Feeling a little short of breath at what she was about to do, Elspeth, unable to speak, nodded her head. This didn't seem to have the desired effect on his lordship, who merely raised one eyebrow in question. Elspeth tried again, nodding more vigorously.
"You could agree to those terms?” the viscount suggested, wishing she would express herself verbally.
"Yes,” she whispered. She would not let the child die. Too much depended on his living. “Thank you,” she added.
Only Greywell's eyes betrayed the faintest amusement. “Thank you ... Elspeth. Please call me David. It seems only proper that we be on a Christian-name basis, if we're to be married."
"When...” Her voice broke on the word; her throat felt totally parched. “When would we marry ... David?"
"As soon as I can obtain a special license.” His hands dropped from either side of her face, and he withdrew a watch from his waistcoat pocket to check the time. “With luck I could have it by this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest. The day after tomorrow? Would Mr. Blockley be willing to marry us by special license?"
"I ... think so."
"Good. I'll speak with him before I leave. Your father's permission I take for granted,” he added ruefully.
"He'll want to discuss my dowry.” Elspeth turned away from the gothic ruin and headed toward the house, cold, agitated, and determined. “At times he can be very businesslike."
"I'm glad to hear it,” Greywell murmured.
Chapter Six
Two days. Elspeth left Greywell with her jubilant father and went directly to her room, where she stood dazed for several minutes. When she'd left the room that morning she'd had no intention of leaving it permanently. At most she had thought she'd go to Ashfield for a short span to care for Greywell's child. Elspeth told herself, as she crossed to the window, that she could go back downstairs and reverse her decision, but she knew she wasn't going to. Outside a thin sunlight made the snow glare, though it did little to melt it.
The white lace dress over a white satin slip would do perfectly well for a wedding dress if the pale-rose corsage was replaced with white satin and the full-blown roses were removed. There wasn't time to have anything new made up, and for such a small gathering as this wedding would be, the expense would be absurd.
There was the housekeeper to confer with, the neighbors to apprise of her change of status, the visit from Mr. Blockley to sit patiently through. Barely enough time to organize a full-scale departure, let alone consider the possible consequences of her acceptance of his lordship's suit. Elspeth would be leaving every person she had ever known—for a friendless vicinity she had never seen.
And Greywell would leave her there with his son, going off to do his duty for his country. Leave her there alone with a possibly hostile household staff and an unhealthy baby. Well, that was what she wanted, wasn't it? A chance to do something of her own for a change, to rid herself of the familiar patterns of daily life, which had begun to seem impossibly dull.
Greywell left, and returned the next morning, only to closet himself with Sir Edward and their solicitors for hours on end. The length of these meetings seemed excessive, but her father only said, “There's nothing amiss, Elspeth. Everything must be gone over and written down and signed. It can't be done in an hour, and you'll see it all before it's signed."
Elspeth spent the hours trying to decide which of her childhood treasures to take with her. There was the first ivory fan her mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday, and the jewelry box that played a tune. Her father had brought it back from London many years ago for her mother, and subsequently given it to her. There was the jewelry she seldom wore, saved for her in the locked safe in Sir Edward's study, to be carefully packed for the journey. But there were things she must parcel out among the servants and her neighborhood friends, too many decisions to leave time for her to think of what lay ahead. It was like living in a dream (or a nightmare) where she could see herself act, but didn't quite feel as though she was in her own body.
That last evening, after the solicitors left, she sat in the drawing room with her father and Lord Greywell, discussing the most mundane topics: how to transport her trunks, whether her mare should be tied to the carriage or sent over with a stable boy, when Sir Edward would make a visit to Ashfield. Elspeth was surprised to hear he intended to visit her in her new home at all, but she was perfectly willing to plan for his coming at Christmastime. Greywell wouldn't be there, of course, but that really had nothing to say to the matter. And it occurred to Elspeth that her father might not literally intend to come at all, but merely be saying so for Greywell's benefit.
