Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (18 page)

She looked over to him to find him watching her.

“Hello,” she said, and kissed him.

“Hello.”

“I think today was the best day of my life,” she said, meaning every word. “I have never gone without a corset for so long and I feel wonderful.” She was teasing him, of course, and he growled and pulled her to him.

“You shall never wear one again,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I must say I like the results.”

“Rand, I am happy. I am,” she said, feeling ridiculously close to tears.

“I’m glad,” he said, and pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin.

It was so warm in bed beside him. She was quite surprised with herself, that she could feel completely comfortable in bed naked with a man.

“I’m also glad to hear you say my name.”

“I’ve thought of you only as ‘the duke’ for so long, I have to admit it was difficult. But you don’t seem much like a duke without any clothes on.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. It seemed he liked kissing her, and that was just fine, too. Elizabeth let out a long contented sigh. “Twelve children might do,” she said sleepily.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep. All we’ve eaten all day was cold chicken. You have to cook us something, wife, else I will lose all strength and be unable to do anything but sleep.”

She turned in his arms. “That would be a tragedy,” she said. “I just hate to get out of bed.” She snuggled down further. “It’s just so nice here with you.”

With that, he tore off the covers and stood up.

“You are mean,” she said, pouting.

“No. I’m hungry. Come on. I’ll help.” He held out his hand and dragged her from the bed. After they were dressed, they snuck down to the darkened kitchen like naughty children and prepared a simple meal of boiled potatoes and soup warmed up.

“I wish the servants weren’t coming back tomorrow,” she said, spooning some rich beef soup into her mouth. Once she smelled the food, she found herself absolutely famished.

“I shall send them away,” he said, her knight in shining armor.

“Alas, this is the last of the food and I absolutely refuse to toil with my fair hands,” she said, ending on a giggle.

“They are fair,” he said, his gray eyes darkening as he lifted one up to his mouth.

“You, sir, think nothing except the bedroom.” She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. Rand went about clearing the large wooden worktable in the center of the room and said devilishly, “Who said anything about a bedroom.”

The next three days were fairly magical. Elizabeth ripped up the first letter she’d written to Maggie, glad it had never been sent, and wrote another one filled with happiness.

“I wish we could stay here forever, make Rosebrier our home and never, ever have to go into society again,” she wrote fervently. Indeed, Elizabeth thought she could happily live out her life there, raising a family, making love with her husband, taking long walks in the brisk air. Making love some more. It was one of the nicer surprises of her marriage and she could not believe she had been so dreading it. She vowed that when it was time for her daughter to marry, she would tell her to do what she wanted and make certain her husband did the same.

I’m falling in love,
she realized. And that is how she ended her letter, smiling down at the words with a slight bit of disbelief. But how could she not fall in love with a man as handsome, as kind and thoughtful, as loving as Rand was? She found herself looking forward to seeing him, feeling her heart pick up a beat when he walked into a room, missing him when she did not see him for just a few hours. It was insane, she knew, but there it was. She would tell him soon, tell him when she felt he would believe her and when she believed it herself. She would tell him and watch him smile down at her. But for now, she wanted to hold the feeling to herself, to make sure it was real, for this was all so new and wonderful.

She finished writing her letter to Maggie just as Rand walked into the small study. She’d taken to writing there instead of her room, for the study was the warmest room in the house.

“Writing home?” he asked, coming over to her and kissing her.

“Writing to Maggie to tell her what a fine husband you turned out to be.”

“And kind. Don’t forget to mention that,” he said, teasing her. “Shall we go for our walk now?”

Elizabeth glanced at her coat and nodded. “I’m ready when you are,” she said, noting he already was in his overcoat and gloves. “Except for my gloves.” She let out a sigh. “I’ll have Trudie fetch them.”

“Don’t bother. I have forgotten my hat. I’ll get your gloves at the same time.” He kissed her nose. “You are very right, love, I do need a valet.”

Rand left her, taking the stairs two at a time. God above, he was the luckiest man alive. He didn’t even care if the world knew how much he loved his wife, because he had a very good suspicion she loved him, as well. At least she was coming ’round to that emotion. He went to his room and grabbed his hat, then strode into her room and scared a poor maid nearly to death. She’d been dusting Elizabeth’s desk and screamed like a banshee, upsetting half the contents when he entered.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the girl said rather comically.

