Scandalous Brides

by Annette Blair

No complaints, Nessa mused as she obediently accompanied her sister from the room. Did that mean Prudence found the physical aspects of marriage less unpleasant than she had, or was that merely a polite nothing to get her to drop the subject? She wished now she had attempted a discussion on this topic with her sister earlier. It was too late now.

  The carriage was indeed waiting, along with others already crammed with house guests. The day was overcast and windy, with an occasional spate of freezing drizzle. Had the day been fine, many of the guests would no doubt have walked, as the chapel was less than half a mile from the house. Nessa did not see Jack, and supposed he must have gone ahead to the chapel already.

  The drive lasted only moments. The carriage door was opened by two liveried footmen, then Lady Gwendolyn hurried Nessa through a faceless crowd into an anteroom in the ivied stone building.

  “All is in readiness,” she told Nessa, raking her from head to toe with a critical eye. Apparently satisfied, she informed her in a gentler tone that she was to remain there until the organ music began in a few moments.

  Too preoccupied to reply coherently, Nessa merely nodded, and Lady Gwendolyn conducted Prudence from the room to her appointed place near the front of the chapel. Prudence sent Nessa what was no doubt intended to be an encouraging smile over her shoulder as she left the anteroom, but Nessa felt no noticeable abatement of her nervousness.

  Had she been insane to agree to yet another marriage—a lifetime of servitude—so soon after gaining her freedom from her first one? And what of the physical side? Though Jack had presented his offer as a means to benefit them both, she had no doubt he would claim every right as a husband. What she couldn't decide was how she felt about that.

  The next five minutes seemed an eternity, as the rest of the guests filed into the church and took their seats. Finally the music began. Nessa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the anteroom as though going to the gallows.

  Philip awaited her at the rear of the chapel, as he was to give her away, and the sight of his kind face bolstered her spirits somewhat. Taking his extended arm, she paced slowly up an aisle that seemed impossibly long for such a small church.

  Suddenly aware of all eyes upon her, Nessa lifted her chin and then her eyes. There, next to the altar, stood Jack, looking outrageously handsome in a dark blue superfine coat and knee breeches. His face was as serious as she'd ever seen it, though when she caught his eye the familiar twinkle was still there.

  He turned to face the altar as she reached it, but that one glimpse had fortified her. The ceremony itself was a blur, Nessa far more aware of the man by her side than anything the vicar was saying. Still, she managed to repeat the proper words at the proper times, and could not suppress a tremor at the sound of Jack's voice doing the same.

  In less time than it seemed she had spent traversing the aisle, the ceremony was over. Lifting her veil, Jack bestowed the requisite kiss. Though it was more ritual than real, a mere touch of his lips upon hers, she was forcefully reminded of other kisses they had shared—and would share again. They turned to face the guests, who murmured their approval.

  Nessa's thoughts flew ahead to the coming night, and she knew her cheeks betrayed her, but the onlookers appeared to find her blushes charming as Jack led her back down the aisle. Emerging into the wintry daylight, they were greeted by shouts of congratulation. Gathered about the little church were dozens and dozens of people no longer faceless— tenants and other local folk, ready to welcome the new Marchioness into their midst.

  Though she smiled and waved, Nessa could not help remembering a similar scene outside the village chapel at Haughton six years ago. That crowd had seemed less cheerful than this, though perhaps that had been an effect of her own depressed and fearful spirits. Then, as now, she had been overwhelmed at the prospect of her new responsibilities as Lady of the Manor.

  As it had turned out, Lord Haughton had scarcely allowed her any such responsibility. At Fox Manor, however, things would be different. Thank goodness she'd had those last months at Haughton Abbey to teach her what her duties were and how to perform them!

  She was brought back to the present with a welcome start as Jack handed her into the carriage, now decorated with hothouse flowers and greenery. Had it been so before? She hadn't noticed.

  Once they were shut inside, she breathed a small sigh of relief. At the same moment, Jack breathed a larger one. Their eyes met, and they began to laugh.

