Karen Harbaugh (12 page)

Sooner than she thought, she was summoned to the church. She smiled at her escort, Sir John Grey, as he helped her into the coach next to Lydia’s excited maid. He was one of Lord Rothwick’s friends: a tall, blond, and somewhat rumpled-looking man. He was to give her away, as she had no real near male relative to do so. Her cousin by marriage, Lord Boothe, had not offered his services, and she was relieved he had not. She could scarcely bear Lady Boothe’s sudden fawning change of behavior toward her, and she would rather not have to face Lord Boothe, either.

“You are in great good looks, if I may say so, Miss Ashley,” Sir John said, smiling at her warmly. “If Will were not my good friend, I would be sorely tempted to run off with you.”

Linnea laughed. “Then I am thankful you are his friend, for I have had more than enough of sudden—suddenness lately.” She bit her lip and felt a blush rising in her cheeks. Good heavens, she had almost blurted out that she had been abducted! She wondered how much Rothwick’s friends and relatives—aside from Lydia—knew of the circumstances of her marriage.

But Sir John only laughed. “Swept you off your feet, did he? That is Will all over. He was ever impetuous when we were at Oxford, and certainly never neglected the ladies—” He stopped abruptly, and it was his turn to blush. “That is to say, he was always a gentleman, of course—”

“Oh, you need not feel so conscious!” Linnea laughed lightly, though a forlorn feeling seeped into her chest at his words. “My own brother was always ripe for mischief before he went in the army.”

Sir John’s ears seem to perk up. “Oh, is he in the army? I am on furlough for the next few days, but would much rather be back on the continent. In what regiment is your brother?”

“He was in the Sixteenth Light Dragoons. He died at Ciudad Rodrigo.”

“I am sorry.” Sir John patted her hand comfortingly. “He must have been very brave. We lost many good men there, I know.”

Linnea smiled at him. She felt her heart lighten at being able to confide a little about her brother to one who understood what the war was like. “You are very kind. I am sure he was not the only courageous one. He always commented about the bravery of his comrades in his letters, and his descriptions of their living conditions made me think he must have gone through just as much hardship.”

Sir John nodded and went on to relate his own experiences in the Peninsular campaign. They conversed amiably in this way, and Linnea could almost put from her mind the reason she was in this coach. But then it halted suddenly, and she felt her heart rise to her throat. They were at the church.

Linnea drew the veil over her face and stepped out of the coach. Taking a deep breath, she went up the shallow steps of the church and entered, clutching Sir John’s arm in her nervousness.

Looking neither to the right nor to the left, she walked slowly up the aisle. She could see Lord Rothwick at the altar, handsome in his black coat and pale fawn pantaloons and looking toward her expectantly. Her heart hammered and her knees felt weak. She had never fainted, but now she was sure she could manage it quite easily and was glad of Sir John’s support at her side. She cast a look to either side of her, trying involuntarily to find a route of escape, then castigated herself for the thought. She was committed, and certainly she had nowhere else to go.

Her veil was a mist that made everything outside of it seem unreal. She hardly attended to the vicar’s words; she had heard the service many times before in her father’s church. Her responses came automatically to the rhythmic rise and fall of the words in the marriage vow; Linnea had said those words to herself many times when she was a girl, dreaming of a husband who would someday love her. She glanced at Rothwick’s handsome face and wondered how he could look so calm. She knew, for herself, this wedding was far from the dreams she had had so long ago.

“You are now man and wife,” the vicar said, and his words rang in her ears, startling Linnea from her cloud of thoughts. She felt her veil rise and looked up at Rothwick, his face suddenly in clear focus. He smiled at her and drew her toward him for a gentle kiss.

The kiss was not as long as Rothwick would have liked it to be, but he thought it best to restrain himself. It was not easy, however. Though her face had been concealed, Linnea’s dress emphasized her form in the way the silk clung to and fell away from her limbs. And then when he lifted her veil at the end of the vicar’s words, she had looked up at him with her large, lost, frightened eyes. He had smiled at her to give her some comfort, but when he bent to kiss her, he was startled by a surge of fierce possessiveness. It made him want to press her close to him and explore her soft pink lips tenderly, wildly, and far more intimately. He caught his breath and paused, then kissed her lightly. Later, he thought to himself. There would be plenty of time later.

