An Undomesticated Wife

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Quickly she lowered her eyes. She should not be surprised. That her father had been loyal to the memory of his late wife for nearly two decades was not customary among the ton. Had this been what Papa had meant when he warned her to be careful of her heart in this marriage?

  “I shall do my part to make this wedding ceremony what you wish,” Lord Daniston said coolly, “but, Grandmother, even you, with your love of pomp and ceremony, must own that there is little for the groom to do save to arrive on time for the wedding.”

  “It is your duty, Marcus, to introduce Regina to Le Beau Monde. You must host a soirée with her immediately.”

  Regina could not keep from glancing at him. His hands clenched on the table, but as she watched his fingers slowly relaxed.

  “That seems like an excellent idea, Grandmother.” His smile returned when he took Regina’s hand and held it on the table. “I know Regina will be anxious to help in any way she can.”

  “Idle hands are troublesome,” announced the dowager duchess as she reached for another biscuit. A footman, who never was far from her, lifted the basket from the table and held it out to her. Selecting one that was pocked with strawberries, she lathered it with butter.

  “I agree,” Regina answered.

  The dowager duchess rewarded Regina with a broad smile. “I thought you would, my dear. Marcus, I trust you are grateful that your father found you this singular jewel of a wife.”

  Regina looked down at her untouched food as she heard Marcus say, “Of course, Grandmother. I suspect Regina is quite unique.”

  “Unique is in the eye of the beholder,” Regina returned, unable to remain silent at his veiled insult.

  The duke slapped the table and chuckled. “Well said, young lady. Marcus, you should be forewarned. A wife with a wit will keep you on your toes.”

  “Upon his toes is not where a man wants to be when he thinks of his wife.”

  “Marcus!” The dowager duchess’s mobile face fell into a frown. “You are behaving in a positively beastly manner today. Make your apologies to Regina this instant!”

  He folded her hand between his broader ones and said, “If I have caused any upset to your delicacy of mind, madam, indulge me by accepting my apology.”

  “I accept your demure hits for what they are,” she retorted.

  When the dowager duchess laughed, Lord Daniston’s fingers closed more tightly over Regina’s hand. Again she recalled his warning about his fierce temper. She was certain now that he had been cautioning her, but she refused to be daunted by a husband who was in a bad skin.

  The duke began to read aloud from one of the columns in the Morning Chronicle. When she realized it dealt with an issue before the House of Commons, Regina leaned forward and listened intently. She disregarded the dowager duchess’s low urging to eat as she listened to an account of the debate on recent riots in Norfolk.

  “Son, mat is hardly the proper topic for the breakfast table,” chided the dowager duchess. “You shall upset Regina.”

  The duke lowered the paper. “She looks very interested to me.”

  “She has not eaten a bite.”

  “Can you eat and listen at the same time, my dear?” the duke asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Son,” said his mother before Regina could answer, “you shall certainly upset my delicate digestion if you continue with this.”

  He folded the newspaper and set it by his plate. “Then I shall refrain from reading the news to you, Mother. If you wish to finish the article later, Regina, you must feel free.”

  “Thank you.” Regina drew her hand from beneath Lord Daniston’s and selected a fork to begin her breakfast. Although she was not hungry, she should make an effort to scale this mountain of food.

  The dowager duchess kept everyone’s ears busy as she shared the society news from her newspaper. Trying to take note of the names, Regina hoped it would be simpler to keep the lords and ladies connected with their names when she met them. She smiled. Papa had taught her a few tricks about how to remember names, but she knew she would be wise to keep that to herself. Some of the associations she might use could be less than flattering, although they would help her when she met a square full of strangers.

  When Lord Daniston stood a half-hour later, Regina realized that no one else save the dowager duchess had spoken during that time. She was startled, too, to discover that much of the food on her plate had vanished. Mayhap she had been hungrier than she had guessed.

  She excused herself as Lord Daniston walked out of the room. If she had a chance to speak with him alone, she might discover some of what had been discussed last night. She could not ask those questions within earshot of his father and grandmother.

  “My lord?” she called.

  He paused in the middle of the corridor by a narrow table. Sunlight and shadow played across his face, emphasizing its sharp planes. No smile lessened its severity, but, she was relieved to see, he was not scowling either.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought we might have a moment to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About what happened last night.”

  He laughed. “As you should recall, nothing happened last night.”

  She closed the distance between them, refusing to let his caustic humor end this conversation. “My lord, I ask only that you share with me what was discussed after you left my room.”

  “Only that the door must remain locked.”

  “Door? Which door?”

  He took her hand and drew it within his arm while he strolled along the corridor. Reaching the stairs, he paused. “With your curiosity, I would have guessed that you have peered into every nook of your rooms by now. Surely you noticed the locked door.”

  “Yes, but …” Her eyes widened as a heated flush poured over her.

  His fingers brushed her face before teasing a strand of hair that refused to stay in place. “A connection between your rooms and mine, placed there for the convenience of the wedded heir to the Duke of Attleby. Not so different from a harem in Algiers, I suspect.”

