Teaching His Ward: A Regency Romance

by Noël Cades

  There was one other person to whom the news of the Earl of Southwell’s engagement brought little pleasure. This was Lady Caroline DeClere, who had assumed her own union with that man to be assured. She could hardly countenance that some foolish young girl had swept the rug from under her.

  Nonetheless she was obliged to offer a few words of congratulations, which she managed to do in a manner that suggested as much disdain as goodwill.

  “You are to be congratulated, my dear Miss Carlow, for securing such a prize as the Earl of Southwell,” Lady Caroline said.

  “I can only hope I may be an equal prize to him,” Jemima said.

  Lady Caroline raised her thin brows. “If not in rank or fortune, then in some other aspect, I am sure.” Her tone implied that she herself perceived no aspect in which Jemima might suppose herself to be a prize to anyone.

  Despite the thinly veiled fury of these two women, Jemima was overcome with genuine good wishes from many of their other acquaintances.

  Mr Cannondale declared his heart broken, and vowed to write an “epithalamion of lamentation” in his despair. In truth although he greatly admired Jemima and considered his heart given to her as much as to anyone, he had no desire to marry at present and regarded dejection as a greater poetic inspiration than delight.

  “It falls to Moresby and I, then, to duel one another for the remaining hand of Miss Elstone,” Stephen Sangster said, at which Kitty blushed. She hoped that he spoke only in jest, for she was certain that her heart was entirely given to Richard Owen.

  Miss Berystede hurried them away from the ball at an earlier hour than usual. “While I am sure you doubt yourself capable of sleep amid all the anticipation of tomorrow, you will be thankful to be well rested for the ceremony,” she told Jemima with her customary prescience.

  Jemima, who had declared to Kitty that she would not sleep a wink, fell into a dreamless sleep the moment her head sank onto her lavender-scented pillow. If she had hoped to dream romantic visions of her future husband during her last night as a maiden, she would have to wait until the flesh-and-blood reality stood before her tomorrow.

  Chapter 35

  The wedding of Marcus Harlington, Earl of Southwell to Miss Jemima Carlow took place at eleven o’clock at St George’s church, Mayfair, followed by a sumptuous breakfast at the Earl’s London residence.

  Flowers filled the house in Grosvenor Square, and the wedding cake was iced the whitest that Jemima had ever seen. She had no idea how her new husband had contrived to arrange the festivities at such short notice, but she was delighted that he had done so. Even though it were most likely the work of his housekeeper and staff, he had sanctioned it.

  Although there had not been time to make a new dress, one of Jemima’s best gowns had been embroidered with pearls and French lace, and the mantilla that Marcus had given her had been arranged to cascade down from a circlet of flowers. Lord Elstone had given Jemima away, with Kitty and Ann Pargeter standing as attendants, and George Gresham at the bridegroom’s side.

  At the altar, Jemima had felt a shiver of fear and desire as she faced Marcus for the first time. He looked even taller and more formidable in his immaculate attire. She knew that he would have full power over her once she became his wife, both according to divine law and his own desire to possess her.

  Yet she had seen that he loved her, and would treat her well.

  Now, surrounded by all their friends and relatives of Marcus, many of whom she had never met, Jemima looked across at her husband. She found his eyes already on her. There was an unspoken message in them, and she knew full what it portended. For she shared the same sentiment. He wished to be alone with her, and she with him.

  The guests and well-wishers must be dealt with first, and such was the feasting that it was early evening when the last guests departed. There had been music and dancing, and Jemima was weary.

  "You are tired, my dear?" Marcus said, regarding her. He could barely wait to take her to his bedchamber, but were she exhausted, he would somehow manage to wait.

  "I am tired, but happy to be so," Jemima answered. "For it has been a wonderful day."

  "If you wish to retire, I will show you to the bedchamber," Marcus said. There was a flicker of apprehension in his bride’s eyes, and he felt at a sudden loss as to how to proceed. He was not a man who made a habit of seducing maidens. Indeed, he could not recall that he had ever done so.

  "Thank you, my lord."

  Marcus led her up the stairway to the first floor, into the largest bedroom of the house. It was his own room, but he was quite prepared to spend the night in the adjoining dressing room. "If you desire rest, Jemima, know that you may sleep untroubled."

  Now there was confusion on her face, and anxiety. "But is it not normal for a man to share his bedchamber with his new bride?" she asked.

  Marcus took her hands. "It is, my dear, but not if his bride is exhausted."

  "I am not exhausted! Nor can I see that it would matter if I were."

  Looking at her face, her eyes shining like jewels in the pale ivory oval of her complexion, Marcus wondered how much knowledge she truly had. She had claimed to know the meaning of droit de seigneur, but he retained some doubt as to whether she truly understood the full import of what she had offered him two nights ago.

  He also knew that the longer he remained with her, the harder it would be for him to maintain his own good intentions. For an ungentlemanly urge to simply throw her upon the bed and take her was growing in force.

  "There are intimate matters between man and wife other than sharing the state of slumber," he told her, and was surprised to see her frown then laugh.

