It took less than a half-hour to view the entirety of the estate: Two rooms on each of three levels, plus an attic room for the Willises, though Mrs. Willis often stayed in the larder off the kitchen when her joints were acting up. She slowed more with every stair step they took, and Maddie’s spirits sank in proportion. After managing a staff of eighteen at the girls’ school, she wouldn’t need more than an hour or two a week to manage a steady two lodging and one day-worker. She’d need to find something beyond this home to be of service to. She hoped Shaftsbury had the right of it, and her new husband would not mind taking a wife to work.
Showing Maddie the outbuildings in the minuscule yard took less than five minutes. Everything seemed to be run on a rigid scheme, or what Maddie had started to refer to as ship-shape. No room served fewer than two purposes, aside from the water closet, which while one could scent its purpose was so bright and clean, with a manner of window in its roof, that Maddie rather suspected it was also used as a reading room.
Nash Quinn had taken the lessons learned in his majesty’s Navy to heart. She wondered if she would be made to serve multiple purposes, as well.
Returning from the attic, they stopped at the second-floor landing. The front room held a rowboat-sized bed, but had only hooks on the wall, no presses for clothes. He apparently kept most of his apparel in a battered sea chest. Was she expected to do the same?
She trailed Mrs. Willis into the smaller room, off the tiny hall. Maddie’s trunks, doubled up, crammed the space to the fireplace. The men had moved the writing desk downstairs this morning. The dormer window gave on to drizzling rain.
“We’ll need a press, and a bureau. We can squeeze in with the linen closet for now.” Mrs. Willis went to the first trunk on the right, lid open. She pulled out Maddie’s winter cape, and shook out the folds. Maddie sank onto the lid of the trunk closest to the door. This was too impossible.
Mrs. Willis turned at the sound, and nearly dropped the cape. “Poor dear, you must be famished, and here I prattle on about presses.” She patted Maddie’s shoulder. “I’ll just go down and do up some tea.”
As soon as she heard the older woman’s careful tread on the step, Maddie buried her face in her hands. Her eyes and throat already burned from the foul air of this town. She was acting all missish in front of the help, and it was so clear to her, and surely to Mrs. Willis, how poorly she would fit into their ship-shape lives.
She had too many clothes, and yet not enough. Nothing of hers was appropriate for either this town or her new station in life. But how did one go about obtaining presses, and frocks, and matronly hats? She had no capital, and her husband’s interests all lay elsewhere. Not a fortnight ago, she had thought her possessions perfect, herself exactly what was wanted—even what was needed. Now, she was a wife, as she’d expected, but of the wrong man, in the wrong place, for the wrong reasons. Forever after.
The heavy step on the stair reminded her of Miss Marsden’s. What would the headmistress say if she were to look at her now? “Tears are fine in moderation, but deciding what to do will help you more.” Maddie smiled at the memory, at the idea that Miss Marsden’s lemon-sour face could bring her solace.
She sat up straight as Mrs. Willis came in with a tiny tray laden with pot, saucers, and a plate of scones. “Very nice. Thank you, Mrs. Willis.”
“Don’t I remember my first day away from home.” She sat the tray on a small foldable stand Maddie hadn’t noticed before and started the tea steeping.
“No need to unpack all these. We’ll take just what’s needed and sent the rest of it back to the castle for storage. My wardrobe was rather—ambitious.” She didn’t wish to face that mistake every morning as she walked into her new boudoir.
Afternoon stretched into dusk, and then evening, and Maddie was still alone with the help. She had her books, and letters—the few still remaining. She’d written to Miss Marsden with all her news, as promised, already. She convinced herself that she was not lonely, but the truth was she’d thought the castle a bit bare of people. She missed the bustle of the girls’ school, and the chatty ways of small-town Bath.
This was just her first day here, she reminded herself. Of course she would make friends. Who would those friends be? Gentry? Wives of men of commerce? Working people? She must take Nash’s lead. She was an extension of him, in society’s eyes at least. Where was he?