  Regina jerked her hand back from his arm. “If you expect me to be no different from the poor women imprisoned behind the seraglio walls, I must acquaint you with your misapprehensions.”

  “I can assure you,” he said with the same cool smile, “that I have no interest in having more than a single wife.”

  “Nor do I have any interest in living solely for the pleasure of my lord and master.”

  “That is a shame.” His eyes glowed with dark sparks as he ran a finger along her cheek again. “I suspect we could find much pleasure together.” Taking her hand, he brought it to his mouth.

  She feared her knees would betray her as he touched the tips of her fingers with his tongue. Within her, a heated river flowed through her, setting every inch of her on fire. She took a half-step toward him, then, seeing the satisfaction in his smile, pulled away.

  You are being an air-dreamer, she reprimanded herself. Lord Daniston would be glad to let her do her duty as his wife, but he might be thinking at the same time of his mistress.

  “Have a good day, madam,” he said as he put his hand on the banister leading down to the foyer.

  Regina gasped, “You are leaving?” She had not thought he would end this so abruptly. Then she wondered if this was just another way of keeping her so off balance that she did not ask again about what had been said between him and the duke last night.

  “Do I hear a hint of devotion in that question?”

  As she had before, she ignored his sarcasm. “I had thought we might take a drive to see some of the city. It has been so many years since I was last here.”

  “Madam, you shall find you have little time for taking the air in the three weeks before this wedding. Grandmother shall keep you busy with fittings and plans and all the other things a proper wife should do.”

  “A proper wife?” She laughed and shook her head. “I warn you that I shall unlikely ever be what you deem a proper wi
fe.”

  “If you were to try—”

  “For what purpose? I have no more wish for this marriage than you, my lord. Less, if you wish me to be square with you, for an heir is of no importance to me.” When his scowl rutted his forehead, she resisted the temptation to brush his dark hair back from his eyes, for it was as stubborn as the rest of him. Instead she went on, “I shall be your wife, my lord, and I shall bear your children, but I shall not surrender my very being to your expectations.” Raising her hand, she counted on her fingers as she said, “I shall speak of politics and read of them in the newspaper. I shall speak of the opinions of those I have encountered. I shall count among my friends people who are not of the ton. I shall—”

  “Enough! I have heard enough of your peculiar ideas for today.” He strode down the stairs, throwing back over his shoulder, “Good day, madam.”

  Regina swallowed the sudden flood of tears clogging her throat. She should be happy to see him leave, but she could not put from her mind the delectable warmth of his lips against her skin.

  “And, Lord Daniston,” she whispered with sparse bravado, as she heard the door to the street close, “I shall try never to let my heart be hurt by you and your mistress, whoever she may be.”

  Five

  “You must have misunderstood her.”

  Marcus halted his pacing long enough to shoot a glower at his mistress. Jocelyn was the last person he had thought would defend his wife. That was why he had come here at such an early hour and interrupted her toilette. Because she had not been pleased to see him before noon, she had let him wait in her parlor while she finished with her hair. She looked alluring in the wrapper that was the pink of a child’s cheek, but he could think of nothing save his frustration.

  “I did not misunderstand her,” he snapped back. “How can one misunderstand a woman who says that not only does she have no skills as a proper wife, but she has no interest in learning them?”

  “My poor Marcus.” Jocelyn’s arms slipped around him as the musky scent of her perfume washed over him. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she whispered, “Never fear, for you have me to provide succor to you when your wife turns you from her bed.”

  “She would have welcomed me.”

  She stepped back and scowled. “I thought you said she had no wifely skills.”

  “At managing the house and the servants.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he began pacing again. “I have had no time to think of anything else.”

  “I’m glad,” she purred as she sat on the settee, drawing her feet up beneath her.

  Marcus wondered if there was a disease sweeping London that left every woman mind-numb. “Jocelyn, you know how desperate Father is for me to have an heir. A legitimate heir,” he added when she opened her mouth, although he had to own he could not imagine Jocelyn allowing herself to get into such an inconvenient condition.

  “Come and sit with me.” She patted the cushion beside her. “I vow you will give me a headache just watching you go back and forth.”

  “It could not compare with the ache I suffer in my head.”

  “Do sit, Marcus. Let me massage your temples with perfumed water. That will ease your discomfort.”

  He nodded. When he sat, putting his head on her lap, he listened to the soft sound of her voice while he enjoyed the light brush of her fingers on him. He appreciated her sympathy, but nothing would ease his discomfort now, for he could not erase the image of Regina from his head.

  Having a wife, he had known, was a problem. But only now was he beginning to understand exactly how big a problem.

  Regina found herself the focus of much curiosity as the guests arrived at the house on Berkeley Square. Standing between the duke and his son at the top of the stairs by the ballroom in the glow of the gold and crystal chandelier, she kept her smile in place with practiced ease. Not for the first time was she grateful to her father for the training he had given her. Otherwise she was unsure if she could have handled the pointed questions aimed at both her and her husband.

