by Gayle Callen
Victoria stared at her and softly asked, “Why are you saying these things?”
Meriel bit her lip, such a familiar gesture in their family. “Because I feel terribly guilty that you were driven to something that you never wanted in the first place. It’s not right.”
“But it feels right,” Victoria insisted, more for her own benefit than her sisters’. “It is as if…God gave him to me for a reason. I’m not fleeing. Mama is already inside.”
“But—” Meriel began.
“Hush,” Louisa said, her hand on Meriel’s arm. “Her decision is made. Are you ready, Victoria?”
“I’m ready. Do I look suitable?”
Victoria wore a cream-colored gown draped with lovely bridal lace. The color managed to make her hair look more vivid than it normally did, and hide the paleness of her skin.
“You look beautiful,” Louisa whispered.
Victoria squeezed their hands. “Thank you. Now you both go on ahead.”
They opened the inner doors to the church and walked down the aisle. Lord Thurlow didn’t smile, but he studied her in a way that could not be termed dismissive. She had noticed that he didn’t seem to mind looking at her, and it made her feel rather…good.
The best man at his side, Lord Wade, gave a cheerful grin when he saw her sisters, and something inside Victoria relaxed the tiniest bit. Lord Wade seemed like a man who accepted life as it came to him, and didn’t worry overly much about anything. If he was a common example of the ton, she should not be so anxious. There must be something good-natured about Lord Thurlow, to have such a happy friend.
And then it was her turn, and she walked up the aisle alone. She was the focus of every stare, few in number though they were. She’d once spent her whole life hiding from such notice, hugging the walls at long-ago parties, retreating for hours alone in the music room. But not anymore. She would be the wife of a viscount, and she would not embarrass him.
Her sisters looked determinedly cheerful, her mother worried. There was an older gentleman in a wheelchair who watched her with a scowl, and she knew that this must be the Earl of Banstead, Lord Thurlow’s father. He was thin, hunched, pale with the pallor of sickness, not looking like the inspiration for so much gossip.
And he was obviously angry about the wedding. Of course he disapproved—she brought nothing to the marriage but herself. She tried not to look at the old man, but his feelings were palpable, pressing in on her. She would be living in the same house with him.
The ceremony itself was brief and echoed strangely in the empty church. Victoria remembered little of the words; all she could do was stare into the impassive eyes of her betrothed—her husband.
Then it was done. He kissed her cheek, and she was married.
The two of them rode alone as husband and wife in Lord Thurlow’s enclosed carriage back to Banstead House. Victoria held her pink roses and stared blindly out the window, thinking about that simple kiss, and how inhaling the scent of him had actually been pleasurable.
He cleared his throat. “I am pleased that your sisters could attend.”
“So was I,” she said, glancing at him.
He was watching her with a look she couldn’t decipher. Was it…relief? That didn’t make sense.
“You’ll have to forgive my father,” he said. “He is an old man whose pain has clouded his thinking. It was wrong of him to display his unwarranted feelings.”
She would start out her marriage with as much honesty as she could. “My lord, he has every right to be angry. I am quite certain I am not the sort of woman he planned for his son to marry. Perhaps you kept me away from him deliberately?”
“Does that bother you?”
“It is understandable. Being told the truth up front would have helped.” She waited for a response, but he said nothing. “Did he try to talk you out of the marriage?”
“Yes.”
She winced. She had wanted honesty, after all.
“He may be the earl, but I make the decisions about my future,” he said.
“Then yours is an unusual relationship, my lord.”
He only frowned.
At Banstead House, the servants gathered in a long line to greet her, and it was a relief to see the friendly face of Mrs. Wayneflete. The other servants were a bit more reserved, but surely Victoria could win them over.
After the servants had all filed out of the entrance hall, Victoria looked about her as Lord Thurlow led her up the stairs to the drawing room. Everything was of the utmost elegance, with damask draperies, velvet cushions, and marble-topped tables, but there was something…cold and impersonal about it all. That was when she realized that a woman’s touch was missing. There was not a memento or a vase of flowers to be found, though dozens of expensive paintings made it seem like a museum. And everywhere the draperies were only partly drawn, as if the sun was unwelcome.
Meriel and Louisa, already waiting for her, gave her cheerful smiles that seemed forced. Lord Wade sat across from them, and Mama stared about her with that same sad, worried expression. Why couldn’t she understand that everything would be all right now?
The earl was not in attendance, and Victoria admitted to herself that she was relieved. She would have to face her new father by marriage eventually, but she didn’t want her wedding day marred.
The breakfast was cordial, even cheerful, with Lord Wade guiding much of the conversation with the amusing doings of the ton. Victoria noticed that Lord Thurlow did not contribute much to the gossip; in fact, he seemed to disapprove.
But hadn’t he used to tell wonderful stories, back when they wrote in their journal? Sometimes he’d created fantasy tales of adventure, and other times he’d made the realities of an earl’s household seem amusing. Now, as she listened to him discuss a horse race with Lord Wade, she studied him intently, looking for the boy in the man, but she didn’t see him. He had changed so much.
