He started to protest, to tell a footman to take the flowers and extra candles away and move his wife’s place setting but she forestalled him by placing a hand on his arm. She leaned toward him and said, in a throaty voice he had not heard her use before, at least not out of bed, “Isn’t it wonderful, dear? So newly wed as we are, I wanted the table to be festive and to be close to you.”
Well, what was there to say to that? That he did not want to be festive about their wedding? That he did not want her near to him? That this was not how his parents would do things and one ought to do as his parents had done?
He could, of course, have said any or all of those things. Perhaps he would have if there was not such a look of avid interest on the faces of the servants. And if he did not feel somehow uneasy at how those things would sound spoken out loud. As if he could not think for himself. As if he was a blind follower of his father’s notions.
Not that there was anything wrong with that! His father was highly esteemed. Highly. Everyone said so at his funeral. Still, Edmund found himself uneasy at the notion of being thought unable to make his own choices or decisions. So in the end he smiled at his bride. “Perhaps just for tonight,” he agreed.
She smiled back, warmly it seemed, as if he had just given her a wonderful present, and Edmund felt himself sit straighter. As if of its own accord, his hand moved to clasp hers where it lay on his arm. He was even, he realized with a shock, rather glad he had agreed to this most unorthodox arrangement.
His parents had always eaten in silence, but Beatrix had other ideas. Just as if they were still in that private parlor at the inn, she spoke to him. And it felt rather nice! The sound of her voice seemed to warm Edmund and make him feel safe, which was a very odd thing since it ought to be the other way around. He ought to make her feel safe. Oughtn’t he? But it was so nice to have someone care about the books he liked to read or what his favorite foods might be and what he absolutely abhorred. She teased him to tell her his favorite memories from childhood and he found himself not only doing so but laughing with her over them as well.
Mind you, it felt odd discussing such things with the servants present, but soon he all but forgot they were there, reminded only when one stepped forward to refill his glass or serve him from another platter of food.
Edmund even found himself asking about her family and laughing outright at some of the stories Beatrix shared with him about her brothers and sisters and some of the pranks they had played upon each other, often at the dinner table. He found himself leaning close and smiling more than he could remember smiling in some time.
When dinner came to an end and she ought to have risen and left him to the port, she held out a hand and said, “Will you show me the gardens out back? Your housekeeper tells me they are particularly fine.”
“Wouldn’t you rather see them in daylight?”
Her eyes twinkled, dash it, they twinkled as she replied, “That, too, but right now, well, there is a full moon.”
Could she possibly have in mind what he thought she had in mind? Regardless of the fact that his father would have been horrified, Edmund abandoned the port without a moment’s hesitation. Instead he rose to his feet with Beatrix and held out his arm to her. “This way, m’lady.”
Her hand seemed to tremble just a little as she placed it on his arm. Was she feeling shy? Edmund drew her closer and smiled reassuringly down at her. “There is nothing I would like more than to show you the gardens in the moonlight,” he told her.
Her answering smile was radiant and Edmund counted himself the luckiest man alive. His opinion did not change when, by the roses, after he plucked one and handed it to her, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
It was forward. It was most unlike the behavior he had ever seen his mother display toward his father. It was . . . quite simply wonderful. He could not seem to catch his breath as her lips parted for him. Or when she moaned as his hand clasped her breast.
There was, it would seem, a great deal to be said for abandoning tradition.
It was too cold to stay outside long, even with the warmth of their ardor. Still, he could not seem to stop touching her. Nor she him.
“Let us go upstairs. To bed,” she whispered in his ear.
Edmund felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed over his head. “Now? But it is so early!”
“So? Don’t you want to be with me? I want to be with you. And we are newlyweds, after all. The servants will think it only natural.”
So they were. With a grin, Edmund seized onto this salve to his sense of how things ought to be. “And as a newlywed husband, it is my duty to keep you well served, is it not?” he asked playfully.
“Most definitely,” she agreed. “Indeed, it might almost be scandalous if we did not go to bed early this soon after our wedding.”
Edmund was only too happy to agree. And to the devil with what his father might have said! He was Lord Rothwood now and it was for him to say what was proper and what was not. And what he thought was proper was to go straight upstairs and bed his wife without further delay.
They all but raced back into the house and up the stairs, leaving a trail of grinning servants behind them as they went. Up in Beatrix’s bedchamber he hastened to undo her gown. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would take her to the best modiste in London and demand that at least half her evening gowns be made in such a way they were far easier to remove than the frustrating creation she wore tonight!
Her fingers fumbled just as much when given the opportunity to remove his clothing. In part, he was sure, it was due to an unfamiliarity with the garments of men. But it was also due to the same thing that caused her breath to come in quick gasps and her heart to race under his hand when he cupped her breast. There was something very satisfying in knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His father had tried to tell him women were different from men and not to expect his wife to enjoy the act of begetting an heir. One was only supposed to expect one’s wife to do her duty. But Beatrix, oh, Beatrix was not merely enduring her duty to beget an heir. No, she was showing him with every shy and awkward touch both her innocence and her passion—and it drove him to a higher degree of arousal than before. He would have said that ought to have been impossible. But it wasn’t. Not with Beatrix.