It didn't bother her. Nothing much bothered her just then, since she didn't feel real. Sir Edward urged her to play the pianoforte when conversation lulled. Greywell (she must remember to call him David) turned the music for her. He seemed pleased with her playing, mentioned that his mother had had just such a style as hers, a very sensitive ear for fine music. Elspeth noticed that the little finger of his right hand was slightly deformed.
"I got it caught in a door when I was a child,” he explained when he noticed her gaze. “It never healed properly, but it works all right."
There were a million things she didn't know about him, but that didn't matter, either. If there were important things to learn, she would learn them in time. He didn't know a thing about her, either, of course. Elspeth wasn't sure there was anything important for him to learn about her.
She slept soundly that night and had her breakfast on a tray in her room. They were going to the church at nine, and there was just enough time to dress. At the last moment, instead of the pearls she'd intended to wear, she dug frantically through the luggage to find the jewelry box. With a sigh of relief she withdrew the little gold chain with its gold locket and flicked it open to stare at the miniature of her mother. On her wedding day she wanted at least this remembrance of her beloved parent with her. Would Mary Parkstone have approved of what she was doing? Elspeth clasped the chain about her neck with shaking fingers, trying to convince herself her mother would have understood.
* * * *
Mr. Blockley wore his most solemn countenance in front of the church when Elspeth descended from the carriage. Every fiber of his cadaverous body was rigid with disapproval, but he managed a slight smile for Greywell.
The service was short, and binding. Mr. Blockley managed to emphasize all the grimmer aspects of marriage, his doleful gaze resting inevitably on Elspeth's pale face. But when he had pronounced them man and wife, Greywell touched his lips to her cold forehead and murmured, “We've made our own promises, my dear, and they are as binding as any spoken here."
Elspeth managed a wan smile.
* * * *
"We can drive straight through or stop the night at Daventry,” Greywell told her when they had left Lyndhurst and Sir Edward well behind. You don't have to decide now. I've sent word to Ashfield to expect us at either time. Are you warm enough?"
Elspeth had changed to a dress of gray Circassian cloth and muffled herself in the blue cloak with its ermine trim. The bricks at her feet were still warm and the carriage rug rested over her knees. “Yes, I'm comfortable, thank you."
The sense of dissociation she had experienced for the last two days had suddenly disappeared when they left the small wedding breakfast at her home and climbed into the carriage. A feeling of panic had seized her as she waved goodbye to her father and the assembled staff.
Her life had just changed permanently, and the smiling, well-wishing faces did nothing to reassure her she'd made the right decision. The housekeeper had been quietly weeping into a handkerchief, and Elspeth strongly wished she could do likewise. But her smile remained frozen on her face; her arm ached as she waved through the carriage window until all of them were out of sight. Greywell had rearranged the carriage rug after she sat back, but he didn't speak to her, either guessing she needed a few minutes to think, or having nothing to say.
It felt strange to be alone
with him in a carriage jostling over the hard-packed roads. He sat surprisingly still, his gloved hands resting on his thighs. Elspeth wondered what he was thinking while he watched the passing landscape. It was difficult to put herself in his place, when she was having so much trouble with her own thoughts and reactions. Was he satisfied that he'd done the right thing? It could not have been easy for him to decide to marry her, with his wife so newly dead, just in the hopes she would be able to bring about a turn for the better in his son. Well, he must be relieved that he could go off now and leave the situation in her hands.
What Greywell was remembering was another carriage ride, after his first wedding, an affair so different from this one as to make this look a shabby occasion in comparison. Caroline had wanted a full society wedding, with all the trimmings, and he had obliged. Everything had been of the first elegance, with all the ton in attendance. They had been married in the spring, three and a half years ago, when the weather was warm with promise and flowers bloomed in hopeful profusion. They had left the festivities in this very carriage, but they had not sat silent as he and Elspeth did now.
