A Worthy Wife (3 page)

Aurora cleared her throat—and got no response. She rustled the paper sack still in her hands, and he did not even twitch. So she spoke up. “You must have loved your first wife very much.”

Now
that
got a reaction. Kenyon sat up so fast his hat went flying across the coach to land near Aurora’s feet. She picked it up and brushed the nap with her fingers.

He was examining her through his quizzing glass, most likely because he knew she disliked it so, but she would not lower her eyes, nor her expectations of a reply.

He let the glass fall back on its ribbon and muttered, “What the deuce are you nattering on about, woman?”

“I am not nattering, my lord. I never natter. I am merely trying to understand you and your actions better. That is the foundation for a successful and comfortable relationship, do you not agree?”

“I agree only that we will have a lifetime to develop an understanding, so there is no reason to begin at this precise moment.” He tried to dispose his broad shoulders more comfortably against the cushions.

Aurora was not giving up. Her aunt and uncle had never ignored her conversation; she saw less reason for this gentleman to do so. If he was a surly, uncooperative sort, she decided, ’twere better to know it sooner, rather than later. Of course it was too late to matter, but a woman should know all she could about the man to whom she was wedded. His favorite foods and how much starch he liked in his neckcloths could wait. “You must have loved her a great deal. That’s why you showed no hesitation about entering a marriage of convenience.”

“Which is growing less and less convenient,” Kenyon muttered, turning his head to the window. His bride was nattering—no, she did not natter. She was babbling on, almost as if she were speaking to herself, or to the hat he wished were covering his weary eyes.

“If one had no hopes of loving again,” Aurora persisted, “what difference could one’s choice of bride make? I see.”

Kenyon saw houses and trees flashing past the window, and no rest in sight. “Whatever you say, Mi—my dear.”

“Was she very beautiful?”

“Exquisite. Elegant, refined, a daughter of the French aristocracy.”

Everything she wasn’t, in other words. Aurora couldn’t help the kernel of self-pity that lodged in her throat. “I…I see.”

He peered at her across the carriage, instantly sorry
for his brusqueness. Miss McPhee must be feeling all the anxiety of a fledgling sparrow, shoved out of the nest to face the cold, cruel world. She was about as innocent and defenseless, and he was a beast to tease her so. “Her parents fled to an estate near my parents’. We were thrown together a great deal.”

“And you fell in love.” She sighed.

So did Kenyon. “I fell into lust. Genevieve and I were discovered, on purpose, I have always suspected, and our parents saw to the rest. Two such ancient families must not let a hint of scandal besmirch their noble bloodlines. After the wedding, of course, we discovered that we had absolutely nothing in common. I preferred my government work; she preferred the society of other French
emigrés
in London. Our paths seldom crossed. Then she ran off with her French lover, a deposed duke. So much for avoiding scandal. Other than the embarrassment, I did not mind overmuch. So you can wipe the stars from your eyes, my lady. There was no deathless devotion, no bond reaching beyond the grave.”

She solemnly handed back his hat, nodding. “Yes, I understand now. You were hurt so badly, your pride so shattered, that you swore never to love another. That’s why you were willing to take an unknown bride.”

He frowned at her through narrowed eyes, then took out his quizzing glass to further discompose her. “And you, Miss—my lady wife, have been reading entirely too many novels.”

“And you, sir, do not know my name!”

Aha! She’d finally succeeded in putting the gentleman out of countenance, for there he was, blushing like a schoolboy. Aurora supposed her husband’s nearly red hair made him more susceptible to such humbling moments of common mortality. Now
there
was an important fact for a wife to know about her husband! Feeling much better about their horribly unequal match, she grinned at his discomfiture.

“Wretch,” he murmured, smiling back. “I tried to look at the license after you’d filled in the names, but the vicar took the deuced thing away to record before I
had the chance. And then I was distracted when you signed the registry.”

Aurora giggled. “I was too busy deciphering your signature to notice. I didn’t hear a word the vicar said either. It’s Aurora, my lord. Aurora Phoebe Halle McPhee.”

