“The luggage?”
“And to take up residence in the mansion. On a temporary basis,” Trevor added.
A surge of relief and triumph flitted across the duke’s lined face. In that single moment of clarity the marquess realized something about his father that was almost shocking. The duke might not be pleased with this marriage, but he really wanted them to stay.
Yet he knew not how to ask, he knew only how to command, and that approach had never been successful with his equally strong-willed son.
“Dinner is at seven o’clock,” the duke announced. “I am an old man. I keep unfashionably early hours.”
“We shall be ready, sir.” Trevor turned to look at his bride with a thoughtful expression. “The early hour for dinner suits us admirably. After all, this is our wedding night.”
Meredith’s head snapped around. She stood perfectly still for a moment, her face inscrutable. Then she jutted her chin out and strode toward the door with a carefree attitude, as though his words were as casual as announcing they were serving roasted fowl for dinner.
For the first time in many years, Trevor smiled with true delight.
He caught up to her in the main foyer.
“You might have warned me,” she whispered beneath her breath as he grasped her elbow in a solicitous gesture.
“About what?”
“Your father.” She looked neither agitated nor angry by the omission, just slightly put out. “He does not like me.”
“He does not know you,” Trevor replied airily.
“Precisely.” She flashed a smile that turned quickly into a frown. “I am not so naive as to have expected a loving embrace from the duke, given the unorthodox circumstances of our marriage. Yet I feared he would next ask me to use the servant’s entrance so as to ensure no one saw me in his, or your, company.”
Trevor’s brows knit together in confusion. “If he made you so uncomfortable, why did you ask to stay for dinner?”
“Because it seemed so important to him that you attend this party.”
“Why should that matter to you?”
She gave a look that made him feel like a backward child. “He is your father. ’Tis your duty, and now mine, to try and please him, especially if it can be done with such ease.”
The marquess stared pensively down at his bride. “The reason he invited me to this soiree originally was to introduce me to the woman he deemed suitable to be my wife.”
Her shocked reaction brought the amusement back to Trevor’s eyes.
“How very medieval,” she clucked. “To choose a bride for his son.”
Her sarcastic tone allowed him to relax. He had half feared once she knew the truth she would demand they leave.
But she said no more as they made their way down the long corridor of the east wing of the mansion—the wing that had been designed and maintained for the heir. Him.
Years ago the duke had this area remodeled and redecorated in anticipation of his son and future daughter-in-law taking up residence, but Lavinia had died a few months before the quarters were ready. Trevor had since resisted any attempts the duke had made to entice him to live there.
Until now. Though he had not traveled the length of these halls for many years, he caught glimpses of elegant furnishings he vaguely remembered Lavinia selecting. They had her stylized mark—unique, tasteful, and of the highest quality.
He tensed briefly as the housekeeper, Mrs. Pritcher, opened the door to the master suites, expecting to be flooded with a rash of memories. But the elegant rooms, decorated in shades of blue, gold, and ivory, were not in the least familiar.
“You might remember, my lord, there are separate bedchambers for each of you, as well as a sitting and dressing room for her ladyship and a dressing room and small study for you.” Mrs. Pritcher fluttered nervously about the rooms, opening and closing doors. Meredith dutifully peered inside, but said nothing until the tour ended.
“The rooms are in excellent condition, Mrs. Pritcher,” Meredith told the fidgeting servant. “I commend you and your staff for keeping them so fresh.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The plump housekeeper dipped a hasty curtsy. She bit her lower lip anxiously, glancing at the marquess. “If you would permit, I would like to offer my congratulations and felicitations to you both on the occasion of your marriage.”
Trevor turned stiffly toward the servant. Mrs. Pritcher looked around desperately for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the exquisite Aubusson carpet. He felt like a cad for making the woman feel so nervous, but her reminder of his newly married state when he was being confronted with such potent memories of his first, wildly happy marriage threw him off balance.
“You are very kind, Mrs. Pritcher.” Trevor cleared his throat. “Lady Meredith and I appreciate your good wishes.”
A sunny, though quivering smile, broadened the housekeeper’s face. “Her ladyship’s maid is down in the servant’s quarters having a spot of tea. I’ll send her up, along with two of the housemaids, to unpack your clothes. Do you require anything else?”
“I cannot think of anything, but I have no doubt you shall efficiently provide whatever I deem necessary,” Meredith said.
The words and tone smoothed over the awkward moment. Mrs. Pritcher bobbed up and down twice, then exited the room, this time wearing a genuine smile.
“Are the accommodations to your liking?” Trevor asked.
“They are splendid.” Meredith strolled casually about the perimeter, then froze in the act of reaching for one of the porcelain figurines that graced the marble fireplace mantel. “Are these the same rooms you shared with Lavinia?” she asked in a troubled tone.
“That was our original plan,” Trevor said carefully. “However, when in town we lived in a house on Berkeley Square I purchased shortly before we wed. These rooms were being made ready for us when she died.”
“I remember your home in Berkeley. Lavinia called it her haven from the bustle and noise of the city. What ever happened to it?”
