The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  “She didn’t make it too far outside London.” His left arm rested on Claire’s hip, keeping her secure. “We’ll be at Pemhill shortly. You can see to her then.”

  “With all due respect, my lord, I received specific instructions from Lady Pembrooke. I must attend her.” Aileen’s voice was calm, but a shadow crossed her face.

  “Why?”

  The maid’s expression melted into nothing, reminding him of a Venetian mask. “My place is not to ask questions. I follow the instructions of Lady Pembrooke.” She turned to look at something over her right shoulder.

  With an air of casualness Alex said, “Leave her. I’ll attend to her needs if she wakes.”

  The maid opened her mouth to answer, but Alex cut her off. “You’re part of my household now. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Aileen took another look at her mistress and then closed the door.

  An ear-rending neigh broke the peace of the early evening. Alex pushed the carriage curtain aside. One of Claire’s horses stood beside his coach with full tack, ready to ride. The black beast stomped in agitation, as if preparing to bolt. Aileen shook her head at the groomsman. The man fought for control as the horse reared up on its hind legs and blew air from its flared nostrils. With one last bellow, it submitted to the lead.

  Alex creased his brow over the events outside. The maid must have directed the horse be readied for Claire’s use. A ride would explain his wife’s choice of attire for the trip. She had planned on leaving the carriage this leg of the journey. A simple answer for her actions escaped him.

  Within minutes, the sky had darkened, along with his mood.

  Chapter Seven

  The carriage hit a bump, and Claire jumped from the jolt. She doubled her fist and hit the roof of the coach to give the signal to stop. As she flew from Alex’s embrace to the other side of the bench seat, the carriage slowed. Her hands brushed her face to wipe the sleep away. She had to escape before they crossed the river.

  Alex leaned out the window and ordered, “Drive on.” The carriage picked up speed. He turned and softened his voice. “We’re at Pemhill.”

  Claire struggled for her bearings and pushed the curtains away from the window. Lush, rolling meadows emerged from their winter sleep. In the far distance, plowed fields and new spring crops popped up from the rich black soil. On the opposite side, pastures with elaborate stone fences and wooden stiles separated the cattle from the sheep.

  “The staff will be outside to greet you. We’ll allow Simms and the housekeeper, Mrs. Malone, to make the introductions.” Alex held the curtains aside as he took in the view. “Since it’s late, I thought to order a light repast and retire. It’s been a long day for everyone. I’ll make certain your maid knows which room is yours. I’ll come up after attending to a few matters. I promise not to be long.”

  Claire struggled to make sense of what had happened since they departed London. A wave of unease rolled upward to catch in her throat. “Did we cross the river?”

  “Several minutes ago. Did you want to see it? I’ll take you there tomorrow if you’d like. It will be our first stop when I show you Pemhill.”

  She fought the urge to crawl under the seat and hide. The river was the last place she ever wanted to see.

  “Are you all right?” Alex waited a moment for an answer before he turned his attention elsewhere. His eagerness for home was apparent in his stance. He sat on the edge of the seat with feet apart, ready to jump out as the carriage pulled to a stop.

  If only her own eagerness at reaching Pemhill matched her husband’s.

  Pinching her cheeks and straightening her attire, Claire prepared for her introduction as the new Marchioness of Pembrooke. She reached to touch Alex’s arm, and his muscles tightened. “I’m ready.”

  “Welcome home, Lady Pembrooke,” Alex said. The vehicle slowed to a stop in the center of a large circular drive. He opened the door and held out his hand to assist her.

  Not yet ready to surrender to the night, the sky still held a hint of pink and red from the sunset. Claire stepped down into the cool evening, where the smells of recently cut winter barley, sweet hay, and clean country air welcomed her. Alex’s warm hand held hers as she stood in front of a magnificent building. Pemhill’s staff stood en masse to greet and give welcome.

  The house was impressive, built in the style of an Elizabethan manor. The main section spanned the width of the drive, with two identical additions, best described as classical, at each end. Light stone and brick comprised the house’s three symmetrical levels.