  “'Tis wearing, is it not, living up to the expectations of others?” he asked. “We have the rest of the day's festivities to get through yet, but for this brief moment, at least, we can relax.” He then knocked on the little door at the top of the carriage and told the driver to take his time.

  “I'd forgotten how very public a wedding is,” Nessa confessed. “By the end of the day, both our faces will ache from smiling.”

  Jack sobered. “So you smiled for most of your first wedding day, did you? I suppose I should be glad to know that.”

  “Smiling because one is expected to is far more tiring than smiling because one is happy.” Nessa remembered vividly her exhaustion at the end of that earlier wedding day, after hours of striving to appear the perfect, happy bride for fear of her father's or husband's censure should her smile slip. Then, despite her efforts, she recalled how that day had concluded. She managed not to shudder.

  “Then I shall take it as a personal affront if you are too wearied by bedtime,” Jack said with a wink. “Not that I intend for that to be too many hours distant.”

  Nessa was spared from replying by their arrival at Fox Manor. It was just as well, for his mention of bedtime, on the heels of her unfortunate recollection, rendered her speechless, a cold hand of apprehension gripping her by the throat. Resolutely, she swallowed her fear and allowed Jack to help her from the carriage, to be met by yet another noisy throng.

  The tenants, she knew, had been bidden to a sort of auxiliary wedding breakfast, laid out in the ballroom. Many had either run ahead of the carriage or gone directly to the house, for dozens of people were here already. Women curtsied and men doffed their hats as she passed, some murmuring well-wishes and blessings. Her heart swelled, crowding out anxiety for the moment.

  She had nearly reached the wide steps, the crowd growing thicker all the time, when she heard a young woman's voice from somewhere behind her.

  “I dunno, May. She seems a slip of a thing to be woman enough for our Jack! Mayhap he'll need us still.”

  It took every bit of Nessa's control and breeding to pretend she had not heard, when her instinct was to turn and locate the speaker. Nervous titters and shushing sounds followed, but she had no doubt the comment had been intentionally audible. Keeping her benevolent smile pinned to her face, she proceeded through the open doors of Fox Manor—her new home.

  Taking up their posts by the door, she and Jack welcomed every guest, noble, gentry or common, as they filed past. Though she tried to squelch the impulse, Nessa could not quite help scrutinizing every maid of above average appearance, and wondering.

  More than one such examined her in turn, with an expression less than welcoming. Surely, though, it was natural that the local lasses would idolize Jack, and resent the woman who put him out of their reach forever? Even unrealistic fantasies—as theirs must have been!—would be only reluctantly abandoned. Nessa chose to interpret the occasional hostile stare as a compliment to Jack rather than an insult to herself. In time, she would prove herself to the villagers— all of them.

  Finally the interminable receiving line was at an end, and she and Jack were free to join family and gentry in the dining room. Nessa was ravenous, as there had been no opportunity for more than a cup of tea before the ceremony. Now it was near noon. So many polite comments were addressed to her, however, requiring equally polite responses, that she was unable to do more than snatch an occasional bite from her plate.

  This carnival atmosphere was not at all what she remembered from her first wedding breakfast—bu
t then, Lord Haughton would never have dreamed of inviting any commoners into his house except as servants. Only family and the more prominent local gentry been present at the ceremony or reception. With him and her own father presiding, of course hilarity had been out of the question.

  This was more pleasant, she decided, even if she was in danger of starving. By early afternoon, the villagers and local gentry had departed, as had one or two of Jack's relations. Two days hence, the rest would have departed for their various estates, leaving only the Creamcrofts and perhaps Lord Peter and Mr. Thatcher.

  Nessa stifled a small sigh as the final dinner course was served, looking forward to that calmer time. This wedding day might be far less unpleasant than her first had been, but it was more hectic, and just as interminable. Would it never end?

  Jack rose from the table, a wine glass in his hand. “A toast to my bride, Lady Foxhaven.” Though it was by no means the first toast drunk in her honor that day, the guests dutifully echoed the sentiment.

