Married to a Stranger (8 page)

Sophia wrinkled her nose, not entirely certain she liked being described as
prudent
. There were so many other adjectives that one’s husband of less than a day might more flatteringly apply. ‘Are you wealthy, then?’

‘Were you paying no attention to the settlements?’

‘No.’ The smile was still there, so she added, ‘I did not marry you for your money.’

One eyebrow lifted and the smile became quizzical and less amused.

‘Not like that. Yes, of course I was so grateful we could pay off the debts and that Mama will be comfortable. I did not want to become a governess! There were other things—it is a relief that Mark will have influential connections when he finishes his studies and is looking for a parish. If he can establish himself well, then he will be able to support Mama. But I did not seek a life of luxury.’

‘Will your brother make a good clergyman, do you think?’ Callum asked. As he had when she told him about the debts, he did not refer to them again.

‘I am sure he will,’ Sophia said loyally, trying to repress the truth, which was that she thought Mark was becoming insufferably pompous. Her brother had descended for the wedding, patronised the amiable and unassuming vicar, lectured her on her own good fortune and announced his intention of pleasing their mother with a week’s visit at no notice. Sophia, her nerves on edge, had never been so out of sympathy with him.

‘He favoured me with a most enlightening lecture on the Christian duties of marriage yesterday evening,’ Callum said, straight-faced.

‘Oh no!’ Sophia stared at him, aghast. ‘Of all the preposterous things to do—Mark isn’t even ordained yet, and he’s so much younger than you and—’

But Callum was laughing now, a deep, wicked chuckle that made her smile back, even as she cringed at Mark’s effrontery. ‘What did you say? You snubbed him, I hope.’

‘I listened with great attention and then asked him a number of very frank questions about a husband’s duties in the marital bed. How I kept a straight face I will never know. It was very wrong of me, considering that I was about to marry his sister and I suspect he is a virgin.’ Sophia clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress the gasp of shocked laughter. ‘He became mired in the procreation of children, at which point I thanked him earnestly and told him he had given me a great deal to think about.’

‘That was very wicked. I’m surprised at you.’ But the reproof was ruined by the unladylike snort of laugher that escaped her.
Thank goodness, he does have a sense of humour after all.

‘Wicked? Oh, no, not me. I was always the responsible twin,’ Callum remarked. For a moment she thought she had said the wrong thing, but he was still smiling. Then he turned from her; the moment of shared amusement was lost. ‘Try to get some sleep. I will, if you do not object.’

‘Of course not.’ Sophia was not at all tired, but if Callum was not sleeping well then she should encourage him to get all the rest she could. She closed her eyes and waited until she heard his breathing become slow. After a cautious peek she pulled her small sketching block from her reticule and began to draw his profile. It was not easy as the chaise lurched and swayed, but it was engrossing and she soon lost consciousness of everything but the battle to translate her husband’s face into lines and shading.

She had almost finished when he jerked, his eyes still closed. ‘Sophia. No, don’t—’

The pencil skidded across the page. She stuffed it and the block away and caught at his hands that had clenched into fists. ‘Callum?

‘What?’ He came awake in an instant, his pupils wide as he stared at her. ‘I’m sorry. A dream. Look—we have reached Kilburn Wells. Not long to London now.’

Chapter Eight

C
al pushed away the lingering traces of the nightmare, of Sophia vanishing into a dark mist, not looking back. He made himself think of her laughter as the chaise drew up in Half Moon Street. Her uninhibited snort of amusement, the transformation of her face at the shared joke, the naughty twinkle in her eye at his most improper teasing of her brother were all delightful. To share laughter like that, to share a joke without it having to be spelled out—a simple joy, but a precious one he thought he had lost.

He looked at her as he helped her down, but she was once more serious and slightly wan in her sombre grey carriage dress. Marriage had not brought colour to her cheeks. But why should it? Her family was secure, but at the price of her marrying the wrong man and being plunged into a strange new life.

