by Donna Hatch
"Yes, he did. I'm sure I will fare better with him than some ladies do with the men they marry. Think of all those arranged marriages that happened for centuries. At least I had the opportunity to say no."
"But you didn't really have a choice, did you?"
Alicia did not reply.
They went back to the house and began preparing for the wedding. Her new French maid, Monique, helped her change out of her clothes. Monique dressed her in new silk undergarments and stockings, all trimmed with delicate lace. Alicia had never seen such fine things.
After months of caring for herself, with only Hannah to help with her stays, being waited upon seemed a strange luxury, but her hands had begun to shake so badly, having help today was necessary. Just the companionship and touch of another human was comforting.
As Alicia sat at a dressing table, Monique dressed her hair, deftly piled it on top of her head, and pinned it in place, allowing a few tendrils to hang down against her neck. White roses nestled among the curls in a more beautiful arrangement than she had ever seen.
After the maid had finished with her hair, she carefully lowered the wedding gown over Alicia's head and fastened tiny pearl buttons down her back. Monique had altered it after she arrived until the gown fit Alicia perfectly. Monique stepped back to allow Alicia to admire it in the mirror. Despite the gloom hanging over her, her solicitous maid had raised her spirits. A little.
Alicia eyed her reflection. The dress was silk satin, set with pearls and tiny ribbon rosebuds. Matching slippers completed the ensemble. Alicia remained still while Monique arranged every fold of her dress. She had to admit, she had never looked so well. The veil added the finishing touch.
Hannah gazed at her in breathless adoration. “Oh, Lissie, I've never seen its equal."
"Voilá.” Monique wore a pleased smile. “Magnifique."
If only she felt ‘magnifique.’ Instead, she felt only empty. Frightened. There was nothing to do now but wait. To marry a stranger. A scarred cripple. A man who would soon have the right to demand anything of her.
Alicia feared she might become ill. She interlaced her fingers in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking.
The footman scratched at the door. “The bridegroom is waiting, Miss Palmer."
Alicia rose on unsteady legs. “Tell his lordship I am coming."
Hannah hugged her, her lower lip trembling.
Alicia summoned courage for Hannah's sake. “All will be well,” she said, her voice choking on her tears. “Maman used to say, ‘there is good in everything if you look hard enough.’ Good will come of this, you'll see."
Hanna visibly tried to brighten. Voices led them to the study. Alicia paused at the threshold. Robert stood at the sideboard table wearing a black superfine. He glowered at her soon-to-be-husband, whose masked face allowed him perfect neutrality regarding his thoughts. Robert tossed back what appeared to be the latest of many drinks and shot another red-eyed glare at Lord Amesbury.
"I assure you, young Mr. Palmer,” her betrothed said in measured, muffled tones, “I have no intention of mistreating her in any way. I was raised with the belief that a man should treat his wife with dignity, respect, and kindness. It is a philosophy I embrace."
Robert poured another drink and gulped it down.
Uncle Willard intervened. “We don't mean to be ungrateful. And thank you for your advance, my lord. Things have been much more comfortable."
The masked head inclined. “I'm happy to have been of assistance."
"Those were all the papers to sign, then?” Willard asked. “Everything is settled?"
"All but the wedding, Mr. Palmer.” A hint of humor laced the baron's voice.
Uncle Willard noticed Alicia and Hannah then. “Ah! Well, you turned out all right after all, eh?"
Robert looked up and offered a sickly smile, his eyes bloodshot and tortured. “I have never seen a more beautiful bride.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his breath so strong with drink that Alicia's eyes watered.
Poor Robert, who would take care of him now? At least now they could afford to have a full staff of servants again. She hoped one of them would look after her cousin, who seemed bent on drinking himself to death.
The baron limped to her, leaning on his cane. Alicia stood unflinching before him. “Stunning, my dear. The gown suits you well. May it be the first of many."