Going down the aisle with Linnea on his arm, Rothwick smiled and nodded to the wedding guests to either side of them. He did it easily and automatically; as he walked he occupied his mind with the sudden impulse he’d felt at the altar. His smile turned a little rueful, for he was sure he knew what it was: Linnea had looked so lost and forlorn that his natural instincts had taken over. Since a child, he had always brought home this or that hurt or abandoned animal and taken care of it until it was well again. Linnea’s anxious eyes had pulled this protectiveness of his to the fore. Indeed, it was the same impulse that had moved him to rescue her from those drunken louts in London, despite what he’d thought she was then. Rothwick sighed as he helped Linnea into the waiting coach. He should be more careful and not give in to his impulses. Look where it had put him, after all!

* * * *

William. Linnea looked at her husband relaxing against the coach squabs and wondered if she would get used to saying his Christian name. Surely she’d had time enough to become used to it, but it still moved oddly on her tongue. She smiled at her thoughts. How very strange and unlike herself she felt. Where was Linnea Ashley, vicar’s daughter, potential governess, and cousin Boothe’s unpaid servant? Those things she was used to, could understand, and manage—with difficulty sometimes, to be sure, but she was used to them. There was something comforting in routine, even with the harsh treatment her cousin had given her, for it was a known thing, and she knew what her strengths and weaknesses were when she had to deal with them.

But now she had a husband, and she was a countess. She smiled wryly, thinking: What did the Beggar Maid do when she suddenly became Queen? Did she pine for the floors she once washed? Did she scatter ashes around her silken bed, so as to feel more at home? Linnea chuckled at the image. She glanced up to see William look at her inquiringly.

“Oh, it is nothing, really. I was wondering how King Cophetua’s Beggar Maid felt when she went to live in the palace. If she was frightened, or knew instinctively—from her noble character, of course—what to do.”

William smiled. “The latter, of course. That is how all fairy tales are, you know.” He gazed at her intently, then said: “You will go on quite well, I am sure.”

“Will I?”

“Of course. Lydia will see to that.”

Lydia? And where would he be, pray? thought Linnea. She frowned.

“And how do you know I will do all that she says?”

His eyebrows rose. “Of course you will. You are my wife.”

Of course again. Linnea pressed her lips together firmly. “And all wives do as their husbands and their families say, of course,” she said, looking at him straightly.

“Of cour—” He caught her look. “Ladies of character, I should say.” A small smile touched his lips.

Linnea laughed. “Piqued, repiqued, and capotted! And how am I to answer that? If I were to be contrary, I would not be a lady of character. Yet were I to meekly repeat every aye and nay that dropped from your lips, I think I would be as characterless as an empty stage in a play.”

Rothwick smiled a devilish smile. “Of course.”

A giggle bubbled behind her lips. She said severely, “Impertinence! Did not your governess teach you never to vex a lady?” She felt more at ease now—her brother Jack had often teased her thus, so long ago.

He opened his eyes wide. “What, are you vexed? I thought you were merely being contrary.”

“Ohhh!” exclaimed Linnea, and furiously cast about in her mind for a stinging reply.

“I am afraid there is no ruler to rap across my knuckles here, and I am sure your reticule is empty of rocks,” said William. “Ooof! Stop, you vixen!”

She smiled sweetly as she pulled back her arm for another blow with the small pillow she had found beside her. “But I have always been resourceful, sir.”

Linnea found her arm grasped, and she was pulled suddenly into his lap.

“So have I,” Will replied, and his mouth came down on hers.

This time it was different. Perhaps it was that he had taken her by surprise, perhaps it was that their mock fight had banished her nervousness. But this time she moved into the kiss, and her hand crept up to his cheek and opened to touch him, just as she felt she was opening herself to this new and sudden sensation of closeness and warmth and sweetness. A small voice, her own long-ago vicar’s-daughter-cousin’s-servant’s voice cried out that this was not seemly; but the touch of his lips upon her mouth, her cheek, her throat, drowned it, and all she could do was gasp in reply. The touch of his fingers upon her skin was alternately soothing and exciting: first feather soft, then vibrant like a strong spring wind.

