Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘Scotland? But that’s wonderful!’ Violet tore her fingers away from his to clasp her hands together. It was wonderful, even if she felt torn between excitement and disappointment that he wasn’t the one going with her. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘So soon?’ Her stomach plummeted. Less than a day after their marriage... She couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. Clearly he had no feelings for her at all if he was happy to send her away so soon.

  He leaned forward suddenly, capturing both of her hands this time, just as he’d done on the promenade earlier. ‘I know you’re eager for a taste of freedom, Violet. I know what that feels like, too. I would have sent you off today except that it might have raised some questions over the legitimacy of our marriage.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt her cheeks redden at the insinuation. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘But after I’ve had my wicked way with you tonight, theoretically of course, you’re free to run away wherever and whenever you choose. I believe that those were the terms we agreed on. My only condition is that Martin accompanies you.’

  ‘Martin?’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘To keep an eye on me?’

  ‘To make sure you don’t run away with any Highlanders, naturally, but for your own safety as well. He’s a useful man to have around.’

  ‘All right, if he wishes to come.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave her a smile that appeared to be completely genuine. ‘Then I hope you enjoy your freedom, Mrs Amberton. You deserve it.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Lance stood in the doorway of his father’s old chamber, without even the faintest hint of a smile on his face, wondering if time had reversed itself and it was actually five years before. Nothing about the room seemed to have changed at all.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Violet’s voice was soft at his side.

  ‘Yes.’ He forced himself to take a step over the threshold. ‘It’s just strange.’

  ‘If it’s too upsetting...’

  ‘No. As much as I hate to admit it when Mrs Gargrave’s right, it’s about time I moved in. It’s what my father would have wanted.’

  ‘But if it reminds you of him too much?’

  ‘It does, but that’s not what bothers me most.’ He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. ‘It’s Arthur. This was supposed to be his room, the heir’s room. It was never meant to be mine. It feels wrong to be here.’

  ‘You didn’t take his place on purpose.’

  ‘No, but he was just so much better than me. In every way. He should have been the one who...’

  ‘Don’t!’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t say that. We’ve both ended up in places we didn’t expect, but we have to make the most of it.’

  He frowned at the understatement. Did she feel as confused as he did, then? Did the place she’d found herself feel wrong? He didn’t like that idea. Then again, it had been an emotional day for both of them. The ceremony had been more of a sombre experience than he’d expected, but then he’d taken it seriously. He’d never intended to marry, let alone to marry for money like his father. The least he could do to compensate for that fact was to behave properly.

  And he would make her happy. He’d made that resolve on the promenade after their visit to her father’s house. He’d do whatever he could do to make up for the unhappiness of her upbringing, to compensate for his own earlier behaviour towards her, too. Somehow that purpose seemed almost as important to him now as saving the estate.

  The honeymoon he’d arranged was a start. It would give her the freedom she craved—although she hadn’t seemed as happy with his gift as he’d hoped she would be. Ironic when he’d been trying his best to be happy for her. The idea of her leaving so soon made him feel strangely bereft, but it was what she wanted.

  ‘Speaking of your place...’ He led her across to a door in the far corner. ‘Your bedchamber’s through here. It’s known as the blue room for obvious reasons...’ he frowned as he turned the handle ‘...though it’s not so easy to tell in the dark.’

  He tensed as she leaned past him, holding her candle up to peer into the unlit chamber. Judging by the lack of a fire, or indeed any lighting at all, it seemed that Mrs Gargrave had her own definite ideas about where his new bride ought to spend her first night as a married woman. So much for both their rooms being ready. The next time his housekeeper offered him tea, he’d tell her exactly what she could do with it.

  He turned back into his own room and looked around apprehensively, noticing the little touches he’d missed at first glance. There was a bottle of champagne and two glasses set out on a table—even a faint scent of perfume in the air if he wasn’t mistaken. That definitely hadn’t been there in his father’s day. There was even a nightdress laid out on the bed, damn it! He supposed he ought to be grateful that there weren’t rose petals sprinkled over the floor as well.

  He cleared his throat, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘It appears that we’ll be sharing a bed tonight after all. For the sake of appearances,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Yes.’ She turned around slowly to face him, though her expression didn’t waver. Instead she looked very much as if she were trying not to have any expression at all. ‘For appearances.’

  ‘It won’t happen again. I’ll speak to Mrs Gargrave in the morning.’

  ‘It’s all right. It was a reasonable assumption for her to make.’

  ‘Violet, you know I had nothing to do with this?’ He felt a powerful urge to defend himself. After promising her that they’d sleep in separate rooms, he was uncomfortably aware that he appeared to be breaking his word on the very first night.

  ‘I know that.’ Her expression flickered with a look that he couldn’t interpret. Suspicion? Fear? No, incongruously enough, it looked more like hurt, though surely it couldn’t be that.

  ‘If I could just have a few moments to get ready for bed?’ She lifted her chin up slightly.

  ‘Of course.’ He found himself clearing his throat again. ‘Should I call for Eliza?’

  ‘No, I can manage.’

