“I promise,” Horatia said, her gaze sliding away.
“Bon. Come and sit down.”
Settled beside him on the small sofa, she studied him closely. His features looked finely drawn, making him appear even more elegant and devastating. She had a strong urge to hug him, mother him, make love to him. The force of her feelings made her suck in a deep sigh. “Did that brigand, Smith, shoot you?”
“No, he did not.”
“But you are badly hurt.”
“Not badly. A mere graze.”
“I can see the pain in your eyes, and your jaw is working. You do that when you’re distressed.”
“I am distressed, Horatia, because I don’t want a wife who goes off half-cocked at every little thing.”
“I don’t go off half-cocked, as you put it. I have no desire to behave in an outrageous manner, at least not anymore.” She bit her bottom lip. “I tried to help you.”
“Then please don’t. Not even if you feel I am in need of rescuing. I want your promise. I don’t wish to sound like a tyrant. I just don’t want you to take risks on my account.”
“Then you have it,” she said. If Guy were ever in trouble again, she would not be able to keep such a promise. But there was no sense in telling him that now. She trusted there would never be any need.
Guy smiled and tipped up her chin with a finger. “Don’t make the mistake you can fool me, Horatia.” He planted a hard kiss on her mouth.
“Silly,” she said with a sigh, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “As if I would.”
“There’s another thing. And this is most important. I want you to understand what marriage to me will be like. I wish to live in the country, at least for a time. Eventually, I’ll need to travel to inspect my other properties and take my place in the House of Lords. But for now, I only wish to remain in Digswell. Do you mind rusticating?”
“Of course not.” She raised her head. “But Father is taking me home today, Guy.”
He nodded. “To attend his wedding. He told me.”
“And after that?” she asked, needing some confirmation of his feelings.
“We shall be married. In Digswell.”
She gave a small smile. “Oh.”
“Do you still wish for a London wedding?”
“I don’t care where we marry, as long as we’re together.”
“Tres bien.” He smiled and kissed her hand. “Now that we settled that, let’s join the others.”
It was settled, but she wasn’t entirely reassured. It might be because he was tired and hurt, but Guy wasn’t himself.
Eustace took Guy aside. “I’m sorry we got off to such a bad start.”
“You were right to be cautious,” Guy said.
“I know you’ve been disappointed in the condition of the Hall.”
“I’ve become more aware of the problems here,” Guy said, striving for diplomacy.
Eustace shuffled his feet and refused to meet Guy’s eyes. He obviously struggled to come to terms with events. “I plan to move out of Rosecroft Hall after your wedding.”
Guy felt a grudging sympathy for him; it couldn’t be easy. “You are family and will always be welcome under my roof, Eustace, as I’ve said.”
Eustace’s lips firmed in a determined line. He shook his head. “Now that my health needs the constant attention of a doctor, I shall remain in London.” He smiled. “You are to bring your new bride home, Guy. You don’t need Horatia’s old godfather lurking in corners.”
Guy returned the smile. “But you will visit us. I know Horatia would wish it.”
“Once in a while perhaps, to visit friends. There’s another thing I should mention. When a thief began stealing from the big houses in the county, I sent paintings and statuary to London for safekeeping. Some of the Meissen and Sévres china, too. I will have it returned.”
“Merci.” Guy bowed, marveling at his ability to hold his tongue. Relieved that some had survived being sold to finance Eustace’s gambling debts, the wagers and iou’s of which he’d discovered in Eustace’s library drawer, he decided never to utter a word of reproof. Horatia loved this man.
“Ah. I see luncheon is served,” Eustace said with obvious relief as the maid opened the dining room door. “Emily tells me it’s to be soup, cold meats, and salad. I admit to being rather peckish.”
Still beset by low spirits, Guy returned to find Horatia chatting with Geneviève. She rose with her sweet smile, took his arm, and they walked into the dining room together.
