by Susan Ward
“Oh my, His Grace has given ye a bridal gift to outdo a king,” Netta stated with a nod of approval.
Battling tears, Merry snapped, “Give it to Moffat and have him return it to His Grace. My wedding band is the only jewelry I require. I don’t want his gift.” The bitterness in her voice was like a hoard of wasps in the room biting them all. Why had she let that childishly bitter remark slip pass her lips? She avoided the strange looks caused by her words as she slapped the lid shut.
Grumbling and stern faced, Netta admonished, “I will not have my lass insult His Grace and shame her family with such foolishness. It will be in yer dressing room until ye are of a more pleasant mood.”
“Netta is right, my dear. Varian is a proud man. You don’t want to insult him by returning his bridal gift to you.” Rhea studied her daughter’s face before cupping Merry’s cheek. “You look wonderful, Merry. Color in your cheeks and fit, however you do look sad. What is wrong, my dear?”
Merry managed a small smile, lovely and artfully diverting. Lifting her wide eyes to her mother, Merry said, “I am not sad at all, Mama. I am overjoyed to be home. I missed you all so much. But I am ashamed of the worry I caused you.”
“Ah, an understandable corollary, my dear,” Rhea said.
She sank down on the bed beside Merry. Her well-honed instincts told her that her daughter was no longer innocent, regardless of the details Lucien had told her of his meeting with Varian. She was Varian’s wife in all ways and had been certainly for more than three days. The change was there in her, in her ability and impulse to hide her feelings, even from her mother. In the knowing sensuality in which she carried her body, before an uncalled-for result of such stunning beauty, now with total feminine awareness. In that look of bitter sadness in her eyes, the type only a man could give to a woman.
It was all there, plain for anyone to see if they had the want to see it. Her daughter was no longer innocent in heart or body. She was a woman and Varian’s wife. All of Lucien’s temper and displeasure could not undo this. The question was, what should Rhea do about this?
The separate bedrooms was an absurdity. Was that why her daughter was so sad? It was only natural for a new bride to want to be with her husband. What was Lucien thinking? How could he have missed the change in Merry? Was it wise to explain all this to Lucien given his current temper, as unexpectedly severe as it had been?
Was Lucien’s fury why Varian, a man she knew to be truthful, had not been entirely truthful with Lucien in the study? Was it so tempers could cool all around? He had always been a patient man. A good man. A wise man. How had he made Merry so sad? And what was wrong with her daughter? Something was wrong. Heartache was stamped across her face.
Lucien had been here earlier, getting the details of Merry’s version of her disappearance from Rhea. As odd as was, for some reason Varian had not consummated the marriage. It would have serve them better if he had. Even Lucien could not escape the necessity to allow this marriage to stand if Varian had taken Merry to his bed. That he hadn’t left Lucien believing in the possibility of annulment. Possibility without tiny complications.
Lucien wanted an annulment and would make discreet inquiries toward the possibility of being granted one. It was just his anger, the result of his thinking of Merry only as his daughter and a little girl. She was twenty and a married woman. Lucien’s want of an annulment would pass with understanding of that. Even as stubborn as Lucien was, he would see in time Merry was no longer his little girl. And with Merry, seeing her thus, it was a potentially troublesome complication that there was indeed a possibility of tiny complications. It was too late for an annulment.
Smoothing wayward ebony curls from Merry’s face, Rhea began in a careful manner wanting to make reason of this, “Merry, I would hope that you feel you can be honest with me in all things, regardless of your father’s difficulty with this. He is a father, his point of view at times different and stronger and less practical. Before we finish unpacking, my dear, if there is a reason you would like not to be in this room, let me know, and I will move you. You are a married woman, Merry. This is the room of a little girl. If you don’t belong here, tell me so I may fix it. I will move you to your husband and stop your father’s want to meddle in this.”
Merry stared at her mother. Her humiliation was now complete. Her mother wanting to take her to her husband who did not want her. Keeping her eyes shed of tears was torture.
