined up inside the grand marble entrance hall. Her husband had informed Bonny he kept but a skeleton staff, so she was quite surprised to find that staff numbered more than twenty servants, including a new girl, Marie, whom he had instructed Mrs. Green to engage as Bonny’s personal maid.
As she stood in the massive entry hall with its thirty-foot ceiling and chandelier with hundreds of lights, Bonny’s chest tightened. She had never felt so insignificant, so lost. A vicar’s daughter was as ill prepared to run this...this palace as a stable lad to become a king. She had made a terrible mistake. She would bring embarrassment to her husband. Her eyes scanned the thick scarlet carpet that ran up the broad marble staircase. She looked at the French tables with porcelain vases and the Carrara Roman statues. She knew so little of such treasures. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with a simple country squire?
She looked at her husband and swallowed hard.
The upper servants—Carstairs the butler, Mrs. Carstairs the cook, Evans the valet, Mrs. Green the housekeeper—were introduced by name; the others merely smiled politely.
After introducing the new duchess to her staff, the duke said, “And this is the duchess’s cousin, Lady Emily.”
“Lady Emily! We received a post for you,” Mrs. Green exclaimed. “It’s right over here.” She fetched the letter and gave it to Emily, who took it with shaking hands and read.
“Mama demands that I come home at once.” Emily’s voice revealed her agitation.
Bonny stepped toward her cousin, and Emily handed her the letter. Written immediately after Lady Lucille read the duke’s marriage announcement in the Gazette, the hastily written missive accused Emily of failing to suitably impress the duke and ordered her to come home to try to repair her situation.
Radcliff watched Emily look entreatingly at Bonny, then he asked Mrs. Green, “What room have you made ready for Lady Emily?”
“The green room, your grace.”
He dismissed the servants, then offered his wife his arm as he led her toward the west wing. “I will show you the main house later, my dear.” Turning to Emily, he said, “When would you like to return to London?”
“As soon as possible.”
Their voices echoed in the vast room.
“My carriage is at your disposal.”
“That is very kind, your grace. I should like to depart early tomorrow, then.”
“Oh, Em, are you sure?” Bonny asked disappointedly. “You’re welcome to stay here, isn’t she, Richard.”
“For as long as she likes,” he said.
“No. I really do need to get back.” Emily’s eyes held Bonny’s. “I have a very strong longing to get back to London. There are things there I miss very much.”
They walked along a broad marble hallway, lit by a row of sashed windows.
“If you will just show me to the green room, I shall rest,” Emily said. “I’m quite tired from the journey.”
Bonny moved to Emily’s side and slid an arm around her cousin. “I am so very vexed with myself for allowing you to make such a long journey in your weakened health.”
“Pooh!” Emily said.
The marble floors ran into the newer west wing, but this wing looked cozier because oriental carpets in deep reds and blues covered much of the floors, and the rich dark woods of the wainscoting and balusters added a warmth that was lacking in the opulent main house. As they mounted the stairs, Richard pointed out portraits of various ancestors.
The duke showed Emily to her room, which was near the top of the stairs. Bonny entered the room to satisfy herself that a fire had been laid.
Next, Radcliff walked his wife to the end of the broad hallway to his own chamber, where deep reds covered the bed and windows, and dark woods gave the room a masculine look. Opened draperies offered light from the many windows of this corner room.
Bonny’s eye fell on the large tester bed, but her husband was already walking toward the adjoining dressing room.
“Our rooms connect through this room,” he told her.
She joined him and found the chamber as large as most sleeping chambers.
“Now you will see your room,” he said softly. “It is where I was born. In my mother’s day it was pink, but I had Mrs. Green oversee having it decorated for you.” He opened the door to her room. “I wanted it the color of your eyes.”
Sun bathed the large room from at least ten tall windows, where aqua draperies opened beneath gold cornices. The aqua damask walls and silk bedspread matched the rose-patterned carpet.
The duke watched his wife’s face brighten as she surveyed the room, then turned to him, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”
He kicked the door shut behind him and closed the short gap between them. “I’m glad you like it, for this is the most important room in the house, my love.” He gathered her into his arms. He could hear the rapid thumping of her heart as he held her, cherishing the feel of her, his wife.
He lowered his head to kiss her and was pleased with her hungry response. His hands moved over her back, her hips, pressing her ever closer. Her breath, like his, grew harsh and labored as the kiss deepened. His lips trailed from her mouth to the hollow of her neck, and down the slope of her chest. He reached into her bodice and cupped a breast, while his other hand worked in a frenzy to free her of her dress. When it fell to her waist, his mouth closed over a pink nipple.
Her eyes darted to the window. “We’ll be seen.”
“No one will see us, my love,” he said softly.
She backed away from him. “I would feel better if you drew the draperies, Richard.”
“But I want to see you.”
Color rose to her face. “I would rather you didn’t.”
A smile curved his mouth. “Very well, my love.” He strode to each of the windows and pulled the draperies together, turning to her when he finished, longing in his eyes.
She modestly held her dress over her breasts, her eyes on him as he crossed the floor to her and drew her to him. The top of her dress fell down as she closed her arms around him.
“Don’t be shy, Barbara, for I am your husband. I will know your body as well as you do, and you will know mine. We belong to each other now.” He tugged gently, and the rest of her
garments slid off.
He took her hand and led her across the darkened room to the big tester bed. She lay on the bed, pulling part of the spread to cover her nakedness while her husband threw off his own coat and cravat and kicked off his boots. Wearing only breeches and an open shirt, he came to lie beside her, lifting away the blue bedspread to gaze upon her.
Catching his breath, he swallowed hard as his eyes lingered over her lovely milky white body. God’s eyes, but she was incredibly beautiful! He reached to cup her full breasts, kissing her feverishly until she arched against him, her breath ragged.
Pleased beyond measure at his wife’s hungry response, he slid his hands along her satin curves until his fingers moved into the soft join of her thighs, and she sucked in her breath. After she became accustomed to the gentle movement of his hand, she widened her legs and his stroking eased into her wetness, making her breath come even faster.
She pressed into him, urging him with her movements to continue whatever it was he was doing to her.
He had kept on his breeches so she would not see his enlarged need and be frightened. When he could stand it no longer, he eased open his pants and brought her hand to stroke him. Her hand did not enclose him but petted him as a frightened child might pet a dog.
“It’s all right, my love. This was made to fit perfectly in you.” He gently guided her to lie on her back and withdrew his luxuriously wet finger, replacing it with himself.
She gasped, but it was a gasp of pleasure rather than pain, he discovered as she parted her legs ever wider, raising her hips to meet him.
Mindful of his wife’s innocence, he went ever so gently, savoring the incredible feel of being sheathed within her. As she lunged against him with urgency, he began to plunge deeper and deeper, his mind incapable of anything save the utter joy of his wife’s compliance.
He felt her warm breath and held her tighter as she began to shudder beneath him in wave after wave of wrenching spasms that perfectly matched his own release. Then he collapsed over her.