by Cheryl Bolen
He had never felt so utterly satisfied with a woman, but he had never lain with a woman he truly loved. His love for Barbara nearly overpowered him with its intensity. Nothing in her statuesque demeanor would ever have told him she could be so receptive to his lovemaking, though he’d known of her warmth by her affection toward Emily and her devotion to her mother.
Bonny told herself she should be ashamed over her wanton behavior. Wasn’t a lady supposed to recoil from such intimate acts? But she couldn’t seem to get enough of this man who was now her husband. She had not even felt any of the pain a virgin was supposed to feel. Was that because Richard was so skilled a lover? She wondered if what happened between them was just another physical act to her experienced husband. Was she just another body he could use for his own pleasure? Could he possibly feel half of what she was feeling?
She lay in his arms a long while, feeling utterly complete while wrapped in his embrace. She lost all track of time. It occurred to her she should be embarrassed, were the servants to guess what they were doing, but her pride was not as great as her pleasure.
Richard propped himself on one elbow to trace with a finger her cheek, her nose, her mouth as his eyes studied hers. “Do you hurt?”
She shook her head, the vestiges of passion still in her eyes as she raised her head to kiss him.
“Oh, my love, you will get me started all over again, and we cannot spend the day in bed—much as I would love to.”
“I did not realize this—what we have done—happens in the daytime.”
He laughed a hearty laugh. “Oh, what an innocent you are, my dear.” He brushed back stray strands of black hair from her damp temples. “But very satisfactory in bed, I am happy to say.”
Words of love would have pleased her more, but those words would have to hold her. “I feel like an utter harlot, I assure you.”
He laughed again. “Please don’t. Remember, all married persons do what you and I just did.”
“And a lot of persons who aren’t married. You most certainly must be considered a skilled lover, my husband.”
“My love, if I have intimately known women in the past, I must assure you none have been nearly so captivating as you.”
Those words gave her great comfort. She had felt her lack of experience would render her unpleasant in his bed, since she had been told men placed great importance upon the pleasures of the flesh. She was gratified to know he found her adequate, and she decided to learn to pleasure her husband in every way.
Radcliff kissed the tip of her nose, rose from the bed and went into the dressing room. She heard the sound of trickling water. A minute later he reappeared with a wet handkerchief and sat on the edge of the bed. “There is blood the first time, you know.”
Her face grew red as he brought the cloth between her legs. “Let me do that!” she said, taking it from him. “And please turn your head, sir. This is most embarrassing to me.”
He refused to turn his head. “Your body will be as mine and mine as yours, as I have said.” He watched her wipe between her legs, and when she finished, he took the bloodstained handkerchief and tossed her chemise to her. “I apprehend you would like to dress. I will see to the bedspread.”
Averting her gaze from his, she did as her husband instructed, but conflicting feelings battled in her mind. During the lovemaking, her nakedness seemed comfortable, even pleasing. But now it was embarrassing, though not nearly so embarrassing as the idea of him wiping between her legs. Only her husband’s calm reaction prevented her total humiliation. He seemed so thoroughly comfortable it quite convinced her that all married people shared such intimacy with regularity. She thought of his words. Your body will be as mine and mine as yours.
She truly belonged to him now.
Chapter Seven
Casting a rueful glance at her sleeping husband, Bonny reluctantly left her warm bed as dawn’s hazy glow slipped into her room the next morning. Remembering his lips and hands exploring every inch of her during their night of lovemaking, she fought the desire to climb back in bed with him. She must see Emily off.
Not having alerted Marie that she would rise so early, Bonny was glad to dress herself. She was not accustomed to having a maid, nor was she comfortable allowing that maid to find a man in her mistress’s bed. Bonny wondered how other married women handled such a situation. She had so much to learn. About being a married woman. About Hedley Hall and being a duchess. About her enigmatic husband.
