Those Endearing Young Charms (8 page)

Emily gave a timid little cough.

Silence.

She coughed again. Louder.

Silence.

The bed curtains did not move.

"Devenham!" she called softly.

Then loudly. _"Devenham!"_

Emily sank down in a chair by the window.

Perhaps he was dead. That would be very sad, of course, but she would be free. And she would still be the Countess of Devenham without any of the responsibilities. She would call the surgeon. She would be expected to cry. Well, that would not be so very difficult if only she remembered that kiss. And she would make sure he had a really splendid funeral. Perhaps he would have to be buried in Westminster Abbey. Black horses with black plumes to do justice his rank. And mutes. Mutes would have to be hired. But she would be expected to go to his home on her own and face all his servants. Perhaps they might blame her for his death. Perhaps she might be tried and sent to Tyburn! No, Tyburn scaffold was gone, and they now hanged people outside Newgate. But she was a peeress, so she might be executed at the Tower. The gates of the Tower clanged as she was led from the river up the damp steps.

There was the executioner's block and there was the executioner in his black mask. There was Mary, crying desperately. "She sacrificed herself for me," wailed Mary. The prince regent had come in person to witness this interesting execution. "Stay!" he cried. "I cannot bear to see one so fair die beneath the headman's axe."

"Your Highness," said Emily. "Although I did not kill him, I cannot bear to live without him. Please let the execution go forward."

Yes, that was terribly touching. Tears ran down Emily's face as she sat by the window.

"You brought it on yourself, you silly widgeon," said a sleepy voice at her ear.

"Devenham!" screamed Emily. She had been so immersed in her dream that it was horrifying to see the man she had so lately buried standing beside her clad only in a nightshirt.

"Who on earth did you expect to see?" said her husband crossly. "The way you go on, young lady, leads me to wonder whether you are touched in your upper works."

He walked over to the toilet table and began to pull his nightgown over his head.

_"Devenham!"_

"What _is_ the matter? Are you going to sit there screaming Devenham all morning?"

"You are taking off your nightgown!"

"You have a great deal to learn about me that is interesting and strange," he said caustically. "I do not normally wear my nightgown under my clothes during the day. Strange, is it not?"

He wrenched off his nightgown. Emily took one horrified look at his well-muscled back and buried her hot face in her hands. There was a great deal of splashing, then the sound of him crossing the room, followed by the imperative summons of the bell. After a few moments, the door opened and Emily lowered her hands as she heard the earl say, "You may barber me now."

While his Swiss got to work, Emily summoned up courage to ring for Felice. She began to relax as the French maid tut-tutted over the mess of her mistress's hair and began to set it to rights. At one point, Emily caught the maid and the valet exchanging a glance as if both were wondering about this strange wedding morn. After her hair had been carefully curled and styled and her face and arms bathed in warm water and cologne, Emily felt that the day might not be quite as bad as she expected.

My lord and my lady were informed that breakfast awaited them in their private parlor. Emily did not know whether to be glad or sorry that there was not much opportunity for conversation, since the earl had his nose buried in the morning paper.

At last he lowered the newspaper. "What shall we do today, Devenham?" asked Emily brightly.

He drained his tankard of small beer and looked at her thoughtfully. She was looking very beautiful, if a little pale. Her gown of blue silk velvet enhanced her blond beauty and the purity of her skin. The earl sighed. When he had planned this honeymoon he had meant to spend most of the first day in bed and then, on the following day, travel to his country home. He shrugged. "I do not know, my lady. This is market day in Market Warborough, which is the nearest town. Perhaps I might go to see if there is something interesting in the way of horseflesh. You may come if you wish."

The day matched Emily's mood, being cold and gray, with the bare branches of the trees rattling in an icy wind. They made their silent way to Market Warborough, finally stopping at an inn in the very center of the town. Everything was noise and bustle, farmers and their wives, horse dealers, shepherds and market women, all jostling along the narrow, cobbled lanes under the shadow of the overhanging Tudor buildings. What long and mysterious conversations the gentlemen seemed to have about horses.

