Marriage By Arrangement (4 page)

“Wasn’t Megan a beautiful maid of honor?”

Cailin jerked. She could have slapped Lorna.

But Lorna babbled on, oblivious to the warning look she threw over her shoulder at her friend. “Megan’s green silk brought out the alabaster in her complexion and set her hair on fire. I couldn’t gain any of the gentlemen’s attention until she disappeared.” Lorna unhooked the last tiny round button, and the wedding gown slipped down from Cailin’s shoulders.

Mums lurched to face Lorna. “What?”

“Did I say something wrong?” Lorna’s gray-green eyes widened, and then she shrugged and straightened the circlet of fresh flowers that had tipped askew on her forehead. “No woman this side of Perth has a chance at snagging a fine lord for a husband until Megan announces her betrothal.” She grinned at Cailin. “At least now, one of you two sisters is wed and out of the running.”

“Where is she?” Mums yanked the gown so hard the train slithered across the wooden floor like a writhing snake.

Cailin stepped out of the dress, reached behind Lorna, and selected a bottle of scent from the night stand. She smoothed some of the cool liquid onto her neck and shoulders.

Her mother’s puckered brow revealed her age like no amount of smiling ever could. “Leave it to Megan. She’s up to something.” Mums cocked her head. “Hmm, I don’t believe I’ve seen her since the wedding dinner.” She pursed her lips.

Cailin frowned at Lorna.

Mums certainly wouldn’t have missed Megan until tomorrow had bubble-headed Lorna not mentioned her.

“Don’t fret, Lady MacMurry. No doubt Megan’s snared the Earl of Mabry’s attention, and the two of them tripped off into the garden to get a breath of air.” Lorna’s eyes twinkled. “With Cailin married, Megan reels in the other rich catch. But then, that’s what your husband arranged, isn’t it, Lady MacMurry?”

Mums ignored Lorna’s saucy question.

“I’m most certain Megan would gladly hand Lord Mabry over to you on a silver platter if given the opportunity.” With Mums attention on hanging the wedding gown in the wardrobe, Cailin frowned at Lorna and put a finger to her lips. “She detests the man.”

Lorna’s brows rose, and she slapped a small hand over her mouth.

“That’s beside the point, Lorna. I am sure Megan, like Cailin, will fulfill her duty to our family.” Mums lifted the sleep gown over Cailin’s head and pulled the fine, thin gauze down over her hips. Under cover of the nearly transparent garment, she unlaced Cailin’s new stays and slipped the undergarment off. “I don’t recall seeing Megan after we retired from the reception line.” Mums eyes narrowed as if trying to recall. “Oh yes, she danced the four-reel with that peacock, Reginald, Earl of Sutcliffe. But after that—”

“You wanted to talk with me while I change?” Cailin knew she must steer Mums to a safer topic. With the revealing bed gown clinging to her skin, she felt naked and grasped one of the huge fluffy bed pillows from the group on the bed. She held the round softness tight against her breast. The room seemed to chill, and the rose scent she had smoothed on suddenly sickened her.

“Oh, yes.” Mums glanced at Lorna. “Would you mind giving my daughter and me some time alone together?”

Lorna giggled. “I shall see you in the morning, Duchess.”

When the door closed after Lorna’s rustling gown, Mums leaned close. “Don’t be frightened tonight, darling. I’m sure His Grace will be a gentleman.”

Something in her mother’s voice transformed the delicate shivers running down Cailin’s spine into pricks of ice. She shivered and climbed into bed. “Are some grooms not gentlemen?”

Mums smiled an enigmatic smile.

Doubts and conflicting thoughts tumbled through Cailin’s mind until she felt lightheaded. A new thought fought to the surface of her jumbled feelings. She fingered the soft gauze of her bed gown. “Did Papa make you happy on your wedding night?”

Mums twisted a corner of the coverlet in her hand. “Happiness has nothing to do with marriage. You will fulfill your duty to our family.” She cleared her throat. “The secret is to relax, dearest.” She turned to a tray sitting on the nightstand. “Perhaps this one night you should take a glass of port.” Mums’s warm hand cupped hers around a stemmed glass of sparkling wine, and then she lowered her eyes. “Whatever Lord Avondale wants...just do it.”

