Rogue of the Borders (5 page)

Abigail rolled her eyes. “I have never fancied being queenly.”

“No matter,” Mari answered as they walked toward another shop. “You still need dresses. Half of what you have is at least two years old.”

“And in fine shape. Nothing is torn or worn.”

“Shane is a businessman. You do not want his clients’ wives thinking you dress no better than a fishwife.”

“Shane’s clients transact their business on the docks. Hardly the place for wives to stroll about.”

Mari smiled and patted her arm. “I am sure Shane must do some entertaining.”

Abigail hoped not. Once she’d swallowed her pride, she realized how lucky she was that Shane had offered to marry her, even if he wasn’t thrilled about the notion. She would do her best to be a good wife to him.

The one truly bright highlight to her bungled adventure was moving away from London and the press of parties and social events. She just hoped Shane would forgive her for forcing a marriage. She planned on trying very hard not to be a burden to him. “I doubt it.”

“Nonsense,” Mari said and opened the door to the newest modiste shop. Madam DuBois greeted them with enthusiasm since Mari frequented her establishment often.

“Bienvenu,”
she said. “How can I be of assistance to two such lovely
mesdames?
New ball gowns perhaps?”

“A wedding gown,” Mari answered with a giggle. “Miss Townsend is getting married to Captain Shane MacLeod.”

“But of course. I read the notice. I am honored you have chosen me to design the dress,” Madam Dubois said. “I think perhaps something in an ivory silk to set off the complexion along with a gossamer overlay of chiffon,
non
?”

“
Non
. No. I mean, there really will not be time for an elaborate gown,” Abigail said. “We shall marry within the week since Captain MacLeod must be back to sea.”

“So soon?” For a moment, Madam Dubois looked defeated and then she rallied. “I shall pull my seamstresses from other gowns. We will get it accomplished.”

“Good,” Mari said before Abigail could protest again. “And Miss Townsend needs a complete
trousseau
as well, although those things can be sent to her new home once she has been fitted.”

“
Certainement.
Morning gowns, day dresses, evening ensembles—how many of each, Madam MacLeod?”

“I really only need two or three dresses of good woolen cloth,” Abigail said.

“Wool?” Madam Dubois asked.

“Scotland is cold.”

“Of course, several of the dresses can be woolen,” Mari said with a wave of her hand. “But you will need finer things as well. And,” she added, “do not forget about the undergarments.”

“
Oui!
I have the softest muslin and linen for petticoats and chemises. One moment.” Madam Dubois hurried to the counter and removed a package from beneath it that she carefully unwrapped. “And the very, very finest silk for the wedding-night negligee.” She winked and smiled. “The groom will be enchanted,
non
?”

Mari giggled. “Oh, yes.”

Abigail stared at the shimmering, translucent material and felt her cheeks warm. “You can see right through it.”

Madam Dubois’s smile grew and Mari giggled again. “Yes.”

“Shane will think I have lost my mind completely wearing such flimsy material.”

“No. He will
not
,” Mari said. “You must trust me on this.”

Abigail was beginning to wonder if Mari had lost
her
mind. “A night rail is supposed to be warm.”

“Oh, stop being so practical, Abby.” Mari wiped at tears of laughter. “Shane will keep you plenty warm.”

Her face felt like it was on fire. Mari couldn’t possibly know that Shane was not interested in a real marriage. Abigail would be mortified to dress like a hoyden in front of him. What would he think of her?

She paused. What
would
Shane think if he actually saw her as an alluring female—well, maybe not
alluring
exactly, but at least a
female
instead of someone who dressed like a boy? Maybe Mari did have a point. Maybe, just maybe, Shane would find Abigail truly attractive. Was it not worth a try?

“I will take it,” she said.

The week went by at breathtaking speed. Although Abigail had been spared from attending
soirees
and balls due to her engagement, a good number of teas and dinners still needed to be attended. Mari, as sister to the Marchioness of Newburn and sister-by-marriage to the Earl of Cantford, was determined that none of the
ton
would slight Abigail for her hasty marriage. Almacks’ Matrons must have agreed since there seemed to be never-ending invitations waiting each morning.

Shane did not attend the teas since that was a woman’s domain, but he did escort Abigail to the dinners and once to the theatre. Her father had accompanied them, not so much to act the chaperone, but to let society know that he did, indeed, approve the upcoming marriage.

A chaperone was hardly needed. Shane acted the perfect gentleman at all times, even when they were alone for brief periods. Abigail had fully expected him to show his anger, or at least displeasure, over the coercion of their marriage, but he had remained politely distant. She’d tried to talk to him about the situation only to have him tell her what was done was done. She’d felt as guilty as Lady Macbeth when he said that.

Still, today was their wedding day and tonight the marriage would be consummated. Abigail only hoped once they were truly joined, Shane would act differently. Mari had assured her lovemaking indeed drew her closer to Jamie and that he felt the same. Abigail desperately wanted to please Shane in that way, even if there would be pain. She would bear it. He would not find her lacking in willingness. She had, after all, studied all the nude figures in art books
and
read biology. Her body flashed with heat as she thought about which body parts went where and how the deed was done. Hopefully, the beautiful negligee waiting in Mari’s guest room would show Shane how interested she was in pleasing him.

“You’ve been holding that brush and staring at yourself in the mirror for ages,” Mari interrupted her thoughts with a smile. “Here, let me do your hair or you are going to be late for your own wedding.”

An hour later, Abigail alighted from her father’s coach in the small courtyard of Temple Church. It seemed an odd choice since St. Paul’s was nearby, but Shane had insisted on it. When he’d told her Templars had built the church in the twelfth century as a replica of the Holy Sepulchre, she’d been fascinated both with the design and age. When Shane had pointed out the pagan carving of a Green Man over the west entrance, depicting a pagan symbol on a Christian shirt, she’d been intrigued. All this time, she’d never known this treasure existed right in the heart of London.

