“What better way to become acquainted than by kissing her?”
Regina’s heart faltered again when Lord Daniston—how long would it take for her to think of him as her husband?—turned back to her. Irritation burned fiercely in his dark eyes, and she wondered if he seldom found his will crossed in this household. This was, indeed, a bad beginning.
“She will not be quiet on this matter until we humor her,” he whispered to Regina as he put his hands on her shoulders. “I beg your pardon, madam.”
Before she could ask why he was apologizing, he pulled her to him. His mouth pressed over hers, then he released her before she could react to the sudden fire racing through her. She stared at him, but again his eyes refused to meet hers.
“Hmph,” sniffed the dowager duchess.
“Mother …”
Regina looked at the duke, who was flushing a charming shade of pink. What kind of family had she become a part of? She was given no chance to find an answer to that unanswerable question as the dowager duchess urged her to come and sit next to her.
“And you, too, Marcus.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Gardner, we would like tea now.” She turned her attention back to Regina as she patted the arm of the settee next to her. “Right here, my dear. Right between me and Marcus.”
Suspecting that disobeying the dowager duchess’s orders was something unheard of in this house, Regina sat on the very edge of the settee. Marcus lowered himself next to her, but he leaned on the arm at the opposite side.
“How wonderful to see you two together!” cooed the old woman. “Don’t you think so, son?”
The duke answered dutifully, “It is indeed wonderful.”
Those were the last words he had a chance to speak as the dowager duchess proceeded to ask Regina about every facet of her trip from Algiers. Even the arrival of tea did not slow the old woman’s questions. Throughout the conversation, Regina was inordinately aware of Lord Daniston sitting and listening in silence. She dared a glance or two in his direction, but he offered her no assistance in stemming the flow of questions. This was even worse than suffering through Mr. Bobbs’s babble.
“So I thought,” the dowager duchess said as she poured a second cup of tea for her son, “that you should hold a gathering here before the week’s end to meet our neighbors. Nothing grand. No more than twenty people, I would collect. I shall leave all matters of its arranging in your capable hands.”
“Arranging?” she asked as her fingers tightened on the fragile handle of the cup.
“The usual. Planning the menu and the theme of the evening. This way you may give the gathering your own special touch.”
“I am sorry, but I don’t know how to do that.” She set the cup back onto the marble table in front of her.
The dowager duchess’s eyes widened. “You don’t know how to give the cook a menu for a simple soirée? Your father is an envoy of the Crown. Surely you entertained often in Algiers.”
“Of course, we did, but—”
“No need to be shy, my dear. I am certain you will find this household eager to help you.”
Regina knew there would be nothing simple about a gathering for twenty people. Wishing that this discussion was not being held in front of her husband and the duke, she folded her hands in her lap and took a slow, deep breath before she said, “Your Grace, when I was living with my father, there was no need for me to concern myself about such issues. Kamil dealt with such things.”
“Kamil? Who or what is that?” asked Lord Daniston, startling her by choosing to come back into the conversation at this most uncomfortable point.
She turned to her husband. His eyes were hooded, so she could not guess what he was thinking. “Kamil al-Din runs my father’s household. He is of the baldis.” When she saw bafflement on their faces, she hurried to add, “He is a free-born Muslim and has served my father since we came to Algiers.”
“You trusted your house to such a man?” asked the duke, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. Each staccato motion proclaimed his distress.
“Of course. Kamil oversaw all the servants as well as buying our food in the marketplace.” She smiled. “He took me with him when I was a child. I always enjoyed listening to him bargaining with the storekeepers. He could always save us a few centimes. Papa said that if the Dey was half the negotiator that Kamil was, all the Mediterranean would belong to the Ottomans.”
The duke cleared his throat loudly. “We do not make it a practice to speak of politics over tea, Regina.”
She was surprised again when Lord Daniston said, “You must give her a chance to learn our habits, Father.”
“Yes.” The dowager duchess raised her fan and fluttered it in front of her face, but she could not hide her agitation. “My dear Regina, it would be for the best if you said as little as possible about that heathen outpost where you were raised. So many members of the ton are not as tolerant of others and their distinctive customs as this family is.”
Tolerant? This family? She stifled a shudder at the thought of whom she would meet at the soirée. This was not a good beginning to her marriage … not at all.
Three
Marcus wondered if anything could make this afternoon worse. It had not started badly. He had been astonished—and more than pleased—when he had walked into his grandmother’s sitting room to discover not a child, but a captivating woman being introduced to him as his wife. Regina Morrissey was nothing like he had expected. Then he realized he had had no idea what to expect.
He had been willing to sit and listen to the dulcet sound of his wife’s voice while he tried to determine how he had been so lucky as to acquire such a pretty wife. Then she had announced that she had no idea how to plan a soirée, and the dowager duchess had sputtered out her dismay.
Everything was in a muddle now. Himself most of all. He did not want a wife who could not be depended upon to manage his household while he concentrated on other matters, such as Jocelyn. His hand fisted on the arm of the settee. What amusement Jocelyn would have at his expense over this! She would, however, offer him comfort in the midst of this uncomfortable predicament.
