The Bashful Bride (Advertisements for Love Book 2)

by Vanessa Riley

  Heat flushed her cheeks.

  The need to box his ears didn’t leave her when he chuckled, but it was good to know that he desired her as his wife.

  “I do wonder how much I can make you blush, my bashful bride. I’d like to try.”

  Heat spread now, racing the length of her, down to her toes. “I wonder if you will still speak to me with such enthusiasm once our marriage progresses.”

  “Only one way to find out, my dear. And with no rehearsal, it seems we have a whole evening to determine…progress.”

  She tried to combat his wit, but how could she with his lips puckered into a knowing smile.

  “I’ll talk to you the whole time, Ester.”

  His whisper dripped like honey or thick coconut oil along her neck and stirred her pulse to thrash within her veins.

  “Ester. Dearest, Ester. We’ll just hold hands or find something else to do. If you trust me.”

  His tone was light, but there was no jest, not anymore.

  And her heart couldn’t pretend anymore that she wasn’t as affected by Bex the husband as she was Bex the actor, not after sleeping at his side each night for the last three. She’d even become used to his snores. She loved his snores. “Tell me about your flat.”

  The simmering expression in his eyes did not diminish. “It’s two small rooms, each in need of a woman’s touch.”

  “Your countess friend never touched it.”

  “No. No one comes to visit.”

  Ester felt as if she had touched upon something, something raw. Perhaps the man who liked to tease couldn’t take teasing. She drummed her fingers upon her lap. “Two rooms? A bathing room and bedchamber?”

  “No. A sitting area and a bedchamber. There is a room in the building with a copper tub, but it is shared by the residents.”

  Shared? Her heart sunk. “That means it will have a rank for its use.” In her reticule were the two guineas Theodosia had given her. “I have a little money. Perhaps I could order one. It wouldn’t be a frivolous purchase. I can also wash my dresses in it. I only have one simple gown and this carriage dress. The party dress, my wedding dress, is too delicate for everyday wear.”

  “Perhaps, we should consider purchasing new garbs for you. You’ve come to me with little. Then on my next benefit night, if we haven’t made arrangements, I’ll buy you a big copper tub with my money.”

  “But I have clothes. Lots of clothes. We only need to stop at Nineteen Fournier.”

  His smoldering smile turned into a solid frown. “No. Ester, we cannot. Not without a proper invitation.”

  He was being silly. Those were her things in her room in her closet.

  When the gig turned onto Lower Thames Street, getting close to Papa’s warehouse, she tugged Bex’s arm. “Let’s stop. Papa may be inside. We can ask him about my clothes.”

  He picked up the reins and moved the gig faster. “No, Ester. You’re going to your new home, my flat. It’s too soon to press your parents for anything.”

  “I want to try to make amends, Bex.”

  He shook his head. “It’s only been a few days. Their anger hasn’t cooled. We haven’t proven that we are right in this marriage.”

  “But I want to try.”

  “I know Ester, and we will, but you made a choice by eloping out of that window. Now you are dead to them. Not much will fix that.”

  His words stung like a kick to the gut, but she couldn’t accept it. “No, Bex. You know not what I feel.”

  “Yes, I do, Ester. I, too, made a choice once that made everyone disown me.”

  His posture seemed tense. There was still so little she knew of him. What past hurts did he hold inside? He had to be a loner for a reason, and that made her sad for him. “Your parents didn’t disown you. They died and died young. Is that how you feel about their passing?”

  His jaw tightened, then he eased his grimace back to a simple frown. “No.”

  “Then what are you talking about? Bex, tell me. I think I should know.”

  “My guardian disowned me. My uncle believed I had turned against him, but I was only doing what I knew to be right. I know how it cuts, Ester. I know the pain of separation.”

  “Was that what happened when you chose to be an actor? I know some look down on it, but not me.”

  He wiped at his face. “One of many decisions he found difficult. The point is, Ester, he felt my choice was a betrayal, but I could never do what he wanted. Never.”

  Bex’s hands shook on the reins. His pain seemed raw, right under his gloves.