Emily stood patiently with her toes beginning to ache with cold and her nose turning first pink and then blue. Finally the earl became aware of her patient waiting.

"Go back to the inn," he said, "and I will join you shortly."

Emily made her way back to the inn and then stood inside the door, wondering what to do.

Everyone seemed to be very merry, very loud, and very drunk, and there was not another lady in sight.

A buck looked out of the open taproom door and called, "Venus in our midst, fellows. A veritable Venus!"

Emily was soon surrounded by beery, grinning faces. Her clothes were of a fine enough quality to stop her admirers from more open insult, but on the other hand, she had no maid and no husband, so the throng pressed closer and the jokes became warmer.

"You are all disgusting and drunk," said Emily, goaded beyond endurance. "You cannot hold your drink like a gentleman should ... or even a lady for that matter. I swear I could drink any of you under the table!"

To her horror, this was taken as a challenge; she was swept into the tap and a glass of wine thrust into her hand. She looked wildly about and prayed that Devenham would come to rescue her. How _could_ he desert her so?

The Earl of Devenham had just finished buying a splendid-looking bay and was giving instructions to deliver it to his home when a stout farmer's wife tapped him on the shoulder with her umbrella. "Sir," she said. "Do you have anything to do with the pretty young miss with the yaller hair? Is it Your Honor's daughter perhaps?"

"My wife," said the earl curtly. "What about her?"

"Them ruffians has got her in the tap and the poor little lady's drinking something cruel. My Bill said he couldn't stand no more of it, and he sent me direct to..."

But she spoke to the open air, for the earl was already off and running.

Emily was in a state of euphoria. What jolly, splendid gentlemen they all were! And how missish she had been to be afraid of them. She drained another glass of burgundy in one long swallow and smiled mistily at the subsequent roar of applause.

Then she blinked. Where had all the cheery gentlemen gone? One moment she had been surrounded by her cheering admirers, and the next, they had faded away. She swayed and clung to the back of the chair.

"You are in no fit state to answer my questions at the moment, madam," grated the earl. "Come!"

Emily let go of the back of the chair, took one step forward, and fell in a heap on the floor.

He picked her up in his arms, and she smiled dizzily up at him laying her head against his shoulder.

"We will go to my home, Maxton Court, on the morrow," he said, "but tonight you will learn to behave like a wife."

The journey back came to Emily in flashes of consciousness before she dropped off into a drunken sleep.

Then she felt him carrying her upstairs.

She tried to struggle awake as she felt his fingers busy with the tapes of her gown. Cold air fanning down her body made her realize she was naked. She tried to scream in alarm, but only a mumble of protest came out.

The Earl of Devenham stripped off his own clothes and then lay down beside his wife.

He gathered her in his arms.

"Now, madam," he said.

_Snore... _

Emily was fast asleep.

He pushed her away and, climbing out of bed again, lifted her and covered her with the bedclothes.

He got back in beside her and stared at the ceiling as Emily snored gently beside him.

"I have married not only the wrong sister," he said, "but a drunkard as well!"

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*Chapter Six*

Maxton Court loomed up dark and forbidding against a steel gray sky.

"My grave," thought Emily with a shudder. "He is going to kill me."

But the future murderer said in a normal voice, "This is our home. It once belonged to a family called Maxton, but they all died out."

"It is very _black,_" ventured Emily uneasily. He did not reply. A rising wind rattled the trees lining the drive.

Maxton Court had been built in the reign of James I. It had a moat and drawbridge, since the first Maxton had not quite believed that guns and cannon were here to stay, despite the fact that both had been around for some time before he had had the house built, and he believed strongly in moats, boiling oil, and armor for protection.

The whole rambling building was smothered in ivy, which fluttered and moved restlessly in the wind, giving the building the odd effect of being in motion. The moat had been drained. When Emily looked down as the carriage rattled over the bridge, she could see a herd of deer grazing beside bales of hay on the cropped grass.

