The Bride's Secret (11 page)

“Just as I thought,” James said. “Since you'll now be a master to the groom, it's best you learn his name. It's Jeremy.”

Oh dear
, Carlotta thought. Another name with the Rs her son was unable to pronounce. At first she had been concerned that, at six, Stevie could not speak more plainly, but then she remembered when her brother was a lad he had spoken exactly the same as Stevie. By the time he was ten, though, her brother spoke perfectly.

Carlotta saddened at the thought of him. Like Stephen, her brother had died in The Peninsula. Her sweet brother Andrew. Her heartbeat accelerated at the memory of her double loss: Andrew and Stephen. She remembered, too, how wretched had been her journey home from The Peninsula. She had been so forlorn, and the babe had cried so the entire voyage. She remembered that icy fear that she would bury him, too. Then there had been that gut-wrenching relief to give the baby to Gran.

Carlotta glanced down at her son and realized James had replaced her fear of her child with fear
for
him. She vowed to repay James's many kindnesses.

Once they were at the house, Peggy assisted Stevie into riding clothes, and with Jeremy, took the boy to Sydney Gardens.

Carlotta and James sat on the sopha in the drawing room, and she nervously turned to face him.

“My secretary has seen to it that announcements of our nuptials appear in the Bath newspaper as well as in the London
Times
,” James said.

Her stomach flipped. How many people reading the announcement would know of her indiscretion? It only took one person to impart the news to her husband. Even if he didn't love her, James would be crushed were he to learn of her scorned past. The dear man deserved better.

I must get him away from Bath.

James took her hand and covered it with his own. “Now that I'm fairly confident Stevie has adjusted well to his new surroundings, it's time we procure a nurse for him. I pray you have no objections to my secretary beginning the search.”

Carlotta nodded. “You will now have as much say in my son's affairs as I, for you have chosen to become a father to him.”

It was comforting that she would be able to share the grave responsibility of raising a child. Her marriage would liberate Carlotta from the many burdens that had weighed down her feeble shoulders for far too long. There were other reasons, too, that made her thankful to have wed James. She would always have him to share everything with. They were, indeed, compatible and enjoyed many of the same things. He even had an affinity for poetry—not as great as hers, of course—but it was another brick in the cornerstone of their marriage. What they shared might not be love, but in many ways it was far more satisfying.

She looked up at her husband and sighed. “Before I know it, my son will have tutors, then he'll be going off to school, and I'll wonder what became of my little boy.”

James squeezed her hand. “Time passes all too quickly.”

“Which reminds me,” she said, disengaging her hand from his and rising to her feet. “I've got a wedding present for you.”

“You shouldn't have . . .”

“It's not anything money can buy,” she said. “It's something from the heart.”

Coloring over her choice of the word
heart
, Carlotta raced upstairs then came back down with a piece of velum in her still-gloved hand. “I've copied a poem for you. A poem that I believe speaks to us,” she said softly. She came to stand before him and with shaking hand offered him the paper, then nervously sat beside him as he began to read. She suddenly felt as if she had thrown off all her garments and sat naked before him.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may;

Old time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse and worst

Times will succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.

To her great surprise, James's eyes moistened as he read. Her heart felt smothered as she pressed her hand to his.
Simpatico.
That's what they were.

He lifted her hand to his lips and sweetly kissed it. “Because we're not in the first blush of youth, each day of our marriage
will
be more precious,” he said.

She watched him through bleary eyes and nodded. “I shall never regret marrying you, and I pray you'll feel the same.” She truly meant the words. She had never been more comfortable with a man. Not with Stephen. Not with Gregory. But with this man whose honor bound him irrevocably to her, she would find some measure of the happiness that had alluded her for as long as she could remember.

He seemed uncomfortable with her heart-felt words and was quick to change the topic of conversation. “Now that you've allowed me to be a part of your life, I suppose we'll have to buy our own home in Bath. You, my dear, have married a very wealthy man. Permit me to allow you to make any selections you like, my lady.”

My lady
! How strange it sounded to be addressed thus. And how undeserving she was. After the shock of hearing herself addressed as a countess, she remembered her husband's suggestion.
Now is the time for me to act
. She would have to use all the feminine charms she possessed.

She set a gentle hand on her husband's forearm. “Before . . . before we married, I thought living in the country would be to withdraw from living. But now that we're married, I'm longing to make a home for us away from the distractions of a large city like Bath. The prospect of the two of us beginning our married life with only each others' companionship entices me.”

“You're saying you want to live at Yarmouth Hall?” His voice was without emotion, his face inscrutable.

She cast her thick eyelashes downward. “If you have no objections, my lord.”

“James,” he said curtly.

* * *

She looked up into his eyes. “James, dearest.”

Her words very nearly undid his forced composure. “Nothing could make me happier than taking you and Stevie to Yarmouth Hall.”

“'Twould be like a honeymoon,” she said in a tentative voice. “I can think of no better way to get to know you than to see you surrounded by your home and servants—and to keep you all to myself.”

She spoke almost as if she feared sharing him with others in Bath society, but they had never mixed with another soul here—something he had always found peculiar. Even today, her wedding day, Carlotta had not wanted a single friend in attendance. Only her faithful, ill-bred maid.

Such lack of friends could be explained by the lengthy illness from which she had only recently recuperated. Felicity, her friend of long standing, was away with her nabob husband. But surely Carlotta had other friends. She was, after all, of good birth. Her position as the widow of Captain Ennis—the son of an earl—alone should have elevated her social standing.