‘Another house to explore. It looks delightful,’ she said politely. Cal took her arm as they went up the steps and through the door that Hawksley was holding open. Under his fingers he felt her slenderness and measured the almost imperceptible distance she kept between them. How very ladylike, he thought, his body stirring at the thought of how unladylike he might be able to coax her to be that night.
She’s a virgin who doesn’t love you,
he reminded himself.
Take care.

‘Good afternoon, madam. Sir.’

‘You must be Hawksley,’ Sophia said. From somewhere she conjured up a warm smile.

‘Yes, madam. Would you wish me to assemble the staff now or should I send for your maid, ma’am?’

Cal saw her cut him a fleeting glance, but she replied to the butler without waiting for his approval, ‘It would be best to meet everyone now, if you please, Hawksley.’

They must have been waiting, poised behind the baize door under the curve of the steps, for it opened the moment Hawksley clapped his hands. ‘Mrs Datchett, the cook-housekeeper, ma’am. Chivers, your maid. Andrew and Michael, the footmen, Prunella and Jane, the maids. Millie, kitchen maid.’ There were bows and curtsies. Cal had worked hard to commit the names to memory in the same automatic way he had done when dealing with the dozens of clerks and servants and merchants who filled his working days, but Sophia smiled and exchanged a few words with each of the staff in turn, repeated names, made a little ceremony of it.

They beamed back at her. She obviously had the knack with staff, he thought as Michael took his hat and gloves and Sophia went towards the stairs with Chivers. ‘Tea in the drawing room in fifteen minutes, please, Hawksley,’ she said decisively. ‘At what time would you wish dinner, Mr Chatterton? Or do you dine out this evening?’

He looked at her poised, one hand on the banister, her willowy figure half-turned to look back at him, expecting him to leave her alone on their wedding night and apparently quite composed about it. What did that say about her expectations of him? ‘I shall dine at home. Seven-thirty, my dear, if that would suit.’

Sophia coloured a little at the endearment, but nodded to Mrs Datchett and Hawksley and followed the maid upstairs. Cal stood and watched until she vanished around the turn of the stair. His wife in his house. It was curiously, and unexpectedly, pleasant. And he would have neither, he realised, if it had not been for the shipwreck and Daniel’s death. This charming, gentle young woman would be his sister-in-law.

‘Sir?’

Cal hauled himself out of the deep pit of his thoughts. ‘Yes, Hawksley?’

To his credit the other man did not flinch at the tone. ‘Wilkins is above stairs, sir.’

His new English valet of a few months was a pernickety little man, much given to tutting under his breath at outrages such as a creased cuff or a loose button. Cal had not asked his body servant Ardash to leave his home and family to travel with him to England, and thank God he had not, or the poor devil would likely be dead by now. On the ship he had got used to looking after himself, but one of his first acts on arriving in London had been to find a man to maintain the standards of appearance and dress the Company’s Court of Directors would expect.

‘You moved my things down from the main bedroom and organised the room on the first floor for my use? Excellent. Then send hot water up, if you please.’ He climbed the stairs to his new chamber, a safe one floor below the one that was now his wife’s. He had every intention of visiting her bedchamber regularly, but he would choose his time, not succumb to the urge to make love to her just because she was next door. And with a floor between them there was no risk he would disturb her when the nightmares seized him.

Wilkins put down a pile of linens and bowed. He seemed to feel that his master’s new status as a married man required some formality. Cal looked around the room to distract himself. It would do, although it seemed dark and rather bland.

‘The valises are here, sir. I will have madam’s heavy trunk carried up whilst you are at tea. Do you require a change of linen now?’

