His dark brows shot upward. “I’m not a brute.” He half stood as if he intended to leave, and her hand shot out to grasp his forearm. Muscles flexed beneath her fingers, leading her thoughts directly to the marriage bed. Like a hot coal, his heat burned her palm, and she released her hold.
“Forgive me. Please, don’t leave. This is an unusual situation and my nerves are ruling my manners. Stay. Tell me exactly what you expect from me.”
Instead of sitting again, he prowled the parlor, putting her in mind of a caged beast. And, despite her growing alarm that she’d destroyed any chance of a marriage, she couldn’t tear her gaze off him. He was a man in his prime, strong and sure of himself—an attractive quality in a husband. Her breasts prickled against her chemise, and her stays felt suddenly unbearably tight. Heat bloomed between her legs. The unusual reaction took her by surprise.
Mr. Sherbourne ceased his pacing and spun to face her. Determination etched his face, giving him the look of cool marble. “I want a wife who gives her loyalty to me, a woman to raise my child and warm my bed. Someone to instill order in my home and do things the way I direct.”
Jocelyn nodded. That sounded reasonable. “And what would I receive in return?”
“In return, my wife will receive the security of my name and home. She’ll want for nothing, and I hope she’ll find happiness.”
“What about my past relationship with Melburn? If I agree to wed you, there might be times when we socialize with Melburn and his new wife. Will that create difficulties?”
He laughed softly, a gleam entering his eyes. “Are you asking if I’ll experience jealousy?”
“Yes.” Nothing like a little honesty to get to the heart of a matter.
“Melburn and I have discussed this. He told me if you agreed to marry me, you’d also give your loyalty. He said you possess both honor and discretion. Integrity. I hadn’t heard a single rumor of your relationship. This reassures me that we might suit. Will you miss your close…friendship with Melburn?”
“Melburn and I have always been friends. I hope our friendship will continue in the future—in a platonic way, of course. Your cousin is right in that I refuse to play games or pit gentlemen against each other to ensure a better offer or a richer lover. If I agree to become your wife, you’ll receive everything you require in a spouse.”
His brows rose again. “It’s not often a woman surprises me.”
“I’m not an ordinary woman.”
“I’m coming to understand that.”
“Thank you.” Jocelyn found herself drawn to him. Along with his pleasing looks, he bore an air of confidence. But the stillness in him, the faint note of impatience hinted at hidden depths. Winning his friendship and perhaps his love would prove a challenge. Aware of the lengthening silence, she rushed into speech. “Did Melburn tell you about my mother? Her behavior is erratic at times, and she suffers episodes where she has mad fancies. Despite family pressure, I refuse to place her in The Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem. If we marry, I’ll expect her to come to live with me.”
He hesitated and acute disappointment gripped her. This point was nonnegotiable. If he didn’t offer her mother protection, she couldn’t accept his proposition.
“Is she violent?”
“No! Not at all. At worst, she shrieks loud enough to deafen everyone in the vicinity. I employ a nurse to oversee her and have found this is a satisfactory solution.”
“Is she likely to harm my daughter?”
“I don’t believe so,” Jocelyn said. “You’re welcome to meet her and judge for yourself. She does become agitated at times, but Tilly is good with her. Melburn will tell you.”
The man stalked another tight circuit of her parlor, dodging an urn of flowers and the settee. “We could keep them apart if problems occurred,” he said, almost talking to himself. “Yes, that should work.” He focused on her then, his deep brown eyes searing through her.
A flutter of something—not fear—stirred in her belly.
“If you accept my proposal, your mother and any of your staff are welcome to accompany you.”
“Thank you. My butler and my mother’s nurse have been with me from the start and are husband and wife. I should like to offer them positions. The rest of the staff will continue to work for the next tenant who rents this house.”
“As it happens, my current butler is past the age of retirement.” One of his wondrous smiles flashed and her breath caught. “He worries about leaving me in the lurch, having been with our family since he was a young boy.”