Chapter Twenty One
Her father’s wedding was a simple affair, the church pews filled with villagers and special friends. Horatia thought Marina looked composed and elegant in a lilac-grey gown. The guests mingled at Malforth Manor where the wedding breakfast was held. They enjoyed a tasty breakfast and the fiddler who played a merry tune for the country dancing. The colonel and Marina left early to make the long trip to Cornwall for a week’s honeymoon, leaving the guests still enjoying themselves.
Horatia sat down next to Fanny, who was to be her bridesmaid. Fanny had arrived at Digswell the day before, ebullient and filled with confidence, having won the battle with her mother. She was soon to wed Mr. James Bonneville. Horatia was pleased for her. Fanny was to marry the man she loved. And her overbearing mother had failed to manipulate her. It appeared that Fanny had begun to exhibit more of her mother’s forceful personality.
“Mother is furious, but she could do little after Uncle Jasper took my side,” Fanny said with a laugh, “because he is the head of the family and quite wealthy. He has no children and dotes on me.”
Lady Kemble detached herself from a group of ladies and came to her daughter’s side. “You are a quiet one, Miss Horatia, to have kept your courtship a secret from us.”
“It was a wonderful surprise to get your letter,” Fanny said. “But now that I think of it, the baron could not take his eyes off you at Mother’s dinner party. Even while he danced with me.”
“What nonsense,” Lady Kemble said with a frown. “I’m sure Horatia has been much in his lordship’s company over the past months. She is Mr. Fennimore’s goddaughter, after all.” Her frown vanished as Geneviève came to join them. “I confess to being quite envious of your costume, Your Grace. The splendid cut of the sleeves and the richness of three rows of embroidery around the hem are perfection.”
“You are too kind, Lady Kemble,” Geneviève said.
“I wonder if you could provide me with the name of your modiste. I gather she resides in Paris?”
As Geneviève and Lady Kemble discussed fashion, Fanny took Horatia’s arm and drew her away. “You must forgive Mother. It is her disappointment that makes her waspish.”
“Think no more of it, Fanny.” Horatia watched Guy over her friend’s shoulder as he talked to the vicar. He was at least a head taller than all the men present and far more handsome. Nothing could hurt her today, not even Lady Kemble’s ungenerous comments. “No doubt when your mother comes to know Mr. Bonneville, she will warm to him. Where do you plan to live after you are married?”
“With Mother in Digswell for a time. James is to inherit from an elderly aunt, but at this moment, he is rather squeezed of funds.”
“That means we shall see more of each other.”
“Yes, won’t it be wonderful?”
“Fanny? We are leaving,” called Lady Kemble.
After Horatia and her aunt saw off the rest of the guests they turned their attention to her wedding.
Horatia persuaded her aunt to accompany her to Rosecroft Hall the following day. She wished to have a quiet talk with Guy alone. Everything was in readiness, the banns had been read, and the settlement had been signed. Her pin money was most generous. There was nothing to worry her specifically, and yet she did worry.
Rosecroft bustled with a horde of newly acquired servants as faded drapes were replaced, others taken down to be laundered, windows polished, and carpets removed to be cleaned. Work had been done to the gardens, but it w
ould not be until next spring that the full effect would be seen.
It should have been an exciting time, but she found Guy still subdued. Not being able to reach him made Horatia uneasy. He was quiet, and the brilliant blue of his eyes had dimmed. She searched for that devastating look he used to give her, the one that made her weak at the knees without him having to say a word. She couldn’t find it. There was no spark of humor when she gently teased him. It was clear he grieved for his brother, and she wondered if marrying so soon was wise.
She yearned to hold him and draw him out. If only he could talk, rather than bottling it up inside, he might feel better. Seeing him alone, however, had become extremely difficult. Mortified by her laxity as Horatia’s chaperone, Aunt Emily was determined to rectify it now. She’d become as diligent as a Spanish duenna.
Horatia seized the moment when they all sat in the drawing room after luncheon. Her aunt and Geneviève were engaged in conversation while Eustace nodded by the fire. “I haven’t seen all of the house. Could you show me our bedchamber?” she asked Guy in a low voice.
