Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (19 page)

Elizabeth lay listlessly waiting for Rand to return. Her head felt as if, indeed, it were about to explode. Every time the nausea hit, it pounded even more. If anyone for the rest of her life suggested she take a sea voyage she would shoot them on the spot. She couldn’t help think that God was punishing her for her sins. She’d been seasick before, yes, but this was so far beyond what even she had experienced she could only think that God was particularly displeased with her. If she had even the smallest bit of energy, having Rand discover she was having her monthlies would have been agonizingly embarrassing. She supposed she should at least be grateful that at the moment she truly wouldn’t care if the ship sank to the bottom of the ocean. She simply wanted the pain and sickness to go away.

Rand returned in minutes, carrying a pitcher of warm water and several clean rags. He helped her out of her gown, and stared at her body, saying only, “We’ve got to get some food into you.” He cleaned her with the warm water, then removed the soiled sheets from the bed as she sat listlessly in the cabin’s only chair watching. Eyeing the bloodstain on the mattress that remained even after his attempt at cleaning it off, he smiled a bit mischievously at her and turned it over. “Good as new,” he said. Instead of leading her back to bed, Rand wrapped her up in several blankets, covering her from head to toe, then carried her out to the deck.

The cold air felt wonderful against her skin, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, only to open them immediately when she felt the ship’s movement.

“Look at the horizon,” he said, leaning against the bulkhead and holding her in his arms, much like a baby. She rested her head against his shoulder, tucking her forehead against his neck. “The captain insisted that no one has ever died of seasickness. But people have died for lack of water. You will drink, Elizabeth. Small amounts your stomach can tolerate. I don’t care if you vomit it up, you’ll drink again. And again, until we reach the Thames. And then you are going to eat every bit of food in sight until I fatten you up.”

“My mother will be quite upset with you if I get too fat.”

“I don’t care. I want you plump,” he said, pulling her closer to him.

They were silent for a long time, Elizabeth staring out to sea, feeling better than she had in days. For the first time in nearly a week, her head was not pounding unmercifully, but only contained a dull throbbing that was easily tolerated. She still felt a bit queasy, but the body-racking vomiting had abated. For the moment.

“Do you still hate me?” she asked softly.

“You know I do not,” he said, his words clipped.

“I don’t hate you. I think I said I do, but I don’t.”

“That is good to hear.” She stared at his profile and thought she detected the hint of a smile. For now, it was enough.

Maggie stepped through the door to her home and let out a sigh of relief. She was so tired of smiling, her face actually hurt. No one must ever know how very un happy she’d been since waving wildly at Elizabeth’s de parting carriage. She had a sickening feeling that she would never see her friend again, which was silly be cause Elizabeth wouldn’t be departing for England until at least March.

It was purely awful not being able to talk to her friend. Even though they’d often been separated for months at a time, thanks to Alva’s penchant for traveling, Maggie never quite got over not having her around.

After Elizabeth left, it might be years and years before they saw each other again. She’d received one happy letter from her and wondered if everything her friend had written were true or was she simply trying to put a happy face on a miserable situation. Her words certainly seemed sincere, and Maggie hoped they were. She liked the duke and she wanted them to be happy together.

Happy, she thought, as she would never be.

After that horrible scene at Elizabeth’s wedding break fast, she had not seen Lord Hollings and she assumed he was already gone to England. Without a proper good-bye, and certainly without promises to return. Or send for her.

Maggie drew her hands out of her fur muff and crushed it in her fists. She was the most foolish, ridiculous girl in New York if she hoped for even one minute that Lord Hollings would suddenly find it impossible to live without her. And yet…how she did hope for just that thing. For far longer than a minute, as well.

“I’ll take that, Miss,” her butler, Saunders said. He eyed the crushed muff thoughtfully. “Already dead, right, Miss?”

Maggie gave him a withering look, trying, and failing, to suppress a smile. “If it wasn’t, it is now. I’ve had a purely awful day, Saunders. Where is Mother?”

“In her sitting room, I believe.”

Maggie shrugged off her coat and handed him that as well. “I needed that smile. Thank you.”

Saunders beamed at her and disappeared with her cloak and muff as Maggie headed toward the stairs and her mother.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. This came for you in the post today.” Saunders held up a letter and Maggie rushed down to retrieve it, her silly heart beating fast. She didn’t look at it until she reached the first landing, telling herself over and over that it could not be from Lord Hollings. Why ever in the world would he write to her? But he might have, she could be holding his letter right now and in it he would beg her to come to England to be with him. It could be from him.

But it wasn’t, of course. It was another letter from Elizabeth, which made Maggie smile faintly. It seemed her friend missed her as much as she missed Elizabeth. Taking the stairs a bit more slowly, she broke the wax seal and opened it up, only to lean heavily against the banister.

