Phineas was married now. He glanced at his wife, but she stared at the oldest of the children standing next to Stokes, a tight smile on her face. There was no cheering, just his father clearing his throat, and the little girl who had come with Stokes asking her mother if Aunt Kitty was married now. Her mother, unsmiling, replied that she was.
They started the recession toward the back of the church, and Phineas was relieved that the formal ceremony was behind them. Life would begin now, and he would be able to start making the necessary changes to his estate without having to request the funds from his father, who was sure to reject his request or give the money to him upon terms.
He and Kitty would have a chance to become acquainted at last. He darted another glance at his wife, but she steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. How would he broach the subject of the wedding night if she would not even look at him?
Knowing his parents’ aversion to the match, and their reluctance to attend the ceremony, Phineas had decided to forego a celebratory wedding breakfast. His parents did not demure. They had only attended the wedding ceremony to avoid the risk of scandal and talk among Society. They could not let it be known they had opposed the match. But to invite those merchants into their home to share a meal was beyond their capacity to act. Phineas had sidestepped the issue by having a note sent to Laura Place as soon as the Stokes had arrived in Bath, saying the newlyweds would be leaving directly after the ceremony.
It was time to walk the short distance to the inn, where the carriage was waiting to take the couple to Giddenhall to start their new lives. Phineas had not expected to be so nervous following the ceremony. He thought that in having arranged the marriage on his own terms he would be filled with a sense of authority—by the rightness of it all. He would know how to act around his own wife, who would be glad enough to have married above her station to be somewhat accommodating. But Miss Stokes—no … Lady Hayworth—was reserved to the point of hostility.
Phineas gestured toward the doors of the church. “It is this way.” He wasn’t sure if he had uttered it loud enough for her to hear, but she followed his lead toward the light-filled exit that spoke freedom from the constraints of ceremony and kin.
4
The wedding was over. With her hand tucked lightly in her new husband’s arm, Kitty followed the procession out of the church. The chirping conversation of her niece and nephew trailed Kitty, but her eyes were focused on Erasmus ahead of them who was hurrying to catch up to the earl. He came abreast Lord and Lady Midlington in front of the heavy wooden doors.
“Good morning, my lord, my lady.” Erasmus bowed low and pasted on a broad smile. “At last we are acquainted. It’s a glorious day, is it not? For your son and my sister?”
Lord Midlington turned slightly but did not face Erasmus fully. “Indeed.”
To Kitty’s shame, Erasmus would not be snubbed. “It is unfortunate your family’s affairs did not allow for a wedding breakfast. I would have been happy to provide food for as many people as you cared to invite. Money would have been no object with me to provide a breakfast worth talking about in the Society papers.”
Lord Midlington exchanged glances with his tight-lipped wife, allowing a short silence to ensue. “I am afraid it was unavoidable.” He tilted his head. “Good day.” Kitty’s heart sank. This was to be her family? She did not dare to look at her new husband for fear she might see the same ironic curl on his lips.
They exited into a blinding sun, and it was only when the cold hit her that Kitty realized she had left behind her cloak and gloves. She turned to retrieve them, but Mary was behind her with the forgotten articles, cutting off Kitty’s chance for a brief reprieve in the quiet church. Mary handed them to Kitty, her look more sour than celebratory. There had never been any affection between them, but Kitty could not understand why Mary was unable to muster a spark of enthusiasm for her own sister-in-law's wedding, particularly as it would remove Kitty from a house where she was made to feel an encumbrance.
Kitty murmured her thanks, wrapping her brown, blended-wool cloak around her and pulling on her gloves. The early November air bit at her neck and ears, which were exposed. Her bonnet was more decorative than warm, and she was missing the larger poke which would have shielded her somewhat from the stares.
A motley crowd crossed the square in front of the Abbey, and some glanced their way before bending their heads together. Kitty had yet to look at her husband fully. However, from what she could ascertain from her discreet glimpses, he was a head taller than her, and his form was not displeasing. He wore sober colors for the wedding—a dark gray coat with a silver waistcoat and light gray pantaloons. His light brown hair reached his collar, and he had short whiskers that followed the line of his cheekbones.
