Goddess of the Hunt (28 page)

Brother and sister drew away from the rest and huddled in quiet conference for some minutes’ time—at the end of which, Henry pulled her into a grim embrace.

Jeremy walked over to them.

“Lucy,” Henry was saying, his green eyes dewy with emotion, “if you are ever unhappy, you have only to say the word. You’re always welcome at Waltham Manor. Write to me, and I’ll come for you at once.” He shot a look at Jeremy. “Your home will always be here.”

“Her home is Corbinsdale now. And we’d best be underway.”

Ignoring Henry’s stony glare, Jeremy addressed his wife.
His wife
.

“Can you be ready to depart in an hour?” She nodded. “Then I shall see to the carriages.”

Two and a half hours later, Lucy finally emerged from the Manor.

Jeremy noted with disappointment that she had changed from the ivory silk gown into a sage-colored frock and brown pelisse. More suitable for traveling, he supposed. But far more interesting than the type of fabric that covered her arms were the two parcels wriggling beneath them. She held a squirming puppy tucked firmly in each elbow.

Behind her followed a seemingly endless procession of footmen.

Each came bearing a trunk or a tower of hat-boxes; save one hapless fellow, who clutched a snarling cat. A groom suddenly appeared from the direction of the stables, leading Thistle by the reins. And just when Jeremy began to think his bride intended to bring every blessed creature from Waltham Manor along for the journey, out came the most curious bit of baggage yet.

“You’re bringing your Aunt Matilda?” The old lady doddered out from the Manor. Lucy thrust a wriggling puppy into Jeremy’s hands, freeing one arm to wrap about her aunt.

“Of course I’m bringing her. I can’t very well leave her here, can I?

You know Henry’s incapable of minding her properly.”

“Yes, well …” He didn’t know how to object. He could point out that they hadn’t discussed this matter. But then, he hadn’t given Lucy any opportunity to discuss anything. He cleared his throat. “Your aunt is quite welcome, of course. I was only surprised.” He looked down at the pup gnawing a hole in his new glove. “And the dogs?”

Lucy tossed her head. “They’re all the dowry I have, I’m afraid. I’m given to understand they’ll make excellent foxhounds. They’re from Henry’s best lines.”

He handed the dog to a liveried groom. “With the trunks,” he directed.

“Oh, no!” she cried, clutching her own canine bundle to her chest.

“They must ride with us, of course! Else they’ll be terribly frightened.

”

“Lucy, the barouche is not six months old. The upholstery is still like new.”

She lifted her chin. “And …?”

He heaved a deep breath. “And … I suppose it’s large enough to accommodate a few pups. And a cat. And your aunt.” He paused.

“But not your horse. On that point, you cannot move me. I’m afraid Thistle will have to walk.”

At that, her lips curved a fraction. Jeremy’s heart swelled in his chest. He would do anything to make Lucy smile again.

chest. He would do anything to make Lucy smile again.

But he couldn’t. As the carriage trundled down the lane, taking them away from Waltham Manor, he watched all the joy drain from her face. She craned her neck to catch a last glimpse of the rambling Tudor façade, then turned back to him.

“Is it a long journey, to your estate?”

“If the roads are dry, we should arrive in time for dinner tomorrow.”

She blinked. “Tomorrow?”

Jeremy swore silently. She’d likely never been outside a twenty-mile radius of Waltham Manor, and here he was hauling her off to a place she’d never seen. He ought to have taken her to Town. She would have been only a half-day’s journey from home. But he’d been absent from Corbinsdale so long already. If he took her to London, he’d only have to leave her there while he attended to the estate. And he didn’t want to leave her.

He didn’t want to be parted from her at all. He wished he’d purchased a smaller carriage, so she wouldn’t be so damned far away, seated across from him on the black tufted upholstery. He despised frail, little Aunt Matilda for taking what ought to be his place, next to her. He hated the furry beast curled in her lap, enjoying her fingers’ soft caress. And even were he seated beside her, he would resent the very fabric of their clothing for coming between her skin and his.

An inch of space between them would be one inch too many. The only thought preserving his sanity throughout the interminable journey was the thought of holding her in his arms that night, with nothing—not an inch of space or stitch of clothing—between them.