“I’ve no time to come to say good-bye, but wanted you to know I am leaving for England Monday. I’ll write more later when I have the chance. Your dearest friend, Elizabeth.”

Maggie sank down to the step, the letter held limply in her hand. She hadn’t said good-bye. Surely she had time to stop by for a quick, tearful hug. Surely she couldn’t have been in that much of a rush. Maggie felt as if her battered heart could not take much more and wondered if she could remain cheerful when all she wanted to do was cry for about a week. Feeling as if the life had been sucked from her, she made her way up the stairs and to her mother’s sitting room, pausing before entering to gather herself together. Her mother hated tears; not because she had no tolerance for them, but because she simply could not bear to see them.

Maggie knocked smartly, and entered when her mother called out. “Mother,” she said, “I’ve had the most dreadful news.” She said it in a tone that certainly did not express her sadness. Indeed, her mother smiled when she made the announcement, if a bit uncertainly.

“Then you know,” she said. “My poor girl, your heart must be broken.”

Maggie smiled. “Not broken. Not nearly so. But I am a bit upset Elizabeth didn’t stop to say good-bye in person. We are best of friends, after all,” she said, waving the letter in her hand.

“Elizabeth is gone?”

“Well, yes. She left two days ago. Isn’t that what you were talking about?”

Her mother looked down at her needlepoint, worrying the fabric between her hands. “Lord Hollings stopped by this morning while you were out. He’s gone, Maggie. Left just hours ago.” Her mother searched her daughter’s face, likely hoping her daughter wouldn’t dissolve into tears.

Maggie suddenly found it necessary to sit. “Gone?”

“Yes. He’s such a nice man. He stopped by to tell you he’s leaving for England. I’m so sorry dear. I had hoped…”

Maggie was able to smile at her mother, though she was not quite certain where she found the courage. “He stopped by today?”

“Yes. While you were with your cousins.”

“Did he leave a note?” she asked, hating the hope she heard in her own voice.

“No, no. Just stopped by. Are you heartbroken, dear?”

“Goodness, no, Mother. I never held out hope that the earl would make an offer, though I know you did. I’m sorry. We did get on well enough, but, my goodness, neither of us had any strong feelings. But I can always say I danced with an earl. Not every girl can, you know.”

Maggie smiled so brightly she thought her mother must know it was simply an act.

But no. Her mother beamed back at her, visibly relieved that her daughter didn’t have a broken heart. “The Wright brothers are still vying for your hand, particularly that Arthur. I think your flirtation with the earl made you much more desirable in his eyes. And his mother’s. Did you have a fine time with your cousins?”

The subject of Lord Hollings was swiftly dropped and Maggie managed to talk about her cousins for five minutes before escaping from her mother. She loved her dearly, but Maggie simply could not bear another minute of pretending her heart had not been broken not once, but twice, in the space of ten minutes.

When she reached her room, Margaret Pierce did something she had not done since she was perhaps ten years old. She threw herself upon her bed and cried body-racking sobs until her face was swollen and her nose so clogged she couldn’t breathe. At supper time, she pleaded a sudden cold, made believable by her stuffed-up nose.

Why hadn’t she been home? What had he come to say? She tortured herself with thoughts that had she been home, he would have fallen at her feet and begged her to marry him. But she hadn’t been home. For the first time since Elizabeth’s wedding, she’d gone out of the house. And he’d come to see her. She couldn’t bear to wonder what might have been, if only she’d been home. She had a wild idea to run out, to try to find him before he left. But she didn’t know where he was, how he was traveling. It would be impossible, though part of her, the part that was so very desperately in love, told her she should try. In the end, her practical side won out, as it always did. He was gone and she would never see him again and it was much better if she simply fully realized it. She’d always known she would never marry and now she was more certain than ever. For how could she ever love someone as much as she loved Lord Hollings?

“It hurts. My God, it hurts,” she whispered, hugging herself and rocking. She knew one thing, she never wanted to hurt like this again. Never.

It was strange that when Elizabeth, the new Duchess of Bellingham, stepped from their carriage, she felt much like she imagined she would all those months ago when she’d agreed to marry the duke. She was completely overwhelmed and more than a little frightened by what lay ahead. Bellewood, from first appearances, was the most elaborate and beautiful private palace she had ever seen. It was almost ridiculously grand, making their Newport cottage look like an outbuilding in comparison. Nothing had prepared her for the grandeur, the immense size, of Bellewood. Her first reaction when she stepped out was to let out a small giggle. She turned to share her feelings with Rand, but he swept past her, staring at the palace with the oddest expression.