Fastening the last button of her long-sleeved mourning dress, she quietly left the room and walked down the cold hall to meet her cousin.
Emily’s room smelled of a wood fire. Her bed was already made and her valise and hatboxes stacked one on top of the other near the door. Emily stood fully dressed in a muslin day gown, directing her gaze out the window.
Bonny entered the warm room, pleased that her servants had taken such good care of her mending cousin. “You’re all dressed, and Martha’s even done your hair.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, I do so hate to see you go.”
“But I really must. Not just because of Mama sending for me, but I long so to see Harriet, to take her in my arms.”
Bonny nodded knowingly. “I am persuaded your mother will once again throw you on the marriage mart.”
Emily placed her gloves in her reticule. “I know, and I’ve decided to be very complacent, and if some poor unfortunate man should offer for me, I will merely decline and tell Mama he did not suit. Eventually, she will have to accept that I shall be a spinster.”
Bonny thought of how full and rich her own life had become because of Radcliff and felt terribly sorry for her cousin. Walking to the door, she said, “You don’t think you could ever love again?”
“I could know no greater love than already I have shared with Harold.”
Her hand on the doorknob, Bonny said, “I understand since I’ve met his brother. Lord Dunsford is not only very attractive, but sensitive, too.”
Emily nodded sadly and whispered, “Then he is very much like Harold.”
Her heart heavy for her cousin, Bonny walked into the hall and saw the door to her husband’s chamber close.
In the magnificent dining room, a fire blazed and the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted them. Though the room was extravagantly large, it was surprisingly warm. Atop salvers on the sideboard Bonny discovered hot scones, steamy porridge and crisp kippers, which she began to put on her porcelain plate as a solemn footman entered the room.
“Allow me to serve you, your grace.”
Exchanging a bemused glance with Emily, Bonny took a seat at the long table.
As they were finishing their meal, Mrs. Carstairs brought Emily a lunch basket. “His grace asked me to make this lunch for you and Martha,” the plump Mrs. Carstairs told Emily.
Bonny fairly glowed over her husband’s thoughtfulness as she and Emily slipped on their cloaks and left the room.
“I fear I have already blundered,” Bonny whispered. “Duchesses, apparently, are not permitted to serve themselves.” Though she made light of it, Bonny worried she would be the laughingstock of the servants’ hall.
They walked to where the coach and four waited. Her husband, dressed and shaven, also awaited them. At the sight of Radcliff, Bonny drew in her breath.
He met her gaze with a softness in his eyes, a flicker of a smile and a slight nod, but it was to Emily that he spoke. “Lady Emily,” he said, taking her hand and assisting her into the carriage, “I regret that you must leave so quickly, especially since my poor wife will sadly lack for female companionship.”
“Then you will have to bring her to London, your grace,” Emily said, climbing into the carriage.
The duke’s brows lowered. “London during the season is no place for one in mourning.”
“I don’t think I can wait until her mourning is over to see Bonny again.”
“We will not wait that long,” Bonny said cheerfully as the horses began to kick up gravel from the driveway.
Emily’s eyes glistened with tears as she said her farewells and the carriage pulled away.
The duke and duchess watched the carriage until the sound of hooves against the pebbles could no longer be heard. Then Radcliff looked down into his wife’s face. “Your home, Hedley Hall, my dear, is in need of a woman. Mrs. Green is very competent—been housekeeper since I was a lad—but she is unused to making decisions, and her eyesight is not what it once was.”
They strolled back into the house, Bonny feeling quite regal as she passed between two liveried footmen with her handsome husband at her side.
“I regret to say that I have taken no interest in the place since I assumed the title, therefore much needs to be done,” Radcliff said.
“I cannot believe Mrs. Green would welcome my interference in what has been her domain for so many years, sir. And you must perceive I am completely unprepared to run such a mansion.”
“You have excellent judgment and good taste. You will do a fine job, I am sure. And I trust you, my dear, to know how to get what you want done while making Mrs. Green think it was her very own idea.”
