Chelynne (10 page)

The earl let out his breath slowly, his color returning. “Give this a chance, Chadwick. If not for me, for yourself.”

“Father, you’ve done your part in setting the stage and writing the words for this play. I think when it comes to my marriage you would only create more trouble for my bride by interfering. Next I shall have to prop you on the bed and let you consummate my marriage for me.”

“Don’t be vulgar! It is my sole intention to—”

“My lord!” Chad shouted, cutting his father off. “Have you any idea how vulgar it is to have your life prearranged and your words read from a manuscript? You already hold my firstborn’s birthright from me. Pray let me spill my own seed for the start of a new!”

“I want nothing more,” the earl said earnestly.

“Then let me breathe,” Chad pleaded, emphasizing each word singularly.

The earl looked away from his son. It was another attempt at conversation that had fallen down the slide, the antagonism between them seeming never to ease. “There are many guests about the house you should take the time to see. Some are old friends and some new acquaintances. I shall rest so I might be fit for the ball tonight. Seek me out for any matter that needs my attention.”

“Very well,” Chad said on rising. “Do not wait upon me.”

The earl gave his son a nod. Chad saw that the old man’s eyes were strained, deep lines of age seeming more prominent to him now than ever before. He looked at a certain sadness with remorse of his own. Both wanted to speak, smooth over harsh words, close old wounds. Neither did.

Chad took long strides away from his father’s room. He thought his anger well in check until he realized with some surprise that he had walked unheeded for a great distance, ending up in the earl’s gardens with no remembrance of how he’d come.

He pondered his bride, but he could feel no warmth, no curiosity, nothing he could even compare to desire. He saw dread. His heart would always ache for Anne. There were times the longing was nearly overpowering, lessening only long enough for the pain and anger to seep through.

A female voice summoned him and he turned to see Gwendolen walking toward him. The earl was right to have so little respect for this woman. Gwen was nothing more than a very nicely garbed whore. But even with the knowledge that his father despised this woman, as she walked toward him now he had a vision of his future bride, and she resembled Gwen.

“You’ve been a long time away, my lord,” she greeted him, her eyes alive with mischief.

“Don’t call me that. I have no lordship here.”

“Of course you do, darling. And soon you will have a great deal more than that,” she simpered.

Chad smiled and eyed the woman coolly. There was no question that she was one of the most beautiful in England. She could rival many with her blond hair and lively green eyes. She was full figured and well turned to a man’s desires, her voluptuous body being pleasing to ride. She was desired by many and could not be considered niggardly with her affections. She neared thirty years now and her age did not show; rather, maturity did her justice. Looking very closely he could detect a harshness to the eyes that bespoke many trials, most of which revolved around her love affairs.

“You’ve always found my inheritance my most desirable characteristic,” he laughed.

“You know that’s not entirely true,” she murmured, sidling closer. “And even if it were, what would you have a woman admire about you?”

“Certainly not that!”

“Well, then. Show me if there’s something more...”

“For the love of Christ, Gwen! Have you no shame? Is Lord Graystone watching your play from some distant window?”

She threw him a rather shocked look and muttered, “You had not heard?”

“What?”

“Lord Graystone met with his end, a miserable affair. I dread that you must hear about it at all, but best I suppose that you learn it first from me. He lost his life in a duel of the swords.”

Chad frowned blackly. He had no taste for a woman who allowed her mischief to cost a life. His feeling for her dropped one notch lower, his level of tolerance being strained even now. “Who, then, challenged your husband? Who was the victor?”

“An unworthy chap, poor fellow. And he did not issue the challenge, of course. ‘Twas my lord Graystone. He believed the man had abused me sorely, finding us in a...rather precarious position. He was an actor in the Duke’s Theater.”

“An actor,” he guffawed. “Good God, Gwen, I thought you only lay with lords and princes!”

Her face reddened slightly. She raised her chin a notch at the suggestion. “I did not say I was in bed with the fellow, my lord. Just the same, my husband did not wish to see my reputation damaged.”

“I daresay that is already too far gone to be saved by a sword. Where is your hero now?”

“Transported. It was not meet that he should murder a baron.”

“Murder? I thought you said it was a duel.”

“I’m sorry to say the courts did not see it in that light. I grieve at the man’s poor judgment, truly.”

“No doubt he’s grieving at that himself,” Chad muttered. “You don’t wear black. Have you already remarried?”

“Oh, of course not, darling. I simply put aside the black for this morning. I couldn’t meet you in that drab, you having been so long away and all. I hope you don’t think too unkindly of me...meaning no disrespect to my departed husband...”

“Stop it, Gwen. Was it in your mind to take him in his victory?”

“An actor? Of course not!”

“What was his name?”

“Why on earth would that interest you?”

“I’m curious. Who was the poor skunk you set up to rid you of your pestilent husband?”

“You make unkind inferences where there are none, Chad, and you do me injury. Do I assume you no longer have any affection for me?”

“You’ve come for my wedding, Gwen. Take care with your advances. Mayhaps my bride will see you clawed.”

“That helpless little twit?” she laughed. “I doubt she could injure me in any way.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“I breakfasted with her this morn. Frightfully homely little creature, don’t you think?”

“I’ve not met her.”

“You haven’t? You would choose a bride you’ve never met?”

“‘Twas my father’s choice. So, what does she look like?”

Gwen laughed. “Like a frightened rabbit! Truly, I couldn’t believe it was she. She’s a stringy little thing, far too thin, much like a newborn calf. She’s no face whatever, her lips tight and pinched and a look of total bewilderment...mayhaps slightly daft.”

