A June Bride (8 page)

So she wasn’t the only one unsure how to go on.

She moved from the window, putting into the back of her mind a comment about his free use of the house, to be presented to him perhaps tonight. That would surely be a good time to talk about these awkward little difficulties they must work around.

He did not come up the stairs looking for her, as she had half-hoped he might and half-feared he would, so she returned to her task of gathering combs, brushes, and other toiletries to move to the Sapphire Room.

When a knock came on the her old room’s door, she whirled about, dropping several ribbons and hairpins from suddenly inept fingers. “Come in,” she breathed, leaning back against the poster of her bed for support.

It wasn’t Geoffrey but a wild-eyed Lady Warring who strode into the room. “Your husband wants a…wants a…!” Mama could not get the vile word out.

Alessandra felt her face blanch. Papa! You know better than to tell Mama something like that. She clamped her lips together tight. Indeed, he did know better…

“Wants a what?” Emmeline asked, flowing into the room with a swish of rose skirts.

Lady Warring covered her face with both hands. “A…a…”

“A divorce,” Alessandra whispered, tossing her armload of supplies onto the bed. “Only, he doesn’t.” She moved to make sure the bedroom door was closed completely.

Lady Warring peeked between her fingers. “He doesn’t?”

Alessandra waggled her head, indicating uncertainty. “We mean to try to make the marriage work—”

“Mean to? Try to? What nonsense you speak. You have wed, and now you have but one path, one duty. You will manage as every other couple in the history of the world has—”

“Mama, let her speak,” Emmeline inserted. She crossed to put a hand on her sister’s arm. “Alessandra, this does seem rather…peculiar. Tell us what you mean.”

So she told them all that she and Geoffrey had discussed. “…you see, he gave his word. To someone. Possibly Lady Chenmarth.”

“I wager it was his mama,” Mama huffed, collapsing onto the dressing bench at the end of the bed. “Her marriage has, by all accounts, been dreadful. But, even so, what mother asks such a thing of her son? No, we must be wrong.” She thought a moment longer, and frowned. “Perhaps.”

Emmeline stood with a finger on her chin. “But, Alessandra, it was only a promise, and none of your making. There is no catastrophe here. You have only to never mention you want…that thing, and it will never come to be.”

“That’s true.” Lady Warring perked up at once.

“So you fretted for no reason, Mama,” Emmeline told her.

Lady Warring had the grace to look embarrassed. “It was simply I could not believe my ears when your father said…that thing. For my Lessie? In this family? I should think not!”

That thing. My marriage has an unspeakable title: that thing, Alessandra thought.

When Lady Warring swept out, Emmeline stayed behind. The sisters sat on the bench their mama had given up.

Emmeline took up one of Alessandra’s hands. “I came up to tell you wedding gifts have begun to be delivered.”

“Oh,” Alessandra said, deflating even further.

Emmeline leaned in as though to read her face. “That was not a very happy response.”

“I hadn’t thought of receiving gifts.”

Emmeline squeezed her hand. “Hmm. So, now Mama is gone, tell me what is distressing you.”

Alessandra hadn’t thought to cry, hadn’t meant to, but tears sprang to life and trickled down her face. “It’s…it’s that I don’t know. Any other bride expects she’s made her bed and is ready to lie in it.” There was a watery laugh in the edge of her voice. “I’m not even sure where my bed ought to be.”

Emmeline only lifted the corner of her mouth a little at the turns of phrase. Mostly, her face was full of a tender concern that told Alessandra to go on.

“But what does he think?” Alessandra cried out. “What does he want? Who starts a life together with an offer to end it?”

Emmeline was silent a long moment, then patted Alessandra’s hand. “There’s no way to know. Except one.”

Alessandra looked up, hope dawning for a moment, but then understanding struck. Her shoulders slumped again. “I have to ask him?” she ventured in a small voice.

“You have to ask him.”

