A Simple Lady (6 page)

This morning the marquess appeared unusually attractive, dressed as he was in a Weston-tailored blue superfine jacket that fit his impressive shoulders to perfection. His cravat was perfectly if unpretentiously tied, and his waistcoat was a beautiful example of the understatement of white embroidery on white silk. Beside him, Elizabeth realized, she must look like something unearthed from a rag bag.

“I do,” Elizabeth spoke up loudly. She felt a start of surprise from her groom at the strength of her response and ducked her head, fighting an inappropriate desire to giggle. What was wrong with her? Was she suffering from some sort of shock? She should be miserable. Yet she was not.

“Do you, Jeremy Daniel Jonathan Avenel, take this woman…”

Elizabeth found her mind wandering again. So his first name was Jeremy. Did his family call him Jeremy? Or did he perhaps go by Daniel or Jonathan? What was he really like, this enigmatic man she was marrying? What events in his past had forged a lust for physical possessions so strong he would marry a simpleminded woman merely to hold on to one more estate?

* * *

“I do,” the Marquess of Kenrick responded. Looking down at the pitiful little lady beside him, he suppressed a shudder and inhaled deeply. He immediately realized his mistake. His bride’s gown smelled as though it had been unearthed from a deep niche in someone’s root cellar. Kenrick fought back a sneeze as the musty odor assailed his nostrils. Thank God the service was drawing to a close. Soon they could proceed down the aisle and back out into the fresh air.

“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar announced with a broad smile.

Kenrick had not been anticipating a kiss. He should have, he realized, but he had not. Of course he had been banishing thoughts of this ceremony from his mind whenever possible. Last night, after returning chilled and discouraged from his assignation with Elizabeth, he had downed an entire bottle of port. Thankfully his valet, who had traveled directly to the inn with the carriage, had been there to awaken him and dress him this morning.

A rustle of satin alerted Kenrick. Lady Elizabeth was turning to await his kiss. Taking a shallow breath, he clenched his teeth and smiled, turning to lower his head toward his bride’s.

Her lips were soft and warm, her eyes open and sparkling. Did she not know to close her eyes when she was being kissed? Of course not. What did he expect of her? She was simpleminded, after all. He must remember that. He must not keep imagining that he saw intelligence and humor and perhaps even anger lurking in those brown depths.

It was a perfunctory kiss, over in a split second. Why then, did his bride, with widened eyes, reach up to touch her lips as though she had been burned? And why did he feel as though something had occurred that was beyond his abilities to understand?

Someone was pounding on a pianoforte with more enthusiasm than talent. It was time, Kenrick realized, to turn and lead his new wife out of the village church. There was to be no wedding breakfast—the saints be praised—so after signing their marriage lines, it would be time to escort her to his carriage, which would be sitting just outside with her luggage strapped on top, and then to the house he had settled on her.

With any luck, Kenrick realized, by four o’clock that afternoon, he would be on his way to Scotland—alone. For the first time that day, he smiled without first clenching his teeth.

Chapter Six

Elizabeth’s head had begun to ache even before the carriage pulled out of the churchyard. An hour later, that ache had become a steady throb, pounding in her temples with every beat of her heart. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and reached up to blot the perspiration that was coating her brow.

“Are you as uncomfortable as I am, Mattie?” Elizabeth asked, closing her eyes against the unwelcome light pouring in through the coach window.

“I’m a little too warm,” Mattie admitted. “The day’s turned hot for May, and this carriage is gettin’ stuffy. Do you want me to ask the coachman to stop so we can rest in the shade a few minutes?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, gritting her teeth and resting her head back on the velvet-covered squabs. She had no desire to extend the journey. More than anything else she wanted to change out of this heavy satin dress, which was beginning to elicit visions of a hair shirt.

Ideally, she reflected, she would have been given the opportunity to change her clothing before beginning the journey, but she had not been allowed that luxury. Her new husband had seemed intent on bundling her into his waiting carriage as quickly as possible. Elizabeth had managed only a few hurried goodbyes to her friends gathered around her in the churchyard. Even as she was clasping Mr. Wythecombe’s calloused hand, Kenrick had grasped her elbow and firmly steered her toward the carriage, where he had practically pushed her up the steps. Mattie had been waiting for her inside.

