by Cheryl Bolen
* * *
In her entire twenty years Emma had never before been inside of a coaching inn, but she hardly wanted her companions to know the extent of her inexperience. As it was, she had little opportunity to observe the establishment's public areas. Once Nick's man procured three chambers for "members of the Quality," all them were whisked upstairs to a generous parlor attached to a large corner bedchamber. She quickly saw that they would eat at a table in this room—far away from those of the lower classes who ate and drank in the tavern below.
Because a thatched roof crowned the whitewashed inn, Emma had pictured its rooms as a low-ceilinged rabbit warren, but that was not the case. Though the ceilings were lower than what she was accustomed to, these two rooms were exceptionally large. Sputtering fires in the hearths were already warming the chambers.
Before they could divest themselves of cloaks and hats, two young serving maids brought them ale and a pot of hot tea. The same girls returned with plates, utensils, and hot food before the six of them had taken their seats around the table.
Emma watched as the famished Birmingham brothers attacked their mutton. Everyone was so busy easting, no one spoke the first five minutes of dinner. It had been nearly eight hours since they had last eaten.
Emma gazed into the adjoining bedchamber and froze. Lady Fiona's maid was securing her mistress's fine linens upon the room's big tester bed.
Was it a huge faux pas if a member of the Quality forgot to bring one's own linens? Her stomach sank. She completely lost her appetite. How humiliated she would be in front of her husband when he learned that her incompetence would force them to sleep on inferior bedding. Dear God, what if it wasn't clean? She was mortified.
She fleetingly hoped that her own maid would be seeing to the placement of fresh Birmingham linens upon the bed she and Adam (this thought accompanied by a frenzied fluttering of her heart) would sleep upon. But dear Therese was as much of a novice in the homes of the wealthy as Emma was.
Only when Adam finished his plate did he notice she wasn't touching her food. "Do you not like the food, dear one?"
She shrugged. "It gives no offense. It's just that I seem to have lost my appetite."
"I daresay one as small as our Emma doesn't require great amounts of food," Lady Fiona said.
"She usually eats more than this," Adam snapped. "Are you unwell, my dearest?"
She was touched over his concern. It will probably be the last time—once her shortcomings began to amass like timber on a bonfire. It was only a matter of time before he would loathe her and repent this marriage with every breath he drew.
"Perhaps she has a touch of carriage sickness," Nick offered.
William shook his head. "She was quite well throughout our journey."
"Yes," Lady Sophia agreed. "Her colour was good."
Why was everyone talking about her as if she weren't there?
Adam kept looking at her, concern etched on his handsome face.
She could hardly explain the source of her moroseness. Her own ignorance was ruining everything. The family gathering she had so greatly looked forward to in the inn's intimate setting had suddenly turned into a nightmare. Now all she wanted to do was isolate herself from what was sure to be disapproving glances.
I don't belong. The words ran through her mind like the fragment of a favorite song. As kind as these people were, they must find her an embarrassment.
Her gaze lifted to Adam's. "I think I need to go to . . . our chamber."
He leapt to his feet. "I'll accompany you."
She shook her head. "I am capable of finding it."
"Whether you're capable or not, I'm coming." He snatched her arm.
As he guided her along the narrow, wood-floored corridor, she trembled, and tears gathered in her eyes. She had best confess before he discovered her unforgivable omission. She stopped beneath the wall sconce but did not look up at him. She did not want him to see how moist her eyes were. "I must warn you that I have failed most miserably."
"How, my dear wife, have you failed?"
"I did not know about bringing the linens. I've never stayed at an inn. Until this month, I had never traveled anywhere. I'm am sadly incompetent to be your wife, and I understand if you wish to . . . "
He started laughing.
"Pray, sir, what amuses you so?"
"My very own dear one, you will find our bed dressed in the finest linens that can be procured."
"But . . . "
"Traveling accommodations are not the concern of the mistress of the house. That is why we engage competent servants. My man saw to everything. He's taken your young maid under his wing, too, to explain the ways of a household such as ours."
All the tension in her body uncoiled. She giggled. "You cannot imagine how upset I was when I saw Lady Fiona's maid dressing their bed. I was quite certain my ignorance was a mortifying embarrassment to you."
He lifted her chin and smiled. "Never that."
They continued on to their chamber. It was actually two small, connected chambers like Nick's and Lady Fiona's but smaller. A blazing wood fire was lighted in the hearth, and Therese was placing a candle at the bedside table in the adjoining room. A quick glance there confirmed that fresh linens of high quality had been placed on the canopied bed.
"It's so refreshing to smell wood burning after the nasty coals of London," he said.
"Wood fires are likely the only thing I miss from Upper Barrington."
He yawned. "I'm actually happy you wanted to come to bed before the others. I feel as exhausted as one who's been chopping wood all day."
She started to giggle again. "When, my dear husband, have you ever chopped wood?"
A crooked grin lopped across his face. "I don't suppose I ever have."
"I do understand your meaning. Sitting in a coach all day is very wearying."
"I'll leave to allow your maid to get you ready for bed. Expect me back in ten minutes. Ready for sleep."
