Love With the Proper Husband (15 page)

“You are so young.” Colette laughed. “And so foolish.”

“I am not foolish.” Indignation sounded in Gwen’s voice. “I am…practical.”

Madame grinned. “I do wish you luck in your practicality but I will warn you: love is not something one can either avoid or attract. It sweeps upon you unexpectedly, like a midsummer storm.”

“Catching you in a grip of iron and velvet,” Colette said, “filling your heart with emotion you never dreamed of.”

“With joy and sometimes sorrow.” An odd, dreamy look crossed Madame’s face. “A small price to pay for the glory of being one with another human being. Of sharing his thoughts and his feelings. Of knowing, with him, you are whole, as you have never been before. He is the missing part of your soul.”

“Love brings you to life.” The look on Colette’s face matched Madame’s. “One is never more aware or alive than when one is in love.”

“And you know you cannot live without him.” Madame’s voice was soft. “And you know as well you would gladly die with him. Or for him.”

Gwen stared at the women, both caught in their own thoughts, one obviously remembering what she had lost, the other what she still had.

“That’s all very well and good,” Gwen started, “but I have no intention—”

A knock sounded at the door and it immediately pushed open. Hope poked her head in. “Are you awake yet?”

“At last.” Gwen forced a weak smile.

“Capital.” Hope bounded into the room, followed closely by Patience. A reluctant Charity trailed behind. “We brought you something.” Hope stepped to the bed and pulled forth an open bottle she had hidden behind her back.

“Champagne?” Madame raised a brow.

Colette peered at the bottle. “Very good champagne.” She slanted the girls a chastising look. “
My
very good champagne.”

They ignored her.

Hope settled on the bed beside Colette. Patience perched on the arm of Madame’s chair and handed her a glass.

“Papa said there is nothing better for the day after one has had a great deal to drink than champagne,” Patience said, taking the bottle from Hope and filling a glass. Gwen forced a light note to her voice. “What makes you think I had a great deal to drink?”

Charity snorted. “We saw you come in last night.”

“We were watching from the parlor.” Patience handed Gwen the glass. “That gentleman carried you into the house. We thought it was extremely gallant of him.”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Gwen said weakly and took a cautious sip.

“Who was he? He was quite handsome.” Hope grinned. “And very dashing.”

Gwen looked at Madame, then Colette. Neither said a word. It was up to Gwen. “That was Lord Pennington. My”—she was hard-pressed not to choke on the word—“betrothed.”

“How lovely.” Patience’s eyes lit with excitement. “Is he rich? He looks rich.”

Gwen nodded. “He is quite wealthy.”

“Will we all live together, then?” Hope asked.

Again Gwen looked to her friends for assistance, and again none was forthcoming. She took another sip of the wine and drew a steadying breath. “Lord Pennington, while a very nice man, is not prepared at the moment for all of us.”

“Oh.” Hope’s expression fell.

“Dear.” Disappointment showed on Patience’s face.

“Then what is to become of us?” Charity said sharply.

“Charity,” Madame said in a no-nonsense voice.

Charity blushed and muttered at the floor. “That was rude of me. I am sorry.”

“It’s quite all right.” Gwen smiled at her. “I understand life has been most unsettled for you. And now I have dragged you here—”

“We like it here,” Patience said quickly. “The food is very good and Madame Freneau and Madame de Chabot are great fun.”

Hope leaned forward in a confidential manner. “They’re not very good at cards though.”

Colette snorted.

“Then would you mind terribly staying with them for a bit?” Gwen looked at Hope. “It shouldn’t be for too long, I hope.” She turned to Patience. “Just until I can get Lord Pennington used to the idea of a…a family.” She met Charity’s resentful gaze. “I will not leave you. I promise.”

Suspicion shone in the older girl’s face. “Do you?”

Gwen nodded. “I do.”

“Swear it.” Charity’s gaze was unflinching, and Gwen realized how important this was if they were to have any sort of future together.

“I swear it.”

“Then you must do the blood oath,” Patience said firmly. “It’s the bond that ties us together, and should anyone break it”—her voice lowered dramatically—“there will be hell to pay.”

Madame raised a brow.

“Well, there will.” Patience huffed.

“A blood oath?” Gwen grimaced. “I’m not sure I’m up to a blood oath.”

“Oh, we don’t use blood.” Hope rolled her eyes as if no one would be so silly as to think blood was actually involved in a blood oath. “That would hurt rather a lot.”

“Then what do we use?” Gwen was almost afraid of the answer.

“Spit. It’s the next best thing to blood.” Patience spit on her index finger and held it up. Her sisters followed suit. All three held up their fingers. “See.”

“One can scarcely avoid seeing,” Colette murmured.

“Your turn.” The challenge in Charity’s voice echoed the challenge in her eye.

“Very well.” Without pause Gwen spit on the index finger of her free hand and held it up. “Now what?”

“Now we all rub our fingers together.” Hope cast Colette a pointed look. “All of us.”

Madame bit back a smile, promptly spit on her finger, and held it up.

“I am not making any sworn promises here.” Colette folded her arms over her chest. “I see no reason why I should have to spit on anything.”

Hope leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Colette sighed. “Very well then.” She spit and showed her finger. “I hope you are all quite happy now.”

“Now we have to each touch our finger to someone else’s.” Patience touched Gwen’s, then turned to Colette. “Until everyone has touched everyone else and all our blood has mingled. And repeat after me.” Patience lowered her voice dramatically. “I promise by all the blood in my veins that I shall never break this oath or suffer the dire, horrible, consequences. Forever.”

The gathering repeated the vow and continued the ceremony in an appropriately solemn manner until everyone had shared her “blood” with everyone else.

Colette promptly whipped out a kerchief, wiped her hand, and passed it to Madame. “Well, that was indeed an unusual experience.”