What he would like was a cold bath, Cal thought with an inward grimace. He shrugged out of his coat and surveyed the state of his cuffs. ‘No, this will do until I change for dinner.’ He rolled up his sleeves as Andrew the footman came in with a jug of water. ‘For later, the swallowtail coat and evening breeches and the striped silk stockings.’ He must signal the importance of their first dinner as man and wife with suitable attention. ‘And I want flowers for the dining room and my wife’s bedchamber. Andrew, will you organise that as soon as possible?’

‘Sir. I’ll go along to Shepherd’s Market at once. Shall I get roses if I can? They may have some hothouse ones, sir.’ Andrew looked as though he was bright enough to choose the right thing.

‘Yes. Something pretty and elegant. Deep pink, if possible. Do not stint on quality or quantity.’ Callum probed at his own motives as he tied a fresh neckcloth. Was he attempting to woo his new bride? Or was this some sort of apology for that afternoon at Long Welling when he had so shocked her by his ardour? He caught his valet’s eye in the mirror and smoothed the frown off his forehead. What did it matter, so long as Sophia was not unhappy and the household ran smoothly?

‘Buy flowers regularly. Use your discretion unless Mrs Chatterton expresses a wish for anything in particular.’ In India flowers and garlands were available in lavish abundance, for a few
paice.
Here they would be more of a luxury, an easy way to make Sophia feel that he was paying attention to her comfort.

She was sitting in the drawing room with tea pot and cups arrayed in front of her when he came down: a picture of domesticity. Cal thought she looked chilly, although he would have been hard pressed to explain why. He took the seat opposite and accepted a cup from her hands. ‘Thank you. Is it me, or is this room dull? I never noticed it before.’ He had bought the house from another bachelor.

Perhaps her presence in it, the little vignette of femininity she created, showed up the bland masculinity of the rest of the room. ‘A trifle.’ Sophia fished in her cup with the mote spoon to remove a stray tea leaf.

‘Shall we move? I am sure we could find something else soon enough. You can choose somewhere you like.’ He found he wanted to please her.

‘One cannot simply pack up and shift houses just because one does not like the wallpaper, Callum!’

‘Why ever not? It is commonplace in India to move house at the drop of a hat.’

‘But I like the house itself,’ she protested. ‘It is just that it isn’t
ours
yet, not like Long Welling is. Will be.’ A soft pink colour tinged her cheeks. He liked the way it made her look, and he liked, he discovered, the fact that he was able to make her blush.

Best not to pursue that now. But it was strange how attached she was to the old house even after it had been the scene of their first falling-out. ‘But we will come to feel at home here, I am sure,’ Sophia added hurriedly.

Cal crossed his legs to disguise the effect that thoughts of Long Welling’s master bedroom were having on him. ‘Redecorate as you wish. It needs to be fit for entertaining.’ Sophia brightened and he realised that he had done something that gave her pleasure. It was about time, he thought, mentally kicking himself. His had hardly been a considerate courtship. Not a courtship at all, just a demand. ‘Do the whole house, if you wish. My bedchamber is dull, too.’

‘How much—?’

‘Whatever it needs. I trust you not to indulge in embossed Spanish leather wall hangings, Egyptian-style chaises and full Meissen dinner services.’

‘Oh, but I am so tempted,’ Sophia said. ‘Just think, I will be able to obtain all the most fashionable journals now I am in London. I can follow the latest style, the most outrageous mode.’ Her blue eyes danced as she teased him and warmth stirred inside. Desire, certainly, but something unfamiliar, comfortable and comforting too. ‘When shall we go and view the showrooms and warehouses?’

She wanted him to come with her? No, surely not. She was just checking that he did not wish to supervise her expenditure. It had been fun to furnish a house with Dan and they had haunted the auction houses and the bazaars together. But now, without him? No, too many ghosts.

Dan would have loved it and would have indulged his peacock tendencies to the full. He would have chosen some outrageous and impractical wallpaper, teased Sophia into giggles with improper remarks about bed hangings and bought frivolous gadgets just for the fun of it. But there was so little between Sophia and himself to build upon, and he did not want to spoil her enjoyment in doing up the house just as she wanted it.