Standing, as he heard his grandmother nearly choke on another of his wife’s answers, Marcus held out his hand to Lady Daniston. He could think of no other way to address her right now, for, oddly, he did not wish the intimacy of using her given name, although he had, as her husband, the rights to other, much more intimate intimacies.
“Madam,” he asked, when her green eyes rose toward him, “would you join me for a walk in the garden so we may talk alone and become better acquainted?”
“A grand idea!” crowed his grandmother.
Marcus noticed that his wife’s hands trembled, but her voice remained serene when she said, “Of course, my lord. I would find that a welcome relief after sitting so long in the coach.” Her gown whispered soft silk secrets as she rose gracefully. “If you will excuse us, Your Graces …”
“Of course. Of course,” the duke said with haste.
“Thank you,” she replied and put her hand on the arm Marcus held out to her.
Dash it! Did nothing unsettle this woman? This seemed like another joke perpetrated on him by Andrews. Regina Morrissey was everything he did not want in a wife.
No, he had to own, the ruddy gold of her hair and her intriguing curves beneath her silk gown were what he would have selected in a wife. She was extraordinary, but her ways were too dashed peculiar.
Fog clung to the plantings, stealing their colors, as he opened the door to allow his wife to precede him into the garden. When he pointed at a stone bench, he was glad she sat without comment. He noted that she folded her hands fittingly on her lap. Could he—and his family—have misread her words? Certainly her demeanor was that of the perfect lady.
“I should give you warning,” Marcus said without preamble, “that my grandmother, despite her sharp wit, is not as hale as she once was. Occasionally she suffers from heart palpitations. You would be wise to consider that before you jest wit
h her again.”
“Jest?”
“Trust Grandmother,” he continued, although she stared at him, her eyes wide. “She knows the best way to acquaint you with the Polite World. I know you probably thought a soirée too much to face so soon after your arrival in Town—and I apologize for Grandmother’s suggesting it at this time—but she is quite correct. It is imperative that you have at least an at-home for our neighbors.”
Regina frowned. “A what?”
“An at-home.” He clasped his hands behind his back. This joke had not been amusing before. It was growing tiresome. “Are you about to claim that you have heard nothing about an at-home?”
She shook her head. When a strand of hair fell into her face, she pushed it back and smiled with relief. “Of course, I have heard of such a thing. Mrs. Saunders, whom I met on the ship from Algiers, spoke of how she looked forward to having one when she arrived at her sister’s home. I do have to own that I found her explanation confusing. Mayhap you can clarify the matter for me.”
“Clarify?” He forced a smile. “Mayhap it would be easier for you to call on our neighbors first, although it is not comme il faut. You do know how to do that, don’t you?”
“Of course, I know how to give someone a look-in. My education was not ignored in Algiers. After all, my father is an envoy of the Regent. Everything in our household had to be without blemish when we were entertaining, which is why I left everything in Kamil’s competent hands.”
“Dash it!” he snapped before he could halt himself. “This jest has gone on long enough. I have no idea why you would try this method to ingratiate yourself into our family. It is not endearing.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about!”
Marcus cursed silently before saying, “This pose of knowing nothing about what every wife should know about taking care of her husband and his home.”
“I explained—”
“About your odd butler. Yes, you’ve already said enough about that.”
Regina counted to ten in both English and Arabic, then took a deep breath. She was being honest, and that was all she could be. “My lord, I assure you that I have been well-educated. I will not shame you before your friends.”
“But if you know nothing about managing the house—”
“Your grandmother will be delighted, no doubt, to remain the chatelaine of this house.”
His frown told her that she had guessed correctly. “The task is becoming too much for her. That is one of the reasons that Father arranged our marriage. You will need to assume her tasks.”
“My lord, I have little inclination to learn more on that subject. My interests lie in a different direction. For instance, I wish to learn more about this city. Mr. Bobbs told me there were many things of interest in London.”
“Mr. Bobbs?”
“A gentleman who shared the coach with me from Dover.”
Marcus rolled his eyes and sat on the stone bench. “A word of advice, if I may. You would be wise not to quote strangers in this household. You will find that both my father and my grandmother have little use for opinions that do not match theirs.”
“A trait which you apparently have inherited.” Regina gasped at the words she had not intended to speak.
“You do have a bit of spark within you, after all.”
“Is that your intention, my lord? To make me so furious that I will lose my temper?”
He laughed. “If that hint of fire was what you consider temper, you shall learn that there is something else I have inherited from my grandmother. The Whyte temper is anything but appealing.”
“I thank you for the warning.”
Marcus clenched his hands by his sides. Once again, she was the ice princess, hiding her feelings behind that unperturbed smile. Dash it, but his father must have been all about in his head to arrange this marriage. Who wanted a wife who had no emotions?
Again he contradicted himself as he looked into her eyes, which were nearly jade with what was undeniably uneasiness. Curious … He could not help being curious about this woman who was like no other he had ever met. She was nothing like his dear Jocelyn.