That she had no female friends here, he could almost understand. What woman would wish to be seen with and compared to the lovely violet-eyed widow? Other women, quite naturally, would be jealous of her.

By why no gentlemen callers? Were all the men in Bath blind?

Regardless of the reason for her exclusion from society, James counted himself well blessed to have arrived in Bath at a time when she was only re-entering society after her long convalescence.

“You don't have to talk me into it, my love,” he said. “If I had my way I'd whisk you away today, but a great many plans will have to be made.”

“Such as?”

He loved it when she looked at him cockily like that. “We will have to pack, and I shall have to send to Yarmouth for my coach and four, and I must have the countess's chambers redone for you. And interviewing a nurse will be more easily conducted here in Bath.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not a good excuse among your reasons, dearest. Pray, how far is it to Yarmouth?”

“A full day's ride.”

“Then I shall be packed and ready to leave day after tomorrow. I suggest you send for the coach immediately. We can select a nurse from Yarmouth just as well as we can from Bath, and permit me to see to the decor of the countess's chambers after we arrive. All I will require at the present are fresh linens and a room free of dust.”

A smile worked its way out from the corner of his mouth. “You've got the makings of a countess.”

“Because I'm tyrannical?” she asked, looking up at him with laughing eyes.

He chuckled. “An apt description.”

“What a paradox you must find me. First I tell you what a fine wife I'll make, then I proceed to dictate to you as if you were the servant and I the master.” She reached out to touch his arm. “Forgive me, dearest.”

He could forgive her anything, yet he refused to be her servant. “You, my dear, obviously have strong reasons for wishing to put distance between Bath and yourself.”

A flinch of some strong emotion—was it fear?—flashed across her face, then she gathered her composure. “Don't get too confident in your ability to understand me, James. I
do
want to put distance between Bath and me, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's a reason for my dissatisfaction with the city. It's merely time I move on to a new—and better—chapter of my life.”

For the next few hours, they each had duties to perform. James moved to the library, where he drafted letters. The first was to his secretary, instructing him to send the chaise at once and to see that her ladyship's chambers were made ready. The next letter was to his solicitor to inform him of his marriage and his intentions of making provisions in his will for his wife and step-son.

When James expressed his interest in returning to his hotel for some items, his wife protested.

“I'll not have us separated on our wedding day! Wherever thou goest, I goest too, dearest.”

He found her behavior decidedly odd. Though he would like to think she had grown utterly attached to his company, he knew his wife better than that. She had a strong reason for not wishing him out of her sight.

Just this morning she had surprised him when she had insisted the wedding take place that very day, when he had thought to marry on the morrow. It was as if she feared losing him if they were separated. But he knew it was not his presence that provoked such strong feelings.

If not that, then what? He prided himself on his ability to read the woman who had become his wife, but he was at a complete loss to explain this new, uncharacteristic behavior.

Instead of going to his hotel, he sent a note to his valet, instructing him to bring some items to Monmouth Place. He and his bride walked to the bank, where he withdrew funds to make settlements on Carlotta's servants who would not be traveling with them to Yarmouth Hall.

As they returned to Monmouth Place, the sun began to sink behind the westward hills. “I'm glad I told Cook to have dinner laid when we returned,” Carlotta said. “A pity she'll not be able to go to Yarmouth Hall with us. I feel wretched dismissing her and the others so swiftly after engaging them.”

James patted her hand. “I'll endeavor to compensate them with generous settlements.”

* * *

At dinner, they sat beside one another under the glow of candlelight. Though they had easily fallen into conversation during the past weeks, now that they were married, words stuck in her throat. All her thoughts centered on the one topic she was loathe discuss: allowing him to take his pleasure from her body.

When it was not possible to put off the end of the dinner any further, Carlotta placed her hand over her husband's. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “I'm not ready—yet—to be a true wife to you, but I don't want to be separated from you either, dearest.” She feared he would leave when the time came for her to go to bed, and what if he should come into contact tonight with other men—say, at a public house or a gaming establishment or any of those establishments men frequented? And what if his mention of her brought far more information than she ever wished him to learn? “Please stay here tonight. I can sleep on the chaise in my room, and you can take my bed.”

His face fell. And her heart tumbled.
Not yet
. She would give herself to him. But not yet. She had not even become accustomed to the idea of being married to him. Indeed, she still reeled from his proposal, still could not believe good fortune had smiled upon her at last.

She watched him, waiting for his reply. Had she offended him?

Finally he answered her. “You'll sleep
with
me. After all, it's our wedding night.”

Chapter 12

After dinner, the newlyweds retired to the drawing room, and Carlotta was only too happy to drink the brandy James offered her. Was it not said that spirits could help still the vapors? Carlotta was most definitely suffering from a severe case of wedding night vapors.

The man she had grown so comfortable with these past several weeks had now taken on a new, threatening persona. Hadn't he said he would not force her? Yet now he insisted on sharing her bed. She knew enough of men and their needs to understand that James Moore, the Earl of Rutledge, was hardly likely to roll over and go to sleep with a living, breathing, not-unattractive woman lying next to him. Add to that some measure of affection which he no doubt held for her, and preserving their chaste relationship could prove to be exceedingly difficult.

“Shall we play chess, my love?” he asked as he came to sit next to her on the sopha.