Teaching His Ward: A Regency Romance
Page 24
Lily had hoped - expected - to return upstairs and farewell Betsy. But the trunk that she had packed was already in the hall. Having let down her veil once more on leaving the chapel she accepted the congratulations and well wishes of John and the housekeeper, and was escorted by her new husband into his carriage.
She was utterly alone, utterly friendless. Lily was glad of the privacy of her veil. It hid the tears that welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks as she farewelled her uncle’s house and her girlhood.
Everyone she had ever known and loved had been taken from her. The man at her side was a stranger - even a hostile stranger, from the way his gaze had narrowed as he looked at her. The reluctant bridegroom, only to become more furious if and when he discovered his impostor bride.
* * * * *
Lily was exhausted. All she wanted to do was get beneath the eiderdown and sleep. She opened her trunk, finding some small comfort in the familiar items inside.
There was a knock on the door and the landlady - for most of the other servants were in bed by this late hour - entered with a tray and set it down on the small table by the chair.
"Here you are, my lady. Is there anything else you need?"
There wasn’t so Lily thanked her.
The tavern woman was curious about this nervous looking girl, arriving with such a rich and titled husband. She had first thought the worst but glancing at Lily’s hand, saw the ring there.
"Newly married, are you?" The girl was so young and tense, she didn’t have the assurance of a long married woman.
"Yes." Lily couldn’t bring herself to say "earlier tonight". It seemed indecent, as though it still lacked propriety for her to be sharing a room with a man. "Recently."
"My belated congratulations, my lady." She saw a shadow pass over Lily’s face and interpreted it as the typical bedroom fears of a new bride. It took a while to get used to these things, after all. As like as not the man downstairs was a boorish beast when it came to taking his rights. Titled or not - and the landlady had entertained both in her time, make no mistake about that - they were all the same. They needed a firm hand, but what mere woman’s strength could counter a man’s lusty force?
The landlady had given her own daughter some choice advice on her nuptials, as well as the recipe for a brew that would cool the ardour, quell the loins and hasten sleep. But it was not her place to suggest any such thing to this girl. A marchioness she must be, fancy that! Staying in her own humble inn.
Wanting to do at least something for her the stout tavern woman lifted another log onto the fire and gave it a good poke, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The young bride wouldn’t freeze to death at least.
"Good night then, and anything you need, you let me know," she said, taking her leave.
Lily was alone once more.
On the tray lay a dish of stew with a rich gravy, a hunk of bread and a tankard of weak ale. It smelled appetising and she should have felt hungry but something constricted her throat. She could barely manage a morsel.
Oh Betsy, Betsy, what have we done? How can I bear this alone?
She drew out of the trunk a nightgown made of fine lawn. It was Betsy’s, her cousin must have slipped it in there as a gift. The filminess of the fabric was like silk compared to Lily’s own plainer cotton one. Quickly she undressed before the fire and put it on, folding away her muslin dress as best she could. She loosened and removed her own stays.
It was lovely to have her own fire, even in these circumstances. Sir Robert never allowed them in bedrooms and in winter there was frequently ice on the inside of Lily’s window pane.
Despite her exhaustion she was too wound up to sleep so she took a book of verse she had packed, sat in the small chair, and started reading.
She was lost in the poetry when there was a knock at the door. Startled, she said "come in!" and then rose to her feet in shock as the Marquess entered. Her husband.
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