He was dressed in the same manner as before with a large billowing cloak, loose mask, and kidskin gloves.
He took her hand and pressed it to his mouth, protected by his mask. “Any man would be pleased to have a beauty such as you by his side."
Alicia could not look at that featureless black head. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, unable to find her voice.
He tucked her hand into his arm and led them outside. The waiting coach appeared new, embellished with carvings and a family crest. Four perfectly match black horses stood as if at attention. An immaculately liveried footman waited at the door.
They all climbed in and seated themselves wordlessly. Inside the carriage, the cushions were red velvet, matching the curtains at the windows. She had never ridden in a more luxurious coach in her life. It traveled smoothly over the rain-rutted road and through the cobblestone streets of town.
Outside the church, they stopped. The baron helped her out and led her to the stairs of the church. At the bottom step, she stopped, her heart pounding like a wild bird flinging against the bars of its cage.
Who was this man? What if he proved to be a man like Mr. Braxton, who had tried to force his advances upon her? She would have to allow it. As her husband, he would have the right.
Seized by panic, she cast about for avenues of escape, all thoughts of cooperation fleeing.
"This way.” The baron placed his hand under her elbow. She stumbled along next to him up the steps to the front door strung with flower garlands.
Alicia glanced back outside toward her only hope for freedom, but the baron, coachman, and footman all remained nearby, preventing an escape. Alicia gulped.
Inside, the vicar and his wife greeted them. “Lord Amesbury,” they said in turn, their voices hushed.
Alicia started. Could she ever speak to, or even think of, her husband without images of Cole coming to mind?
The vicar's wife turned to her. “I'll show you where you may touch up first, Miss Palmer."
"A moment.” The baron held out his hand to Alicia and waited.
Alicia reluctantly placed her hand in his gloved hand. The others drew back to a respectful distance. Hannah looked pale with fear.
"Alicia.” He spoke in a gruff, gravely voice muffled by the mask. “You still have a choice in this. It's not too late. Do you wish to go through with this marriage? I know that there are others who—"
"I agree to this marriage.” Her voice sounded thin in her own ears. She prayed that he would have gentler hands than the last man who touched her.
The cowled head nodded and he stepped back. The vicar's wife led Alicia, Hannah and Monique to a small room down a hallway until they reached a dressing room. Monique and Hannah fussed over her, touching up her hair and smoothing her wedding gown.
They made a small procession as they went into the chapel. Two witnesses stood nearby to legalize the hasty wedding. Dully, Alicia mused that the baron must have important connections to secure a special license so quickly. A few others had come as well, but Alicia suddenly had difficulty seeing. With her hand on Uncle Willard's arm, she mustered up what she hoped would be an adequate amount of dignity and walked down the aisle.
The baron's masked head nodded once and he held out his arm to her. She placed her trembling hand on his glove.
She heard little of the ceremony except the pounding of her heart. As she battled tears from forming, she barely found enough voice to repeat her vows. The black monstrosity at her side slipped a wedding band on her icy, shaking fingers. They were pronounced man and wife.
A condemnation akin to death.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she found it ironic that, although she had rejected Cole Amesbury, she would take the same name when she married his kin.
The vicar blessed them and read several verses and they had communion. Then it was over. They signed the papers, her hand trembling so badly that she could barely hold the pen.
The wedding breakfast took place about noon on the church lawn in the shade of a grove of trees, and though the meal looked wonderful, Alicia could not swallow anything. There were toasts, but the guests were subdued, as if unsure how to act around the masked groom. Elizabeth smiled, trying to appear supportive and encouraging, but only managed to look as though she were about to burst into tears. Robert drank grimly until he passed out. Then the baron rose, thanked their guests in his soft, slightly gravelly voice and bid them farewell.
Elizabeth hugged her and wished her well. “You're a titled lady now, you know.” Alicia knew Elizabeth was trying to be positive for her sake. “I'll write to you every week."
