Scandal's Bride

by Gibson, Pamela

  “If it’s a ghost, why does she confine herself to the tower? Why not roam the grounds?”

  “An excellent question, my dear. I shall have to research ghosts. I’m sure there is an account in a gothic novel somewhere that might answer your question.”

  “Indeed.”

  Lionel appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served.

  John rose and took Gwen’s arm. He seated her and helped her drape her shawl over the back of the chair. At least the dinner would keep his mind off his bride’s full breasts, rising above the bodice of her dress with every breath.

  You’ve seen the female form before. Get a grip.

  But that was exactly what he wanted to do. Touch, grip, knead. For some reason, he couldn’t get lust from his mind.

  The soup course was not to his liking. Too salty. They needed a cook. Mary had been second housekeeper when she retired, not a cook. Hopefully he could find one in the village. If not, perhaps in York. He’d promised Gwen a visit there, and he intended to take her once they had most of their household tasks completed. The visit would be a treat for her. She deserved one.

  He focused on the meal. The next course was locally caught fish, quite good, followed by roast beef. When it was time for dessert, he was back in control, laughing with Gwen over nonsense, especially her view of the Egyptian craze in furnishings.

  “You do not share your mother’s taste in all things Egypt?”

  “If you ever see me giving a sarcophagus a second look, please wrap your cravat around my head to cover my eyes and lead me away. And that goes for blood red furniture and golden asps rising along mirrors.”

  “Wait. A sarcophagus? Do not tell me the one I saw in your house was real.”

  “It was. Mother had it bronzed, and she was told, on good authority mind you, that a mummy was inside.”

  “Does it exude a putrid odor?”

  She reached over and tapped his wrist with her fan. “There was no mummy inside. I looked.”

  “Even though you were told it was there? You are a brave lady. I am glad I married you.”

  She hooted with glee, a sound filling the little dining chamber with merriment. When she saw the tray of tarts, her eyes widened. “Tarts. You did this. I know Mary’s baking skills are lacking. Where did you get them?”

  “A bakery in town. I spied them through the window.”

  She clapped her hands and picked one up, bit gingerly, and closed her eyes as she swallowed. She moaned with pleasure, like a woman in the throes of an orgasm.

  Lord, are we back to that?

  He loosened his cravat and stuffed an entire tart into his mouth, the crumbs falling to the tablecloth. The confection was delightful. He’d stolen a second prior to leaving the kitchen. When Gwen reached for another, she emulated him, putting the entire sweet into her mouth. A dollop of strawberry fell and rested on the top of her right breast.

  She swallowed, looked down, and frowned. “Oh dear.”

  He wanted to lean over and lick it off, perhaps moving even lower until he reached the tiny nub pushing against the bodice.

  Heat rose to his cheeks as he scooted his chair back. “I must go out. I’ll return in an hour.”

  Her eyes widened in concern. “Are you ill?”

  “No. Yes. No. I have a personal errand.”

  He stood abruptly and strode from the room.

  What was wrong with him tonight?

  He found his horse in the stable, saddled it, and galloped toward town.

  Chapter 11

  Gwen dabbed at the spot on her chest with her napkin. After drawing her shawl firmly around her shoulders, she drifted into the parlor to have her evening tea. She hoped whatever was wrong with John was not a serious ailment. He’d been acting strange all evening. She’d quiz him about his abrupt departure when he returned.

  They were to play whist tonight. He’d promised.

  She waited an hour, then retired to her bedchamber. John had not returned.

  A troubling thought picked at the corners of her brain. Could he have an assignation in the village? He’d been gone overlong this afternoon, ostensibly to purchase sheep. Could he have been taking care of other business, business of a personal nature?

  Lydia’s words came back to haunt her. He doesn’t want you. He wants your dowry. He’ll probably keep a mistress.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  After a particularly scandalous discussion at one of her salons, she’d cornered her brother Reggie and pointedly asked him if he had a mistress. He’d been flabbergasted and denied it at first. When she’d persisted, he made the excuse that all men had needs and kept mistresses, even married men. It kept their baser natures away from their delicately bred wives. She’d snorted and stalked off.

  Delicately bred wives.

  It was a justification, and a poor one for infidelity. Now that he was married, Reggie would never be unfaithful to Lydia. The woman dragged him around like a leashed spaniel. If she commanded him to sit or stay like a dog, he’d do it.

  How fortunate I am to have a sensible marriage based on friendship. My heart is not engaged.

  But the unwanted thought persisted. John was an attractive man. He must have needs. Yet their marriage had not been consummated.

  They’d only been in Yorkshire for a few weeks. John hadn’t had time to set up a mistress. She didn’t even know if he’d had one in London. Miranda hadn’t said anything, but would Miranda even know such things? Or if she did, would she have told her?

  She and John had never conversed about fidelity, but the nature of their marriage would not have brought the topic to the forefront. Theirs was not a love match. It was a marriage of mutual benefit.

  You have a fanciful imagination, and you are jumping to conclusions.