  "Of course there are. You cannot have thought I was some ignorant schoolroom miss, can you?" Jemima said.

  "Then you have some awareness of the duties before us both?"

  Jemima would hardly have considered it a duty. "You forget, my lord, that my family bred horses in Ireland, and I am well aware what is involved when the sire meets the dam."

  As confident as Marcus was in his own masculinity, the prospect of his bride drawing comparisons between a human male and a stallion was nonetheless chastening. No man, he felt, would be elevated by such a juxtaposition.

  "Lest you suppose such a thing, my dear, I must advise you that a man does not boast the exact proportions of a horse."

  Jemima kept her face composed. "Does he not?" she asked, affecting disappointment, but falling into laughter at the consternation on her husband’s face.

  Marcus could bear it no longer. There was a searing hunger in his loins, which tightened at the very sight of her to a near agony with proximity. He turned her towards him, and the smile faded from her face as she saw the intent in his expression. He drew her against him, and his lips were on hers.

  There was no need for him to restrain himself now. The soft curves of her body that he had touched with illicit desire before were now legally his to explore. His mouth went to her neck and to the tender hollow beneath it. His fingers unclasped the fastenings on the back of her gown, so his hands could slip beneath them.

  Jemima, at first apprehensive, found herself equally desirous of her husband’s body. Had she not been caught up in desire herself, she might have lacked the boldness to unbutton his own garments. But her fingers found their way to his chest, and she marvelled at the hard planes of muscle there. He was very much more physically powerful than her. Should he ever make demands, it would be beyond her strength to oppose him.

  With her gown now slipped from her, Marcus unlaced Jemima’s chemise and did away with any remaining garments. Having her naked before him was nearly his undoing. She looked at him with anxious yet trusting eyes, that glazed into desire when he caressed her in places that she had not supposed a man would touch.

  Jemima had assumed that coupling would be an instant affair, she had not reckoned with these intimate caresses that made it hard to stand.

  As if sensing her need, Marcus swept her up and carried her to the bed. Pulli
ng off the rest of his own clothes he arched over her, then placed her hand on him.

  She was startled, and made a small cry as her hand was placed there. She looked up at him, alarmed.

  "Something is wrong? We need not continue, if you are not ready." How Marcus would stop now he had no idea, but he wanted her to submit willingly to him this first time.

  "No, no, there is nothing wrong. Only from what you advised me, I supposed something more modest," Jemima told him.

  There was a glint in Marcus’s eye. "I am flattered that you are not disappointed."

  Jemima was currently more terrified than relieved by her realisation. She could not possibly imagine how her husband might possess her, given his size. Fear made her tense, and Marcus brought his mouth to her breast to distract her, then lower as he moved her thighs apart and made her cry out as his mouth owned her most intimate area.

  "My lord... it is too much…"

  Sensing that she was as ready as she could be, Marcus moved back over her. Even had she begged him to stop now, he was not sure that he could have done so. He positioned himself against her, and seeing the trepidation as she looked up at him, felt only an urge of overwhelming desire.

  "Forgive me for hurting you, but I cannot hold back," he told her, then silenced her cries with his mouth upon hers as he forced past her resistance to consummate their union. He felt her buck against him as he broke through, and then he lay still on top of her, the pressure of his body helping her accept the pressure of him within her.

  For Jemima there was a sharp but brief pain, fading to an ache. As she felt his weight upon her, and her powerlessness to do anything but yield to him, the sensation changed from discomfort to a need to be filled by him. To have him within her, to possess her. When he began to withdraw she uttered another cry, but this time of desire that he should remain.

  Marcus traced the side of her face. "Now you are mine, and no one else’s. For always." He began to move back and forth within her, and his body thrilled at the way hers responded to his, arching against him, drawing him in. He had hoped that she might be a woman who could share fully in these delights, and such hopes were being more than realised.

  Jemima met his desire with equal need, and Marcus marvelled that he had restrained himself for so long. Had he had the slightest notion of the near painful intensity and joy of coupling with her, he would have ravished her the first night he had taken her to Southwell. As it was, he doubted he would allow her out of the bedchamber for a week or more when they returned there.

  He regarded her, her face flushed, her hair damp across her brow, panting as she sought more of him. “My God, how I love you,” he murmured and with a final drive, pulling her hard against him and refusing to release her, brought them both to completion.

  Jemima was too overcome to speak. The sensations that Marcus had aroused in her, and the peak that her body had been brought to, were unfamiliar. She had momentary recollection of Mrs Owen tactfully describing this as a “duty”, and could not help a smile passing across her face as she lay her in husband’s arms.

  Marcus, alert to his bride’s every emotion, asked if all was well.

  “I believe that I will be the most dutiful wife there ever was,” Jemima told him, causing puzzlement across Marcus’s features.

  “You are the last woman I would ever expect to be dutiful,” he said. “You can be assured that I did not marry you for that.”

  “You do not appreciate the wifely duty I have just fulfilled for you?” There was mischief in her eyes and it began to aflame Marcus anew.

  “That was nothing but a duty to you?” he inquired.

  “Of course, for such is a young bride advised to comply with,” she told him.