‘Callum?’ Sophia said, her head on one side, that smile curving her lips. It was only a shopping expedition, yet somehow he felt as though he was facing a test of real importance.

‘You will have to do that yourself,’ Callum said, bending forwards to put his cup down. ‘I will be too busy for shopping and, besides, the house is your realm. Take one of the footmen and your maid.’

Sophie felt the pleasure at his generosity ebb a little. It seemed Callum did not attach any importance to them creating a home together, simply to her making a suitable framework for entertaining and the advancement of his career. Shopping would be delightful, of course, especially as she had both her wardrobe and the house to buy for, but it would be lonely too. How on earth did a new wife, with no contacts and a busy husband, make friends?

Sophia felt her smile slip and hastily adjusted her expression, but Callum was looking severe again. What to talk about now? He seemed dismissive of housekeeping and decorating, they had exhausted the matter of her clothing and, so far, they had not established any topics of mutual interest—always assuming any existed at all.

It would be rather a long time before there would be the children to discuss, she thought ruefully, and then remembered what must come first in the elegant French bed upstairs.

‘What is wrong, Sophia?’ Callum seemed uncannily perceptive. She must try harder to mask her thoughts from him.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ That was too vehement and his brows drew together as though he suspected her of keeping secrets from him. ‘I will go and oversee the unpacking.’

‘I am not sure you should be spending your wedding day doing that sort of thing. If it had not been for that journey, which must have tired you, I would take you to the theatre. As it is—’ Callum stood up and the room seemed subtly smaller, as though he had moved closer and was crowding her. Sophia found her eyes were at precisely the right level to notice what he was thinking of as suitable employment for a wedding day. She stood up with more haste than elegance.

She was blushing, she knew she was. Somehow, through the past few days, she had kept at bay the memory of what had happened at Long Welling, with the kind of desperation that a child applies to pretending it has not got toothache and does not need to visit the dentist. Not that being made love to by Callum would be like visiting the tooth-puller, exactly. She knew, in theory, what to expect, and surely it would not be so bad? Embarrassing, of course.

Even thinking about it made her tremble. Was that desire? Ladies did not take pleasure in the marriage bed, Mama had explained. It was a duty that led to the reward of children. With a man one loved it would be easier, but with Callum she felt desperately shy and worried about disappointing him.

‘I must … I mean, there are things I need to have today, and Chivers does not know what I want. There’s my dressing case and my nightgown and …’

Callum’s mouth curved as she stumbled to a halt. ‘I am sure Chivers will realise that you will require a nightgown.’ That smile. He was a younger, much more approachable man when he looked like that.

‘No … but, I mean she will not know which one.’
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Sophia, you are in a deep enough hole. Just stop digging!

‘A special nightgown for your wedding night?’ He was teasing her now and the embarrassment began to give way to something else. Something more than liking. The desire to be friends, to share that amusement.

‘Um … yes. Well, I thought I ought … I enjoy embroidery.’ The laughter was still there, so she ventured, ‘A young lady is not supposed to think about wedding nights, but sewing roses around one’s nightgown gives one time to contemplate …’ Now she really had mired herself into the hole. In a moment he was going to enquire acidly who she had been imagining in her bed with her. How tactless of her. No doubt she was crimson. He must think her completely gauche.

‘I will be very careful with it, then, if you have made it yourself,’ Callum said and the hint of a smile in his voice somehow made her confusion even greater.

‘Thank you. Anyway …’ she began to edge towards the door ‘… I really need to make sure she knows what she is doing …’

Callum opened the door for her and Sophia escaped into the hall. She had to be pleased that Callum wanted to come to her bed—at least that aspect of their marriage would be close. As she climbed slowly up to her bedchamber she wondered how much he minded that she had been betrothed to Daniel. How would she have felt if the positions had been reversed and she had had a sister who had been betrothed to Callum and who had then died?