Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance

by Arabella Sheraton

  “Good night, my dear Roxanne.” Julian’s voice was husky.

  Roxanne gazed up at him, as if mesmerized by the glow in his eyes.

  “Good night and happy birthday again.”

  “I suppose I may kiss the bride?” he whispered. “Mr. Lobb was so forgetful that he left out that important part of the ceremony.”

  Roxanne felt a shiver of anticipation thread down her spine. She felt drawn to Julian by an irresistible force. She had never felt this way about Edgar—Edgar, whose presence revolted her and whose touch disgusted her. But with Julian she felt an overpowering attraction, a peculiar magnetism drawing her closer. Should she kiss him?

  Julian made the decision by taking her candlestick and placing it with his on the floor behind him. He cupped her face in his hands and turned her chin upwards.

  “I have never seen such a beautiful bride,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Roxanne was speechless. The strangest sensations were rippling up and down her body. She felt breathless and her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. Their faces moved closer together until his lips touched hers. Roxanne flinched, preparing herself for the horrid wetness that had characterised Edgar’s mouth. To her surprise, Julian’s lips were firm and cool as they pressed against hers. Expecting nothing more than a chaste kiss, Roxanne was not prepared for her own feelings in the moment their lips touched.

  Roxanne gave an involuntary gasp of surprise and her lips parted. Julian’s roving tongue slid between her lips and touched hers with a sensual smoothness Roxanne had never experienced. Julian’s arms crept around Roxanne’s body and pulled her closer.

  Roxanne’s head was spinning, but it was as if she could not help herself. Novice though she was in the art of kissing, Roxanne soon found herself responding naturally. She wanted more of him; she wanted more of his mouth, his tongue, his taste, his…it was too shocking to consciously think further, although her body was forging ahead in its demands. Moaning with pleasure, she thrust her tongue into Julian’s mouth, savouring the slick sensation as they kissed with deeper and deeper urgency. Julian’s hands were roving over her body now. She felt him touch her buttocks, thighs and breasts, but instead of being revolted, she thrilled to his touch. Her heart thudded and her body strained against his. She felt a hungry longing for fulfilment. The feeling was frightening, as if she was possessed by something other than herself.

  I want…I do not know what I want, Roxanne thought as she slid her arms around his neck, clutching him closer.

  Somehow, the memory of Edgar was obliterated by the tingles of pleasure that were turning her body and her resolution into jelly. She ached for him.

  Then Julian thrust her from him. He was shaking and gasping.

  “I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed. “It was unforgivable of me! We cannot…we must not.”

  Like a wave of icy water, realisation washed over Roxanne.

  “How could I?” she stuttered. “We must not ever. Such stupidity.”

  “Folly!” Julian agreed. He rearranged his disordered neck cloth and thrust a shaking hand through his hair. “My fault entirely. My humble apologies.”

  Roxanne pulled her dress straight. Their eyes met and a flush of redness mounted in Roxanne’s cheeks. She knew that if he did not leave her at once, lovemaking and an undesired consummation of the marriage would be the next step.

  Julian picked up her candlestick and opened the bedroom door.

  “I think it’s time for bed alone.”

  He smiled at her and Roxanne’s stomach turned over.

  “Yes, it is!”

  Her voice was tremulous as she took the candlestick from him. Their fingers touched briefly. She entered the room and closed the door. Her last glimpse of Julian was his smile, a little rueful, she thought, as if they both had something to regret.

  A sleepy Becky helped her disrobe and then scuttled away to bed. As Roxanne blew out her candle she thought of the feel of his hands, the sensation of his kiss, and a wave of tearfulness washed over her. They had done what they both swore must not happen. How could she have lost her self-control? Roxanne vowed Julian should not touch her again. The consequences would be too dire. She could not afford to leave in six months having given herself to a man. There was no future for her otherwise.

  Julian had given Peters the night off, so he undressed alone. He lay on his bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. This was the very worst thing that could have happened. He had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his wife.