The glimpse of affection in his voice cheered her. “Melburn didn’t say where you lived.”
“Near the town of Tavistock in Devon.”
“Dartmoor?”
“Yes, I’m a farmer and hold an interest in several mines. We live a simple life, although we socialize with our neighbors. You will find Merrivale much quieter than London.”
A silent question hovered in his words, prompting her to rush into speech. “I have no problems with a country life.” Devon was a long way from London and her two sisters. Their husbands both owned estates in Kent. The distance between Devon and Kent gave her the illusion of safety, especially from rumors about her past. “That sounds satisfactory. You’d better meet my mother.” The poor man deserved to know exactly what he was letting himself in for, although the change of scenery might aid her parent. A thought occurred. “Do you have gardens and a stillroom?”
A bemused expression followed her question. “Yes. Merrivale Manor has extensive gardens. Is that important?”
“My mother enjoys working with herbs and flowers. A garden would help her settle and make her more amenable to a move.”
“So you’re seriously considering my proposition?”
“As long as you don’t take a dislike of my mother when you meet her, I think we’ll deal well together.” A tremor went through Jocelyn. She’d share a bed with this man and perhaps bear his children. “Do you want more children?”
A sensual gleam lit his dark eyes without warning. “Of course.” His gaze traveled to her breasts and lingered before returning to her face. His avid attention left a raft of goose bumps creeping over her arms and legs. Sharing a bed with Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t going to be a hardship.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“No, I think we’ve covered most things. I’ll give you free rein in the manor, and you’ll receive a quarterly allowance.”
A thought occurred. “Do you travel to London often?”
“I don’t enjoy the city. I visit Melburn at his estate in North Devon several times a year. Of course, you would come with me.”
Jocelyn bore a fondness for Melburn, yet she frowned at the disclosure. “I wouldn’t have thought Melburn would want me to meet his wife on a regular basis.”
“Melburn and I discussed this at length. We decided to tell anyone who asks that we met in London. Melburn assures me you’ll do nothing to blacken the Sherbourne name.” Though spoken in a mild voice, his words carried an unpinning of coldness. His expression gave away nothing, yet Jocelyn sensed he’d be a bad man to cross.
“I agree to whatever story you’ve planned,” she said. “I’ll see if my mother has time to say good day.” The entire journey to her mother’s second floor chamber, she thought about Mr. Sherbourne. Jocelyn prayed her mother didn’t take one of her instant aversions, for she’d instinctively liked the man. She wanted to embrace this chance to make a fresh start.
To her relief, Mr. Sherbourne charmed her mother and the pair chatted about gardening and plants for ten minutes before he needed to leave to visit his lawyer. By the time Jocelyn handed him his hat and cane and showed him out, they’d agreed a marriage between them would suit both parties.
The carriage rattled over a rut, jolting the entire vehicle. Jocelyn braced her hand on the interior to hold her position. Once she’d committed to Mr. Sherbourne, affairs moved rapidly. With Melburn’s help, she’d signed a betrothal contract and a
few days later, she became Mrs. Leo Sherbourne. An urgent message came from Merrivale, summoning Leo home and he left London the same day, leaving Jocelyn to arrange the move to Devon.
Now that she was on her way to join her new husband, trepidation traveled with her. Anxiety jostled in the pit of her stomach each time the carriage struggled through a pothole.
“Are we there yet?” Elizabeth Townsend’s querulous voice pierced her thoughts—an oft repeated question, that had grated Jocelyn’s nerves raw.
They’d taken the journey in small stages over many days, but even so, by the time they reached the outskirts of Dartmoor, Jocelyn wanted to strangle her mother.
“We should reach Merrivale later this afternoon.” Jocelyn pushed down the carriage window and tilted her face to the bright sunshine. Fresh air ruffled her hair, tugging the strands not covered by her cap.
