The door opened and Alistair stepped in. He was not avoiding her then, as a little niggling doubt had suggested. Not regretting the new accord that had reigned the previous evening, despite his rejection of her less-than-veiled offer to join her in bed. Afterwards, she had worried he might have thought her too bold for a respectable duchess.
And he’d had the right of it. She had been exhausted, despite her earlier nap. She’d slept so soundly, Robins had been required to shake her awake. Most unusual.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked. Dressed in his outer raiment and holding his gloves in one hand, he looked handsome and noble and thoroughly kissable. She swallowed her surprise at the unruly thought.
Stemming the waywardness, Julia glanced at Robins. ‘Almost.’
‘The coach will be at the door in ten minutes.’
Robins huffed out a breath, but even she did not dare gainsay the Duke.
‘Ten minutes it is,’ Julia said, smiling, feeling as if she had won a minor skirmish and could be ready for anything.
‘Good.’ He glanced at the triangle of toast in her hand and over at the tray on the nightstand. ‘You haven’t eaten much.’
Robins shot her an I-told-you-so look.
‘I will finish the rest when my hair is done.’ What she really wanted to know was if he truly intended to travel with her today, but she didn’t want to risk seeming overanxious.
‘Good.’ He nodded his approbation.
The moment he left, Robins brought the tray from the bedside table to the dressing table. ‘Please, Your Grace, finish your breakfast. It will not take me a minute to help you with your bonnet and pelisse, but who knows when you may have a chance to eat next?’ She sounded almost desperate.
Ashamed of her unkindness when the woman was trying to help, Julia downed the chocolate and finished the rest of her toast, slathered with butter.
Robins immediately sprang into action with bonnet, pelisse, gloves, and finally held out a shawl.
‘Do I really need a shawl?’ Julia questioned. ‘It is June, after all.’
‘There is a cool wind today, Your Grace. If you find you do not require it in the carriage, you may of course put it to one side, but shawls are de rigueur at the moment, you know.’
Julia swallowed a sigh. ‘Very well. It seems I am ready. I will see you at Sackfield Hall.’ Even if Alistair changed his mind about joining her, it seemed she had decided not to invite Robins’s company for the rest of the journey.
The woman dipped a curtsy as she passed out of the door. ‘I will come to you as soon as they have fetched in your trunk, Your Grace.’
On her way downstairs, a surge of dizziness took Julia by surprise. Oh, dear, it seemed Robins had been right about her needing sustenance. Hopefully it would pass in a moment or two, now she had eaten.
The carriage was waiting outside the front door, Thor was tied to the back. Her heart gave a little hop of joy. All at once the prospect of the journey became a whole lot more pleasant.
She glanced around for Alistair. He was in deep conversation with Mr Lewis, beside the coach carrying the luggage and the servants. Mr Lewis glanced her way, a frown on his face, then nodded at something Alistair said to him.
Were they talking about her? Why?
One of the footmen opened the door and let down the steps. ‘Thank you, Matthew,’ she said as he handed her in. ‘Mrs Robins is waiting with my trunk.’
‘I’ll go up right away, Your Grace.’ He touched his forelock and strode around the corner, where the servants’ stairs were located. Such a nice young man. Intelligent, too. He knew exactly what to do.
So Alistair really was going to travel with her in the coach. Desire fluttered low in her belly at the thought of several hours in her husband’s company. She settled herself in one corner and folded her hands in her lap, trying to look as if her heart wasn’t ready to leap from her chest and to keep her smile on the inside. A man as reserved as her husband would not appreciate a wife behaving like a besotted schoolgirl.
While she waited, her trunk arrived carried easily on Matthew’s shoulder accompanied by a stream of instructions from Mrs Robins as if she suspected the young man of either preparing to toss his burden to the ground, or to open it and rifle through its contents.
Julia grinned to herself as she realised Matthew had developed a case of bad hearing and was marching along as if she was no more than an irritating fly.
The coach dipped on it springs as Alistair entered. He removed his hat, set it on the seat in front of her and sat down at her side. ‘What on earth made you hire such a fussy woman?’ he asked once the footman had closed the door. ‘If I was Matthew, she’d be throttled by now.’
Julia pressed her lips together. She had no wish to get Mr. Lewis into trouble with his employer. ‘I will have a word with her when we reach Sackfield.’
He made a non-committal sound. ‘I hope we can make good time today.’
The coach jerked and moved off, its wheels grinding on the cobbles. Her husband put an arm across her front, steadying her, and then they swung out on to the toll road where the ride smoothed out. He stretched his longs legs out as far as he was able and stared out at the passing countryside.
Should she speak? Would he prefer silence? She glanced sideways at him, to discover him doing the same thing. She laughed.
He grinned.
And the awkwardness dissipated.
‘Since I gather you did not bring the promised book, please tell me about Sackfield,’ she said, broaching a topic that had been at the back of her mind for several days. She had hesitated to ask Mr Lewis in case he wondered why she hadn’t sought the information from her husband. ‘What should I expect? A castle? Something huge with hundreds of servants?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ he said. ‘It is small compared to the other properties held by the Duchy. A manor house. It came to the family in recognition of our loyalty to the Stuarts. Though I rather think my ancestors walked a fine line between pragmatics and ideology.’
