Marjorie Farrell (10 page)

“Now, Aunt Kate, you would have much more to worry about were I hopelessly in love with Lady Arden. She would perceive that as a weakness and take advantage of it at every turn. No, I think a little indifference to match hers will be the best way to start off this marriage. And then, eventually, if we are lucky, will come love.”

“I hope you are right, Gareth,” replied his aunt. “I am eager to meet this formidable young woman.”

Arden would later wish that she remembered more of her wedding day, but the truth was that she went through the ceremony and the wedding breakfast in a daze. Small things stood out: the piece of lint on her father’s sleeve which she plucked off as they walked down the aisle, the trembling of her hand as Gareth placed the ring on her finger, the flaming red curls of a little girl who was waiting outside the church to catch a glimpse of the bride. She felt at a great distance from everyone, and listened to her father give the toast as if she were listening to a play. Gareth was by her side, but she was barely conscious of him. She had willed herself into unconsciousness early in the morning and succeeded in remaining numb for most of the day. The only person who had broken through for a few moments was Gareth’s aunt. As they emerged from the chapel, a small, stout lady in deep mourning came over to them. Gareth leaned down to give her a hug and introduced her to his bride. Arden found herself looking down into a face obviously worn by recent grief, but also open to the joy of the moment. The dowager marchioness grabbed one of Arden’s hands and said warmly: “I wish you happy, my dears.” Arden’s automatic, polite “thank you” was interrupted by the marchioness’s frank comment.

“You may not think it now, Mrs. Richmond, but you are very lucky in your father’s choice of husband.” The lady’s eyes twinkled as Arden’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, Gareth will tell you that I am frank to a fault—but there is no sense in pretending, is there? I only wish I might have gotten to know you a little, but you leave today, I think?”

Arden nodded and Gareth pretended to be about to throttle his aunt, but instead, gave her a great hug. “I wish your mourning did not keep you from our celebration, Aunt Kate. Thank you for coming this morning, though. And remember, we will hope for a visit from you soon.”

“Not too soon, dear. You need time with your new wife to come to an appreciation of one another.” The marchioness stepped back and let the couple proceed to their carriage, happy that she had at least caught a glimpse of Arden, and satisfied with the little she had seen. She is out of the ordinary, and that is what Gareth needs. Now let them only realize that they will do well together sooner rather than later!

* * * *

Arden had been moved by the older woman’s honesty. At least someone had recognized that she had been forced into this wedding. Everyone else had seemed to have forgotten it. She and Gareth had been toasted and winked at and Gareth seemed to be enjoying it all. Her father gave a toast that would have been more appropriate for a love match, and her aunt and Celia were almost in tears every time they looked at the new couple. When it was time for her to change into her traveling dress, she was almost relieved. At least she would not have to keep a false smile on her face any longer. It was beginning to feel like a grimace.

She almost broke down at the last, after all. Her aunt was teary and Celia audibly sobbing. Her father, whom she had succeeded in avoiding most of the morning, gave her such an embrace that her own eyes filled with tears. It was real, it wasn’t a play she was moving through; she was leaving everyone who was dear to her and going off with an utter stranger, one moreover who didn’t even love her. And there were her father and aunt, crying crocodile tears, as though they hadn’t forced her into this. She would not weep, she determined, and when her father released her, she was back in control and able to wave them all blithe good-bye.

Gareth had decided to ride inside the chaise for the first part of their journey. He planned to stop at Uxbridge for their first night. There was an old inn there which dated back to Tudor times and might be considered romantic. Not that romance had been a significant part of this courtship and marriage, he thought as he looked at Arden, who was studiously not looking at him, but out the window. The day, which had started as overcast, had turned blustery, and she was glad they were not going far.

“I have reserved us rooms at the White Lion,” said Gareth, hoping to get some sort of conversation going. “We will have the private parlor for our wedding dinner. They are known to have an excellent cook.”

Arden turned to face him. “Rooms,” she said, emphasizing the plural.

“Yes. I thought under the circumstances you would prefer your privacy. We have not talked much about this marriage, Arden…indeed, we have not talked about it at all,” said Gareth, “but…”

“It will never be consummated. You may have forced me legally, but you cannot force me bodily. I will kill you first,” broke in Arden, her cool tone at variance with her words.

Gareth, who had been about to say that he did not intend to claim his rights as a husband until she might welcome him, was furious. Arden had seemed at least resigned to the marriage this past week and he had hoped they might begin their wedded life with some sort of mutual respect and understanding.

“Do not worry, my lady wife,” he replied, forcing himself to sound indifferent. “I have never been one of those men who enjoys conquering a female. I prefer willing participation.”

Having received the assurance she wanted, Arden found herself immediately and irrationally disappointed. Of course, she didn’t want the ruffian touching her—but she had thought he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.

Gareth would have been amused and relieved to know Arden’s paradoxical reaction. But her face never revealed anything, never changed as her emotions changed, but remained the familiar cool and arrogant mask. And so he sat back against the squabs, wondering not for the first time, why he had taken this woman to wife. And so they began their married life, at one in one thing, even though it was only second thoughts, he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.

When they arrived at the inn, Arden was exhausted from their journey. Gareth had slept much of the way, for he was worn out from the last weeks, which had involved both funeral and wedding preparations. Arden had tried to sleep and indeed had almost fallen off several times, but a rut in the road or the noise of a passing vehicle would awaken her, and she finally gave up.

