Those Endearing Young Charms (6 page)

"You forget yourself, Mr. Cummings," said Emily in a flat voice. "In future, use my title when you address me. I am to be a countess -- I _am_ a countess -- and I will make a much better one than Mary would have done." She flicked her sister's cheek with her long white fan. "If you ever want to raise your eyes higher than this village prelate, do but come and join me in London, Mary _dear._"

Emily drifted off, leaving them both scandalized.

"She is acting!" said Mary after she had furiously thought about her sister's outrageous behavior.

"Not she," said Mr. Cummings. "Just look."

Emily was hanging onto the earl's arm and flirting quite blatantly with him. The close-fitting wedding gown set off the trimness of her figure and the swell of her bosom.

The earl looked politely amused. It was hard to know what he was thinking.

"This may mean we can be married," said Mr. Cummings in a low voice.

Mary turned and looked at his plain, honest face, at the love in his eyes, and she felt dizzy and happy. Although she was still worried about Emily, although she could hardly believe Emily meant those words she had just said, Mary felt herself enveloped in a rosy cloud, alone with Mr. Cummings, while the guests walked and chattered and danced all about. Then, looming up like a black cloud on the horizon, came the earl of Devenham.

"I think you at least owe me one dance, Mary," he said.

Mr. Cummings looked confused. He wanted to protect Mary from embarrassment on the one hand, but, on the other, he could hardly begrudge the man a chance to ask for an explanation.

Mary allowed herself to be led onto the floor. It was a country dance, which mercifully allowed little chance for conversation. But when it was over and they were promenading before the next dance, the earl began in a mocking voice, "Well, love of my life, are you not even going to apologize for this charade?"

Poor Mary blushed to the roots of her hair. "I ... did ... I mean, I couldn't. Oh, I am so sorry."

"You do not love me."

"No more than you do me," said Mary sharply.

"Did you not think to tell me?"

"I felt I could not," said Mary. "I felt it would be so cruel and ... and ... all the guests had been invited. I would not have let this happen..."

"Emily told me she drugged you."

"You must not think badly of her. She was doing it to save me. Emily is very young."

"I do not know whether her distress after the wedding was because she was afraid of reprisals or whether she really was acting the part of the sacrificial lamb."

"The marriage must not stand," pleaded Mary. "Many other women would be proud to be your wife."

"But not you," he said dryly. "Have I changed so much?"

"Yes, you are like a stranger to me."

"Strange," he mused, "and yet the years have not touched you at all. You look the same, you _are_

the same ... except in one respect." His eyes flicked toward where Mr. Cummings stood anxiously at the edge of the floor.

Mary blushed. "I feel so foolish," she said. "It is not in my nature to be fickle. You must forgive me and forgive us all. Emily must not be made to suffer."

"Many ladies," said the earl with some asperity, "would not consider the prospect of being a rich countess as suffering."

"But Emily..."

"Have you spoken to your sister?"

"Yes."

"And she said...?

"Emily said she was content with the arrangement."

"I believe she is," he said. "It is an arranged marriage, a situation much more common than a love match. Perhaps 'twill serve."

"I do not know what to think," said Mary wretchedly. "Mama and Papa are so happy that their ambitions have not been ruined. I know their ambitions may seem disgracefully worldly, but you must agree, my lord, that they are not unusual in _that._ It is the way of the world."

"Damn the world," said the earl of Devenham. "I do not care for the rules of a world that is bounded by Grosvenor Square and St. James's Square. We will see what comes of it. I am not a brute. I am at fault for insisting the wedding go ahead. I shall, therefore, give Emily until eight this evening, which is supposed to be the time when I leave on my honeymoon, to come to a decision. If, by that time, she does not wish to be my wife, I shall take steps to have the marriage annulled."

"You are very generous," said Mary. "It is more than we deserve."

"Perhaps I owe something to the memory of that very green captain who was so very much in love."

He raised her hand to his lips.