Of course, he was now a grown man. She hadn’t realized how much she would notice such a thing. But his very maleness seemed foreign to her, and her fascination with his physicality embarrassed her.
He turned and caught her staring. She blushed and sipped her wine and tried to pretend that everything was all right, when it wasn’t.
“Lord Thurlow,” Meriel said, “Victoria’s things will have to be moved into Banstead House. Since we do not know your schedule, is there a time that would suit you? Or do you plan to be traveling?”
Victoria was grateful for Meriel’s practicality, since she hadn’t even questioned her husband about the first days of their marriage. She’d been too focused on the actual ceremony!
Lord Thurlow turned to look at Meriel. “Any time will suffice, Miss Shelby. I have too much business in London for a wedding trip.”
Railway business, Victoria was certain. Another sign that he would not leave his investments to be handled by someone else.
After breakfast, Lord Thurlow rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Thurlow—”
She looked about for a moment, and he waited with an air of amusement until she realized he had meant her.
“Oh, do forgive me, my lord,” she said in a faint voice, listening to Lord Wade laugh good-naturedly.
Her husband inclined his head. “I have a meeting that I could not reschedule. I’ll be back for dinner.”
“Oh.” She rose to her feet, but didn’t know what to do. Should she accompany him to the door?
But he turned and left the room.
Lord Wade rescued her from awkwardness. “Lady Thurlow, have you seen the grounds yet?”
The afternoon flew by in a relaxed and easy manner. Lord Wade gave them a tour of the gardens, then they all played croquet after eating luncheon on the terrace. Out on the lawn, smelling the grass and flowers, Victoria quite forgot her worries until she looked up as the sun lowered behind the trees. Her husband stood on the terrace, looking at them.
Looking at her.
Oh goodness, the night was almost upon her.
&
nbsp; David did his best to encourage Simon and the Shelby family to stay for dinner, but everyone was determined to see the newly married couple alone for the evening. The sisters said their mother was tired and needed to rest, so they took her home for the night, promising to return on the morrow.
He watched the good-byes dubiously. There was much kissing on the cheek and hugs and worried looks they obviously didn’t want him to see. From the way the Misses Shelby were acting, it was obvious they thought he was about to drag their sister off to his lair and pounce on her. By God, people got married every day.
But surely they knew of the rumors circulating about his family, and were now regretting that their sister was trapped.
But it was too late for any regrets.
David watched Simon escort the women home, and then he closed the door and turned to look at his new wife. She stared at him solemnly before she remembered to smile.
“Shall we go in to dinner, my lord?”
“Give me a moment to file this afternoon’s papers. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
But a few minutes ended up being a half hour, and he hurried up to the dining room, where Victoria sat amid fresh flowers and candles.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said.
Victoria closed the notebook she was reading. To his satisfaction, she did not berate him, only smiled as she said, “It was not an imposition. Will your father be joining us?”
“Since the table is set for two, I assume not. He doesn’t leave the house much anymore, so the ceremony this morning probably exhausted him.”
She said nothing to that, and he wondered if she believed him. She’d be right not to.
After the first course was served, he watched Victoria quietly sip her turtle soup, her eyes downcast, her manner demure. He was rather surprised by how easy it was to remain focused on her, when his thoughts usually drifted to practical matters he had still to accomplish that day. He watched her delicate fingers at work, and even the movement of her lips. He had thought her plain but for her violet eyes, yet the way she moved intrigued him, full of purpose, without the artifice so many ladies of the ton had mastered.
“Victoria, I know that becoming my wife has led to great changes for you—”
Her eyes fixed on him.
“But I promise not to interfere in whatever you choose to do during the day. I am often gone, or at work in my study. I will, however, try to be home as much as possible for the evening meal. The household is yours to run. You’ll have no interference from me.”
“But my lord, you’ve been a bachelor for many years—surely there are things you’d like done a certain way.”
“Not at all,” he said, taking a bite of his broiled pheasant. “I am relieved to hand over the household to you.”
She frowned, and he knew “relieved” was a poor choice of words.
“If you have any questions, just ask,” he continued. He didn’t expect her to—after all, she had been well trained.
After the next course was served, she looked up at him expectantly.
“My lord, I do have several questions, about you rather than the household.”
“Only several?” he asked mildly, trying to hide his discomfort. “Perhaps I answered most of your questions a very long time ago.”
“You know that is not true. You could borrow our journal and see for yourself.”
He raised a hand and shook his head. “No, that’s all right. The past is dead and gone. I don’t need to relive it.”
She studied him, and he wondered what he’d just revealed to her. He didn’t like to think, let alone talk about that time in his life so tainted with constant loss.
“Very well, since I have your permission,” she said, “what do you do with yourself all day?”
Her fingers touched the notebook like a lifeline in a storm.