“I fear I’m the one who startled you. It is I who should apologize.” She was about to argue, but he interrupted. “I’ve just come to fetch my wife’s gloves.” He looked around the room, finally spying them on the ground with several other items. Bending down, he picked up her pair of fur-lined gloves. He was about to straighten, when a bit of pink paper peeking out from her overturned address book caught his eye.

“Would you go tell Her Grace I shall be down shortly,” he said, his eyes never straying from that familiar pink paper.

“Yes, sir,” Trudie said, bobbing a quick and inexpert curtsy.

Rand stared at that paper a good long time before he reached out for it, telling himself it was likely nothing, perhaps even that old note Ellsworth had given her all those months ago in Newport. She’d put it there and for gotten about it. That’s all. He picked up the address book and slipped the paper out, unfolding it carefully.

And he read the words Ellsworth had written to her just a couple of weeks before their marriage. He knew, because the scoundrel had conveniently put the date—

December 12. He read the words until his hand shook with rage and he was struck with a despair so deep he nearly collapsed from it.

Do what you must to deceive and be safe, pretend any thing to get you through the months ahead and know that I will always know the truth: that you love me alone.

He neatly refolded the letter and placed it back in her address book, took up her gloves and walked down the stairs as if nothing untoward had happened.

“Are you ready?” he asked, handing her the gloves.

“Yes. I do hope it snows later today. It feels like snow, does it not?” she said happily, heading out the door.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said absently.
It isn’t true. It can’t be true. She loves me, she does.

“Does it snow much at Bellewood? It’s so pretty in the snow. Not Bellewood, but snow in general. Of course I’ve never seen Bellewood in the snow. Or the sunshine, come to think on it.”

She was babbling on happily, as if the world had not just tilted crazily, as if everything were wonderful, as if every word out of her lovely little mouth wasn’t a horrible lie.

“I’m not feeling well,” he said, suddenly unable to be with her, see her.

She put on a look of concern. “What is wrong?”

“Something,” he said, before turning back to the house. He went directly to his room and shut his door and lay on his bed to stare at the ceiling. The shadows lengthened and the room went dark before he heaved himself out of bed again, and that was only because he had to relieve himself.

Later, he heard a knock, then a maid asked if she should send up a tray for him.

“No. I’m not hungry.” He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything at the moment, simply very, very numb. His dutiful wife checked up on him twice, but then left him alone. He couldn’t bear to look at her.

It wasn’t until nine o’clock, when he saw her light on through the crack in their adjoining door, that he got out of bed again. He walked into her room to find her sitting on her bed already in her nightclothes and brushing her hair. She smiled at him and his heart hurt, God it hurt so much to see that smile.

“Are you feeling better? I was growing worried.”

“I’m fine,” he said, sitting down next to her. He moved her hair from her neck and kissed her there, trying not to let his hand tremble as he touched her. It was there, the delicate chain, and he felt his heart tear a little bit more.

Elizabeth smiled, glad he was feeling better. She’d missed him terribly all afternoon and had done nothing but wander about the house. She felt his mouth on her neck and tilted her head over to accommodate him.

“This necklace,” he said.

And she stopped breathing, just like that.

“You wore it on our wedding night. I remember it.”

Elizabeth felt her stomach wrench painfully. She’d forgotten it, she had, she had. It was so light and she’d gotten used to it and, oh, God, she had forgotten she was still wearing it. And he knew. Somehow he knew.

“You’re wearing it now,” he said, his voice so strange, his eyes looking at her in such an odd way.

He knew. He knew.
She touched the thin chain, watched as his eyes followed the gesture. “It’s nothing,” she said.
Please, please, God.
“Rand.” Why hadn’t she taken it off? Why, why, why? “It’s nothing.”

Suddenly he changed, as if her words had enraged him, as if had she said one more word all his control would completely snap. “It is not
nothing!
” he shouted, his voice ending on a crescendo of pain. She winced as if he’d struck her. He was breathing harshly, looking at her as if she were some sort of monster. He closed his eyes and jerked his head away as if the very sight of her was too painful for him to bear.

