“Farewell, dear relatives! A splendid day for travel, is it not?” he said, loud enough to be heard by all the curious folk poking their heads from doors and windows up and down the elegant street. His whip cracked over the head of his two horses, and away they went.
His phaeton easily caught up with the barouche and took the lead in the fine procession prancing out of London town of the early morning. Fortunately the roads were not so crowded leaving town, the wagons and coaches, the horsemen and pedlars were coming into town from the country, most wagons loaded with chickens, vegetables, apples, barrels of various sorts. Curious looks were cast at the gentry going so grandly, but most paid little more than cursory attention.
It had been a smart move to go early, thought Burke, pleased with himself. He had taken the relatives off guard. He was so punctual, they had not dreamed he would come so early. Lesley would be most pleased with him, it would make their marital relations much the easier. She had not acted the shrew with him since their marriage, indeed, for a month.
He pleased himself also with the picture of her gratitude, her warm arms about his neck, her warm body in bed with him. He had put off their wedding night, but tonight would not be too soon to claim those rights. He was looking forward to that. She was a lovely armful, his Lesley, for all her flashing eyes and tall, strong figure. She was rounded in the right places, she was gentler when one came to know her. He would teach her of love and pleasure, he was sure she had not learned that from other men, she was much too wary of them.
Two hours out of London, on the Dover Road, he drew up the small procession. The traffic had thinned out, they were coming to smaller towns and villages. He had them pull over out of the road into a narrow lane and stop.
He got down, tossed the reins to an attentive outrider, and strode back to the barouche. He opened the door and peered inside. Viola was next the door, weeping softly, giving little sobs as she wiped her face again and again.
“Crying, Viola? On such a beautiful day?” he scolded her gently, a little concerned. “You must be famished! We shall have some food for you, a cup of hot tea from the flask, and some sweet biscuits, eh?”
She gave him a wavering smile. “Oh, dear brother Burke, you are the kindest man in the world!” she cried, her voice breaking. Edgar gave him a little nod, as though to say she would be all right, but his face was melancholy, as though he had been listening to tales of woe.
“Of course I am, the very kindest, ask your sister,” he said, to make her laugh. Then he turned his attention to Lesley, in the shadows beyond. “Lesley, are you all right?”
“All right, thank you, Burke.” Her voice was low and composed. He could just make out that Sandy was clinging tightly to her, arms about her neck, his small form huddled close, wrapped in her travelling cloak with her.
Burke climbed into the barouche and said, “Edgar, hand down the basket, if you will.” Edgar took out the wicker basket of food and flasks and opened it. Burke poured out tea and handed it round, taking some himself. It had been quite a morning so far.
He became used to the dimness, and could make out Lesley’s face. She had not wept, but her face was fine-drawn, suffering. Sandy’s face was against her breast, like a baby’s, for all his six years.
“Sandy? A cup of tea?” asked Burke casually. The boy finally stirred, sat up. His hand shook as he reached for the cup. It was very thin, and there were scratches on the hand and fingers. Lesley helped him hold the cup.
They ate and drank, Viola giving little sighs as she did so, as though at the end of her tether. “I thought we would never get away,” she whispered, as she crunched into a biscuit. Tears came again to her eyes, she brushed them away, beaming at Burke with quivering lips.
“Of course, did you doubt me?” he jested. “Me, the planner of campaigns, who took part in a sea battle against three of the biggest ships in the French navy?”
Sandy’s large eyes blinked at Burke in the darkness. He still said not a word. He seemed frightened, still, and so quiet it worried Burke. Burke gave him a little pat on the head. “Home by dark, Sandy,” he said. “You’ll like Penhallow. Plenty of grass to play about on. And new lambs to see, and a fine dog who has just had six pups, all coal black!”
Not a sound or murmur from Sandy, who had formerly been such a lively youngster, full of curiosity. Lesley shook her head slightly, and Burke did not persist.
