A Marriage of Inconvenience (23 page)

“You’d miss me?” he asked lightly.

“Dreadfully.”

He kissed her and wondered if he was falling in love with his wife. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I mean to live a long life at your side. There’s so much I’d like to see and so much that needs to be done that I’ll need at least another five decades to accomplish it all.”

She snickered. “And because you
need
fifty years, they will be granted to you.”

“A man can hope.”

“I pray you get them,” she said soberly.

His hand was resting at her slender waist, and he wondered if they’d started a child already. He thought of the day his mother had died and couldn’t quite repress a shudder.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t want to lose you, either.” His grip at her waist tightened, almost convulsively.

“You’re afraid I’ll die in childbirth, because of your mother.”

He blinked. “That was very perceptive.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Anna told me that she was a little afraid of childbearing for that reason. So I’m not surprised that you’d have similar worries.” She trailed her hand down to his and intertwined her fingers with his, above where their child might be growing.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled ruefully. “Not yet, at any rate. I may be terrified when the time actually comes.”

“I know I’ll be terrified enough for both of us.”

“I don’t think I will,” she said meditatively. “It’s a risk, of course, but life is full of risks—most of them are simply less obvious. There’s no way of avoiding it if we want children.”

“I’d rather have no children at all than lose you,” James said, knowing that nevertheless he would be in her bed almost every night. “Do
you
want children?” he asked. “I mean, do you want them for their own sake, and not simply because you think you owe me an heir?”

“Of course I want children,” she said, looking baffled by the question. She smiled up at him. “I hope ours have your eyes.”

“I want them to have your eyes.”

“But mine are so ordinary—just brown.”

“Just brown?” He shook his head. “They’re dark. Fathomless. Mysterious. Beautiful. I love your eyes.”

“But I love yours—I’ve never seen such a blue.”

“You’ve seen my uncle. My mother’s portrait. You haven’t met my cousins yet, but more than half of them have them. They’re just the Gordon eyes.”

“Well, I
like
the Gordon eyes.” Suddenly she giggled.

“What is it?”

“This is the most ridiculous thing to quarrel over. It’s not as if we have any control over the outcome—we’re quite powerless.”

He laughed. “Were we quarreling? In any case, if we have several children, the odds are some will have brown eyes, some blue and perhaps a few green like their grandfather and their Aunt Anna.”

“Or light blue like my mother’s.” Lucy yawned. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

“I’m tired, too.” He shifted until they were in a comfortable position for sleep, curled together spoon-fashion. “Lucy,” he said as he settled the coverlet across their shoulders.

“Yes?”

“You
do
have power. You simply have to choose how to use it. That’s when it becomes your own. Any power I have came from my father, and from the laws and traditions of the kingdom. But when I take what I inherited and use it for the ends that matter to me, that’s when it becomes
my
power.”

“Oh.” She shifted her head on the pillow. “So I need to choose my ends, then.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about that.”

Lucy awoke early the next morning to the somewhat disconcerting sight of her husband leaning on his elbow and staring down at her.

“You’re beautiful when you sleep,” he said in response to her blush and raised eyebrows. “Not that you’re not beautiful now, too. On the whole, I think I like you better awake.”

He kissed her and rolled atop her. It was only the second time they had coupled by daylight, and Lucy enjoyed it even if she still couldn’t relax enough to experience this climax that James was so anxious that she have. But this time she thought her reticence was as much rooted in fear that a servant might walk in on them as in her inability to drop her carefully assembled self-control.

“I’ve bought you a horse,” James said an hour later as they sat together in the breakfast room.

“A horse?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “A pretty bay mare, to be exact. She arrived this morning. I thought it was high time you had the opportunity to learn to ride, if you wish it.”

The first time they’d met, she had spoken wistfully of her lack of riding ability. “You remembered,” she said.

“Of course,” he said complacently. His eyes glowed with a mischievous spark. “After all, it wasn’t so very long ago.”

She laughed. “If I’d had any notion that day that I’d be married to you within the month!”

He smiled, the same lazy, confident smile he’d offered her that morning just after falling from his horse. “I’m content. Are you?”

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.” Their eyes met, and she reveled in how beautiful a deep blue his were. She
did
hope all their children inherited them. But then she was distracted by the realization she wasn’t ready for a riding lesson. “But I haven’t a riding habit.”

He chuckled. “Well, if that’s the sole source of discontent in your life, it’s easily remedied. Send for Mrs. Dyer straightaway.”

She laughed too. “I only meant that I’ve nothing to wear to a riding lesson.”

His eyes narrowed assessingly. “Anna must have left at least three habits in the house, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing one of them until your own is ready. Your figures are different, but you’re much of a height. I’m sure your maid could take in a seam here and let one out there and have it ready by tomorrow. Today, we’ll simply meet your horse. I hope you’ll like her.”

“I’m sure I shall.”