  ‘Very well. In that case, I’ll wait outside.’

  He stepped out into the corridor, feeling relieved and slightly ridiculous at the same time. The whole situation was ludicrous. He’d never been so formal with a woman in his life and this was his wedding night. He sounded as priggish as his father, for pity’s sake! Maybe the room was affecting him even more than he’d thought. The thought of sharing a bed with her made him as nervous as a youth with his first encounter and he wasn’t even intending to sleep with her!

  She opened the door again after a few minutes, dressed in what appeared to be a small tent. It managed to conceal everything, from the point of her chin down to the tips of her toes, yet the effect was oddly enticing. Such a concerted attempt to conceal her body only made him ten times more curious about it. Oh, hell...

  ‘I’m ready.’ She seemed to be avoiding his eyes. ‘Shall I wait outside while you undress, too?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. She looked and sounded so sincere that he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from laughing. ‘Get into bed if you like. You must be tired.’

  He watched as she fled across the room, uncertain about how to proceed. Usually he slept naked, but considering her somewhat excessive apparel, he supposed he ought to modify his habits tonight. Slowly, he untied his cravat and pulled off his shirt, undershirt and trousers, leaving only his drawers, before moving cautiously across to the bed, extinguishing all the candles so that the only remaining light came from the fireside.

  ‘May I?’ He felt even more ridiculous asking permission to get in, but she had the covers pulled up to her chin, as if she were afraid her voluminous nightgown wasn’t armour enough, and he didn’t want to alarm her. She gave a tiny nod and he climbed in, resisting the urge to spread out, as usual, in the centre.
>
  ‘Comfortable?’ He felt the need to say something, anything, to ease the tension he could feel emanating from her side.

  ‘Yes. It’s just...strange.’

  ‘Would you prefer me to sleep in the chair?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘It wouldn’t be good for your leg. And we are married.’

  ‘Yes.’ He hoisted the covers up over his chest. ‘So we are.’

  They were silent for a few moments, both staring at the canopy as if there were something of intense interest above them.

  ‘I haven’t shared a bed with anyone for years.’ She broke the silence finally. ‘Not since my mother died. She used to sleep with me when I was frightened.’

  ‘My mother used to let Arthur and me sleep in her bed when we had bad dreams, too.’ He smiled at the memory. He hadn’t thought about that for years...

  ‘It was nice, having someone to curl up with.’ She stiffened suddenly. ‘Not that I mean...’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Although he was inclined to agree in either case. The warmth radiating from her small body was already tempting him across the centre of the bed. It would be more than nice to curl up with her. It would be nice to do other things, too. More than nice, in fact... Damn it. Even the thought made his body react in a way that was definitely not in keeping with their agreement. He shifted on to his side and flicked at the covers, trying to hide the evidence.

  ‘Didn’t you have a nurse to sleep with?’ He tried to distract himself with the question.

  ‘Yes, for a while.’ She twisted her head towards him with a perplexed expression. ‘Are you too hot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We can take the covers off if you like?’

  ‘What? Oh, no, I was just rearranging. You said you had a nurse?’

  ‘Yes, but she never slept with me. She never touched me if she could help it. My father told her not to. He thought it was bad for me.’

  ‘To be touched?’

  ‘Or embraced. Or kissed. He said it was all sentimental nonsense.’

  He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her. Did she sound wistful or was he just imagining it?

  ‘Didn’t you have other relatives? Aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?’

  ‘My father didn’t have any family as far as I know, although some of my mother’s family came to her funeral. They said they’d visit me, but they never did.’

  ‘They never wrote to you? Never invited you to stay?’

  ‘If they did, my father never told me.’ Her eyes looked very bright in the firelight suddenly, as if there were tears glistening inside them. ‘But perhaps I’m blaming him unfairly. Perhaps they didn’t want me.’

  He felt an ache in his chest, a combination of sympathy for her and anger towards her father. How lonely must she have been, growing up in that vast, empty prison of a house without any love or affection, just a miserly old man hoarding her all to himself for company? He had the sudden strong conviction that if he could wind the clock back five years, then not only would he call Jeremy Harper a few more choice words than liar, but he would rescue her, too. He would have refused to leave the ballroom without her. Then he would have gathered her into his arms the way he wanted to now.

  That would definitely give the wrong impression.

  ‘I’m sure your mother’s family wanted you, Violet. They would have been mad not to. Do you know where they live?’

  ‘No.’

  He drew his brows together thoughtfully. ‘Did your father have a study?’

  ‘Yes, but he always kept it locked. I think Mr Rowlinson has the key.’

  ‘Then it belongs to you now. We ought to take a look. There might be some clue as to where they live.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I know it sounds wicked, but I don’t want to go back there ever again.’

  ‘Then let me.’

  She looked surprised. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all, and if that doesn’t work then there are plenty of other ways we can find them.’

  She pursed her lips together as if she were trying to control some emotion. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll look into it while you’re away.’

  Impulsively, he reached out and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, surprised by a feeling of tenderness. Even now, she looked radiant, albeit swathed in enough material to make a pair of curtains. How was it possible for such a warm, vibrant woman to have emerged out of such a cold, lonely childhood? One in which she’d never been hugged, held or kissed...

