“An old acquaintance of the family, my dear. I’m sure you will enjoy meeting him and his charming wife. We shall be staying with them for several days, so you’ll be needing clothes packed for you. I would suggest something for social affairs.”
“And would you have a preference for what I wear today, milord?”
“You seem to have a fine knowledge for what is appropriate, madam. ’Twill be your choice, since my preference would not be in the realm of practicality.”
Her dark, delicately shaped brows arched in an unspoken question.
“You are very lovely as you are,” he explained. “But I fear you would draw more attention than I prefer.”
Erienne glanced away from those hidden eyes, not knowing what to answer. By every turn of a conversation, he made it obvious that he desired her and was impatient to claim his due as husband.
“Dress yourself, madam.” He rose and moved to the edge of the arras, where he announced, “For the sake of my own comportment, I shall await you downstairs.”
Erienne found the preparation for the journey unexciting and the grooming tedious and without merit. If her husband chose to cast her off for another woman, she would be greatly relieved. She did not wish to be presented at her best. Yet Tessie worked diligently toward that end and left no detail wanting. The raven tresses were curled into a sedate cluster of ringlets that was secured at the nape of her neck. Frilly garters were donned to hold the knee-length silk stockings in place. A corset was tightened over the delicate chemise, and then a traveling dress of deep, rich peacock velvet was eased in place. The lower half of the sleeves and the standing collar of the garment were ornately stitched with silken threads. Froths of delicately pleated pink lace lay against her throat and filled the slashed and flared cuffs. A small, padded, false rump supported the fullness and longer length of the skirt at the back. Lastly, a pert hat with a sweeping plume was placed at a saucy angle over the carefully constructed coiffure, and it was here that Erienne made a protest. Though the hat was in excellent taste, she did not wish to give the slightest impression that she was competing with Claudia Talbot for the most extravagant millinery.
“But mum, ye’re the wife of a lord now,” Aggie argued. “ ’Tis yer duty ter dress yerself accordin’ly. Ye would not have folk whisper that the master is tightfisted with ye, now would ye? Especially when he’s spent such a fortune for yer garments. See for yerself how grand ye look in the clothes he bought ye. ’Twould be a waste not to indulge yerself in the luxuries he’s provided. Go on. Take a look.” She urged Erienne to the long pane of silvered glass and waited while her young mistress contemplated her reflection. “Well? Do ye look like some milkmaid’s daughter, or a grand lady?”
Erienne had to admit that Tessie had done wonders for her appearance. No one could call her dowdy by any stretch of the imagination. She could even understand to some degree why Lord Saxton thought her pretty. She had good features, clear skin, a nice long neck, and thick, shining hair. Though slender and slightly taller than average, she had no need of padding to fill the top of her chemise or round out her hips.
A bit of mutiny still showed in her countenance as she considered what her husband’s reaction might be to her appearance. With the long trip to London still ahead of her, and not knowing what the sleeping arrangements would be while they were en route and after they arrived, she was very cautious about soliciting any more of his attention.
Aggie lightly pinched her cheeks to bring forth the color. “ ’Tis a rare sight ye are, mum, and anyone can see why ye’ve taken the master’s fancy. Ye’re lovely. Just lovely. And it wouldn’t harm nothin’ if ye were ter add a bit o’ a smile.”
Erienne managed a lame, uninterested grimace.
In return the housekeeper gave her a shaming look. “Mum, if ye allow me ter say it, I’ve seen better on a steamin’ clam.”
Tessie clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle, while a deeper color rose in Erienne’s cheeks. She gritted out another smile until Aggie sighed in resignation and went to the door.
“If that be the best ye can muster, I suppose ’twill have ter do.”
Erienne felt somewhat harassed. Since Aggie’s main objective seemed to be offspring for the Saxton family, Erienne was beginning to suspect that the woman was entirely unsympathetic to her plight and was prodding her into pleasing Lord Saxton.
A short time later, she was confronted with even more evidence that the housekeeper was striving to bring about an intimate and congenial relationship between master and mistress. The coach was loaded with their baggage at the front door, and Lord Saxton had paused beside it to discuss the route with Tanner. When Erienne emerged from the manor, she won her husband’s immediate regard, and from his lack of response to the driver’s question, made it obvious that she had his undivided attention. However, it was not his actions that led to her assurance that Aggie was trying to guide affairs, but the appearance of Tessie and her quick ascent to the driver’s seat. Settling a heavy woolen cloak about her shoulders, the maid took a place beside Bundy.
Erienne lifted an inquiring gaze to her husband, thinking he had ordered the maid to ride on top.
Mistaking her unspoken question, he stated, “You’ll be needing Tessie’s assistance while we’re at the Leicesters.” A mocking chuckle came from the mask. “Unless, of course, you can abide my assistance at your bath.”
Erienne would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush and was quick to suggest, “Surely, milord, the girl could share the comfort of the coach with us.”