At the warehouse, Mrs. Willis said, always at the warehouse. He might then go directly to some merchants’ meeting scheduled for tonight. He could have sent a message. He might have called for her to come and meet him. Why had he insisted they marry today when he had no time to spend with her?
What performances would he force upon her, when he did arrive home? Her wifely duties, of which she had heard much but understood little.
By eight o’clock, despite her best intentions and the best efforts of the ghost of Miss Marsden, Maddie had built herself up to a fever pitch. Nonetheless, when she heard the outside door open and his voice in the hall, she forced herself to sit still, not to run to him. Surely she was stronger than that. When he passed by the half-open door and went upstairs, though, she cracked. By the time he returned, and did open the door, greeting her with a grin and some faded bloom of a compliment, she barely heard it.
“I didn’t realize you wanted a potted plant for a wife.”
“What is wrong?”
“Why am I here?”
“This is your new home. Supper at nine?” He sat in the armchair opposite her, eyes wary, and then straightened out the afternoon newspaper and started reading.
Maddie bit her lip. Her hands busied themselves twining in her lap. Why wouldn’t he understand? Her foot stomped softly.
He looked up. “Do you wish to read the paper first?”
“No.”
“I should have brought you a posy?”
“No. Yes. No. I don’t know. I need something to do. A place.”
He sighed. “An assignment. You consider yourself an employee.”
“You are master and commander.”
“Do you believe that?”
She didn’t, but she was beyond thinking clearly and wouldn’t be made happy. “I don’t know.”
He stood and sat on the armrest of her chair, taking one of her hands in his.
“You’re freezing. You should have called for a fire.”
“It’s nearly June. I’m just an ornament, I don’t require accommodation.”
“Nonsense, and you know it. What is really wrong, Maddie?”
If she knew, she would have told him. All she knew was she was full up unhappy, dissatisfied with the mess she had found herself in.
Nash absently rubbed her hand. The rhythm of the touch sent soothing waves up her arm, calming her stupid nerves. Still, the thought niggled: Why hadn’t he been here to do this earlier?
“You wanted me home to welcome you.”
“I felt like a stranger.”
“I apologize. I intended to, but there was a problem at the ’house, and I thought I needed to fix it. But you are right, there are often problems at the ’house, and a man brings a wife to his home only once in his lifetime. I should have been here.”
Maddie’s shoulders eased. She leaned into his side. Who knew the power of his touch, his scent?
“Could I help you fix the problems? I’m a quick study.” Please, she almost begged, but held herself in check.
His hand stopped a moment. “I see I have been remiss. Give me a day or two, and I’ll rustle up an invitation or a concert. Tonight I’ll write introductions to two of the wives of men I do business with. You’ll be thick with friends and acquaintances in no time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She had one answer, at least. She was a merchant’s wife. She’d known few of their sort, but those at least had some schooling. She prayed it was true here in the over-practical north, too, or whatever would they have to talk about?
{ 14 }
After a quick, nearly silent supper on h
er new, folding dinner table, which might be pressed to seat up to six, Maddie retired upstairs and dressed for bed. The maid-of-all-work needed to return home for the evening, and Mrs. Willis wasn’t sure her fingers were nimble enough for the hooks at the back of Maddie’s dress. She would need to order dresses that hooked in front, dresses made of good Mancunian cloth.
Nash had agreed to the purchase of two dresses, with three more after she’d had time to discover which styles would suit her. He had not agreed to the clothes press and cabinetry, saying he’d see if Deacon had castoffs first.
“We’ll not live here forever,” he’d said, as if that were an explanation. She couldn’t foresee living in any place that could not use a good press or bureau. Even ships must have presses, if ladies were aboard.
Her head ached from learning about the house and fretting over everything else. Her back ached from the interminable carriage ride in an over-tightened corset. Despite it all, she could not bring herself to just tuck into her new husband’s sleeping area.