Caroline had cuddled against him, chattering away happily about anything and everything that came to her mind. She hadn't seen Ashfield but she was already planning changes she would make, telling him she would make their home the most sought-after of country residences. “Everyone will want to come and visit us,” she had promised. “We will give the most delightful house parties."
"Let's have a little time alone together first,” he had laughed, kissing the pert little nose, and then the full, provocative lips. Her mouth had trembled under his, eager and yet hesitant. He had been so careful, guiding her toward the consummation of their marriage. Her inexperience had been wondrous to behold, her willingness to learn a charge on his patience and care. She was only eighteen at the time, a woman protected and untried, but she had loved him, had wanted to please him. During that carriage ride they had progressed, slowly, inevitably, toward the bedchamber that night. Greywell was not aware that he uttered a low moan.
"Are you all right?” Elspeth asked.
It was the wrong voice, shattering his memories to leave the present in all its stark reality. “Of course,” he said, a little curtly. Though he reminded himself she had no way of knowing what she'd done, he could feel a slight resentment developing in him. This pious woman, in her somber gray gown, could never replace his beloved Caroline, who had been full of joy and light and tenderness. “I wish you would do something for me,” he said.
"Whatever I can,” she replied, pleasant, though she was a little alarmed by his forbidding expression.
"You may think that because Ashfield is still a house of mourning it's necessary to dress in a subdued manner. I wish you will not. What we all need there is a little color and brightness, for the child's sake. We have been too somber these last months, quite naturally, of course, but it's time we changed that. Shop for a new wardrobe, if necessary. You're aware of the quarterly allowance you'll have at your disposal; if it proves insufficient you have only to speak to me—or write me when I'm in Vienna. I don't want you to have to spend your own money."
"The allowance seemed extraordinarily generous.” Elspeth wondered if it was the same as allotted his first wife, and if so, how she had managed to spend the half of it. “Most of my dresses are a little somber. Is there a decent modiste in Coventry?"
Caroline had done all her shopping in London. “I'm sure there must be. You can ask Emily Marden. She's a neighbor, and she's always well dressed. You might want to get a recommendation from her for a personal maid, too. Caroline's maid returned to London."
Elspeth was relieved to hear it. Nothing would have pleased her less than to deal with a woman who had been her predecessor's advocate. She didn't bother to tell Greywell that she felt perfectly capable of choosing her own maid. But by the time she got around to that task, he would probably already be gone, and there was no need to upset him unduly. “I shall certainly speak with Mrs. Marden."
"Good. I've instructed Mrs. Green to prepare the Blue Bedchamber for you. It was my mother's room, but you may find you need to do a little refurbishing when you have the time. That sort of expense will come from the household fund, which will be under your administration entirely while I'm abroad. Mrs. Green will ask your approval of certain expenditures, and I think you'll have no reason to quibble with them. She's been housekeeper at Ashfield for twenty years or so. I've always found her entirely trustworthy."
His voice droned on, explaining arrangements at Ashfield, instructing her in the things she would need to know. But Elspeth had spent a hectic two days, and her exhaustion caught up with her as the carriage swayed gently along the toll road. Greywell discovered, midway through an exposition on estate management, that she had fallen asleep. She still sat almost upright in her corner of the carriage, her head slightly drooping on her chest, her hands folded calmly in her lap. Her new husband was irrationally annoyed. For the life of him, he couldn't remember anyone who had fallen asleep when he was talking, and certainly not in the middle of the day.
They had intended to stop for refreshment in Brackley. Elspeth was still sound asleep when they reached the town. Greywell, a note of long-suffering in his voice, directed that a change of horses be made and a packet of bread, cold meats, and cheeses be sent out to them. He could have gotten out and stretched his legs, perhaps even had a glass of ale, but he staunchly refused to move with Elspeth soundly sleeping on the seat beside him. She would have been perfectly safe, of course, but he needed the small sacrifice to fuel his resentment. Elspeth was not Caroline; this wedding day was nothing like his previous one. Greywell was determined to feel sorry for himself.