The carriage labored up a slope, the wheels protesting and the coachman urging the horses on with a snap of his whip. When they reached the crest of the hill, Jocelyn’s breath caught. The countryside stretched out before them—an endless carpet of greenery, studded with piles of rocks, stacked like a haphazard pile of oversize books. A cloudless blue sky completed the majestic panorama.
“Mother, look at the view. Isn’t it glorious?” She’d heard the area could be inhospitable and eerie with dangerous mists and treacherous bogs, yet it wasn’t today. For their arrival, Dartmoor was showing her finest.
“I can’t see,” her mother complained.
“Come and sit beside me,” Jocelyn said.
They shuffled around the carriage interior until her mother could view the vista.
“Pretty,” her mother said. “Are we there yet?”
“It won’t take long now,” Tilly said in a firm voice.
The hours passed and, after a brief stop for lunch and to change horses, they finally approached Merrivale Manor. Mature trees and extensive gardens surrounded a sprawling gray stone building, screening it from sight until the last minute. When the carriage came to a halt, several people hurried down the front steps of the manor.
“Are we there yet?”
“Yes.” Jocelyn wiped clammy hands on her skirts, nerves striking her afresh now that they’d arrived. Today her marriage would start in truth, and tonight, she’d share a bed with her new husband.
The carriage door opened and Leo appeared. He extended a hand to her. “Welcome to Merrivale Manor.”
Jocelyn inclined her head, cautious and hesitant, unaccountably shy in front of her husband. She stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother and Tilly to alight. “Ah, Woodley,” she said, spying her butler—posture erect and proper—amongst the somber servants. “How was your journey?”
He inclined his head respectfully. “Very good, Mrs. Sherbourne. We arrived three days ago.”
“And you’ve settled in well?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne.”
Jocelyn nodded, the small talk settling the worst of her anxiety.
“Let me introduce you to the staff,” Mr. Sherbourne said, placing her hand on the crook of his arm. His good looks dazzled her, stealing her breath as his dark gaze caressed her face. His focus dropped to her lips before his attention shifted to the waiting line of servants.
Men often scrutinized her thus, as if they wanted to strip her clothes from her body and take their ease, and that was despite her unattractive red hair and freckles. A burst of heat crawled across her skin and part of her wished it was time to retire now. She’d spent her waking hours since their marriage pondering Mr. Sherbourne’s bedroom prowess. Would he hurry the act without regard to her pleasure? Or would he take his time, caressing and touching her until they both burned? Breathless, disturbed by her thoughts, Jocelyn swallowed rapidly, seeking distraction.
Ah, yes. The servants.
She scanned their faces and caught a glower from one of the maids, apparently aimed at Mr. Sherbourne. The rest of the faces were expressionless, absent of welcome, and that raised her curiosity. Did they not like their master? Fear him for some reason?
“This is Mrs. Green, the housekeeper.” After a brief greeting to the stony-faced woman, Mr. Sherbourne led her down the line of staff, introducing her to the remaining maids and footmen without hesitation. He mentioned their families, his cool charm seeming to set the servants at ease.
Jocelyn inclined her head and murmured a small greeting to each servant, impressed with her husband’s knowledge of his staff. The tension lifted from her shoulders. This wasn’t a ruthless master. They were likely apprehensive about meeting a new mistress.
“Mrs. Green, will you show Mrs. Sherbourne’s mother to her room?”
“Of course.” The housekeeper led her mother and Tilly away, and the servants dispersed, leaving Jocelyn alone with Mr. Sherbourne.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his husky voice stirring her again. A tremor swept her, leaving a tingling awareness in its path. “Let me show you to your chamber.”
She strolled up the steps into the entrance hall at his side. Flagstones covered the floor, her shoes tapping the surface as they progressed deeper into the manor. Mr. Sherbourne led her to a flight of stairs and together, they ascended to the next floor.
“When will I meet your daughter?”