Their party had by now all exited the church and stood in silence. It seemed as if everyone was waiting for Lord Hayworth to speak, and he turned slightly, glancing at his parents then at Kitty. Was he now going to introduce his parents to her after they’d wed? Why had he not done so before? It seemed the most ridiculous thing.
Apparently, it appeared so to Lord Hayworth, as well, because he cleared his throat and swept his gaze generically over the crowd. “I thank you all for attending our wedding. Mother, Father. Bartholomew,” he added, nodding to the gentleman standing next to his parents. Turning to Erasmus, he said, “My thanks.” Lord Hayworth looked at a loss for what else to say and gave a general bow to everyone gathered. “Well, we had best be going. My servants are expecting us this afternoon at Giddenhall.”
Not a man for words. Kitty gave Mary a dutiful kiss, but she could not bring herself to give one to Erasmus. She hugged Samuel, Edward, and Helen. Struggling against the lump of emotion rising in her throat, she reached out her hands for William, and Mary handed him over for a last kiss. Despite all the tension she had with Mary, her sister-in-law had never begrudged Kitty an affectionate relationship with her nephews and niece. That was something to be grateful for, at least. Kitty cuddled William, rocked him with her lips pressed to his head, then handed him back without a word. It was not too soon. She was about to break down in tears on the spot.
Kitty turned to Lord Hayworth, but she was unable to hold his gaze. It was the strangest thing. She was married to him now, and all she wanted was to hurry in the other direction. It was not that she found him repulsive. In fact, there was something about the form of his lips and nose that made her think it might not be unpleasant to kiss him, although such a thought made Kitty want to tsk in irritation. Did one’s reason fly out of one’s head upon marriage?
She had never been one to desire a man’s embrace. Kitty supposed she was one of those women who possessed no romantic inclinations. Besides, she could discern little warmth in Lord Hayworth’s eyes, and his voice had been expressionless as he’d stated his vows. One could only surmise that here was a man who would not let anything stand in the way of what he wanted, since he was willing to contract a marriage with someone he’d not met even once. It meant he would not likely take her needs and wishes into account at all. The thought left her cold.
Lord Hayworth held out his arm, and Kitty put her hand on it, the pressure as light as she dared. “Farewell,” he said, vaguely addressing the party, and led her away from the church.
Bereft of the comfort of familiar faces, Kitty found herself at a loss. What could she find to talk about with a man she did not know? It was astonishing how short the ceremony had been, and now there would be no wedding breakfast afterward to celebrate. It all seemed cold and contractual rather than a union of minds and hearts. It was apparent her brother had known there would be no celebration, but he’d not said anything to Kitty. She had thought there would be a chance to spend a last bit of time with her family before she went to a strange home.
They had not walked far when Lord Hayworth shifted in his stride to catch a glimpse of her face. “I have arranged for us to eat something at the inn near Pulteney Bridge where my carriage is waiting. But I should not like to set
out too late.” There was nothing more, and Kitty was disheartened by the civil tone of his voice. It seemed their marriage was to be one of formality.
“I am not particularly hungry,” she replied. “I would just like a moment to refresh myself and have something to drink, and we may set off as soon as you like.”
“I believe your brother had your trunk delivered to my carriage earlier. The inn is just ahead”—he indicated a wooden two-story building with small square-paned windows—“and I’ve hired the private parlor for you to use while I check that your trunk has arrived. What would you like to drink?”
Kitty did not care overmuch, although she had not even been able to drink her customary chocolate that morning. “A glass of lemonade, if you please.”
Lord Hayworth installed her in the private parlor and left, presumably to check on the coach. She used the necessary, drank her lemonade, and felt a tiny bit better when the sweet citrus drink moistened her lips and brought life back to her.
