Chapter Six
Elizabeth’s head had begun to ache even before the carriage pulled out of the churchyard. An hour later, that ache had become a steady throb, pounding in her temples with every beat of her heart. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and reached up to blot the perspiration that was coating her brow.
“Are you as uncomfortable as I am, Mattie?” Elizabeth asked, closing her eyes against the unwelcome light pouring in through the coach window.
“I’m a little too warm,” Mattie admitted. “The day’s turned hot for May, and this carriage is gettin’ stuffy. Do you want me to ask the coachman to stop so we can rest in the shade a few minutes?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, gritting her teeth and resting her head back on the velvet-covered squabs. She had no desire to extend the journey. More than anything else she wanted to change out of this heavy satin dress, which was beginning to elicit visions of a hair shirt.
Ideally, she reflected, she would have been given the opportunity to change her clothing before beginning the journey, but she had not been allowed that luxury. Her new husband had seemed intent on bundling her into his waiting carriage as quickly as possible. Elizabeth had managed only a few hurried goodbyes to her friends gathered around her in the churchyard. Even as she was clasping Mr. Wythecombe’s calloused hand, Kenrick had grasped her elbow and firmly steered her toward the carriage, where he had practically pushed her up the steps. Mattie had been waiting for her inside.
“That was ill done,” Elizabeth had muttered, falling back into her seat as the coachman began guiding the team toward the road.
“But better than it might have been,” Mattie had pointed out. She prided herself on always looking on the bright side. “At least you had a church wedding.”
“I didn’t mean—” Elizabeth began. Then, on a sigh, “Never mind.”
The sounds from the churchyard had faded and with them Elizabeth’s last link with her past, or so it felt. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and turned to look out the coach window, pretending to develop an intense interest in the hedgerows passing by. Then, blinking rapidly, she tried to force her mind into happier channels. At the moment, the only thing she could find to be happy about was the marquess’s decision to ride his stallion rather than sharing the carriage with her and Mattie. She did not think she could have endured trying to make conversation with the stranger who was now her husband.
* * *
The Marquess of Kenrick had felt a little foolish mounting Solomon while dressed in his formal attire, but that had been a small price to pay for getting away from that churchyard as quickly as possible. He was still amazed that so many people had attended the wedding. Crass curiosity—that was the only explanation for their presence, and he had not wished to nurture their nosy natures by allowing them to quiz him or his new bride.
He had sensed the crowd’s disapproval when he hurried Elizabeth into his carriage. Not that he really cared what those meddlesome busybodies thought, but he wondered if their soft buzz of censure had been directed toward his decision not to join Elizabeth in the coach. He could hardly explain that her musty-smelling gown would have set him to sneezing for mile after mile. Far better to ride outside in the fresh air, he was convinced, although truth to tell, it was not a pleasant day for riding.
The balmy morning had turned into a hot and muggy day. The sweltering heat had dried the road to a powdery dust that boiled up in clouds, coating Kenrick’s clothes and irritating his eyes. Within ten minutes, he felt as though his throat and mouth were lined with grit.
The temptation to stop at one of the simple country inns along the way for a cooling drink was almost overpowering, but Kenrick forced himself to pass them by. He didn’t want to subject his poor wife to any more new experiences today. No doubt the crowd at the church and the unfamiliar wedding service had already placed a severe strain on her fragile composure. He could not bring himself to heap more anxieties on top of those she had already endured.
By the time the unprepossessing lane leading to Cramdon Cottage came into view, Kenrick felt as though he had been traveling for three hundred miles rather than thirty. Never would he have guessed, even three days ago, that today he would have been looking forward with such anticipation to seeing this least of his inheritances again.