“No, Mama, it is all as it should be. I don’t wish to be moved. I am married to His Grace, but it is a fiction to spare us all more scandal. I thought you understood. It is nothing more.”
Rhea studied her daughter’s drawn face. As it should be, my dear? A fiction? The daughter who had left me would have giggled and blushed at that, as Kate is blushing beside you. You, my daughter, look closer to tears. What is the matter? Why are you and Varian engaging in this deception for us? Why, my dear, are you so unhappy?
In a voice carefully devoid of reproof, Rhea said, “You were alone with Varian for a year, Merry. He is a handsome man. A charming man. A hot-blooded man...” Kate went from pink to crimson with that. “...and I am not a fool. I have known Varian for twenty years and I see how he looks at you, Merry. You are his wife. It is your proper place to be at your husband’s side. You will find no disapproval of your marriage from me. If he is the man you want, Merry, then I want him for you.”
Several minutes passed with Merry playing with the folds of her dressing gown as she struggled to speak. At last assured that she could manage it without betraying herself, she said, “I am in my proper place and it is as I wish it to be. I don’t wish to be moved and I don’t wish to discuss my husband further.”
Merry could no longer meet her mother’s gently searching eyes and instead focused her attention on the simple collection of possession which had somehow been gathered from Varian’s cabin on ship and were among the expensive wardrobe and lavish jewelry. The handkerchief tucked of clay. The picture book of America that had been her birthday gift from Varian and more treasured than the box of gems ever could be. The small bag of shells collected on his Island. The gold and emerald brush and comb set that had been a gift from Jean Lafitte. The volume of Beaumarchais from Ryan Shay. The broom doll from Flava. Her pug sitting curled in a chair beside her bed. A year; they were tokens of only memories now.
She leaned forward and grabbed her conch shell from Isla del Viento. Merry turned to her cousin. “I brought this from the Caribbean, Kate. A present from me to you. It’s called a conch shell. Isn’t it lovely? Look at all the colors and swirls. This is what a sunset looks like in the Caribbean.” She held it up to Kate’s ear, just as Varian had done to her. “If you listen you can hear the sea.” Kate frowned and then her eyes widened before she laughed. “You would not believe how beautiful the world is or how spectacular the sea can be. I have seen so much. I wish you had been sharing it with me. If nothing else, my adventure with His Grace was worth seeing America.”
~~~
“I would like to kill that man.”
Rhea sat curled in a chair before the fire, calmly stitching on a sampler. She finished the neat move with the needle and then looked up to meet the angry countenance of her husband. “That man, Lucien, is his grace, the seventh Duke of Windmere,” she stated calmly. “Need I remind you he is of royal blood? You cannot kill him.”
Lucien was astounded by Rhea’s calmness over this wretched state of affairs. “You need remind me of nothing, Rhea. Any other man, my dear, and he would be dead.”
“Behave, Lucien,” Rhea chided. “Our daughter is alive and back with us. It is a happy day.”
“Alive and back with us and married to Varian Deverell,” Lucien reminded her through gritted teeth. “It is far from a wholly joyous circumstance.”
Rhea made another graceful move with her needle again. “You have always been too harsh in your opinion of His Grace. You would do well to practice at containing it. Merry will not appreciate you being at daggers drawn with
her husband.”
Lucien’s dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl. “Merry would appreciate more a fast annulment to this misbegotten union than the containment of my temper. Or has it escaped your notice that our daughter is miserable. She said nothing in the drawing room, nothing at supper, almost as if she is afraid to speak without Varian’s permission. Do not dispute he has done something to her. You were with her a long time, Rhea. Did our daughter say anything to you about this ghastly state of affairs?”
Rhea shook her head and continued to sew. “Merry is not afraid of Varian,” she stated calmly. “If she appeared unhappy, it’s little wonder. You and Andrew did a dreadful show of hiding your opinion of Varian and your reaction to their announcement. She is a new bride and you put her husband half a house away from her. It would make matters pass more smoothly for us all if you’d simply put him in the adjoining suite beside Merry and let them manage the state of their marriage without your interference. Even Varian Deverell could not make Merry do what Merry does not wish to.”