  His gaze dropped to her lips. No wonder she’d been so sensitive about the subject of suitors when they’d first met. She’d never been touched or caressed by any man. Even he hadn’t kissed her at their wedding, no more than a chaste peck anyway. Considering their agreement, it hadn’t seemed appropriate to do more at the time, but now he wished that he had. It seemed wrong now not to have kissed her, even if it was too late to do anything about it. If he tried to kiss her now, even chastely, then she might think he wanted more—which, given the strain in the lower part of his body, he did.

  What the hell had he been thinking, suggesting seven years?

  ‘You ought to get some sleep.’ He dragged his hand away and rolled on to his other side, wishing he’d ordered a cold bath for the evening. ‘You have a big day ahead of you.’

  ‘Yes.’ He thought he heard a faint sigh before she spoke, her voice sounding oddly subdued. ‘Goodnight, Lance.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You’re early, Amberton.’

  Lance twisted his head to find Robert Felstone standing on the railway platform beside him. He’d been staring at the track so fixedly, looking for any hint of steam in the distance, that he hadn’t seen him approach.

  ‘Yes, I must have got the wrong time.’

  He frowned as he said it, wondering why he was bothering to lie. He knew exactly what time the train was due, having checked the schedule repeatedly over the past few days and at least five times that morning, but for some reason he didn’t want the other man to know that.

  ‘Ah.’ Robert gave a wry smile. ‘I’m early, too, as it happens, though you know there’s nothing wrong with being eager to see your wife, Amberton.’

  ‘I hardly know my wife.’ Lance had to consciously restrain himself from looking back down the track. ‘How could I miss her?’

  He pulled at the rim of his top hat, asking the question as if it were simply rhetorical, though in truth he was somewhat curious to know the answer himself. The past three weeks had felt at least double that length.

  ‘I knew Ianthe for less than ten minutes before I asked her to marry me—’ Robert was still smiling ‘—though it took her another two days to say yes. Then I had to wait three months before seeing her again. They were the longest three months of my life.’

  ‘Lucky for me it’s only been three weeks, then.’

  ‘True, although I wouldn’t have agreed to any longer than a month. I really ought to be angry with you for sending my wife off on your honeymoon, but then they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.’

  ‘They do, but as I said, I must have got the time wrong.’ Lance cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Any idea why they’re coming back a week early? Violet’s letter was somewhat vague.’

  ‘So was Ianthe’s, though I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Do you care for some company while we wait?’

  ‘By all means, as long as you don’t mind being stared at.’ Lance nodded his head towards a group of men clustered together on the far platform. The frequent glances in his direction made their topic of conversation quite obvious. ‘I seem to be attracting a lot of attention this morning.’

  ‘Which makes a refreshing change for me.’ Robert arched an eyebrow. ‘Usually I’m the one being gossiped about, but your reputation se
ems to be even more jaded than mine. The two of us together ought to be the talk of Whitby.’

  ‘I thought you were an esteemed man of business?’

  ‘Man of business, yes. Esteemed, no. I was on my way towards becoming a gentleman once, but I’m afraid circumstances put paid to that.’

  ‘Because of Charles Lester? I heard the rumours.’

  ‘I didn’t push him.’

  ‘I never thought that you did. Besides, I think Violet would have refused to marry me if I had.’ He felt a tug of jealousy at his own words. ‘She’s one of your greatest defenders.’

  Robert laughed. ‘I put that entirely down to Ianthe. Old Harper made his disapproval of me quite obvious.’

  ‘Then we’ve something in common. He called me a reprobate—quite rightly, of course.’

  ‘And now you’re married to his daughter.’

  ‘I doubt he would have been pleased.’

  Robert glanced at him speculatively. ‘I understand that you’re setting up in business yourself? Iron, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve opened a new mine close to Rosedale.’ Lance hesitated briefly. ‘As it happens, I wouldn’t mind your opinion on a few matters. I heard you invested in the works at Grosmont.’

  ‘I did, though I’m no expert on mining, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Neither am I. I’m learning as I go along, but I wouldn’t mind another opinion.’

  ‘Then I’d be glad to discuss anything you want.’

  ‘Good. I’m there almost every day. Come and visit when you—’

  He stopped at the sound of a whistle blowing, his heart seeming to do some kind of violent somersault in his chest as he turned to see the locomotive already rolling into the station, chuffing slowly to a halt in a billowing cloud of steam. The whistle blew again and it stopped, the compartment doors all bursting open, seemingly at once, as passengers started to get off.

  Lance peered over the top of the crowd, resenting the height of the other travellers that made it impossible to spot his wife, about to make his way forward when a flurry of green silk flew past him and threw itself headlong into Robert’s waiting arms. He watched in amusement. That would give the crowd of onlookers something else to talk about. It seemed Ianthe Felstone was just as excited by the prospect of a reunion as her husband. He felt a brief pang of jealousy, quickly followed by a whole different pang as he turned again and caught sight of his wife.