A grin turned up the corners of her mouth. “Yes, that might answer very well, sir.”
He took her hand and pressed it between his. “You are at liberty, my dear, to make all the changes you desire. I have conveyed as much to Mrs. Green.”
“And her reaction?”
“She was actually quite pleased. Today, she will give you the grand tour.”
Bonny was disappointed her husband was not going to escort her through the rambling house. Surely he would know the history of the Moncrief family—her family now—better than a housekeeper. “And what do you do today, sir?”
“I will check my lands with my steward and visit tenants. Tomorrow, I should like you to accompany me fishing. We can have Cook prepare a picnic.”
“I shall look forward to it very much.”
They strolled through the opulent salon. “I should warn you that today will exhaust you. Hedley Hall is quite vast. In earlier days it took one servant all day just to open and shut all the casements.”
She had no problem believing that. There must be more than three hundred windows in Hedley Hall.
In London, Lady Lucille was not the only person to read with indignation the Gazette announcement of the forthcoming nuptials between the Duke of Radcliff and Bonny Barbara Allan. Stanley Moncrief, his head not well from overindulging the previous night, read the unwelcome announcement as he partook of strong morning coffee.
“The bloody bastard cannot do this to me!” he shouted.
His man, Wilcox, bringing his master the day’s post, came to stand placidly at his side. “Is there a problem, sir?”
Stanley just sat, staring at the announcement. He had read it twice in the hopes he had read it incorrectly the first time. But there it was. “The fifth Duke of Radcliff has announced his intention to marry Bonny Barbara Allan of Milford.”
“Yes, by God, there is a bloody problem. It seems my dear cousin Richard has decided to wed. Just when I had come to anticipate being the sixth Duke of Radcliff. Damn him! When a man gets to four and thirty without marrying, wouldn’t you say he would be a bachelor for life, Wilcox?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Well, I bloody well could. But I hadn’t counted on that blasted Bonny Barbara Allan.” He thought of her Roman countenance and grew rigid. “Hers is a face that has cost me a dukedom.”
Wilcox placed his master’s letters on the breakfast table. “Will that be all, sir?”
Distracted from perusing the day’s post, Stanley merely nodded, tossing aside first one, then another piece of correspondence without opening it. They are all the same, he thought, tradesmen demanding payment. Suddenly, an idea came to him. “Wilcox,” he yelled. “Pack my things. We’re going to Kent. I have a keen desire to see my dear cousin.”
As the frail, white-haired Mrs. Green guided her through the vast rooms of the main house, Bonny kept thinking about the long-ago servant whose sole job was opening and closing all the casements. If that servant walked as slowly as the elderly Mrs. Green, Bonny thought with amusement, one day would not be enough.
She tried to imagine these echoing rooms filled with voices and laughter, but the musty smell of disuse was stronger than her imagination. To bring life back to these cold rooms would indeed give her pleasure.
She regretted that Mrs. Green was unable to enlighten her on the history of the fine paintings by Italian masters or the gilded French furnishings draped with costly silk brocades. Why, the contents of only one of these lavish rooms would cost more money than her father had possessed in his long lifetime.
“His grace tells me he wishes you to redecorate these rooms, for he plans to entertain now that he has so lovely a wife to display,” said Mrs. Green, her voice trembling with the unevenness that comes from decades of use. “Now that I’ve seen you, I understand completely. Even as a boy, his grace always had an eye for what was of the best quality, what was most beautiful.”
Bonny felt the color rise to her face. Was that why Radcliff had married her? Was she to be an ornament? Another beautiful possession?
“You will want to modernize,” Mrs. Green said. The old woman stopped and looked at Bonny.
“I have no wish to change what is quite lovely as it is.”
Bonny perceived a satisfied twinkle in the old woman’s eyes.
“The draperies have faded and will have to be replaced,” Bonny said. “What do you think about having the new ones made exactly as the old ones?”