“For all we know he dragged her to speak the vows against her will at gunpoint, bound, and gagged. I put no manner of outrage beyond his character.”
Rhea laughed softly. “I doubt that, my love. As for his character, he brought Merry to us the instant he discovered who she was. I believe both Varian and Camden to be in complete honesty in that. He faced you directly knowing he would be at war with you. A war for reasons personally hurtful and tragic to him, certainly an unwanted pain after a decade, he stepped into out of his devotion to our daughter. If you think you are going to run His Grace off and annul this union, you should save your efforts. He is being considerate of your emotions as Merry’s father, Lucien, but his tolerance will go only so far. It will not extend to you ending their marriage. That he faced you directly in ghastly circumstance means he is entirely committed to preserving their marriage, and entirely committed to mending bridges. That is what happened here today, my love, if you are unaware.”
“He has no choice if I decide we will all be better served by an annulment. Merry is under age. Even married by special license I can undo it if I wish to.”
Carefully, Rhea said, “His Grace is allowing you to maintain the belief that it is you and your will that will prevail in this. Have you considered it may be impractical for an annulment? My instincts tell me that they share a complete affection between them.”
“What has Merry told you that you are not sharing with me? If he compromised her, by God...”
“She told me nothing,” Rhea assured smoothly over his tirade. She secured her needle in her tambour and rose from her chair. “I should check on Merry. She was less distressed when I left her, but she is very distraught by all that happened today.” She dropped a kiss on Lucien’s stiff lips. “You, my love, had best be in a better humor when I return. I will not have your temper ruining this happy day.”
“Happy day.” That was repeated on a low growl.
At the door, Rhea looked back at her scowling husband. “There is no point in arguing with you about this. You will see in the coming days there is no reason for your concern. Annulling this marriage is not a wise course for any of us.”
Rhea passed through the door before Lucien could bite off a response to that. Stepping into Merry’s bedroom she found her daughter’s bed tussled and empty. It was the wee hour of the night and her daughter was gone from her room. It was no mystery to Rhea where her daughter could be found.
Rhea returned to her bedchamber. Climbing beneath the covers beside Lucien, she snuggled into his warmth as his arm slipped around her.
“Is she all right?” His voice was still tense, but there was worry in it as well.
“She is well, Lucien,” Rhea assured. “She is well and where she should be. Go to sleep, my love. It has been a long day.” She kissed his lightly furred chest. “I love you, Lucien.”
Lucien gently pulled Rhea’s tiny body atop of him. “Enough words, Rhea. Show me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Merry tossed in her bed noting the chimes on her clock marked only twelve. It felt like she had been laying here a century. She was wide awake, her body limp with exhaustion and restless at once. It was torturous, the feeling of empty sheets and covers, no longer that flesh and warmth beside her.
Where was Varian? They had not slept apart for months. The solitary bed was even worse than lying beside him ignored during the journey from London to Cornwall. Why had pride and bitterness goaded her to speak rashly to her mother? She could have saved her pride by having her mother fix this. It was not better to be apart from Varian. It was worse.
Hating the anxiousness of her flesh and the never ending churn in her stomach, she knew she had no one to blame but herself for this misery. It would have been better to sleep next to Varian, hurt, than to be unable to sleep without him, hurt. It had been less than half a day without him and she was already hungry to be with him. There was comfort in being close to him. There was misery in being close to him. There was greater misery without him.
Her father had separated them shortly before dinner and she had not seen Varian again, not even in the dining parlor. What a misery that had been. Everyone anxious and uncertain. Her mother had pretended happiness, and her father was in full stiff-neck fury. The tension had been palpable. She still didn’t know what had gone on between her father and Varian in the study. For all she knew, her father had sent Varian packing.
Merry turned onto her side and fixed her eyes on the empty space beside her. She sat up. She climbed from her bed. Looking down at her gown, she debated changing it.
