Much Ado About Marriage

by Karen Hawkins

  Fia’s eyes grew teary. Every woman deserved such a scene. She loved so many things about Thomas. She loved how serious he was and how he took responsibility for everyone around him. She loved his quick sense of humor and the way his men cared for him. There wasn’t a single one of his crew who wouldn’t die for his captain.

  She wrapped the sheet about her and scooted to the edge of the bunk, her eyes on the door. If this were one of her plays, Thomas would appear wearing a long, swirling cape of blue thrown over his shoulders, his black hair glinting in the sun and his white shirt unlaced to reveal his strong chest as it had last night.

  Pure, hot desire would smolder in his velvety brown eyes as he knelt to place a lingering kiss on her hand. Then, gazing into her eyes, he would tell her of his love.

  She heaved a deep sigh. ’Twas almost as good as when Nicoli the Unruly had swept the lovely Rosalind from the bower in The Lady of Ghent. Fia stretched her bared legs and wiggled her toes in anticipation.

  Almost as if on cue, a noise arose out in the passageway. Fia leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat as the door opened. Could it be Thomas? Was he coming to tell her that he—

  Mary’s red head appeared around the door. “Och, ye’re finally awake!” The maid entered the room, her arms full. “Just look at ye, lyin’ abed so late.”

  Fia hid her disappointment. “Aye, I overslept, but I’m awake now.”

  “Good, fer I brought ye some company, I did.” Mary laid the gown and petticoats she was carrying across the back of a chair. Then she reached into the bag over her shoulder and pulled out a ball of brown fur.

  “Och, you brought the wee rabbit!”

  “Aye, fer he’s drivin’ the entire crew mad, hoppin’ about and gnawin’ on every rope he can find. Apparently some of them are too important to trust to a hungry rabbit.”

  Fia rubbed the rabbit between its ears before setting it on the table. He immediately hopped to the blue shoe that now sat upon it and sniffed suspiciously at the painted leather. “The animals are well after the storm?”

  “They’re better than Angus. He nigh broke his noggin.”

  “Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d been injured that badly.”

  “Och, ’twas no’ so bad; he has a head like a rock. He’s fine now, though ye wouldna know it to hear him complain. The man’s a nuisance when he’s ill, refusin’ to drink the possets I brought him and sayin’ he’s dyin’.” Mary tsked as she busied herself about the room. “But men ne’er dinna deal well with illnesses.”

  “Aye, Duncan wasn’t one to handle being confined to bed, either.”

  Mary lifted a gown off the chair. “I brought ye some fresh clothes. I even managed to iron the skirts, thanks to the cook, who heated me iron over his own stove in the ship’s galley.” The maid pulled a pair of slippers from her pocket and placed them by the bed, then went to shut the door. “’Tis good ye’re still undressed, fer I ordered ye a hot-water bath. The rain filled all of the barrels on deck, so there’s plenty of water to be had.”

  “A bath? On board ship?”

  “Aye, I found a large barrel in the hold that will do the trick. The first mate complained when I confiscated it, o’ course, but the ship’s cook has been helpful. He’s warming up the last o’ the water right now.”

  “That’s lovely! Mary, have . . . have you seen Lord Rotherwood today?”

  “Aye, he’s on deck bellowing orders. Angus said the captain is grumpier than a bear in a trap, and the men are tryin’ to stay out o’ his way.”

  Some of Fia’s good mood slipped away. “He’s in a foul mood?”

  “Aye, snapping at everyone. He even snarled at Lord Montley and threatened to throw the man off the ship, though I dinna blame him fer that. I’ve oft wanted to—Och, I left yer special lavender soap in me cabin. I’ll be right back.” Mary scurried off and Fia dropped back onto the bed, her heart thudding.

  Why is Thomas in such a bad mood? He couldn’t possibly have been disappointed last night. Suddenly the grand scene Fia had imagined earlier seemed woefully unlikely. Does he regret what happened? Does our passion mean nothing to him, and he still wishes for an annulment?