At the thought of his mistress, he stood and walked toward the wall that was dank with the fog. Over his shoulder, he said, “You are in London now, madam. It is necessary that you live a life to meet the expectations of those you will call friends.”
“Of course. I understand that.” He heard her take a deep breath, then release it. “I shall need to depend on you, my lord, to point out any mistakes I might make so that I do not make them again.”
“The dowager duchess will be glad to give you tuition on the canons of propriety.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“And how to oversee the household.”
She stood. “My lord, I implore you again to listen to me. I have no interest in such matters, so I would as lief leave them in Her Grace’s much more competent hands.”
Marcus almost fired back a furious answer, then thought differently of it when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. His wife and his mistress might not be so unalike, after all. Jocelyn knew that a few tears would give him the opportunity to comfort her. As a slow smile inched across his lips, he thought of how he last had “comforted” her.
He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. She stiffened as he touched her. Frustration raced through him. Pulling back his hand, he stared at her. No woman—no one—had ever defied his wishes on every turn as she did.
“Madam,” he said coldly, “if you would like to rest from your long journey, I would be glad to excuse you.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
When he heard the faintest quiver in her voice, he was astounded once again. He felt no sense of victory, only a deep dismay. That discouragement tempered as he watched Regina walk away and noted again how her gown accented her slender form. Maybe this marriage would not be so horrible.
Providing someone to assume Grandmother’s management of the household was only one of the reasons Father had insisted on this marriage. He laughed softly to himself as he recalled the other. It was not every night that a man looked forward to his wedding night with such an alluring wife.
He was sure that would not be horrible at all.
Regina went to the window of the grand bedchamber she had been led to and threw it open. She had been sitting here for nearly an hour, and she was tired of the silence. On the opposite side of the room, a window gave her a view of the tiny garden, but that offered no respite from the seclusion of this room.
Ignoring the grand gold silk on the walls and the rosewood and marble furniture filling the room, she dropped to sit on the window bench. Only the sounds of wheels rattling the street slipped through the open window. Algiers never had been so quiet. There the voices of the servants talking in their quarters and a street vendor’s call to buy had flooded each room. The call to prayers and the song of wandering musicians had woven through other sounds along with the scents of tropical flowers and heat and foods that the English would consider strange.
This house was glorious, but it was so pallid beside her beloved home. Looking out at the cloying fog, she wondered if the sun ever shone here. Would it be as unmerciful as the midday sun sparkling off the waters of the harbor or trying to seek its ways along the tiled corridors of the Dey’s palace?
She could not help wondering what London was like beyond Mayfair. Papa had spoken of the open-air markets around Covent Garden and the flurry of activity along the river and the glories of the pleasure gardens throughout the city. How she would love to visit even one of those places, but she was imprisoned behind the silk-draped walls of this house.
She looked around the room. The furniture was grand, as befit the townhouse of a duke. A tester bed, which was raised off the floor, was swathed with white fabric that seemed as ethereal as a dream. Like the sitting room, the top of nearly every table and the black marble mantel were covered with objets d’art. Several doors were
a burst of white against the walls. The one closest to her on the right opened onto the upper hallway.
She rose and went to the one on her left. It was locked. That startled her, for she had understood that this was to be her room.
At the squeak of a hinge, she turned. A woman, who could claim many years more than Regina, entered, her hands behind her. Her hair was pulled back severely, but she was smiling.
“I am Beatty, my lady. Her Grace has asked me to serve you as your abigail.” She pointed to the door she had left ajar behind her. “I have taken the liberty of unpacking the bag you brought with you and storing your clothes in the dressing room. When will your other things arrive?”
“There are no other things.”
“Nothing?”
Regina hesitated. She doubted if Beatty or anyone else in this household would understand that she had preferred to wear the loose clothing of Algiers when she was in her father’s house. Only when she was attending a function with her father and serving as his aide-de-camp had she worn one of the few dresses she had brought with her. An ever-changing wardrobe of elegant silks or sarcenet would have drawn more attention to her, which she had wanted to avoid.
“I could not find the most fashionable clothing in Algiers, as I am sure you understand.” She hated to lie, but she had no idea what else to say.
“You must speak with Her Grace about this posthaste. It would not do for the daughter-in-law of the Duke of Attleby to be seen in dresses that were outmoded a year ago.”
“I promise to do that.”
“Would you like to change?”
Regina looked at her wrinkled gown and nodded. She truly wished for a bath and a good night’s sleep. Heat clamped around her as she realized that a bride should not think of sleep on her first night with her husband.
Saying nothing, she was grateful for Beatty’s help as the abigail undid the back of her gown. She pulled on her favorite emerald green wrapper while Beatty tried to decide which of her few gowns would be the most appropriate for an evening with her new family.
When the abigail came out of the dressing room, an uneasy expression marred Beatty’s face. Her voice dropped. “My lady, please forgive me if I am honest.”
An Undomesticated Wife Page 3