Emily came up and put a possessive hand on the earl's arm. "Flirting, Devenham?" she cried. "And us newly wed? Fie, for shame, Mary."

"We owe Lord Devenham a great deal," said Mary repressively. "Few men would be possessed of such charity under the circumstances."

"Pooh!" laughed Emily. "I am neither hunch-backed nor ill-favored. My lord has gained quite a bargain. Come, Devenham. It is the waltz."

She went off on the earl's arm, throwing a laughing glance over her shoulder at Mary, who stood rooted to the spot.

"I do not know this Emily _at all,_" thought poor Mary, shaking her head in bewilderment.

When the time came for Emily to retire and change from her bride's clothes to her traveling dress, Mary followed her upstairs to her bedroom, hoping to find the old Emily waiting there. But Emily had a coterie of female guests about her and was laughing and chattering as if she did not have a care in the world.

She laughingly refused Mary's offer of the clothes that had been made for the trousseau. Mama was so generous, Emily said, that her own clothes were fit for any bride.

Attired in a figured sarsenet of white ground with small sprigs of pink color and wrapped in the very latest thing in cloaks -- fine Bath coating, descending to the feet, with a large military cape and hood --

and with a shade bonnet of fine brown cane with a high crown of brown satin, ornamented with chenille and velvet flowers perched on her head, Emily tripped lightly down the stairs to where her husband was waiting in his traveling carriage.

She stood with one foot on the carriage step, turned, threw her wedding bouquet into the crowd.

Mary caught it, and held it to her bosom, her eyes wide and appealing as she looked at Emily, willing her not to go through with it if she did not want to.

For one moment, Emily caught her sister's intense gaze and the smile left her face. She made a half-movement as if to run back, and then, with a little shrug, waved her hand and climbed into the carriage.

The coachman cracked his whip, The guests cheered, and the well-sprung carriage moved off down the drive. Outside the gate, the villagers cheered and huzzahed. The carriage window opened and the earl threw out a handful of silver and copper.

The crowd cheered again.

Mary found Mr. Cummings at her elbow and leaned slightly against him for comfort, watching and watching until the carriage disappeared from sight.

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*Chapter Five*

Silence reigned inside the carriage; thick black night, outside.

"Where are we bound?" asked Emily at last in a small voice.

"We are on our way to Maxton Court."

"To stay with friends?"

"Maxton Court, my love, is my new ancestral home."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Did Mary not even tell you where she was to spend her honeymoon?"

"No."

"Well, now you know."

"Is it far?"

"Two counties away. We will stop soon at a posting inn for the night."

Emily fell silent. The night ahead loomed up full of menace. What exactly were those mysterious marital rights? Would she be expected to kiss him a lot? It would not be all that bad, she thought, feeling very warm as she remembered that first kiss.

"My servant has ridden ahead to arrange accommodation for us," he said.

All at once, Emily thought longingly of her own bed at home -- narrow, white, and virginal. How wonderful it would be if had been someone else's wedding, and, now that the guests were gone, she could sit with her feet on the fender and talk to Mary about the day's events.

A wave of homesickness assailed her as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

"Tired?"

"A little." Her eyes flew open at his question. This companion, this husband, would always be at her side. She stole a look at him. He was really very handsome when he was relaxed, as he was now. He could not have had the chance to have many affairs. He had returned several times on leave to London.

He had not called on Mary during any of these visits home, since, prior to his earldom, there was no hope of the Ansteys inviting him.

He would, therefore, still have been a captain on those leaves, and Emily naively assumed London society to be as nice as the Ansteys in their choice of beaux for their daughters.

"Why, he is probably as innocent as I am myself!"

Much comforted by this thought, Emily began to relax.

Emboldened at last by the friendly silence of her companion, she asked, "Were the Spanish ladies very pretty?"

"Some," came the answer.

"But Spanish society is very strict, more so than we are here, so it would not be possible for you to have had many ... er ... personal relationships."

"On the contrary. War breaks down many barriers of decorum." His eyes gleamed with mockery in the light from the carriage lamps.

