A Sisterly Regard (27 page)

She also had little appetite, but under his intense gaze, she could
not admit it. She took a small helping of the beef, a few vegetables, some
savories, and a lobster patty. Pushing the food about her plate, she asked,
"I wish you would eat something besides those awf...uh, oysters, my lord.
Surely so many of them are not good for you."

"Yes, they are. Good for me. May I pour you more
champagne?" He fumbled with the bottle. Nearly as much of the sparkling
wine spilled to the table as entered her glass. Wilderlake refilled his glass
as well.

Finding it impossible to swallow anything solid, Chloe drank off
her champagne thirstily. When he saw her glass was empty, her husband
opened the second bottle and refilled it again. Her spirits revived after the
third glass, and she ate the lobster patty and nibbled at a piece of cake. By
the time Chloe had finished her fourth glass of champagne, she was quite
in charity with her husband, despite his silence. She looked at him and
giggled.

"Wha's so funny?" he mumbled.

"You are, my lord. You sit there scowling while you should be
celebrating. Come, dance with me." She rose to her feet and began to
waltz around the room, still holding her champagne glass. She curtseyed
before him. "Come," she repeated, taking hold of his arm and attempting
to pull him to his feet.

Wilderlake clutched his glass and stood, unsteadily.

"Waltz with me, waltz with me," Chloe caroled, as she drew
him after her into the steps of the dance. He took three faltering steps,
then stumbled onto the sofa. Eyes closed, he sprawled back, breathing
heavily. His almost empty glass landed on the rug and rolled, leaving a
sticky trail.

Chloe glared at him a moment, then began giggling. "Foxed,"
she said. "How very odd." She began again to waltz, circling around the
room alone. Faster and faster she spun, humming to herself. Suddenly she
became horribly dizzy, and grabbed at the nearest solid object, the frame
of the bedchamber door. She clung with both hands until the room
stopped spinning, then she leaned against it and looked across at her
husband. He had slid from the sofa to the floor, and was curled on the rug,
snoring.

"Wake up," she said, but her voice was small and shaking. She
wanted to go to him, but when she tried to stand alone, she swayed and
nearly fell herself. Leaning back against the doorframe, she covered her
face with her hands and sank to her knees.

I wanted to be married in a great church, with bridesmaids and a
wedding breakfast for all the ton. I wanted to marry a man who would pamper me,
who would tell me I am beautiful. A man who would swear his everlasting
love.

Instead, her husband lay sprawled on the floor, dead drunk. She
knew he had consumed too much champagne because he regretted
marrying her.

What have I done?

Chloe's eyes burned but no tears would fall. After a while she
slid the rest of the way to the floor and fell into a troubled sleep.

Sometime in the night she woke, shivering. The room was dark
and the bed under her was rock hard. For a few moments she was
confused, until she remembered her wedding day. She pulled herself to
her feet and fumbled her way along the nearest wall until she came to a
bed. On the bedside table, she found a candle and a lucifer. She used the
first candle to find and light others. Once she could see her surroundings,
she sought her bridegroom.

In the other room, he lay on the floor, snoring stertorously.
What sort of man would drink himself into insensibility on his wedding
night?

One who married for pity, not for love.

Their wedding dinner still littered the table. As she drew near,
she smelled the oysters he had not consumed. They were never her
favorite viand, and tonight she detested even the thought of the slimy
things. She upended a plate over them, then piled the rest of the dishes
and plates together. The waiters must have taken the tray with them, for it
was nowhere to be seen. "Bother," she muttered.

She pulled the corners of the tablecloth up and laid them over
the table, then shoved the whole thing toward the door. It moved easily.
With only a little effort, she had it standing in the corridor outside their
suite. Once she had pushed the door closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.
At least the air was no longer redolent with the smell of oyster.

Again she went to the bedroom, this time removing the satin
quilt from the bed. She tucked it around her husband's supine body. Once
she had him covered, she eased herself under it and curled up beside him.
Putting her arm around his waist, she snuggled against him and quickly fell
asleep.

