by Julia London
“He ought to be in his kennel, milady,” Hattie said. “Cook said he was making such a wretched racket that I was to bring him up.”
“I’m very glad she did,” Grace said. She picked up the dog and brought him up on the bed and pressed her cheek against his fur. “I’ll need my riding habit today, please,” she said cheerfully.
An hour later, Grace ran down the grand staircase, the braid of her hair swinging above her hip. Her hat dangled by its ribbons from her hand, and her very bad dog—according to Hattie, anyway, as Dog had managed to shred one of Grace’s chemisettes when Hattie had turned her back for a moment—trailed behind her on the lead Mr. Drake had sent up.
Grace expected to find Merryton waiting for her. She expected the barrier between them to have been breached, and that today would begin the true course of their marriage. But then again, Grace had always suffered from an overabundance of hope and lofty expectations.
She smiled at Cox, who tried to pretend as if he didn’t notice Dog was chewing at his shoe. “Where might I find my husband?”
“He is presently in his private study and asks that he not be disturbed.”
“Oh,” Grace said, slightly taken aback. Perhaps he meant disturbed by others. Yes, surely, that was it—after last night, he would not mind if she were to poke her head into his study, would he?
She turned about and walked into the corridor. “Madam?” she heard Cox say, but she kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard him, pausing briefly to chide Dog for digging at the carpet.
At Jeffrey’s closed study door, she stood debating a moment. But Dog was eager to begin his day and yapped.
“Well, thank you for that,” she muttered and knocked on the door.
“Come,” was his muffled reply.
Grace opened the door and peeked around it, forgetting that Dog was with her. The pup dashed in and ran straight for Jeffrey, who was standing at the window with his back to the door.
“Dog! Come here!” Grace cried, but the puppy had a mind of his own and darted off to have a smell about the hearth. Grace looked sheepishly at her husband. His dark curling hair was brushed over his collar. He was wearing buckskins and a black superfine coat worn taut across his broad shoulders. He held one hand at the small of his back, and the other at his side. He was tapping his forefinger to his thumb, always in a pattern of eight.
“Good morning!” she said.
For a sliver of a moment, Grace thought she saw something spark in those hard green eyes, but they quickly shuttered into inscrutability. “Good morning.”
“We are ready,” she announced.
His gaze flicked over her. “I see. The wind is a bit high,” he said. “Perhaps you should not expose yourself to the elements.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right. My mother always said I had an indefatigable constitution.” She laughed.
His jaw bulged slightly with his clench. “Then I’ll have the carriage brought around—”
“Carriage! I thought we were to ride.”
“It is several miles across terrain that is not suited to gentle riding.”
She didn’t understand his demeanor at all, but she instinctively understood that backing down was quite the wrong thing to do. She glanced at Dog, who was gnawing on the corner of the rug. “As luck would have it, neither am I suited to gentle riding.”
His gaze flicked over her again. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll have the mounts brought around.”
She tilted her head to one side, trying to find any crack in his expression. Impossible. He was as practiced as she was in maintaining a serene countenance. “I’ll be waiting,” she said cheerily. She bent down to scoop up her dog and noticed a small puddle. “Oh, dear,” she said, wincing a little. “He’s not yet learned that he shouldn’t do so.”
Merryton looked down. His expression turned dark.
“I’ll tell Cox,” she said, and quickly went out with the naughty dog, who was trying to apologize for his blunder by licking her face. “That won’t do, Dog,” she whispered to him. “I can’t seem to make you understand that you are a guest here, and not a welcome one.”
As she walked along, some of Grace’s confidence began to flag. She tried to understand Merryton as she walked outside and headed for Molly’s cottage. Did Merryton not feel the same sense of euphoria as she? Or the intimate attachment that could only come in a marital bed? Why was he so distant to her now?
It was not to be borne. After last night, she’d truly believed that they would find happy ground on which they could endure their forced marriage, and she was not giving up.
Molly was more than happy to keep an eye on Dog, but her cat was not excited by the prospect. He swiped the puppy’s nose and sent the poor thing dashing around the corner of the cottage, yelping.
“Oh, dear,” Molly said.
“I’ll be back soon!” Grace said, making a hasty departure, fully prepared to offer up a cornucopia of apologies later. At present, she had a husband to tame. The dog would have to come later.
Merryton was on the drive, his weight on one hip, his crop in hand when she returned. Beside him, a boy held two saddled stallions. Grace recognized the black horse with white socks as the mount Merryton had ridden from Bath. The taller horse had been outfitted with a sidesaddle.
Merryton looked at her, then at the boy. “Certainly you have a more suitable mount for the lady?”
“That one will do,” Grace said before he could find another excuse for her not to accompany him.
“Seems rather a big mount for a woman.”
“For most women. But I am not like most women. I happen to be an excellent rider.”
Merryton almost smiled at that. “I’ve heard many women say they are and find it is rarely true.”
“Then you might be rarely surprised,” she said pertly, grateful for the riding lessons her stepfather had insisted she and her sisters take when they were young. “You’ll earn a man’s respect by sitting a saddle well and keeping it beneath you,” he’d said.
