“Never tell me that Lady Diana is not attending your wedding!”
“Oh, no, she and Elizabeth will be there—never fear.” His expression hard, Julian added, “After the most moving and tearful session that you can ever imagine, I told Diana that if she intended to have a friendly relationship with both my wife and myself, that it would be in her best interest to make an appearance at the wedding.” He smiled grimly. “She saw my point…and I held out the added lure that since I am sending Dibble and several of the senior staff to Wyndham Manor for the winter, she has carte blanche to hire her own servants. I’m hoping by next spring she can be convinced that she’d like an establishment in town of her own—one I’ll joyfully provide—and Nell and I will have this place to ourselves.”
There was much left unsaid and Marcus did not envy Julian the coming months. The conversation went on to other topics, but eventually wandered back to the coming nuptials. “Have you heard from Stacey? I can’t imagine him missing your wedding.”
Thinking of the Honorable Stacey Bannister, the son of Julian’s father’s youngest and best-beloved sister, Julian smiled. “Stacey? No, I have not heard from or seen him, but I expect him to arrive on my doorstep any moment, just as you did.”
“And Charles and his brother and dear Aunt Sofia? Will they arrive on your doorstep, too?”
Julian’s lips thinned. “Aside from our other differences, Charles is aware that I hold him partially responsible for Daniel’s death. I know that he loved the boy and I’m certain that in his mind he saw nothing wrong in introducing Daniel to Tynedale and that wild crowd of his—probably thought he was doing him a favor, but that favor led to Daniel’s suicide. I doubt that Charles or any of his family will attend.”
His gaze on the amber liquor in his snifter, Julian’s thoughts were far away, dwelling on the tragedy of Daniel’s death and the estrangement between himself and Charles—once considered one of his favorite cousins.
After a moment he shook away the darkness and asked abruptly, “Where are you staying? Surely you did not reopen your townhouse for this short stay?”
Marcus shook his head. “No, I’ve taken a suite of rooms at Stephens’s and will return to my hunting box on Thursday.”
The two men rose and, walking Marcus to the door, Julian asked, “Will you be my groomsman?”
“Indeed. I would be insulted if you had not asked.”
The day of the wedding dawned wet and dreary and, staring at the unappealing weather, Nell rather thought that it fit her mood exactly. The past precious few days had vanished in a rush of preparation, but now all was in readiness. The Special License had been obtained, the church selected, and her father had ordered Chatham to see that all was in readiness for the wedding breakfast to be held at the house immediately following the wedding. The kitchen staff, prodded and berated by Cook, had been working at a full gallop in the short time allotted them to prepare food and drink that would not shame a pasha.
The wedding was scheduled for eleven thirty that morning and, beyond the occasional flash of panic, Nell felt detached from the proceedings. She had taken little part, letting her father and the earl make plans as they wished. If she was going to be handed off like a piece of booty from one pirate to another, what difference did her opinion matter?
Entering the carriage for the short ride to the cathedral, she listened with only half an ear to her father’s muttered complaints about the steady rain. In the cold, damp church, she removed her cloak, shook out her pale lilac gown, adjusted the small flowered headdress of yellow rosebuds and, with her father at her side walked down the aisle to meet the man who would be her husband.
The wedding party was small: only Nell, Julian, Sir Edward, Nell’s brothers, Marcus Sherbrook, who acted as Julian’s groomsman, Elizabeth and Lady Diana, who sobbed daintily into her lace handkerchief. Several of the pews were filled, though, with members of the ton who attended, Nell suspected, as much from curiosity as a desire to share in the celebration. The service was mercifully brief and passed in a haze for Nell. All she was aware of was the wide gold band that lay heavily on her finger and that the tall, broad-shouldered stranger at her side was now her husband. Not even her father’s beaming face nor the proud expressions on her brothers’ faces, nor even the kind smile bent upon her by Julian’s groomsman, broke through the gloom that surrounded her.