“Oh, no mum.” Tessie shook her head, and her round face displayed her brimming excitement as she gathered the cloak about her. “Aggie made me promise that I would ride up here with Tanner.”
The quirk in Erienne’s brow deepened as her suspicions about Aggie were further confirmed. Erienne made a silent pledge to thwart this matchmaking arrangement after their first stop. No doubt the girl would be more willing to accept her offer after she had had some experience at being crushed between the two men.
This time when Erienne climbed into the coach, she had her choice of seats, and after making her selection, her husband doffed his cloak and joined her there. Leaning back, he relaxed against the cushions, stretching his twisted foot out toward the side while resting his left leg casually against her own. Furtively she glanced toward the offending limb and saw the shape of it was long and leanly muscular. No difference could be noted in the other thigh. His boots came to his knees, hiding any defect there, and though the skirt of his coat had been drawn back, his hips were concealed beneath a long waistcoat.
Attempting to avoid the contact, Erienne braced herself in the corner, but with every bump and lurch of the carriage, she slipped against him again. He made no effort to move away, and they traveled along for some distance as she fought in vain to keep her place.
“ ’Tis foolishness you know,” the low, rough voice finally broke the silence and gained her immediate attention.
“Foolishness, milord?” He had not deemed even to glance her way, and she looked in bemusement at his stark profile.
“This continuous effort to avoid touching me. ’Tis foolishness.”
Any denial was stricken from her tongue by the truth of his words. She was his wife, and one day she must bear his children, however distasteful the idea appeared to her now. Resisting the inevitable was no better than swimming upstream against a mighty torrent of water. Someday she would have to abandon her resistance and let the mighty rushing force take her where it would.
In their brief marriage she had become aware that wisdom was essential when dealing with Lord Saxton. However gross his appearance was, his mind was not lame, and he read her with unerring ease, which placed her at a great disadvantage, for she knew absolutely nothing about him. The thought came to her that if she wanted to survive this marriage with her sanity intact, she must first begin to accept him as a man, and perhaps then she could come to know him as her husband.
Her
gaze lightly touched his frame. She had so much to learn about him, and to gain the knowledge, she had to rely upon a more pragmatic form of learning and to make inquiries, since she was not adept at guessing his thoughts. Much as it frightened her, she took a deep breath to steady her trembling nerves and broached the subject that most intrigued her.
“I have been wondering, milord, how it was possible for you to survive the fire. There is nothing left of the manor’s east wing but rubble, which seems to indicate that it was no small blaze. I have tried but I cannot imagine how you managed to escape…”
“I am no ghost, madam,” he replied bluntly.
“I have never believed in ghosts, milord,” she murmured softly.
“Neither do you believe me a flesh-and-blood man.” A long silence ensued before he asked, “Are you afraid I’ll prove to be some deformed monster in your bed, madam?”
Erienne’s cheeks burned with the heat of her embarrassment. Her gaze dropped to the thinly gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap, and she spoke in a small voice. “I did not mean to rouse your ire, milord.”
He gave an odd shrug. “All brides are curious about their husbands. You have more reason than most.”
“I am curious…” she began unsteadily, “not because I’m concerned about going to bed with you, but…” Suddenly realizing how her words could be misconstrued, she bit her lip worriedly and awaited his reaction.
It was as she suspected. He pounced on her statement with zeal. “If that be the case, madam, then perhaps you will welcome me in your chambers tonight. I will be more than happy to prove myself a capable husband. I can request only a single room for us at the inn, and we can warm each other through the night.”
“I…would rather not, milord,” she replied in a strained whisper.
His hooded head dipped briefly. “As you wish, my love. I shall await your pleasure.”
Though her relief was great, Erienne dared not release an audible sigh. Sometimes there was safety in ignorance, and she was content to let the silence continue undisturbed for however long he chose.
When they approached the bridge at Mawbry, Erienne directed her interest to the crowd of people gathered on it. They were leaning over the side to view something in the stream. As the prancing team came toward them, the villagers stepped out of the way, but a small cart blocked the far end of the bridge, making it impossible for the coach to pass. Wondering what had attracted the onlookers, Erienne sat forward in her seat. She scanned the passing faces for those familiar to her, then her gaze went beyond them to the bank on the far side of the stream, where several men were standing. Her eyes widened as she found the object of their concern. A man was sprawled head downward beside the stream, his arms flung wide in a grotesque fashion. The middle and upper part of his body and head were covered with blood, while the eyes stared unblinkingly at the leaden skies above. Even through the macabre mask, Erienne could see the shriek of horror stillborn on the twisted lips.
She shrank back in the seat, closing her eyes to shut out the horrid sight and pressing a trembling hand against her lips as she struggled against a sudden wave of nausea. Lord Saxton took note of her ashen face and leaned forward to see what had upset her, then finding the reason, immediately rapped on the carriage roof with his cane. The small door behind the driver’s seat opened and the face of Bundy appeared.
“Aye, milord?”
“See if you can find out what has happened down there and who that poor devil is,” he ordered
“Right away, milord.”
