Читать книгу Lord Sin - Catherine Archer - Страница 11

Mary looked at herself in the gilt-edged mirror, hardly able to believe that the woman staring back at her was herself. Her hair had been arranged in an elaborate coiffure, with only a few soft tendrils left free to curl about her nape and temples. The eyes that stared back at her were luminous with an excitement she did not wish to acknowledge.

She was marrying Ian, but not because she loved him. Oh, no, Mary did not have any illusions as to that. She was doing it because it might be her one opportunity to have a home, a family. It also helped that Ian seemed to accept her as she was, to not fault her for her outspoken ways or education. The few men of her station whom she had chanced to meet had felt quite differently.

Behind her she heard Victoria say, “You may go now, Betty.” She heard the door close behind the maid only a moment later.

Mary looked at her friend’s reflection. Her eyes met Victoria’s troubled ones as she asked, “Mary, are you sure this is what you want?”

Frowning, Mary turned to face her. “Yes. Why do you ask? I know it has been sudden, but I would think you would be pleased for me.”

Victoria took Mary’s ice-cold fingers in hers. “Yes, but Ian. Why him? That is the part I don’t understand.”

Rising, Mary began to pace the luxurious bedchamber where she had spent the previous night. The soft white carpet muffled her agitated footsteps. “Victoria, why would you be so surprised that I have agreed to this wedding? You even thought of marrying the man yourself.” She looked closely at her friend. “You said that in spite of his reputation as ‘Lord Sin,’ Ian…” She paused, the name feeling strange and intimate on her lips. “You felt he was a good man, that he would have made a decent husband.”

Victoria’s gaze was beseeching. “But I was in love with Jedidiah.”

Mary threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, that has cleared up any confusion I might have over what you are trying to say to me.”

Victoria laughed, though there was a sad quality to it. “That is the most like yourself you have sounded in weeks. You have been through so much I fear you have not been yourself. I wish you would think about that. You could at least consider waiting for a time before you marry. You are in mourning.”

“As far as mourning is concerned, I know my father would not wish for me to wait because of any societal dictum. He felt that death is only a passing over into another, better place.”

Victoria nodded. “After having been taught by your father I know that what you say is true. He would have been appalled at your doing that. It is your own state of loss that I am speaking of. You should wait until you are more yourself, Mary.”

“But I do not want to wait.” How could Mary explain that a part of her knew that what she was doing was completely out of character, that if she allowed herself to stop—to think—she might not go through with the marriage? All her life Mary had done what she must, cared for her father, pushed her dreams to the back of her consciousness with unwavering determination.

Then Ian had come and offered her a shoulder to cry on. He had offered the prospect of security, not just monetarily—which was of little import to Mary—but in an emotional sense. In the few days she had known him, Ian had been irritating and male and quite maddening, but he had also held her when she needed someone. No one else had really ever done that, had ever seen past the wall of strength she presented to know how much she wanted that.

How could they, when she herself had not even realized it?

But Victoria did not know any of this and she continued with her train of thought. “Mary, I do not wish to badger you, but I hope you will reconsider. I’m sure Ian would understand if you decided to postpone the wedding. It is true that I considered marrying Ian, but there was a major difference in our situations. I was in love with Jedidiah at the time. You are not in love with someone else. What if you fall in love with Ian? He is charming and handsome, and although I am married, I would be blind not to see that there is a strange compelling sensuality about him. Can you tell me you do not see that?”

Mary could not stop the blush that rose to her hairline. She chose not to reply to the question, though she had indeed noticed that quality. Instead she shrugged and said, “I am still unsure as to what all this means. Would it be so very dreadful if I came to care for the man I am about to make my husband?”

Coming quickly across the floor, Victoria took Mary’s hands in hers again, forcing her to meet her troubled gaze. “Ian will make you love him, Mary, without even trying. But I do not know if he can truly love you or anyone else in return. There is pain inside him that can only be healed if he wishes it to be.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. She had sensed that there was something hurting in Ian, had been moved by his pain, even drawn to him. Surely it was not so deep it would prevent him from someday caring for her. Mary was not so foolish that she believed Ian was in love with her. He had never said any such thing, though he had been ready enough to admit his desire. Could that not become something more?

Remembering the heat of her responses to him, Mary could not help thinking that such passion might very well develop into a deeper bond, given time. How little Victoria understood that this might well be Mary’s one opportunity to experience all of the things that she, as a happily married woman, took for granted.

When she opened her eyes once more her expression was determined. “Victoria, I know you love me. I also know you are concerned for my happiness. But let me be frank. We are both aware that I have no prospects. Before Ian offered for me I had come to the conclusion that I must seek a position as a governess. Had in fact written the letters of application.”

As Victoria opened her mouth in shock, Mary halted her by going on, “I know you want me to live here with you. But I cannot do that. I need to find my own life. I want a child, a home. Ian has given me that chance. I know he does not love me, nor do I love him, but I believe he has some degree of respect for me. I wish above all else that you might find it in your heart to allow me to take this chance, to make this decision for myself.”