  She knew that although she was wearing her best gown of white jaconet muslin, she still appeared hopelessly out of style. The bodice was not as high as fashion apparently dictated, and the simple hem was too long and did not have as much as a single ruffle. Only her hair, which was curled around her face, and the lacy fan that was hooked around her wrist with a purple ribbon seemed to be à la mode.

  “Thank you for asking about Papa, Lady Auburn,” Regina said to a decidedly plump matron who was trying to make her feel more comfortable by sharing reminiscences about Papa. “He has spoken of you and your family with affection as well. He often told me of his youthful visits to your family’s country seat.”

  “Will he be returning to England soon?”

  “Papa waits upon the Regent’s favor, madam. I know he would enjoy a visit back to our homeland.”

  Lady Auburn turned to talk to Lord Daniston, and Regina took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. Small talk and prattle were other skills she had never mastered, and she was aware of her husband listening to every word she said.

  She tried not to think where Lord Daniston had spent his afternoon. When he had come to her bedchamber door to escort her to the ballroom where they would greet the guests of the soirée, he had acted as if nothing was amiss. She could find no fault with the excellent cut of his black coat or gray breeches, but she wished he would be honest with her. Mayhap if he told her the truth about keeping a mistress, she would find the situation easier to accept.

  The past two days had been among the worst in her life. Not only had her husband been avoiding her, but she was bored. Ennui was something she never had had time for in Algiers. There she had ridden out daily with Kamil or her father to talk with the Dey’s viziers. Now she was imprisoned in this house as surely as if she was one of the women in the seraglio.

  When Lord Daniston cleared his throat and offered his arm, she put her hand on it. He led her past the ballroom toward the smaller room where their guests would be enjoying wine and conversation. The guests’ voices burst from the room and swirled in a low rumble up to the high ceiling of the hallway.

  “You must speak with Grandmother about getting you some new clothes,” he said quietly.

  “It was not my intention to put you to the blush with my lack of a proper wardrobe.”

  “Or in any other way?”

  At his grim tone, she could not keep from smiling. “My lord, I know the importance of presenting a proper facade.”

  Before he could answer, the dowager duchess bustled up, her cane playing a tattoo on the marble floor. Her gown was a bright green that matched the ribbons tied to her cane. The color might have appeared ludicrous on another woman, but she wore it with equal quantities of dignity and delight. “Why are you two lagging? Marcus, you know that Mrs. Fielding is anxious to speak with you this evening.”

  “Mrs. Fielding?” He shook his head in resignation. “Can she not stop her matchmaking even now?”

  “She does not wish,” his grandmother returned with a victorious grin, “to own that I have succeeded where she failed. Look at the two of you! Anyone can tell that this match will be a successful one.”

  Lord Daniston arched a brow in Regina’s direction. When she pressed her lips together tightly to hide her smile, he bent to kiss the dowager duchess on the cheek. “Grandmother, I have never known you to be less than successful at anything you put your mind to.”

  “Just you remember that.” She slapped his arm playfully, then pointed toward the parlor. “Now, do not loiter out here, or I fear our guests will be enjoying even more poker-talk than they are already at your expense.”

  “Dash it!”

  “And watch your language, young man. Ladies are present.”

  Regina released her laugh, which refused to be held any longer, as the dowager duchess scurried away. “Does she always order you about like that?”

  “She has since I was in short coats.”

  “
I am sure you were a rapscallion then.”

  He lifted her hand from his sleeve and ran his thumb along her palm. As she savored the shiver of delight surging outward from his touch, he whispered, “And what makes you think I have changed?”

  “You still are a naughty little boy?” she asked as lowly.

  “I am not a little boy any longer, madam.” His fingers curved along her cheek as he tipped her mouth toward his.

  Her breath caught, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she stared up at him. She should pull away, should tell him that she would not be his when he was also sharing his particular’s bed, should remind him that they must not consummate their marriage until after the ceremony. But she could say nothing. She wanted to discover if his kisses were as wondrous as she had dreamed.

  “Here they are!” The Duke of Attleby’s voice rolled over them, pressing all desire from her.

  Jumping back, Regina forced a smile as the duke introduced her to a friend. The gentleman—Regina’s mind was awash with the passions she had nearly let control her, so she forgot the man’s name as soon as the duke spoke it—greeted her warmly and clapped Lord Daniston on the shoulder as he congratulated them.

  The duke herded them all into the grand parlor. And it was grand. Regina stared about in amazement, for she had not been in this room yet. Although it was less than half the size of the ballroom, the ceiling was as high and ornate, with plaster designs of flowers and vines. Three walls were covered with a mural of a bucolic scene of what she guessed might be the landscape around Attleby Court, because in the far corner she saw a hint of a building that resembled the huge stone house she had seen in another painting. Horses grazed in the fields, and the gardens were a cacophony of color.

  She had no chance to explore the mural further, though, because she and her new family were instantly surrounded by the guests. The polite questions she had answered before had vanished as the queries grew more pointed.

  What did she think of Town? How long would she and Lord Daniston remain in London before they enjoyed a honeymoon far from the ton? Surely her father was returning for the wedding ceremony at the month’s end, wasn’t he? And …