After they had finished eating, they strolled together in the morning sunshine to the stables, where James asked one of the grooms to lead out the new mare. Soon the groom emerged from the stable leading a tall, elegant bay with liquid, inquisitive eyes and a star on her forehead. Lucy would have preferred a shorter mount—the ground would have been closer when she inevitably fell—but the mare was undeniably a beauty.

“She’s lovely,” Lucy breathed. “Does she have a name?”

“She’s called Barbara,” James said, “but you can change it, if you wish. All our Arabs are named for supernatural creatures—we’ve Ghost, Shade, Pixie, Dryad and the like—but there’s no particular pattern in how the other horses are named.”

The groom led the mare straight up to Lucy, who inhaled the warm, sweet scent of horse. The mare dipped her head, and Lucy tentatively stroked her silken muzzle and threaded her fingers through her mane. “Hello, Barbara,” she said. She turned her head to smile at James. “I’ll keep Barbara. It’s what she’s used to hearing, and I think it suits her.”

“Very well. I’m glad you like her.”

“How could I not? Thank you—she’s a lovely gift.”

“She’s eight years old, so neither a new filly nor elderly, and I bought her from the Cathcarts. Miss Cathcart rode her for a time, but…”

“She’s since moved on to more spirited mounts?” Lucy asked.

“Er, yes.”

Lucy laughed. “I don’t mind. I know Miss Cathcart must have learned to ride not long after she began to walk.”

They admired Barbara together for a little while longer, and then James asked if she minded if he went for a ride on Ghost alone. She said that of course she did not, and once she had watched him canter off she returned to the house.

So James thought she needed to learn to wield her power, to somehow make it her own. She mulled over his words as she sat down with Mrs. Ellis to discuss the menu for the next few days. Always before she had deferred to the housekeeper’s judgment, asking her which dishes James preferred or what would best please Anna or Lord and Lady Dunmalcolm. Now Lucy asked if it might be possible to have fricasseed chicken for dinner and some sort of sweet involving strawberries.

“Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Ellis said. “Cook makes an excellent berry tart.”

“That will be lovely,” Lucy said. Such a petty use of power, to request some of her favorite foods, but she
did
feel more like Lady Selsley and less like an actress attempting a role.

After she had finished conferring with Mrs. Ellis, she went upstairs to the sitting room James had said might make a good studio for her and unpacked her sketchbook and pencils. Since the wedding she had been so busy, and so unsettled, that she hadn’t had time to draw. Now she began by sketching the view from the window. She was amazed how much it relaxed her simply to rough out the outline of the hill in the background, to draw the stream winding through the valley and the cottages along its banks.

She missed painting. She had not brought her watercolors with her to Gloucestershire, expecting as she had that she would be returning to Swallowfield soon. Of course, there was nothing preventing her from sending for more. If Lady Selsley wanted paints, paints she could have. She wasn’t sure if any of the shops in Great or Little Alston would carry such things, but if not she could simply order them from Gloucester. She would inquire that very afternoon, when she called at Mrs. Dyer’s shop to be fitted for her riding habit.

When she was satisfied with her sketch, Lucy selected a book from the library—nothing improving like the books Sebastian and her governess had always given her, but a Minerva Press novel with the promisingly dramatic title of
The Orphan of the Rhine.
She took it to the little parlor and chose a comfortable sofa.

James found her there engrossed in the book about an hour later. “My wife is reading Gothic novels,” he said in mock horror.

She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I found it in the library, and I’m sure a gentleman of taste and good breeding such as my husband would never have anything unsuitable for my perusal on his shelves.”

“Naturally not.” He grinned and sat beside her on the sofa. “I’m simply glad to see you taking your leisure. It hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

She frowned at him in consternation. She hadn’t wanted him to realize that. “How can you say such a thing, James? I’m—I’m glad I’m here. I’m happy with you, happier than I’ve been since—since I can recall.”

“Truly?”

She nodded earnestly, feeling her eyes sting a little. “Truly.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m glad. But still, that doesn’t mean all has been easy for you, does it now? Didn’t we agree we’d be honest with each other?”

Lucy sighed, thinking of Sebastian. “Yes. Well, then, it’s been exhausting, trying to learn the house and the servants, and to behave like the sort of confident mistress the staff must expect. And that’s the least of it. It wasn’t easy having to play hostess to your aunt and uncle and sister when they’re far more at home here than I—”

“I see,” James said. “Perhaps we should’ve delayed the wedding, but I thought you managed very well, and all of them like you.”

“I think your sister and Lord Dunmalcolm do, but does your aunt?”

“Yes.” His voice was firm.

Lucy shook her head. “Anna said she only became reconciled to your cousins’ marriages when their wives made them happy and gave them children, and it’s far too early to tell yet if I’ll succeed in doing either for you.”

James laughed. “Well, then, Aunt Lilias is willing to be persuaded. She really is good and kind, you know, only she’s…” His voice trailed off, and he spread his hands as if searching for the right words.

“Proud? Devoted to her family?”

“Those, but also simply reserved, on her guard against anything or anyone new. So she’s treating you no differently than she would anyone else who’s essentially a stranger to her.”