After a maternal aunt had willed Cramdon Cottage to him several years ago, Kenrick had visited the unwanted addition to his estates once to ensure that the place was being looked after properly. The house had seemed both in good repair and in good hands. Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, the caretaker and the housekeeper, had shown him around and elicited his permission for minor repairs. He had given that permission, along with the name of his solicitor in London, advising the Freemans to contact Mr. Blanton should they have any need for funds beyond the customary amount allotted for upkeep and to pay their salaries.
In the years since that visit, Kenrick had almost forgotten this particular inheritance. Mr. Blanton had not. When the marriage settlements were being drawn up, he had suggested Cramdon Cottage as a suitable residence for the marquess’s wife. At first Kenrick had protested the idea, fearing the place was too secluded, but the Earl of Ravingate had insisted that it would be perfect for his daughter. Assuming the girl’s father knew what was best for her, Kenrick had not objected again.
Now he was beginning to wish he had not acquiesced so quickly. He had forgotten just had isolated Cramdon Cottage really was. Set four miles off the main road and surrounded by deep woods, the tiny house was at least ten miles from the nearest neighbor. Although his reclusive aunt had loved the place, Kenrick feared such a setting would not prove healthful for Elizabeth, no matter what her mental condition might be. He immediately decided that, although he had no choice but to leave his wife here for the moment, he would begin looking about for a more appropriate residence for her. Perhaps she would like a home near the coast. Sea air, he had heard, was particularly healthful.
* * *
Despite Mattie’s complaints about her lack of decorum, Elizabeth had stuck her head out of the window as soon as the coach turned off the main road and into the rutted drive she assumed to be that of her new home. Within seconds she was jerking her head back inside to avoid being slapped in the face by encroaching tree limbs and brambles. After five minutes of dodging the vegetation, she sat back in her seat, rumpled and discouraged. More trees and undergrowth stretched for as far as she could see.
“When Mother said my new home was to be secluded, she did not exaggerate,” Elizabeth commented with a sigh. She glanced at the menacing walls of greenery crowding in on either side of the carriage. It was only trees and shrubbery, not iron bars, she reminded herself. There was no reason to feel as though she were being transported into a prison. Was there?
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Mattie said with an obviously forced smile. “If you have access to a carriage and horses, you can get out. There must be a village nearby. You can find a new church and maybe visit Mrs. Wilson a few times a year. She’ll always be glad to see you.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, even as she set her mouth in determined lines. “I must have a coach—or at the very least, a gig. We seem to be miles from the nearest neighbor. I can’t live like this. I shall inform my husband that he must provide me with some means of transportation.”
By the time the carriage finally slowed to a stop, Elizabeth’s interest in seeing her new home had waned. She didn’t bother looking out the window but simply sat and waited until her husband dismounted and stepped up to open the door for her.
“We are here, my lady,” Kenrick said. His rather irritated tone did nothing to soothe Elizabeth’s feelings.
“Are we, my lord?” She glared at him a few seconds before gathering her rumpled skirts and then allowing him to help her down from the carriage.
No sooner had her feet touched the ground than her stomach protested her lack of food by issuing a rather loud rumble.
&nb
sp; Her husband’s eyes widened. “Are you hungry?” he asked, obviously not having given any consideration to her lack of food since early that morning.
“How kind of you to inquire, my lord,” she replied, imbuing her tone with sarcasm. She sighed before continuing. “Yes, I am hungry. I am also thirsty and extremely warm. We have, after all, been traveling nonstop. I assume this is my new home.” She turned her back to him and stood pretending to inspect the façade of the cottage while fighting back tears. She had hoped for something more from her marriage, at least a bit of consideration from her new husband, but obviously he was no more willing than her parents had been to give her the benefit of the doubt.
She squared her shoulders and turned back to address him. “If it is not asking too much, Mattie and I will step inside where we might at least get a sip of water. I assume this meets with your approval.”
* * *
Kenrick gaped, almost too stunned to nod his head. Was this the shy, stammering girl of yesterday and earlier today? She looked the same, but she certainly did not sound the same. Why was she not stuttering? And why did she tilt her head back and glare at him down her straight little nose before turning on her toe and heading toward the front door?
