Читать книгу A Marriage Of Rogues - Margaret Moore - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“Can I get you anything, miss? Some bread and butter? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the servant girl asked Thea the next morning as she sat by the window in the main room of the inn overlooking the yard.

It was a large chamber and comfortable, with wide chairs and a fire blazing in the hearth—comfortable, provided you weren’t waiting to discover what your future would be. Or if you were not the object of curious stares and whispers, as Thea had been since she arrived on the coach from London two days before, alone and with only a small valise. It would surely cause more talk when—if—Sir Develin arrived and she left with him.

“No, thank you,” Thea replied to the plump young woman. The maidservant’s hair was messily tied in a loose bun. Her dress and apron were clean and neat, though.

Thea was glad she had so much experience keeping her expression placid. The ability had stood her in good stead with angry merchants and landlords for many a year and had proven rather impressive at curtailing gossip, or the persistent inquiries of curious people.

The young woman nodded at the hearth. “Maybe you’d rather wait by the fire.”

Thea shook her head. “No, thank you.” She preferred to stay where she was, watching the yard for any arriving carriages.

“We’re not expecting any coaches for some time yet,” the servant girl noted. “You are waiting for a coach, aren’t you? To go back to Liverpool? Or London maybe?”

Thea wasn’t about to tell her where she was bound. After all, she wasn’t really sure herself. In spite of what Sir Develin had said the day before, he might not keep his word.

When Thea didn’t reply, the maid frowned, then shrugged and mercifully went away, leaving Thea to watch the activity in the yard. Although the day was getting off to a cool and misty start, the yard was already a-bustle with grooms, stable boys and servants mucking out the stable or washing down the cobbles, filling the trough and bringing wood to the kitchen. Steam issued from the door of an outbuilding Thea assumed was the laundry—judging by the huge baskets of linen being carried there by strong-armed maidservants—any time it was opened. A cart full of large milk cans arrived and unloaded at the dairy, where a glimpse inside showed at least one young woman churning. A fishmonger came next, with baskets of freshwater fish and eels. The cook, wiping his hands on his apron, came out to appraise his offerings.

Then, when she was beginning to believe Sir Develin must have changed his mind, a shiny, black barouche-landau pulled by four beautifully matched white horses rolled into the yard. A coachman in dark green livery expertly brought the vehicle to a halt. When the coachman got down from his seat and opened the door, Thea’s heart leaped with relief. Sir Develin Dundrake, resplendent and handsome in a tall black hat, three-caped greatcoat and shining boots, stepped out.

Thea wasted no time. She grabbed the worn handle of her small valise and hurried outside, walking as fast as her pride and dignity would allow before coming to a halt a few feet from the barouche and Sir Develin. She also did her best to ignore the inquisitive stares of the coachman and other servants in the yard.

“Good morning, Sir Develin,” she said, managing to sound much calmer than she felt.

“Good day to you, Lady Theodora,” he replied, running his gaze over her from the crown of her bonnet to the hem of her pelisse.

She was aware her garments were not pretty and his intense scrutiny only made that fact more painful. Undaunted, however, she returned his perusal, noticing that in spite of the energy with which he’d disembarked from his coach, he was clearly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

Perhaps he had had second thoughts and had come to tell her—

“We’d best be on our way if we’re to reach our destination before the day is out,” he said, giving her a smile and holding out his arm.

He hadn’t changed his mind! He was going to marry her!

As exhilarated as she was at that moment, though, a sense of dread haunted her, too. But it was follow through with her plan, or live in poverty and insecurity the rest of her life.

She put her hand lightly on Sir Develin’s forearm, aware at once of the muscle beneath the fine clothes.

“We’re going north,” he said to the coachman. “To Gretna Green.”

Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the coachman, Thea straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and climbed into the carriage.

* * *

As the barouche rocked and bumped its way north toward Gretna Green, Dev surreptitiously watched the woman seated across from him. She’d squeezed herself into the opposite corner, as far away from him as it was possible to get within the small confines. What did she think he was going to do? Attempt to seduce her right there in his barouche?

Even if he was tempted to do so—and he was, a little—he was too exhausted to make the effort. He hadn’t slept well for the past fortnight, and last night was even worse. He’d paced the floor for hours, trying to decide if marrying her was the right thing to do, for either of them. In the end, the arguments she’d presented in favor of the marriage had outweighed his objections.

At least for now.

Until the ceremony was concluded, he could still change his mind. And so could she.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Gretna Green?” she suddenly demanded, one shapely eyebrow arched in query.

“By midday, I should think, if the roads are dry,” he answered.

“Your coachman looked quite surprised when you said we were going to Gretna Green. Did you not tell your household where you were going and why?”

How could he, when he wasn’t even sure she’d be waiting for him at the inn despite her boldness the day before? “I said I was meeting a lady.”

“That’s all you told them?”

“That was all they needed to know.” He crossed his arms and regarded her with a serenity he didn’t feel. “After all, you might have changed your mind.”

“Not I,” she swiftly and firmly replied before she went back to looking out the window.