“Cassandra has a nap at this time of the day,” he said. “She isn’t feeling well this week, and Arabella thought it would be best to keep Cassie in the nursery today. Perhaps tomorrow would be better. No doubt you’re tired after your journey.”
“Arabella?”
“She looks after Cassandra, and has done so since her birth.”
Some of her enthusiasm faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear Cassandra isn’t well.” She’d looked forward to meeting her new daughter and had even purchased her a doll before leaving London. “Tell me about my new daughter. We didn’t speak much of her before our marriage.”
Mr. Sherbourne hesitated, as if considering his words. When they reached the top of the stairs, he guided her to the right, his hand a gentle pressure on the small of her back. Family portraits hung on the walls, most depicting serious gentlemen.
“Cassandra is four. People say she looks much like her mother.”
Her husband’s clipped tone suggested he didn’t consider this a good thing. “I thought she’d be younger.” Jocelyn hadn’t realized Mr. Sherbourne had been married for that long. She didn’t understand his strange reticence either but, no doubt, the coming weeks and months would aid her with insight into her husband. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Mr. Sherbourne guided her to the end of the gallery and around another corner. “The manor is easy to navigate. It’s a U-shape. Our rooms are in the left wing while your mother’s rooms and the nursery are in the right wing. The main reception rooms are in the center. My family has lived here since the late 1600s.”
Interesting that he’d changed the subject. Jocelyn decided to let him. “I didn’t realize your family had lived in the area for so long. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I did have two older brothers. One died as a three-year-old during a plague and the other left home after an argument with my father. We haven’t seen him since.” The hard note in his voice repulsed further questions.
Jocelyn squeezed his arm. “Families can be difficult. I know from experience. I understand your parents passed away some time ago.”
“Yes.” The tenseness fell away from him at her words, and he smiled—a brief one that didn’t reach his dark eyes. “Of course you do. I admire you for protecting your mother.”
“Thank you.” She hoped he’d continue to think this way because her mother had been at her charming best during their meetings to date. Heaven help them when she threw one of her screaming fits. At least her mother had ceased her avowals of spies lurking behind every corner. Something Jocelyn was thankful for, if only that could last.
Mr. Sherbourne halted in front of a door and pushed it open. He stood back, pausing for her to enter.
Her husband.
A flicker of pleasure bloomed within her. The mantle didn’t sit easily at present, but with time, she hoped her new status would become comfortable. As she started to move past him, she caught his scent, a hit of bay rum and a pinch of spicy greenery. An urge to touch him struck her, yet she didn’t act on the impulse. They needed time to build a friendship, intimacy.
She entered a large chamber. It was frilly and designed with a woman in mind. Jocelyn hated it on sight. “It’s very…” Good grief. Words failed her, and she stared at her new husband.
His lips twisted. “Pink?”
“Ah, yes.” That was the least offensive of descriptions for the overly fussy room and the multitude of cherubs. They covered every available surface and some even smirked at her from the wall. She looked up. And the ceiling.
“You’re welcome to make changes.”
Instinct told her he’d appreciate a transformation. She was certain of it when their gazes connected, because memories swirled in his eyes and etched into his facial muscles. This room held bad recollections of his first wife.
“I’ve always preferred simpler decoration.” Jocelyn fought a shudder at the unrelenting pink frills everywhere. Her scan of the room drew her over to the windows. Ah, at least the view was beautiful. The garden spread out below, a blaze of summer color—red roses, yellow daisies and deep purple lavender. In contrast to the bright flowers, formal hedges grew in regimented green rows, all sharp angles to please the most exacting gardener. Gradually, the hedges gave way to mature trees, which sent dappled patterns of light and dark over their surroundings.
She crossed to a second window and gave a happy sigh at the greenery studded with rocks and trees, which stretched as far as she could see. “The views are lovely.”
“Yes, they are.”
She turned back to him and found her husband watching her. A pleased flush crept into her cheeks as she strolled toward him.
Mistress of Merrivale Page 2