  Claire walked forward with Alex. Simms and Mrs. Malone, the housekeeper, were the first to approach and offer greetings. “Welcome, my lord and my lady.” Simms gave Claire a slight smile and a bow.

  “Thank you, Simms. It’s good to be home,” Alex responded. “I’d like you to meet my wife, the Marchioness of Pembrooke.” The staff gave a hearty cheer of welcome. Alex lifted her hand in his and gave it a kiss for the benefit of the crowd.

  The next few minutes were a flurry of faces and names as Claire met everyone. When Alex escorted her into the house, the soft glow of candlelight greeted her with its warmth. The interior was light and airy, with two white marble staircases framing both sides of the massive table in the middle of the entry. Beautiful was too tame a word.

  The housekeeper approached Claire. “Lady Pembrooke, I’ve made up the marchioness’s suites. If you’re ready, I’ll escort you to your rooms. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  The hint of shyness Claire had experienced upon entering the house evaporated with Mrs. Malone’s warm gaze. She was small in height, but all the staff had looked to her for direction when introduced. Even Simms stood in her shadow.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Malone.” Claire followed the housekeeper and Aileen up the right staircase.

  Once she entered her new apartments, Aileen commenced unpacking clothing and personal items needed in the morning. Since Alex promised to visit, Claire fought her exhaustion and the urge to climb into bed and sleep for a week. She tried to lift a bag packed with her dressing robe and slippers but managed only to trip on the rug.

  “My lady.” Aileen rushed to Claire’s side. “I’ll not see you hurt the first night here.” She helped Claire into bed as if tending to a small child.

  Claire didn’t resist the care. She watched her maid’s efforts in silence and tried to ask why Aileen didn’t come for her at the posting inn. She couldn’t form the words as she drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  Alex opened the connecting door to the marchioness’s suites and unintentionally scared Aileen.

  Bent over the largest of Claire’s trunks, the maid pitched forward and caught her fall by clamping hard on the sides. “Hell’s fire!” She pushed back and righted herself, then turned. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord.” With little embarrassment, she brushed the loose hair from her forehead and continued her work. Something silver flashed in her hand before she placed it on the dressing table.

  Holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses, he examined Claire’s prone body. From her even breathing, Alex quickly deduced the evening with his new wife was over. “My marchioness had other ideas for how to spend her wedding night?”

  Aileen’s good humor laced the lilt in her voice. “Indeed, my lord. Lady Pembrooke has been awake for the past forty-eight hours. Serving her over the years, I’m confident she’d have preferred nothing better than to spend her wedding night with you. Unfortunately, her body wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Go ahead and retire, Aileen. You must be as exhausted as the marchioness. I’ll make certain someone is here if the need arises.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Aileen curtsied before leaving the room.

  Alex walked to Claire’s bed. As he gently stroked her hair, warmth welled from someplace deep inside that he attributed to a sense of accomplishment and real affection. Marrying Claire protected her from Lord Paul. What he failed to do for Alice, he had done for Clair
e. Alex let the moment wash over him. It was over.

  Claire opened her eyes and sat up.

  “Come to me if you have need of anything.” When he kissed the top of her head, a rush of contentment ran through his body. He turned to leave, and a flash of light caught his eye. A man’s hip flask sat in the center of her dressing table next to a large golden glass bulb.

  Alex picked up the glass sphere. His hand caressed the cool glass. She’d brought her witching ball. Tomorrow, he’d help her find a place to hang it. If it helped her, he’d let her put it anywhere, even in Pemhill’s chapel. The village rector might protest, but if it made his wife feel safe, then so be it. He turned his attention to the sterling silver flask, a piece heavy in weight with the initial M engraved on the front. Around the neck, rubies had been set to form a collar. When he opened the cap, the distinctive odor of whisky permeated the room.

  His first and only thought—she’d kept a memento from one of her fiancés. “Whose flask?”