Kenrick followed, bemused, as his bride—this female who was supposedly unnerved by new experiences—marched up the steps and began chattering with Mrs. Freeman, who had hurried out onto the cottage’s front stoop.
“Certainly, my lady,” Mrs. Freeman was saying as she curtsied. “Your bedchamber is ready for you now, and I shall have a small nuncheon spread out in the dining room as soon as you have changed. One of the housemaids will bring warm water to your chamber within the next five minutes. If you will follow me, your ladyship? Yes, of course! I’ll have your trunks brought up on the instant.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Freeman.” Elizabeth was smiling graciously at the housekeeper. “But first I must make my companion known to you. Mattie, dear, please come in.”
Realizing belatedly that he was blocking the doorway, Kenrick hastily stepped aside to allow his wife’s elderly servant entrance. She bobbed a slight curtsy as she passed and then hurried up the stairs in her mistress’s wake.
“Your lordship?”
Kenrick turned from his frowning perusal of the now-empty stairs to find Mr. Freeman regarding him, a worried expression on his face.
“It’s right sorry, I am,” Mr. Freeman said. “It seems Mrs. Freeman is forgetting her duties, but she’s been that excited, ever since Mr. Blanton told us we would be getting a new mistress here. The place has been topsy-turvy, what with that new cook Mr. Blanton sent from London, along with two housemaids and a footman. I hope you’ll excuse Mrs. Freeman, your lordship. She should have made sure ye was taken up to yer chamber also.”
Kenrick forced his taut lips into the semblance of a smile. “Never mind, Freeman. I won’t be staying. However, I do need to change into my riding clothes. If you will direct me to a chamber where I can clean up a bit, I will then join my wife for the nuncheon Mrs. Freeman mentioned.”
Twenty minutes later Kenrick descended the stairs, feeling cooler and cleaner, if not less famished. He was delighted to find Mr. Freeman waiting to guide him to the dining room where, that gentleman claimed, a veritable feast prepared by the new London cook awaited.
If Mr. Freeman’s notions of a feast were somewhat exaggerated by Kenrick’s standards, the marquess had no complaints. The small dining table was already set for two, while a nearby sideboard was covered with a variety of dishes. The marquess found his mouth watering as he detected the aroma of newly baked bread, a leg of lamb, and fresh strawberries. He licked his lips, wishing his wife would hurry. She had said she was hungry. Surely she would not tarry.
“Hello, my lord. I trust I have not kept you waiting too long.”
Kenrick turned with hunger-induced pleasure to welcome his wife to the dining room. “Not at all,” he lied with a tight smile. His bride, he noted, had changed clothes. Gone was the musty, age-spotted satin. In its place was a modish sprigged muslin with tiny puffed sleeves and a low-cut bodice. In less than half an hour, his wife had transformed herself from pathetic to pretty, from seedy to stylish, and Kenrick very much wanted to know why. But more than that, he wanted to eat.
“May I help you fill a plate?” he asked his wife with forced cordiality.
Her response was frosty. “Thank you, my lord, but I am capable of choosing my own food.”
Kenrick struggled to suppress a flare of temper, even as he bowed and stepped back to allow his wife to precede him to the sideboard where a footman waited patiently to carve their meat or lift lids from chafing dishes containing hot vegetables and bread. Kenrick made a mental note to send Mr. Blanton a note thanking him for installing a cook in Cramdon Cottage.
Fifteen minutes later, Kenrick looked up from his plate and into the fulminating gaze of his wife. Now that his stomach was pacified, he was almost ready to deal with the reality that had been dawning on him for the last hour. His wife, whatever else she might be, was not simpleminded.