"Oh," said Emily, pleating a fold in her gown. "But when you were on leave in London, it must have been so hard. I mean, the ton is so mercenary."

"And therefore I had to lead a celibate life? Not quite. I was a great favorite at balls and supper parties."

"You are teasing me," accused Emily.

"Not I. You cannot have everything, my sweeting. You have my title, my fortune, myself. You cannot expect virginity as well."

"Devenham!" shrieked Emily. "You should not speak thus. It is not fitting."

"I was catching the hook, my love. You were fishing."

"I was being polite ... making conversation."

Emily slid a look at him out of the corner of her eyes. His face was closed, enigmatic. I have married a stranger, she thought. What on earth is going to happen tonight?

* * * *

Their servants had traveled in another carriage. The earl left to check that the horses were properly stabled for the night, and Emily seized his absence as the opportunity to change for dinner. Felice bustled about, warming a change of underclothes at the fire, heating the curling tongs on the portable stove, and looking as if she had not a care in the world.

Felice was happy because the second footman had promised her he would apply for a post in the Devenham household, and Felice herself was delighted to be appointed lady's maid to the new countess.

Emily would have loved to unburden some of her worries on the maid, but Felice was so neat, so efficient, and so _foreign_ that Emily found she could not summon up the courage to say anything to the girl.

The earl entered the bedchamber soon after Emily was dressed and said that if she waited in the private parlor, he would join her.

Waiting beside the fire in the parlor, Emily drank two glasses of wine to fortify herself. When he eventually arrived, he had changed from his wedding clothes into a severe black coat with white cravat, black pantaloons, and striped stockings. As was the fashion, the pantaloons hugged his muscular legs, showing the ripple of each strong muscle under the cloth.

The earl was charming over supper. The earl was witty. The earl was very seductive. And the more charming, witty, and seductive he became, the more terrified Emily felt. His presence seemed to be assaulting all her senses at once. She felt overwhelmed by the increasing air of sensuality that seemed to emanate from his body.

Emboldened by the wine she had drunk, Emily did her best to laugh at his stories and parry his flirtatious remarks. But no amount of wine could drown the ever-present image of that large double bed.

At last, he came around the table and helped her from her chair.

"Go and prepare for bed," he said softly. "I will join you very shortly."

"Yes, Devenham," she whispered.

He put his arms around her and smiled as he felt her body tremble against his own. Mistaking her fear for the stirrings of passion, he said huskily, "Go to bed."

Emily trailed from the room. Once in the bedroom, she sat in a chair and stared at the bed. Felice entered quietly, and Emily waved her away. "I will undress myself, Felice," she said. "Do not come to me until the morning."

Felice curtsied and left.

"I _can't,_" thought Emily. "This is dreadful." A whole unknown and threatening world of hot, masculine lust lay in waiting.

Like a sleepwalker, Emily got to her feet, wrapped her thick cloak around her, left the room, left the inn, and simply walked off, out into the night.

A thick, wet, November mist had fallen. She had only walked a few steps from the inn when she found herself wrapped in dripping blackness. Water dropped from the trees like tears and sparkled on her hair. The road was muddy and her thin silk slippers were soon ruined. She had no idea where she was going. She had one thought and one thought only -- to put as great a distance between herself and the inn as was humanly possible.

Emily thought she heard footsteps behind her. The mist wavered and thinned a little, and by the faint yellow glow of candlelight from a cottage, which seemed to materialize at the side of the road, she saw a small road branching off. She turned onto it, quickening her pace.

The mist closed in again. At times, she could not even see the edge of the road, which was growing progressively rougher, and at one point she almost tumbled into the ditch at the roadside.

Water dripped and plopped mournfully from the trees, and chuckled in the ditch.

A dog leaped out of the bushes and ran snarling and snapping at her ankles. It caught the hem of her cloak, growling and worrying the cloth with its teeth.

She wrenched her cloak free and ran headlong down the road, until she was gasping for breath and had a painful stitch in her side.