She was dressed in a shapeless nightdress, prim and proper ruffles, and maidenly white. Varian would most probably be amused by it. It looked like her body had been swallowed up by a circus tent. It had belonged to the girl she had been before Varian, because the nightgowns in her lavish new wardrobe had shocked Netta. Not wanting to stir any more speculation about them, Merry had pulled the circus tent on and gone obediently to bed at half passed ten.
Opening her door, she looked into the hall. Empty. So, where did they put her husband? What would her father do with him?
She started down the long corridor and knew in an instant. The blue suit by Uncle Andrew. It was the farthest room from her, but still in the family wing. It was correct in appearance and shrewd in location. It put Uncle Andrew between them, no doubt as a watching force for her father. Apparently her father was not convinced of the tale Varian had fed him. Good. Hopefully Varian was suffering some misery. That was bitterness talking, but she didn’t care.
Merry paused outside of Varian’s door, her hand on the knob. She leaned her forehead against the wood, trying to steady the rhythm of her heart. She opened the door, floated through, and once it was closed leaned back against it.
The room was in total darkness, not even a fire had been laid, but she could feel him. She didn’t need sight to know Varian was near. She didn’t need to see to know he was awake and staring at her.
It’s too late to run, Merry. He knows you are here. You can’t run so you had better say something quickly. Something safe and not too pathetic. “I am here,” Merry announced softly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Ah, thank God you spoke. I was worried for a moment it was Kate.”
A jest. Kate was terrified of him and not at all good at not showing it, even in a room surrounded by the protection of her relatives. Merry warned herself not to make more of Varian’s gesture than she should. He was maintaining his equanimity, his most skilled accomplishment, normalcy in any circumstance and it meant nothing. Even while she reminded herself of that, she was grateful for his ability to read her well. The jest made it less harsh her need to be with him this night. She wondered why he was bothering to maintain a charade with her. Perhaps out of pity for her.
Merry realized she’d been standing there silently for a foolishly long time. Belatedly, she matched him with a jest of her own, “You are not so fortunate to have the sweet tempered Ka
te intruding upon you this night. She is the more docile and obedient of the two Merrick girls.”
Varian made a small laugh. She watched as he turned up the light to a soft glow, and she locked the door with a quiet move of her hand. Waiting nervously, she was dismayed when he didn’t rise from the bed, but instead pushed up into a sitting position against the pillows. Sleep brought an attractive softening to his face and a light dishevelment. His eyes met hers, smiling and unreadable. She hated when they were unreadable. Anxiously, she took in the smooth lines of his face, searching for anything that betrayed his mood and any sign of what he thought of her being here now.
“I can’t sleep,” she said from the doorway. “The tension in the house is unbearable. Supper was a nightmare. You were a wise man not to join us. I am sorry I woke you. But I couldn’t wait until morning to find out what happened with my father. He was not pleasant when I spoke with him.” Somehow she managed a small smile. “I imagine he was less pleasant with you.”
Varian’s laughter was an easy flow that faded into an answering smile held only at the corners of his lips. He ran a hand through his tussled waves and remarked, “Your father is not pleased by our marriage. That I am allowed to stay the night is nothing less than a miracle. I expected at best to be housed in the barn. Not in the family wing. Certainly not so close to you. Lucien must be slipping with age to have allowed that to happen.”
Another jest. He may be making light, but he was far from relaxed and not manufacturing any defenses to hide that from her.
He said, “You must be cold, Merry, even as smothered as you are in those yards of white ruffles. Whose idea was that nightgown? Netta’s? Netta never did like me and she still has a vicious sense of humor. Come beneath the blankets while we talk.”
Merry watched as he pulled back the bedding for her. She stared at the spot next to him, fresh color rising on her cheeks and feeling the perfect fool. She had shared his bed for months. Why the devil did the thought of joining him now she was his wife fill her with nervousness? Why was she so weak as to have come to him after all he’d said to her?