  A perfectly reasonable answer for his hasty exit from the dinner table must exist. He’d enlighten her when he returned.

  She finished her ablutions, thinking about the new copper tub in the manor house. She’d love a soak, but Longley’s outriders had returned with the earl’s carriage two days after they’d arrived, and she would not ask Lionel to bring it from the house. John had promised to hire a footman once they were settled. She’d have ample opportunities for hot soaks then.

  A door slammed downstairs, and heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs and along the corridor. John had returned.

  Sighing in relief, she braided her hair and climbed into her cold bed. Sadie usually put a warming brick in the bottom, but she was still sore from the accident, and Gwen had sent her to bed early.

  As she leaned over to blow out the candle, a gentle knock made her pause.

  “Gwennie?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I come in?”

  A frisson of excitement made every nerve ending tingle in anticipation. Did he want to consummate their marriage tonight? She looked down at her serviceable white cotton nightgown with its high neck and long sleeves. She’d put it on because it was heavy and warm. If she’d known John would be joining her in her bed, she would have left her hair loose and worn the pretty gown Miranda had given her as a wedding gift.

  Oh Lord, oh Lord.

  She let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she called out, “Come in.”

  He poked his head through the door. His coat and waistcoat were off, and his cravat was in his hand. He looked mussed and adorable.

  “I want to apologize for my behavior. I shouldn’t have run off like I did. I was feeling . . . ill-tempered . . . and didn’t want to subject you to my mood. I promise not to do it again.”

  She peeked over the top of her covers. “You are forgiven. But I must say I was worried about you. Where did you go?”

  “I rode toward the village, turned
around, and came back. I gave my horse a good gallop and then a rub down in the stable.”

  “I see.” She paused, not knowing what else to say.

  He smiled. “We’ll play whist tomorrow night. I know you enjoy the game.”

  “I shall look forward to it.”

  “Good night, Gwen.” He closed the door firmly, and his footsteps echoed down the hall.

  Why were her eyes filling with tears? She should be relieved.

  Nerves. That was it. She was nervous about the consummation. If he’d get on with it, she’d get over the flutters in her stomach every time he touched her.

  She rolled over on her side and scrunched into a ball. Cold seeped through the windows, making her long for a warm brick. If it was this cold here, what must it be like in the manor house where drafts from who knew where found ways inside?

  Tomorrow the furnishings for the bedchambers were due, along with a few chairs and a small table for their sitting room. She and Mrs. Landry had seen to the kitchen first, and it was now clean and well-stocked with dishes and pots. She’d even cleared a small area for a stillroom.

  They’d be moving into the manor, and except for their maid and valet, their only staff would be Mary and Lionel who would see to the household tasks during the day and repair to their own cottage at night until a proper steward could be hired. Then they would move into the rooms off the kitchen and oversee the staff.

  She groaned. Much work was yet to be done. She should put the more personal aspects of her marriage firmly out of her mind. As John said, they had a lifetime before them. Why rush?

  Indeed. I’m being silly.

  She closed her eyes and willed sleep to come, willed her heartbeats to slow, willed the tingling in her body to cease.

  She could not remember a time she’d been so needy. Or was she merely curious?

  La, she had never been married before. She desperately wanted to know what she was missing.

  ~ ~ ~

  John awakened at dawn and made his way downstairs, careful not to wake Gwen as he passed her room. While grooming his horse last night, he’d given a great deal of thought about the cause of his restlessness. If lust was filling his thoughts, perhaps it was time to do the deed.

  They had to consummate the marriage at some time. He’d discuss it with Gwen first, make sure she understood exactly what it entailed, and promise her once the act was over, she would have nothing to worry about. He would not bother her again. They could get on with their life as friends.

  Today the furnishings Gwen had ordered from a merchant in the village were due, and he wanted to be sure the interior rooms were ready. Gwen had drawn a hasty diagram showing where she wanted chairs, tables, and beds placed. He had it in his pocket.

  Mary was in the kitchen.

  “Shall you take tea or coffee this morning?”

  “Coffee I think. And that leftover tart.”

  He sat on a stool and followed her movements. After she handed him a steaming cup, he moved to the small table in the kitchen.

  “I think we’ll be ready to move into the house this week. Gwen will want to make sure the beds are made and the draperies hung. How is the kitchen coming?”

  Mary put a steaming bowl of porridge in front of him. “You need more than a tart to break your fast, Mr. John. The new cook will arrive in two days’ time. All is in readiness for her.”

  “Will you remain here, or are you and Lionel ready to move into your new quarters in the house?”

  “Lionel and I will come each day, but we appreciate having this house until you hire a steward. Are you sure it’s an acceptable arrangement? We can move into the servants’ quarters off the kitchen sooner, if it is your wish.”

  “Suit yourself, but Gwen doesn’t want to displace you, and neither do I. If you’re happy to come over during the day and those evenings when we entertain, so be it.”

  “You married a good girl, Mr. John. Lionel and I both think the world of her.”