He raised a dark brow at her request but climbed to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Aunt Emily called.
“Guy is showing me more of the house,” Horatia said, giving her a warning look.
“I should like to see the house too,” her aunt responded.
Geneviève followed along as the four of them toured the house.
Guy threw open a door. “Eustace has kindly vacated the blue suite. The servants have made it ready for us.”
It was a beautiful suite of chambers dressed in royal blue velvet, with a huge four-poster bed. The thought of lying in bed with Guy caused desire and anticipation to rush through her. Doors on either side led to their dressing rooms, hers revealing a generous-sized room with a huge wardrobe, bureau, and a cheval glass. There was an escritoire, chair, and bookcase by the window. “I shall enjoy sitting here, looking over the park.” Horatia examined the dainty desk and opened each small drawer. She found an inkpot, sand container, blotter, and writing quills awaiting her use. “How thoughtful.” She smiled at Guy, knowing he’d been responsible.
“For your writing, letters and so forth,” he said.
“Not to mention your poems,” Aunt Emily said. “Thoughtful indeed.”
The visit drew to a close and Horatia returned to Malforth Manor without having that talk with Guy. It upset her more that Guy, knowing she wished it, hadn’t attempted to find a way to be alone with her.
The days passed, the wedding grew closer, and that opportunity failed to present itself.
Geneviève, perhaps because she barely remembered Vincent, didn’t suffer the same sense of loss as Guy. She confessed to missing her children but was her exuberant self, contributing much to the preparations. Horatia was grateful for her enthusiasm and her flair. She was happy to give Geneviève full rein over the decorations for the church and Rosecroft Hall. The wedding dress had arrived from the modiste in London to be admired by those allowed to see it. Aunt Emily claimed the wedding breakfast as her domain and spent time discussing it with Guy’s new chef. Still worrying about Guy, Horatia was happy to leave it to them.
Her father and Marina arrived home a few days before the wedding. They were obviously both so content with each other. Horatia was glad her father’s happiness was now in the hands of a kind and capable woman.
The day before the wedding, her father called her into the library. “I hope you’ll be as happily married as I was, first to your mother and now to Marina,” he said.
“I’m sure I will be, Father,” Horatia said. “I love Guy very much.”
“Good, my dear.” The tips of his ear tinged red as he tapped out his pipe. “I can’t prepare you for marriage as a mother might. Perhaps your aunt?” The flush spread to his neck. “But then, my sister is herself unmarried.”
Horatia hurried to spare him. “There is no need. I am marrying a patient loving man. I’m sure I shall manage.”
“Yes, yes. Of course you will.” He rose, easing his shoulders with relief. “Shall we join the others for tea?”
Guy led his horse over a gate and into the fields of Rosecroft Hall as the setting sun turned the trees aflame. After an earlier deluge, the air was redolent with earthy smells. A cool breeze touched his face. The nights had turned cold, as summer had tipped into autumn. Already, the leaves had turned to brown, crimson and ochre in the park. It was winter when he’d arrived in England full of confidence and ready to take up the mantle of country gentleman. So much had happened that his dreams had lost relevance in his fight to stay alive. Well, here he was, still on God’s earth, the threat that had hung over him gone. He searched for the relief and happiness, which should by rights replace it, but his spirits failed to rise. Only the dull feeling of grief remained. Even though he hadn’t seen Vincent for all of his adult life, he’d always felt he was still on the earth. And now he was gone from it. He now knew to his detriment that even though Vincent had chosen to ignore it, twins enjoyed a special bond.
Guy didn’t suffer from megrims as a rule. But Byron’s poem Byron’s “Darkness”, that Aunt Emily had recited the night before, had a certain resonance.
“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;”
He huffed out a laugh of frustration. Horatia would approve of his quoting Byron. For her sake, he must shake himself out of it. He loved her optimistic nature. Once they were together, the world would right itself. He urged his horse into a canter and rode back to the stables. John, who was to be his best man, was expected to arrive this evening, and he looked forward to his company. Guy valued their friendship. John had believed in him and trusted him when he had very little reason to do so.
