A Baron in Her Bed (31 page)

It was a beautiful suite of chambers dressed in royal blue velvet, with a huge four-poster bed. The thought of lying in bed with Guy caused desire and anticipation to rush through her. Doors on either side led to their dressing rooms, hers revealing a generous-sized room with a huge wardrobe, bureau, and a cheval glass. There was an escritoire, chair, and bookcase by the window. “I shall enjoy sitting here, looking over the park.” Horatia examined the dainty desk and opened each small drawer. She found an inkpot, sand container, blotter, and writing quills awaiting her use. “How thoughtful.” She smiled at Guy, knowing he’d been responsible.

“For your writing, letters and so forth,” he said.

“Not to mention your poems,” Aunt Emily said. “Thoughtful indeed.”

The visit drew to a close and Horatia returned to Malforth Manor without having that talk with Guy. It upset her more that Guy, knowing she wished it, hadn’t attempted to find a way to be alone with her.

The days passed, the wedding grew closer, and that opportunity failed to present itself.

Geneviève, perhaps because she barely remembered Vincent, didn’t suffer the same sense of loss as Guy. She confessed to missing her children but was her exuberant self, contributing much to the preparations. Horatia was grateful for her enthusiasm and her flair. She was happy to give Geneviève full rein over the decorations for the church and Rosecroft Hall. The wedding dress had arrived from the modiste in London to be admired by those allowed to see it. Aunt Emily claimed the wedding breakfast as her domain and spent time discussing it with Guy’s new chef. Still worrying about Guy, Horatia was happy to leave it to them.

Her father and Marina arrived home a few days before the wedding. They were obviously both so content with each other. Horatia was glad her father’s happiness was now in the hands of a kind and capable woman.

The day before the wedding, her father called her into the library. “I hope you’ll be as happily married as I was, first to your mother and now to Marina,” he said.

“I’m sure I will be, Father,” Horatia said. “I love Guy very much.”

“Good, my dear.” The tips of his ear tinged red as he tapped out his pipe. “I can’t prepare you for marriage as a mother might. Perhaps your aunt?” The flush spread to his neck. “But then, my sister is herself unmarried.”

Horatia hurried to spare him. “There is no need. I am marrying a patient loving man. I’m sure I shall manage.”

“Yes, yes. Of course you will.” He rose, easing his shoulders with relief. “Shall we join the others for tea?”

Guy led his horse over a gate and into the fields of Rosecroft Hall as the setting sun turned the trees aflame. After an earlier deluge, the air was redolent with earthy smells. A cool breeze touched his face. The nights had turned cold, as summer had tipped into autumn. Already, the leaves had turned to brown, crimson and ochre in the park. It was winter when he’d arrived in England full of confidence and ready to take up the mantle of country gentleman. So much had happened that his dreams had lost relevance in his fight to stay alive. Well, here he was, still on God’s earth, the threat that had hung over him gone. He searched for the relief and happiness, which should by rights replace it, but his spirits failed to rise. Only the dull feeling of grief remained. Even though he hadn’t seen Vincent for all of his adult life, he’d always felt he was still on the earth. And now he was gone from it. He now knew to his detriment that even though Vincent had chosen to ignore it, twins enjoyed a special bond.

Guy didn’t suffer from megrims as a rule. But Byron’s poem Byron’s “Darkness”, that Aunt Emily had recited the night before, had a certain resonance.

“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;”

He huffed out a laugh of frustration. Horatia would approve of his quoting Byron. For her sake, he must shake himself out of it. He loved her optimistic nature. Once they were together, the world would right itself. He urged his horse into a canter and rode back to the stables. John, who was to be his best man, was expected to arrive this evening, and he looked forward to his company. Guy valued their friendship. John had believed in him and trusted him when he had very little reason to do so.

Guy felt his spirits lift as he approached the house. Tomorrow was his wedding day.

The day dawned fine, the air crisp, the sky the soft blue of a duck’s egg. Horatia, her stomach fluttering with nerves, stood while her aunt, Geneviève, and Molly fussed around her. Aunt Emily smoothed the boat-necked, white Indian muslin gown decorated with a band of seed pearls high under the bosom. Geneviève arranged the dainty silver and pearl tiara she had lent Horatia over her soft curls. Horatia wore her mother’s pearl drop earrings and the matching pearl necklace.

