Edith Layton (12 page)

“I wondered if you’d taken a bed in the barn,” she said into the darkness.

“You’re awake!” he answered, turning toward her, raising up on one elbow. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Why must you think I’m sick every time I do something unexpected?” she said crossly. “I’m fine. I just can’t sleep.”

“I should have had you downstairs with me. Two glasses of our landlord’s ale and you’d be asleep before you could climb the stair. No wonder his inn’s filled to the limit. The man brews pure lightning.”

“Are you bosky?” she asked curiously.

“No, no.” He laughed. “Merely merry. It takes more than that to addle my wits. Now, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Worrying,” she admitted, the darkness, the
lateness of the hour, and the intimacy of the moment making her candid. “I don’t really know your family. I’m going to a new place to assume a new place in life. And I’m not myself; I feel naked and unarmed.”

He moved closer and carefully gathered her into his arms. She went to him willingly, and laid her head against his shoulder with a small sigh of relief. His nightshirt was scented with faint lavender, and he’d bathed, she realized. His hair was damp and he smelled of sandalwood soap. She inhaled the scent deeply, it comforted her.

His hand went to her back, then to her hair. He touched it, stopped.

She went rigid.

His fingers opened, he ran his hand through the crisp hair covering her scalp, the springy curls closing over the backs of his fingers as he did. He laughed, low in his throat; she felt it vibrate in his chest. “I do believe you may set a fashion,” he whispered. “Let me see. What will you call your new hair style? The gladiator? No. Too masculine. I’ve got it. À la mouton. It feels very like a spring lamb’s. No, à la terrier. That’s it! I had an Airedale with exactly the same fur. But don’t worry, I loved that bit…dog.”

It was outrageous, absurd, she couldn’t help it; she giggled.

That pleased him. He lay back on his pillow, taking her with him. She stayed quiescent in his
arms, secure and oddly at peace. Because he couldn’t see her, and she could feel his every breath.

She relaxed as she listened to his steady heartbeat, feeling an overwhelming urge to let him know that she appreciated all he’d done and was sorry for inconveniencing him. It was the hour, it was what she’d been through today; she knew that. But it was also the solid warmth of the man, the way her body suddenly began to tingle wherever it was in contact with his. She was aware of her breasts prickling where they lay against his chest, her legs where they touched his. It shocked and solaced her, and she felt wondrously alive. For the first time in her life she felt real physical longing for a man.

She’d yearned for a man before, but he had chosen another. But this was a very different sort of yearning. She knew what Miles’s strong body could do to hers, remembered how he’d touched her on their wedding night. And he was her husband, as close as the hard pulse she now felt beating so thrillingly throughout her body.

She was resting easy now, Miles thought, relaxing. He’d made her laugh, which made him proud. But he wasn’t comfortable. She lay in his arms but had grown so thin, her bones were poking into him. He felt a sharp collarbone jutting against his chest, her ribs rubbed against his; she was so tiny, fragile, wasted, that he was afraid of
moving lest he inadvertently hurt her. Nor did he want to hurt her feelings. This was the first time she’d sought physical comfort from him. He wasn’t comfortable, but he’d been far more uncomfortable in his life. The least he could do was hold her until she fell asleep.

She brushed her cheek against his. And then, softly, shyly, suddenly rose and brushed her lips against his cheek.

He throttled his start of surprise, and lay very still.

She put one hand on his shoulder, and then lightly brushed his lips with hers.

He stayed still, for he couldn’t have moved to save his life. But he had to think of hers. He felt an inconvenient urge to laugh.
Now
she tried to tempt him? He could have used this kind of forwardness a few weeks ago when his lust for her had run so high. But now…The thought terrified him.

Her lips still felt soft, plush, and sweet, but that was all that was the same. He was sure she’d break in two if he made love to her, and was just as sure he couldn’t without feeling any desire to. And he’d not the least desire to. Her body felt as brittle as an old woman’s, as delicate as a child’s. The thought of having sex with her to comfort her occurred to him, only to wither him.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “But you’d
better just say good night to me, lest you give me ideas. If you think Mrs. Farrow would kill me for letting so much as a breeze touch you, I tell you she’d murder me if I did what I most want to do now. We’ll have to leave that for another time, another place. The best thing you can do for us both now is to sleep, my dear.”