Alicia nodded and hugged her. Elizabeth's mother, Mrs. Hancock, drew her into an embrace, whispering words of encouragement and affection. Then Hannah was there, weeping and clinging so desperately that Elizabeth had to take Hannah into her arms. Alicia's new husband led her away.
The coach that had brought her here still waited in front of a second, smaller one. Her husband handed Monique into the smaller coach before escorting Alicia to the larger coach and then climbed in after her. He sat with his right leg extended, as if bending it caused him pain. Alicia glanced at the man in the seat across from her, but quickly looked away, feeling his steady gaze on her, even if she couldn't see it. She kept her eyes fixed outside the window, afraid to look at the hulking form in front of her.
"We're going to Northumbria. My home lies northeast of Hadrian's Wall. Have you ever been there?"
She shook her head, unable to find her voice and realized that she had not even thought to ask of their destination. She found it difficult to think at all.
"I hope you like it. It's a bit isolated, I'm afraid, but it's beautiful country with rivers and a lake. The gardens are expansive. A number of renowned artists have painted them."
"It sounds lovely.” Her voice sounded dull.
"Have you any desire to travel?"
She drew a breath, and forced herself to look at him. He was her husband. He deserved her courtesy. “I'd like to go to France. My mother was French."
"I've spent time there. It's worth seeing. If you wish to go there, we shall."
She attempted a smile. “You're very kind, my lord."
The carriage went over a bump and Alicia had to shift in her seat. The silence grew uncomfortable.
"Tell me about your family, Alicia."
"What do you wish to know, my lord?"
"Whatever you wish to tell me."
She glanced at the masked face, but its featureless appearance unnerved her too greatly and she looked back out the window. “It is my understanding that most men wish for a silent, obedient wife."
"We are going to spend the rest of our lives together, Alicia. Perhaps we should learn a little of each other?” There was a chuckle in his voice.
She gulped. The rest of our lives sounded ominous. She dropped her eyes and tried to think of something to say.
He came to her rescue. “What was your mother like?"
She paused.
"I saw the portrait in your home the day we met in person. You bear a strong resemblance. Were you close?"
"Yes. Very."
He waited.
She took a breath but continued looking out of the window. “Maman had a gentle quality about her that made everyone love her. Papá would do anything for her. We all would. I even learned to play the pianoforte because it pleased her, although I have no talent for it. Later I learned to enjoy it. She was also an excellent horsewoman."
They left town and headed down the highway. The trees lining the road had grown so large, that in places, they met overhead like a great canopy.
"My parents are both gone,” he said, “but I have two elder sisters. Perhaps you will meet them some day."
Somehow, the thought of the inhuman shape across from her having sisters seemed too absurd to be true.
A headache pounded between her eyes and she felt a bit faint.
The coach turned off the highway and followed a smaller road. They fell silent as the coach rode smoothly over the rutted road. Visions of living with a monster swam before her eyes and she had to call upon all her courage to prevent herself from opening the door and throwing herself out of the moving carriage.
Before nightfall, they stopped in front of a quaint inn. Her husband slowly and cautiously exited the carriage. Once outside, he held a gloved hand out to her. She barely touched it as she climbed down. Once on her feet, she swayed in dizziness, but when he put a steadying arm around her, she shrank away from him.
The innkeeper ushered them inside to a snug parlor where a meal waited for them. Even though the smells were tempting, the knot in her stomach forbad food. After only a few bites, she feared she would not be able to keep it down. She noticed that her husband was not eating either. Though tempted to ask him, she remained silent. Perhaps he did not eat in front of her because of the mask. Perhaps he was anxious for the wedding night.
She choked. The wedding night. The horror of being trapped by Mr. Braxton's attack at the ball burst into her mind.
A tremor began deep in the pit of her stomach.
As if sensing her rising terror, he took her hand. “Alicia. You need not fear me. I will never force you to do anything that would seem frightening or distasteful. I don't believe a man should be his wife's absolute master."