  Chapter Seven

  Roxanne sat at the breakfast table, a little nervous about how she would face her husband who was not her husband. Although her father had said things always looked better in the morning, this morning things looked even worse. She still felt mortified that she had done exactly what they had both agreed they would not do—indulge in the kind of intimacy that would only lead to trouble and the breakdown of the contract.

  She bit her lip in agitation. A flush mounted in her cheeks as she remembered her ardour of the previous night. Thank heavens it was only a kiss. Only a kiss? Roxanne scolded herself again. If only a kiss had led to such racing emotions, think of the disaster that would occur if either of them let slip their self-control for one instant. Never again. Feeling pleased with her mood of resolution, she buttered a slice of toast and bit into it just as Julian walked through the door.

  At the sight of him, Roxanne felt a return of that heady sensation of rising desire. She gasped, swallowed a crumb, and indulged in a fit of very unladylike coughing and spluttering while Julian patiently thumped her on the back and held a glass of water to her lips. With her eyes streaming and her voice choked up, Roxanne feared that she did not present a very appealing picture. However, the incident broke the awkwardness between them and once she had recovered, with her pulse back to normal, Roxanne felt she could look Julian in the face.

  He seemed to feel the same way because he served himself bacon and eggs, accepted tea from a solicitously hovering Gregson, and chatted to Roxanne as if they were a long-established married couple.

  “I shall be writing to my sister soon,” he said, forking egg and toast into his mouth.

  Roxanne looked up. “To tell her about…?”

  Julian looked grave. “I realise now you were right. It’s going to be very difficult to conceal this marriage. Certain people, such as Sophia and my Aunt Semphronia, have to be told.”

  He frowned at his plate and flicked aside a few fragments of bacon. He seemed to be wrestling with a problem.

  “If we go about it the right way,” Roxanne suggested, “when we have to end this—” she searched for the appropriate word “—arrangement, then they’ll be understanding and not condemn you.”

  He frowned even more deeply. “I suppose so.”

  “Are you afraid your sister will be angry about the inheritance?”

  Julian looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Great-Uncle Oswald’s money?”

  “No, I mean the inheritance for your nephew. If she knows you are married, she will naturally assume you will have your own family. That is, until I…er…” Roxanne’s voice died away.

  Julian gave a shout of laughter. “Good heavens, no! Sophia’s husband is as rich as Croesus, plus he already has a title to hand to Francis. I think Sophia would be relieved if I peddled my title and fortune elsewhere and preferably onto my own children. But, of course, that will never happen.”

  He resumed his fretful contemplation of the remains of his breakfast. Roxanne did not want to ask what the matter was. Julian volunteered the information of his own volition.

  “I cannot avoid taking you to London to meet Sophia. In addition, I have to meet with Mr. Huggett, to show him the marriage certificate. He is discreet and will abide by my instructions. I also have friends as well who will expect to see me. Yet I am afraid this might become too widely known and that in the end we’ll be caught in a trap of our own making. But how can we conceal this from other people?”

  No
w he busied himself tracing designs on the table cloth with the tip of a knife.

  Roxanne knew exactly how being caught in a trap felt. Then an amazing solution presented itself.

  “I have the answer!” Her face glowed with relief.

  Julian looked hopeful. “And that is?”

  “Let’s tell your sister and aunt that we are married, because we cannot conceal it from them. However, we will say to anyone else, such as those people we have to meet in London, that we are merely engaged, should they enquire. Your sister and aunt will keep the secret, perhaps thinking it to be romantic on our part. We could say I am still distressed about the death of my father and that I feel quite awkward about marrying so soon after the funeral, but since I was thrown destitute upon the world, had no other recourse.” She gave him a telling glance. “It is not quite the right thing to do.”

  “What?” Julian, displaying his ignorance of mourning rituals from a feminine point of view, looked confused.

  “Marriage! So soon after a death. It’s just not done and we could never have considered it under normal circumstances.”

  “Oh yes, I see.” Julian looked pensive. “So how will this help?”