For her family’s sake, despite her detached air, Nell tried to partake in the festivities. At the wedding breakfast, she ate, chatted and graciously accepted the congratulations given to her by the various guests, all the while wondering if this was another nightmare, different, but no less terrifying.
The time finally came to leave, and amid laughter and good wishes, her sable-lined cloak billowing in the wind from the storm, she was handed into Wyndham’s coach for the drive to Talcott’s mansion some miles outside of London. She and Julian would remain there a week—long enough for her husband’s formidable butler, Dibble, and others of the earl’s servants to return to Wyndham Hall, her new home in the country, and for them to make everything ready for the arrival of the new lady of the house.
In the meantime, there was the present to be gotten through. Suddenly thinking of the night to come she swallowed and risked a glance at the tall, dark-haired gentleman sitting across from her. Good God! He, this stranger, this man she barely knew, was going to share her bed tonight and, if he so chose, all the nights for the remainder of her life.
In the murky, uncertain light inside the coach, she stared across at him, feeling like a mare confronted by an unknown stallion. And I am not even in season, she thought almost hysterically.
Catching her eye, Julian smiled. “Everything must seem a little strange to you.”
“A little,” she admitted, dropping her gaze to her gloved hands.
“I am sorry for it—the haste of our marriage.”
“Only the haste?” she asked dryly.
He shrugged. “Ours is not your usual match, but it is also not the first time that strangers have found themselves wed to each other.” When she remained silent, he bent forward and she scooted back slightly, keeping a good distance between them. Julian noted it and his lips tightened. A skittish bride did not bode well for their future together. Quietly he said, “As I told you once, we can make of this what we want. I cannot force you into complaisance, nor can I make you, if not happy in our marriage, at least content. Only you can do that.”
Her jaw clenched. “How very easy for you to say—your life is not the one torn asunder,” she snapped. “It is in your home that I will be living, your servants that inhabit it. They are all strangers to me, used to your stepmother’s ways, and now, suddenly, I am to supplant your stepmother in a place she has called home for years! I lief as face a pack of wild boars! Beyond my own maid, Becky, and my clothing, there will not be one thing that is familiar to me—and I am to be happy with that? Content?” Her eyes flashed. “I have left behind everything that I have ever known—my father, my home—for what? Life with a man I did not want to marry and do not know.”
“I concede all of those things,” he admitted ruefully, “but in time I trust that you will no longer think of them as mine, but as ours.”
Irritated by his calm, sensible manner, she demanded, “Are you always so reasonable?”
He laughed. “No, not always—I have been known to lose my temper, though not often, I hope, and I’m not above sulking about when things don’t go as I planned.” Reaching across the distance that separated them, he took one of her hands in his. “I know that this is not easy for you”—and when she would have spoken, he added hastily—“and that it is far easier for me than you.” His eyes met hers. “But we are married, and while all is strange and unfamiliar now, we have our whole lives to learn of each other.”
“Aren’t you the least angry at having an unknown female foisted off on you as your bride?” she asked curiously.
“Not when she is as charming and agreeable as you, my dear,” he repli
ed, a twinkle in his eyes.
Despite herself, Nell giggled. “What a whisker! I have not been the least charming and I certainly would not call my conduct agreeable.”
“Now how am I to reply to that? I am far too polite to call my wife a liar”—the twinkle became more pronounced—“nor would I dare say, not if I value my life, that you are disagreeable.”
“A quandary, most certainly, my lord, but one from which a gentleman of your address should speedily extricate himself,” she said, an impish smile crossing her face.
He laughed and her mood inexplicably lightened and she was able to enjoy the journey. The earl had set himself to entertaining his reluctant bride and when the coach swung to a stop in front of a charming mansion sometime later, Nell descended the coach, if not happy with the situation, at least no longer so glum.
