When they came to the vows, the bride answered with only the slightest hesitation and he made sure his own voice was clear and decisive in response. Almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over and they had been pronounced man and wife.
Then the vicar led them to the side to sign the church register. He signed his name and stared down at the book as his wife, Emma, signed hers as well. The act should not have felt so strange. He had watched it happen, each step of the way. But now that the knot had been tied, he felt an answering tightness in his collar, as if all the air had been sucked from the room, and his heart began to pound again.
Not now.
He willed the feeling away, digging his nails into the palms of his cold hands, and focused his thoughts on the future until his body and mind were under control again.
Beside them, there was a faint clearing of a throat. His new in-laws had signed as witnesses. Harris was beside him, jabbing an elbow into his side. ‘And I expect you’ll be wanting this.’ Then he reached into his pocket and produced a cheque, signing it with the same pen used to record their marriage, blotting it and handing it to Robert.
Perhaps he had not fully recovered his wits, because he reached for it automatically, even while his brain screamed that he must refuse. Before he could stop himself, he took the money, tucking it hurriedly into his jacket pocket as the vicar looked away in disgust.
He turned to look into the shocked eyes of his bride. Then, without saying a word, she tapped her stick on the ground and hobbled out of the church.
Chapter Four
She had never been so embarrassed in her life.
When this offer had come, some part of Emma had assumed that it might be possible to escape the worst of her parents’ criticisms by marrying and leaving their house. But it seemed that life with Sir Robert Gascoyne would be more of the same. Could he not at least have pretended in the church that there was a reason other than money that had convinced him to take her?
‘Lady Gascoyne!’
Now she had embarrassed herself by looking around the churchyard to see where that lady might be. As of today, she was Lady Gascoyne and she must learn to answer when called. She turned reluctantly to look at her husband. ‘Yes?’
‘The staff have prepared a wedding breakfast at our home.’
‘Of course,’ she said, wondering why he had bothered to pretend celebration over something that was clearly a matter of business to him.
‘Now that we are married, you will be riding in my carriage,’ he said in a tone of a mild reminder.
She was standing in front of her parents’ equipage, ready to climb in. ‘Of course,’ she said again, taking the arm he offered and allowing him to lead her, like a child, back to the correct carriage. He was looking at her with concern, as if he was not sure she understood plain English.
It should not have surprised her that the godlike man she had managed to marry thought she was a fool. She was wandering in the churchyard as if she had forgotten why she’d come there. She gave a resigned sigh. ‘I understand who I am and where I am to live.’ Then she remembered that she was angry with him and added, ‘I understand just as clearly as the vicar understands your reason for marrying me.’
He winced. Then he said, ‘It is not too late for us to attempt discretion, in some things at least. Let us get into the carriage before we continue this discussion.’
He would have been more apt to say argument, for Emma did not feel like discussing anything. But in her experience, arguing was pointless since she always lost and was left feeling worse than she had when she’d begun. So, she took the arm he offered and let him help her into the carriage.
Now that they were alone inside it, there was another moment of awkward silence, which gave her far too much time to admire her new husband. Just as he had at the church, she was near to struck dumb by the perfection of him. He had held her when she stumbled and, during the vows, she had allowed herself to imagine that it was possible to make a proper match with him, despite the lack of children.
Then he had ruined it all.
As if sensing what she was thinking he spoke. ‘It was not I that wrote the cheque, you know.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I am used to such behaviour from my father and should not have been surprised by it. But I had hoped...’ It had been unrealistic to expect him to care for her. But she had hoped he could be more subtle in revealing the truth.
‘I should not have taken it while we were still in the church,’ he said. ‘But it happened so suddenly that I could not think of a good way to refuse.’
If she was honest, that described how she had come to be married to him. She had meant to say no. Yet here she was. ‘I understand.’
Now they were on the same road where she had had her accident and, from there, they proceeded to the long drive with its impressive view of the great house that was Gascoyne Manor. Her mother was right. It was a beautiful edifice with two long wings of grey stone stretching out on opposite sides of the wide front door. The gardens outside were equally marvellous, with herb knots and a hedge maze that Emma looked forward to exploring.
When they reached the entrance, Sir Robert hopped out ahead of her to help her to the ground. But before they could make it to the front door, they were charged at by an enormous black dog. Recognising a newcomer, it threw itself at Emma, planting its front paws on her shoulders and giving her a sloppy kiss on the face.
‘Theobald, no.’ Robert grabbed the dog’s collar and tugged him back to the ground. Then he turned to her, sheepish. ‘He is untrained, but harmless.’
She thought of Sir Robert as he had looked on the first day she’d met him and thought that the description could just as easily have been turned towards him. He had been a good-looking beast, but clearly in need of a grooming.
Today? His hair was trimmed, his face clean-shaven and the buttons on his coat were both straight and shiny. Though he might have failed her in the matter of the settlement, he had made an effort in other ways.