They paused again about one o’clock for luncheon. Burke had sent ahead several days ago, with orders for food and changes of horses. Lesley came in with Sandy, but he clung to her, and whimpered with weariness. She soon retired to the barouche with him, still holding him on her lap. The others ate hastily in silence, and returned to the carriages.
They reached Penhallow about dusk. Lights shone from the lower windows, and some of the upper ones. Burke was as glad to get there as his family and guests, and the servants had hot food, burning fires in the fireplaces, candles lit, torches in the hall. Hot bricks were placed in the beds, and all soon retired.
Sandy was reluctant to go to any stranger. Lesley went up to his nursery with him, to give him into the care of Mrs Amelia Grigson. She was a kindly older widow, some forty-two years old, with three grown children. Short, plump, motherly, she was the kind that Sandy would like, Burke felt sure.
He went to the small bedroom next to the master bedroom, stripped, washed off the dust, donned his new nightgown of fine cambric edged with lace, and his red velvet robe. He was excited, trying to appear calm.
This would not be like going to an experienced mistress, a woman of convenience, or an expensive bit of fluff grateful for money or jewels. Lesley was a sensitive woman, a lady, intelligent, high-strung, and a virgin. He must be careful, woo her for a time, give her a chance to get accustomed to him.
With high anticipation, yet cautious, he dismissed his valet and opened the door to the next room, the master bedroom. Lesley was seated on the dressing stool while Netta brushed her long red-gold hair.
Netta gave him a startled look. Lesley stiffened visibly, clutching her negligée of pale green about her slim body.
“You may go, Netta,” said Burke, and held the hall door for her. She curtseyed and left them, closing the door softly after herself. Burke turned to Lesley. “You look very lovely, my dear,” he said.
She did look lovely, younger than in daytime with her severely cut travelling dress. Tonight, with her hair hanging loose below her shoulders, almost to her waist, she looked about sixteen. But she was older, mature, a woman, and his wife.
He went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He had been right, she was stiff, clutching the brush to her bosom. “How do you like your new rooms, Lesley?” he asked.
He had redone Penhallow when he had inherited. He was quite proud of the master bedroom suite, all in blues and golds, with some touches of bittersweet reds.
“This room is very large,” she said, unexpectedly. “Is this ... the master bedroom?”
He found her question strange, and a little disquieting. “Of course, Lesley. Do you like it?”
“It is too large for me. The little room next to Viola’s on the other side of the hall would be fine for me,” she said. “I shall remove to it tomorrow.”
Anger rose in him in spite of his resolves. “The hell you will,” he said forcefully. “This is your place, this is the room you will share with me! None of your missishness, Lesley!” He tried to calm himself and speak soothingly, though inwardly he raged. “You shall see your other rooms tomorrow, the small drawing room across the hall ... and of course Sandy is just upstairs in the nursery. There are stairs —”
“Don’t change the subject,” she said sharply, and standing up to her full height, her chin up, battle in her face. “And don’t think you can come into my room just whenever you choose! You know the conditions of our marriage! It is ... only one of convenience ... and we don’t have any feeling for each other. It was made only for the sake of getting Sandy, you and I both know and
recognize that.”
“Nonsense,” he said heavily. She was watching him like a filly about to be ridden for the first time, and the thought excited him. He put his arms about her and pulled her to him forcefully. He had thought of her red-gold head lying on his shoulder, and he stroked his fingers through her hair, trying to pull her head down to his shoulder. “This is a marriage, all right and proper —”
A small fist landed on his shoulder. A hard slipper kicked at his shin, unprotected by boots.
“Ouch!” he said, in fury and surprise. He let her go, hopping around the room to ease the pain in his shin. She eyed him in fear and suspicion, holding the brush at the ready. “Damn it, Lesley, what’s the matter with you? We’re married!”
“Only in name,” she said firmly, pronouncing the words as though they were in capitals. “We both know it. Don’t try to pretend any different, Burke Penhallow! We both understand —”
“I don’t know what in hell you understand, young lady! But I know that was a real marriage ceremony we had the other day, in church and all! And did you not hear yourself saying you would love, honour and obey me?”