  “We pledge Sophia and your aunt to secrecy using that excuse, and to everyone else we say we are engaged, but cannot consider marriage for at least six months until the period of mourning is over. At the end of six months, when I leave, we’ll say that I have broken off the engagement for personal reasons.”

  Julian smiled; her plan sounded quite feasible. It was perfectly acceptable for a lady to break with a gentleman, but not the other way around.

  Roxanne looked thoughtful. “I shall have to get mourning clothes.”

  Julian frowned. “Not that gloomy black stuff. I cannot bear it.”

  Roxanne sighed. “Neither can I, but it would be considered strange if I appeared wearing bright colours. And mourning clothes would also strengthen our story.”

  Roxanne thought of how she had wanted to wear black after her father’s death, but Edgar had dissuaded her, saying she should conserve her money until the will was read. Those days seemed to be distant memories now. It was strange how she was becoming accustomed this new life. She was aware it would be foolish to become too comfortable. After all, her role as the Countess of Pennington was only temporary. She folded her napkin and stood up.

  “I’ve finished, so if you will excuse me, I have things to see to.”

  Julian buttered himself another slice of toast. “Such as?”

  “Well, you cannot imagine I’m going to sit here doing nothing for six months.” Her tone was tart.

  “What’s there to do that Mrs. Dawson and the two maids don’t already do?”

  Roxanne raised her eyebrows. “A man can’t be expected to understand the workings of a household, and I would feel much better about our arrangement if I could contribute in some small way to the improved management of Penrose.”

  Her prim tone caught him unawares.

  “Yes, of course,” he stammered. “You do exactly what you think best.” His eyes swivelled towards the door. “Perhaps I should get along as well…the farm, you know.”

  “You do that,” said Roxanne briskly. “I’ll see you later.”

  “You’re happy with everything?” His face was a picture of concern.

  “Of course,” she responded warmly. “Don’t think you will come back later and find the house upside down. It’s just that, as a woman, I’ve noticed several things amiss, and I am sure Mrs. Dawson did not want to bother you with domestic decision-making.”

  The words “domestic decision-making” had the desired effect and Julian beat a hasty retreat.

  Within a few days Roxanne and Julian had settled into a kind of amicable arrangement that had every outward appearance of a serene marriage between two people who enjoyed each other’s company. The nights, too, passed without interruption. When the couple retired after dining together, Julian would press a chaste kiss on Roxanne’s forehead and bid her good night with a brotherly affection. As a result, Roxanne found it easy to respond in similar fashion. Roxanne felt they were fellow conspirators in a temporary plot. That made it easier to maintain a platonic relationship. When she thought about it every so often, it seemed as if she had imagined the passionate kiss that had aroused them both so much. In truth, Julian worked himself hard during the day so as to be far too tired to do more than dine with Roxanne and tumble into his bed.

  Roxanne was not sure if she felt insulted or relieved that Julian had never given any further indication that he desired her. Her experience of men had been limited to Mr. Crouch the parson, several of her father’s elderly archaeological or theosophical friends, some local farmers, and the occasional visitor to the village. If anyone had shown interest, Roxanne reflected ruefully, she had always been too busy keeping house for her father or cataloguing yet another piece of broken pottery or ancient coin to even notice. She wondered what would have happened had a handsome, wealthy, personable gentleman decided to attend one of her father’s lectures or tours of archaeological sites.

  Her idle thoughts led her back to the Earl of Pennington. He was the only man of suitable age and looks with whom she had had any close contact. Apart from Edgar’s brutish and aggressive advances, Roxanne had never been kissed properly, had never felt the flutters of arousal, had never longed for a man’s touch, until Julian Trevallon whizzed past her in his curricle, almost knocking her over. How ironic that the perfect man only wanted her to play a part and then leave when her purpose was completed. Had she made the right decision, she wondered? It was too late for hindsight or regret. The deed was done and she was the Countess of Pennington for the time being. Roxanne told herself that she might as well behave like a countess and put the house in order.