“That was ill done,” Elizabeth had muttered, falling back into her seat as the coachman began guiding the team toward the road.

“But better than it might have been,” Mattie had pointed out. She prided herself on always looking on the bright side. “At least you had a church wedding.”

“I didn’t mean—” Elizabeth began. Then, on a sigh, “Never mind.”

The sounds from the churchyard had faded and with them Elizabeth’s last link with her past, or so it felt. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and turned to look out the coach window, pretending to develop an intense interest in the hedgerows passing by. Then, blinking rapidly, she tried to force her mind into happier channels. At the moment, the only thing she could find to be happy about was the marquess’s decision to ride his stallion rather than sharing the carriage with her and Mattie. She did not think she could have endured trying to make conversation with the stranger who was now her husband.

* * *

The Marquess of Kenrick had felt a little foolish mounting Solomon while dressed in his formal attire, but that had been a small price to pay for getting away from that churchyard as quickly as possible. He was still amazed that so many people had attended the wedding. Crass curiosity—that was the only explanation for their presence, and he had not wished to nurture their nosy natures by allowing them to quiz him or his new bride.

He had sensed the crowd’s disapproval when he hurried Elizabeth into his carriage. Not that he really cared what those meddlesome busybodies thought, but he wondered if their soft buzz of censure had been directed toward his decision not to join Elizabeth in the coach. He could hardly explain that her musty-smelling gown would have set him to sneezing for mile after mile. Far better to ride outside in the fresh air, he was convinced, although truth to tell, it was not a pleasant day for riding.

The balmy morning had turned into a hot and muggy day. The sweltering heat had dried the road to a powdery dust that boiled up in clouds, coating Kenrick’s clothes and irritating his eyes. Within ten minutes, he felt as though his throat and mouth were lined with grit.

The temptation to stop at one of the simple country inns along the way for a cooling drink was almost overpowering, but Kenrick forced himself to pass them by. He didn’t want to subject his poor wife to any more new experiences today. No doubt the crowd at the church and the unfamiliar wedding service had already placed a severe strain on her fragile composure. He could not bring himself to heap more anxieties on top of those she had already endured.

By the time the unprepossessing lane leading to Cramdon Cottage came into view, Kenrick felt as though he had been traveling for three hundred miles rather than thirty. Never would he have guessed, even three days ago, that today he would have been looking forward with such anticipation to seeing this least of his inheritances again.

After a maternal aunt had willed Cramdon Cottage to him several years ago, Kenrick had visited the unwanted addition to his estates once to ensure that the place was being looked after properly. The house had seemed both in good repair and in good hands. Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, the caretaker and the housekeeper, had shown him around and elicited his permission for minor repairs. He had given that permission, along with the name of his solicitor in London, advising the Freemans to contact Mr. Blanton should they have any need for funds beyond the customary amount allotted for upkeep and to pay their salaries.

In the years since that visit, Kenrick had almost forgotten this particular inheritance. Mr. Blanton had not. When the marriage settlements were being drawn up, he had suggested Cramdon Cottage as a suitable residence for the marquess’s wife. At first Kenrick had protested the idea, fearing the place was too secluded, but the Earl of Ravingate had insisted that it would be perfect for his daughter. Assuming the girl’s father knew what was best for her, Kenrick had not objected again.

Now he was beginning to wish he had not acquiesced so quickly. He had forgotten just had isolated Cramdon Cottage really was. Set four miles off the main road and surrounded by deep woods, the tiny house was at least ten miles from the nearest neighbor. Although his reclusive aunt had loved the place, Kenrick feared such a setting would not prove healthful for Elizabeth, no matter what her mental condition might be. He immediately decided that, although he had no choice but to leave his wife here for the moment, he would begin looking about for a more appropriate residence for her. Perhaps she would like a home near the coast. Sea air, he had heard, was particularly healthful.