When Elspeth finally awoke, an hour out of Brackley, she did not apologize for falling asleep, since she wasn't aware she had fallen asleep when he was speaking. “I'm famished” were the first words she spoke.
Greywell had not opened the packet of food, though he was himself quite hungry, and had been for the last hour. With a weary elegance he produced the food wrapped in its mundane brown paper and set it on the seat opposite them. “We passed through Brackley while you were asleep."
Something in his tone made her eye him warily. “You should have wakened me."
"I was sure you needed your rest more than a meal just then. This way we'll lose less time on the road."
The cheese smelled delicious, and Elspeth reached across to help herself, but there was no knife to cut the bread or the cheese. “It's rather like a picnic,” she said, breaking off a chunk of each with her fingers. “No one ever remembers to bring the cutlery on a picnic."
Greywell considered this a criticism of his planning, even though she spoke cheerfully. “I'm not in the habit of dining in a carriage. The inn at Brackley has a remarkably fine private parlor, where I have stopped innumerable times on my way to and from London. My intention had been to eat there."
"Oh, I know. Really, I don't mind this at all. It was clever of you to think of bringing something with us."
Greywell considered this condescending and an obvious attempt to cajole him out of his bad mood. “It isn't my preferred method of dining."
Elspeth lost patience with him. “I can see that, Greywell, but you might as well make the best of it. I certainly intend to. There's beef and lamb and something I can't identify. Shall I make you a sort of sandwich?"
"Thank you, I'll help myself.” He didn't like it that she'd called him Greywell, after he'd gotten her to call him David. It set quite the wrong tone to their marriage. He was beginning to wish there were no marriage to have a tone to it. Finding himself glaring at her, he switched his attention to the food. Elspeth was a great deal more attractive when she was asleep, he decided, remembering how her face had softened and the long eyelashes had curved up from her cheeks. A stray curl had fallen down under her chin, bouncing gaily with the movement of the carriage. Awake, she looked prim once again, and her words refused to please him, no matter wha
t she said.
Elspeth had begun to realize this and resolved to say nothing further until absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, in the short span of time she'd known him, she'd had no opportunity to observe him in a bad temper. Her father's moods were no mystery to her, and she assumed that in time she would be able to accommodate herself to Greywell's, but it would take time to learn them, and for the present she was determined to do nothing which would further annoy him. Then, too, she was a little annoyed with the fastidious way he was partaking of their picnic. One would think he'd never before been forced to eat anything with his fingers!
Their ride, in profound silence, seemed to last for an agonizingly long time. It was dark by the time they reached the turn-off to Daventry, and he turned to her to inquire politely, “Do you wish to break our journey here?"
"I'd just as soon head on to Ashfield, if that's agreeable with you."
"Perfectly agreeable."
The coachman had stopped the carriage at dusk and climbed down to light the lanterns on either side of the vehicle. Their light was so feeble it did nothing to illuminate the surrounding countryside, though it served the purpose of making them visible to other drivers, Elspeth supposed. She had wanted to see what this new area looked like, but had no desire to spend the night at an inn with Greywell, where they would have to pass the time by conversing with one another. In the darkness of the carriage they could each wrap themselves in their private thoughts.
After a while Greywell announced they were passing through Rugby. “I went to school here as a child,” he added. “My mother felt Eton was too far away for a boy of my age."
Elspeth murmured her acknowledgment of this fascinating tidbit about his past.
The years at Rugby had been much easier for him than for a lot of his contemporaries, he thought now, merely because he'd been so close to home. His parents had visited him regularly, bringing baskets of fruit and boxes of sweetmeats. Caroline had begged him to tell her tales from his schooldays each time they'd passed through Rugby, though at no other time. Apparently Elspeth wasn't the least interested. Not that he was inclined to regale her with such anecdotes, anyhow.
Lord Greywell's Dilemma Page 9