  It was a lowering thought. Yet she had to admit that it was a possibility. Thomas was a sophisticated and worldly man; perhaps to him lovemaking was merely a pastime, while to her, it meant—

  What? What did it mean? She didn’t dare think about it until she knew how Thomas felt.

  Her throat ached where a lump of emotion had lodged itself. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t allow him to see how disappointed she was that he hadn’t found their lovemaking an emotional experience, as well. Montley told me that the court is rife with icy hearts and cold ambition. Though the signs were all there, I didn’t realize he was warning me about Thomas.

  What was she to do now? When the ship docked, perhaps she should take Mary and Angus and the animals and set off on her own adventure. After a few months, she’d forget all about Thomas and their night of passion. In the meantime, she could find a sponsor for her plays on her own.

  Or could she? Without the proper introductions to the right people, she might never find a sponsor. And where would she stay? She had limited funds and many to support. Perhaps she could sell the amber amulet. No, she’d promised Duncan she’d place it in Elizabeth’s hands and Fia couldn’t turn her back on her promise.

  Ignoring the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, she lay across the wide bunk, her arms outstretched as if she’d expired.

  She pictured herself huddled against the outside gates of a huge manor, the wind and snow swirling about her as she tried piteously to start a fire with nothing but a broken piece of a flint and some damp twigs.

  Her dress would be torn and shabby, her feet wrapped with dirty rags. Eventually she would die from the cold and they would find her wasted figure in the snow, her fingers clutching her brilliant plays.

  Fia’s head and arm hung dramatically over the edge of the bunk; she was the very picture of an innocent maid dying wrongly accused. She’d bet her best quill that Thomas would be sorry then. Aye, he would come to her deathbed and kneel, his head bowed over her lifeless hand as he realized that it was his cold heart, not the weather, that had frozen her to death and—

  Mary bustled back into the room, halting at the door. “What are ye pretendin’ now, lassie? Ye look as though ye’ve gone and died right there on the poor cap’n’s bunk.”

  Fia’s face heated as she scrambled to sit upright. “I was just thinking about a play I am writing.”

  “A new play?” Mary’s eyes brightened as she bustled Fia into a robe. “Och, tell me about it.”

  A brief knock sounded on the door and Simmons nearly skipped into the room. “Good mornin’ to ye, milady!” His ruddy cheeks stretched into a wide smile that grew wider when his gaze fell on Mary. “And to ye, too, Mistress Mary.”

  There was no disguising the admiration in his voice. Mary’s blue eyes raked the first mate up and down, her mouth prim with disdain. “Och, now, and what do ye think ye are about, boltin’ into her ladyship’s room without so much as a by-yer-leave? Ye knock and then ye wait fer someone to tell ye to come in!”

  “Sorry, mistress.” Simmons regarded her rounded frame with admiration. “I’m bringin’ ye the tub, like ye requested.” He stepped aside and waved in what seemed to be the entire crew, carrying pails of hot water and a half cask that must have been the washtub.

  Mary watched as the men filled the makeshift tub with gently steaming water. “Dinna fill it too full. ’Tis a small tub and the water will splash out if ye do.”

  After Simmons and the men left, Mary dipped an elbow into the tub. “’Tis not much of a tub, but the water is hot.”

  Fia nodded. The small tub seemed to sum up her whole situation; she had to compress her unruly feelings into a smaller space than they wanted.

  Mary shot her a quick, assessing gaze. “Och, dinna look so disappointed. ’Twas the best I could
do and—”

  Fia hugged the maid. “I’m very grateful for the tub. I’ll fit, too. Just not all at once.”

  Mary chuckled. “Climb in, lass. Just think: ye might be meetin’ the queen soon! ’Tis unlikely to be as soon as we’d hoped, though; the storm blew us off course a bit. But another few days will pass quickly enough.”

  Fia’s heart sank. “We’ll be longer at sea?”

  “Aye. Now, in the tub with ye.” Mary bustled to the door. “I’ll fetch ye up some drying cloths.” She shut the door behind her.

  Fia sighed, tossing her robe onto the bed and settling into the small tub. It was ludicrously tiny and both of her legs hung out. “A bath,” she said scathingly. “More like a puddle if you ask me.”