He planned, in excruciatingly vivid detail, how he would kiss and stroke her until her cheeks bloomed pink again and the saucy stroke her until her cheeks bloomed pink again and the saucy sparkle returned to her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t the marriage she’d wanted. Perhaps he couldn’t give her everything she deserved. But Jeremy vowed to lavish upon her that which he could offer—material comforts and physical pleasure. And it damn near killed him when they arrived at the coaching inn that evening and his wife declared her intent to spend the night—their wedding night

—sleeping beside her aunt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered at the door to their suite. “I didn’t realize we’d be stopping overnight. You know how she wanders. I need to stay with her.”

“Are you certain? I can put two footmen in the corridor. Four, if you wish. One of the inn’s serving girls can stay with her.” Jeremy realized he sounded a bit desperate. He didn’t really care.

Lucy bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. “We’re in a strange place. She might wake up and become confused. I can’t leave her alone.”

You can’t leave me alone
, he wanted to argue. Never in his life did Jeremy expect to envy an ancient, turbaned invalid. But damn it all, he did. He was besotted
and
jealous. “Of course,” he forced between his teeth, straining the childish petulance out of his voice.

Of course.

She didn’t want to be near him. He couldn’t get close enough to her, and she desired nothing but separation. It wasn’t as though he could blame her. He’d rushed her into this marriage and whisked her away from her family and home. She needed time, Jeremy told himself. She needed space.

Lucy had more than enough space. Too much space, she thought to herself the next morning, as the carriage rattled down the road.

The way was mottled with ruts and stones, and she bounced off the The way was mottled with ruts and stones, and she bounced off the barouche sides like a billiard ball. Aunt Matilda lay flat on the seat across from her, sleeping through the entire ordeal as only the very young or impossibly old are able to do. If Jeremy had not insisted on riding with the liveried outriders, he might have been next to her, holding her tight against his solid frame. Not that she wished him to.

Lucy scarcely understood her own behavior of the last four-and-twenty hours. Ever since the argument with Henry, she’d been operating in a state of near-panic. She’d barely made it through the ceremony. Afterward, she’d clung desperately to her brother, embracing him with a girlish adoration she thought she’d long outgrown. His sudden tenderness surprised her, as had his offer to come for her whenever she wished. Lucy hadn’t known whether to bless him for his kindness or curse him for his obvious belief that her future held little but misery.

When the time had come to depart from Waltham Manor, she’d panicked by trying to take as much of it with her as possible.

Clothing she never wore, books she never read, and all of these creatures, both furred and turbaned.

Then she’d balked at her husband’s company on their wedding night. She thought of his expression last evening as they parted

—that intent gaze that made demands, even as his words released her. She’d seen the wanting in his eyes, heard the deep undertone of desire in his voice. The memory made her shiver even now.

Shiver, and frown. She apparently passed Jeremy’s exacting standards whenever they approached a bed—or a desk, or a wardrobe, or a tree. Why did he want to alter her behavior in every other regard? He wanted the real Lucy in the bedchamber, it would seem, but everywhere else, he wanted her to change.

She ought to have listened to him from the first.
A man doesn’t want
to stoop to love
, he’d said.
He wants to reach higher, stand taller.

He desires something more than a woman—an angel; a dream
.

Lucy sank into the barouche cushions with an ironic laugh. If he thought she would blithely assume the role of a demure countess, he would have to think again. It would never work. She’d learned that much from chasing Toby, at least. If Jeremy had wanted an elegant lady, he ought to have married one. It was too late now, indeed.

She stroked the plump tabby sprawled across her lap. If only she could stop loving him. Take back her heart, by sheer force of will.

But her will had no say in the matter, it seemed. Love pulsed in her blood, filled her every breath. Inescapable, irreversible. Something had changed inside her, and she would never be the same.

Nothing would ever be the same. Not her life, not her home, not her relationship with Henry. And that circle of friendship that had formed each autumn, surrounding Lucy with security and affection—it was broken forever. What did she have left?

Nothing, save the smallest, most irrational glimmer of possibility. She shut her eyes, recalling that instant during the wedding ceremony when Jeremy’s hand had closed warm and strong over hers, and she’d felt a strange flutter inside her chest. A winged bit of optimism, rising up through despair.

