The Six Month Marriage (9 page)

‘Hinch has been telling me all about
Yorkshire
,’ Jenny said, as she helped
Madeline out of her gown. ‘And, mercy me! It sounds almost like another
country. The
Yorkshire
folk -
that’s what they call people up there in
Yorkshire
, my lady,
folk
– the
Yorkshire
folk speak an odd sort of language called dialect. Now what do you
think of that?’

‘I don’t know, to be sure,’ said Madeline, forcing
herself to concentrate on Jenny’s lively chatter.

‘They say some funny things,’ went on Jenny. ‘“Put wood
in t’ole”. That’s one of the things they say. And what d’you suppose they mean
by that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Neither did I, my lady, but it means, would you believe
it, “shut the door”!’

‘Shut the door?’ asked Madeline in surprise. ‘Jenny, you
must have got it wrong.’

‘No, my lady.’ Jenny firmly shook her head. ‘”Shut the
door”. Put the wood in the hole, you see, my lady, that’s what it means, and if
you think about it, it makes sense. When you put the wood in the hole that’s
what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re shutting the door!’

Madeline laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Oh,
Jenny, it can’t be true!’

‘It is, my lady,’ said Jenny determinedly. ‘As God is my
witness – and oh! my lady, up there they swear God’s a Yorkshireman, would you
believe?! – but as God is my witness I’m telling you the truth, just as Hinch
told it to me. And she’s not one for funning, my lady, isn’t Hinch.’

‘But how will we understand anything they say?’ asked
Madeline, her gale of laughter gradually subsiding. She wiped a tear of
laughter from her cheek.

‘Well, to be fair, my lady, it’s only the country folk
who talk like that. So Hinch says anyway. The ladies and gentleman, they talk
like you and me. Though they say their words differently,’ she added
judiciously as she unpinned Madeline’s hair. ‘They say b
a
th, my lady,’
she said, making the
a
hard and short, ‘instead of “baaarth”.’ She drew
out the sound to make the difference clear.

‘We will have our work cut out for us. Still, whatever
happens in
Yorkshire
, it seems
we will not be bored.’

Jenny unlaced her corsets for her and, removing her
chemise and drawers she pulled her night-gown over her head.

‘No, my lady,’ Jenny agreed as she folded Madeline’s
things.

Despite Jenny’s lively chatter, Madeline still felt
restless as she climbed into bed. Try as she might, she could not ignore the
fact that this was her wedding night.

Determinedly she pushed the thought away. She picked up
her book and, by the light of the candle, began to read, until at last Miss
Porter’s tale about the Hungarian brothers sent her off to sleep.

Madeline
awoke with a start. The bedroom was still dark.

What time is it?
she
wondered.

The moon was up. She could see its light through a crack
in the curtains. But what was it that had awoken her?

She had a vague feeling that it had been a loud crash.

This was not what she had expected of her first night as
Philip’s wife. She sat up in bed and listened, wondering if burglars had broken
into the house. There had been a spate of robberies recently, and her uncle had
taken extra precautions against the malcontents who roamed the streets of the
capital. Had one such broken into the Earl’s house?

Slipping a shawl around her shoulders Madeline left her
room and, by the light of the moon, made her way cautiously along the landing.

She heard the sound of voices coming from below.

Taking her courage in both hands she crept downstairs,
meaning to find out what was happening before rousing the house. She did not
want to raise the alarm, only to find that the crash had been caused by a
drunken footman, or a maid who could not sleep.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she followed
the muted sound of voices and saw there was light spilling out of Philip’s
study. She went forward then stopped just outside the door, looking in.

The first thing she saw was Crump over by the window,
picking up the pieces of a smashed vase.

So that was what had made the noise.

Madeline hesitated. Now that she knew the cause of the
crash had been nothing more serious than a broken vase, should she go in, or
should she go back to bed?

Then she saw Philip. He was looking strong and virile.
He had evidently just been getting undressed when he had heard the noise, and
his clothes were in disarray. He wore no coat or waistcoat, but was in shirt
and breeches, the clothes defining the muscular contours of his lean body. His
shirt was open, revealing a glimpse of powerful chest.

Madeline looked away in confusion. She had seen a number
of men in a state of partial undress in her uncle’s house, during their many
drinking sessions, but they had filled her with nothing but disgust. Why, then,
did the sight of Philip provoke such a startlingly different reaction?

At that moment Philip looked up and saw her. An intense
light lit his eyes, and an unreadable expression crossed his face. Was he
angry? Madeline wondered. Pleased? Or simply surprised to see her there?

He crossed the room in two strides until he was standing
just in front of her.

‘What happened?’ she asked, fighting down the tingling
sensations that threatened to engulf her. There was something about Philip that
set her skin on fire, but what it was she dared not think. Instead, she turned
her attention back to the room. Something had happened, and she knew she would
not sleep until she had discovered what it was.

‘There is nothing to worry about,’ he said, lifting his
hands as though he was about to put them on her shoulders, and then, thinking
better of it, dropping them again. ‘Go back to bed.’

‘Was it burglars?’ she asked.

He hesitated. As he did so his eyes fell to her
night-gown and she felt a sudden tension in him. ‘You should not be down here
like that,’ he said.

‘I did not have time to dress,’ she returned, pulling
her shawl more tightly about her.

He turned away abruptly.

‘How did they get in?’ she asked.

‘Through the window,’ he remarked.

