by Eva Shepherd
But instead she stared up at the ceiling for hour after hour, willing sleep to come.
Chapter Twelve
Oliver remained in bed until late in the morning, listening to the sound of carriage wheels crunching on the gravel driveway as the last of the wedding guests left the estate.
Perhaps he should have risen early to say goodbye. Although his absence would be excused—they would assume he was still in bed with his new bride.
But they would be so wrong. The first day of his life as a married man would not be spent in the arms of his wife. Nor would any other day or night during this arranged marriage.
Last night he had proven to himself that he was capable of achieving the seemingly impossible, he could walk away from his enchanting wife.
But it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to do so. When he’d looked down into her face, at her inviting lips, her blushing cream cheeks, her softly closed eyes, the temptation to kiss her had been so strong. As had the temptation to rip off that restricting wedding gown, to see her naked, to take her into his room and make her his own.
But he had done the unimaginable. He had resisted temptation.
Even though his mind had been clouded by desire, one rule had been able to cut through the obscuring clouds, a rule by which he had always lived.
He did not seduce virgins.
He had never done it before and he wasn’t about to start now. Even if that virgin was his wife.
When it came to women, he might not have many restrictions, but even a man like him had to have some sort of code of conduct.
Arabella needed his protection, not his lustfulness.
But despite that rule nagging in his head, he had almost succumbed.
When she had tilted back her head, her pink lips parted, her blue eyes closed, the memory of kissing her had almost undermined his resolve. Virgin or not, there was no denying that when he had kissed her, he had felt a fire burning inside her. There was definitely untapped passion in his new wife and the pull to be the one to fan those flames until she burned up had been hellishly strong.
Yet he had resisted. He had walked away. Amazing.
Now he just had to ensure he continued to walk away from temptation.
He threw back the bedcovers. It was time to start his day. And this was to be a day like no other. After all, he was a married man now. That was going to take some adjustment.
He walked through to his dressing room, where his valet had discreetly laid out his clothes and shaving gear, presumably to avoid disturbing the newly married couple.
He washed and shaved, then pulled on his trousers, shirt and waistcoat, and stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror as he adjusted his cravat. Just how was he supposed to behave now he was a married man? he asked his reflection. They had promised each other complete freedom as if they were not married to each other, but she was still his wife. She was living in his house. She had taken his name. The world thought of them as a couple.
So how were they supposed to behave towards each other? As if they were friends? Acquaintances? Business partners?
He buttoned up his jacket. And if this was confusing for him, it must be even more so for her. In just a few short weeks her life had been turned upside down. She had gone from being a single woman pursuing a career on the stage to a married woman whose career had been destroyed.
While little had really changed for him, she must be devastated.
He must remember that at all times. He nodded to his reflection.
She wanted this marriage even less than he did, if that was possible.
He headed out the door and down the corridor to the breakfast room. As he walked through the house, he could see the servants had returned everything to how it had been. It was as if a wedding had not taken place the night before. And his new bride was nowhere in sight.
Perhaps she had already left and returned to London, or ridden off with her friends, the Duke and Duchess of Knightsbrook, to stay at their estate in Devon.
If that was what she had chosen to do, she had every right to do so. She did not have to explain herself to him, or even tell him of her intentions.
He served himself a generous breakfast and shook open the newspaper. No, the new Duchess of Somerfeld did not need to keep him informed of her plans. She was a free woman. She could go anywhere, do anything, see anyone she wanted. That was their agreement.
But she could have said goodbye to him, couldn’t she?
He folded up the paper and pushed aside his plate, no longer feeling hungry as these questions continued to whirl through his mind.
Perhaps he could divert himself with a vigorous ride round the estate. Strenuous exercise would put an end to this unsettled state. It would drive out these constant thoughts of his marriage.
As he headed for the stables, he saw his bride, walking slowly in from the rose gardens, a posy of flowers in her hand. He stopped on the top of the steps and looked down at her, taking the opportunity to observe her before she was able to see him watching. Her black hair was tied back in a simple plait, making her appear even more innocent, and she looked so sad and wistful. The enormity of the grounds of the Somerfeld estate seemed to make her appear small and alone, and the expression on her face was so forlorn it broke his heart.
He rushed down the steps and crossed the formal garden.
‘Arabella.’ He hesitated, suddenly unsure what to say, uncharacteristically uncertain of himself.
She looked up at him and sent him a tentative smile. It seemed she, too, was unsure of how they were supposed to act with each other now that they were husband and wife.
With dark shadows under her big blue eyes, she looked tired. Had she spent the night worrying about what marriage would bring, what her duties would be? Well, she should have no worry on that account. He would expect nothing of her.
‘Good morning, Oliver, I was just taking a walk round the gardens. They really are stunning.’
He nodded. ‘Do you mind if I accompany you?’
She shrugged slightly. ‘I can hardly stop you. After all it’s your garden and I’m your wife, just another of your possessions.’