The bed looked rather like a landlubber furniture-maker’s image of a ship. Dark mahogany sides curve slightly inward, gripping the mattress at the edges. The posts held curtains that were little more than canvas, which would be good to keep the light out but bad for air circulation.
The maid had not let down the curtains. Maddie loosened one of the ties and a trickle of dust drifted down. Apparently he did not need the privacy.
Well, she certainly did. She pushed the panel down, casting dust into the air and down the floor, and then jumped back away from the worst of it. The canvas was lighter than she expected.
Each of the three sides exposed had its own curtain, stopped by the mast-like posts at the corners. By the time Maddie had all three down, the air in the room was cloudy. She went to the window and opened it. The temperature was a little cooler, soothing, but the consistency was much like the inside—except the outside air carried that blackish soot from the chimneys of the manufactories. She trusted the soot would drop and the air here on this floor, well off the ground, would be clearer. A light breeze fanned the curtain in.
She missed the smell of the sea, the shadow of salt she used to taste on her tongue from the air in Bath. Here, the air had a vague metallic finish, sharp but in a different way.
She was surprised that the master bedroom faced the street. But also glad, for she could see a dark figure walking with Nash’s long stride down the street. He’d gone to check on something at the warehouse again. It looked like she would be forever competing with that building for her husband’s attention. If only she could enlist its help.
She pulled back from the window so he wouldn’t see her, and continued to observe him. From his slouch hat to his multi-pocketed coat, he looked the moderately prosperous merchant. His sloping step was not as bow-legged as many of the gentlemen who rode every day, and he had lost much of that shuffling gait sailors used on land.
She heard him turn the key in the door’s lock—another difference from the country—and step inside.
A shiver of fearful excitement swept through her. They had performed the public ceremonies to become man and wife. Now they would perform the private ones.
She wanted his hands on her, his solid warmth, his lips. Oh yes, those lips.
He opened the door, a candle in his hand. He looked at the canvas curtains, and then saw her at the window. She felt naked under her night rail and wrapper, and tucked her arms around her waist.
“Don’t be nervous.” He set the candle on the stand beside the bed away from her, and walked to the chest in the corner opposite.
“Do you need your man?”
“No man. You could help me with my boots?”
Maddie found that small domestic chore eased her nerves. Until he spoke again.
“Is that a new wrapper? It’s quite sheer. I believe I can see your shadows.”
She looked down. The hint of dark at the tips of her breasts was obvious. She watched in shame as the pale skin around them flamed pink.
“I don’t want you wearing that around the house.”
“Of course not.” She wouldn’t dare. She tried to cover herself, but felt the heat pink her chest and wash up her face to the roots of her hair.
“Good.” His voice roughened. “I don’t wish to share you with anyone.”
She looked up, startled. He took her elbow and pulled her toward him. She settled carefully onto his lap.
“Can you feel how much I want you?”
The ridge in his pants burned where it touched her thigh. She could hear his quick breaths.
“I want you, Maddie. Are you ready for me?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He sighed, a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “You’re not, then. Help me with my shirt.”
His shirt had more buttons than she expected. “I thought most shirts had ties.”
“They do. I’m wearing my inventory, as they say. We have far too many buttons on hand. Why not set a trend for the men?”
She undid a button at his cuff, her finger running along the pulse point in his wrist. He inhaled sharply. “Should I wear buttons, too?” They might be easier for Mrs. Willis, as well.
“I should think so,” he said, capturing her hand and pulling it up to his mouth. He gave the palm the gentlest of kisses. She closed her eyes and forgot about Mrs. Willis.
The kisses continued down the inside of her arm, past the indent of her elbow. They paused as he pushed her wrapper off her shoulder, and then continued on the prickled-hot skin of her upper arm. With his other hand, he massaged across her shoulder to her neck, pulling her closer to him. She pressed her hands into his chest.
Her head fell back, her neck aching for his favors. With his thumb, he teased her lower lip. By the time his lips replaced his thumb, hers had already swollen with promise and an ache that was starting to grow familiar.