* * *

Despite Mattie’s complaints about her lack of decorum, Elizabeth had stuck her head out of the window as soon as the coach turned off the main road and into the rutted drive she assumed to be that of her new home. Within seconds she was jerking her head back inside to avoid being slapped in the face by encroaching tree limbs and brambles. After five minutes of dodging the vegetation, she sat back in her seat, rumpled and discouraged. More trees and undergrowth stretched for as far as she could see.

“When Mother said my new home was to be secluded, she did not exaggerate,” Elizabeth commented with a sigh. She glanced at the menacing walls of greenery crowding in on either side of the carriage. It was only trees and shrubbery, not iron bars, she reminded herself. There was no reason to feel as though she were being transported into a prison. Was there?

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Mattie said with an obviously forced smile. “If you have access to a carriage and horses, you can get out. There must be a village nearby. You can find a new church and maybe visit Mrs. Wilson a few times a year. She’ll always be glad to see you.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, even as she set her mouth in determined lines. “I must have a coach—or at the very least, a gig. We seem to be miles from the nearest neighbor. I can’t live like this. I shall inform my husband that he must provide me with some means of transportation.”

By the time the carriage finally slowed to a stop, Elizabeth’s interest in seeing her new home had waned. She didn’t bother looking out the window but simply sat and waited until her husband dismounted and stepped up to open the door for her.

“We are here, my lady,” Kenrick said. His rather irritated tone did nothing to soothe Elizabeth’s feelings.

“Are we, my lord?” She glared at him a few seconds before gathering her rumpled skirts and then allowing him to help her down from the carriage.

No sooner had her feet touched the ground than her stomach protested her lack of food by issuing a rather loud rumble.

Her husband’s eyes widened. “Are you hungry?” he asked, obviously not having given any consideration to her lack of food since early that morning.

“How kind of you to inquire, my lord,” she replied, imbuing her tone with sarcasm. She sighed before continuing. “Yes, I am hungry. I am also thirsty and extremely warm. We have, after all, been traveling nonstop. I assume this is my new home.” She turned her back to him and stood pretending to inspect the façade of the cottage while fighting back tears. She had hoped for something more from her marriage, at least a bit of consideration from her new husband, but obviously he was no more willing than her parents had been to give her the benefit of the doubt.

She squared her shoulders and turned back to address him. “If it is not asking too much, Mattie and I will step inside where we might at least get a sip of water. I assume this meets with your approval.”

* * *

Kenrick gaped, almost too stunned to nod his head. Was this the shy, stammering girl of yesterday and earlier today? She looked the same, but she certainly did not sound the same. Why was she not stuttering? And why did she tilt her head back and glare at him down her straight little nose before turning on her toe and heading toward the front door?

Kenrick followed, bemused, as his bride—this female who was supposedly unnerved by new experiences—marched up the steps and began chattering with Mrs. Freeman, who had hurried out onto the cottage’s front stoop.

“Certainly, my lady,” Mrs. Freeman was saying as she curtsied. “Your bedchamber is ready for you now, and I shall have a small nuncheon spread out in the dining room as soon as you have changed. One of the housemaids will bring warm water to your chamber within the next five minutes. If you will follow me, your ladyship? Yes, of course! I’ll have your trunks brought up on the instant.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Freeman.” Elizabeth was smiling graciously at the housekeeper. “But first I must make my companion known to you. Mattie, dear, please come in.”

Realizing belatedly that he was blocking the doorway, Kenrick hastily stepped aside to allow his wife’s elderly servant entrance. She bobbed a slight curtsy as she passed and then hurried up the stairs in her mistress’s wake.

“Your lordship?”

Kenrick turned from his frowning perusal of the now-empty stairs to find Mr. Freeman regarding him, a worried expression on his face.

“It’s right sorry, I am,” Mr. Freeman said. “It seems Mrs. Freeman is forgetting her duties, but she’s been that excited, ever since Mr. Blanton told us we would be getting a new mistress here. The place has been topsy-turvy, what with that new cook Mr. Blanton sent from London, along with two housemaids and a footman. I hope you’ll excuse Mrs. Freeman, your lordship. She should have made sure ye was taken up to yer chamber also.”