He felt her body stiffen, and she flung away from him. “I only meant to show you my gratitude,” she said curtly, thumping her own pillow and laying her head down on it.

“I know,” he lied. He’d felt her nipples taut against his skin, and he’d felt the sudden surge of electricity between them, even though his own response had been killed by the mere thought of touching her. “But men are boors. Forgive me for misunderstanding, but we men take gratitude to all sorts of lengths—literally.” He chuckled, though he didn’t feel like laughing.

She didn’t laugh.

Nor did she sleep for a very long time.

He knew; he lay awake for just as long.

T
he carriage crossed the bridge over an ornamental pond, rounded the last turn up the long white drive, and then Annabelle saw Hollyfields for the first time. She stared. Her mother would be delighted—her new home was magnificent.

A huge mansion done in the Palladian style, wide, white, and long, it stood on a gentle rise, dominating the surrounding rolling acres, seeming to take up an acre all by itself. A fan-shaped tier of shallow white steps led up to an enormous front portico. The parkland beyond was tamed to look like the background in a painting by an Old Master.

Miles had said Hollyfields was grand. He said she’d like it. She might have once, but after her
weeks at the rustic lodge, Hollyfields seemed grandiose. Now too, diminished as she herself was, Annabelle found herself unwilling, unprepared, and anxious about overseeing this great house, as she knew she’d have to do.

He looked fit to command the place; he looked able to command a palace, she thought, watching Miles as he rode on ahead, leading the way, sitting straight and easy on his great roan horse. Her coach stopped when he did. He swung off the horse, tossing the reins to a boy who came running to him. Miles looked up at the house and flashed a smile as the great doors opened. For a moment it seemed he was going to walk straight into the house. But then he turned to the carriage where his new wife waited for him.

“Hollyfields,” he said unnecessarily, holding out a hand to help her down.

Annabelle took a great breath and faced her future.

She was as prepared as she could be. She wore one of her best gowns, vibrant speedwell blue with fine yellow stripes, a lovely concoction embellished with tiny embroidered rosebuds. She’d had it made up when she’d been in her prime, but now she thought it suited her even better. The gown’s expensive fabric would call attention away from her figure. Long sleeves concealed her thin arms, the high neck covered both prominent collarbones and vanishing bruises, a silken sash
under her breasts hinted at the shape she’d lost, and the color matched her eyes, the one thing her illness hadn’t taken from her. A blond straw bonnet covered her intricate Venetian lace cap. She’d brushed a faint blush of color on her cheeks. She could do no more.

Annabelle raised her head. She told herself there was nothing to fear. She might not know the house, but she knew who lived in it. They might be surprised at the change in her, but there was nothing to fear from them. Not only would Miles’s mother be too well bred to show surprise at how her daughter-in-law now looked, she’d always been meek and deferential toward her. Miles’s sister, Camille, clearly respected the London lady his brother had chosen, and his brother, Bernard, regarded her with considerable awe. Annabelle didn’t expect entertainment here, but she looked forward to the admiration and acceptance that would help heal her bruised spirit.

She took Miles’s arm and didn’t have to force a smile when she saw his family standing at the door, waiting. This was her new home, her sanctuary until she recovered enough to leave it.

His mother moved forward, eyes only for her older son. Miles had gotten his eye color from her, but little else. Alyce Proctor was a tall, thin woman. Her fair hair was faded, her personality was muted; now drab and deferential, she looked and acted nothing like Miles or her other children.
Buxom, brown-haired, and brown-eyed Camille was hearty. Bernard, at sixteen, was gruff. He bore a resemblance to his brother, but was shorter and squarer in both face and body.

“Welcome home,” Miles’s mother said softly before he enfolded her in his arms.

“Miles, Miles, Miles!” his sister caroled, dancing around him until he turned to her so she could hug him hard.

“Capital that you’re home again!” his brother said, slapping him on the back.

Then they turned, almost as one, to look at his bride.

Annabelle braced herself. They’d been told how ill she’d been. She’d have to watch their eyes rather than listening to their greetings, because she knew they’d hide their true reactions to her appearance.

“Oh my dear!” his mother exclaimed, one thin hand fluttering to her breast in dismay. “Annabelle? Can this be Annabelle? What happened!”

And then Annabelle knew this was no sanctuary.