‘That is all right,’ she assured him, turning back to the animal he held and patting it on the head. ‘I like dogs. I have simply never seen one so large before.’
‘He normally stays in the stables with the horses,’ her new husband replied. ‘But you will find him an excellent companion on walks in the yard, should you choose to take them.’
‘I will remember that,’ she said, turning to greet her parents whose carriage was just arriving. Then, Sir Robert invited them into the house, leading them to the formal dining room where the celebration had been prepared.
If the wedding breakfast was any indication of the quality of the staff at Gascoyne Manor, then Emma had nothing to fear over managing the household. The room was spotless and the table linens blindingly white. The cook had prepared heaping trays of smoked trout and shirred eggs, buns, fruit, champagne and a wedding cake dressed with candied fruit and fresh flowers.
But her mother ignored it all, most impressed by the silver engraved with the family crest. ‘That is you, now, Em,’ she said, toasting with an engraved glass and running her finger lightly along the G. ‘That is you.’
Emma winced, glancing at her husband and hoping that he had not heard. ‘That is my new name,’ she admitted in a whisper. ‘But I am still just as I was.’
‘And yet you are also Lady Gascoyne,’ her mother announced with a giggle. ‘Can you imagine what fun you will have here? And what a lovely family you will raise?’
‘Of course,’ Emma lied, drinking deeply from her wine, so she need not answer further. If her husband had been serious in his pronouncement on the previous day, children were the last thing she needed to worry about. It was probably just as well. Thus far in life, she’d shown no signs of natural feminine ability. It was unlikely that those skills would blossom magically in time to make her an adequate mother to one child, much less a brood of them.
&
nbsp; After that, Emma applied herself to the food on her plate and kept her mouth full, making it impossible to respond to the barrage of marital advice coming from her mother’s side of the table. It was embarrassing that her parent felt the need to remind her of her duties in front of her new husband. But there was no getting a word in when her mother had decided to give her opinion and trying to make the harangue into a conversation would only prolong the agony.
* * *
When breakfast finally was over, they saw her parents off at the door. ‘You will see us soon,’ her mother reminded her. ‘Then we will plan your social season.’
Emma cast a worried look at her husband. He did not quite frighten her. But it was clear to both of them that this was never the plan that either of them would have chosen. She doubted she had the nerve to begin throwing parties in his house without at least discussing the possibility of them. ‘Allow us a few weeks to get to know each other, before you buy a new ballgown,’ she said, colouring in embarrassment.
‘Of course,’ her mother agreed. ‘Every happy couple deserves a honeymoon. We will leave you lovebirds alone for a month. But no longer.’
‘I will write when it is time,’ Emma replied, pushing her mother into the carriage and waving her off.
They watched in silence as her parents rode away from the manor and Emma could not but help thinking how strange it was to have left her family’s home for the last time. At the thought, she felt both free and frightened. Her new husband would have his own expectations of her, but he could not possibly be as judgemental as her mother. Until she knew him better, she had no idea if he would take enough interest in her to bother with having any kind of opinion, good or bad. If he did not want her to be a mother to his children, what was her role here to be?
That thought left her feeling empty. She was equally confused as to what would happen, now that there was no reason to make polite conversation for the sake of her parents.
By the slightly puzzled look on her husband’s face, he must be feeling the same. Then he announced, ‘I think it is time to give you a tour of your new home.’ Sir Robert gave a vague gesture to the surrounding walls, as if he were introducing her to a person rather than a place. ‘You have been here before, of course, but you were in no condition to enjoy it.’
He walked her through the spaces she had only glanced at on her last hurried exit from the Gascoyne manor. It was everything that her mother had hoped for her. The public rooms were large, high-ceilinged and numerous. And her husband the recluse had not been using any of them.
‘Do you enjoy this house?’ she asked tentatively. ‘It is quite a grand place for a single person to live in.’
‘Single no more,’ he reminded her with a tight smile. ‘But no, if you must know. I do not enjoy it. It has been more a prison to me than a home.’
‘Then why do you stay?’ she asked.
‘It is my family home,’ he said blankly. ‘There has always been a Gascoyne at the manor since my ancestor built it.’
It was not actually an answer, it was an excuse. But there was no point in telling him so.
What she could say was the truth. ‘It is quite the loveliest house I have ever been in.’ The windows in the drawing room were high and clear. The library had a stone fireplace carved in leaves and vines. And as expected, there was a ballroom, with its vaulted ceiling and musicians’ gallery surrounded by white marble balustrades. Their pleasing design was marred only slightly by the dust on the floor and a garish and peeling fresco on a wall at the end of the room that reminded her how rarely it must be used.
She remembered her mother’s command that she have a ball as soon as she was able. With the condition of the room, soon was later than her mother might expect. At the moment, it was the only space in the house showing too much disrepair to hold guests.
As if he could read her mind, her husband said, ‘If you are contemplating a gathering here, you would do well to refrain from it. Gascoyne Manor is not open to guests.’