Her own family had been staunch Protestants in Cromwell’s era, but it was not until later that they had been raised up to nobility for services to the crown. ‘Your family’s gain was another’s loss, I presume?’
‘In some respects. My ancestor was a political being. He married the daughter of the ousted baron to his eldest son, thus eliminating future friction.’
Another arranged marriage. ‘I wonder how they felt about it. The couple, I mean.’
He turned his face to look at her, his grey eyes speculative. ‘You sound sorry for them.’
Did she? Did he see it as a criticism of their circumstances? Certainly out of the two of them, her lot had improved dramatically, while his... She still wasn’t at all sure why he had offered marriage. Out of pity, she assumed, since their marriage was clearly pro forma. She certainly wasn’t going to spoil what seemed to be a growing rapprochement in their relationship by reminding him of his coldness. She might have made some mistakes in her life, but she was not a complete fool.
‘Simply curious.’
‘You are interested in history?’
‘In the history of your family, certainly, for it is now my family, too.’
‘So it is.’ There was a note of wonder in his voice, as if he hadn’t yet adjusted to the idea of a wife. ‘Sackfield is likely one of the places where you will learn a great deal about us, for it is the oldest of the Dunstan holdings.’
‘I am looking forward to seeing it.’ She leaned back against the squabs and watched the countryside drift by. She yawned.
‘Tired?’ She heard a frown in his voice and turned her head. He was watching her intently.
‘Your carriage is wonderfully sprung. The rocking...’ She lost the thread of her thought. ‘Soothing.’ She yawned again. What on earth was wrong with her? She never
slept during the day.
‘What crops do you grow at Sackfield?’ Always ask a man about what concerns him most. With her first husband it had been his bargaining at the wool exchange. He had lectured her for hours on end about his dealings. And about her shortcomings.
‘Wheat,’ he said. ‘Barley. We rotate...’ His deep voice was sensual no matter what he was talking about...
‘You will end up on the floor if you are not careful,’ a voice muttered in her ear. A strong arm went around her shoulders. ‘Lean on me, if you must sleep.’
He did not sound pleased. Well, he wouldn’t. She was supposed to be keeping him company. She tried to force her eyelids open. But the harder she tried to stay awake, the heavier her eyelids felt. Along with a strange feeling that something was not quite right...
She felt something hard beneath her cheek. Her body rocking oddly. Oh, dear heaven, that was a heartbeat. She jerked away. Her heart racing. Her gaze trying to focus on the face of...
Alistair. Frowning. Deeply.
Not Algernon. Of course not. He had died. And he would never have permitted her to sleep on his shoulder. He’d have poked her awake with a bony finger. Or slapped her.
She pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart. ‘I beg your pardon. I must have dozed off.’
He was eyeing her warily. ‘You did.’
She slowed her breathing, tried to still the panic she had felt on awakening. ‘I am sure I do not know what came over me.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Have I slept long?’
‘Two hours, or so.’
So long. How could that be? She groaned. ‘I apologise for being such poor company.’
‘And here I was thinking it was my treatise on crops and yields and mangel-wurzel that had you snoring.’
‘Snoring?’ Horror filled her. She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon.’
He frowned. ‘Julia, I am jesting.’
‘It is hard to tell when your expression is so stern.’ She winced at the words she had meant to keep to herself.
He half turned to face her. ‘You are my wife, Julia. Am I not entitled to undertake a little teasing?’
She stared at him wide-eyed, aware of the small curl at one corner of his mouth signifying amusement, but the shadows in his grey eyes showed concern. ‘You must forgive me, I was not quite awake,’ she said, miserably aware she was apologising yet again.
‘Someone hurt you.’
She stared at him blankly.
‘You flinch, Julia. When your speech is unguarded. You startle when I move too quickly. When you awoke a moment ago, you seemed nigh on terrified.’
There was an accusation in his tone, yet it did not seem directed at her.
‘Who, Julia?’
It was the first time he’d used her first name for an age. She shook her head, the memories of her husband’s cruelties too raw, too filled with unhappiness because of her own failures as a wife. She shook her head. ‘It is all in the past.’
He reached out slowly, the way one might reach out to a skittish horse, and took her gloved hand. His steady gaze rested on her face. ‘I will make you a promise. Never will I raise a hand to you or physically cause you harm.’ He spoke as if he was taking a vow. ‘Do you believe this?’
His gaze was so intent upon her face, she felt as if every thought, every memory was bared to him. Yet she did not want him to know how cowed she had been by her husband. Or how she’d failed him.
Naturally, Alistair was irritated by signs she did not trust him. It likely impinged on his honour as a gentleman. And truly he had never given her cause to think he might raise his hand to her, even if his words at times sliced at her feelings.
She nodded her agreement and promised herself she would do better.