  Roxanne threw herself into the household affairs with enthusiasm. To her surprise, the servants welcomed and encouraged her efforts. It seemed as if they were also tired of the house being shut up and made suggestions to improve and beautify at very little expense. Julian gave Roxanne a household budget. Mrs. Dawson surrendered her keys at once and was gratified when Roxanne pressed her to take them back.

  “After all,” she said with a winning smile, “it’s not as if I know my way around, yet. I shall rely on you to assist me.”

  Mrs. Dawson blushed and almost shed a tear. She assured the new mistress that her wish was Mrs. Dawson’s instant command.

  Somehow, the household gradually shifted into a most satisfying routine. Julian looked pleased to find different and tasty dishes on the table.

  “I suppose it’s the woman’s touch that makes a difference?” he asked.

  Roxanne gave him an enigmatic smile. “Possibly.”

  “The garden seems to be looking less tangled and overgrown. Have we hired a new gardener?”

  Julian sounded so anxious at the hint of additional expense that Roxanne hastened to assure him this was not the case. One day Gregson had appeared with a young man whom he introduced as his nephew, Sam, who was looking for employment. Sam’s talent was horticultural or, as his uncle described it, “green fingers, milady, which could be very useful in the garden.” The wages Gregson proposed for his nephew seemed so pitiful to Roxanne that she protested at the meagre sum. Gregson smiled and assured his mistress that once things were right with his lordship, he was sure Sam would be recompensed.

  Roxanne hired Sam at once. She was tired of gazing out the windows and seeing weeds and brambles. Within a miraculously short space of time and as the weather warmed into late spring, the gardens began to take shape. Roxanne had always enjoyed gardening at Brentham. She missed the feel of the rich, dark soil crumbling between her fingers. She loved seeing the first green spikes break through the earth’s crust and then explode into riotous colour weeks later. Under her guidance, the beds were restored to their original shapes. Soon the hedges were trimmed back, the lawns cut, and the rose garden properly pruned from a wild profusion into orderly beauty.

 
The servants, well aware of the impending inheritance, had taken small steps of their own towards the restoration of Penrose’s glory. With the help of Mrs. Dawson, Becky, and Nellie, Roxanne uncovered the furniture in the closed rooms and selected the best pieces for the rooms she and Julian used. The gloomiest pictures were banished, and the good mirrors and prettiest paintings were put on display. The house began to take on a warmer, homelier feel. Julian remarked on some of the changes and said he liked Penrose better with a woman’s touch since it was much more comfortable. Roxanne blushed and thanked him.

  Roxanne was also a little perturbed to find herself so adapted to this new life, no matter how hard she tried to be objective. When thoughts of leaving intruded upon her daily routine, she put them out of her head. Not yet, she pleaded with herself. Julian seemed so contented with her presence in the house. Roxanne inwardly marvelled at the alacrity with which men accepted and settled into a situation.

  The days passed pleasantly by and there was certainly enough to keep Roxanne busy. The linen cupboard revealed a wealth of sheets, towels and table cloths that needed just a few stitches here and there to be serviceable again. Julian protested that she was not a servant, but one glance from those moss-green eyes silenced him.

  “Oh, well,” he grumbled. “I see that you don’t like to sit idle. But what will the servants say?”

  “I think they are very glad to have someone giving directions,” said Roxanne in crisp tones as she plunged her darning needle into a torn pillow slip.

  She was right. The servants reported directly to her as if she had always been there. They obeyed her instructions without contradiction. Even Gregson stopped worrying about “what the Master would say” when Roxanne directed Simmonds to help move yet more furniture around.

  Time went by dreamily for Roxanne. There were no visitors, a relief to her, and she soon pushed all her old fears into the recesses of her mind. London beckoned, but not yet. Sophia had not replied to her brother’s letter, and perhaps Julian’s aunt was not very interested in his recent marriage. He did not discuss Aunt Semphronia, although he mentioned that he had written to her. As a result, that lady’s visit came as a surprise to Roxanne.