“Aurora. Dawn. That’s lovely.” He reached beneath his seat for the hamper and pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured some into the two glasses he also found wrapped in a towel, and offered one to her for a toast. “To a new dawn for both of us.”

“And golden days ahead,” she added, clinking her glass against his.

“And nights.”

Oh, my.

Chapter Three

The Black Dog was well groomed. Smaller and less noisy than a regular posting inn, it catered to a more select clientele. The carriage bore no crest, and the pale young female was not one of the earl’s usual dashers, but Windham was instantly recognized, of course, and treated like royalty. Better, in fact, for Prinny was known to let his accounts lapse. The Earl of Windham was known for his pleasant manner and open purse.

Aurora was whisked past the public rooms into another world. There were area rugs on top of the carpets. She would have stopped to admire the artwork on the walls, positive most were by painters she recognized from books, except servants lined the hallways. They were ready to unpack her luggage, the innkeeper announced as he bowed her into a parlor nearly the size of Bath’s Pump Room.

One of the maids led her to the adjoining bedchamber, which was filled with flowers in vases, fruit in baskets, biscuits on platters—and no Earl of Windham in dishabille, thank goodness. Somehow sharing a lifetime with the gentleman seemed easier than sharing a bedroom. Nibbling on a macaroon, for she had not eaten anything all day except for the peppermint drops, Aurora looked at the selection of books and journals left on the bed table—all the latest from London—and knew how she’d spend the night. She was trying to decide where to start while the servants brought a copper tub, hot water, warm towels, a tea that could have fed the entire Amateur Naturalists Society, and a message from the earl. He would be pleased with her company at dinner in their sitting room, at nine.

At nine? Many nights, in Bath, if there was no assembly or lecture, the McPhees were abed by nine. She supposed she’d have to get used to Town hours, Aurora realized, along with a great many other things—but not tonight.

“Please inform his lordship that I am far too exhausted from the day to be good company,” she instructed the messenger. “And the lavish tea will surely satisfy my appetite until breakfast in the morning. And…and I bid him good night.”

Much relieved, Aurora settled back in her bath, with a book in one hand and a raspberry tart in the other. This business of being a countess wasn’t half bad.

When her bags arrived with the newly hired maid from Bath, Aurora donned her new nightrail, the wedding finery that Aunt Thisbe had so painstakingly embroidered for her. The maid would have commented otherwise, and Lud knew there was enough grist for the gossip mills already. Well, Lord Windham would get to see Aunt Thisbe’s skill another time, Aurora reflected as she used the footstool to climb onto the enormous canopied bed. She brought the book with her, but did not get much reading done, as she rehearsed the talk she’d have tomorrow on the way to London with his lordship. Her husband. Kenyon. She rolled the name around her tongue like a peppermint drop. It was a nice name, for a nice man. He’d sympathize with her sentiments, Aurora was sure, once she explained that he simply could not expect her to commence certain wifely duties until they knew each other better. He’d know which ones.

Aurora understood that her husband had shared this suite before; from the inn’s maidservants’ sideways looks, the surprise quickly erased, she understood that none of his previous guests had been such milk-and-water misses. Those women he was wont to entertain might want to share their beds with strangers, but Kenyon hadn’t married any of them. She supposed she could study how to be more dashing, more attractive to a top-drawer gentleman like Windham, although that poltroon Podell had not found her lacking. Well, she’d learned
Latin and Greek. Surely she could learn about the ways of a husband and wife, given enough time. Given Windham’s decidedly attractive looks and heart-melting smile, Aurora doubted she’d need much time at all before she welcomed the intimacies of the marriage bed. Perhaps a month.

Or perhaps not.