He dragged in a breath and winced. ‘Please, Arabella. You know I don’t think like that. You are not my possession. You are your own person. You are free to do as you want, to go where you want.’
She shrugged again and clasped her posy of flowers more tightly. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I should not have said that.’
They walked through the sculptured formal garden. Oliver was tempted to take her arm. Would that not be the polite thing to do? But his new wife appeared so tense, her body so rigid, he suspected she would be affronted by such a gesture.
He had to let her know that he meant what he said. ‘Arabella, you have nothing to worry about. I will arrange with my man of business for you to have a regular allowance that is generous enough that you never have to worry about money,’ he announced. ‘That money will give you complete independence to live your life however you choose.’
She stopped walking and looked up at him. ‘So, I’m to have an allowance, just like your father’s ex-mistresses.’
There was bitterness in her voice. Why was she so annoyed with him? What had he done wrong? Couldn’t she see that he would do everything in his power to ensure that marriage to him changed nothing for her, that it did not impede how she lived her life?
‘An allowance will give you freedom,’ he said softly, as if trying to calm a skittish colt.
‘Freedom to do what? My father has destroyed my career and forced me into a marriage I didn’t want. You say I have freedom, but what am I supposed to do with it now that I have it? I’m nothing if I’m not acting on the stage and that is all over now. All I am is a wife and I’m not even that.’
Oliver shook his head, unsure of what he could say or d
o to make things better. ‘Well, my town house will be at your disposal any time you want. You can use that as a base to contact as many theatres as you like so you can secure another part.’
She exhaled a deep breath, shook her head and resumed walking. ‘I’m so sorry, Oliver. None of this is your fault and I should not be getting angry with you. I’m feeling so confused by everything that has happened and I didn’t sleep very well last night.’ She blushed slightly and looked down at her posy of flowers. ‘I just don’t know what my role is now.’
He took her arm, determined to offer her reassurance. ‘Nothing’s changed for you. You can still act.’
She looked uncertain.
‘You could even contact the Limelight Theatre again if you choose.’ Oliver smiled as a thought occurred to him. ‘After all, the manager was told he could not employ Arabella van Haven. He was not told he couldn’t hire Arabella, the Duchess of Somerfeld.’
She paused, turned and looked up at him, her frown turning into a smile. A bright, delightful smile, as if the warm sun had just emerged from behind a grey cloud. ‘You’re right. My father did tell them they couldn’t hire Arabella van Haven and she doesn’t exist any more.’
The sadness had disappeared from her face and Oliver smiled back, pleased that something he had said had actually made her happy.
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do.’ Her walking pace increased; her body no longer rigid. ‘I’m going to ask for my part back at the Limelight. It will be so good to pull the wool over my father’s eyes after what he’s done. He’s such a stickler for contractual agreements. He’s managed to fool many an opponent who didn’t take the time to read the fine print. And now we’ll return the favour. Oh, you’re so clever, Oliver.’
Clever? That was not a trait usually attributed to him, but he rather liked the sound of it. Especially when being clever made her so happy.
‘Right. Let’s do that immediately,’ he said. They turned around and walked briskly back to the house. ‘And I’ll send a telegram to the manager, so he knows that I, too, approve of you returning to the stage.’
Her smile faded, and she sighed audibly. ‘Yes, I suppose now that you’re my husband you do have to approve my actions, don’t you? And I suppose that as a duchess the manager at the Limelight will feel obliged to hire me, whether they think I’m talented or not. It will be such a drawcard to have a member of the aristocracy on the bill. I’ll be the freak that everyone wants to see.’
Her sadness had returned and Oliver knew he had to make things right for her. ‘Then act under another name. Yes, some people will still know who you are, but the majority of people who go to the Limelight Theatre won’t. You don’t have to call yourself a duchess if you don’t want to. You can be just plain old Arabella Huntsbury.’ Although there could never be anything plain about the young woman standing beside him.
She stared up at him, her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, that might work, I suppose.’
‘Of course it will. And I assure you, I will never interfere in your life. You have my word. I can even draw up legal documents to ensure it, if you would like. With a substantial allowance and such legal agreements, you’ll be more independent than you ever have been before. Marriage will not hold you back. I guarantee it.’
Her furrowed brow smoothed over and she sent him another of those heart-warming smiles. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
Clever and now kind—two descriptions largely unfamiliar to him. He was fearing she was starting to get the wrong idea about the sort of man he was.
They reached the foot of the steps and she paused. ‘So, what about you? Will this marriage hold you back?’
It was his turn to furrow his brow. He was unsure how to answer that question.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said before he could formulate an answer. ‘I promise I won’t restrict your freedom either. Like your father, your wife will never get in your way.’
At the mention of his father a pang of pain pierced Oliver’s chest. He might be like his father in many respects, but he hoped he would never treat a woman the way his father had treated his mother.
‘Arabella, I...’ He was unsure how to continue. What could he say? I won’t be like my father? He knew that would not be completely true.