Alessandra let her head weave from side to side, not quite a denial. At least her tears had stopped. “It’s difficult. I scarce know him. It’s hard to ask how he likes his tea, let alone if he wants his future to include me.”

“Hard, but worthwhile. You’re only afraid what he says may hurt.”

Alessandra gave a hiccupy little laugh. “Only?”

“You know marriage is a rocky thing. This is only the first little issue you two might have to work past.”

Alessandra pressed her lips together. Her mother and sister presumed this marriage would go on. What perversity in Alessandra’s nature made her now balk at their easy presumptions? Perhaps because their stomachs weren’t the one tied in knots? Their future happiness not in peril? Easy to say “get along,” harder to do in truth. Harder to be compelled, and unsure, and maybe even unwanted by one who loved another…

For the first time Alessandra wondered —if Geoffrey’s promise had been given to his mama—if perhaps that lady had not intended it as a censure against Alessandra, but rather as a gift to a son who loved someone else?

“I have some wonderful news to impart to you all,” Lady Warring said, her eyes dancing from her end of the dining table, her hands lightly clasped in front of her.

Lord Warring didn’t look up from his meal, long used to his wife’s need to announce the day’s events over their supper. Geoffrey’s head raised, however; to Alessandra it seemed as if he’d been merely playing with his meal after a few bites.

“Our Emmeline is increasing,” Amelia said with a happy grin.

“Increasing what?” Oliver asked through the black pudding he had just spooned into his mouth.

“She’s going to have a baby, nodcock,” Lord Warring explained to his son, his face breaking into a wreath of smiles as he beamed at Emmeline. “My first grandchild,” he stated happily. However, the smile instantly faded as he demanded, “So where is James? What was he thinking, allowing you to travel alone at such a time?”

“Oh, Papa, don’t be so old-fashioned. The doctor said I might come, as long as I used our private carriage, because it is so well sprung, you know,” Emmeline chided him good-naturedly. “And as you very well know, James has had to go to the consulate in Brussels. There was nothing for it, so I was very pleased indeed to receive Mama’s missive telling me of Alessandra’s imminent...er...the wedding,” she finished somewhat lamely as she cast her new brother-in-law a glance. If he saw it, he did not acknowledge it.

Oliver was invited to go to bed, which he scarcely resisted, long experience no doubt informing him that tedious adult talk would now commence.

“I wish to discuss the arriving wedding gifts for Alessandra and Geoffrey,” Lady Warring said once Oliver was quit of the room.

Lord Warring rolled his eyes, never having much of an opinion regarding household affairs.

“Their arrival raises a further question,” she pressed on. She looked to Geoffrey. “Should they be opened here? Or should we send them on? Where do the two of you intend to reside, and how soon would you remove to there?”

Geoffrey put aside his fork. He glanced toward Alessandra. “We haven’t spoken of it yet. At present, I only have my rooms at Albany.”

“Of course bachelor’s rooms cannot do,” Lady Warring tutted. “And I cannot think you’d want to go to the country with the season not yet over.”

“My mama’s?” Geoffrey suggested with an unenthusiastic lift of one hand.

“No,” Alessandra said at once. At his curious look, she sank back in her chair and avoided his gaze.

“Would you want to seek a town house now? Or in a few weeks? What of your Italian tour?” Mama pressed.

Geoffrey looked to Alessandra, who met his gaze only long enough to give a tiny shrug. That seemed to annoy him, for he stood suddenly. “I must consider. Now if you will excuse me, I beg a retirement to the library for some port.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lord Warring volunteered at once.

The three ladies left at the table remained sitting, each retreating into their own thoughts. Mama finally broke the stillness by clearing her throat. “I suppose one may excuse Geoffrey’s lack of planning due to the haste to marry.”

“Oh, Mama,” Emmeline said on a sigh, leaning forward to plant her elbows on the table.