Maddie opened her mouth eagerly. She loved this part, when their breaths mixed, their tongues joined. The movement took all her attention, the loneliness and worries of the day washed away.
She wished the kiss could go on forever, but too soon Nash broke it. They sighed in harmony. His chuckle drew a small smile from her. She liked the deep dimple on his left.
He pushed a stray curl back from her forehead. “Shall we dispense with the rest of my clothing and try the bed? It’s a dashed sight more comfortable than this chair.”
He gripped her under the knees, his other arm behind her shoulders and stood, lifting her easily. As she turned her head to see where the edge of the curtain was so she could pull it aside, he kissed the tender space along her neck under her ear.
She pulled the curtain back slowly, opening the bed to the moonlight from the window. He bent and gently lay her on top of the covers. “Stay there,” he said, and then shrugged out of his shirt. His chest was wide and strong, as if it were he who carried the bolts and bales in the warehouse. Small wonder he’d had no trouble toting her.
He turned a bit to push his pants down. His rounded buttocks and powerful legs shone in the bluish light. He was just as magnificent without clothes as in them. He turned and stepped into the bed so quickly she got only a glimpse of his manhood. But that quick peek told her he was ready for plowing, as the farmers put it.
“I don’t wish you to be frightened.” He sat at her hip, his bent leg hiding his manly tool. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. I understand that it may not be so the first few times.”
He reached out, running a palm down the side of her face. She breathed him in, wanting him closer. Wanting to please, to not disappoint.
She took his arm to draw him in. He pushed up to his knees and settled himself to her side, pulling her to her side. She wanted to look down between them, but her gaze skittered away. He smiled, and taking her hand, pulled it down to his center.
“It’s nothing to be frightened of.” He pushed her hand onto his shaft. It was warmer than she expected, pulsing with life. She ke
pt her hand still for a moment, and then wrapped her fingers along the thick width of him.
He groaned, moving his hips. A shock of elation shot through her. She moved him with just a touch. Surely she could do this.
Then he was kissing her again, faster and harder. She could feel whispers of an echo of what their tongues were doing in the movements of his shaft against her hand. She nipped at his tongue with her teeth, and the shaft jumped.
A dark flash of imagination cut through her mind, and she gasped, drowning.
She’d heard this before, and it was bad. A bad thing. She was bad. A bad thing.
Before she knew it, she was all the way off the bed away from him, on the floor. The closed curtain surrounded her. She scrambled to slide under the bed, but the wooden sideboards went all the way to the ground.
She was in a pit, with snakes all around. Warm pulsing snakes. They were huge and growing larger. She was small and shrinking. She cried out.
“Madeline!”
Something grabbed her shoulder, a python ready to bite. She shrieked and tried to get away, but it held her in its hard jaws.
“Maddie!”
Someone whispered her name. A good voice, strong. She shuddered, and the snake’s head on her shoulder melted into a warm hand. The legion of vipers on the floor slid away until all that was left was the dust of the curtain and her nightgown, twisted around her.
“Come back to bed.”
Nash’s arm slid under her armpit, pulling her up. Once her hip hit the bed, he pushed to embrace her.
“What happened?”
“A nightmare. Was I sleeping?”
“Not exactly.” His voice carried concern, and not a little bit of ruefulness. “I’ve never experienced that reaction to my lovemaking before. I must be out of practice.”
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled away, and gazed at her face a moment. “Why?”
“It’s my fault. I ruin everything.”
“Who told you that?”
“Just look. You aren’t even excited by me anymore.”
Nash chuckled. “Hearing your partner shriek in terror is not the best aphrodisiac, true. Maddie, I want you. I like your smell, and your taste.” He bent down and licked her exposed shoulder. She froze, and then forced herself to relax. “I like the sound of you and the look of you. I never meant to frighten you.”
An Untitled Lady: A Novel Page 11