She glanced at him sharply. Was the baron speaking in general terms, or did he mean specifically that intimate act between man and woman? She wondered if he would show her his face in private, or remain masked. A slow horror built as she realized only moments from now, she would have to allow the kind of humiliating experience Mr. Braxton had tried to wrench from her.
The innkeeper appeared and cleared away the table. “I'll show ye to yer room, milady, if yer ready."
Alicia rose on unsteady legs. She stumbled on the stairs and had to keep a white-knuckled grip on the banister. Spots danced before her eyes and the pounding in her head became torturous. To her surprise, the baron stopped outside the door to her room.
"I'll be with you after you've had a few moments to change.” He bowed and left.
Inside the room, Monique stared at her in concern. “Are you unwell, madame?"
"My head."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Not much."
Monique mixed a small amount of something in a glass and handed it to her. “This will help."
Alicia gulped it down and coughed at the strong flavor. “What is that?"
"A little laudanum and brandy."
Alicia sat on the edge of the bed while Monique busied about the room. Gradually, the throbbing pain numbed and her shoulder muscles unclenched. Monique dug through an enormous chest sitting in the middle of the room and pulled out toilette items. Gowns and underclothes of every description lay inside.
Monique pulled out a nightgown of gossamer white silk with the same tiny white ribbon roses that had been on her wedding gown and helped her change into it. The nightgown clung sensuously to Alicia's body and showed just enough cleavage to be tantalizing. She wanted to be anything but tantalizing.
Monique handed her a toothbrush, already sprinkled with powder. After she finished brushing her teeth, Alicia sat while Monique brushed her hair. It fell in soft waves down her back past her waist.
"You are beautiful, madame.” Monique blew out several candles and lamps so that the lighting was soft.
Alicia stared unseeing back at her own reflection. Would he be rough and brutal? Would he hurt her? Tears stung her eyes. She realized Monique had left and her husband was entering the room.
Her husband. What kind of man
was he really? She dried her cheeks and turned slowly to face him.
He locked the door and leaned against it without making a move toward her. “Alicia. You are lovely.” He sounded as if he truly meant it.
With such effort fighting back the tears, she had no voice to reply. He came closer, leaning heavily on his cane. She sucked in her breath. One giant gloved hand reached for her. She closed her eyes and bit her trembling lower lip.
"Alicia,” he whispered. “I won't hurt you.” He touched her shoulder with his gloved hand.
She flinched at the touch and took a tremulous breath, her whole body shaking. A tear ran down her cheek.
His hand dropped and he regarded her silently. “Alicia. I'm not a savage beast that would force myself upon any woman, least of all my wife. I will not demand you to consummate our marriage before you are ready. I only ask that you give me a chance to earn your trust."
She nodded, hardly daring to believe her ears, and eyed him warily. He leaned in. She braced herself, but he only kissed her cheek through the mask and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Her husband. A crippled, scarred man who never showed his face. There might never be enough time to learn to become accustomed to such a frightening-looking man.
Or the act he would one day demand when his patience ran out.
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CHAPTER 15
As Cole walked, his thoughts skittered chaotically out of reach. Doubts teased, taunted.
Had he done the right thing?
At the top of a rise, he paused to look out over the valley bathed in moonlight. He continued down the other side, stepping carefully over the rocky ground. At the time, having his cousin Nicholas marry Alicia seemed the best possible alternative. Now he wasn't so sure.
He came upon a stream and followed it until it pooled, mirroring the moonlight. He picked up a flat stone, and with a quick flick of his wrist, sent one skipping across the stream where it fell with a clunk among the rocks at the far bank.
Uncle Andrew and Aunt Livy had been attentive hosts, but a vague anticipation settled on him at the thought of going home and escaping the weary parade of hopeful ladies and their overzealous mothers. He hadn't been home for more than a handful of days since the war, but now he had interests there.