“I think... I think we should stop,” murmured Rothwick as his lips traced a fiery trail down the fine chain of her necklace.

Necklace. Oh, good Lord. Her pelisse was undone! Linnea straightened quickly, pulled her coat together, and scrambled back to the seat opposite the earl. She put up her hands to press down the heat in her face. What had come over her? She had never responded this way to the kisses pressed upon her in the past. She glanced up at his face.

His expression was cool, but the warmth she had felt from him was clearly reflected in his eyes. She looked away, confused. Was he, as Lydia had said, not really in love with Miss Amberley, then? Or were all men like this, easily amorous with whatever female was near?

“We are almost at Staynes, after all,” Rothwick continued smoothly.

Linnea looked up at him again, and he smiled at her—a cat-in-the-cream smile. Her face flamed again, and this time it was not from embarrassment. “Do you always use such, such stratagems to gain your ends, sir?” she said, teeth clenched.

“Oh, no,” said Rothwick. “The gentlemen of my acquaintance would not take to it at all.”

“Well, let me inform you, sir, that they will not work with me!” She sat back on the squabs of the carriage, her spine straight.

“No?” he replied genially. She ground her teeth. “I hear that grinding your teeth like that is not good for them. You should be careful.” He gazed out the coach window. “Ah, here we are. Staynes.” In spite of herself, Linnea turned quickly to look.

If Lady Wrenton’s house was beautiful, Staynes was magnificent. The grounds were lush with smooth-shaven grass and rose to a hill upon which the mansion sat. Rothwick’s ancestors had not spared any expense to build upon the original, central part of the building, and their additions merged form and design to a seamless whole. On one side of the building was a copse of birch, beyond which Linnea could see part of an elegant summerhouse and a glimmer of water. The other side was densely forested, and she could imagine it held an abundance of game. Linnea admitted to feeling a bit awed by Staynes but was comforted by the landscape and what it offered. It reminded her of home a little, and of the times her brother had taught her how to ride, fish, and swim on their neighbor’s property—long before Jack had gone to war and died.

Linnea gave herself a mental shake. All that was in the past. She glanced at Rothwick, then back at Staynes. She was married now and mistress of something she was not sure she could truly command. She took a deep breath. She would have to learn. This was her life now.

Rothwick took her hand, and she was glad of it, in spite of his irritating smugness earlier. His look was encouraging, and she thought perhaps he understood her nervousness.

They were greeted by Bartle, the butler, a tall, thin, sixtyish man with a countenance strongly resembling a bloodhound’s. He was not at all as impressive as her cousin Boothe’s butler, who had despised her as a poor relation. But Bartle was kindly and greeted the earl with both deference and affection, Bartle briefly introduced her to the senior staff (whose names she did not register). She suspected he kept the introductions short, for he had looked carefully at her face and murmured some words to a maid. When the maid returned she led Linnea up to her rooms. There she saw the bed turned down as if inviting her to rest.

The bedroom walls were a pale rose, and the bed draperies echoed the color with their rose pattern on cream brocade. Someone had arranged a small vase of flowers on a stand, and water and towels were ready for her use. She shook her head. She always had to ask for necessities at her cousin Boothe’s and was given them grudgingly. Here, not only were they provided, but random touches of beauty had been included as well.

She washed and went to the window. Here she had a clear view of the lake she had glimpsed upon arriving. Willows waved their limbs gracefully over the water, and a path weaved its way around them. The summerhouse sat near it—a charming Grecian construction with vines climbing up the pillars. Linnea glanced at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece. It wanted two hours until dinner; she wondered if Rothwick—no, William—would be willing to escort her to the summerhouse.

The earl was very willing. As they left the house, he tucked her hand on his arm, noting her flushed cheeks and air of ease. She did not flinch this time at his touch, and there was a smile on her lips as she surveyed the lake and the summerhouse. She had a lovely mouth, he noted. The bottom lip was full, and the top lip curved down to curl upward at the corners. She looked up at him, and her expression was neither self-conscious nor wary.