Trevor gave an uncomfortable shrug. He had not thought about that charming home for many, many years. “I sold the property the week after Lavinia died. It was impossible for me to cross the threshold without her.”
Meredith pressed her lips together. “If it troubles you, I am sure we can stay in a different section of your father’s house. I would be happy to make the arrangements with Mrs. Pritcher, if you prefer not to be bothered.”
She was trying to make this easier for him, and for some strange reason that angered the marquess. This was not supposed to be easy. “Lavinia was my wife. We cannot erase all memory of her existence now that you are in her position.”
Meredith gave a deep sigh. “She was my dearest friend, my lord. I loved her, too. I would never want either of us to forget her.”
The silence in the wake of those gently spoken words was thick and heavy. He saw how pale Meredith’s face had become, how the emotions she was feeling turned her beautiful eyes into bottomless pools. He was struck suddenly with the urge to reach for her, to hold her in his arms, to accept and give the comfort they both seemed to need so desperately.
Yet he could not. Ignoring the stabbing of his heart, Trevor willed himself to remain impassive. He had married Meredith to avoid a scandal, to set to rights the part he had played in her fall from grace. It would benefit neither of them to let these raw emotions cloud their relationship.
Trevor reached for the door that led to his chambers, but experienced a moment of acute discomfort. The expression on her lovely face haunted him. “I shall call for you in two hours, so we may go downstairs together.”
“I will be ready.”
Keeping his back to her he added, “I have no doubt you will charm and dazzle them all tonight.”
Trevor heard her sigh softly. “Including the duke?”
“Especially the duke.”
The rustle of silk alerted the marquess that she had come closer, but he still refused to turn around and face her. He wai
ted with both dread and anticipation for her hand to fall upon his shoulder, but she resisted touching him.
“And what of the duke’s brooding, wild, hedonistic son?”
Bloody hell, she is relentless. Trevor clenched his teeth. “The marquess would never have taken a bride who was not worthy of his regard.”
This time he did not hesitate, but turned the knob and fled to the sanctuary of his rooms.
The duke’s party was hardly the small, intimate gathering Meredith had expected. Though she had spent most of her life among the aristocracy, she had forgotten that dukes did most things on a grander scale than other peers. There were forty-nine guests for dinner. The inclusion of the marquess and his new bride brought the number of people seated around the table to fifty-two.
At the start of the meal, the duke stood and made an appropriate though not overly enthusiastic toast to the health and happiness of the bride and groom. Given his attitude toward her and his initial reaction to the marriage, Meredith felt it was more than adequate.
This announcement was met with flurries of whispers and glances of speculation, but no one dared to make even an insinuation of an insult while in the ducal residence.
As the only female relation, Meredith was seated to the duke’s left. There was a brief moment of awkward tension when she was introduced to Lady Anne Smithe, the attractive woman seated on the duke’s right. Meredith quickly deduced this woman was the true reason for the party that evening, for she was the one handpicked by the duke to marry Trevor.
Lady Anne was a slightly built woman in her late twenties with pleasant features, lovely dark hair, and a full, lush figure. As much as she hated to admit it, Meredith was curious about this woman the duke had selected. While the formally garbed footmen, dressed in their silver livery and powdered wigs, served course after course of rich, elaborately prepared food, Meredith observed her rival.
Lady Anne had a quick wit, a keen mind, and an ease of social graces any woman would envy, including Meredith. She graciously included all those around her in every conversation and encouraged lively, appropriate debate.
Yet the true test of her character came when a footman, in the act of refilling her wine goblet, upset the glass.
“Fool!” the duke yelled, startling the servant further. “How dare such a clumsy imbecile serve at my table? You are sloshing wine all over Lady Anne!”
The young man glanced down with beseeching eyes and made a fateful grab for the crystal goblet. The duke’s outburst had attracted the attention of many of the guests and they all turned to stare in fascinated horror as the red nectar spilled over the tumbling goblet, staining the stark white linen of the tablecloth and soaking Lady Anne’s fingers.
“My apologizes, my lady,” the servant stammered, as he hastily tried to wipe away the evidence of his mistake.
“There is no cause for alarm,” Lady Anne said in a mild tone. “The wine barely touched me. I commend you, young man, for catching that goblet so quickly. If not, I might have ended up with a lap filled with wine. Would that not have been a sight to behold, Your Grace?”
It seemed as though the entire dining room held its collective breath as they waited for the duke to react. The older man muttered something under his breath about hiring more competent servants. “He’s not fit to serve in my household if he can’t pour a simple goblet of wine without making a mess of it,” the duke said.
“Nonsense, Your Grace,” Lady Anne interjected. “I have already said no harm was done. May I have some more wine, please?”
Meredith saw Lady Anne give the footman an encouraging nod as she held out her glass. His sagging shoulders straightened and he filled her goblet without spilling a drop.
The move succeeded in diverting the duke’s attention to other matters, and he was soon engaged in conversation again. As the footman retreated respectfully behind Lady Anne’s chair, Meredith thought she heard him whisper, “Thank you, my lady.”