“Take it off,” he said, low and harsh.

She immediately moved her hands to her neck, but she was shaking so badly she couldn’t find the clasp, never mind undo it.

“Take it off!” he shouted, coming toward her.

She started to cry. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “My hands.”

He pushed her hands roughly away and yanked the necklace from her neck in one sharp motion. Then he looked at it in his hand, as if he held something vile. “We are leaving within a week. As soon as I find a ship, we are going to England. So there will be no time for tearful good-byes with Ellsworth. So he cannot see you wearing this…this…thing.”

“Rand. I forgot about it. I didn’t know I was wearing it. I swear I didn’t.”

“I don’t care,” he roared. And then, softer. “And I don’t believe you. You are a liar. You told me you had not seen him. But then how did you get this little gift, I wonder.”

“I knew you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” he asked, as if that word could not come close to what he was feeling. “My dear wife,” he sneered, “you have not seen upset.”

Elizabeth knew what was coming. Already she was sweating and the nausea was starting and she could still see Manhattan Island on the horizon, like tiny dark teeth jutting above the Atlantic.

She could not believe that just three days before she had felt happier than she’d ever been, looking forward to long, luxurious days with a husband she was coming to love. All that was gone and she knew in her heart she could only blame herself. Certainly, she had forgotten she was wearing the necklace Henry had given to her, but she had worn it purposefully beneath her wedding gown and on her wedding night. It had offered some comfort then. But it had been so wrong of her to do, adultery in her heart, if not her body.

Rand, in the space of a day, became a completely different person. His easy smile was gone, his kisses, his caresses, his laughter. His love. And Elizabeth had no idea how to get it all back, or truly whether she wanted to. She was barely getting to know the pleasant kind man and now he was someone entirely unpleasant. Her tears, her pleading had been met with only stony stares or his back. His only kindness was in allowing her to say good-bye to her mother and father.

Elizabeth swallowed, trying to keep the sickness at bay as long as possible. The journey on this wretched boat would take more than a week, a week of pure misery. Her mother had been more than surprised when she’d arrived home after only four days of their honeymoon to announce they were leaving in two days. Her mother, who’d never coddled her as a child, had blanched.

“Is he aware of how sick you become at sea?” she’d asked, her lips pressed tight with anger. “It is the whole reason we planned a spring departure, to save you the sickness. In winter, my God, Elizabeth, it will be impossible.”

Elizabeth had forced a smile. She could never let her mother know what had transpired; there was no need to anger her mother when she might not see her for many months or even years. She knew Alva would take the duke’s side, would be livid that she had allowed Henry to interfere with her marriage. If she knew she had worn that necklace, Elizabeth feared her mother, like Rand, would never forgive her.

“He knows only that I am a poor sailor. He’s terribly homesick and the journey won’t be that long. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope the ship is a large one. And comfortable,” she said.

“Very large and very comfortable.”

The ship was neither of those things. It was an ancient cargo vessel with an antiquated engine that shook the ship so much, Elizabeth wondered that it did not shake apart simply from that. The captain had already told them it was unlikely they would reach England on the coal they had on board, and very likely would have to hoist sails for part of the journey. That meant, of course, it would take even longer, and her torture would be extended. The ship was rusted and wholly the sorriest vessel Elizabeth had ever laid eyes on. But it was the only ship in port that would accommodate them on such short notice. The finer passenger ships did not travel in the dead of winter when seas were roughest and the danger of icebergs so great.

The English captain did keep an impeccable ship. He was polite, his men deferential to them—after all, it wasn’t every day a sorry vessel like theirs carried a peer of the realm. The captain’s cabin, which he had willingly given up to them, while tiny, was well heated. He’d told them the food was fine, as well, though Elizabeth knew she wouldn’t be putting a morsel into her mouth until they reached the Thames and London.