The earl knew the servants, having stayed at Talcott’s place many times before, and after Talcott’s butler had shown them to an elegant salon, he asked, “Tell me, Hurst, has my valet and milady’s maid arrived?”
Hurst bowed and said, “Yes, my lord, a few hours ago.”
Julian turned back to Nell and said, “Perhaps you would like to see your room and change and refresh yourself before dinner?”
Nell gratefully fell in with his suggestion. She was shown upstairs to her bedchamber, where she found Becky waiting for her. Becky, born and bred in the country, was still stunned by the sudden marriage. Her eyes big, she said, “Oh, miss…” She blushed and corrected, “Your ladyship, I am so glad to see you! I feared that I might well be waiting for you in the earl’s bedroom and I was ready sink if his lordship should have come in!”
Relaxing for the first time since she’d woken this morning, Nell laughed. Glancing around the elegant rooms, she asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes, miss—your ladyship! Everyone has been so kind.”
With her open, freckled face and springy red hair, Becky Farnsworth was as far removed from the idea of a proper lady’s maid as possible—and that suited Nell just fine. At Meadowlea Nell usually dispensed with a personal maid but for this trip to London, at her father’s insistence, she had pressed Becky, normally an upper housemaid, into service. Becky, having never been more than five miles from Meadowlea in her life, had been elated, and with her sunny manner and lively willingness to throw herself into completing any chore, she had proven to be just the sort of lady’s maid that Nell wanted.
“I wasn’t certain how soon to order a bath brought or,” Becky began, as she followed Nell into the actual bedroom, “how much to unpack, miss…er, your ladyship, but I did lay out your night things and had your bronze-green gown pressed for this evening.”
“Thank you,” Nell said as she wandered restlessly around the room. She felt helpless and, despite Wyndham’s actions and conversation during their long ride here, just a little frightened. She dreaded the night to come. She was not a child and raised in the country—she’d been overseeing the breeding of her own horses since she was sixteen—she knew what was expected of her. The earl—and she would concede it—was a handsome man. She was relieved that she did not find him repulsive or disgusting, but she still wasn’t looking forward to his lovemaking. He wasn’t unappealing, reminding herself of those moments in the toll keeper’s cottage just before her father and brother had interrupted them, and then there was that kiss…Perhaps if he was patient with her she could rouse some enthusiasm for the deed?
As Julian prepared to meet Nell in the dining room, her words in the coach came back to him and he tried to imagine how he would feel if everything familiar was swept away from him. Even this house and its servants, while not his, were well known to him; but for Nell, except for that maid of hers, everything was unfamiliar.
Attracted to his bride in a way he had not considered possible, Julian was eager for his wedding night, but it occurred to him that Nell might not share his eagerness. He had enough confidence in his lovemaking skills to know that he could make tonight, if not totally pleasurable, at least less of an ordeal, but uncertainty beset him at the idea of making love to an unwilling bride. His bride, he had realized during the coach ride to the house, was still not ecstatic with the marriage and was decidedly wary of him and her future. He smiled ruefully. So much for his vaunted position in the world, and he was pleased that Nell was not impressed by his title and wealth…but for tonight it might have made things easier if she had been. Yet when he thought of a fawning bride enamored of his position and money, allowing him her bed because of who he was, he found the idea distasteful. Recalling the stubborn tilt to her chin, he had no fears that Nell would ever fawn over him and he suspected that gaining her bed tonight with her delighted participation was not likely to happen. So how, he wondered wryly, did he get what he wanted and yet not make her more wary and aloof than she already was?
It was Nell herself who solved his dilemma. Both had partaken sparingly of the sumptuous feast spread out for them in the dining room. It was not a comfortable meal and the conversation between Julian and Nell was stilted, and when the meal was over, it was with relief that they both rose from the table.