After an exchange with several people on the bridge, Bundy called to Ben, who ambled forth to supply the information. “ ’Tis Timmy Sears. Some’un stuck him, then slit his throat ter finish ’im off. His poor widder is at the inn now, and she’s swearin’ the last she saw o’ Timmy, he were gittin’ ready ter fight an angel o’ death way up by their place. A night rider dressed all in black.”
“Damn!”
The oath was barely heard, even by Erienne, who turned to her husband in surprise. He gripped the handle of his cane with such intensity that his fingers stood out like talons beneath the soft hide. She remembered his assurances concerning the man and wondered if this was his method of handling unruly rowdies. Whether his reaction was sincere anger over Timmy’s death or a ruse to hide an act of murder, she could not say.
“Tell them to send for the sheriff,” Lord Saxton called up to Bundy brusquely. “Then find someone to get that cart moved out of our way.”
“Aye, milord,” the servant replied and snapped the small portal closed.
Lord Saxton braced both hands on the handle of the cane and leaned back in the seat. Though the featureless mask gave no hint, Erienne sensed his tension and could not bring herself to question him until the cart was muscled aside and the carriage was moving again. Plucking up her courage, she managed to ask, “Are you angry because Timmy was killed?”
“Uhm!” The grunt was noncommittal.
Erienne could not decide if his answer was an aye or a nay. In trembling disquiet, she tried again, knowing she would be haunted by too many suspicions if she did not pursue the matter. “Did you talk with Timmy…about what happened yesterday?”
The face of the mask came around, and she was impaled by those piercing eyes.
“Murder has no hand in justice, madam. I did not kill him.”
The answer was curt and final, and Erienne pressed back against the seat, daring no further word, not even an apology. She had braved too much as it was.
The hooded head turned away from her until the leather visage faced the window. She had no choice but to join her husband in silent observation of the countryside they passed.
Nightfall was threatening when the coach was halted before an inn. Erienne’s hesitation became obvious as Lord Saxton offered up his hand to aid her descent, and when she could not quell her qualms enough to accept, the iron-thewed fingers closed with gentle care about her own. When she stepped to the ground, he made no attempt to release her hand, and a long moment passed as he stared down at her. Unable to control the quaking that had seized her, she searched the fearsome mask for some hint of his intent, but the deepening dusk forbade any glimpse of the eyes. He drew in a breath as if to speak, but as she waited, he released it again in a heavy sigh and shook his leather-garbed head. His hand dropped away from her own and swept aside in an invitation for her to follow Bundy.
Only a few patrons were in the common room, and those grew suddenly silent as Lord Saxton followed his lady in. A deathlike stillness fell over the room until a garishly garbed fop who had imbibed too much banged his empty tankard on the table and loudly called for a refill. When none came, he lifted himself from his chair, snatched his vest down with a jerk, and after several sidesteps managed to turn about, just in time to see Erienne moving toward the stairway that stood behind him. He forgot about his mission to the barkeep as his gaze ranged the full length of her. His eyes took on a brightness that betrayed the wayward path of his mind, while his smile closely compared to a lecherous leer. He swept her a low, clumsy bow that from his point of view was nothing short of graceful and flamboyant.
“My fair lady…” he declared gallantly, then sought to rise. His limbs refused to respond adequately, and disturbing his balance by his attempt, he teetered precariously on one foot before falling into a nearby chair. After a moment he raised his gaze, but seeing only the back of Lord Saxton’s flowing cloak where the daintier form had been a moment before, he blinked until finally his flicking eyelids slowed their movement and rested undisturbed against his paunchy cheeks. Almost as quickly as they settled, a high-pitched, whistling snore issued from his lips.
Dinner was brought to Erienne’s room, and Lord Saxton joined her for a short time until Tessie began to lay out her bedclothes. To Erienne’s relief, he excused himself for the evening. His ponderous footfalls echoed in the empty hall, and a brief moment later, she heard the door across the hall open and close, shutting off the sound. Long after Tessie had
left, Erienne sat beside the fireplace in her room and stared into the flames, trying to convince herself that there was no reason to fear her husband. If somehow, by dint of will, she could overcome her trepidations and give herself as she had vowed, perhaps with the first hurdle past her, her apprehensions would recede. Yet now the gory vision of Timmy Sears intruded into her thoughts, and she knew it would be some time before she could dismiss that from memory.
The inn grew quiet as the guests retired for the night. As she slipped between the downy comforters, Erienne detected a distant thump and a scrape, but when nothing more was heard, she finally relaxed and allowed sleep to overtake her troubled thoughts.
The night aged, and the sound came again. A thump and a scrape in the hall, then a light rapping on her door. For a moment Erienne’s wits were scattered. She had been roused from a deep sleep, and the tightly woven threads of slumber refused to free her mind. The tapping was repeated, and with a start Erienne came fully awake, realizing it had to be Lord Saxton at her door. She could think of only one reason for his coming, and that was to share her bed.
A Rose in Winter Page 27