Kenyon tapped lightly on the connecting door and then entered Aurora’s bedchamber without waiting for her reply. He carried a tray with a bottle and two glasses, and he was wearing a long velvet robe sashed at the waist. Aurora wondered if it was borrowed, or if the earl kept a wardrobe at various inns across the kingdom, for just such occasions. How many such occasions could there have been, unless he had taken a page from Podell’s book and had brides stashed around the countryside, too? She swallowed a nervous giggle and lowered her eyes. Goodness, his feet were bare! Aurora could not recall ever seeing a man’s naked toes before in her entire life. She shivered to think of what else he was not wearing beneath the velvet robe. She looked at her own hands, as a safer site for her eyes to rest. Her knuckles were white around the book, and her fingers trembled.

Kenyon seemed to be enjoying her inspection, by the devilish grin he flashed her, all white teeth and dimples. “What, cat got your tongue again, my dear? Too bad you found it in the coach, or I would not be so late coming to you. I fell asleep after my bath. My apologies for leaving you alone so long.”

“But…but I said good night.”

“Did you? The maid did not deliver any good night kiss.”

“I should hope not!”

He laughed and placed the tray on the bedside table, as if he were planning on staying. “I thought we might chat a bit, get to know each other better, as you suggested in the carriage.”

“I was thinking the precise thing. For after breakfast tomorrow. I…I was just about to blow out the candle now.”

“Were you?” He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to blow out the candle. “If you prefer…?”

“No! Don’t do that. You’ll need it to…to see your way out.” She edged away from him across the mattress, which he unfortunately mistook for an invitation to join her on the bed. His weight started to pull her sideways, toward him. Aurora dropped the book and clutched the opposite edge of the mattress.

Windham chose not to notice that his bride was about to fall off the bed altogether in her efforts to put as much distance between them as possible. He busied himself filling the glasses. “I thought we should share a toast to our wedding.”

“We already did that in the coach, remember?”

“Ah, but that was wine. This is champagne, specially chilled. Here, you’ll enjoy it, I am sure.” He brought the glass to her mouth, and the bubbles brushed her lips.

“No, I never—”

“Nonsense. It is your wedding night. You can be a little daring.” He tipped the glass so she was forced to swallow, then he reached inside his robe and pulled out his quizzing glass on a ribbon around his neck. “I say, what the deuce is that thing crawling across your chest?”

Aurora pulled the covers up, mortified that he’d been staring at her nearly transparent lawn nightgown. “It’s a great crested newt,
Tritunts cristatus.
Aunt Thisbe embroidered it there, for luck, don’t you know.” At his blank look, she added, “A salamander.”

“If I recall my mythology, the salamander is the elemental of fire. A fitting emblem for a night of love.”

“No, no!” Aurora was horrified to hear her voice squeak like a wood mouse caught in the talons of a hawk. “That is, Aunt Thisbe simply adores newts. It’s her specialty, you see.”

“She cooks them?”

“Heavens, no. She collects them and studies them, makes sketches for the society’s journals and such.”

Windham was using his looking glass to study the bow tying her hair in its night braid on her shoulder. Uncomfortable under his gaze, Aurora pursed her lips and
pointed to the gold-handled quizzer. “Do you sleep with that dratted thing, too?”

“Only when there is someone to impress,” he teased, pulling the ribbon over his head and laying the piece on the nightstand. Somehow, while they were speaking, her glass had gone empty. Windham refilled it and offered it to her again.

“But I am not used to—”

“You are not used to being my wife, either. This will help you relax a bit.”

Relax? May as well ask that dangling wood mouse to relax. She took the glass rather than have him hold it so close, so close that she could almost taste the wine on his lips. She took a sip to cool her heated thoughts. Then she squeaked again. His lordship was untying the bow of her braid, spreading the wavy blond locks in his hands, combing them smooth with his fingers. “Sh,” he whispered, studying his handiwork. “I am only making you more comfortable.”

More comfortable? She had never been less comfortable in her life! Aurora took another sip of the champagne, which was quite good, once one got used to the bubbles. With enough moisture, her lips managed to move. “Well, as long as you are here, we might as well have the talk I was saving for the carriage ride tomorrow.”