  Determined to get the better of her, Marcus traced his finger around her breast, brushing over the centre. “This is a duty to endure?”

  Jemima tried to hide the effect he had on her, but her flesh betrayed her, tautening under his touch. “Nothing more, my lord.”

  “And this?” His hand reached lower to caress her, with infinite care lest she had suffered injury before.

  It was impossible to suppress a cry of pleasure as his fingers touched her sensitive core. “The same.”

  How his own body had recovered again after such a short interval Marcus had no idea, but he knew only one way to master her. Playing with her for a while, and watching the arousal grow in her, he clasped her wrists above her head and moved over her, taking her for the second time. Yet even as he enjoyed his physical power over her, and her helplessness in resisting the desire he awoke in her, he knew that he could never fully subdue her.

  As young as she was, as inexperienced as she was, her strength of spirit made her his equal. And he was glad, for he realised he could never have fallen truly in love with someone who was not. She was his bride, his countess, the love of all his heart until the end of his days.

  Chapter 36

  Four months later

  The Spanish sun burned down as Jemima stood on the shore. It was the last port of call in the wedding tour that Marcus had taken her on throughout Europe. They had spent several weeks at Southwell, before departing for France, Italy and Spain.

  He linked his arm through hers as they waited for a carriage to be brought to convey them to the house they were to stay at. It was the residence of an old friend of Marcus, and he knew from past experience that it offered many more comforts than any of the local lodgings.

  “It is not the fairest of vistas,” Marcus said, regarding the grime and bustle of the port and shops that surrounded them.

  But Jemima’s fascination with each new land he had taken her to remained undimmed. All the activity taking place around them was a source of interest. Since their wedding night, she had been in a state of near constant joy. She had easily matched her husband’s desire for her, even causing the Earl of Southwell to wonder if he might end up prematurely widowing her through sheer exhaustion.

  He had been equally delighted in his new bride. Her lively intelligence, courage and spirit had been beyond his own imaginings. Marcus had suffered momentary reservations that he had confined her in matrimony at too young an age, all the more so when he saw the eyes of other men rest not infrequently upon her.

  He had broached this subject once as she lay in his arms. “My darling, if you ever feel that you have married to soon, and that you wish for different circumstances…”

  Before he could finish, Jemima had rolled onto her side and looked directly at him. “Are you telling me that you are already tiring of me?”

  “No, that is not at all what I mean. I am conscious, however, of your young age. It is not to my credit that I delayed matrimony so long, nor chose to snatch a bride from the schoolroom.”

  There had been mischief in her eyes. “I believe it was I who escaped the schoolroom, my lord, quite the reverse of how you present it.”

  “I believe I have instructed you to call me by my name,” Marcus had said. He had become aware that Jemima only addressed him in a formal manner when she actually was feeling the least deferential.

  Jemima had feigned a sigh. “It seems that I am still in need of a great deal of instruction. Perhaps you will have to resume the lessons you gave me as my guardian.”

  The look in her eye had informed her husband exactly what kind of lessons she had in mind. Determined to subdue her in some manner, he had rolled over and pinned her down on the bed. “I think you will require stricter instruction than I have previously given you.”

  Jemima had felt a shiver of desire and apprehension. It would not be the first or the last time that her husband had aroused these emotions in her. As determined as she always was to appear in control and able to resist his commands, in truth she was fully in his thrall. At least in this intimate domain of their marriage.

  Marcus had shown her exactly who was master in the bedchamber.

  Now as they stood on the dock at Bilbao, Jemima found herself wondering if there might be any correspondence a
waiting them. She had written frequently herself, but it was more difficult for any replies to reach them in a timely manner.

  “Do you think there will be letters at the home of Don de Merlos?” she asked.

  “It may well be so. We must wait and see,” Marcus said, knowing that Jemima was anxious to hear from Kitty.

  Jemima greatly hoped there would be news from their various friends. She had enjoyed a surfeit of letters since her marriage, mostly from people wishing the Earl and his new Countess well, and extending invitations for when they returned to England.

  Among these had been a missive from Hortensia Harlington. "My dear Southwell," she had written, "I am sure that in entering holy matrimony you do not neglect your duty to your name and your title. As you are aware, the Harlington family is an ancient and noble one, and the earldom of Southwell, if a later distinction, no less august. I hope I am safe in my satisfaction that you have not lightly considered these in your choice of bride."

  Marcus had grimaced and tossed the paper aside. Jemima picked it up, recognising the handwriting, and broke into a peal of laughter after reading it.

  "There can be no greater sanction on our union than the disapproval of Aunt Harlington. If we were not blessed before, we are now positively anointed!" she had said.

  After their own marriage, the wedding of Lord Elstone and Ann Pargeter had taken place. The Earl of Southwell had escorted Miss Pargeter to church, for her father was deceased and she had no uncles. Kitty had attended her and it had been a delightful celebration for all.

  Kitty and Richard Owen had declared their hearts to one another, but to Kitty’s immense frustration, neither her father nor Mrs Owen would yet give their consent to a union. Both parents felt that the pair were still very young, and Richard should further establish himself in his career first.