She was certainly determined. That made her an interesting female, but was that really a quality he wanted in a wife? On the other hand, she had kissed with a boldness that had been quite exhilarating. No squeamish missishness from her!

As for the wedding night...

He wouldn’t think about that. Instead he took the opportunity to study this woman he had pledged to marry.

She wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Her movements were graceful, her fingers long, and her body slim and shapely beneath that horrible pelisse. Her straw bonnet was equally unattractive and cheap. It looked like the sort of thing a farmer’s wife would wear. A very poor farmer’s wife.

She abruptly turned and fixed him with her powerful gaze. “Has no one ever told you that it’s impolite to stare, Sir Develin?”

Like a green lad, he felt a flush steal over his face and damned himself for it. “Those are the ugliest garments I’ve ever seen,” he said, his embarrassment making him sound more harsh than he intended. “Surely that wasn’t the only color of fabric available. It looks like snuff. Used snuff.”

She did not blush. Instead she regarded him with what could only be called a glare. “It was the best fabric I could afford. The color made it less expensive. I daresay the cost of clothing is something a privileged scion of a noble house never has to consider.”

He didn’t bother to defend himself, in part because she was right. Although he wasn’t extravagant, he rarely paid attention to the cost of his clothes. “After we’re married, you’ll need better garments as soon as possible.”

“I quite agree,” she said. “Will you expect to oversee the selection?”

“I can think of nothing more boring.”

She nodded, then went back to looking out the window.

He slumped against the squabs and closed his eyes. If she didn’t wish to speak to him, so be it. Indeed he should welcome the silence broken only by the rhythmic thudding of the horses’ hooves as they galloped along the road.

And he should use the time to once again try to decide if he was doing the right thing, he thought drowsily. It wasn’t too late to change his mind.

Perhaps he should, perhaps he should, perhaps...

* * *

Thea awoke from a restless doze and rotated her stiff neck. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep in the carriage. She’d nodded off some time after Sir Develin had. A quick glance showed he was still sleeping on the seat across from her.

She studied the face of the man she was going to marry. Sir Develin was almost thirty, but he looked much younger when he was asleep, especially with that lock of dark hair hanging over his brow.

As for the rest of him, he was broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, tall and as well dressed as she was not. No wonder he was so popular with the ladies.

She looked down at her pelisse. He was right, of course. It was terribly ugly and she hated wearing it, but what else could she do when her choice was buy cheap and homely fabric or go without food? She would welcome a new wardrobe more than he could ever know, and she was doubly glad to think he would let her choose it.

She was wondering how much she would have to spend when the carriage rattled to a halt and the coachman called out, “Gretna Green!”

The baronet awoke with a start and looked confused for a moment before he brushed the lock of hair off his forehead and said, “There already?”

“You’ve been asleep.”

“Oh,” he said with a yawn as the coachman opened the door, revealing a cobbled and busy inn yard. Beyond, the large main building of the inn, half-timbered and covered with ivy, looked comfortable and prosperous.

Sir Develin jumped out with the same alacrity as before, then reached up to help her disembark. He was regarding her so gravely she feared he was going to tell her he was going back to Dundrake Hall and leaving her there.

She hadn’t come that far, hadn’t made that presumptuous proposal, to be thwarted now.

Her lips pressed together with determination, she put her hand in his and, ignoring the sudden rush of heat that action prompted, stepped down. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she immediately left Sir Develin and approached the nearest servant, a stable boy carrying a basket of oats, and asked, “Where is the smithy?”

She hadn’t only learned all she could about Sir Develin before going to Dundrake Hall; she’d made sure she understood how and where marriages were conducted in Gretna Green.

The lad grinned, revealing a gap where one of his front teeth should be. “Out the gate, turn right, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder at Sir Develin, who had stayed near the carriage. “Shall we?”

He didn’t immediately reply and she held her breath, waiting with anxious anticipation for him to either speak or move.

“Yes, we shall,” he said at last.

* * *

In later years, Thea remembered very little of the actual marriage ceremony, in part because there was very little to remember. A few words spoken over an anvil by a large, potbellied man who, she suspected, did no actual smithing, with a witness who seemed half in his cups. Afterward they returned to the inn, where she was shown to what would be their nuptial chamber.

It was an unexpectedly large room, with whitewashed walls, a sloped ceiling and casement windows. A large, four-poster bed with clean-looking blankets and woolen bed curtains dominated the room, which also contained a washstand with an unexpectedly pretty porcelain basin and ewer, as well as plenty of fresh linen. There was a high-backed wooden chair in the corner opposite the door, a worn carpet on the floor and a folding screen in the corner. A fire had been kindled in the small hearth, making the room pleasantly warm. She also noted two valises by the bed, a large and very fine one that must be Sir Develin’s and her own small and shabby one.

The slender, gray-haired landlady suggested a bath, and Thea eagerly agreed. It was a bit awkward when the landlady inquired about her maid; fortunately Thea had a ready answer for that, too. “I don’t have one traveling with me today. I can manage on my own for one night.”