  After hearing a murmured mumble, Alex turned. Claire’s head had tumbled back upon the pillow. What was wrong with him? Jealousy was not at all typical for him. He needed to give her the benefit of the doubt and allow her to explain. It had to belong to her cousin McCalpin.

  His day could not get any stranger.

  He’d never considered he’d spend his wedding night holding another man’s flask. He had imagined he would hold his new wife instead.

  * * *

  When Claire opened her eyes, the sun’s brightness cast beams of welcome around the brilliant peacock greens and blues of the room.

  “Good afternoon, my lady. You slept practically the whole day away. Ready for some coffee, or would you prefer tea this afternoon?” Aileen’s cheerfulness brought additional warmth to the room.

  “What time is it?” Claire stretched her legs and arms wide. Soft linen sheets, fluffy feather pillows, and a plush coverlet surrounded her in a cocoon of warmth. If her bed was any indication of the comforts available at Pemhill, she looked forward to being spoiled.

  “It’s after one.” Aileen carefully unwrapped several evening dresses. With quick hands, she forced out the wrinkles.

  “Why didn’t you wake me? Mrs. Malone will think I’m the lazy laggard lady of the manor.”

  Aileen put her hands on her hips. “Don’t fret. The marquess ordered no one disturb your sleep. I’ve already informed Mrs. Malone you’ll be down when you’re able.”

  “Thank you.” Claire quickly scooted to the dressing table. Their privacy allowed her to discover what happened yesterday. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

  Aileen pulled a silk chemise and stockings from a drawer. “Lord Pembrooke ordered me not to wake you. You slept through the royal fit Hermes threw when not allowed to run. It took two groomsmen to settle the spoiled firebrand.”

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “Hermes or Lord Pembrooke?” Aileen quirked an eyebrow as she took out Claire’s braid. “No, my lady. The marquess asked, but I didn’t tell. You should.” Her maid’s voice grew tender. “He will understand your fears about crossing the river.”

  Claire stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to Wrenwood tomorrow.” Eyes flashing with wariness, Aileen slowed in her task of taking down her mistress’s hair.

  “I need—no, I have to overcome this fear. What if he sees how I react during a storm? He’ll have me locked up or worse.”

  Aileen’s attention returned to brushing Claire’s hair and arranging it for the day. “Shall I go with you?”

  “I want to go alone this first time.” She took a deep breath. She’d not be persuaded otherwise. “Don’t worry.”

  “You should take your husband.” Aileen was fixated on a tangle as she gently combed. “If you had seen the expression on his face last night when he saw you in bed—”

  “No, promise me you won’t say a word.”

  The maid’s hands stilled.

  To expose another weakness to Alex or anyone else at Pemhill would spell a disaster she’d never recover from. She’d seen the effect her fear had on her aunt and uncle. They loved her and had suffered through her parents’ deaths. Nevertheless, with all they’d shared over the years, Uncle Sebastian and Aunt Ginny lacked the ability to understand the depths of her despair. She couldn’t expect Alex to understand the demons she faced.

  Claire softened her tone. Aileen was only trying to help. “I want to face this by myself. Promise me.”

  “My lady, you ask too much of me.” Aileen gave a long sigh. “If you’re not back by noon, I’ll come get you myself.” She continued to work the tangle and gave a hard yank with the comb.

  “Ow.” Claire bit her cheek to keep from scolding her maid.

  “Ah, I believe that bugger’s out.” Aileen finished combing and leveled an assessing gaze that melted into concern. “For your own sake, please take one of us with you.”

  Claire ignored the advice. She didn’t want to start her new life at Pemhill with more explanations. She wanted to face her grief alone and leach every last piece of guilt from her memory.

  After dressing in a green muslin morning gown, she was ready for the day, or what little was left.

  She found Mrs. Malone and began her duties as mistress of the house. Together, they planned the meals for the upcoming week, the cleaning schedule, and staffing needs. Afterward, the housekeeper took Claire to tour the kitchen and discussed preferences for the morning breakfast buffet and even the entertainment expected by the local gentry while she and Alex were in residence.