“I think one thing must be made perfectly clear,” Miles said as he paced his mother’s sitting room. He stopped, wheeled around, and stared at his mother and siblings. “She is
not
to be told how
bad she looks. And, yes,” he went on, staring at his sister, “she’ll recover her looks, and no, it’s not the sort of thing you should have asked her. And”—he glowered at his brother—“she is never to be told that you wouldn’t have known her in a thousand years. My God!” he said, pacing away again, “what could you have been thinking of?”

“They were surprised, my dear, that’s all,” his mother said gently. “And they’ll beg her forgiveness, I promise you.”

“I’d rather they didn’t,” Miles said. “It will only open another can of worms. Let it be. But please, let it not ever be again. Go on now,” he told his sister and brother, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

When they’d made their grateful escapes, Miles turned to his mother. Before he could speak, she did. “My dear,” she said earnestly, “please forgive me. I’m the one at fault. My shock and surprise goaded them into whatever they said. I’m entirely at fault, but oh! I couldn’t get over the change in her! Poor girl.”

Her pale eyes filled with tears. “I’ll do my best to make her forget this afternoon. I’ll do all I can to make her comfortable here. What she must think of us! I can’t think worse of myself. Where were my wits? But you said she’d recovered, and I was expecting the magnificent Lady Annabelle, not that poor sad, sick-looking woman. Tell me what I can do to make amends to her and to you, please.”

“No need to make amends to me. I think it’s better if you say nothing to her on the subject either. Just please, don’t cry.”

She nodded, and dabbing at her eyes with a dainty handkerchief, added, “I expect you’ve had enough of that! Well then, what shall we do for her?”

“Give her time.”

“And I think yards of rest!” she agreed. “I sent her to the master’s bedchamber, but now I’ve seen her, I’ll have the yellow room made up for her instead. It’s always so cheerful and faces south so she can have sunlight on her when she takes to her bed for her afternoon naps.”

He frowned. “Her own bedchamber? However she looks, we are married, Mama.”

“You want her to share your bed? Surely not. She looks so fragile, my dear,” his mother reproved him. “I’m sure she’ll be better off on her own, where she can sleep and rest without being disturbed. You cannot expect her to assume her marital…” She saw his expression. “Oh! But I never meant to pry into your private affairs. I was only thinking of her and not of your…You must do as you think best,” she added, biting her lip.

“I think the decision should be hers,” he said firmly. “Don’t distress yourself. We’ll deal with it. Now, I think I’ll see how she’s settling in. She must be wondering where I am, but I had to speak
to you, Camille, and Bernard before another hour passed. Now I need to wash off all my dirt and dust. We’ve been traveling hard because I didn’t want to be on the road one more night. I wanted Annabelle settled in. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He bowed, then strode away, deep in thought.

He hesitated for a moment when he came to the door of his bedchamber, but then opened it and walked in. It was a huge chamber, easily the size of two rooms, with an adjacent dressing room. His uncle had slept there, and the first thing Miles had done on inheriting the place was to move his uncle’s enormous old bed up to the attics and get himself a new one. He didn’t know or care much about furnishings, but the bed he’d bought to replace it had pleased his sailor’s eye. It was a huge one too, but of lighter wood, and the posts were carved with representations of mermaids and dolphins, tritons and shells. His mother had laughed at it and predicted his future wife would send it to the attic as well.

Now Miles saw his wife standing by the bed. The door to the dressing room was ajar. He got a glimpse of her maid there, unpacking her things, but Annabelle hadn’t even taken off her bonnet. Nor had she sat down. She was still dressed for travel, and stood studying a bedpost. She turned when she saw him.

“This bed is most unusual,” she said.

He relaxed. She wasn’t weeping. That was something. However ashen she’d grown when she’d seen his family’s reaction to her, she looked calm now.

“It is that,” he agreed, coming to look at the bedpost she was examining. “But it was a bachelor’s bed.”

“I can see that,” she laughed. “Now, this mermaid is almost properly covered by her long hair, but if you look just behind—as you would when you were lying down—as you surely did, you’d see her bottom is bare as the dolphin’s she’s swimming with. And Neptune! Oh my.” She giggled. “That is a formidable trident he bears.”

Delighted at her reaction, he peered at the representation of the obviously well-endowed sea god and said, “Well, now you mention it, it is rather intimidating. For me,” he added softly. “The comparison, you see.”