  “And now,” Jack continued, still standing, “my bride and I shall take our leave. I bid you all a good night.” Draining the last drops in his glass, he extended a hand to Nessa. Startled, she rose to take it.

  Murmuring a farewell to family and friends, she accompanied Jack from the room. Panic belatedly set in as she set her foot on the first step of the great stairway, but she strove to conceal it.

  Only a moment ago she had been wishing for the day to end. Had she been mad? The tall windows flanking the front door showed that the light was long gone, but it could not be more than six o'clock. The others would not be going up to bed for hours yet. Nessa's panic intensified.

  “Are… are you certain you wish to leave the festivities so soon?” she asked breathlessly.

  Jack gave her what was perhaps meant to be a reassuring smile, but which had quite the opposite effect. “I find all of these people wearying, don't you? I didn't wish either of us to become totally exhausted—yet.”

  Nessa bobbed her head in mechanical agreement, her breath coming quick and shallow. Speaking was totally beyond her now. At the door of her room, she paused in some confusion. Jack had not indicated where she was to stay after the wedding.

  “Why don't you go ahead and allow your maid to help you out of that gown. 'Tis lovely, but looks devilish uncomfortable. I'll see whether Parker has finished restoring my things to my room.” He nodded at the chamber adjoining hers, which his Aunt Esther had occupied until that afternoon.

  “Then… this is to remain my room?”

  He nodded. “You did say you liked it.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she detected an undercurrent of uncertainty.

  “Oh, I do! Thank you, Jack.” Pleased and grateful, Nessa realized now that he had vacated his own chamber for the past week rather than add to her strain by forcing her to change rooms on this already stressful day.

  He dropped a light kiss upon her forehead. “I'll join you in half an hour, my dear.”

  Abruptly, the chill returned to Nessa's midsection, driving out pleasure, but she managed to nod and turn the handle. Simmons came forward at once to close the door behind her and began unfastening the intricate wedding gown.

  “Would my lady care for a glass of something to calm her nerves?” She carefully laid the veil back in its folds of tissue.

  Was her anxiety that obvious? This would never do. “Of course not, Simmons. I have been married before, you know.”

  The abigail put away the veil and returned to finish unpinning the gown, helping Nessa to step out of the creamy confection. “Marriage to an upright, respectable and respectful man like Lord Haughton will hardly have prepared you for this night, milady.”

  Nessa knew she should rebuke Simmons for such outspokenness, but instead swallowed convulsively. “What… what do you mean?”

  “Lord Haughton was an older man, and a gentleman,” said Simmons, shaking out the gown. “It stands to reason he would be less… demanding… in the marriage bed.”

  “Lord Foxhaven is a gentleman as well,” Nessa pointed out feebly, but she knew her words lacked conviction. Lord Haughton had not come to her bed frequently, it was true—as Simmons was no doubt aware. But he had simply taken what he wished when he did visit her, with no consideration for Nessa's feelings or comfort. Would Jack truly be even more… demanding? She shuddered.

  Yet weighing upon her far more heavily than a fear of pain or discomfort was the certainty that after this night she and Jack could no longer be friends. She would miss that terribly.

  For a moment she considered asking Simmons to fetch her some brandy or sherry after all— anything to make the looming experience less disagreeable. But that would be to admit her abigail was right about Jack, and she was not ready to do that. So she sat in determined silence while Simmons brushed out her hair and turned down the counterpane.

  “Thank you, Simmons. That will be all.”

  With a pitying look Nessa would rather not have seen, the maid left her. Alone, but not for long.

  Just as she had on her first wedding night, Nessa climbed under the covers and waited, trying not to think about the painful ordeal to come.

  FOURTEEN

  JACK FLICKED A SPECK of dust from the lapel of the midnight blue dressing gown he'd purchased in London for this particular occasion. Though not normally a vain man, he could not refrain from a glance in the looking glass before going to the door separating his chamber from Nessa's. He wanted to look his best for her, tonight of all nights.