Outside was frigid. She knew from experience that the best place for her to be was outside and staring at the horizon. She’d tried this, but had gotten so numb she was forced back inside in a matter of minutes. The ship heaved and Elizabeth let out a groan, more sick about what was to come than actually ill. More than one captain had remarked that he had never seen anyone get quite as ill as Elizabeth had. On the way home from Europe the last time, her mother had promised Elizabeth that she would never force her to travel to Europe again. She’d actually feared her daughter would succumb to the illness, and to be honest, Elizabeth had as well. Her mother conveniently forgot her promise, however, when she was looking for a titled husband for her daughter.

Three hours into the trip, Elizabeth vomited for the first time. Her head throbbed unmercifully; her body was bathed in a cold sweat. Moments later while she was still heaving over a chamber pot, Rand stuck his head into the room, took one look at her, and said rather cheerfully, “I suppose you won’t be joining the captain and I for dinner. It’s scrod.” She shook her head and he left, and she swore she could hear him whistling lightly as he walked toward the dining hall. Apparently, His Grace had a stomach made of steel, she thought miserably, wondering what she had ever seen in the man.

Later that night, Rand returned, then immediately called for one of the crew to empty the chamber pot and clean it out. It was not a kindness, Elizabeth realized, but simply a way to make his own stay more bearable, for the stench was rather potent.

“I shouldn’t worry about the smell of vomit,” she said glaring at him in the lamplight. “I shan’t have anything in my stomach for at least a week.”

He simply stared at her and looked almost delighted by her news. “That is too bad. The cook is wonderful. I’ll sleep on the floor. Do try not to vomit too noisily as I’d like to get some sleep.”

At that moment, Elizabeth wished the chamber pot were full, for she would have thrown it at his smug head. How could she ever have thought him kind? How could she think she’d been falling in love with such a complete ogre? What had she done, really, but wear a necklace that an old beau had given her. He was overreacting and she would have told him so had she the strength to do it. But at that moment, she was desperately trying to control her uncontrollable stomach and losing the battle.

“How is your wife?” the captain asked Rand the following night.

“Still sick. She cannot keep even the smallest thing down. Not even water.” He did not want to care, but he did not like to see anyone suffer the way Elizabeth was suffering. Even if she deserved it.

“It should pass,” the captain said jovially. “She’ll get her sea legs, you mark my words. Though not tonight, I daresay. We’re heading into a storm.”

“Not too big, I hope,” Rand said, thinking Elizabeth was barely holding on in relatively calm seas. He’d never seen anyone as violently ill as she was. Saying she was a bad sailor was a vast understatement.

“No way to tell, really. But I saw some nasty clouds to the north. Crossing this time of year is always exciting. And always profitable.” The captain lifted his drink as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “You seem to be holding up well enough, Your Grace.”

“I have a stomach of iron, it seems. I only got a bit queasy on the way over, and those were in some big seas.”

“Should have been a navy man, then, like Admiral Nelson. Now there was a fine seaman,” he said, as if he’d known the man. Again, he raised his glass and Rand got the distinct notion that the captain would likely toast anything given the opportunity. With a storm bearing down on them, now was not the time to be making too many toasts. “Duke and duchess on my ship. Now there’s a story to tell my grandchildren,” the captain said. He’d said the same thing during dinner the previous evening.

“Yes, well, I’d better see to my wife. I imagine you’ll be needed at the helm this evening,” Rand said, pointedly looking at his glass.

The captain accepted the censor good-naturedly, although with a bit of obvious regret. “Yes, that I will be.”

Rand was satisfied when the captain motioned his steward over and waved the brandy away. Just then the ship dipped dramatically, then flew upward. “Hell. We’re in for a night,” the captain said, sounding actually excited by the prospect of a violent storm. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, I’d best get back to work.”

The next four days were nightmarish in more ways than one. Rand, who certainly didn’t have vast experience at sea, had become convinced in the midst of the two-day storm that the ship would certainly break apart. The ship slammed into the waves with such bone-jarring force, it felt as if the very steel would shatter beneath them. And Elizabeth, she had been nearly driven unconscious from a combination of fear, sickness, and simply being battered about the small cabin as the waves crashed again and again into the ship’s hull. While he sat in the cabin’s only chair, white knuckling it through the worst of the storm, she clutched the bed trying not to be thrown to the floor. On one occasion, beaten into a fitless sleep by hours of wakefulness, she was thrown to the floor, knocking her chin hard against his boots.