“Do I?” she murmured. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I don’t, I only worried that you might…No!” he whispered, pretending shock. “You were peeking the other night, were you?”

She turned her head from him. He couldn’t tell if it was to hide her blushes or a smile. But at least her ability to joke was back. It hadn’t just been her looks that had entranced him when they’d met, her wit had charmed him too. She hadn’t joked
like this in a long time. She was healing, even if it wasn’t yet obvious to the eye. That reminded him of what he’d come to say.

“I bought the bed in a foreign bazaar,” he told her. “It reminded me of my sailing days. But I’m a sober married fellow now so you can choose another, if you like. As to that…” He paused and then said too casually, “My mother brought up something I hadn’t thought of. You might want your own bed and chamber for a while, at least until you’re feeling better. I wouldn’t mind if it’s what you want. That’s something we never discussed. I know many fashionable couples have separate quarters, so if that’s what you prefer, another bedchamber can be yours for as long as you like.”

He ran a hand along a coiling strand of seaweed on the bedpost as he said, “We have a yellow room just down the hall, which my mother thought you’d prefer because it’s sunny. But the red room is historic. I think some princess once slept there; and there’s the blue room, that’s your favorite color. We have all the colors of the rainbow, in fact. Or we can repaint and paper any room you choose. Would you like to see them and then make a choice? Or would you rather rest first?”

She kept her head turned. “Do you want a separate room?” she asked.

“I want whatever you want.”

“Unfair,” she said. She lifted her chin. Her
eyes, kingfisher blue, flashed angrily. “That’s no decision, and no answer. That’s cruel too, to make me choose. Especially now,” she murmured almost to herself. “Tell me, Miles, what would you have me do?”

He wondered what to say.

“Really,” she added.

He really wanted her happiness. But if he said that she’d only be angrier, and he couldn’t blame her, because it wouldn’t be a decision. But he was honestly stymied. Again, he wished he knew her better. This was a decision that was more important than he’d realized. It was a decision that would have repercussions, ones they’d have to live with a long time, if not for the rest of their lives together. He thought fast, and then remembered what had struck him as odd about what she’d just said. She’d called him Miles, freely and easily; she’d never done that before.

He had his answer. “Oh then, there’s no difficulty. I’d like you with me.”

She cast her bonnet aside, and rested her head against his chest.

He felt relief and triumph. His arm went round her waist.

“Well then, good, it’s decided,” she breathed, relaxing against him. “And, Miles?” she added in a different voice.

He looked down at her, wishing she felt easy
enough in his house to remove her lace cap as well as her bonnet. “Yes?”

She whispered. “All I wanted to ask was…please don’t banish the bed. I haven’t studied half the mermen yet.”

“Indeed? Which half?” he asked.

Their laughter was so loud it startled her maid.

“Fishing?” Bernard asked eagerly. He put down his fork and knife. “I can take her fishing, Miles.”

“Piffle,” his sister said, waving her knife at him. “Your casts wind up in the trees. If she wants to catch apples, then send her with him, Miles. Now, I know where there are some fine fish and I don’t just mean sluggards like the millpond carp Bernard nets.”

Annabelle tried to look as though she was occupied with cutting the slice of beef on her plate. Miles’s brother and sister were fighting for the right to take her fishing, but neither of them was asking her. She supposed their brother must have thrown the fear of God into them after the way they’d greeted her that morning, or rather, the way they’d reacted to the change in her.

But even now, though they squabbled over who could take her anywhere to entertain her—fishing, riding, walking or touring the district—they didn’t look directly at her. It was difficult for
her to sit and act unaware yet interested at the same time; and hard to eat as well. The way they avoided her eyes kept reminding her how she looked more than words could ever do.

Miles’s mama sat and ate her meal, stopping every now and then to hush her brood, often casting sympathetic glances at Annabelle. In some ways that was worse than being avoided, Annabelle thought, because the woman treated her with such outsize concern, it was almost as though she thought her new daughter-in-law was still on the brink of death.

She could have had dinner in her room tonight. In fact, Miles had asked if she’d prefer that after their day of traveling. But she’d nerved herself to come downstairs just because it was a challenge, and she never backed away from them.

“I will take my wife fishing, children,” Miles said calmly, immediately diverting the discussion to an outcry about their outrage at his calling them children. “Unless, of course,” he said, raising a hand for quiet and looking at Annabelle, “my lady prefers someone else?”