There was a knock. Kitty looked up as Lord Hayworth paused on the threshold, appearing as though he were waiting for her permission to enter. She set her lemonade on the table, and he came and took a seat across from her. “Your trunk is installed on the carriage. The innkeeper will bring me a tanker of ale, and then we may set off.” Kitty nodded.
Silence reigned as Lord Hayworth waited for his ale, drank it—quickly, she thought—then indicated they would be leaving. He handed some coins to the innkeeper on their way out and assisted her into the coach, got in himself, then tapped the roof for the coach to set forward. It was an older vehicle, less well-sprung than she was used to, but Kitty was grateful to be in motion. Anything rather than sitting in awkward silence with a stranger she was now tied to for life.
They had ridden a quarter of an hour when Lord Hayworth broke the silence. “I hope you will like Giddenhall.”
He had taken off his tall beaver hat, revealing the light curls that had just started to thin on the very back of his head, which strangely did not lessen his appeal but made him seem more human. Kitty averted her eyes. “I'm sure there will be nothing to dislike.”
There was again silence, and Lord Hayworth fiddled with the brim of his hat. “I do not know if you are accustomed…” His words trailed away, and she wondered what he had been about to say. He opened his mouth again to speak. “In public, you may call me Hayworth, and I will call you my lady. In private, you may address me as Phineas.” He glanced at her quickly then dropped his gaze to his hat. “And what shall I call you?”
There was a beat or two, with only the sound of the horses’ hooves and carriage wheels on the ground to fill their ears, before she answered.
“Kitty.”
It was vulnerable—giving a complete stranger free use of her Christian name. And now she was to call him Phineas. Yet it was a step forward. Perhaps her new husband was uncomfortable with their situation, as well, and they would eventually come to some sort of an understanding. Perhaps one day they would even laugh about this unpromising beginning.
More silence ensued, and Kitty was in no mood to break it as she studied the texture of her gloves or the bottle green squabs on the rear-facing seat. Her new life loomed before her—the wedding night loomed before her. And if Kitty were being honest with herself, she was absolutely terrified.
“We are not acquainted,” Phineas observed after a long stretch with no conversation. He was taking great pains to make her acquaintance—a rather remarkable effort for a husband, she thought. “Perhaps I should have arranged for us to meet before the wedding.” He stared ahead instead of at her. “However, I fully expect this arrangement to be mutually agreeable. With the funds that come from your settlement, I will be able to make a comfortable home for us. I will not be dependent on my father's estate to bring Giddenhall in order. This marriage has brought us a freedom by which we both can only benefit.”
Both benefit? All charitable thoughts toward her new husband fled, and a surge of irritation welled up in Kitty's breast. She was unable to hide entirely the hiss that escaped her lips, as she swatted at her skirt, as if to smooth it. She had never been able to rein in her temper with much success.
He looked at her now in surprise. “You do not seem pleased with this arrangement. And yet, might I remind you, you have married above your station. You will be a woman of consequence and will be well provided for. Your brother did not give me the impression that your alternative was particularly tempting.”
Kitty turned to him, her eyebrow raised. He thought to inform her that she should be honored by his condescension? A derisory laugh escaped her. “Who gave you to believe I required a husband with a title? Erasmus has benefitted from the match, not me. You have bought your freedom with my brother’s offer, but in doing so, you have stolen mine.” She turned to face forward again, gripping her hands together on her lap.
“You will have just as much freedom as Lady Hayworth as you had as Miss Stokes, if not more.” There was confusion in his voice. “I have no intention of restraining your movements. I do not understand—you ought to be grateful for the offer, even if it was not of your instigation.”
Kitty's mouth fell open. “Grateful? To be sold by my own brother, to be pushed out of the only home I have known, to be thrown under the protection of someone I've never met and be expected to serve his every whim.” Her chest heaved as she remembered Samuel’s plaintive words that morning. “Grateful? I was perfectly grateful where I was before, I thank you.” To her horror, tears began to leak out of her eyes.