Her pulse thundered as she watched him walk away.
Chapter 16
"Which would you wear if you wanted to look ravishing to your husband—if you had a husband?" Emma asked Therese.
Her maid flung aside a soft woolen night shift, walked straight to Emma's smart new valise, and plucked out a night shift of snowy white linen nearly as thin and soft as gossamer. "You will be most beautiful in this, madame, and Mr. Birmingham, he will be captivated by your beauty."
She obviously embellished to please her mistress. Emma drew a deep breath. She was still trembling in anticipation of sharing this chamber with Adam. "Then please help me to dazzle." A pity I will never be as desirable as Maria.
After she was dressed for sleeping and Therese had departed, Emma climbed onto the bed and buried herself beneath the blankets. In spite of the fire that warmed the chamber, her thin linen shift offered little protection against the chills seeping into the room from the multi-paned window.
She would not blow out the candle. Once he made his way to their bed, he could do so. Their bed. The very thought of it was more intoxicating than bubbling French champagne. Her breasts felt heavy, and there was a tingling low in her torso—alien yet surprisingly pleasing feelings.
Should she happily greet him when entered the chamber? Or should she pretend to be sleepy? Because he had given her his word, she knew he would not initiate any intimacies this night.
Would it be possible for her to ignite feelings of passion in him? She gave a bitter laugh. One who looked as youthful as she was hardly likely to induce passionate feelings in any man who was accustomed to lying with a . . . practiced mistress.
Adam was certain to say good-night, roll over, and go to sleep. She smiled when she recalled that first night when he'd dropped to her chaise and promptly fallen into a brandy-aided slumber. She could still hear his snores.
A man's snoring had shocked her that first night. Now she craved to be able to hear Adam's.
Her heart hammered when she heard a man's footsteps c
oming along the corridor. They stopped at their door. He entered the parlor, then lightening his footfall, came into the bedchamber.
She sat up.
"Oh, you're still awake."
She giggled. "It's only been ten minutes! I'm incapable of falling into an instant sleep—like someone I happen to know."
He came to the other side of the bed, sat on it with his back to her, and began to remove his boots. "Will you always remember me as that debilitatingly stupid drunk?"
"Of course. He was very nice to me."
"I could have badly tarnished your good reputation."
"One only has a reputation when one knows people. I didn't know a single soul in London."
"You would never have allowed your anonymity to relax your morals, nor would I have allowed it." He came to his feet. "I'm going to blow out the candle, remove my breeches, and climb into the bed."
* * *
She'd been partially right about his ability to fall asleep instantly. Normally—even without brandy—he fell asleep within seconds of lying down. But not tonight. He'd turned his back to her in an attempt to diminish her effect upon him. For in spite of his vow, he kept thinking about her in the most provocative way.
A full fifteen minutes after he had lain down, she whispered, "You're not asleep yet?"
"Nor are you." He kept picturing her ivory shoulders and the trace of her nipples beneath the soft linen of her night shift. How lovely she had looked in the dim glow of their room's only candle. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to weigh her breasts within his hands. He wanted to feel himself within her.
" I know it's not exciting for an experienced man like you, but I'm so excited to be sharing a bed with my husband that I cannot go to sleep."
"Pray, what's so exciting?"
She sighed. "The intimacy, I suppose. I've never before been close to another as I am with you. Would you mind terribly if I said you're my best friend?"
The notion warmed him in the same way his mother's caress did when he was a feverish lad. He could not help but to recall Nick telling him that Lady Fiona was his best friend as well as his lover, then William telling him the same thing about Lady Sophia after they had wed.
"Of course I wouldn't mind. I'm flattered." A pity he couldn't tell her he felt the same. The fact was he had only thought of her in a rather paternal sense. But these past two days she had become much less of a child and much more of a woman to him.
And she had become the object of his desire.
His present arousal was evidence of that. He throbbed with his need for her. But it was a need he would not act upon. He feigned a yawn.
"Good-night, my dearest," she said.
God, but he wanted to draw her into his arms. "Good-night, dear one."
It was many hours before he fell asleep. Because her breathing never changed, he knew she, too, was unable to sleep.
They would feel as if they were at death's door tomorrow.
* * *
Nick had informed them the previous night that they would leave the inn just as the sun was rising. Emma wasn't alone in stifling her yawns as the carriage sped through the murky dawn. She was well aware that Adam also had difficulty falling asleep. Unlike her, whose every thought had been about him, he was probably worrying about how his bank was managing without him.
Though she'd been exhausted and had craved sleep all through the night, she would gladly repeat the night to once more share the cozy bedchamber with Adam. How fortunate were married couples who could sleep each night with their loved one.
It did not escape her notice that Lady Sophia's hand, swathed in red gloves today, rested in William's. Both of them looked so utterly content.
“How many nights will we be at Lord and Lady Agar’s?” Emma asked.
William’s brows lowered. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Nick’s decided he can’t be away from the Exchange for that long,” William said.