  “As do I, Mary. I couldn’t have chosen better.”

  Morning light filtered through the high windows, but the warm kitchen kept him inside. He’d always been close to Mary who’d served as his and Jeremy’s nanny until they went off to school and Mary had moved into the housekeeping staff.

  “Does your missus know about your mother?” She averted her eyes.

  He let the liquid in his cup warm his hands as he shook his head. “Not yet. But I suppose I cannot avoid the conversation forever.”

  “No, ye cannot. But mark my words. Such a curious, compassionate lass as your lady wife will want to hie off to Longley to see for herself, especially if she hasn’t had any commerce with someone in your mother’s state.”

  “I know.” It was one of the reasons he had not yet told Gwen about Mother. Mother was dangerous—more so because there were times when she appeared perfectly rational. But she’d once bashed Miranda over the head with a vase, and there was evidence she had started a fire that claimed the life of one of Father’s mistresses. No one could tell if the fire had been accidental or intentional, but Phoebe’s mother had died, and Phoebe had witnessed the deed and lost her sight for a while. He and Jeremy were convinced it would be best to keep Mother confined.

  He thought back to Gwen’s comments about children the day they’d first toured the house. He hadn’t been able to believe his ears and had hoped she’d been talking about children who might visit the nursery, not children of their own.

  He stilled his twitching leg under the table. Perhaps he must swallow his trepidation and have the conversation. Best to get everything out in the open at once—Mother’s mental state, Father’s past discretions, the search for half siblings, his feelings about fathering children.

  How did we get so many skeletons in our cupboards?

  The rattle of wagon wheels interrupted his thoughts. He jumped up from the table, gobbled the rest of his food, and finished his coffee.

  “The furnishings are here. Have Lionel drive Gwen over to the house after she has finished eating.”

  He strode out to the barn and saddled his horse, preparing to ride the short distance to the house. The estate was finally coming together. The house would soon be furnished. By next week, sheep would be grazing in his fields. The tenant who had knowledge of sheep had been happy to oversee the flock as part of his duties.

  Happiness was elusive, but for now he was ready to enjoy the feeling. And he had Gwen to thank for most of it—her sunny disposition, her willingness to work alongside him, and her dowry.

  What other society woman of his acquaintance would deign to get her hands dirty cleaning while making a moldering ruin into a home? What other woman would leave friends and family behind to accompany a man she barely knew into a strange, sometimes lonely, place to live?

  Warmth stole into his heart. He was blessed.

  ~ ~ ~

  A beam of sunlight crossed her face. Gwen forced her eyes to open and stretched, not wanting to leave the comfort of her bed. The smell of coffee drifted up from the kitchen. John preferred it to tea, and if it was brewed, he was already up.

  She rang for Sadie and swung her feet over the side. As she stared out the window, her thoughts drifted back to last night when she’d foolishly thought her marriage would finally be consummated. She wished it now. More than ever. Not that Papa would demand her dowry be returned. How would he, or anyone, know what transpired between her and her husband? No, her discontent was something else she couldn’t put a name to. All she knew for sure was that the tiny ember bursting to life when John kissed her on their wedding day was now a full-blown conflagration whenever he was near. And she was sure once the marriage was complete, this restless aching would subside.

  “You’re awake.” Sadie placed a cup of chocolate next to Gwen’s bed and withdrew a warm robe fro
m the armoire. “Your husband has already broken his fast and has gone to the manor.” She reached behind Gwen and fluffed the pillows before pulling the coverlet up after Gwen stood and put on her robe.

  “Oh la, has the furniture arrived? I was woolgathering and completely put it out of my head.” Gwen strode over to the screen. After completing her morning ablutions, she removed her nightwear. Sadie helped her into her undergarments and clothes.

  Today there would be no pretense of fashion. Her oldest, unfashionable gown would do. The fabric was wool, and it was warm enough to be worn without a pelisse. Once she began supervising the placement of the pieces that surely had been unloaded by now, she would want freedom of movement.

  “Tell me when you’ve finished your chocolate, my lady, and I’ll run down and get a sweet bun for you.”

  “No need. I’ll stop in the kitchen on my way out.”

  Sadie finished buttoning the back of Gwen’s dress. “If I do say so, milady, I believe you have lost weight. It must be all the work you’ve done. No lady should have to work like you do, madam. It isn’t right. Your Mama would faint dead away if she knew.”

  “Posh. The work hasn’t harmed me. And if what you say is true, I needed to shed a bit of weight.”

  “Well the waistline of this dress is now loose, but not overly so. When you remove it tonight, I’ll add it to my sewing pile.”

  “Thank you, Sadie. Everyone’s clothing should fit, even if said garment is destined for the rag bag.”

  They laughed together then, like the friends they were. Gwen finished dressing, broke her fast in the kitchen, and headed out the door. The manor was down the lane a half mile, but it was a fine day for walking. She didn’t need to ride. Fresh air was something she’d come to enjoy. Would she ever enjoy walking in the foul air of a big city again?