Wilderlake awoke with a pounding head and a cottony mouth.
He lay quietly, knowing it was early morning, for the windows were lit
with a grey, cold light. The bed on which he lay was devilishly hard and a
weight was pressing against his chest and shoulder.

He remained perfectly still for a few minutes, seeking some
memory of the previous night. Obviously he had imbibed far more than he
should have, something he had never done before. Why?

Slowly images of the past few days painted themselves on the
canvas of his mind. A convivial evening in an inn, good wine, good
company. A girl, pretty, distressed.

Oh, my God! Chloe.
His wedding. The uneasy silence as
they traveled to the hotel, alone at last. The fear in Chloe's face. Too
much brandy. Too much champagne.

Dinner, which she had only picked at. The oysters he had eaten,
each one sliding down his throat with a nauseating slickness. More brandy.
Chloe caroling, "Waltz with me."

That memory, at least, made him smile. She was such a gay little
thing. A good foil for his dark pessimism.

He cautiously looked for the source of the weight on his chest,
barely moving his aching head. Chloe was sleeping beside him, with her
head on his shoulder, her arm wrapped across his body.

Why are we on the floor?

He moved carefully, pulling his half-asleep right arm from
between them and easing it around Chloe. She shifted slightly and made a
small sound of contentment, then relaxed again. With his left hand, he
explored first his chest, then his legs. Yes, he was fully clothed. He
wriggled his toes. Even to shoes. He tentatively touched his wife's arm. It
was bare. He slid his hand up to her shoulder, finding there a puff of soft
fabric.

His touch must have disturbed her, for Chloe tightened her hold
on his chest and drew her knee up so that her leg rested on his. He became
conscious of the first stirrings of desire. Turning his head, he found that he
could reach her forehead with his lips. He kissed her gently, then
tightened his arm around her. Perhaps, if he turned just so, and lifted her
chin with his other hand...

Yes.
He found her lips and kissed them, softly at first,
then with increasing hunger. As his tongue thrust against her lips, he
became aware that her arm was no longer resting quietly on his chest, but
was creeping up to encircle his neck. Her mouth opened and she moaned
against his.

Chloe's response drove away the last of Wilderlake's fears. He
was clumsy in his haste, but so was she. They tugged and pulled at each
other's clothing, tossing each item aside as it was removed. Finally seeking
hands found nothing but warm skin and the urgency grew unbearable. All
clumsiness, all uncertainty was gone.

While still capable of rational thought, Wilderlake breathed a
mental sigh of relief. In this, at least, their marriage promised to be a
success.

Later, as they lay entwined together, Chloe spoke her first
words of the day. "No wonder Mama seems to enjoy that. I do
too."

Wilderlake smiled, still caught up in the wonder of what they
had shared. "To think I was nervous. Why it seems the most natural thing
in the world."

"You, too, my lord?" She kissed his shoulder, which was all she
could reach without moving. "I feel so deliciously comfortable that I do
not even want to move enough to reach your lips."

"Then I will do the moving, my darling," he said, and did so.
After a long, satisfying kiss, he had to ask her, "Did your mother tell you
she enjoyed, ah, that?"

"No, but we could always tell. She and Papa used to disappear
occasionally in the afternoons, and when they returned, they always
seemed so contented. When I was about seventeen, I finally deduced
why." She paused. "My lord, you must instruct me in what pleases you.
This is all so new to me."

"My name is Herne, lovely Chloe. And if I am to instruct you,
so shall you me. For it is equally new to me."

She sat up, the blankets falling from around her upper body.
"Never say so!" she exclaimed, shocked. "Do you mean you never had
your bits of muslin? Why, Mama said..."

"When I was young, I never had the funds," he interrupted,
"and at home there was little opportunity. Or perhaps I never sought
one."

"Oh, I am so glad, Herne," she said, snuggling back into his
arms. He pulled the blankets back over her. "I was prepared to accept my
husband's mistresses, for Mama warned us that most men have them. But
Papa, never did, I think, and I confess that I do not like the idea."

"Nor do I. My father was enough of a rake for both of us. I think
that I am more exclusive in my tastes."