Declining to linger alone over his wine, Julian followed Nell into a small sitting room. Once Hurst had shut the double doors after them, Julian wandered over to a gleaming table that held an array of crystal decanters and various glasses. Looking back at Nell as she sat stiffly on a small blue satin sofa, he asked, “Would you care for a small glass of hock?”
She nodded, deciding that holding a glass would give her something to do with her hands. After handing her the glass, Julian took his own glass and seated himself across from her in a chair that matched the sofa. An awkward silence fell.
Nell took a deep breath, a gulp of her wine and rushed into speech. “My lord, I must talk to you about tonight.”
“Yes? What about tonight?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.
Her cheeks blooming pink, Nell blurted out, “I do not want you in my bed.”
Hiding his dismay, Julian replied, “Ah, unless memory fails me, we are man and wife and I believe that the joys of the marriage bed are much touted.” He smiled charmingly at her. “I was rather looking forward to finding out for myself if it is true.”
She gritted her teeth. “Well, would you mind not looking forward to it tonight?”
He studied her, noting the stiffness of her body, the glitter of half-fright, half-defiance in the sea green eyes. He had feared an unwilling bride; he just hadn’t realized how very unwilling she was. With a vision of his previous, unpleasant marriage in mind, he asked quietly, “Are you suggesting that the marriage never be consummated?”
Nell shook her head. “Not that,” she said firmly. “I just beg your indulgence and that you allow us time to learn more about each other before…” She swallowed. “Before we consummate our marriage.”
“Ah, and how much time do you think that would take? A week? A month? Six months?”
“I don’t know but I don’t believe we can set a time limit on it.” She sent him an uncertain smile. “Surely, you yourself are not eager to take to bed a woman you barely know?”
Thinking of his anticipation for tonight, Julian would have disabused her of that notion and told her precisely just how very eager he was to take her to bed, if he had not thought that it would send her fleeing from the room. He was more used to women falling enthusiastically into bed with him than not and could hardly remember a time that he’d had to exert himself to accomplish that goal. On unfamiliar ground, he picked his way with care. Nell’s request made sense—even if he didn’t want it to. They would be married a long time. What was a week, a month or even two months of anticipation on his part when set against a lifetime together?
He glanced at her through lowered lids. She had no idea just how appealing she looked as she sat on the sofa, the candlelight gilding her hair, caressing the bare shoulders and casting a golden flicker across the entrancing bosom revealed by the gown. She would be soft and warm in
his embrace, her mouth yielding, and his body tightened with expectation of the carnal pleasures that would be his. Every primal instinct urged him to close the small space between them and to show her just how very expert he was in the art of lovemaking, but caution, and the fear of destroying something he could barely guess at, held him back.
When he made no reply, Nell’s chin lifted and she cleared her throat. “Well, my lord?”
Rising to his feet, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. Taking one of her hands in his, he pressed a warm kiss onto the back of it. “Perhaps your way will be best…” He smiled wryly at her expression—one would have thought she had escaped a fate worse than death.
“Oh, my lord! Thank you!” Nell exclaimed, snatching her hand back with a promptness that might have offended a lesser man. Standing up, she scooted away from him and said brightly, “Well, I am happy that we have that settled between us and since it has been a long day, I think I shall leave you now. Good night, my lord.”
She fairly flew across the floor toward the double doors. Her retreat, however, was halted when Julian said, “There is one thing, my dear.”
She froze and swung around, startled to find him right behind her. Eyes big and wary, she looked up at his dark, unreadable face. “Yes?”
He smiled and ran a caressing finger down her cheek. “I promise you I shall not force myself into your bed…but in return, you must allow me to court you.”
“Court me?” she muttered. “What does that mean?”
“Why, only that I may touch you upon occasion”—and his hands slid around her waist as he pulled her to him—“and that I may now and then steal a kiss…”
His lips caught hers and his arms tightened around her. He kissed her long and deep, struggling to keep his passion in check, fighting back the desire to take more from the drugging sweetness of her mouth.
Scandal Becomes Her Page 10