She thought it might be hope.

Lucy opened her eyes and sighed. She’d never had any talent for hoping. But this seemed the time to learn.

The roads were dry, and they made good time on the second day of their journey. Still, the days being short in late autumn, it was full dark by the time they reached Corbinsdale Abbey.

dark by the time they reached Corbinsdale Abbey.

The assembled house servants greeted them with polite applause.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Greene, stepped forward.

“My lord,” she said, curtsying. “My lady. Welcome to Corbinsdale.”

Jeremy watched the matronly housekeeper eye Lucy with curiosity.

He cleared his throat. Her gaze jumped back to him, a bit guiltily.

“The chambers are all prepared, my lord.”

“My lady’s aunt has come to stay with us.” Jeremy indicated Aunt Matilda. “You may put her in the Blue Suite. She will require two nursemaids.”

Mrs. Greene’s eyes widened, but she composed herself quickly.

“Very well, my lord. Dinner is ready to be served whenever you wish.

”

“In one hour, then.” He dismissed the housekeeper with a nod.

Jeremy ushered Lucy and her aunt up the stairs. As they gained the landing, a score of footmen leapt into action below, hurrying to carry their trunks and belongings up the service stairs. By the time they climbed the last of the steps and turned into the corridor, a maid awaited them at the entrance of the Blue Suite. Aunt Matilda’s trunks were already lined up by the door. A footman snapped the last dustcover from a settee as they entered the room.

“My goodness,” said Lucy. “How efficient.”

With hands clasped and turban level, Aunt Matilda inspected her new surroundings. The windows were hung with dark blue velvet draperies, and the furniture was upholstered in blue-and-white toile de Jouy. Screens painted with pastoral scenes of nubile shepherdesses flanked the large hearth. “Lovely.”

Jeremy offered Lucy his arm and steered her across the corridor.

“These are our chambers,” he said, ushering her into the sitting room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, throwing a muted amber glow over the French mahogany furniture and medieval tapestries. “This sitting room is shared. My apartment is to the right, and your chambers are through there.” He indicated the door on his left. Lucy nodded, wide-eyed. “I’ve had a lady’s maid hired for you. The best available in London.”

“I see,” she said quietly. Jeremy scarcely recognized the expression on his wife’s face. If he didn’t know it to be impossible, he would say Lucy looked overwhelmed.

He ushered her toward her chambers. “Why don’t you take some time to refresh yourself and change for dinner? You must be hungry.”

She smiled, looking a bit herself again. “Hungry isn’t the word. I’m famished.”

He laughed. “Well, then. Be quick about it.”

Forty minutes later, Jeremy emerged into the sitting room, bathed and dressed in a black evening suit. He stood in the doorway, gazing at his wife. Lucy sat in an upholstered armchair, staring absently toward the fire, her chin propped in her hand. She wore a gown of pale yellow silk, and her hair had been brushed and twisted into a simple knot. In this attitude, unaware of her observer, she looked lovely and unguarded and utterly forlorn.

A wave of anguish surged in his chest. This was their first night in their new home as husband and wife, and the medallion-shaped carpet between them might as well have been an ocean. For the first time in his life, Jeremy wished he possessed some facility for charm. He couldn’t help but imagine that a few well-phrased words, spoken in a smooth, conciliatory tone, would put everything to rights. But Jeremy hadn’t a clue which words those might be.

He sighed. Toby would have known.

Lucy noticed him then and stood, a forced smile tightening her face.

With a mute nod, Jeremy offered her his arm. He was glad he could offer her that much, at any rate. The security of marriage, a well-appointed home, a fine meal. Not everything a wife might wish, but things any woman needed.

He escorted the two ladies downstairs to the dining hall. As they entered, Lucy swallowed audibly. The long, rectangular table was laden with silver, china, and gilt-edged crystal. A half-dozen liveried footmen lined either side of the room. Jeremy steered Lucy toward the end of the table. A footman drew back her chair. As she began to sit down, the servant pushed the chair toward the table. Lucy collapsed into the seat with a startled yelp. She flushed bright pink.