“What might he want?” She took a sip and returned the glass to the nightstand.

Her mother squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek and slipped off the bed. She stood with hands on her hips, regal as a queen. “I’m so proud of you.”

Before Cailin could respond, Mums rushed out the door, leaving lavender scent twining through the room.

Beneath the silken sheets, Cailin pulled her knees to her chest, her heart drumming so hard her head spun. What was this mysterious thing called marriage? What might Avondale want? Mums seemed so somber. Cailin pulled the satin coverlet to her chin and waited.

What if the whispers about Avondale were true? After they pledged their vows, why had he grown so cold?

Darkness gathered inside the chamber.

3

Avondale drew in a deep breath, let the smooth tobacco flavor fill his chest, blew out a perfect circle of smoke, and snuffed his cigar in the cut crystal saucer. He lowered his boots from his new father-in-law’s huge, hand-carved walnut desk and slowly rose. “I’ll take my leave now, gentlemen.”

The room full of men stumbled to their feet and bowed. Elbowing and subtly pushing one another for position, each tried to shake his hand. The sound of deep voices rose to a crescendo.

Drat, he hated all this attention. Hated all the bowing and scraping. Hated always being surrounded by nobles and gents pretending to be his friends, when each really wanted to pluck him like a chicken to be roasted. If they didn’t want money or favors, they wanted whatever his power could give them.

“No. No. Please don’t bother to accompany me. I’ll deem it a favor if you forestall any idea of coming along. Leave me to my own devices.” He turned on his heel, strode from the den, and shut the door firmly against the commotion inside.

Hand still on the doorknob, lively music besieged his ears. Was peace to be found nowhere?

His valet appeared.

“No, Hennings, I have no need tonight for your services. You may go on to the servants’ quarters. Perhaps they have a dance going on there as well.” He forced a smile through stiff lips. “Goodnight.”

“Very good, sir.” Hennings stood as if rooted to the spot like the solid oak tree of a man that he was.

Avondale grunted. It was no secret to him why his royal mother insisted on such a brute of a man to take care of his toilette. Well, tonight the man would leave his sight, or he’d have Hennings’s blood.

He grasped the hilt of his ornamental sword, glared the warning, pivoted and stalked in the direction of one of the doors he knew led to a garden. No footsteps followed.

With the first burst of cool air on his face, some of his tension eased. He unfisted his hands. If it wasn’t for his ducal responsibilities, he’d give his entire fortune to be alone. Though only night sounds surrounded him, the music and noise banged and churned inside his brain like a commoner’s shivaree.

Several couples, dotted here and there among the stone benches set among the trees, looked up from their apparent trysts and gazed at him.

He ducked inside the maze hedge. Here shadows were darker, and light from the torches burning outside the castle didn’t penetrate. He stopped and listened. No footsteps from Hennings that he could discern. He leaned against the prickly branches and gazed up at the night sky. The wind had blown away the rain, but black clouds obscured the moon. A fit night for his wedding.

Was his bride waiting?

Some of the muscles in his chest loosened, but the nape of his neck remained as rigid as if he wore an iron neck shackle. And so he did. Chained by duty, and now by vows.

Mind boggling, what a title could buy. For once the accident of his noble birth benefited him. His bride’s ethereal beauty had stolen his breath. Under her veil, golden curls cascaded to her slender waist.

He grunted. He needed a son. Would her delicate body bear such a burden?

If the girl were as intelligent as she looked, his royal mother had pulled off a wonderment. Mother had said the locals named her the Golden Goddess of Castle Drummond.

He rubbed the back of his neck. He needed more than unbelievable beauty. He needed more than a goddess. He needed a miracle.

He’d give her everything he could, but she had a right to so much more.

How long before the trust faded from her great sky-blue eyes?

4

Cailin woke slowly. Smiling, she reached across the huge bed to touch the warm silk of her new husband’s nightshirt. Her hand felt only the cool satin hollow of his empty pillow.

She stiffened. A feeling of loss crept over her as if Christmas had passed, and she missed the celebration.

Wide awake, she arched her back and stretched her legs. Perhaps she overslept. Except the sun slanting yellow rays through the long bank of deeply-recessed windows told her that wasn’t so. Still, wherever Avondale was, she’d see him again soon.