“I think that is an excellent idea, your grace.” The stooped Mrs. Green ambled across the marble floors of the grand salon and into the dining hall.
Looking up at rows of massive crystal chandeliers, Bonny wondered if lighting all their candles was the sole task of still another servant. “I realize my husband has not retained adequate staff to keep the main house cleaned. Perhaps we could hire workers to do the heavy cleaning. Do you think the chandeliers might need polishing?”
The old woman looked up and agreed.
Bonny eyed paint peeling near the ceiling some twenty feet above them. “And what do you think about having the rooms repainted—in the same colors, of course?”
“To tell you the truth, your grace, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. I daresay you can tell better than I.”
Mrs. Green saved the lived-in wing until last. By this time, Bonny fairly shivered from the coolness of the unused rooms of icy marble, where closed draperies hid even the sunlight.
In the warmer west wing, Mrs. Green showed Bonny the linen rooms, the butler’s pantry—all the rooms not normally viewed by a visitor.
Bonny especially enjoyed the nursery. She smiled when she found a primer in which Richard’s name had been printed in a shaky, youthful script. Being here, Bonny now felt even closer to her husband. How she longed to fill this room with their children.
She also enjoyed Richard’s study, where fires blazed at two hearths. On a table beside one of the sofas, a collection of snuffboxes caught her attention. She picked up one, a blue Sevres porcelain with elegant gilding. Another was of gold encrusted with diamonds.
“His grace is noted for his collection of snuffboxes,” Mrs. Green said. “It is said to be the finest in the world.”
Bonny placed the box she held back on the table ever so carefully. “They are so beautiful.”
“Yes. His grace loves beautiful things.”
There it was again. His reason for marrying her. If only he loved her as she loved him. But even last night, when he whispered words of adoration, he never said he loved her. But had she told him? No, she could not possibly be the first to say that. Then he’d likely be compelled to say he loved her, whether he meant it or not.
Bonny glanced at Mrs. Green. “You’ve known the duke all his life?”
“Oh, yes.”
“What kind of boy was he?”
The old woman’s face softened. “Well, he worried his poor mum to death. Never afraid of anything. He would get on the fiercest horse and take those fences when he was just a wee one. And I will never forget when he jumped into the lake—before he ever knew how to swim. He was a wild one. Then, when he went to Oxford! Well, I’m just glad his poor mum, rest her soul, did not know half of what he did.
“But he was a good boy. A very loving son. And very kind to the tenants. Generous.” Mrs. Green gazed off into the distance, her voice low and tender. “I remember how he loved to go in his mother’s room in the mornings. It was pink in those days. The most beautiful room you ever saw—still is, even though it’s a different color.”
“Yes, I quite agree.”
“He loved his mum’s beautiful room. As rough and tumble as he was, he appreciated beauty.”
“Yes, I do,” said the duke, walking up and kissing his wife on the cheek.
Bonny turned glad eyes on her husband and tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. “You’re back earlier than I expected, sir.”
“It is not really that early, my dear. We keep country hours, which barely gives me time to clean up for dinner. Since there will be just the two of us, I beg you wear something colorful. No mourning garb.”
She followed him up the stairway, playfully mocking an obedient servant. “Yes, Richard.”
“How do you find your maid?”
“She seems to be very competent. I’m told she is handy with a needle, and I intend to employ her talents on my mourning clothes.”
“Did she arrange your hair today?”
“Yes, I was quite pleased. Do you like it?”
He stopped at the top of the stairs and studied her. Ringlets fell on her face from the swept-back arrangement. “I do.”
She lowered her lashes and a contented smile played at her lips. “Do you now have your man back?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Evans entered my chamber as soon as you left yours this morning. When I heard him busying himself in my dressing room, I called out for him to come into my wife’s room. He barely spoke to me. He hasn’t got over my going off for a month without him.”