Phineas shifted. He had been facing her slightly, turned toward her, as if to facilitate their conversation. But now, he sat forward, and she sensed his tension—one brought about by her hasty words. She began to regret her outburst. More time went by, with both of them facing the opposite direction, and at last she heard his gruff voice. “You had best dry your eyes. You will not want the servants to see you’ve been crying when we arrive at Giddenhall.”
Kitty tried to check her tears as she reached into her reticule in search of a handkerchief. She did not find one there and wondered how she could have been so scatter-brained. Kitty sniffed discreetly and tried to swipe at her tears with her gloved hand. After two swipes, Phineas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his own handkerchief and handed it to her without a word. She hesitated, then ever-so-slowly took hold of it.
She used the handkerchief to wipe her tears, blowing her nose in a way that was too robust to be dainty. “I will see that this is washed and returned to you,” she said in a muffled voice.
The carriage rumbled ahead to their destination, and neither spoke. Kitty’s thoughts wandered in the ensuing silence. Although she was relieved that there had been no amorous gestures—that had been one of her fears—she did not know how to reconcile the estrangement that had sprung up between them. It would be impossible to go from this silent war to any sort of real marital relationship. Unless husbands could so easily flip that switch. She had to admit to herself that she did not know.
The tears had calmed Kitty, as had venting her spleen—it also embarrassed her. Yes, she had let him know she was not a willing party to this union, but now how to bring about a truce? Her heart was just open enough to the idea of being wooed. They were married, after all, and must bridge that gap at some point. If Phineas planned an assault on her heart, there was enough of a breech that he would be able to enter. If he attempted it, she would be his wife of her own desire and not because her brother had forced it upon her. She sought a way to open the conversation. “It appears we are slowing. Are we drawing near to your estate?”
Phineas looked startled that she had finally spoken, and he peeked through the window curtain, then nodded. “We will turn at the next lane, and that will lead us to my property.”
My property, he had said. Kitty should not have been surprised. Even if this were a love match, it would still have been his property. It did not matter that her brother likely had needed to negotiate a large settlement to acquire
a peer for a brother-in-law. It appeared to Kitty that Phineas considered her to have brought little of substance to the arrangement—or at least only what was her due. That thought cut all desire for further conversation and, apart from discreet glances Phineas gave her as if to assess how she felt, they reached Giddenhall in silence.
Kitty hoped her anxiety over meeting an entire household of servants did not show. It was not that she was unaccustomed to hired help. With her brother as wealthy as he was, they had any number of servants. But Kitty did not know the first thing about running a large estate. She did not even know whom to ask. How much oversight did the housekeeper require? How informal should she be with the servants? At Erasmus's house, she was rather informal. There was not such a huge distinction between them, after all. It was only wealth, not blood, that separated them.
The footman opened the door to the carriage, and Phineas descended first and held out his hand for Kitty to alight. The manor was built of reddish stone and had nine windows on each floor of the façade, some of which were double. The front of the house could be accessed by a double staircase that trailed down from each side of the door. Standing at the foot of one staircase was a row of servants, waiting to receive the viscount and his new wife.
“May I present your new mistress, Lady Hayworth,” Phineas announced as the servants stood at stiff attention. He led Kitty in front of each servant and performed the introductions, asking for the names of some, who appeared to be new. The only one Kitty retained was Mrs. Morley, the housekeeper, and Bexley, who was the butler. She would need to spend more time with Mrs. Morley than anyone else. There were seventeen servants in all, and Kitty could barely summon a smile. She just nodded at each of them in what she knew to be an overly stiff manner.
“This is Craddock, the groom. He is another recent addition, but I am told he has a knack for choosing horseflesh. Carter said he comes recommended.” Phineas had reached the end of the introductions, and Kitty locked gazes with the groom, who appeared to be about her age. He had removed his hat, and with his cropped blond hair, distinguished brow and square chin, Kitty had to own that the man standing before her was particularly handsome. It gave her a feeling of disquiet. He’d given a short bow, but there was a glimmer in his eyes when he raised them that she found overly familiar, and it unnerved her.
His Disinclined Bride (Seasons of Change Book 7) Page 4