  “But you reconciled? There’s a happy ending to your story?”

  He shook his head. “No happy ending. He hated me until the day he died. I don’t blame him for that. Betrayal looks different, even to the guilty.”

  A gasp left her lips before she could stop it.

  “Ester, there is a very real possibility that we may never reconcile with the Croomes. I haven’t demonstrated I’m a good choice. I’m some actor that stole the fabric princess. We’ve just come back to London. We haven’t lived as man and wife yet. There’s much to prove.”

  “You’re not some actor, but the best, and we’ve been married for three days. We’ve been amiable.”

  Swiping at his brow, as if her logic had overwhelmed him, he shook his head. “And we’ve slept as friends. Not as husband and wife. There’s still much to prove.”

  Maybe that’s what men did—wrap everything in a moment of passion. What of tenderness and care and concern and fidelity? “Who better to be friends than husband and wife?”

  “I suppose that is true, friend.” He pushed his hat down and slowed the phaeton, turning onto Gracechurch Street. “My flat’s not far. If you want me to keep going to Fournier, I will. I’ll be by your side, even if the front door is slammed in your face.”

  Would her mother cut her again? And would showing up be an admission that Ester had been wrong to elope and her parents right in telling her lies? Anger swam in her stomach, engulfing the ache of missing Mama and Papa. “They lied, allegedly to protect me. Would you do that, Bex?”

  He leaned forward as if he needed to inspect the horses. “Ester, I won’t lie to you. I promise to be faithful, but there may be things I won’t tell you.”

  “What?”

  “If a colleague makes cruel remarks about our marriage, I won’t tell you. If I’m disparaged for marrying you, I’ll seal my lips. If I have to have fisticuffs because someone makes a statement that’s offensive, I’ll not say a word. I’d rather keep things that would pain you to myself than put you in a position which compels you to dance with highwaymen or play a maid. Your acting days are done.”

  “Lying is to be preferred?”

  “No, but omitting something painful is. I care enough about you to keep you sheltered from the bad. I care a great deal for you, Ester.”

  She should be outraged that he wouldn’t tell her things, as if she couldn’t handle the truth, but the second thing he said, about caring for her—well, that outweighed everything. “You should be glad I have selective hearing. For I care a great deal about you, too. Let’s head to your flat.”

  Bex’s laughter was low, and she laughed, too.

  Minutes later, he turned onto another street, something called Fenchurch Street, and the neighborhood looked foreign. No hint of the Thames. No warehouses. No Huguenot homes. Nothing but lines of neat looking town homes. Her foot began to tap in anticipation.

  “It’s best that I miss rehearsal tonight, Mrs. Bex. Means I can focus on getting you settled. Not much farther. We’ll be turning into the mews in a few minutes. Then I’ll take you to our flat and properly welcome my wife home.”

  It wouldn’t be the home she knew, in a neighborhood where she didn’t know if she belonged. She tried to slow her pulse, but too many knots built inside at the thought of living with Bex as man and wife.

  …

  The wind whipped a little as Arthur headed down the final street before his flat. Ester sat on her hands, her
cute chin turning this way and that way.

  She was a beautiful woman, delicate, sophisticated, but right now she seemed fragile, more fragile than at any point in their short acquaintance.

  But he was too anxious and unbalanced. He should’ve told her. The opportunity had been there in her questions. How could he say aloud that he’d witnessed atrocities, and that his testimony about such had led to his uncle’s hanging? The truth had cost Arthur what was left of his family and his good name. Now the truth would take his Ester away before they had a chance to discover what their marriage could be.

  “Bex? Are you all right?” Ester’s voice was low. “Bex?”

  “I forgot how hard it was those months after my parents died. I was isolated from everyone.” Then he had endured it again with his uncle’s imprisonment. “But, unlike me, Ester, you’re not alone.”

  Her lips lifted from their sad pout. “I know, Bex. And you’ve been very sweet. I like you sheltering me.”

  She put her hand on his again, this time smearing a little dark charcoal on his glove from her sketching. She wet her thumb on her tongue and swiped the smudge away.