  Thomas the rabbit hopped to the edge of the tub and stood on his hind legs, sniffing the air.

  Fia smiled reluctantly. “’Tis a paltry excuse for a tub, is it not?”

  He apparently agreed, for he hopped back to the blanket, which had fallen to the floor, and flopped onto his stomach.

  Fia sighed, trying hard not to succumb to the weight that pressed on her. “It appears that Thomas regrets what happened betwixt us, and it pains my pride. It’s never nice to be regretted.”

  The rabbit’s nose quivered as if he agreed.

  “I need to stop thinking about his high and mighty lordship and pay attention to why I came to London: to find a sponsor for my plays.” She picked up a cloth and rubbed Mary’s lavender soap across it.

  “I was foolish to think that just because my feelings for him have grown, that his feelings for me were doing the same.” Fia rubbed her arms with the soapy cloth, using far more force than was necessary. “Perhaps if I act as if nothing has happened, he will do so, too. At least then I’ll still have my pride.”

  The rabbit rolled to one side, presenting its back to Fia. “Aye, I’m fooling myself, aren’t I? The man fascinates me as no other, yet he never seems as taken with me. I don’t know much about relationships, but it seems poorly constructed to have one that is so lopsided. And I’ve a feeling that things will only get more complicated once we reach London.”

  The rabbit placed its head upon its paws and sat quietly, as if thinking.

  “Aye, I shall have to put my mind to the issue, as well.” Sighing, Fia rested her head on the tub’s edge and closed her eyes, her mind whirling. She had to make it through the next week without allowing herself to fall even more under Thomas’s spell. He was obviously upset that an annulment was no longer possible.

  Perhaps that was the key. Perhaps if she showed him that she still wished for the annulment and would do what she had to in order to procure it, then he would be easier.

  She sighed. It wasn’t much of a plan, but for now, ’twas all she and her rabbit could come up with.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thomas halted outside his cabin, holding the towel he’d wrested from a scandalized Mary, his other hand resting uncertainly on the brass handle.

  All morning, he’d grappled with the cold reality of his actions last night. There was no longer a possibility of an annulment; they had crossed that line. Even now, Fia could be carrying his child. Taking the towel from Mary had been a bold move, for it had publicly announced that his wife was now his in more than name only, but he was feeling bold. Bold and determined to do the right thing, regardless of the cost to his happiness. A Wentworth could do no less.

  Sweet Jesu, but it had been a short night. First the storm, and then finding Fia alone in his room. His blood heated at the memory. After hours of fighting the storm, he’d been so exhausted he’d barely been able to stand, but the second he’d pulled Fia into his arms, all that was forgotten.

  This morning he’d been none too pleased to leave the warmth of his bed to stand upon the frigid deck, knowing Fia was snug and waiting.

  Fia . . . in his bed. He closed his eyes against the heat that instantly rose, astonished that he lusted for her still. Merely hearing her splashing in her bath through the door was an exquisite torture.

  Thomas could almost see her white shoulders rising above the water, her hair floating around her like a mermaid’s. His loins tightened painfully, and he scowled. By the saints, but he was as besotted as a stripling.

  It was that thought that had sent him from her bed with such haste.

  Being married to her would expose him to her charm all the more. He was already discovering that his original idea to see more of her and thus slake his hunger had done the opposite.

  “Aye, look where that got you,” he muttered. “Into her arms and more tangled than ever.”

  The truth was simple: there was a fierce attraction between them, one that made no sense and did not answer to any plans he’d made for his future.

  He leaned his forehead against the door, a strange ache in his heart. Some part of him that had loosened under her sensuous touch had curled back into a tight knot when he’d realized how perilously close he was to falling in love.

  And out of control.

  His jaw set. If he had anything to do with it, such a thing would never, ever happen.

  Yet what was he to do now? He’d compromised her; now he was cursed. But the time for complaining was gone. He’d made his choices and now they were his to live with. He gripped the brass handle and opened the door.