Slowly Lucy nodded. “That’s comforting. I should hate to think she’ll always dislike me or think me unworthy of you.”

“She won’t,” James said with assurance. “In any case, she’s well on her way to Scotland now, and we’ll have no more houseguests until your brothers arrive next month.”

“So until then, I’ll only have to worry about pleasing you.”

“You do please me, Lucy,” he said, pressing her hand in token of his earnestness.

She knew that wasn’t quite the case, but she smiled at him. “Well, today I decided to endeavor to please myself as well.”

“Hence Minerva Press?”

“Yes, and the chicken we’ll have at dinner tonight, and the watercolors I hope to get in Great Alston. So you see how I begin to exercise my power.”

“Very good.”

“I don’t mean to be petty and selfish, you understand. But, I know how to please myself. I’m not sure how I ought to go about pleasing anyone else, or improving the world. I’d be very glad of your advice.”

“I’ll be very glad to give it to you.”

The next four days passed in happiness for Lucy and, she hoped, for James. A set of watercolors and other painting supplies were delivered from Gloucester, and Lucy began painting her new home and its gardens and fields. She spent hours in the gallery with her sketchbook, endeavoring to understand the masters’ work. Molly altered one of Anna’s riding habits for Lucy’s use, and James gave her daily lessons on Barbara. At first he kept her on a leading rein so she could concentrate on learning the correct posture and balance in the saddle, but by the fourth day she managed her own reins, circling the stable yard at a sedate walk.

She and James spent long hours together talking over matters critical and trivial. He told her about his work in Parliament, his friends and rivals, people she would soon meet. He supported a number of worthy causes, ranging from campaigns for the abolition of slavery to foundling homes and orphanages he assured her were carefully monitored to ensure they were run upon more humane lines than the workhouse she had endured. Lucy thought she would like to join him in those works, but she also wanted to be a patroness for the arts, making Orchard Park’s collection more widely known and supporting promising young painters and sculptors in their training.

The only blot on her happiness was that she still could not quite manage to relax in bed. She supposed it was considerate of James to feel that his own pleasure was incomplete unless she shared in it, but the pressure to meet his expectations was becoming maddening.

She was trying, she truly was, but every night she would reach a point where she felt as if her whole mind, all her logic and coherent thought, was melting away, where the most natural thing in the world seemed to be moaning or bucking and writhing. And she would be so appalled by her own urges and so terrified of yielding to them and losing control that she would instantly go rigid, taking deep breaths until she felt she was herself again.

And then James would stare down at her, so hurt, so disappointed, and at that moment she would loathe herself, but she still couldn’t do what he wanted. He had kept his word not to speak of it or chastise her, but she knew how displeased he was, and a certain tension lingered between them.

But she set aside her worries over pleasing James on the day they were to host Sebastian and Anna for dinner. She had not seen either of them since their wedding four days before, and while she no longer regretted losing Sebastian—how could she, when she had James?—she still worried that this first meeting with both couples married would be odd and awkward. Also, it would be her first dinner party—those family meals while Anna and Lord and Lady Dunmalcolm had been in residence hardly counted—and she was anxious to do her part well.

So she conferred with the cook, ensuring that dishes favored by both Sebastian and Anna would grace the table. She paced through the garden, selecting the most beautiful flowers and arranging them with her own hands. She wanted this dinner to be perfect, so Sebastian would see how content she was and know she had no regrets, and so Anna would see that she was ready to accept her as a sister.

By late afternoon all was in readiness, and Lucy waited with James in the little parlor, dressed in the turkey-red gown that was her favorite of the dresses Mrs. Dyer had delivered for her so far, with the topaz pendant she had worn to her wedding at her throat.

“Stop pacing,” James said. “You’ve nothing to worry about. This is only a family dinner, and in any case I’m sure everything will be wonderful.” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you worried about seeing your cousin again?”

She stared at him. “What? I don’t wish for a trade, if that’s what you mean.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t, actually. It’s not like you to be this prickly.”

She frequently felt prickly, but most of the time she simply restrained herself. And James wondered why self-control was so important to her. “Perhaps you don’t know everything there is to know about me as yet,” she said, almost a snap.

Before he could reply, they heard horses’ hooves and carriage wheels approaching on the drive. Their eyes met, and while neither spoke an apology, they took deep breaths and nodded, almost in unison. They would not quarrel before guests. Now they waited in silence, Lucy rehearsing her words of welcome.

Those words died on her lips when Sebastian and Anna stood framed in the doorway. Something was wrong. Only someone who knew him well would see it, but Sebastian held himself even taller and straighter than usual, and his bearing was not merely cool and dignified but cold and rigid. As for Anna, all the sparkle and vivacity Lucy had so envied had gone out of her, and the eyes that before had been so bright and full of mischief looked dull, almost dead. Lucy knew at once that compared to whatever troubled Sebastian and Anna, the little quarrel she and James had just had was nothing, and that even their difficulties in bed were trivial.