She was agreeably surprised at the appearance of the White Lion. It was clean and well-staffed, and had she been in love with her husband, just the cozy sort of place she might have chosen for their wedding night. Although it had clearly been added onto over the centuries, the exterior was that of the thatched-roofed Tudor farmhouse it had originally been.

The landlord’s wife welcomed them warmly, showed them their rooms and informed them that supper would be served in the private parlor in half an hour. Arden was so tired she could only smile and nod as though she were a puppet. When the landlady complimented her on her new husband and emphasized, with a twinkle in her eye, that the beds in both rooms were more than adequate for two, Arden was almost shaken out of her stupor enough to reply, but the sight of Gareth’s grin kept her silent. She swept into her room and closed the door emphatically and fell upon the bed (which was, it must be admitted, as roomy as the landlady had suggested). She could hear Gareth moving around next door and realized that if she wanted supper, she had better get herself ready. She was as hungry as she was tired, and decided it was worth the uncomfortable hour ahead of her, in a private parlor with a man she loathed.

There was fresh water in a pitcher on the bureau, and she splashed her face with it, which woke her up a bit. Her traveling dress was wrinkled, but she had neither the energy nor the inclination to dress for dinner. So she decided to comb out her braids and just tie her hair back, to make herself look presentable. That done, she changed from her half boots into a pair of black kid slippers and was ready to go downstairs.

As she stepped outside her door, however, she realized that it would be unwise to go down unattended. She would have to wait for Gareth. After a few minutes in the narrow hallway, however, listening for some sound to indicate he was in his room, she wondered whether he had gone down without her. She would have to knock, blast it, and look as if she needed him. She rapped on the door sharply, and was relieved to hear his voice. Her relief turned to dismay when he opened the door and she could see that he was not as far along in his preparations as she expected. His curls were still wet and he had obviously just pulled on a clean shirt to open the door. It was not buttoned and she had the opportunity to notice that he had a flat belly and the same curls on his chest that covered his head. His breeches were partially unbuttoned and she found her eyes following the line of hair on his belly as it tapered down to… Arden snapped her eyes up to his face and caught his look of amusement as though he could read the direction of her thoughts as well as her eyes.

“Why, it is my lady wife,” he exclaimed with exaggerated welcome. “I am surprised and pleased to see you are not one of those women who take forever to dress. Would you like to come in while I finish dressing?”

“Of course not!” snapped Arden. “I will return to my room, and if you will just let me know when you are ready, I will go down with you.”

“I will be with you shortly,” replied Gareth, closing the door and leaving her standing there. She went back to sit on her bed, and a minute or two later she heard his knock on her door.

“You see, I can be as prompt as you, my dear. Come, take my arm. I am as hungry as a bear, and you must be too, after all those hours in the carriage.”

Arden refused his arm and walked down the corridor and stairs ahead of him, hoping to show him that he might hold the name of husband, but he could not hold her in any way. Gareth shook his head behind her as he watched her holding her head up, as though it still held her coronet of braids. Unfortunately, my dear, he thought, that simple ribbon around your loose hair quite ruins that queenly effect. From the rear, you look like you must have as a young girl. He was surprised at the strength of his sudden longing to touch her. He wanted to come up behind her, slip his arm around her waist and feel her respond to him in the way real newlyweds might do. Instead, he merely slipped his arm through hers as the landlady showed them into a cozy parlor, where a small table had been set next to the fire.

Arden was bound and determined not to relax her guard, even under the influence of the bustling landlady who called her “dearie” and complimented her again on “her man.” She wanted to scream out: “He is not my man and I am not looking forward to a short evening and a long night.” But again, she would not give Gareth the satisfaction, and the landlady, although irritating, was innocent of offense, so Arden remained silent. And when their hostess began to look puzzled and a bit hurt at Arden’s lack of response, Gareth pulled her aside and said in a stage whisper, “You must forgive my bride. She is able to hear as well as you or me, but has been mute from childhood.” The landlady looked at Arden with great pity, shook Gareth’s hand with sympathy and then left them to themselves.

“How dare you, sir?” spluttered Arden.

“Well, I had to give some explanation for your silence,” said Gareth in that amused tone that made Arden want to slap him. He was imperturbable. She could find no way to wound him, because all she could summon in his presence was a raw and clumsy anger. Her wit deserted her whenever he provoked her.

“Now there is no need to keep up appearances,” he continued. “We can eat in peace, retire early and everyone will be satisfied.” Well, perhaps not everyone, he thought. He wanted a real wedding night, he was surprised to discover. He wanted to undo the tapes of her traveling dress, to loosen the ribbon holding back her hair and to run his fingers through that black waterfall which would surely almost reach her waist. He imagined that her shoulders and breast were the same milky white as her face. He had to force himself to return his attention to his plate. The food was very good, and he hoped that satisfying one appetite would keep him from thinking of the other.

Arden had felt herself growing warmer, and was not sure it was only the fire. Gareth was staring at her intently over his wineglass and she had to drop her eyes several times. Memories of his dripping curls and brown chest came unbidden to her mind. What would it feel like to be lying next to him and running her hand down his chest?

“I am afraid the wine and food have made me sleepy,” she muttered, pushing her chair back and getting up rather unsteadily.

Gareth rose immediately and said, “All that, and the fire. It is getting rather warm in here. Come, we will give them something to tease us with in the morning, that we went upstairs without finishing the last course of our meal. Take my arm, and remember, you must be silent or expose my lie. And I would not have that good soul think that I was making fun of her.”