She wondered how he would manage attending Parliamentary sessions, but Adam had said those typically did not start before four in the afternoon. “The aristocrats, I am told, seldom rise before noon,” he told her. She thought sleeping a terrible waste of daylight.
Adam touched her forearm. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“While I am disappointed, I’m grateful that I’ll be able to meet your mother and Verity.” Emma's eyes narrowed. She faced her husband. “I shall be obliged to address her as Lady Agar instead of Verity, will I not? What do you fellows call your sister?”
“Verity,” they both said at once.
“Do you never say to other people my sister, Lady Agar?” Emma asked.
Both brothers laughed. “It sounds . . . pompous, I suppose,” Adam said. “I’ve never been one to crave connections with the aristocracy.” He turned to Lady Sophia. “Not to disparage your class, my dear lady. I am very happy to be connected to you.”
Lady Sophia started to giggle.
“I picture Verity in much the same way I picture Ladies Fiona and Sophia," Emma said. "Impeccable taste and manners with a confident and gracious air about her.”
The brothers locked gazes. William’s brow rose. “Do you think your wife’s off the mark?” he asked Adam.
Adam nodded. “Most certainly. Verity is . . . Verity. She’s not at all like her brothers.”
Lady Sophia raised a hand. “Except she is possessed of an unerring eye—as are all the Birmingham brothers.”
“True,” William agreed. “But our sister is shy. She is the anomaly of a woman of very few words.”
Lady Sophia poked her husband in the ribs.
“And despite that she’s pretty, always beautifully dressed, and highly intelligent, she gives the impression that she lacks confidence,” Adam said.
William nodded at each word Adam had said. “You have perfectly described our sister.”
Emma understood. Despite all the advantages of the wealth she was born into, Verity would naturally have felt self-conscious among the nobility. Even if she had joined their ranks.
“The Agars and your mother will join us at the electioneering assembly?” Emma asked.
“Yes. Verity’s keen for us to see her baby,” William said.
“And our mother, who neither expresses herself nor shows emotion, wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see Nick standing upon the stage.”
William agreed with Adam. “She would never speak of how proud she is of Nick, but don’t think that she’s not! I’ve always thought she had a soft spot for her firstborn.”
“I have, too,” Adam said, “but she’ll never admit it.”
Lady Sophia directed her attention to Emma. “Don’t be put off by the woman's chilliness. That’s just her way.”
That comment was met with more nods.
“Actually we’re to assemble in Stenson Keyes, at the assembly rooms there tomorrow morning,” Will said. “That’s where Mama and the Agars will come. For them, it is only a two-hour ride."
"Nicks says we should make the town’s inn around nine tonight—if the roads stay good,” Lady Sophia added.
Another night at an inn! Emma would love it.
* * *
The inn in Stenson Keyes was vastly different than the Golden Fleece. It was much larger and much newer. No half-timbered walls or thatched roof here. The u-shaped building of gray stone offered a huge livery stable, and the tavern area of the Blue Roost comprised several chambers, each with a blazing wood fire.
They ate good and plentiful food in their own private chamber on the ground floor before the exhausted travelers walked up the wooden staircase to their rooms. First was Nick’s and Lady Fiona’s, then Adam’s and Emma’s, then William’s and Lady Sophia’s.
Because they had all come up at the same time, it would have been awkward for Adam to hold back until his wife got dressed for bed. When they entered the chamber, he dismissed Therese.
When she was gone, he said, “I will turn my back while you prepa
re for bed.” He then turned around and faced the door they had just entered.
As Emma removed her stockings, she kept telling herself he wasn’t going to see her bare legs or her bare anything, but she was still embarrassed to be disrobing just feet away from a man. Even if that man was her husband.
It was also beastly cold.
Her heart thumped erratically and a chill surged through her like icy water when her dress and shift sifted to the floor and she stood there in only her stays and drawers. She attempted to unlace the stays in the back, but it was impossible. What was she to do?
She could ask Adam to help. It wasn’t as if he had never done such a thing before. She would wager that her husband had frequently taken off Maria’s garments. The thought of Adam removing her own clothing made Emma’s breath ragged.
Until Maria intruded on her thoughts. How she detested the woman!
She fiddled with the same night shift she’d worn the previous night. She was trying to summon the courage to ask for Adam’s help.
“What the devil is taking you so long?”
She cleared her throat. “I have a problem.”
“Oh, God. It’s your stays.”
“Yes.”
Now he cleared his throat. “I can help. You mustn’t be embarrassed. I’ll stay behind you. I won’t look at your . . .” He stopped himself. “I’ll just stay behind and unlace you.”
“I trust you.”
He turned.
Their gazes met. His gaze dropped to skim over her.
She coloured. In a good way. As embarrassed as she was, she felt womanly, and that was most certainly to be desired.
He jerked his gaze away. “Well, if you’ll just turn around, I shall get about my business.”
She presented her back to him, and he moved to her. As the laces began to loosen, it suddenly occurred to her that when it released her breasts, they would be completely exposed.
If he were in front of her.
She began to tremble.
The stays lowered. Her breasts sprung free. She swallowed.