Madeline looked over to the windows, expecting to see
that one of them was broken, but they were all intact.

‘It isn’t broken,’ she said, puzzled.

Philip hesitated, as though wondering how much to tell
her. Then, seeming to decide to tell her something, at least, he sat on the
edge of the desk and faced her. ‘They were professionals,’ he said. ‘They
prised the window open until the gap was wide enough for them to slip a wire
inside and undo the catch.’

‘Then, if they hadn’t broken the vase, we would not have
known they were here,’ said Madeline with a shudder.

Philip nodded. ‘That was careless. But they were in a
hurry.’

‘Have they taken anything of value?’ she asked.

‘That’s just it, my lady,’ said Crump, entering the
conversation for the first time. ‘They don’t seem to have taken anything at
all.’ He looked from Madeline to Philip, perplexed.

‘Then we are lucky,’ said Philip smoothly. But something
in his tone of voice made Madeline aware that there was more to this situation
than met the eye. ‘Crump and I will see to the clearing up. I suggest, Countess,
that you go back to bed.’

‘I –’ She was about to protest when she realised that he
would not, or could not, say any more for the present; and besides, she was
growing cold. ‘Very well.’

Now that she knew the house was not in any danger she
felt her presence was no longer necessary. And she would find it easier to be
away from Philip’s unsettling presence. It was bad enough in the daytime: by
night it was even worse.

She turned round and left the room, making her way back
to bed.

Philip,
watching her go, felt a sense of relief when she had departed. He sat for some
minutes, watching the space where she had been, and wondering why he had
reacted so strongly to the sight of her in her night-gown; so strongly that he
had had to turn away.

True, he had reacted strongly to the sight of her in the
crimson gown she had been wearing when he had first seen her, but then he had
mistaken her for a harlot. But now, knowing that she was as innocent as she was
chaste, the reaction still remained; and he realised that for one uncontrolled
moment he had almost given in to an impulse to steer her back to her bedroom
and reveal to her the passions of a normal wedding night.

Why was he reacting like this? he asked himself with a
frown. It was not as though he were an untried boy, losing control of himself
because a passably pretty woman – a beautiful woman, a deeply beautiful woman,
he thought, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her cheek in his memory –
happened by chance to enter his life. He was a thirty-four year old man, with
all the experiences that thirteen years of maturity entailed.

But still, she stirred him.

No matter what his feelings were, however, he could not
give in to them. Because in order to have the marriage annulled he had to make
sure it was not consummated.

He was beginning to realise just how difficult that was
going to be.

Madeline
woke early, despite her broken night. As she thought over the events of the
previous day, she realised that it was her first morning as a married woman. It
was something she had thought would never happen, but to her surprise she did
not feel alarmed. She felt more concerned about the events of the previous
night.

She washed in rose-scented water and dressed in a fresh
cambric gown, with Jenny’s help. Then she went downstairs.

Philip had just finished eating when she entered the
dining-room, and as she sat down to hot rolls and a cup of chocolate he said, ‘I
am sorry you were disturbed last night. I hope you managed to sleep when you
went back to bed?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Good. Madeline . . .’

She looked at him enquiringly.

‘For reasons I cannot disclose I would rather you did
not mention the break-in to anyone. Apart from ourselves, the only other person
who knows about it is Crump, and he will not speak of the matter without my
leave.’

‘Very well,’ conceded Madeline, ‘if it’s important.’

‘It is.’

‘But won’t the servants wonder how the vase was broken?’
she asked.

‘If they do, Crump will say he broke it himself by
accident.’

Madeline frowned as an unwelcome idea occurred to her.
She laid down her knife.

‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You are not eating.’

‘I just wondered . . . Are you in any kind of danger?’
she asked.

‘Of course not.’

‘If you are in danger I have a right to know,’ she said,
not convinced by his denial.

‘Forgive me, Madeline, but no, you don’t,’ he remarked,
politely but firmly. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up,
bringing all further discussion to an end. ‘Finish your breakfast. We will be
leaving as soon as the coach is loaded. I intend to set out within the hour.’

He left the room. Madeline drank her hot chocolate and
ate her rolls before retiring to her room, where she directed Jenny to finish
the packing.

She looked around the room when it was done. The pretty
chamber had been her refuge since leaving her uncle’s house. It had welcomed
and sheltered her, and she was sorry to be leaving it behind. But she could not
help a feeling of excitement as she thought of the journey north, and of the
estate in
Yorkshire
.

Until recently, any new experience had frightened her,
but her time with Philip had already begun to restore her confidence and now
she found herself looking forward to the new venture.

The
Rochdale
coach was large and
spacious and Madeline travelled inside it for the first part of their journey
north. The day was bright and the weather was warm, a perfect day for
travelling.

Once they had left the city behind, however, Madeline
took to horseback. She would have felt conspicuous riding through
heavily-populated areas without a proper riding habit, Emma’s wardrobe being
unable to furnish her with such an item, but once away from the crowds her
unsuitable clothing no longer troubled her. She enjoyed riding the white mare
Philip had brought along for the purpose. Their pace was slow and steady, and
they covered not more than three or four miles an hour.

‘What do you think of the countryside so far?’ asked
Philip as his horse fell into step beside hers.

Madeline cast her eyes over the verdant hedgerows and
rolling fields then let them linger on the colourful wildflowers that grew in
profusion by the side of the road.