“Is the food to your liking?” Kenrick asked, smiling through clenched teeth. He wanted nothing so much as to demand she tell him immediately why he had been tricked into marrying her, but he could hardly do so with servants moving in and out of the room. Perhaps she had had no part in the deception. After all, she had arranged their meeting last night, futile though it had been, and today she appeared more angry than pleased to be his wife.
“Yes, my lord. The food is excellent. May I suggest you try the strawberries? They are very sweet.”
“Thank you. I have already had some.”
“Then perhaps you would be good enough to join me in the drawing room. I assume from your clothing that you will be riding to another destination this afternoon, and I very much wish to talk to you before you leave.”
Kenrick raised his eyebrows. He was not accustomed to being addressed in such imperious tones, and he was not sure he liked it. Still, since he wanted a private audience with his wife before he left anyway, there was no reason to object to her request.
He turned to the footman who still stood near the sideboard. “Would you please show Lady Kenrick and me to a room where we will have privacy?”
* * *
Elizabeth could feel her anger waning as her headache eased and her hunger was assuaged, but she fought to keep it alive and strong. Anger was the one emotion that would help her achieve her objectives in the forthcoming interview with her husband. Her future depended on convincing him that she was not only normal mentally but that she had normal monetary needs—clothing, transportation, perhaps even pin money. Only if she succeeded could she hope for any measure of independence in the years to come.
He had offered his arm to escort her from the dining room, and she laid her fingers on it gingerly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble she couldn’t control. She wished she could banish from her mind the persistent memory of the warmth of his hand lying against her chilled skin in the garden the evening before.
“Remember, Elizabeth,” she told herself over and over, walking beside her husband through the corridor toward a small room near the back of the house. “Remember that if you do not succeed, you will be near-buried here in this remote forest for the rest of your life. Remember!”
Elizabeth waited only for the drawing room door to close behind the footman before turning to confront her husband. “My lord, by now you will have reached the conclusion that I am not simpleminded, I hope.”
Kenrick’s lips tightened. “I have.”
“In that case, you will understand when I inform you that I cannot be content shut away here in this secluded house. I want a carriage and horses at my disposal so I can visit my friends. I shall also need adequate pin money to provide for my clothing and for occasional entertainment. I am sorry if these are expenses you had not anticipated, but I, on the other hand, had not expected to be housed in such a remote location.”
Elizabeth to
ok a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had carefully rehearsed her speech all through their meal, but she had never dreamed it would take so much courage to utter the words. Now she regretted doing so. They had seemed perfectly acceptable in her mind, but said aloud, they sounded grasping, demanding, even greedy. She should have explained her position before making her demands. She opened her eyes and took another deep breath. “What I mean, my lord—”
“I know what you mean,” Kenrick interrupted, fury burning in his eyes. “Yes, madam, I know exactly what you mean. You mean that you wanted a husband with money and a title, and like every woman since Eve, you were willing to lie, cheat, and deceive in order to get what you wanted. That charade last night was a carefully executed plan designed to leave me no option but to marry you, was it not? Did your father fear I would renege on our agreement? He should not have judged me by his own standards. Still and all, he achieved his goal. He got you married off. I regret that you are less than satisfied with the outcome.”
Elizabeth gasped and opened her mouth, hoping somehow to find the words to make him understand, but she was not to have that opportunity. He was already rushing ahead with his denouncement.
“But don’t despair, my lady. I shall meet your demands. You will have your carriage and your horses and a very generous allowance. But never are you to ask any more from me. After all, your father and I had an agreement. I was to provide the physical comforts of life for you, and you were to leave me alone. I shall live up to my part of the bargain, and I expect you to do the same. I expect never to hear from you again. I do not want you to visit any of my estates. I do not want you to visit my London town house. In short, my lady, after today I do not wish to be reminded of your existence.”
“But, my l-l-lord,” Elizabeth began, horrified at the image her words had created. How could she have been so foolish? Why had she not realized the interpretation he would make of her demands? “You do n-n-not understand.”
A Simple Lady Page 5
