by Mary Balogh
She was not surprised that St. Paul's Catherdral was his favorite. The sight of it fairly robbed her of breath as they approached it. It was massive and beautiful. She had never seen anything to compare with the magnificence of the great dome.
“I cannot believe I am actually seeing such a famous building with my own eyes,” she said. “I have always dreamed of visiting London.”
“Do you like the pillared portico?” he asked, pointing at it with his whip. “I thought you might wish to build something similar onto the front of Ringwood Manor—without the flanking towers, perhaps. They might look a little pretentious on a manor that size.”
She turned her head toward him, startled. His expression was as solemn as ever. But she could not be mistaken in his intent, surely. The man did have a sense of humor. She laughed.
“But I could not steal Cecil's idea,” she said. “It would be unkind. Maybe I will build a dome instead.”
He glanced at her sidelong, not even the suggestion of a smile softening his harsh features. Had she made a mistake? No, she did not believe so.
“Shall we go inside?” he suggested. He pointed upward. “It is possible to climb up to the highest gallery to inspect the dome from close to, both inside and out. But I must warn you that if memory serves me right there are five hundred and thirty-four steps, only the first two hundred and fifty or so of which are easy to climb.”
“Oh, do let us go up by all means,” she said gaily. “There must be a splendid view from up there.”
There was, though for several minutes after they stepped out onto the outer gallery, which circled the base of the dome, she was in no condition to enjoy it. She was severely winded and not a little alarmed by the difficulty and darkness of most of the climb. But she had refused to stop halfway up, as every instinct had screamed at her to do, and beg him to take her back down. She dared not think about the descent, always more frightening than going up.
“Oh, goodness me!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “We must be able to see for miles.”
“For a minute,” he said, “I was not sure you were going to survive.”
As they moved slowly about the gallery, he proceeded to point out various landmarks to her, standing close beside her as he did so that she could look along his arm to where his finger pointed. The famous River Thames was below. He identified the various bridges that spanned it. All the boats and ships on its surface, representing the busy commerce of a nation, looked like so many toys. He indicated the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, several other churches, their elegant spires almost dwarfed by the height of St. Paul's dome, and numerous other buildings of note. Beyond it all, on both sides of the river, she could see open countryside. The wind, no stronger than a breeze on the ground, whipped at them from the direction of the river. He lifted his free arm to hold his hat more firmly on his head.
“I have never felt more exhilarated in my life,” she said and realized that she spoke the simple truth. This tall, powerful man beside her was her husband of a few hours. This was their wedding day. For a few moments she allowed herself to wonder how she would be feeling now if it were a real marriage, if they had wed each other for any of the more usual reasons. Again she felt that frisson of physical awareness.
“Have you not?” He looked at her in some surprise. “Has your life been so very quiet, then?”
“Really quite uneventful,” she admitted ruefully. “I have always dreamed of coming to London, of seeing other faraway places, other people.” She had hardly realized it until this moment. “Men are very fortunate. They have far more freedom than we do.”
“Do we?” He looked long and hard at her before turning his head without comment to stare outward again.
This was a day she would always, always remember, she knew. Since it was all so irrevocable now, she was glad there had been more to it than just that awkward little ceremony this morning. She touched her wedding ring surreptitiously through her glove, though she did not really need to do so. She could feel it there on her finger, the symbol of the fact that she was bound for life to this man though she would not see him again after tomorrow. She wondered how long it would be before she could no longer remember clearly what he looked like. She turned her head to look at him now as if it were somehow important to remember, to memorize the harsh, angular face, the prominent nose, the rather thin lips, the dark hair and eyes.
He was looking back at her with narrowed gaze, as if he were doing the same thing as she. “Are you ready to tackle the steps again?” he asked.
She laughed uneasily. “I think I'll spend the rest of the day up here. Maybe the rest of the week. Perhaps the rest of my life.”
“As bad as that, is it?” he said. “Hold my hand. I'll not let you fall. Word of honor.” He held out his left hand and raised his right.
Even though she was wearing gloves, there seemed something very intimate about holding his hand—clinging to it actually—for such a long time. But until they were close to the bottom she would not for the life of her have relinquished his support. He was a very solid man to lean upon, she thought. Solid and dependable. For a long time she had prided herself upon her ability to stand alone, to depend upon no one but herself. Almost everyone who was closest to her now depended upon her.
He took her next to Westminster Abbey, which she did not like quite as well as St. Paul's, though she found the sense of history there almost overwhelming.
“Can you believe,” she asked, standing in the middle of the nave and looking about her in some awe, “that every monarch since William the Conqueror has been crowned here?”
“Except for Edward V,” he said. “And most of them are buried here too. I took ghoulish pleasure in that fact the first time I came here as a boy.”
“Did you come to London often?” she asked.
“Not really.” He led the way onward toward the altar. “Our parents always preferred to keep us at Lindsey Hall. We liked it better there too. We were a wild lot. Still are, I suppose.”
“Are you older or younger than your brothers and sisters?” she asked. She knew almost nothing about him, she realized. Yet he was her husband.