She looked back at him in surprise. She had known he was somewhat of a hermit before she had agreed to marry him, but it had not occurred to her that he might expect the same behaviour of her.
It was a conundrum. She had not really wanted to entertain at all. She was very much of a mind with Robert on the subject that it would be better to avoid company and save herself the inevitable embarrassment of a social faux pas. But now that it looked as if it might be forbidden, there was an irresistible appeal to it. ‘Is there a reason for this prohibition?’
‘The last ball was held by my grandfather to celebrate his youngest son’s engagement. The couple were killed in a carriage accident before they could even marry.’
‘That is very sad,’ she agreed. ‘And the house has been closed since?’
He shrugged. ‘My first wife insisted on holding dinner parties and small gatherings. But something untoward always seemed to happen. At the last one, the fish was bad. The guests were sick for weeks after.’
‘I see,’ she said, trying not to think of the trout at breakfast. ‘But a few minor problems in entertaining are normal. They do not make for a curse.’
‘But problem on top of problem does,’ he said. ‘You were the first guest to cross the threshold in three years and look at the reason for it. I had to carry you in unconscious because of my own carelessness at the reins.’
‘You blame yourself for the accident that brought me here?’ she said, surprised.
‘Who else would I blame?’ he said, equally surprised.
‘I was the one who fell in the ditch,’ she said. ‘As usual, I was not watching where I was going and tripped on a rabbit hole.’
‘But I was there when it happened,’ he said, as if that was explanation enough.
‘And it was a good thing you were,’ she agreed. ‘If you had not been there to rescue me, I might still be lying in a heap beside the road.’
‘Or you might be safe at home, unhurt,’ he reminded her.
And unmarried. Neither of them said it, but the pause in the conversation was perfect to hold those words.
‘Unhurt for the moment,’ she completed. ‘You do not know me well, but I am uncommonly clumsy, always tripping over my own feet and embarrassing myself. The most recent fall was just another example of my lack of grace. I am sorry that you think it was your fault.’ And she sincerely hoped it was not the reason he had married her. She could accept that he had married her for her money and because of her father’s bullying over lost honour. But marrying her out of obligation to some imaginary curse was beyond understanding. ‘But I prefer to focus on the positive in the situation. You rescued me. That is all that matters.’
‘I will accept your gratitude,’ he said in a grudging tone. ‘I hope the time never comes that you regret it.’ As they had talked, he had led her up the main stairs. Now they stopped at a door in the wing of family bedrooms. ‘And this is your room,’ he said, opening it and gesturing to a well-appointed bedchamber.
‘My room,’ she repeated, staring into it and taking note of the connecting door that must lead to his adjoining bedroom. With so much space, it made no sense to share a room. But neither had she considered how large and intimidating the house would be and how lonely. If she admitted to being afraid of her own bedroom, her new husband would think she was a complete ninny. Probably even more so than he already did.
‘You did not think I would house you in the stables,’ he said, smiling at her confusion.
‘It is just that my parents share a room,’ she said.
‘Is their home so small that they must?’ he asked. ‘It did not appear to be so, when I was there.’
‘Not overly so,’ she replied. ‘But they choose to share a room.’
‘And we do not,’ he reminded her. ‘We had a discussion about it, yesterday.’
‘You said that you did not want children,’ she sai
d, wishing that her voice did not sound so thin and needy.
There was a long and significant pause. ‘I do not think you fully understood what I was trying to tell you.’ He reached to take her hand as if reassuring a child. ‘I do not know how much you know about the expectations between a husband and wife.’ Now, he coloured, as if he feared he would need to explain what he was hinting at, in broad daylight and right outside the bedroom door.
‘My mother taught me the proper running of a household and the management of servants. And...she explained other things as well,’ she assured him. She had even explained several ways to prevent the chance of children when performing the marital act. Perhaps this was what her husband was afraid of having to explain. But he could not mean what she thought he was saying.
He let out a relieved breath. ‘Then I expect you are nervous at the prospect of what is to come,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘No more so than I have been for the last week,’ she said, trying and failing to meet his gaze which was fixed on the floor.
‘I wanted to let you know that you do not have to worry. As I explained last night, I have no intention of visiting you.’
He had said nothing of the kind on the previous evening. He had told her that he did not want children, but he had said nothing about leaving her chaste on her wedding night. ‘It has been a very busy day,’ she said, trying not to be disappointed at the unexpected frailty of the man she had married. ‘We are both very tired.’
He shook his head, as if she had misunderstood again. ‘I think, since we have very little in common, that it will not be necessary for me to visit you in that way on this night, or any other.’
He did not want to sleep with her. At all. Her mother had assured her that, once married, she would no longer have to worry about her deficiencies in appearance or deportment. Men were none too particular about the marital act and enjoyed it with any willing partner. But her husband’s obvious distaste of her overcame his natural inclinations and he was disguising it in vague references to social compatibility.
Vows to Save Her Reputation Page 4