The center of the baroque building was dominated by a huge portico with six grand columns. Two wings stretched out from the main hall in an ominous embrace of granite and mullioned windows. It was a blustery, cold day, but Elizabeth, who was finally feeling more herself, did not care as she stared at the manse that would be her home. For all its massive grandeur, a closer look revealed that the palace was in disrepair, the grounds neglected. Even the long winding drive leading to the palace had been rutted and lined with rather sick-looking trees. It was obvious that not a penny had been spent on Bellewood in years.

“This is where you grew up?” Elizabeth asked, trying to picture a little boy running about.

“I used to get lost, all the time,” he said, staring at the palace. “You can see, it needs repair. I’m afraid most of the servants have been let go. I’ve only a butler, cook, house keeper, and a handful of servants. I know you’re used to more.” She watched as the muscle in his jaw bunched.

“This is plenty,” she said, referring to the vastness of the building. Though she would never say so, she found the palace completely uninviting.

He turned to her. “My first priority, as I’ve said, is to help my tenants. I’m afraid conditions here are not what you are used to.” The wind buffeted his hair and drove his collar up against his neck, making him look much as she’d pictured Heathcliff in Emily Bronte’s
Wuthering Heights,
angry, masculine, and unapproachable.

“You’ve told me about the heat. A nice big fire will be fine,” Elizabeth said, trying to be cheerful.

“There is almost no furniture. It’s filthy. The grounds are in ruin.”

“You’ve told me this,” she said, getting impatient.

She wanted to simply go in and have her things un packed. Perhaps having a nice warm bath would be lovely and then she’d crawl into bed. She was feeling better after their ten-day sea trip, but she was still weak from what she’d gone through.

“If I had a choice, I would not bring a bride here,” he said, his eyes still on the palace.

It was such a ridiculous statement, Elizabeth almost laughed. In front of her was perhaps the grandest palace in England, but for Buckingham Palace. If it needed a bit of sprucing up, well, a bit of dust wouldn’t hurt her. “Where would you bring her?”

“Anywhere else.”

Rand took one step toward the entry, and the massive door swung open to reveal perhaps ten servants waiting inside, lined up like a small troop of soldiers bundled against the cold. The damn place had always been difficult to keep warm, even when there had been funds to do so. The list of things facing him was overwhelming, and would have to start with such basic things as ordering coal and hiring servants. He certainly couldn’t expect someone who had grown up in the luxury Elizabeth had to huddle by a fire for warmth. No doubt she’d never lived in a home without central heating or a toilet and bath for each bedroom. No doubt she was wishing she was anywhere else at the moment but standing in front of this broken-down mausoleum. But Rand had nowhere else to go and the great responsibility of bringing back the estate to its former grandeur weighed heavily. But all that would have to wait until the tenants’ homes had been completely refurbished. It would likely be years before the palace was the way he wanted it. Again, he found himself humiliated with the knowledge that the woman standing next to him meant the difference between vast wealth and complete ruin. He’d thought he’d gotten used to the idea, but standing at his family’s estate, he fiercely felt the shame of what had become of Bellewood.

“Your Graces,” a man in a formal black suit said, bowing. Those servants in line bowed or curtsied, deep and low.

“Tisbury,” he said in greeting, looking about the massive and quite empty entry hall. The private apartments on the southern wing were far more homey than this, which at one time had been opened for passing tourists. Now, the tourists would have nothing to see but a great amount of marble and dust. The contrast between Bellewood and Elizabeth’s finely decorated homes was quite glaring, and he dared a look at her to gauge her reaction. She stood next to him, smiling at the servants, looking amazingly uncertain for a girl who had been drilled from birth for such a life.

“We have had a difficult journey, particularly Her Grace. I pray her room is ready and a fire lit.”

“Yes, Your Grace. We’ve done what we could do to make your apartments comfortable.”

“If you please, Your Grace,” a maid said, dipping a curtsy in front of Elizabeth that would have looked far finer if she hadn’t been wearing two thick sweaters over her uniform. “I will show you to your rooms.”

Rand could feel Elizabeth looking at him, but he let her go without a word. The last time he had held her had been on the ship when she had been so very ill. He had told her he did not hate her, and that was true enough. But nor could he allow himself to love her, as he so foolishly had. Every time he thought of making love to her, every time he’d kissed her neck, he’d touched that necklace, and she had known it was there, giving her comfort so that she could bear his touch when she obviously longed for another.

Rand would be a good husband. He would make certain they had an heir. He would work himself into exhaustion to make Bellewood as beautiful as she ought to be and his tenants well off and happy. But he would never allow his heart to be willingly given to Elizabeth. At least he prayed to God he would not. Even now, as she walked away, bewildered and probably a bit frightened, a small part of him called out for him to go to her, to comfort her, to let her know everything would be all right.

“We have much to do in the next few days, Tisbury.

Including hiring enough servants to take care of Bellewood as she deserves.”