“Especially on your wedding night, eh?” the woman said with a grin before she left the room.

Thea barely had time to catch her breath—or so it seemed—when a brisk rap sounded on the door heralding the arrival of two servants. A red-haired lad in homespun breeches and jacket and white linen shirt carried a tin bath, and a slender young woman in a simple calico dress and clean white apron held two large pitchers of steaming water. She also had more fresh linen over her arm. The boy set the bath down with a bang near the hearth and moved the screen to shield it from the door and drafts before he departed with a tug of his forelock. Meanwhile, the serving girl began to fill the tub with water from the pitchers.

“There’s soap over there,” she said, nodding at the washstand on the far side of the room, opposite the bed that Thea was determined to ignore for as long as she could. “I’ll bring a pitcher of cold,” she added.

“Thank you,” Thea murmured.

“Which one is yours?” the girl asked with a friendly smile as she picked up the pitchers. “The skinny fella?”

“My husband, you mean?”

“Aye, which one’s yours, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

If he had been “the skinny fella,” Thea might have minded. As it was, she felt a sudden rush of proud triumph before she said, “The handsome one.”

Her delight lasted only another moment, for the girl frowned, ran a doubting gaze over Thea, then shrugged and headed out the door.

Thea went to the mirror hanging over the washstand. Was it really so incredible that a man like Sir Develin...?

She drew up her hair and turned her head from side to side. No, she was no aristocratic beauty and never would be. Her eyes were too large, her lips too full and her chin too pointed. At least her nose was good, but a man like Sir Develin would surely have preferred a woman with more to recommend her than a shapely nose and not too plump a figure.

Nothing could be done about her features, she thought with a sigh as she began to take off her clothes.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, wearing only her thin cambric chemise and petticoat. The next time she was so attired and only so attired, she would be with a man. Sir Develin. Her husband. And shortly after that...

She quickly doffed her undergarments and stepped gingerly into the tub. It was hot, but bearable, and she began to splash water over her face. Another knock sounded on the door—the serving girl with the cold water, no doubt. Her eyes still closed, she called out for her to enter.

“I don’t need any cold water, thank you,” she said, reaching for a square of linen with which to wipe her eyes.

“Good, because I didn’t bring any,” Sir Develin said.

With a little shriek, Thea dropped the small square of linen and reached out to grab a larger one to cover herself, nearly upsetting the tub in her haste. “What are you doing here?”

“The innkeeper’s good wife has made it clear that she expects me to share the tub with my bride,” he replied, sounding as if he was completely at ease.

“After I’ve finished!” Thea declared, for once unable to hide her perturbation as she tried to stand and wrap the towel around herself at the same time.

“There’s no need for you to cut your bath short. I can wait.”

“I’m finished.” She suddenly realized all her clothes were on the other side of the screen, where he was.

“I suppose two won’t fit even if I was welcome.”

“No. Now please leave the room.”

“Don’t you think that would look a bit odd? We are newlyweds, after all.”

He was, unfortunately, right. “Then please get my underclothes and dress. Hang them over the top of the screen,” she added, lest he come around it.

“I didn’t expect you to be so bashful.”

What had he expected? That she would throw herself, naked, into his arms? “Will you please do as I ask?”

Much to her relief, he did.

“Not quite where I’d envisioned spending my wedding night,” he mused aloud while she hurried into her clothes.

She swallowed hard and felt the heat of a blush color her face, and other warmth spreading through her body. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t agree to her proposal to imagine the wedding night, at least until she’d returned to the inn in Dundrake. Last night she’d scarcely been able to avoid thinking about it. Now, when it was imminent, she was torn between curiosity, dismay and a longing that she could hardly describe; in other words, she was the opposite of calm and composed, while her husband apparently didn’t find this situation at all out of the ordinary.

“I always thought it would be Dundrake Hall or my town house in London.”

She was immediately glad they were here rather than his ancestral home or town house staffed by his servants. It was humbling enough knowing he had more experience between the sheets. If they were in one of his homes tonight, she would feel completely out of her depth in more ways than she already was.

There was another knock at the door. That must be the maidservant with cold water, Thea thought as she peered around the screen. Sir Develin’s greatcoat and jacket were on the bed, and so was his cravat. His shirt, still tucked into his trousers, was open at the collar, exposing a portion of his chest.

Regardless of his state of undress, Sir Develin opened the door, to reveal the waiting maidservant holding another pitcher.

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, and then her expression turned admiring and even flirtatious. That was surely the usual female reaction to Sir Develin Dundrake, and Thea ordered herself not to take offense.

“I’ve brought some cold water, sir,” she said.

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary,” he replied. “Nor will it be necessary to disturb us again. We’ll come down when we’re ready to dine.”

“Yes, sir,” the maidservant said, bobbing a curtsey and smiling even wider when Sir Develin handed her a coin.

Thea came out from behind the screen. She was about to suggest she go below when the man who was now her husband closed the door and turned toward her. As his gaze held hers, he began to unbutton his trousers.