“I am second to Bewcastle,” he explained. “Then there are Rannulf, Freyja, Alleyne, and Morgan. Our mother was a voracious reader, especially of history. She chose our rather outlandish names.”
“Are you a close family?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I have not even been home for three years,” he said. “I quarreled with Bewcastle on that occasion and left sooner than I had intended. But that was nothing new.”
His manner was not encouraging and he offered no further information. Eve returned her attention to the abbey. How odd, she thought, to be married to a stranger. And to a man who would remain forever a stranger.
He drove her past St. James's Palace and past Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales lived. He drove her through Hyde Park, which was far vaster than she had expected, far more like a piece of the countryside than a park in the middle of the largest city in the world. He kept to the quieter paths, avoiding the crowd of vehicles and horses she could see occasionally in the distance.
“We can go to the Tower of London if you wish,” he said when they reached Hyde Park Corner. “There is a menagerie there that you may enjoy seeing since you seem to be fond of animals. Or we can go for ices.”
“I am not sure I would like to see animals caged up,” she said. “I would want to set them all free.”
“The citizens of London would be thrilled at the prospect of encountering a lion or tiger around every corner,” he said. “Your heart is bleeding again.”
She laughed. “Ices?” she said, just realizing the other option he had offered. “I have heard about them but never thought to taste one. May we?”
And so he took her to Gunter's, where she enjoyed the indescribable luxury of eating her very first ice.
“Does London live up to your expectations?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she assured
him. “I wish I had a week here.” She flushed and bit her lip when she realized how like an eager, naive child she must sound. “I am also longing to be home again, of course.”
She had feared that they would spend the afternoon in near silence, awkward, even morose with each other. It had not been like that after all. He was not a talkative man or an obviously amiable one. But he had a gentleman's manners and did his part, as she did, in making sure that conversation flowed between them.
“Is it possible,” she asked when they had finished their ices, “to find a shop where I may purchase gifts for the children? It would be so exciting for them to have something from London.”
“For the orphans?” He raised his eyebrows and looked instantly haughty.
“For Becky and Davy,” she said. “My children. And for Benjamin, Thelma's son.”
She half expected him to say something like for the illegitimate brat? But he did not do so. He rose from his chair and drew hers back when she got to her feet.
“We will go to Oxford Street,” he said. “You will find plenty to spend your money on there.”
She found a brightly painted wooden spinning top for Benjamin and a porcelain doll that looked very like a real baby for Becky. The colonel, who had wandered away from Eve's side, in boredom, she supposed, came back with two cricket bats, a ball, and wickets.
“The boy will probably like these,” he said, “if he does not already have them.”
“No, he does not.” She smiled at him. “Thank you. I had no idea what I would choose for him.”
“All boys enjoy cricket,” he said.
“Do they?” Had he? It was hard to picture him as a boy, playing, running, laughing, carefree.
She paid for her purchases, which included lace handkerchiefs for Thelma and Aunt Mari, and Colonel Bedwyn carried the parcels out of the shop and stowed them safely on the floor of the curricle before handing Eve up one last time. She was weary. Nevertheless, when the Pulteney Hotel finally came into sight and she realized that their afternoon out was over, she felt disappointment. So soon? she thought. Reality was going to set in soon enough, she knew, but she was not ready for it yet.
“Will you dine with us?” she asked.
“Thank you, but no,” he said, offering no excuse. “I will return for you in the morning. We will make a timely start again.”
He escorted her into the lobby after directing a servant to carry her purchases upstairs for her, and was about to take his leave when a distinguished-looking older gentleman in military uniform stopped abruptly beside them and raised a quizzing glass to his eye.
“Ah, Bedwyn,” he said heartily. “I thought that was you. In England for the victory celebrations, are you?”
“General Naughton,” the colonel said. “How do you do, sir?”
Eve took a step back, aware again that she was well out of her social milieu, but the general turned his quizzing glass on her and raised his eyebrows. Colonel Bedwyn cupped her elbow with his right hand and drew her forward.
“I have the honor of presenting my wife, sir,” he said.
“Your wife? Bless my soul, I did not know you were married, Bedwyn,” the general said. “How do you do, Lady Aidan? Enjoying a stay in London, are you?”
“Indeed yes,” she said. “We have been sightseeing all afternoon.”
“Splendid, splendid. I will see the two of you at some of the celebrations.” He nodded genially and went on his way.
Eve was feeling rather stunned. Lady Aidan. Foolishly, that was one thing she had not thought about since agreeing to this hasty marriage. She was no longer Eve Morris. She was Lady Aidan Bedwyn.
“Until tomorrow morning, then,” her husband said. And with a curt bow he was gone.
There was a terrible feeling of emptiness then. Like a child whose grand treat is over, she found herself gazing after him and into an endlessly gray future.
CHAPTER VII
AIDAN WAS STANDING AT A WINDOW OF THE drawing room in Ringwood Manor, gazing out at grayness. For the first time since his return to England the clouds were low and heavy and rain threatened. He hoped to be well on his way to Hampshire before darkness fell, but the final leg of the journey from London had been a long one and he had accepted the invitation to take some refreshments before resuming his journey. He lifted his teacup from its saucer and drained his tea.