“But I didn’t mean it,” she said simply, eyeing him in surprise, and he thought some mockery. “Neither did you. I could see your tongue in your cheek at the time!”
“Damn it all,” he said. He went up to her, caught her again by surprise, and pressed his lips to hers.
She had a honey-sweet, full mouth, for all her harsh words. He enjoyed pressing his lips on hers, moving his mouth over hers, catching the lower lip between his teeth and pressing gently.
She gave a little moan, tried to pull back. She squirmed against him, and the warmth of her body against his excited him further. He could feel the long length of her legs against his legs, her thighs against his thighs, her breasts on his chest, and all the sweet loveliness of her on his body.
Heat rose swiftly in him. He was not used to long wooing, he had had experienced mistresses, especially in later years. He forgot her virginity, her lack of any knowledge of how men acted. He nuzzled aside the negligée, and through the muslin of her nightdress felt the rounded softness of her breasts, felt the rising of the pink nipples he could just see through the fabric.
She began to fight him. Her fists struck his shoulders, his chest.
“Damn it — quit that!” He jerked his head out of her reach, and leaped up from the bed, all desire draining from him.
She shot up, glaring at him, panting, uncaring that the negligée was half off, that her nightdress had ridden up to reveal beautiful ivory thighs. He glared down at her, admiring her beauty even as he could have spanked her for her defiance.
They were panting for breath, pausing to eye each other with suspicion and anger. He caught his breath first, managing to say, “Well, I will be damned. I never thought you would go back on a bargain, Lesley Dalrymple! You’re a damn cheat!”
“Am not!” she said as sharply as she had as a child, when he or one of her brothers had accused her. “You’re the cheat! We have a marriage of ... of convenience ... no more ... and I won’t be your mistress, so there!”
“You’re my wife!” he flared.
“In name only, and I won’t warm your bed for you tonight or any night!” she responded as swiftly. “You can just go cold! Get out of my room, or I’ll leave and ... and sleep with Viola!”
That did give him pause. If she went running about the halls in the middle of the night, seeking the comfort of her sister’s bed, the gossip would rage like wildfire in a dry forest.
“Now, calm down,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “I’m going off to my own bed. You can have this one. It’s the one for Mrs Penhallow, and you’ll stay here, you hear me? We are married, and it’s for good! I suppose you’re tired and unreasonable tonight, but we can talk tomorrow.”
And he stalked off to the other small room, to lie down on the narrow, less comfortable bed and fume. From the other room, where he had left the door slightly ajar, he caught the sound of soft weeping. Was she furious with him? Did she want him to return? Was she being coy?
He frowned, uncertain. A mistress might have been, wanting more jewels or money. But Lesley ... no, she sounded desolate. He almost went to her...
Then he sat upright, of a sudden. He stared into the darkness. That expression on her face ... it had been fear!
Yes, she had been angry, furious with him, spiteful. But there had been fear in her, terror! That stiffness of her body, that virginal shrinking...
Virginal. That was the key. Of course. She was a virgin, and he had not wooed her. There had been little time for that, and she had been fearful as a cat on a hot fireplace.
He had to woo her. Damn it all, that he had forgotten! She was grown up, but she had no experience at all with men. She had avoided them, disdained them. She had held them aloof, no flirting and playing about for her, and he had been glad of that. He wanted a virgin bride, and he had one. Now it was up to him to woo her, win her, be careful and gentle with her.
It would take a time, and she would probably fight him. He lay down again, rather enjoying that thought. He liked Lesley, she had spirit. When she was won, she would be sweet and loving, but spirited also, and intelligent, and probably a delight in bed. Imaginative, and beautiful...
It would be worth the waiting, and the trouble. Burke smiled to himself. It was a challenge, and he liked a fine challenge. He went to sleep contentedly.
CHAPTER 7
Lesley seated herself in the rocking chair and watched Sandy run about the nursery. Even in just the first week at Penhallow, he was so much improved! It still caught at her heart, the way he had appeared the first few days: fearful, thin, drawn, with a hacking cough.