‘You don’t have to say anything. I know the man I married.’
He cringed as they walked up the steps in silence. She knew what sort of man he was. Oliver also knew what sort of man he was and it had never bothered him before. So why was it bothering him now? That was a question he did not want to even try to answer. Instead he would focus on helping Arabella resume her career.
They walked into the drawing room. Oliver headed for the rolltop desk, sat down, removed a piece of paper and smiled up at her. ‘Right, let’s get your life back. You can tell me what to write. That way the letter to the manager will be from me, but you’ll be completely in control.’
* * *
Arabella smiled back, regretting her earlier petulance. He was doing everything he could to make this easy for her and she was acting like a spoilt child, just because she was confused by her conflicting emotions. So what if she was the only woman in England this notorious rake had no interest in? That was what she wanted. She should be grateful that he did not try to seduce her last night. And she was grateful. So, it was time she acted that way instead of pouting and snapping at him.
She looked over his shoulder and laughed. ‘If I’m to downplay the fact that I’m now a duchess, I don’t think that stationery will be entirely appropriate.’ She removed the piece of paper in his hand bearing the Somerfeld crest, returned it to the small shelf, took a plain piece of paper and placed it in front of him. All the while she tried to ignore the scent of him, all musk and masculinity, and the warmth of his body. She would not think of that now. She would focus on the task at hand, returning to the life she had before she met Oliver.
He dipped his pen in the ink pot and looked up at her expectantly. ‘Right, what shall I write?’
She paced the room, thinking about the best way to convince the manager of the Limelight that they should rehire her. ‘Well, I guess you can put the address of Somerfeld Manor at the top of the page. After all, they already know that I’ve married a duke so there’s no point trying to hide that. I just don’t think I should emphasise it by using stationery bearing your crest.’
Oliver nodded, and his pen scratched across the paper as he wrote out his address. ‘Right, what next?’
‘Well, Dear Mr Hackett might be a good start.’
Oliver dutifully wrote that down.
‘I would like to announce that Arabella Huntsbury is now available for consideration in the part previously played by Arabella van Haven.’
She paused and looked over Oliver’s shoulder as he took down her dictation. ‘That way we’re letting him know I go under another name without actually saying so.’
‘Good idea.’ Oliver finished writing and looked up at her, his pen poised above the paper.
‘I am aware that my wife...’ Arabella paused, finding it difficult to take in that she was referring to herself as Oliver’s wife. ‘My wife has been denied a part in your present production under orders from the new owner, Mr van Haven. Please be informed that Mr van Haven has since returned to America.’
Arabella hoped the manager could understand that that meant her father was far away and would have no direct influence on the Limelight, so they were free to hire whoever they chose.
‘While he has forbidden Miss van Haven from appearing at the Limelight, he did not forbid my wife from appearing, so I urge you to consider hiring her.’
Oliver wrote that down, but then his pen continued to scratch along the page. ‘In doing so, you will be hiring a talented actress who I am sure you appreciate is destined for greatness.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she pointed out.
‘N
o, but it’s what the writer thinks.’
Warmth flooded through her. He might just be saying that to encourage the manager to rehire her, but she loved hearing him say he thought her talented.
She resumed her pacing. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll also have to add that you give your permission.’
Oliver nodded, and continued writing. ‘I have no objection to my wife, Arabella Huntsbury, appearing on the stage...’
Arabella fought not to be annoyed. She should not have to get Oliver’s permission. A woman should be free to choose her own path in life, whether she was married or not, but that was the way of the world. However, unlike many other women, she had a husband who would put no obstacles in her path.
‘...and I feel I would be doing the world a disservice if I kept this superb actress from her public.’
He sent her a devilish smile that washed away her annoyance and she smiled back at him.
With a flourish, he signed his name at the bottom, blotted the ink, folded up the letter, addressed an envelope and rang the bell for a servant.
‘Hopefully that will do the trick. And it seems I’ve acquired a new skill, being your secretary. How did I do?’
His teasing made her laugh. ‘You were perfect.’ And perfect he was, in so many ways.
‘And as your new secretary, I will point out that we shouldn’t put all our eggs in one basket. There are lots of theatres other than the Limelight. Why don’t we contact a few more and see what response we get?’
When the footman arrived, Oliver handed him the letter and asked him to send it immediately so it would catch the next mail train to London. He also requested copies of the day’s newspapers and for Cook to prepare some sandwiches for their lunch so they could eat while they worked.
‘We’ll scour the papers and get a list of the main theatres and write to them all. I’m sure lots of them will have a part for a promising young actress.’
This was more than Arabella could have hoped for. Not only was he keeping his promise to not interfere in her career, but he was also helping her find work. Then a small voice inside her head questioned his motives. Was he trying to get rid of her? Was a wife going to be an encumbrance to his lifestyle? Would it suit him to have her busy on the stage so he could pursue his own interests? She forced that little voice to stay silent. It didn’t matter what his reasons were, he was helping her and that was all that mattered.