  His chest felt lighter as he marveled at how comfortable she’d become with him. Barely a week had passed since they’d met over the newspaper advertisement, and she’d become more at ease with him, even reaching for him as she slept. He’d taken his time driving back to London, taken his time letting her become accustomed to his weight shifting beside her and his arm draping her, holding her about the delightful bosom she was so shy about sharing.

  He grasped her hand as he made the final turn into the mews behind his flat. “We’re here. Your new home.”

  Her shy smile had returned, with those ever so soft lips opening. If not for seeing Jonesy approach, he’d take the invitation. “Wait for me, Ester, to help you down.”

  He jumped down and handed the reins and a coin to his red-haired young friend.

  The boy fingered a scratch on the side. “You had a bit of an accident?”

  “A small one.” He could feel Ester rolling her eyes, but he kept his focus on the young man. “There’s an extra farthing if you can buff it out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boy started unhitching the horses but stopped when Arthur handed Ester down.”

  “A new maid, sir. Miss, let me tell you. Mr. Bex like his things clean, cleaner than new.”

  “Jonesy, this—”

  “Come along, Mr. Bex. Let me see this new place I have charge of.” Her fake cockney accent came out again, and he shook his head and extended his arm. This time he wouldn’t allow her to pretend. With an arm draped about her waist, he turned her to Jonesy. “Young man, this is my wife. She’s a bit of an actress. If ever she needs anything, you see to it. There will be more than a farthing in it for you.”

  “You married…her?” The boy looked down then up. “More than a farthing. Sure thing, Mr. Bex. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bex. Mr. Bex is a good tipper.”

  Ester stared in Jonesy’s direction a few seconds longer, and Arthur hoped she wouldn’t ask about his cleft lip. The sheltered girl probably hadn’t seen anything like it.

  Arthur held out his arm again to Ester. “Shall we?” He put her hand in the crook of his arm. “We can’t usher in change if we hide. Now let’s go. Jonesy, when you are done, bring my bag.”

  The boy had one horse unhitched. “Sure thing, Mr. Bex. More than a farthing?”

  “Yes. Jonesy.”

  Ester tried to retake her bag from him. “I don’t want you hurting that arm.”

  He could only shake his head and admire how she wanted to protect him. It was a nice feeling. “Come along.”

  They walked out onto the street, and Ester stopped, her mouth gaping.

  Arthur looked around but saw nothing amiss on the street, only storefronts and pedestrians. “Ester, what is it?”

  “I’ll be living in Cheapside. Papa will be impressed.”

  “Well, there is nothing as grand as Nineteen Fournier around here. You’d have to travel to Mayfair to see the likes.”

  “The groom Jonesy, was he hurt in an accident?”

  “No, he was born with a defective lip.” Hoping she wasn’t being missish, he stopped and looked at her. “Oh, please don’t think less of him. He’s been abandoned and on his own since he was twelve. He is such a good worker.”

  “Abandoned like you? He must be so hurt.”

  Arthur had accepted being alone, he just hadn’t focused on the hurt part of that kinship with Jonesy. “Perhaps, but he dreams of being a groom at a fancy house like your parents’, but no one will hire him because of his looks.”

  “Bex, why don’t you advocate for him and people like him? That is something you are much more connected to than abolition. It might be safer.”

  He grasped her hand and walked her to his building. “Abolition is the cause of my heart. Not abandonment. And can you question it, Ester, after hearing your mother? You and your sister would be enslaved back in Jamaica. Slavery must end.”

  Her gaze never strayed. Her topaz eyes cut through him as if he’d said something stupid. “I know of its importance. My whole family knows. My mother is a quiet person, but she shared some of the horrors of growing up on a plantation in Jamaica. Her father treated his enslaved people as if they weren’t human. The slave ships from your Liverpool stole her mother and her brothers, her whole family from Africa and brought them to Jamaica. It’s a death sentence for those that work the sugar cane fields. And a different kind of death to be kept in the master’s clutches. Yes, Bex, I know.”