The servants cheered at that news. They’d likely worn themselves into a frazzle knowing the duke was arriving with his new duchess. “Mrs. Stevens, you have my permission to hire your staff as you see fit. Enough to care for the main public rooms and the south wing.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the woman said happily. She’d been with the family for fifteen years, and had been heartbroken when she’d been forced to let go of most of her staff.

“If you could direct someone to bring in our luggage, I believe it has arrived behind us.”

“Dinner at eight, Your Grace?”

Rand smiled. Even with such commotion, there were some things that had to remain constant, and one of those was dinner at eight. “Yes, Mrs. Stevens. I’m looking forward to some fine English cooking.”

Elizabeth followed the maid, feeling a bone-deep chill in the long hallway that a dozen fires could not change. When she was a girl, her father had brought her to an ice barn in the middle of June, and she had marveled at how cold it was inside. That was how cold it was inside Bellewood. She still wore her long coat and muff and realized why no servant had come forward to take them.

“Should be a bit warmer in your room, Your Grace. We’ve had a fire blazing all day,” the maid said in an accent that was difficult for Elizabeth to understand. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor that was completely unadorned by carpets. Finally, the maid paused and opened a set of towering French doors. “This is the private dining hall,” she said. She nodded to a door on the left. “His Grace’s rooms are there.” She moved to a door opposite and separated from Rand’s by the large dining room. “These are your rooms, Your Grace,” she said, opening the door to reveal a wonderful blast of warm air.

“Oh, it’s so warm,” Elizabeth gushed, immediately going to a large, ornate fireplace where a fire merrily danced. “I feel as though I haven’t been warm in ages.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The porters will be bringing you your things shortly. Dinner will be served at eight.” With that, the maid curtsied and left.

Elizabeth stared at the fire a moment before turning to survey her new rooms, letting out a small “oh” when she finally comprehended what her eyes were seeing. It was a perfectly lovely room, nicely lit by floor-to-ceiling windows that even now rattled a bit from the wind outside. But the room, as large and lovely as it was, contained only three pieces of furniture: a large wardrobe, a bed, and a washstand. Elizabeth eyed the washstand with a bit of amused disappointment. Her rooms back in Newport and New York had a private bath with a flushing toilet, a wonderful round tub with hot and cold running water, and a basin. Seeing a room off to the side, Elizabeth hurried over, struck by how cold the room got once she was away from the fire. It was a small, and quite empty, sitting room. No toilet, no bathtub. No hot and cold running water. Looking back to the room, she spotted a chamber pot, ornately decorated with nymphs running about, probably in search of a proper toilet, she thought. Obviously, installing indoor plumbing had not been a priority for the cash-poor Blackmores.

A sound at the door took her attention away from her thoughts of a warm bath. Rand stood at the entrance, staring at her as if it were her fault the home was inadequate. Then again, Rand seemed to look angry all the time of late. She missed the way he’d been at Rosebrier before, and knew she had no one to blame but herself. Which made her angry and surly and completely unhappy.

“At least it is warm in our rooms,” he said, looking about her room.

“It’s lovely,” she said. When he raised a sardonic eyebrow, she smiled sheepishly. “Sparse, but lovely.”

“Perhaps you should rest before dinner,” he said. “You are still recovering from our trip. I’ll see you at eight, then.”

“I am tired,” Elizabeth said, realizing that she, indeed, was exhausted.

He looked as if he were about to depart without another word, but he stopped. “I shall be extremely busy in the next few weeks and rarely here. I will leave it to you to get the house in order. Servants must be hired, things ordered. I had forgotten how empty this place was. It’s completely inadequate. I realize that.”

“May I order plumbing first?” she asked, making what she thought was a joke.

“You may do whatever you wish with your father’s money,” he said.

He left then, leaving Elizabeth feeling quite horrid, and ridiculously guilty for something that was not her doing at all. She’d never once thrown in his face that every penny they would spend was from her family. She loathed the entire discussion of money and how it surrounded their entire wedding like some malevolent cloud. How dare he use that to make her feel even more awful than she already did.

“I didn’t hear you ever complaining about the settlement before,” she shouted to his retreating back. “I will not be made to feel badly about something I never wanted in the first place.”

He was back in an instant, his face dark with anger. “You have made it entirely clear, many times in fact, that you did not want this marriage. Spend the goddamn money, Elizabeth, for it will be your only comfort in the months to come.”

She shrank back from his anger, from the venom in his voice. “I meant only I never liked the idea of buying a title.”

“Then we are in agreement about this entire marriage, for I never liked the idea of being bought. Yet here we are, my dear.”

“Here we are,” she said, feeling sadness overwhelm her.

“Our things have arrived,” he said, backing from the door to allow two young porters into her room with one of her massive trunks. By the time she was done directing the men where to put it, Rand was gone.