"See that you stay that way, husband, or I shall show you just
how great a temper I have," she warned him. She pulled away from him
and stood up. "Now, I am hungry, and this floor is so hard."

He caught at her ankle as she started to walk toward the
bedroom. She stopped and looked down at him, suddenly aware that she
had not a stitch of clothing to cover her. She was momentarily
embarrassed, but told herself that there should be no false modesty
between husband and wife.

"Wait, Chloe, let me look at you." He suited deed to word.
When heat bloomed in her cheeks, he chuckled. "Why, I believe you
blush all over." He rolled out of their improvised bed and chased her into
the bedroom.

A long time later Chloe had her breakfast.

* * * *

Phaedra awakened early the day after her sister's wedding,
knowing what she must do. At breakfast, she asked that she be allowed to
tell Mr. Farwell of her decision.

"You need not, dear," Mama said. "Your father can relay your
refusal, thus sparing you the distress of doing so."

"I am not going to refuse him, Mama," she answered, twisting a
handkerchief between nervous hands.

Her father looked up from his newspaper, eyebrows
raised.

"I am going to ask him for more time to think about his offer. I
realized last night that I had never considered Mr. Farwell in the light of a
suitor, or at least not for myself. It would be unfair to refuse him until I
have time come to know him as a prospective husband rather than a
potential brother-in-law."

"Now that's more like it, girl." Papa was obviously relieved.
"Get to know the man a bit. Then you'll see there's more to him than
meets the eye."

"I probably will still refuse his suit, Papa, so do not be too
optimistic. I cannot believe that Mr. Farwell and I would ever deal well
together."

"Give the man a chance, that's all I say," Papa told her, rising
from the table. "Now I must be off. Got to put the wedding
announcement in the
Gazette
, then I thought I'd drop in at the
club." He kissed his wife and ruffled his daughter's hair. "I'll be home in
time to take you to the theatre tonight."

"Oh, Mama, must we go?" Phaedra asked. "I had hoped that we
could live more quietly now that Chloe is married."

"If anything, I shall require you to accompany me to more
affairs, rather than fewer now, Phaedra."

Phaedra caught her breath in surprise and disappointment. She
had hoped...

"We must show Society that we are not downcast over Chloe's
hurried marriage," Mama told her. "You must be seen frequently enough
that all will realize that you are not the hoyden your sister was. I know I
can depend on you to behave in a most proper manner for the remainder
of the Season."

"I had hoped we would now return home, and forget the rest of
the Season," she replied, frowning.

"Absolutely not, my dear. We will continue to be seen
everywhere that is fashionable, until the
ton
is convinced your
manners and morals are impeccable. Besides, how could you get to know
Mr. Farwell at such a distance?"

"Yes, Mama." Phaedra sighed. "If we must, we must. So what is
our schedule for today?"

"Today you are free to do as you wish, after you have spoken
with Mr. Farwell, that is. Tomorrow, there is a tea at Lady Sefton's, then
in the evening is the Duchess's musicale."

Phaedra had folded her napkin carefully while her mama was
speaking. Now she rose and went to the window, which looked out upon
the small garden at the back of the house. Her breath made a small smudge
of steam upon the cold glass. "And the day after that, I will drive in the
park with Lord X, attend the opera with Lady Y's party, and then drop in
at the Earl of Z's ball, I suppose."

For a moment she let her hands clench into fists and her back
teeth grind together. Then she turned, forcing herself to smile. "Very
well, Mama, I will be cooperative. I warn you, though, I will not enjoy
most of it."

"I think you will, despite yourself. Except for the musicales,
perhaps, and I will not insist you attend any except the Duchess's. You
may have two afternoons to yourself each week, after this one. Cousin
Louisa and you can go about as you please each Tuesday and
Friday."

"Thank you, Mama. You have always understood."

* * * *

Lady Gifford went in search of Cousin Louisa, whom she found
in the sewing room, mending sheets.

"What on earth, Louisa?"

"I felt the need to do something soothing. The past few days
have been almost too exciting."