  “Slave ships from Liverpool?” The blood froze in his veins. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

  She brushed at a braid that had escaped her bonnet. “I’ve heard how vicious my flesh-and-blood grandfather was to the people he owned, who looked like me or with darker skin. So vicious. My grandfather would have you killed for your push for abolition. He’d do it. Others here might, too. I don’t want to live in fear, waiting for you to come home.” She fingered the lapel of his coat. “Or open your door and this coat comes to me, battered or bullet ridden.”

  He pulled her into him, and he just held on to her until her trembles stopped. There wasn’t much to say. She spoke the truth. These were dangerous times. “Ester, I know the risks, but I will be careful, and I’ve a wife to come home to. Don’t fret, Mrs. Bex.”

  “But I will, Bex. I always will.”

  A feeling close to love filled his head as he led her to the third floor. He dropped her bag in front of his door. “Well, I’ve quite recovered from the accident, and I’m well-rested, and I’m welcoming my wife home.” He slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her in the air. “I’ll carry you across the threshold.”

  She sniffled and giggled like he’d done a great feat.

  “You are easy on my ego, Ester.”

  Her lips parted as if she was going to respond, but instead she ducked her face behind him as if to hide. “We aren’t alone.”

  Clapping sounded from behind. He eased Ester to the floor and spun to see Phineas.

  “So Bex, the saint does have a morsel on the side, a chocolate bonbon. I guess the great actor isn’t a saint. Man cannot live by pages alone, aye, Bex?”

  Arthur’s fist balled. “Phineas, please do not disrespect my wife. No matter what you think of me, she is good.”

  The man’s busy brows raised. “My apologies, ma’am. So how long have you been married? Wait—the girl from White Horse Cellar?”

  Ester stayed behind Arthur, her nails had clawed into his coat.

  Arthur clasped her fingers and pried them to the front, weaving his with hers. “We just married.”

  Phineas tapped his chin. “A quick courtship?”

  Remembering how Ester had portrayed their relationship to her father, he decided to say the same. “Some could say that this has been in the works for two years, right, my dear?”

  Ester said nothing but drew deeper into his back. T
hough he didn’t mind her breath heating that center spot on his back, he’d hoped for a more spirited defense.

  He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Go on, tell him like you told your father.”

  Again, she said nothing, only planting her face deeper in his back.

  “Seems you have a shy one, Bex.”

  “Why are you here, Phineas?”

  “Your big rally tonight. You’re the star of it. I wanted to get a statement, beforehand since you never like to talk afterward.”

  “Phineas, that’s not until the end of the month, days away. Could you please—”

  “The thing became organized after your big speech. I believe you were there, Mrs. Bex, to catch the end. No wonder you felt so at ease coming down to the cellar where the radicals gather. Your beau was on stage.”

  “Radicals? That means danger?” Ester’s voice was low as she peeked around Arthur’s arm.

  Phineas grinned. “Very, very dangerous, but tonight’s rally could be deadly. A blowhard could get shot if he isn’t careful.”

  Pulse raising, anger boiling over, Arthur pointed to the stairs. “Unless you’ve become my personal secretary, Phineas, you need to be on your way.”

  “Well, I tried to find you at the theater, but when you didn’t show, I assumed you were working on a big speech, something to make the crowds go wild. There will be terror in the streets incited by the man who loves the limelight.”

  “I’ve returned from getting married. And please, my wife doesn’t understand that you’re exaggerating the danger.”

  “Just come back? Hmmm. Well, the rally starts at seven, but you’ll miss it getting the wife settled. All talk, Bex, or has the abolition cause been something you’ve used to woo a negress woman? A fancy one at that.”

  Arthur raised his arm to punch the reporter senseless, but Ester clutched it, as if she didn’t want to see him violent. “Leave my wife out of your columns and out of your mouth.”

  The reporter sobered. “It’ll be hard to do, but perhaps an interview given by you, Bex, could sway me. Your story has just become even richer with this shy wife. If she’s what you’ve been hiding, you should’ve said so.”