She rolled over and kissed the empty hollow of his pillow.

So, this was what being a wife meant. Savoring a remnant of the relaxed nest of joy she’d fallen asleep with, his arms around her, her head snuggled against his muscular chest, she pushed upright against her double stack of satin pillows. She slipped out from between the rumpled satin sheets, slid down from the bed, and pirouetted around the room.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror each time she passed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy, she was totally unembarrassed with the extremely low-cut transparency of her bed gown.

He’d said she was beautiful.

Already she loved this massive room with the different shades of cream and white pouncing on the splashes of brilliant red. Avondale’s bedchamber. And hers.

She ran her hands beneath the long, full sleeves of her gown and stroked her arms. Today, she would have preferred breakfast in bed, shared with Avondale. But wedding guests awaited her appearance.

That must be it! Avondale had gone downstairs to extend hospitality to their guests.

Conflicting emotions of joy and loss ran through her. After their closeness last night, she felt as abandoned as a stray kitten.

His absence this morning marred last night’s glorious sense of the two of them being one.

She so desired to see Avondale’s dear features in daylight. Had she pleased him even a fraction as much as he pleased her? Though he was gone, he’d left his warmth and masculine love bursting inside her heart.

Marriage was so different from what she’d expected. She was a woman now, complete and loved. There had been nothing to fear. The duty to be performed had turned out to be a delight.

She burned to talk with Megan. To be wed on the same day had really been a touch from God. She couldn’t wait to compare experiences. She could never share what happened last night with Lorna. Nor with Mums. Only with Megan.

She frowned. Raised in a house full of women, she and Megan had known so very little about men. How had Megan fared last night? Had she been as surprised? And had her Highlander made her as unexpectedly happy? Had he left her glowing all over?

Oh, I hope so!
Who knew duty could be so pleasurable?

Hoof beats thundered from the stable and grew fainter as they crossed the moor. The distant blast of a hunter’s horn sounded. So that’s where her new husband, and probably most of the wedding guests, had gone.

Because she’d slept so soundly, Avondale had thoughtfully not awakened her.

Very well. She could eat breakfast in peace. She scooted across the room, digging her bare toes into the thick carpet, and pulled the bell cord.

In a much shorter time than usual, Jenny, her plain Irish features bright with questions, flounced in to help her dress. The nosy lass must have been waiting just outside the door.

Cailin couldn’t keep the triumphant smile off her face as she wiggled her bare toes in the silky softness of the red Oriental rug.

Jenny winked slyly, raised her rust-colored brows, and lifted both her hands in question.

Cailin let her obvious contentment answer.

In the years Jenny had served her, the maid proved far too free with her tongue. But what harm could knowing she was a happy wife be?

And the moment she glimpsed Avondale’s face, she would find the answer to her own question clearly written there. Pray God she would read the answer she sought.

She threw up her arms in sheer joy and twirled around the room. Surely she’d pleased him. How could she not have?

****

Driving rain had blotted out the sunlight. While the dreary afternoon wore on, Cailin tried hard to hide her irritation from the few ladies in the drawing room as she ran her fingers lightly over the harp strings.

Early on, the promise of a sunny day evaporated into storm clouds. Although rain slanted smartly against the thick window panes, Avondale had not yet returned from the wedding hunt.

“I suppose Megan is still out following the hounds.” Aunty Aley gave a petulant sniff. “And in this weather. Such a handful, that child.” If it was possible, she held her plump figure even stiffer than its usual rigidity an inch from the back of the damask sofa.

Her widowed aunt relished stirring up gossip. Rather than answering, Cailin plucked the notes of a tune Aunt Aley particularly favored.

“His Grace is a sportsman?” Lorna doodled at her drawing board.

“Yes. I understand he’s quite dedicated.”

Cailin strummed harder, but paid scant attention to the melody she played. Thoughts pounded her mind much like the drumming rain slammed the window.

Where was Avondale?

All the other guests returned before the deluge started, and his absence had grown embarrassing. As guests trudged in, tired and muddy, each asked about him, gave her a deeply questioning gaze, and then retired to bathe and change for dinner.