Her skin was warm beneath his touch. And soft, so very soft. Her breath on his chest made him shiver, but not from cold. Her hands trailing down his back made his muscles clench in the most wonderful of ways. And the way she gasped as he touched her made him want to make her do it even more.
He’d never been a thoughtless lover. At least he hoped he had not. But there was something about Beatrix that made him want to put her first, to see her pleasure as well as feel his own. He wanted to know that he could bring her the same ecstasy she brought him. It made him want to please her and that should have scared him. But it didn’t.
Why had no one ever told him it could be this way? Didn’t they know? Or was it such a precious thing that it made a man want to protect the woman and keep it private, all to himself? Yes, that was it, that must be the reason. For Edmund realized he would not ever want anyone to share this knowledge of what he had with Beatrix.
And that was perhaps the last coherent thought Edmund had for some time. He picked up his bride and carried her over to the bed, his heart beating faster than he could recall it ever beating before. He threw back the covers and set her down, drinking in the sight of her in candlelight. She was so beautiful and when she reached for him, he came to her gladly.
He meant to go slowly, to pleasure her first—but she was too impatient for that. She wanted him, it seemed, as badly as he wanted her and soon, so very soon, together they found heaven.
* * *
Later, much later, as she lay in his arms, he thought to himself that he ought to leave and seek out his own bed. But it was so comfortable here. So warm and safe beside her. She was his wife and he was the luckiest man in the world to have f
ound such a passionate bride and one who suited him so well.
It crossed his mind briefly that he would miss her once he settled her at his country estate and returned to London alone. But there was no hurry for that. First he had to beget a child on her and that might take a while. Until then, he could show her London and take her out and about and introduce her to the ton. There was a part of him that felt almost a primal satisfaction at the thought of how many men would envy him.
He should not stay the night in her bed. That was another rule his father had drummed into his head. And he would get up and go to his own bed. Soon. In a few minutes. After he had napped just a bit. What harm could there be in sleeping for a part of the night with his wife?
Chapter 11
Edmund stretched, feeling more content than he had in a very long time. He was not in his own bedchamber, but in his wife’s, and far from distressing him, he felt an odd satisfaction in that fact. At least he did so until he realized she was not in the bed with him. Where was she? Not in her room or her dressing room. Who had helped her dress and how had they done so without waking him? Which led to the rather unsettling thought that by now perhaps the entire staff knew he had spent the night in his wife’s bed! His father would have been appalled and while he was not his father, nonetheless he felt a distinct sense of unease in knowing he had fallen short of his father’s strictures.
Swiftly Edmund returned to his own bedchamber where his valet was waiting and helped him dress. Fortunately Collins had been with him long enough to know better than to comment on his not having slept in his own bed. Indeed, the poor fellow said not a word until Edmund asked, “I don’t suppose you know where my wife is at this moment?”
A slight hesitation. A cough. Then Collins replied, “I believe Lady Rothwood is in the garden cutting some flowers for the breakfast table. Unless, of course, she is already finished and is now seated at the breakfast table.”
“Curse it man, hurry up! I want to join her!”
Too late Edmund realized how his words would sound. But what the devil was he to do? He did want to join Beatrix and break his fast with her. To that end, he took the stairs almost two at a time. The footman he barked questions at assured him that Lady Rothwood had indeed just finished arranging the flowers she had cut and was to be found sitting down to toast and tea and other delicacies in the breakfast room.
The breakfast room? His father had not used that room in years, much preferring the formal dining room. He could understand that Beatrix did not yet know how things were managed. He would have to explain that only extraordinary circumstances could permit deviating from his established routine.
Except that when Edmund stepped into the breakfast room and she looked up at him and smiled, he could scarcely remember why such a thing was important. With the heavy draperies removed, it was far too sunny and bright and pleasant in this room for him to be able to recall why the formal dining room would have been better.
He seated himself opposite Beatrix, not sure what to say to her. She simply kept smiling as she took a sip of tea, for all the world as if she had presided over this breakfast table every day of her life. He could not help wishing she would do so every morning of the rest of his life. And that thought startled and dismayed him so much that Edmund abruptly stood and started to back out of the room.
“W-where are you going?”
“I-I just remembered an appointment I have this morning. I will see you later. This evening. For dinner. In the formal dining room.”
And with that he escaped the room. He did not precisely run but neither did he walk at his usual deliberate pace. No, the need to escape the house was far too strong. He could not let himself be distracted. He could not forget the rational, sensible plan he had worked out for his life. No matter how sweet his wife’s smile might be over the breakfast table.
And besides, he did have a need to go out. From the moment he had discovered the damage to the cinch on his saddle, when he was riding back to the Trowley household, special license in hand, he had vowed to find out who had tried to attack him. Now it was time to take action in doing so. His first step must be to go and see his cousin Harold and find out if he was behind these things. Granted, Harold was not the only one who would have benefited had he not married, but he was the one who would benefit the most. And if he was dismayed to be roused at such an early hour, all the better. He would be less likely to be on his guard and more likely to betray the truth.