Merryton looked dubious, but he gave the boy a curt nod. The boy handed him the reins of the black, and then led the white horse to Grace. A groom appeared with a mounting block.
The horse was still too tall, even with the mounting block. Grace had to put both hands on the saddle and hop into it while the boy steadied the horse. When she had situated herself as best she could on the sidesaddle, the groom handed her the reins and a crop. “He’s got a bit of a temper, mu’um. He won’t like to be held back.”
“Is that so?” Grace said pleasantly. The stallion flexed his shoulders and shimmied his torso, testing her.
Grace leaned over, caressed the horse’s neck and murmured, “Don’t misjudge me—I’ve as firm a hand as he.”
The horse bucked his head in response.
“Shall we?” Merryton asked, looking almost amused. As if he’d wagered on this ride and was already counting his winnings. Bloody rooster.
Grace adjusted her riding hat. “Please,” she said, and gave her horse a tap of the crop, sending him into a trot without waiting for Merryton.
Merryton was quick to catch up, however, and took the lead, slowing down the pace considerably. Grace’s horse followed behind, but the groom was right—she had to keep a firm hold of him. He was chafing, wanting to run. Of course he did—it was a brisk spring day, perfect for people and horses alike. Grace was chafing, wanting to run, too.
When the road widened, Grace moved in beside Merryton. “The park is lovely,” she said, looking around them. “The estate must be very large.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes on the road ahead of them.
So taciturn! “I suppose you have quite a lot of sheep and cows that wander about.”
“Quite a lot,” he agreed.
He could be as taciturn as he liked, but Grace would not be put off. She was clearly new to the intimate secrets between a husband and wife, but she was not new to gentlemen. He had just made himself a puzzle she intended to solve.
He continued at a slow pace, his gaze straight ahead, one hand on the reins, the other one on his thigh. Grace’s horse grew increasingly restless. “Perhaps we might improve the pace?”
“In what way?”
She smiled. “I mean faster,” she said. “My mount and I are restless.”
When Merryton made no move to quicken the pace, Grace nudged her horse to a canter. Her mount eagerly complied, lurching forward ahead of the other horse, proudly snorting and tossing his head about. Grace led him to lope around Merryton in big, wide circles while her husband watched her impassively.
“Has this horse a name?” she called out to him.
“Snow,” he said.
“Snow! How very original!”
“I should think a woman who has named a canine Dog might be more appreciative.”
She giggled. “Touché! The right name hasn’t come to me, but it will.” She reined the horse into a trot alongside him once more. “You are no doubt wondering after my skill in riding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I have been taught to ride by the finest instructors in London,” she said. “My sisters and I are often seen racing on Rotten Row in Hyde Park. Racing! Isn’t it scandalous? Lady Chatham—do you know Lady Chatham? For she knows everyone in England, I think. She says it will not do to have young ladies racing like thugs through Rotten Row. I will confess, that is precisely why we do it.” She laughed again.
Merryton looked at her with slight astonishment.
Grace spurred her horse to trot another circle around him. “I only mention it so that you are aware I am from London. I thought that might interest you...where I have lived.”
“I know from where you hail,” he said, his gaze on the road again.
“But do you know that I also spent quite a lot of my youth at Longmeadow? That is the Earl of Beckington’s seat. Rather far from here, I think, perhaps as much as two days’ ride.”
He said nothing.
“My father was a bishop. He died when I was eight years old. My mother married the earl, and he very kindly took in four daughters and treated them as his own. His son, the new Earl of Beckington—well, he’s Augustine to us—he’ll marry as soon as he has completed his mourning. He is affianced to Miss Monica Hargrove. I would think you’ve not met her.” Grace did not say aloud that, until recently, Monica did not travel in such august circles as Merryton.
He looked away, out over the fields they were passing.
Bloody recalcitrant man, Grace thought. “Oh, but I miss my family terribly. Do you miss yours? I’ve never been away from home for as long as this. It’s a terrible thing to be without one’s siblings, isn’t it? You must know very well what I mean, as your siblings are not here, either.”
She glanced at Merryton and was surprised to see him looking at her. She made a sound of exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, why will you not speak?”
A slow, half smile appeared on his face. “I was not aware there had been an opportunity.”
Grace was so shocked by that smile—only half of one at that—that it was a wonder she didn’t topple right off her horse. “I don’t see the need for us both to be so tight-lipped.”
“Apparently not,” he agreed, his smile widening slightly.
“If you prefer, I will cease to speak. Shall we ride, then? Are you holding your horse under such close rein because you fear I will not keep up? If so, you needn’t fret—I should very much like to run.”
“Then by all means,” he said. “Run.”
Grace frowned at him. The many gentlemen in London who had sought her company were eager to please her in any way they could. This one seemed determined to do anything but please her, and damn his eyes if he wasn’t succeeding brilliantly. “Do you know what I think? I think Snow is a ridiculous name for such fine horseflesh.” And with that, she slapped the crop against Snow’s flank.
Snow responded instantly and began to run, his stride lengthening as she nudged him into the center of the road. Grace bent over his neck. She could feel her braid of hair bouncing against her back, the hem of her riding habit flapping about her ankles. She didn’t even particularly care where the horse ran—at present, she was content with the knowledge that Merryton and Blackwood Hall were fading far behind her. She wondered briefly how long it would take her to ride all the way to London. Had she known the direction, she may very well have tried.