The servants were all lined up in the vast draughty entrance hall to meet their new mistress. The earl was pleased to note that Emily behaved very prettily. The servants were amazed at the new Lady Devenham's youthful appearance, since they had all heard of the earl's youthful romance. Exactly how they had heard of his early love was hard to tell, since the earl had never spoken of it, but servants'

gossip had a truly marvelous way of carrying a very long distance.

Emily was relieved to find she had a private bedchamber and drawing room. Felice chattered happily as she set about unpacking her mistress's belongings. La! It was dark and cold. And _old_.

Emily answered automatically. What did this husband of hers plan to do with her?

She had awakened feeling both ill and hungry. Try as she would, she could not remember anything after the first few glasses of wine in the taproom at Market Warborough. She had imagined all sorts of horrors. But Felice had somewhat reassured her by saying that my lord had carried Emily upstairs, as far as she knew, without waking her.

The earl had hardly spoken on the journey to Maxton Court.

A footman scratched at the door to announce supper, and Emily hastily finished her toilet and followed him downstairs and then along cold, shadowy passages.

The dining room was immense and faced north. A huge fire, big enough to roast an ox, did little to alleviate the pervading chill.

The earl was in evening dress and already seated at one end of the long table. Emily sat at the other and stared at her husband across a long, narrow stretch of white linen, silver, and glass.

They ate their way through dish after dish, Emily barely tasting her food.

The tablecloth was then removed and the fruit, nuts, and wine brought in. The servants retired.

The earl spoke. "If you will pour yourself a glass of wine, you may send it down to me."

Emily looked nervously at the little silver wagon on wheels at her elbow, which contained three decanters: port, sherry, and madeira. She poured herself a glass of madeira, carefully put the crystal decanter back on the wagon, and gave it a push. One of the wheels appeared to have jammed. The earl sighed and rapped one long finger on the table.

She gave it an enormous push. The old floors of the house were uneven and the dining room was on a definite slope. The wagon set off decorously enough, but it gathered momentum as it sped down the long, polished table. The earl put out his hand a second too late. It flew past him and sailed off the end of the table, continued on its journey, and crashed into the far wall.

"I am _so_ sorry," babbled Emily, "but you see..."

"No matter," said the earl. He stood up and went to retrieve the wagon. The contents were miraculously undamaged. He carried it back to the table and poured himself a glass of port.

Emily began to giggle nervously. The earl raised his thin eyebrows. Emily began to laugh, and the more supercilious her husband's expression became, the harder she laughed. "We look so _silly,_" she gasped at last.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

"There you are!" shouted Emily. "You can barely hear me, which is not in the slightest amazing, since you are seated about a mile away."

The earl picked up the decanter in one hand and his glass in the other and walked down the length of the table, pulled out a chair next to Emily, and sat down.

Emily's laughter died abruptly, and she shrank back in her chair.

"Now," he said evenly, "we have a great deal to discuss."

"Yes, Devenham," whispered Emily.

She hung her head, her blond curls tumbling about her face. Her evening gown of gold silk was cut low enough to show the rapid rise and fall of two excellent breasts. He wrenched his eyes away and stared stonily down the table. The tremendous attraction she held for him was, he was sure, the result of overlong celibacy. Any woman who was not precisely an antidote would have held the same attraction.

"The situation is this," he said, taking a sip of wine and placing the glass carefully on the table. "We are locked in a marriage that is distasteful to both of us. This was brought about by your childish play-acting and interference."

Emily flushed with anger. She felt her action had not been without a certain amount of nobility.

"But, here we are. I expect you to learn the role of a countess. That is not too much to ask. I expect you to entertain with dignity and decorum such guests as I may choose. You will not see much of me. I have a great deal to do.

"_If_ you behave yourself in what I may judge a suitable manner, then you may be allowed to go home on a short visit. I do not want your family here. If I decide that you have fulfilled your side of the bargain, then I might take you to London for the coming Season. I will eventually want an heir. But we will leave that side of things until later."