They stood back to admire their creation. Geneviève clasped her hands. “
Tres magnifique
!
”
 

Aunt
Emily
kissed
her
cheek
.
“
You look
beautiful, Horatia
.
”

“You are both darlings, thank you.” Horatia stared at her reflection and smiled. The woman in the glass, who surely wasn’t her, smiled back. She dabbed on a delicate floral scent, which Geneviève had given her, and picked up the ivory fan from her aunt. She performed one last slow revolution in front of the cheval mirror, thinking she looked womanly. Would she eradicate Guy’s memories of her shoeless in that horrid warehouse, smelling of horse? She hoped seeing her looking her best would jolt him out of his sad mood and make him realize what a joyful life they had ahead of them.

Those who couldn’t fit into the church hovered around the entrance as Horatia, on her father’s arm, walked down the aisle. Fanny followed in white muslin with white ribbons decorating her bonnet. The Digswell ladies seated on the pews craned their necks to study gowns in the first stare of fashion. Geneviève had festooned the church with every available white, hothouse bloom, filling the air with sweet scents. The pews were decorated with silver ribbons and bunches of flowers, the like of which Digswell had never seen.

Guy, handsome in a tailcoat of deep blue, a jabot peeping from his waistcoat embroidered in silver thread, stood at the altar with John Strathairn beside him. He turned to watch her.

Horatia reached him and was relieved to find deep appreciation in his eyes. “You look very beautiful,” he murmured.

“And you very handsome,” she replied, smiling up at him, enjoying the return of that spark of desire to his eyes.

The vicar cleared his throat.

Guy gazed at his bride standing beside him at the altar. Her delicate mouth trembled and her slim fingers shook slightly in his as he slipped on the ring. Her eyes met his and his heart swelled. How blessed was he. He planned to protect and love her for all the days the good lord allotted him.

He repeated the words that joined them in wedlock, his eyes never leaving hers. And she responded firmly, her love for him shining in her soft amber eyes.

When it was over, they left the church. Guy put his arm around his new wife and helped her into the brougham decorated with silver ribbons and bells. Horatia smiled at him her eyes on his mouth. He knew in that moment what she was thinking. Their kiss after the ceremony had been a mere brush of lips. “I’d like a proper kiss,” she said confirming it.

Guy obliged with a long and passionate kiss as a cry went up from those waving goodbye, and they departed for Rosecroft Hall.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked as the brougham lurched and jiggled its way over the rough road.

He held her tight against him and his lips found the soft skin her neck below her ear. “I am now.”

Horatia barely had time to speak to Guy as the wedding breakfast was served. The table in the dining room was laden with silver bowls of walnuts, hazelnuts, and hothouse grapes. A rich fruit wedding cake took pride of place in the center of the table. Their marriage was toasted with champagne. When everyone had eaten their fill of hot rolls, buttered toast, cold meats, ham and eggs, and washed it down with steaming hot chocolate, an orchestra from London struck up in the minstrel’s gallery and the country dancing began.

Horatia spied Marina sitting alone while her father chatted to Eustace and sat down beside her.

Marina smiled. “You have chosen well, my dear,” she said. “I believe Guy will prove a worthy mate for you.”

“I only hope I will prove worthy of him.”

Marina placed a hand on Horatia’s arm. “You may not have understood my meaning. You are an adventurous young woman, by all accounts. Passionate and brave from what your father has told me. I am greatly in awe of such qualities because I know I lack them.”

“But you are so calm and practical,” Horatia said, surprised. “Why would you wish to be different?”

“I am not unhappy. I understand the value I bring to my marriage. But you’ll achieve far more in your life. My one hope is to make my husband comfortable and happy.”

“Then we are one in that aim.”

Marina smiled. “But you shall prove an exciting companion, Horatia. And I feel Guy is the man to appreciate a wife such as you.”