Her mother frowned at the breach of manners, but just then some servants came into the room to clear away the evening’s repast. She allowed them time to gather a number of platters and plates, and to light some lamps against the gathering gloom of the night. After a minute she indicated they should bear away what they had, to give the ladies a few moments to speak privately. When they were gone, she shook off any reproof from Emmeline and said, “I am thinking we should have a dinner party. Nothing much, but just a little showing off of the newlyweds. Under any other circumstances, it would be expected. We shall follow expectations.”

“I don’t know if Geoffrey would approve,” Alessandra said at once, the very idea of a party causing her to shudder. Geoffrey had just looked at her with annoyance; what look would he give her if he had to smile his way through a new social trial?

“I don’t care whether he approves or not. He entered into this matter with his eyes wide open, so he will just have to indulge me, for I know what is best.” Mama stood, adding sternly, “I will go and inform him and your father right this moment. I intend to have this party in two weeks’ time, so we will need their cooperation if we are ever to get ready in time.”

“Can I not talk you out of this?” Alessandra made the attempt even though she knew her efforts were doomed. Mama had that look in her eye, the one that said the more you fight, the less you’ll get.

“You cannot.”

“I thought not.”

“You thought correctly. Now, to bed, my girls. It will be busy days for us ahead, I am persuaded. Oh dear, is it nearly half past nine? I must speak to Cook immediately if we are to have time to prepare any sort of proper affair for the newlyweds.”

Alessandra dragged herself up to the Sapphire Room, a room that would host Geoffrey from now on as well, and put herself to bed, leaving one lamp burning for when he came up. She had noticed that the room had been put to rights, and Geoffrey’s things straightened from the floor of his wardrobe. Evidently his valet must have arrived. She might have known about that if she hadn’t hidden most of the day in the library.

She could not sleep, for she was not quite warm. It struck her as unfair that having Geoffrey there, on the other side of those thick pillows, they still shared enough heat to make sleeping comfortable and possible. Too, her thoughts were like little mice that streaked forward unexpectedly to nibble at her consciousness, leaving her restless and unable to relax into sleep.

It was more than an hour before he came up. He moved quietly through the room, only making a little noise when he removed his purse and belongings from his pockets to place them on top of the chest of drawers, obviously trying to be quiet because he thought she was asleep. He found his nightshirt, and dressing robe, and house slippers, and removed to the dressing room.

She felt the bed dip when he returned and after he blew out the lamp. As he settled in under the covers, she lay tense and unconvinced of what his expectations must be. And what about her own?

“Geoffrey?” she said timidly. Besides any ideas of intimacy, there were comments and questions that had come to her as she had lain there unable to sleep. Hadn’t she decided these issues should be raised when they were alone?

“You’re awake,” he said, not giving the impression he was disposed toward conversation. She thought that spoke also to a total lack of physical expectations this night.

“I just wanted you to know you are free to think of the house as your home while you are here. You may come and go freely, of course.”

“Oh. Er, yes,” he said. “That is very good of you.”

“You might need to ask Papa if you want to take out one of the carriages, but other than that I’m sure he means for you to make free use of the stables also.”

“Thank you.”

“Geoffrey?”

He turned over, facing her. His tone was a little exasperated as his voice drifted over the pillow. “Yes?”

“Where are we going to live?”

“I was going to talk to you about that tomorrow, since I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, I’m not.”

He sighed, and she felt the mattress flex as he stirred, perhaps staring up at the canopy over their heads. “I will give up my present rooms, of course. And as to Italy—would you object overmuch if we did not journey right away? My family’s solicitors can ask after a home for us, but I would prefer to see it before we take it, and that could take some while. A tour would interfere.”

Alone in a house of their own with Geoffrey for hours and days and weeks? Would that make things better or worse? She didn’t know. So, give him the answer he wants. “I wouldn’t object to a delay.”

“Good.” Did he sound relieved? “I’m pleased you were awake enough to talk,” he said around a yawn. “Good night.” She felt and heard the sounds of his settling under their covers.