Guy felt his spirits lift as he approached the house. Tomorrow was his wedding day.
The day dawned fine, the air crisp, the sky the soft blue of a duck’s egg. Horatia, her stomach fluttering with nerves, stood while her aunt, Geneviève, and Molly fussed around her. Aunt Emily smoothed the boat-necked, white Indian muslin gown decorated with a band of seed pearls high under the bosom. Geneviève arranged the dainty silver and pearl tiara she had lent Horatia over her soft curls. Horatia wore her mother’s pearl drop earrings and the matching pearl necklace.
They stood back to admire their creation. Geneviève clasped her hands. “Tres magnifique!”
Aunt Emily kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, Horatia.”
“You are both darlings, thank you.” Horatia stared at her reflection and smiled. The woman in the glass, who surely wasn’t her, smiled back. She dabbed on a delicate floral scent, which Geneviève had given her, and picked up the ivory fan from her aunt. She performed one last slow revolution in front of the cheval mirror, thinking she looked womanly. Would she eradicate Guy’s memories of her shoeless in that horrid warehouse, smelling of horse? She hoped seeing her looking her best would jolt him out of his sad mood and make him realize what a joyful life they had ahead of them.
Those who couldn’t fit into the church hovered around the entrance as Horatia, on her father’s arm, walked down the aisle. Fanny followed in white muslin with white ribbons decorating her bonnet. The Digswell ladies seated on the pews craned their necks to study gowns in the first stare of fashion. Geneviève had festooned the church with every available white, hothouse bloom, filling the air with sweet scents. The pews were decorated with silver ribbons and bunches of flowers, the like of which Digswell had never seen.
Guy, handsome in a tailcoat of deep blue, a jabot peeping from his waistcoat embroidered in silver thread, stood at the altar with John Strathairn beside him. He turned to watch her.
Horatia reached him and was relieved to find deep appreciation in his eyes. “You look very beautiful,” he murmured.
“And you very handsome,” she replied, smiling up at him, enjoying the return of that spark of desire to his eyes.
The vicar cleared his throat.
Guy gazed at his bride standing beside him at the altar. Her delicate mouth trembled and her slim fingers shook slightly in his as he slipped on the ring. Her eyes met his and his heart swelled. How blessed was he. He planned to protect and love her for all the days the good lord allotted him.
He repeated the words that joined them in wedlock, his eyes never leaving hers. And she responded firmly, her love for him shining in her soft amber eyes.
When it was over, they left the church. Guy put his arm around his new wife and helped her into the brougham decorated with silver ribbons and bells. Horatia smiled at him her eyes on his mouth. He knew in that moment what she was thinking. Their kiss after the ceremony had been a mere brush of lips. “I’d like a proper kiss,” she said confirming it.
Guy obliged with a long and passionate kiss as a cry went up from those waving goodbye, and they departed for Rosecroft Hall.
“Are you all right, darling?” she asked as the brougham lurched and jiggled its way over the rough road.
He held her tight against him and his lips found the soft skin her neck below her ear. “I am now.”
Horatia barely had time to speak to Guy as the wedding breakfast was served. The table in the dining room was laden with silver bowls of walnuts, hazelnuts, and hothouse grapes. A rich fruit wedding cake took pride of place in the center of the table. Their marriage was toasted with champagne. When everyone had eaten their fill of hot rolls, buttered toast, cold meats, ham and eggs, and washed it down with steaming hot chocolate, an orchestra from London struck up in the minstrel’s gallery and the country dancing began.
Horatia spied Marina sitting alone while her father chatted to Eustace and sat down beside her.
Marina smiled. “You have chosen well, my dear,” she said. “I believe Guy will prove a worthy mate for you.”
“I only hope I will prove worthy of him.”
Marina placed a hand on Horatia’s arm. “You may not have understood my meaning. You are an adventurous young woman, by all accounts. Passionate and brave from what your father has told me. I am greatly in awe of such qualities because I know I lack them.”
A Baron in Her Bed Page 23