He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
Her stomach tumbled over and her inner muscles tightened. The hot restless feeling low in her abdomen increased tenfold. She swallowed a gasp of shock.
The twinkle in his gaze said he knew exactly the reaction he had provoked. He kept her hand in his, resting on his thigh. Her heart gave an odd little thump. She tried to ignore the heat of his hand permeating through her cotton gloves and the strength of his muscled thigh against the back of her hand.
He glanced out of the window. ‘Not long now.’
She leaned forward to look out of the window. Her head spun. Her stomach rebelled. She slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered through her fingers.
His expression hardened, but he didn’t waste a second. He hammered on the roof. ‘Pull over.’
He held her around the shoulders as the carriage came to a halt.
Her stomach heaved.
She lurched for the door.
‘Steady. Let me help you.’ He held her while he opened the door with the other hand.
She wasn’t going to make it. ‘Please.’ She swallowed.
And then he was swinging her down to the ground and holding her by the shoulders as she emptied the contents of her stomach.
Oh, how she wished she had not drunk that chocolate. He guided her a little way away and she hung limply on his arm, bent over, fearing to raise her head in case the dizziness should begin again.
Patient and strong, he stood beside her until at last she felt she dared stand upright. A blur of vision, a feeling of spinning. She held still a moment longer.
‘All right now?’ he asked in a voice rather devoid of warmth. A clean handkerchief, neatly folded, appeared before her face.
Shuddering with distaste, she wiped her lips. ‘Better.’ How horrible a way to end what had been mostly a lovely morning. ‘I beg your pardon. I cannot understand what is going on.’ She pushed away from him and leaned against the coach.
When he came closer, she waved him off. ‘I will be better in a moment.’ She hoped. Her head was still floating above her shoulders. Her stomach roiled at the thought of any movement.
‘Perhaps if you sat in the carriage—’
‘It must be the carriage that does this to me.’
‘Likely so.’ He sounded almost bored.
Feeling steadier, she risked a glance at his face. His eyes were hard, his lips thin.
His face softened as he looked at her, became concerned. He dived inside the carriage and returned with a flask. ‘Perhaps some brandy will help?’
Despite his obvious distaste, he clearly was trying to be kind, but instinctively, she knew brandy was the last thing she needed. ‘No, thank you.’
He blew out a breath and glanced around. ‘I wish I had thought to bring along a flask of water.’
She closed her eyes and opened them again. No senses swimming. She walked a step or two. No heaving stomach.
‘How much longer before we reach our destination, do you think?’
He frowned. ‘An hour at most.’
‘Then we should continue. I think I shall manage.’
An odd look passed across his expression. She could not tell quite what it meant. She didn’t know him well enough. It could be anger. After all, he was not the sort of man who would relish taking care of anyone else. Or it might have been sympathy.
‘As you wish,’ he said. He took her elbow, supporting her again. As if she was some sort of fragile invalid.
He helped her back into the carriage without a word. When she was settled in one corner, he took the other, stretching out his long legs, and when the carriage started, he stared grimly out of his window, their earlier accord nowhere in evidence.
This was not how she had wanted to spend the day with him. She had wanted to show him she was not such a bad choice for a wife.
Moisture welled behind her eyes. Now she was weepy. This was not like her. She blinked them back. ‘I really am sorry,’ she whispered.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes as cold as a grey winter sea. ‘What can’t be cured...’
Must be endured, she finished in her mind. She’d ruined everything. She shivered.
He reached across the carriage, picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her, his gentleness surprising. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Let us get rid of this...’ he pulled at the ribbons of her bonnet ‘...and make you more comfortable.’
Startled, she could only stare at him as he skilfully divested her of the hatpin and then lifted the bonnet clear of her hair. She let go a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘Rest. We’ll be there soon.’
She nodded and clutched at the shawl, knowing she must look a fright, with her hair in disarray, her gown rumpled. She leaned her head back against the squabs and closed her eyes.
The carriage jolted and turned.
Julia opened her eyes. Oh, no. She must have fallen asleep. Again? This was so unlike her. And once more she was leaning against her husband’s broad chest and he had one arm around her shoulders, keeping her steady. She struggled to sit up and he released her instantly.
A glance out of the window revealed a beautiful house of yellow sandstone. Not a huge house, but still one of impressive proportions. The house of a gentleman of means, with neatly trimmed ivy climbing the walls and a columned portico where... She swung around to face Alistair, the movement too rapid. Her vision blurred for a second.
‘The servants—’
‘Expect to meet my duchess,’ he said calmly.
She put a hand to her hair, glanced down at her creased gown and the limp shawl. She wanted to disappear under the seat. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
If anything his expression became more remote.
He was going to insist. She dived for her bonnet.
‘Leave it.’ His tone brooked no argument.
How could he expect her to meet those people looking as if she had been pulled through a hedge backwards? Of course the servants would be waiting to greet their new mistress. They had gone through all that at the town house and it was perfectly normal, and if she had been feeling more herself she might have thought of it. ‘But—’
Secrets of the Marriage Bed Page 6