Chad smiled. It was the first derogatory remark he had heard about his intended. “Then you don’t find much about her to admire?”

“Certainly not! I daresay you might refuse her on sight.”

“I think not, Gwen. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the maid.”

“I would question that as well. She doesn’t carry herself as a maiden would. My guess is she’s been mounted aplenty.”

“She’s only sixteen years old, Gwen.”

“That means nothing,” Gwen replied with a shrug. Chad ran his eyes over her slowly, meeting her gaze again with a mocking in his eyes. Gwen felt the gibe, for it had meant little in her youth, as Chad would know.

“Well, I shall put your suspicions to rest, madam,” Chad told her with a slight bow. “My intended bride has been examined by the physicians and is a virgin.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” she said contritely. “After all, I did say she was an ugly little thing.”

“I thank you for your honest opinion, madam, and I will offer you some advice. Do not decry my lady again, here or outside my home. She will be my wife, and in time, a countess.”

“Why,” she said, taken somewhat aback. “Certainly.”

Chad turned his gaze away from her for a moment, as surprised as she was at his own words. He had acquired, if anything, a hatred for this one who would sew him into bondage. How strange that acting the gallant husband came so naturally, unconsciously. And defending a maiden he didn’t know and already didn’t like to his previous mistress was even more shocking. He tried to shrug it off, but he faced Gwen a little dumbly.

“About that other matter. The name of this actor?”

“His name is Allen Potter Shaw, but I can’t see—”

“Do you know where he was sent?”

“I didn’t pursue the matter that far and I fail to see how it could interest you.”

He smiled. “Nothing could interest me more, Gwen. If I ever see the opportunity I shall lend the man some advice about women. One in particular.”

“I have no doubt he now regrets his impetuous interest in me,” she said smugly. “Poor fellow.”

“I have no doubts either, my dear.” He reached out and touched one of her diamond earrings.

She laughed softly, thinking his play to be an affectionate gesture. “But men are all such creatures of bondage. Slaves to their own lust. They can’t seem to control their actions even when the price far exceeds their purse. Do you find it so, my love?”

“Not at all, Gwen.”

“You are fortunate,” she murmured, her eyes rich with passion.

“Neither that, Gwen. Wise perhaps, but never fortunate. There are women who use men and men who use women. We are each one of one. But when we two are wont to meet, you might wish to hope for fortunate circumstances. I am not so kind as your Lord Graystone...nor so foolish as Mr. Shaw.”

He gave her earring a slight tug, his eyes laughing at her, and then turned on his heel and left the garden, never once looking back in her direction.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Chelynne woke she found that her body was no longer her own. She was rousted and handled by maids and tiring women the moment her eyes opened. Like a lifeless doll she was dressed, coiffed, painted, and led to a place where she was to breakfast with her aunt and other female houseguests of the earl.

Her mind was certainly not on the food or the conversation. She was still off somewhere on a grassy field, luxuriating in the warmth of a lover’s embrace. Several times she missed an attempt made at conversation with her and more often she answered dully, sounding foolish to these older women. But they derived much pleasure from her mood. A young bride, especially the bride of Chadwick Hawthorne, was expected to be off on some romantic cloud.

Chelynne recalled later that her aunt had bullied her way into the conversation, trying to monopolize it with trifles about her son. There were many planned activities before and after the wedding and Eleanor made several lame pleas to these other women, hoping that she would find either a wealthy maid to marry to her son or a noble to take him in tow and become interested in him.

“Will his lordship be riding to the hounds?” Eleanor had asked one of the visiting countesses.

“I suppose,” was her idle reply.

“I don’t know if Harry will participate,” Eleanor sighed. “But perhaps his lordship could...that is, if his lordship invited him it would be a good time for them to become better acquainted.”

The countess sighed. “Can he stay astride, madam?”

“Of course!”

“When my lord husband rides to the hounds, he hunts. Conversation is for idle times, of which there are far too few.” The countess then turned her attention to the other ladies and Eleanor’s bumbling attempt was lost, but not forgotten. In just two short days she was well known for her passionate interest in her son, whom nobody seemed to like, and her lack of interest in her niece’s wedding.

Chelynne’s room was a conglomeration of servants, scattered clothing and countless articles to be used in preparing her for the ball. The confused atmosphere did little to give her nerves a sense of ease. She once stole away from the bedlam for a moment of peace at the window. As she looked below into the gardens she caught sight of Chad. He paused there, raising one leg and resting his foot on a marble bench and pulling aside his coat with a hand on his hip. He made a different picture now, garbed in the rich dress of the elite. His tight-fitting breeches and waistcoat were brightly colored and an abundance of lace could be seen at his neck and wrists. Buckled shoes and periwig did not seem to suit him as boots and windblown hair did, but there was no mistaking him. He was a fine figure of a man. Even in this attire there was nothing foppish about him. He wore even lace and wig with a strong masculine flavor.

Chelynne was not allowed the peaceful daydreams brought by the sight of him. She was pulled away from the window and the ministrations of grooming were applied to her again. Many years of training had gone into the making of a gentlewoman who would aptly fit into the class of nobility. Chelynne had been served, pampered, and waited on by her own women since birth. Being bathed was nothing new to her. Having her body clothed and her hair fashioned by hands other than her own was routine. But what she went through that day stripped away the last vestige of her pride. Not one portion of her body was overlooked. A large pumice was rubbed along her arms and legs until every last trace of body hair was removed. She was bathed and oiled and massaged, and then the same procedure was repeated. Her hair was washed, dried, and shined with a long piece of silk, and a hot iron was used to make tight ringlets around her face.