“Geoffrey?”

He gave a sigh. “Yes?”

She might have meant to follow Emmeline’s advice and ask him how he felt about her, but other words came out. “Did you have...other plans? Had you intended to marry someone else. Specifically?” That haunting image of a pretty young woman with blond curls and green eyes clouded her thoughts. Jacqueline Bremcott had certainly grown into a fashionable beauty since they had known one another in childhood.

He did not answer for a moment, causing Alessandra to catch her lower lip between her teeth to keep from blurting out more direct questions, from demanding answers.

“Her father and mine once had an understanding…,” he said at length.

“I see.” She paused, then tried to sound airy, “I just wondered.”

“I have explained all this to her. She understands.”

A lump was forming in her throat. “I’m sorry. That I got in the way—” she got the words out with barely a quaver.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, please don’t apologize,” he said crossly. “This whole farce was not begun by either of us, so I see no reason to be apologizing to each other all the time over it.”

The word farce made her half shut her eyes, as one would when in expectation of a blow. After a moment of silence, she made herself ask, “If you were free, would you marry her?” Did her voice sound hollow?

He grunted, and it seemed he would not answer, but then he said gruffly, “I suppose I might have done.”

“Well.”

With that one little falsely cheerful word, she fell silent. See, he doesn’t merely mind being married, but married to me.

“Do you have anything else to ask me?” Geoffrey asked, his tone flat as he settled back down on his side of the bed.

“No.”

“Good night then.”

Definitely no expectations of love-making. Not with me, not tonight.

Her response was a little long in coming, and was mumbled. “Good night.”

As she listened to the ticking of the clock on the mantel, Alessandra could tell it was going to be a long, long night. How did one turn off the mind and just go to sleep? How did one push aside the tumbling thoughts that screamed out to be evaluated despite one’s firmest resolve to the contrary? How did one ignore the presence of a man—a disinterested man—in one’s bed?

No, she must not linger over their words tonight. She was too confused, too bewildered and hurt. Would counting sheep help? One, two, three, four. . . .

...One hundred six, one hundred seven, one hundred eight…

“Alessandra?”

“Yes?”

He sat up and peered at what must be her dim outline over the pillows. When he spoke, it was a cross between irritation and sheepishness. “I have slept with two pillows all my life. I find it very difficult falling to sleep with only the one pillow under my head. Would you mind terribly if I were to take one of the pillows from the middle?” He added quickly, “And of course the fourth one would remain where it is, unless you require it?”

“I...no, of course not. If it means you can sleep, have the pillow.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She was just able to make out his form as he removed the pillow that had lain between their lower bodies.

When he had resettled with a happier sounding sigh, she felt compelled to say something yet. She started, stopped, then settled on, “Sleep well…Geoffrey.” At the last moment, she’d realized it would be ridiculous to call him “Lord Huntingsley.”

“Sleep well, Alessandra.”

She rolled onto her side, her hand gripping the edge of the mattress to keep from sliding toward the middle, and began counting where she had left off: one hundred nine, one hundred ten, one hundred eleven…

***

Next to Alessandra, and wide awake, Geoffrey’s nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent hovering in the air. Alessandra’s perfume: she did not always wear it, or at least it was light enough it was not always noticed. There was a soft fruitiness to it; now it left him feeling vaguely hungry. He dismissed the idle thought that he would go down to the kitchens to find a late snack, and his mind turned instead to the strangeness of sleeping in a bed with a female to whom he had no intention of making love.

He could have laughed wryly at the novelty of it, but his mind took a different tack as he recalled opera dancers and lightskirts from his salad days who had invited him to their beds happily, and not to sleep. He recalled some of their faces, and a good many of their activities, so that he tossed and turned restlessly for what seemed like a very long time, punching his pillows around unsatisfactorily, before he finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Alessandra gave up on the notion of counting sheep long before she heard the gentle buzzing that signified Geoffrey was no longer awake.