The ladies were sitting in a group behind him—his wife, Mrs. Pritchard, and the governess, who had been introduced to him as Miss Rice. It had seemed strange to him that the governess should be invited to join them for tea, but several things had struck him as strange about this household—the fact, for example, that all the servants and children had been gathered on the terrace as the carriage approached earlier, not in neat lines of silent, respectful welcome but in a noisy cluster, all laughing and talking at once. And that infernal dog had barked its head off unrebuked. It was his wife's bourgeois background that gave her so little control over her underlings, he supposed—and that had impelled her into marrying a stranger for their sake.
Yet he had to admit that there was an undeniable warmth about the household that he had not encountered elsewhere. And what other woman would have abandoned everyone out on the terrace in order to take her children in person back to the nursery instead of turning them over to their nurse's care—and then spent all of fifteen minutes with them there while they unwrapped their gifts? Yet she was not even the mother of any of the children. He wondered suddenly if she had ever wanted children of her own. But it was too late to think of that now.
“Eve,” Miss Rice was saying now into a short lull in the conversation, “and Colonel Bedwyn, I must say this.” She spoke all in a rush as Aidan turned to look at her. “I must thank you both from the bottom of my heart. On behalf of the children, who have been frightened half out of their wits without quite understanding why, thank you. He came here again yesterday, you know—Mr. Morris, that is. Agnes told him you had gone out for the day with Mrs. Pritchard, Eve. He went into every room in the house and inspected every cupboard and drawer. He brought two servants with him to count all the silverware and china and crystal and linen so that all will be accounted for after your departure. And he had Agnes gather everyone in the hall before he left. He made us all stand in two lines, like soldiers at attention, and he told us that tomorrow we must all be gone from here or he will have us taken up for vagrancy and thrown in jail. He was looking very pleased with himself indeed.”
Yes, he would have been, Aidan thought. He could just picture the scene.
“Oh, Thelma,” his wife said in dismay. “Every room? How could he! Every cupboard and drawer?”
“Yes,” Miss Rice said. “He said he will give us until noon tomorrow. That is when he will be coming here.”
“I will write to him without delay.” His wife got to her feet and turned to look at Aidan. She looked paler today than she had yesterday, he noticed. She was all in gray again. The lavender-trimmed bonnet had not made its appearance for today's journey. “But I will see you on your way first, Colonel. I hope the rain will hold off for you.”
“Write?” he said. “You are going to write instead of confronting him in person and seeing his expression when he learns the truth? You are either a coward, ma'am, or you lack a sense of drama.”
She half smiled. “It would be delicious to behold, would it not?” she said. “I do not believe I can resist.”
“Neither can I,” he said. It had not occurred to him until this moment that he should see this thing through to the end. He strode farther into the room and set his cup and saucer down on the nearest table. “I do not believe I can deny myself the pleasure of witnessing the comeuppance of Mr. Cecil Morris and even participating in it.”
“You are going to stay?” his wife asked, her eyes widening.
“Yes,” he said with sudden decision. “Yes, I am going to stay—until a few minutes after noon tomorrow. I would be very surprised if the gentleman is late.”
Lindsey H
all and freedom—relative freedom—could wait another day, he thought reluctantly. He owed her this much support. One day was not a great deal in the grand scheme of things.
“Wonderful, Colonel,” Mrs. Pritchard said, getting laboriously to her feet. “I will go and talk to Mrs. Rowe right away and tell her there will be one extra for dinner. I bet she will serve a wedding banquet suitable for royalty.”
Behind him Aidan could hear rain begin to patter against the window.
EVE FOUND THE SITUATION VERY AWKWARD. COLONEL Bedwyn was staying at the house, in the best guest chamber, a disturbing male presence. All was perfectly proper, of course—he was her husband. But there was all the strain of keeping a conversation going during a lengthy dinner, for which Mrs. Rowe had prepared far more dishes than usual, and in the drawing room afterward. Nevertheless, she was glad he had stayed.
Nothing and everything had changed in her life. Once he was gone, all would proceed as it ever had—forever and ever with no hope of any happy change. When John returned, he would discover the truth of her faithlessness and there would be an end of all their dreams and plans for the future. She needed time to adjust her mind to the new facts of her life. She needed to see the colonel for just a little while longer—just for one more day—so that she would know she had not simply dreamed it all.
Eve stitched at her embroidery in the drawing room after dinner, having snatched a briefer than usual time with the children—how she had missed them, and how wonderful it felt to be back home with them, knowing that they were safe and secure beyond any doubt. Any sacrifice would have been worth that assurance. Aunt Mari, bless her heart, was keeping the conversation going by describing the park to the colonel. But Eve looked up reproachfully when she suggested that her niece show it to him in the morning, before noon. Even now, it seemed, Aunt Mari would not give up on her hope of convincing them to develop some sort of relationship.