“And calls for a celebration,” Madame said thoughtfully. “I believe Cook is baking something delightful, and I daresay it might be ready for sampling.”

At once, Patience and Hope slid off the bed and headed toward the door.

Charity started after them, then stopped. “I didn’t think you would do it. I thought you were too…stiff to be any fun.”

“To be quite honest, neither did I. I have always been exceedingly stiff.” Gwen grinned. “But I suspect we shall all be doing any number of things in the future we do not anticipate.”

Charity cast Gwen a grudging smile and followed after her sisters.

“That was a most auspicious beginning.” Madame cast a smile at her former student. “You have said what a bad governess you were, yet seeing you with them I am hard-pressed to believe it.”

“It’s different with them.” Gwen thought for a moment. “Charity was right, I have always been extremely stiff with the children in my charge. I have never been able to understand them. But with these three, I feel as if we are somehow bound together.”

“It’s the blood.” Colette stared at her finger with disgust. “Blood is always the tie that binds.”

“And love,” Madame added.

“Love?” Could Gwen indeed love these girls? She wasn’t sure she could love anyone and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Love was a frightening proposition and was not a guarantee of faithfulness or security. It would not prevent abandonment by choice or fate or death.

“And speaking of love,” Colette adopted a brisk tone, “we must get back to serious matters. You are to be married tomorrow and it will not do if you are not thoroughly prepared, as it were.”

Gwen downed the remaining champagne, acknowledging that while the wine did indeed make her feel better, the topic of discussion left her almost as queasy as the brandy. Still, it could not be avoided. And it was probably a good idea to know not only what she should expect from him but what he might expect from her.

What he might
like
from her.

Abruptly she remembered the altogether remarkable sensation of his lips on hers. The amazing warmth of his body against hers. The way her own seemed to melt against him of its own accord. The delightful ache that rose from somewhere deep inside her and washed away all rational thought and urged her to cling to him. And demand more.

At once she understood exactly what Colette and Madame had been trying to explain about intimacies and the pleasure one could find. And understood as well she wanted to know more.

“Gwendolyn, are you listening?”

“Yes.” Gwen nodded slowly. “And I believe I have a number of questions.” She smiled with the memory of how lovely his touch had been and the realization that it was just a taste. “And a great deal to learn.”

Chapter Seven

No matter how clever or sophisticated a man may appear, he is merely clay waiting to be shaped
by the hand of a superior woman. It is, however, best not to let him know this.
Helena Pennington

“You look lovely, my dear.” Lady Pennington beamed at her new daughter-in-law. “I must tell you again how delighted I am to welcome you to the family.”

“Thank you, Lady Pennington,” Gwen murmured, struggling against the dreamlike sensation of being caught in an irresistible current of events and people.

It had been a scant few hours since the late-morning ceremony at Pennington House had forever transformed Gwen from Miss Townsend to Lady Pennington. Marcus had seemed almost as nervous as she for the most part until she had been officially pronounced his wife. Then his gaze had met hers, he’d smiled wryly and brushed a kiss across her cheek, pausing to whisper into her ear, “There is no turning back now…Miss Townsend.”

He’d said her name as if it were a term of endearment, and an odd excitement skipped down her spine.

She’d scarcely exchanged more than a word or two with him since. While the wedding itself was private, with only Madames Freneau and de Chabot, Lady Pennington, and Lord Berkley present, shortly after the ceremony an endless stream of callers had begun, flitting through the grand hall and gracious rooms of Pennington House. They’d come alone or in couples, at first staying only long enough to wish the newlyweds well, but now the visitors lingered and the large parlor would soon overflow. Even Marcus looked surprised at their number. Many were apparently friends of Lady Pennington’s, and Gwen suspected the lady had discreetly encouraged them to meet and welcome Marcus’s new wife. Most she had met thus far were quite nice. She had been introduced to Lord Berkley’s mother as well as the Duchess of Roxborough and Lord and Lady Helmsley. Others were equally pleasant but made no effort to hide their curiosity.

And why should they? The Earl of Pennington was an outstanding match, and it was only natural that there would be a great deal of speculation about the virtual stranger who had ended the career of this most eligible bachelor.

“Oh no, that won’t do at all. You mustn’t call me Lady Pennington. It’s far too formal and there are two of us now. Two Lady Penningtons that is.” Marcus’s mother thought for a moment. “You could use my given name, Helena, although that doesn’t seem quite right either, does it? Or you could always call me”—she paused and seemed to hold her breath—“Mama.”

“Mama,” Gwen said carefully, placing the emphasis on the second syllable in the French manner as Lady Pennington had. She’d been so young when her own mother had died she had no real memory of her. “I should like that.”

“Wonderful.” Relief flooded the lady’s face, and she beamed. “I never had a daughter, you know, and I am quite looking forward to having one now. I think we shall get on famously together.” She hooked her arm through Gwen’s and led her toward a small group standing near the windows on the far wall. “Granddaughters would be lovely as well.”

“Lord Pennington does not seem overly fond of the idea of daughters.” Gwen grimaced.

“However, he is quite enthused by the prospect of sons.”

“Of course he would be, my dear. All men in his position are. Still, I do suspect he would like daughters as well. He was my only child, and I’ve always thought it a great pity. He’s quite delightful on those family occasions when he’s around children. Nothing more than an overlarge child himself now and then.”

Gwen stared. “Are we speaking of the same Lord Pennington?”

The older woman laughed. “It is hard to believe, I know. For whatever reason, my son has developed an overly cool, too droll, and rather aloof way of looking at the world that, while entertaining, serves to put a bit of distance between him and others.” She paused thoughtfully. “His public demeanor is distinctly different from his private manner. I do hope he will share that part of himself with you. Lord knows, he doesn’t share with me.”