The rest of the meal concluded without incident. When it was time for the ladies to withdraw so the men could indulge in port and cigars, Meredith conceded that her new father-in-law had excellent taste in women. Lady Anne would have been a good match for the wayward marquess.
Once in the drawing room, the women separated into groups. Tea was brought in and served to those who desired a cup, cozy clusters of friends settled into smaller circles to visit and gossip, and others congregated around the pianoforte. Discussion among the mothers as to which of their young, eligible daughters would play and sing first became a heated debate that soon threatened to become uncivilized.
Meredith, in the process of supervising the tea service on the other side of the room, tried to hurry across the room to intervene, but Lady Anne arrived first. She diplomatically managed to sooth all the ruffled feathers and organize an order of performance that was agreeable to everyone.
“She is rather a marvel, our Lady Anne,” a deep male voice whispered in her ear.
Meredith shivered. She need not turn around to identify the speaker. It was now easy and quick for her to distinguish Trevor’s voice among all other men’s.
“Lady Anne is a virtual paragon,” Meredith intoned, trying hard to fight the jealousy she felt, for she truly liked the woman. “You would have done well to heed your father’s advice and consider making a match with her.”
“ ’Tis not necessary for my father to chose my women,” Trevor said. She felt his hand close around her elbow.
Meredith turned and angled her head to look up at him. The marquess gave her a wicked half grin. For some bizarre reason, the force of that gaze made her press her knees tightly together in a combination of fear and anticipation.
The words he had spoken to the duke earlier in such a cavalier manner echoed through her head: This is our wedding night.
“There are several young ladies who are eager to showcase their musical skills,” Meredith said. She licked away the dryness of her lips. “I imagine the entertainment will continue well into the night.”
“We certainly cannot be expected to stay,” Trevor said gruffly. He backed her against the wall and swiveled so he stood with his body nearly touching hers. A heavy, sweet ache formed inside Meredith. She strained toward him, wanting desperately to mold herself against his large muscular form.
“It will cause a great deal of commotion if we leave now.” Her breasts rose as she breathed in deeply.
“Then we must be very clever and slip away without being noticed.” He spoke quietly, his warm breath caressing her face.
“How?”
His eyes deepened to a stormy blue. “Do you think you can find your way to the third floor landing of the main staircase?”
Though it was difficult to concentrate with these feelings of shimmering tension between them, Meredith forced her mind to recall the layout of the mansion. “Yes, I believe I know how to find it.”
“Good. I want you to exit the room in five minutes. I shall follow after another five have passed. There is a portrait gallery on the west wing of the third floor. Wait for me there.”
She held his gaze for an instant. Then she nodded her head unsteadily. Once he had her agreement, the marquess turned and walked away. His abrupt departure deflated her, but she kept her features bland, in case they were being observed.
Meredith dared not move from her secluded location against the wall, fearing to be drawn into a conversation that might delay her departure. She forced herself to wait five minutes and then an extra minute for good measure before discreetly slipping out the door.
Grinning like a giddy schoolgirl, she scurried down the hall, around the corner and up the main staircase. Though there were many servants positioned in various locations along her route, no one questioned her. Her heart thundering with nerves and excitement, Meredith proceeded to the third floor to meet her fate.
Ten
In the luxurious gold, blue, and ivory bedchamber, Rose helped Meredith prepare for bed. She was glad the young maid had accompanied he
r, for Rose’s friendly face and usual chatter helped calm Meredith’s nerves.
The servant provided a much needed connection to her past, and that was a comfort to Meredith as she prepared to move toward her future. Tonight she was going to start to make a new life for herself, to assume a role she never honestly thought she would achieve: wife.
Trevor had been moodily silent on the walk to their rooms earlier, and Meredith was at a loss to understand why. She had hoped for a kiss when they met on the third floor gallery, conspirators sharing the victory of their escape. But the marquess had only nodded his head in greeting when he found her waiting exactly where he requested and had moved quickly forward.
Thankfully she was tall and long legged, or she would have been forced to run to keep pace with him. That would have almost been too humiliating to bear, for she got the distinct feeling he wasn’t hurrying to get to their bedchamber, but rather hurrying to get away from her.
Gone was the look of potent sensuality he seemed to delight in bestowing upon her, replaced by an impassive look that grew distant and tense with each step they took.
Something seemed to happen to Trevor as they walked down that long corridor, and it disturbed Meredith greatly, for she felt incapable of reversing the coldness that had come upon him. He had left her alone to prepare for bed, as any considerate husband would do for his bride, yet it had not felt like consideration. It had felt like abandonment.
Meredith shook her head at her fancy wonderings. Her nerves must be making her melancholy and overly dramatic. It was far too soon to worry if Trevor would ever reciprocate her feelings. If she continued with these gloomy thoughts, she would never be able to survive the night to come. What could be more depressing than facing a bleak, loveless future?
Meredith forced her mind to change directions. This was her wedding night! It was hardly necessary for Trevor to lose his head over her. His kisses and caresses had aptly demonstrated his desire. For now she possessed more than enough love for them both.
To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 14