“Much of my time is taken up with Parliament from January to August. I was elected a member of the House of Commons, although when I inherit the title someday, I’ll move to the Lords. Since my father is so ill, I also deal with the running of our estates and our investments.”
“Do you have many estates?” she asked.
“Besides our family seat in Kent, we own nine estates throughout England, and another two in Scotland. They all vary in size, of course.”
Her mouth had fallen open, but she managed to repeat, “Of course.”
Though her father had once been wealthy, it was obvious from her reaction that her family had not expanded much into land. Perhaps that was Mr. Shelby’s main failing. Nothing to fall back on.
“You already know about my interest in the railway, but please do not discuss it in front of my father. According to him, and most of society, a gentleman is not in trade.”
She gave a rueful smile. “That I already know.”
“Of course you do.”
“My father made himself wealthy, all through his own efforts. I always admired that.”
There was an underlying bitterness that he couldn’t decipher.
“You did not wish that he was termed a gentleman?” David asked.
“So that I could attend parties with people who thought themselves better than me? No, my lord.”
“Well, don’t worry that your days will be filled with the ton’s events, Victoria. I don’t care for such things myself.”
And they went on with their quiet dinner. Again, David was surprised to find how often his gaze settled on her. Surely it was because she was a new facet of his life that he would have to work around.
After they’d finished their custard, David pushed back his chair and cleared his throat. “I’ve already hired a lady’s maid for you. She will escort you to the master suite. I’ll join you soon.”
Her face went pale.
Chapter 6
Victoria stood very near her new husband; he loomed over her, so much broader and taller than the men of her acquaintance. He took her hand and she tensed, knowing how damp her palm was inside her glove.
He placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles that she felt even through the fabric.
“Until later,” he murmured.
When their eyes met, when he really, truly saw her, there was a connection, a heat between them she had never experienced. She could feel him watching her even as she followed the maid to the second floor.
Before she knew it, the maid opened a door and led her inside a spacious room, lit with candles, and decorated in green and red and gold. There was a large four-poster bed and chaise, but also, to her relief, a desk. Another door on the far side of the room must lead to Lord Thurlow’s chambers.
Well, she would simply not think about that yet. Her own small assortment of garments had already been put away in the drawers and wardrobe. There was a hip bath steaming before the hearth, and she was glad for the chance to relax.
After introducing herself as Anna, the maid left and Victoria was alone, soaking in the tub, trying to dissolve away the day’s tensions. But she couldn’t stop looking at the door to Lord Thurlow’s room. He had every right to just walk in, surprising her in her bath, or while she was dressing. Would he? After all, what did she even know about him as a man?
But no one disturbed her. She finally got out of the tub, dressed in a silk nightdress and matching dressing gown, then sat before the hearth and brushed out her hair, drying it by the warmth of the grate.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother and Mrs. Wayneflete had told her about a woman’s wedding night, even though Lord Thurlow had promised to wait. Both women had stumbled over their words with embarrassment. Finally Mrs. Wayneflete had told her that a man put part of himself inside her, and that although it would be awkward, it was necessary to make a baby. To Mama’s shock, the housekeeper had insisted that her “dear Harold” had made sure she enjoyed herself.
That had actually made Victoria feel better.
As if she’d mentally called her husband, his door vibrated with a knock.
She cleared he
r throat. “Come in.”
The low candlelight made him seem darker, even more a stranger. Her pulse fluttered in her throat and sounded loud in her ears as she stared at him. He still wore trousers and a shirt open at the neck, but he’d wrapped a robe around himself in place of a coat. It was strange to see his throat looking so bare, strange to be in a man’s presence wearing so little herself, although she was as covered as she would be by day. But without a corset and petticoats, she felt positively unencumbered.
He stopped to stare at her for a moment, and she remembered that he’d never seen her with her hair down. But he didn’t say anything, just brought a bottle of wine and two glasses to the little table near the hearth.
After pouring for each of them, he lifted his glass. “To our marriage.”
She gratefully took a sip of wine and tried to imagine that it flooded her stomach with warmth and courage, overshadowing this cold feeling of worry that never left her anymore. She was married; she had helped save her family. If he had changed his mind about their wedding night—even if he’d simply “forgotten” their agreement—she would accept it.
Lord Thurlow sank down in the chair opposite her, his legs parted, his body more casually relaxed than she’d ever seen it. He was still watching her with those pale eyes, assessing her. What was she supposed to do? Wouldn’t he tell her?
He glanced at the brush in her hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your preparations. Please continue.”
Her eyes widened, and she almost wanted to giggle with nervousness. He was going to sit there and watch her brush her hair?
But he did. She combed through the damp strands, holding the curls out to the heat of the grate, while her new husband stared at her, sipping his wine occasionally. Her hands trembled so much, she didn’t dare lift her own goblet again, for fear of spilling it all over the new nightclothes Mrs. Wayneflete had insisted she purchase.
“You don’t need to be so frightened of me,” he finally said.
Her gaze met his. “I’m not frightened of you, my lord, but I will admit to nervousness about the unknown.”