  Turning the door handle, he blessed his luck that Nessa was a widow. As two experienced adults, they could delve straight into the pleasures of their union, with none of the coaxing, cajoling and tears an untried girl would have occasioned. He could not imagine a virginal miss holding a fraction of the appeal that Nessa did, in any event.

  An oil lamp on the nightstand gave Nessa's green and peach room a soft, romantic glow. And Nessa herself awaited him in the bed, her rich chestnut hair loosed from its bonds to drape seductively over her shoulders. Jack felt his anticipation grow, along with a certain portion of his anatomy.

  “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, my dear,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

  Nessa gave an odd little twitch before replying, “No! Not at all. Of course not.” Her voice was high and breathless, even strained. If it weren't absurd, he might think she sounded frightened.

  He moved closer to the bed. “Nessa, is everything all right?”

  She nodded almost convulsively, her eyes unnaturally wide.

  “No, I don't think everything is.” He sat on the edge of the bed to regard her with a frown. “Are you unwell? Is it your time of month? Did that dragon of an abigail say something to worry you?”

  Each question was answered by a sideways shake of her head, but the panic—yes, he could only call it panic—did not leave her eyes. Baffled, he reached out a hand to stroke her hair, hoping that his touch might calm her. Instead, she flinched away. Startled, he dropped his hand.

  “I've never seen you like this, Nessa. Clearly, something has frightened you badly. Will you not tell me what it is?”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed visibly. “Please, Jack, can't we just… get it over?”

  He nearly fell off the bed in his astonishment, suddenly deflated in more than an emotional sense. “What?”

  Nessa opened her eyes and fearfully met his frowning gaze. “I… I know what is expected, of course. And I am ready, truly.”

  “Are you indeed? I rather doubt that, my dear.” Though he kept his voice gentle, mentally he cursed the late Lord Haughton. What a bumbler the man must have been, to make Nessa so terrified of the physical side of marriage! He'd been wrong, very wrong, he realized. This was going to require far more skill than a virgin bride would have, for he had damage as well as ignorance to undo.

  Now that he'd divined the cause of her reluctance, Jack's anticipation swelled again. He'd always loved a challenge. Moving closer to her, he said, “I won't cons
ider you ready until you want me as much as I want you, Nessa. And I'll bring you to that point, if it takes me all night.”

  ~ ~ ~

  NESSA HAD TRIED to blank her mind, steeling herself for the inevitable, but Jack's words startled her into unwelcome awareness. “What—what do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he explained, “that before this night is done, you will discover what the marriage bed was truly designed for—mutual pleasure, not the unilateral satisfaction of one party. Kiss me, Nessa.” He lowered his lips to hers just as he'd done in the maze, and in his carriage in London.

  At first she was unresponsive, still struggling to understand. But then, as her fear began to dissipate, her lips softened beneath his, just as they had when no dread of lovemaking had constrained her. He deepened the kiss slowly, very slowly.

  Soon, those pleasurable feelings he had aroused before stirred within her. Her lack of resistance became active participation, as she twined her tongue with his. Slowly, Jack shifted his position until he lay beside her, never breaking the kiss. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, stroking gently. Finally, he lifted his head to murmur, “See? Not so terrible after all.”

  She managed a small smile, but she still doubted him. That was all well and good, she thought, but still just a kiss. She knew there was worse to come yet.

  “No, that's not all.” She blinked at this evidence he'd guessed her thoughts. “But things will get better, not worse. You'll see.” Moving away from her briefly, he peeled back the coverlet to join her beneath it.

  She stiffened when he lay against her, now separated only by their thin garments, but when he did nothing but kiss her again, she relaxed once more. Again pleasurable sensations welled up—more quickly this time—and she began to respond eagerly.

  Gently, so gently, Jack slid his hand lower, from her cheek to her throat, and then to her collarbone. Whenever she tensed even a fraction, he paused. Finally, his hand cupped her breast. This did not frighten her particularly, as it was something Lord Haughton had never done. Indeed, it served to intensify what she was beginning to suspect might be desire.