As her father escorted her through the round nave with its peculiar stone effigies on the floor and into the chancel, she could see Shane waiting ahead. He kept his eyes on her as she advanced although his face gave no expression as to what he was thinking. Jamie, standing at his side, gave her an encouraging smile. Standing tall, broad shoulders squared, Shane looked quite dashing in his full Scotch regalia. Abigail’s breath hitched as she glimpsed muscular calves exposed between hose and kilt. She chided herself for having such unseemly thoughts inside a church. Surely God would forgive her for having carnal thoughts about her future husband?

They reached the altar. Shane extended his arm, but before her father gave him her hand, the two men exchanged looks and Abigail sensed there was some private message being filtered. Her father had always been protective of her. Was he perhaps warning Shane to take good care of his only daughter? Abigail felt tears well. Bless Papa. Bless Shane too…

Mari nudged her, handkerchief in hand. Abigail sniffed and shook her head. Now was not the time to become a watering pot. She was marrying the man she had spent hours fantasizing about and in just a few short hours, he would truly be hers.

Hers. Shane would be
hers
. Abigail hardly heard the minister’s homily, so lost in thoughts of how wonderful marriage would be. She dutifully repeated the vows that Shane had written—who knew someone so big and strong could be poetic?—and he slipped a slender gold band on her finger. They were married.

The reception and dinner seemed to take forever, although Abigail couldn’t help but take a bit of smug satisfaction as the Season’s debutantes all offered congratulations, albeit perhaps none too enthusiastically. Most enjoyable were those of Violetta and Amelia, who had pursued both Ian and Jamie—and lost. On more than one occasion, they’d looked down their small, aristocratic noses at Abigail for being a bluestocking. She felt a moment of hubris. She was the lucky woman who was Shane MacLeod’s wife.

And finally, finally, it was over. Shane’s rented coach was brought around and Mari whispered in Abigail’s ear, “Jamie and I are staying at my aunt’s boarding house tonight, so you will have the townhouse to yourselves.” She giggled. “Do not worry about being heard.”

Abigail flushed and was thankful the lamps on the coach were dim. Shane helped her in and she heard him quietly conversing with the driver before he stepped inside and took the seat opposite her.

“Did the day go well for you?” he asked.

A wave of pleasure washed over her that he was concerned enough to ask. “Yes. The wedding was everything I ever wanted.” And it was, she realized. She’d never given much thought to dresses and pomp and circumstance, but it had been a very satisfying day. And the best was yet to come…”

I am glad to hear that.” Shane replied. “Ye should have good memories of your special day.”

Abigail furrowed her brows. It was his day too. Why was he being so politely formal? Well, no matter. She doubted he’d retain that formality once they were in their bedroom. At least, from what Mari had told her, men became
quite
uninhibited. “I am sure I will.”

The driver pulled to a stop a short time later. Shane opened the door and offered his hand. Abigail placed hers in his and stepped down. And then dropped her jaw in shock.

Chapter Five

Once she’d recovered, puzzlement overcame her. They were on the quay in front of Shane’s ship instead of the townhouse. “Why are we stopping here? Did you forget something?”

“Nae, lass,” he said as he paid the driver and motioned him off. “We will be staying aboard since I plan to sail at first light.”

“But—” Abigail thought of the beautiful negligee waiting on the bed at the townhouse. “Surely we can wait one more day to leave?”

A muscle twitched in Shane’s jaw. “’Tis sorry I am, but I have a shipment of kelp to prepare. I’ve already lingered nigh three weeks in London.”

She hadn’t thought about that. How often had she heard her father tell his man of business that time was money? Still. The bed at Mari’s place would have been comfortable—although Shane’s bunk would definitely be cozy. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Maybe it would not be so bad to spend the night on board. Since she didn’t have the negligee, she would have to be naked…
naked
?

“I do not have anything else to wear,” Abigail said somewhat frantically.

Shane’s jaw set. “Your father had a trunk delivered earlier.”

Her father knew about Shane’s plans? Why had no one told her? Something did not bode well. The butterflies plummeted with a decided thump.

“Come, lass,” Shane said and led her up the gangplank. Donald welcomed them aboard, although no other crew seemed to be present. It would probably be wise not to make too much noise during their coupling, though.

Shane helped her down the ladder to his cabin and opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him. Abigail sat down on the bed and gave him a smile. It was now or never. She might as well be bold. “Will you join me?”

His eyes flashed fire briefly and then he tightened his jaw again. “I think not, lass.”

The butterflies fluttered again, although her stomach lurched. “What…what do you mean?”

He eyed her a moment and then sighed. “I will nae take ye.”

Surely, she had not heard correctly. Abigail knew Shane didn’t love her. At least, not yet. Many marriages among the
ton
didn’t begin as love matches. A lot of them never did end that way either, but she’d never heard of any that weren’t consummated. Heirs and all that. Why wouldn’t Shane want to— Reality hit her as though the ship had just dropped into a deep trough. “You do not find me desirable.”

“Nae. I mean, aye.” Shane ran a hand through his hair. “’Tis nae that. Never think that.”

“Then…then what is it?” Her lower lip began to quiver and she bit it. She was not going to become a watering pot for the second time today.

He sighed again. “I ne’er thought to marry. Being at sea, I have nae time for wife or bairns.”

“But—”

Shane held up a hand. “I had a talk with your father. We agreed it was best this marriage take place to spare ye the scandal of being ruined.”

“I know that. So here we are. Why—”

“I will nae truly ruin ye, lass, by taking ye to bed.”

“But we are
married
.”

“In name only.”

Abigail nearly gaped at him. “What is that supposed to mean? We were married in a church.”