He still coughed, but being outdoors in the sunshine, having little black pups to play with, strolling with her to see the cows and horses, all had contrived to make him much better.
Sandy sat on the rocking horse, the fresh, fine red horse Burke had bought for him, and rocked vigorously. Mrs Grigson exchanged a smile with Lesley. She was plump, motherly, with fine, intelligent eyes and a firm manner that did not conceal warmth and concern for Sandy. He had become accustomed to her quickly, and called her Mother Grigson. She had been telling him about her children and quoting their sayings, usually beginning, “But Mother, how can you expect me to do such-and-so?” So Sandy had quickly picked that up.
Finding Sandy contented and able to amuse himself, Lesley finally stood up. “Sandy, dear, I have my accounts and some other duties to do. I’ll come back about twelve, and we shall have a nice walk before luncheon. All right?”
He climbed down from his horse, ran over to her, and hugged her about the waist. “All right, Aunt Les. Will Uncle Burke come?”
“I think not today, he rode out to see the men about the hop fields. We shall see him at tea.”
Sandy seemed pleased. “And I’ll read my book to him. I read it good, don’t I?”
“You read it well,” she corrected gently, and smiled down at him. She bent quickly and kissed his thin cheek. “Be good, darling. We’ll visit the pups again today.”
He beamed at her as she left, waving at him from the doorway. She picked up her skirts to descend the nursery stairs that ended near the door to the hallway of her suite.
Her suite. The master suite she shared with Burke. He had firmly forbidden her to move from it, his anger cold and hard as she had tried to insist. And it would have caused much talk and consternation among the household if she had done so, she had to admit, now her anger had had time to die down. It was her place, it had been freshly decorated, she had no real excuse to move out. But she did not want to be near Burke!
She entered the suite, heard the maids cleaning the bedrooms and chattering together quietly. She walked along the beautiful Turkish carpets, which lined the hallway, to the end windows. There was a windowseat where one could look out over the front of the manor-house.
Lesley walked past the closed door of Burke’s stud
y. He did work long hours. Her first impression of her husband as a rake had given way to one of a hard-working man. He was no rake or Corinthian on the Penhallow estate. He rose early, to do two hours of work at his desk before descending to take breakfast with whatever guests and household had risen. Then he rode out for three or four hours, supervising the work in the fields, discussing it with his estate manager, even riding further afield to the villages nearby. Sometimes he rode with Reverend Edgar Creswick, who took such a keen interest in everyone for miles about.
Burke usually returned for the late luncheon, worked again in his office until tea time, then relaxed with guests or with Sandy until dinner. He was a genial host, forgetting his work to jest and exchange stories, to tease Viola gently, to encourage Sandy to read to him or talk to him. Sandy would sit on his lap and read, or talk, much more openly now, treating him as “dear Uncle Burke” and someone to be trusted.
Lesley entered her own parlour at the front of the house, opposite the master bedroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the small gold-rimmed mirror above the side table, and found she was frowning slightly.
Burke was up to something, and she thought she knew what it was. After the frightening experience of that first night at Penhallow, he had not tried to force his attentions on her. But he was kind, attentive, came often to her bedroom in the evening to “discuss some matter”, usually trivial. He would gaze at her in her evening gown, praise her, consult with her, sometimes kiss her quickly on the cheek.
He was trying to get around her, she thought fiercely. But she would not give in! They had agreed, to her reckoning, on a marriage of convenience, and that did not include becoming his real wife! She flushed red at the very thought, angry and outraged.
She seated herself at the lovely small flat desk in the centre of the room. From that position, she could gaze out of the front windows to the beautiful lane leading to Penhallow, the wide grassy lawns, the pool, the trees and flowerbeds just blooming with tulips, crocuses, purple and yellow flags or iris, and several fragrant bushes of lavender and white lilacs. She loved to stroll in the gardens with Sandy and Viola.
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 8