  What were Alex’s preferences? They’d never had a conversation about what either of them liked to eat or drink or how often they should host their neighbors. Did Alex like to read? What did he consider proper evening amusements? Until she understood his routines, she planned on keeping to herself the majority of the time. Meanwhile, she’d run the household as her aunt had taught her.

  After the cook and Mrs. Malone took their leave to attend to the household duties, Claire inspected the marchioness’s private rooms. Earlier, when the housekeeper had shown her the salon, Claire’s mind leapt with ideas. Her first order of business was to turn it into a cozy nook with several informal sitting areas designed to encourage people to linger. The room would serve as her sitting room and a working study. Claire proceeded down the hallway, where several male voices rang with laughter.

  “Thank goodness the marquess brought home a proper lady when he married,” a young man said. “Can you imagine? She’s a duke’s daughter. You can tell by looking at her she’s quality. I can’t wait to send word home to me mum. I’m serving a duke’s daughter. She’ll think I’m putting on airs.”

  Claire rounded the corner where three young men were huddled together. Charles, a groomsman, talked to two under-footmen named Benjamin and John. When she’d met them last night, they were completely tongue-tied but managed a mumbled greeting without looking her in the eye.

  They suffered the same affliction today. With red faces, each bowed.

  Amused, Claire decided to put them at ease. No one would lose his job over harmless remarks. “Good afternoon. I’m curious. Who was speaking about their mother?”

  The groomsman spoke first. “My lady, Benjamin and John were forced to listen. We meant no harm.”

  Claire smiled brightly. “None taken. You’re Charles? I’m flattered for the kind words. If you had known my father, you would know my good fortune. He’s the one who was special, not me.” She gave her first order as the new marchioness. “I need you to have my horse, Hermes, ready to ride tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Charles gushed, exposing a toothy grin.

  “Excellent. I plan on leaving first thing in the morning. Please have him ready by seven.” Claire smiled and walked away as Charles bragged about his promotion to the position of the Marchioness of Pembrooke’s own private groomsman. It said a lot about his character that he wrote to his mother regularly.

  After unpacking her belongings
and organizing her books on the shelves in the salon, Claire rang for tea. The maid brought the tea tray, a letter from her cousin McCalpin, and a note from Alex. Claire hurried to open McCalpin’s letter.

  Dear Claire,

  When I returned home after my unsuccessful attempt to locate Lord Paul, a letter from Pembrooke was waiting for me. He wanted to assure me that he had never had an arrangement with Monique LaFontaine. I confirmed the truth of it. She’s involved in a long-term arrangement with another.

  I apologize about Lord Paul’s horrible wager. I never found the devil. I finally located his former valet, who took a position with Lord Westin. The whole episode stinks of rotten fish. Lord Paul left for Scotland the same day he let his valet go with a letter of reference. Mind you, Westin hired the valet the day before the bet’s placement at White’s.

  Since I missed your wedding, I never wished you happy in your marriage. Consider it done, Lady Pembrooke.

  Yours,

  McCalpin

  The weight she had carried for two days lifted from her shoulders. McCalpin was safe. She closed her eyes and said a small prayer before turning her attention to Alex’s note. With no salutation or closing, it demanded, Dine with me at eight.

  * * *

  Claire dressed in a simple gold gown of Italian crepe silk for the evening. The material draped her body in soft folds and enhanced her natural curves. The only jewelry she wore was her mother’s emerald earrings and her wedding ring.

  Tonight signaled the real start of their marriage, and she was nervous if her rapid pulse was any indication. She’d never considered herself an excitable person when faced with new circumstances, but she had no clue what to expect tonight. Frankly, she had no idea how to act. To ease the strain, a pleasant evening with Alex might calm the waters for both of them. They hadn’t discussed the night after Lady Hampton’s dinner party—the night she’d learned Lord Paul had told her husband she was his lover.