But at the next turn in the road, she encountered a crofter cottage. There were three people in the field beside it, two men with hoes and a woman with a basket. Thank God! Civilization!
All three of them stopped their work when Grace pulled up on the reins of her horse, bringing him to an abrupt halt. She hopped too eagerly off her saddle and landed on all fours. One of the gentlemen lurched forward as if he meant to catch her, but Grace bounced up and smiled, waving her hand in greeting. “Good morning!”
The other man doffed his cap and took a cautious step forward. “Milady?” he said. “Are you lost, then?”
“Lost?” She glanced around them. It looked like the rest of the estate—dark and uninhabited. “No, I don’t think so. You’re tenants of Blackwood Hall, are you?”
“Aye,” the older gentleman said. “And you are...?”
“Oh! Me, yes...I am Lady Merryton.”
Not one of the tenants moved. Not one of them spoke. They all stared at her as if they didn’t speak the king’s English. Before any of them could even peep, the sound of an approaching rider caused them all to turn and look up the road.
Merryton trotted casually into their midst. He looked at Grace standing there, then dismounted fluidly from his horse and walked to where they all stood. “Good morning, Mr. Murphy.” He nodded to the other two.
The woman was quick to dip a curtsy. “Milord,” she said.
Merryton smiled thinly and nodded as he tapped his crop against his leg. Grace wondered if the habit was so ingrained that it was always eight times without a thought.
“Good, you are preparing to sow,” he remarked.
“Aye, milord. Should have it all planted by week’s end,” Mr. Murphy said.
The younger man and woman were still staring at Grace. What must they think? As Merryton made no move to introduce her, she touched his hand in an attempt to remind him. He flinched slightly and looked at her. “Forgive me,” he said at once. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Murphy, and his son and daughter-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy.” To his tenants he said, “My wife, Lady Merryton.”
Grace beamed at them. “A pleasure. I hope to see you about Blackwood Hall. You do come to the hall on occasion, don’t you?”
The three Murphys all exchanged a look. “Yes,” Mr. Murphy said. “Forgive us—our felicitations.”
“With many happy returns,” the woman said, recovering. “We...” She glanced at the two men. “We weren’t aware you’d taken a wife, my lord.”
“Yes.” Merryton said no more than that, and clasped his hands tightly at his back. Very tightly.
“Only recently,” Grace added, and reached for his hand. He resisted her, but she dug her fingernails into the bit of exposed wrist she could feel and tugged it free. She held his hand tightly in her own. “In Bath,” she added. “We intended to have a grand wedding, but we were so in love we married straightaway.”
That earned her a sharp squeeze of her hand, but Grace squeezed right back. “We’ll host a gathering to celebrate properly, very soon. You’ll all be invited.”
Now Merryton squeezed her hand hard enough to make her wince slightly.
“Oh!” Mrs. Murphy said, smiling now. “That would be lovely!”
“We will leave you now to carry on,” Merryton said, and looked down at Grace. “Must get my bride home.”
Grace smiled up at him. She could see the warning in his green eyes and flatly ignored it. “What a pleasure it has been to make your acquaintance,” she said to the Murphys again.
“Good day,” Merryton said, and with his hand now firmly in th
e small of her back, he ushered her to her horse. When he cupped his hands to help her up, Grace offered her foot with a bit of a kick. He vaulted her up with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary.
As they rode away, Grace waved at the Murphys. The three of them had moved to the middle of the road, watching them curiously. When they had ridden a distance, Grace said, “Could you not say a bit more to them? They were so clearly curious of your sudden marriage!”
“So much in love?” he repeated with incredulity to the sky.
“Would you rather I have told them the truth?”
“Of course not! Has it ever occurred to you that there is some virtue in prudence? It is none of their concern.”
“Prudence! What do you know of prudence? You scarcely even spoke to them! Those are the people who till your land—you might at least show them the courtesy of introducing your unexpected wife!”
“When exactly would I have gathered around my tenants and shared the happy news?” he shot back, and gripped his reins tightly, shifting in his saddle. “Do not think to instruct me on etiquette.”
“I happen to be an expert on manners and etiquette, particularly in difficult situations,” she said. “I will have you know that I am a frequent visitor to the grandest salons in London. I am never without invitation, because I understand the social graces and how these things are done.”
“How grand for you. But this, as you may have noticed, is not London.”
“It hardly matters!”
“Of course it does,” he said curtly, looking away from her.
“Of course it does not. People are people, Merryton! It hardly matters if they are standing in a ballroom or in a field—we all like to think that the person addressing us respects us enough to tell us that they have married!”
As usual, he said nothing, but she could see the way his fist curled on his thigh.
She suddenly remembered what Molly Madigan had told her about him and drew a breath to calm herself. “I realize your bashfulness makes it difficult—”
“My what?” he roared, jerking his gaze to her.
“Your bashfulness!”
“You think bashfulness plagues me?” He gave a bark of astonished laughter and shook his head.