  Fia sat with her back to the him, her arms and legs sprawled over the edges of a very small tub. Her wet hair hung in a curtain down her back and pooled into a puddle on the floor, strands clinging to her neck and shoulders. She looked more like a sodden puppy than the mermaid he’d imagined.

  She turned at the sound of the door and Thomas caught a glimpse of her profile, her eyes tightly shut to ward off the soapy water dripping down from her hair.

  “Mary, pray bring the towel. I’ve soap in my eyes.”

  If ever a woman had a voice that whispered of wanton pleasures, it was hers. Thomas tried to ignore the rise of her breasts as she reached blindly toward him. He was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and taste that bath-sweetened skin.

  “Mary?”

  Thomas dropped the towel into her outstretched hand.

  “Och, thank you.” Fia wiped her eyes and held the towel back toward him, never turning around.

  He took it without saying a word.

  “I can’t believe this is all the tub that’s to be had on the Sassenach’s ship,” she grumbled. “’Tis more like a tankard.” She gazed at the steam that rose from the water. “Mary, do you remember the hot springs Duncan took us to see in Wales? The mist off the water curled into fingers, reaching up and up, only to waft away. I was fascinated and fearful yet I couldn’t look away.”

  Every word drew Thomas in, feeding something thirsty deep in his soul. She was a conjurer, this woman of his, a magician who turned words into feelings and memories and thoughts he didn’t want to have.

  He found himself lost in a memory that had tucked itself into a deep corner of his mind. He’d been young, maybe five or six, and his mother had come to the nursery and dressed him in a heavy woolen cloak and leather boots. He’d been excited, for it had rained for what had seemed weeks and weeks, and they hadn’t been able to go outside.

  He frowned, the memory slipping more firmly into place. His mother had loved to ride and would go in all weather, to his father’s disapproval. She would come back flushed and muddy, her hair falling about her, her cheeks rosy, a grin turning up her usually somber lips. Those were the few times she’d really seemed happy.

  Thomas always thought she looked so pretty then, but it somehow made Father angry, for ’twas not decorous to ride in such a manner. Yet Mother had refused to give up her riding.

  This one day had been different, though. Instead of going out by herself, she’d come for him, whispered to him to be quiet, then they’d slipped past his father’s study and outside.

  A carriage was waiting and she’d taken Thomas to a clearing deep in the woods where the coachman unpacked a pic
nic basket. Then he and his mother had sat in the middle of the mist-filled woods, raindrops dripping from wet leaves all around, and had their luncheon. Mother had talked and smiled, but her usual somberness was never far away. Once in a while she’d look at the misty trees, her eyes dark with longing.

  Had she wanted to get away even then? When he thought about it now, perhaps his mother had been as lonely as he, locked away in that house with no companions but his stern father.

  There had been hell to pay when he and his mother had returned; Father was furious over their “unbecoming conduct” and had admonished the nursemaid not to allow Mother to take Thomas again.

  Yet it had been worth it. For weeks afterward, whenever his mother and he would look at each other, they’d share a secret smile, remembering their enchanted time in the woods.

  A splash from the tub recalled Thomas to the present. Fia had stretched a leg before her and was busily soaping it. “I feel the same way now that I did when I first saw that misty spring. I’m afraid, yet also excited. Those mist-formed fingers haunted me for weeks after, and I’ve always wondered if they were beckoning me forward or warning me away . . .” Her voice faded as her expression became distant. “Mary, do I go forward with the Sassenach, or away? I don’t know which . . .”

  Thomas’s mouth went dry as he noted the seductive curve of her leg, and he wondered if she had any idea how appealing she looked. What thoughts had she become so lost in? He fished in his pocket for a coin.

  A glimmer of gold flashed through the air, and Fia blinked, surprised as the glistening coin landed with a splash in the water, coming to rest on the curve of her stomach. Before she could speak, another coin glittered through the air and Fia gasped as it plopped onto the damp slope of her breast.

  Behind her, a deep voice said, “Normally I’d offer a penny for a thought, but yours always seem to be worth more than most.”

  Thomas walked into her line of vision, a faint smile on his lips though his gaze was somber.

  “My thoughts are hardly worth a penny, much less gold.”