Horatia kissed her cheek. “I am so glad my father chose you.” She turned to watch her new husband across the room; he had joined Eustace and her father. Was Marina right? Would Guy appreciate those qualities in her? Could she change for him if he wished it? Become more acquiescent? For the first time, she felt very unsure. Needing to be near him, she crossed the room. The next dance was a waltz, and she wanted to feel his arms around her.

Chapter Twenty Two

John was the first to depart, his presence required in London on official business. Guy walked with him to his carriage. “No news on the whereabouts of Forney?”

“Unfortunately, no. We believe he has left the country.”

Guy nodded. “I shouldn’t think we’ll see him in England again. It would be foolish in the extreme for him to return. What of the countess?”

“She has disappeared.”

“A tidy end to it, then.”

“It is never tidy, my friend.” John grinned. “Enjoy rusticating here with your bride. I will give you two months before we see you in London again.”

Guy laughed. “You think so?”

“You displayed talent in your handling of Forney and his cronies. We may have need of you.”

“
Merci
, but I think not. To live at Rosecroft with Horatia is all I wish for.”

John grinned. “We shall see. Farewell.” He tapped the roof with his cane, and the carriage trundled away down the drive.

Guy and Horatia saw off the last of their guests at the door. He turned to his lovely bride. “Your father has given us a wedding present.”

Horatia’s brows rose. “He said nothing to me. What might that be?”

He grinned. “The General.”

She searched his eyes. “Father gave you The General? He did not include me in this gift?”

He laughed. “To the contrary, The General is yours to ride. But, it’s conditional on you being careful and not taking risks.”

Horatia grinned. “Do you think he always knew I rode him?”

He traced a finger over her cheek. “I suspect he admires your spirit. As I do.”

“The General is mine,” Horatia said with a sigh. “I’ll ride him every day.”

“I’ll ride with you.”

She pouted. “To make sure I’m not too reckless?”

Guy leaned against the doorframe and pulled her against him, enjoying her warm curves. “No. Because I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“Then you
are
happy for me to ride him?” She queried, still unsure of his true feelings on the matter.

“You ride The General like a Hussar, so why not?”

She turned in his arms to laugh up at him. “You and my father are not so different after all. I didn’t realize that.”

“Quoi?”

“I would have married you anyway.”

He slapped her on the derrière. “
Coquine!”

Behind them, Hammond coughed discreetly. “One of the gardeners has brought something for you, my lord.”

Guy expected it to be a wedding offering of some kind, from one of the tenants or the servants, but when the butler placed the object in his hands Guy was speechless.

“He found it under a hedge he pruned on the western boundary, my lord. It must have been dislodged when the horse jumped over it.”

Guy looked Horatia. “My portmanteau!”

“How wonderful!” Horatia said. “Is everything still there?”

Guy unlatched it and rifled inside. He removed the papers bearing the Fortescue coat of arms and the certificate of his birth, travel documents, and others pertaining to his ownership of several English properties. More importantly, his fingers closed over the box containing the seal matrix, a heavily ornate ring, which he disliked to wear. It was all there.

He took a deep shuddering breath. “Thank you, Hammond. And please thank…”

“Hislop, my lord.”

“Convey my sincere thanks to Hislop. Tell him I shall speak to him soon.”

“I feel like it’s a new beginning,” he said to Horatia as they walked along the passage.

“It is, darling.”

They found Eustace in the library. “What a surprise.” Eustace held out his hand. “May I see them?” He searched the documents. “Yes, this is the Fortescue coat of arms, the same as the one above the fireplace in the great hall.” He nodded his approval and handed them back.

Horatia studied the azure chevron with its three golden birds. “What do these birds signify?”

“Nobility acquired through bravery, prowess, or intelligence,” Guy said.

“The martlet, or heraldic swallow, is seen to be swift and elegant,” Eustace added.

“The birds don’t appear to have feet,” Horatia said.

“In a medieval myth, the swallow had no feet. It signifies that one has to subsist on the wings of his virtue and merit alone.”

“Which perfectly describes my brother’s life up until now,” Geneviève said as she entered the room.

Guy smiled at his sister, aware of how much he would miss her.