* * *
Beatrix had watched her husband retreat from the breakfast room with a strong sense of dismay. Dismay she had to hide from the servants, for she knew he would hate it if they gossiped about a breach between husband and wife.
But what had she done to distress him so greatly that he fled the room rather than share a table with her? What had she done that was so terrible? To be sure, Henry, the majordomo, had tried to tell her that Lord Rothwood always ate in the formal dining room, but surely it was not that, or he wouldn’t have sat down at all.
Was it the food? She had requested a couple of changes when she learned that he never asked for foods the cook said he loved most. But why should that upset him? Besides, it did not seem as if he had even glanced at the sideboard before fleeing the room. No, it had been after looking at her that he fled.
Well, she was not going to let it overset her. Instead she would carry on with her own plans, the first of which was to go and see if Lady Kenrick had returned to London, and if so, beg her advice in procuring a wardrobe suitable to her position as Rothwood’s wife. Yes, and she would take great satisfaction in having the bill sent to him!
Her plans made, Beatrix allowed herself to finish eating at a leisurely pace. It would not do for the servants to believe Rothwood’s behavior had upset her. No, she would be seen to be calm and smiling pleasantly.
She was just as calm as she asked Henry to have Rothwood’s carriage brought round so that she might pay a visit to Lady Kenrick’s townhouse.
“My lady, usually such calls are made later in the day,” he tried to tell her.
“Yes, I know. But Lady Kenrick and I are family now, and I should like a comfortable coze with her in private. She will not mind, I assure you.”
“Very well, my lady.”
If he felt doubt, Henry was too well trained to say so. Beatrix went upstairs to gather her things and in a very short time she was at Lady Kenrick’s door. The majordomo there tried to persuade her that Lady Kenrick was not at home to visitors, but she smiled sweetly and said, “Please tell her that her nephew’s wife has come to call. I truly do think she will see me.”
That altered the man’s demeanor instantly. “Yes, my lady. Please come in and wait here while I see if her ladyship is awake.”
Lady Kenrick was indeed awake. It took no time at all before Beatrix was being shown into a breakfast room even brighter and more pleasant than the one at Rothwood’s townhouse.
“Please. Sit. Have something to eat,” her ladyship said with a wave of her hand.
Beatrix sat and allowed herself to be served tea but declined any of the offered food.
Lady Kenrick studied her with narrowed eyes and waited until all was arranged before she said, a hint of ice in her voice, “I am surprised to see you here and at such an early hour so soon after your wedding. I thought Rothwood meant to keep you all to himself for the first week or two.”
“He had an appointment. And I must refurbish my wardrobe if I am not to be a disgrace to him,” Beatrix said placidly. “I could think of no one better than you to guide me. You will know what is fashionable, as well as what will please Rothwood. And I do wish to please my husband.”
“Ah, that changes everything!” Lady Kenrick said with patent delight. “I know just the modiste to help you. Horrendously expensive, of course, but Rothwood will not mind that. You will outshine every other lady in London once she has worked her magic with you.”
“That sounds perfect,” Beatrix replied.
In truth, she had som
e doubts, for Lady Kenrick’s taste was not her own. But she silently waved those aside. She would not, after all, allow herself to be talked into anything she did not like, and she would only order a few gowns at first. If the results were not what she wished, she would choose a different modiste and begin again. At the very least, this would give her a start. If Rothwood did object to the expense, it would serve him right. After all, she could point out, he hadn’t been home for her to ask.
Energized by the delightful prospect before them, Lady Kenrick was ready for their shopping expedition in record time. Somewhat to Beatrix’s surprise, they did not simply begin and end with the modiste. It was their first stop, of course, and the woman was all that Lady Kenrick had promised. So delightful were her proposed creations that Beatrix found herself ordering three times the number of garments she had intended. She even found herself abandoning the gown she was wearing for one the modiste had on hand that could be fitted to her on the spot.
“The lady, she orders and then does not accept. I am désolé. But now, I see it fits you, flatters you far better than it would her. I am in alt! Everyone who sees you will want to know who made this dress. You will tell them, yes?”
“I will tell them,” Beatrix agreed, a little stunned by what she saw in the mirror. Suddenly she was no longer a drab creature garbed in a dress years out of date. Instead she looked every inch the fashionable lady in a gown of the richest shade of deep green that she had ever seen. In that moment, she would have promised the modiste anything.
Behind her, Beatrix could hear Lady Kenrick arranging with the modiste that two more dresses would be delivered to Rothwood’s townhouse by evening, and that the rest of her order would be the highest priority for the modiste and her staff. Finally her ladyship turned to Beatrix and said, “Now on to the rest of our shopping!”
“Th-the rest?”
“Well, you don’t think we stop at dresses and undergarments, do you? We need hats and gloves and slippers for you. Reticules, too, I think. Besides, it will give me a chance to introduce you to other ladies of the ton who are out on similar errands. By the end of the day, all of London will know Rothwood’s bride is a beauty and you will have callers by tomorrow. I shall come by and help you choose who should become part of your circle of friends.”
April Kihlstrom Page 12