For a long moment Victoria said nothing, then she smiled tremulously and there were tears in her eyes as she squeezed Mary’s fingers gently. “Very well. I love you and must only pray that this marriage brings you nothing but happiness.”

Mary reached out and put her arms around the taller woman. “Thank you, dear friend.”

Victoria returned the embrace. “You have been with me through so much—the trials of girlhood, the loss of my family, the lonely years until I found Jedidiah. I shall miss you, Mary.”

“And I you.”

They embraced once more, then Victoria drew back, her expression serious. “Just remember that you have a home here with us any time you want it.”

As she answered, Mary realized that she was unlikely to ever take up the offer, but she understood that it was given in the spirit of love. “I shall remember. And I want you to know it means more to me than I could ever say.”

A soft knocking sounded at the door, before it was opened by a beaming Betty. “The carriage is ready to take you to the church, my lady, Miss Mary.”

The ceremony was to take place at the little country church where her father had taken the pulpit every Sunday for most of her twenty-three years. Mary knew it was what he would want.

The previous night was the last she would spend at Carlisle for what would surely be a very long time. Ian had. asked that they begin the journey to his home and she had agreed. Sinclair Hall—Mary felt the smooth, hard feel of the name in her mind. It was Ian’s home, and soon to be her own.

With one last check of the ivory silk gown Victoria had insisted on giving her as a wedding present, Mary straightened her slender shoulders. “Shall we go?” Again she was shocked that the woman staring back at her was herself. The ivory silk skirt was decorated with hundreds of tiny rosebuds, as were the scooped neckline and the lace edging on the elbow-length sleeves. Mary felt like some princess in a fairy tale, and that only served to make what was happening even more unreal.

Ian’s gaze moved over Mary’s face as he leaned back against the dark blue velvet of the carriage seat. They had been traveling for some time, with only the most civil of exchanges, and he could see Mary’s nervous agitation growing with each mile that passed.

She glanced toward him, then back out the window, and as she spoke he was infinitely aware of her fingers pleating the lush amber velvet fabric of her traveling gown, which had also been a gift from Victoria. “How many days until we arrive at Sinclair Hall?”

He answered evenly, “We should get there some time on the third day.”

She nodded, her fingers now fidgeting with her laceedged collar. His gaze was then drawn slightly lower to the provocative curve of her breast. Ian had to force himself to attend her words as she said, “I am most eager to meet your family. Tell me about them.”

Ian stiffened. He did not want to talk about his family—not his father, nor Barbara. Yet he felt somewhat uncomfortable with taking Mary without some warning into what might very well be an unpleasant situation. “There is very little to tell. My cousin Barbara and my father are the only family living at Sinclair Hall. I…things are…difficult between myself and my father. He has long wanted me to marry.”

She spoke up quickly. “Then perhaps things will be better between you now.”

Ian smiled tightly. “Perhaps. But do not be surprised if he does not seem over pleased with the matter in the beginning. Father does, very much, like to be in control of everything.”

Mary looked at him directly then, her gaze holding his own, a hopeful anticipation written clearly on her lovely features. “We shall weather any opposition together, and surely in the end he shall see that all is well.”

He could not find it in his heart to apprise her of just how bad the situation might become. What if she was correct? What if his father did come around? Nodding jerkily, Ian replied earnestly, “If he will allow himself to see you as I do, Mary, he will be hard-pressed to find any fault with you.”

She blushed and turned back to her contemplation of the passing scene. Thinking to forestall any more questions about his family for the moment, Ian closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat.

Perhaps because he had discussed his father with Mary, the reality of what he had done was finally beginning to set in. He was married to Mary Fulton—Sinclair now—and on his way home to Sinclair Hall. He did not question his immediate need to take her home, to see what his father would say to him, to discover if Malcolm Sinclair would accept his son’s selection of a bride. He only hoped that his wife’s optimistic view of the future would indeed occur. Reason made him doubt the possibility greatly.

Mary’s ready agreement to his suggestion that they begin the journey to Sinclair Hall immediately after the ceremony had surprised him. He did not have to open his eyes to know that she remained pale with nervousness, which he could understand. It was that discernible level of dubious excitement that somehow made him uncomfortable.

All through the two days leading up to the ceremony and even during it, Ian had not let himself think of anything other than that he had made the right decision. This had been made easier by the fact that there was much to do in a short time. He’d procured a special license, answered Victoria and Jedidiah’s surprised queries with aplomb, made travel arrangements and hired men to see to the packing and moving of the rest of Mary’s belongings.

He’d given no more than a passing thought to what his friends and acquaintances in London might say concerning his marriage. When they did learn of it they would surely be surprised, but would quickly immerse themselves in the many amusements that occupied their waking hours. He expected no more, having chosen his companions carefully. He wanted no one to ask unpleasant questions about his private life, and wanted no involvement in anyone else’s personal concerns.