Rand helped her up, asking if she were all right, but she pushed him off her without uttering a word. In fact, she managed only three coherent words during the height of the storm: “I hate you.”

Rand was fairly certain she meant every syllable. He would probably hate himself, too, had someone been responsible for the kind of suffering Elizabeth was going through. If he had known the extent of her predisposition to seasickness, he might have delayed their trip. He’d wanted her to suffer, yes, but he began to fear she might actually die. And that was not endurable.

On the fifth day of their journey, Elizabeth was finally able to sit up, though she looked like death. Her hair, usually lustrous and neatly piled atop her head, was a tangled, straggling mass that no doubt stank of bile and vomit. The circles beneath her hollow eyes were downright frightening, her lips were cracked, and her skin had taken on a greenish cast. Guilt gnawed at Rand when he entered their cabin, feeling hail and hearty after a fine breakfast of sausage and potatoes. Even at the worst, Rand had felt little more than slight dizziness and a touch of nausea. But today, the sun was shining brightly, the seas were calm and a rich blue, and even the temperature had risen above the freezing point.

“Good morning,” he said, staring at her and trying to mask the horror in his face. The morning light was doing nothing to make Elizabeth look better. Indeed, the harsh light gave her an almost ghoulish appearance. She didn’t acknowledge him, simply turned her head away. As he stood there, her stomach heaved and she bent over the empty chamber pot, her poor stomach heaving and heaving but expelling nothing.

“You must try to eat something, Elizabeth.”

“Go away,” she croaked.

“Then at least drink water.” She remained silent, staring at the wall. He stood there looking at her helplessly, watching as she listlessly drooped to lay upon the bed. He immediately went to her side.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this would happen?” he demanded, his fear and frustration coming out in anger. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I did tell you,” she said softly.

“I knew only that you were a poor sailor, that you got a bit seasick. Everyone gets a bit seasick sometimes. This goes far beyond what anyone on this ship has experienced. If I had known you would be this sick…” He likely would have left anyway, he thought guiltily. As he looked at her helplessly, he saw a large spot of blood, wet and bright and red on the sheets, and he felt his entire body go so weak, he sunk to his knees beside the berth.

“My God, you’re bleeding,” he whispered.

“I am?” she asked, as if it were no matter.

“Yes, and quite a bit,” he said, pulling the covers from her, searching her for a wound. Blood was everywhere. “Oh, my God,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m going to get the captain. Oh, my God.”

“Rand,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, my love. You’ll be fine,” he said rushing to the door.

“Rand,” she shouted, though it came out more like a croak. He turned, torn between going to her and running for the captain.

“It’s only my monthlies,” she said.

At first it didn’t register, and then he looked at the sheet again, at the blood between her legs. “Oh.” He nearly collapsed in relief, and in fact felt his knees give out beneath him so he was kneeling by her bed again. “We should clean you up. It’s quite a lot there,” he said, looking at horror at the blood on the sheet. Women bled this amount every month? Good God.

“It’s not so much as it looks,” she said. “Women wear padding. But I forgot to. So sick.”

“I’ll need clean sheets and clothes. And pads you say?”

“In my trunk, on the right side, near the top. Folded cloths for my pads. And a nightgown, too.” Every word was such an effort for her. No doubt losing blood when she was already weakened had further sickened her. He would feed her, make her drink if he had to force it down her throat. As if to mock his thoughts, her stomach heaved uselessly again and the sound of her retching painfully nearly unhinged him.

“I can’t take much more,” she said. “My head is going to explode. Boom.”

Rand felt his eyes burn. She was making light when she was so very, very ill, trying to make him laugh.

“Your head is not going to explode,” he said.

“I wish it would.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “I’m going to get you cleaned up and well dressed and I am going to take you out onto the deck and sit you in the sun and you will get well enough to at least drink some water. And toast. Toast is just the thing when you can’t eat anything else.” He had opened the trunk and already found the pads and a fresh nightgown. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get some warm water and fresh linens. I hope to hell the captain has some. Don’t go anywhere.” She somehow managed to give him a withering look before he rushed off.