Contracted as His Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘Do you feel sick, my lady?’

  ‘Only when I close my eyes. But the room is moving.’

  ‘Excuse me asking, my lady, but what have you had to drink today?’

  ‘Samp... Champagne with the breakfast. Three glasses?’ she hazarded. ‘P’raps four? And then Partridge gave me some sherry this evening. So did Charles. Oh, and so did Jack. But that’s not very alco...alcoholic, is it? It was very sweet and fruity. Nice. And champagne with dinner.’

  ‘My lady, I think you are drunk.’

  ‘Nonsense. Can’t be.’ Madelyn frowned. Surely the candle flames should not be bending like that? ‘I do not get drunk.’

  ‘Perhaps you have never had so much to drink before, my lady. I think you had best get into bed.’ She seemed to Madelyn to be worrying quite unnecessarily about something. ‘Let me take down your hair, my lady, and help you out of your gown.’

  Harper is very clumsy tonight, Madelyn thought as she sat down with a bump on the dressing-table stool, half-in and half-out of the flimsy bit of nonsense that she had been assured was just the thing for a wedding nightgown. It seems to be taking her for ever to get me undressed.

  ‘Which bed do I get into?’ she asked as Harper unravelled her plait and tried to brush the hair smoothly over her shoulders.

  ‘Yours, my lady.’

  ‘Are you sheer...sure? Shouldn’t I be in Jack’s bed?’

  ‘Quite sure, my lady.’ Harper almost bundled her in, plumped up the pillows behind her, smoothed down the coverlet. ‘I’ll be back in just a moment.’ She almost ran from the room, through the connecting door into Jack’s chamber.

  ‘Strange,’ Madelyn murmured to herself. But it was comfortable in bed and she did not feel too bad as long as she did not close her eyes. Perhaps she was ill, but she couldn’t seem to care. Where was Jack? She should be nervous, she remembered vaguely, but she wasn’t, which was odd. It had been so pleasant, sitting with him...

  What was Harper doing? She could hear her talking to Tanfield next door, although not the words. She sounded quite agitated. Then Tanfield said, quite distinctly, ‘My lord’, and Harper came back in, positively wringing her hands. Very odd...

  Perhaps she dozed for a moment or so because she could hear Jack now, talking to Harper.

  ‘But, my lord—’

  ‘That will be all, Harper, thank you.’

  ‘But—’

  The door closed with a click and Madelyn opened her eyes. Jack looked very large and splendid in a heavy black-silk dressing robe. He smiled and she smiled back.

  ‘Alone at last,’ Jack said. ‘You look very beautiful, Madelyn.’ He moved closer.

  ‘Mmm?’ She did wish he was not weaving back and forth, it was worse than the candle flames.

  ‘Are you quite well?’ He looked back at the closed door, then came right up to the edge of the bed, leaned over and looked into her face. ‘Madelyn, what have you been drinking?’

  ‘Jus’ sherry and champagne.’

  ‘How many glasses of sherry before I came into the drawing room?’

  ‘Two?’ She frowned with the effort of remembering. ‘Three? It’s very good. Sweet.’

  Jack made a complicated sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan and sat down on the edge of the bed close to her elbow. The mattress dipped and she fell against him. ‘You, my lady wife, are drunk. In fact, you are verging on disorderly.’ He put one arm around her and sat her back up again.

  What he was saying made no sense, so she ignored it. ‘That’s nice. Don’t go.’

  ‘Madelyn, you need to sleep this off.’

  ‘Room goes around if I close my eyes. You come to bed, too.’

  ‘I think I had better.’ Jack stood up, untied the sash of his robe and let it fall to the ground.

  Madelyn blinked. He had no clothes on, just bare skin everywhere she looked. Naked, bare skin. And dark hair on his chest and lower down. Instinct told her fuddled brain not to look lower, so she focused on those intriguing curls and the glimpses of nipple hiding among them and then he was in bed beside her and the covers were over both of them and the weight of his body tipped her closer to the heat of him.

  Jack reached out and must have snuffed the candles on the night stand because the room grew dim. ‘Now you cannot see anything going around. Come here.’ She let herself go limp as he pulled her against him and wondered why he groaned when she wriggled to fit her curves around the reassuringly solid muscles.

  ‘G’night, Jack.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said, his voice oddly strained. But perhaps that was just this feverish cold or whatever it was that was wrong with her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or beat his head against the bedpost. Perhaps both at once. There he had been, worrying about his virgin bride, trying to get her just a little bit tipsy so everything would be easier for her, and she had been quaffing sherry like lemonade. Lord Dersington could not even keep his wife sober on their wedding night. No wonder his valet and her maid had been so anxious to keep him out of this room.

  Madelyn wriggled, pressing those lovely, lush breasts in their thin lawn covering tight against his ribs. He groaned. Then she wriggled some more and flung one long leg over his thigh. Soft, warm, curls caressed him, a faint feminine musk teased his nostrils. Jack gritted his teeth and wished he had a brandy bottle within reach. This was going to be a long, long, night.

  * * *

  Her head ached, her mouth tasted disgusting and she was much too hot. And very confused.

  Madelyn opened one eye, winced at the light coming in through the light summer curtains and recognised the Chinese wallpaper—and something else. She was in her chamber, in her bed, and the heat was coming from the large, naked male body stretched out next to her. Her husband.

  Glimmers of the night before came back to her in horribly confused but vivid scenes. The sherry. More sherry. Jack smiling at her down the length of the dining table and feeling he would be hurt if she did not drink the champagne he liked so much. Harper, struggling to get her undressed. Jack looking deeply into her eyes.

  ‘You, my lady wife, are...’

  Drunk! Oh, good heavens. She had been intoxicated and this was a hangover that was hammering nails into her temples. Drunk on her wedding night. Was Jack ever going to forgive her? She couldn’t imagine why he should, even if it had been an accident.

  Madelyn opened both eyes and cautiously lifted her head, ignoring the pounding headache and the iron band gripping the back of her skull. Asleep, Jack looked younger, but also harder, even ruthless. That must be the piratical dark stubble covering his chin. He was breathing heavily, but not snoring, his lips slightly parted.

  Had he... Had they? No, she would have felt different this morning and it would not only have been her head that was sore. She felt herself blush just thinking it.

  Madelyn wanted to lean over and kiss him. She ran her tongue over dry lips and grimaced. If she edged to the side of the bed and slid out, she might make it to the dressing room and a toothbrush before he woke. Besides, the amount she had drunk was making itself felt in other ways, as well.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jack muttered the moment she shifted her weight. His eyes were still closed, the long body still relaxed.

  ‘Dressing room. Toothbrush.’

  There was a sleepy grunt.

  Had Jack gone back to sleep? She eyed him dubiously, then slid out from under the covers and teetered on unsteady legs to the dressing room door.

  She found the chamber pot behind the screen and used it, sighing with relief, then poured cold water from the ewer into the basin, pulled off her nightgown and washed all over, shivering. It felt wonderful. Cleaning her teeth was even better. Then she tipped up the ewer and drank the rest of the water, her body feeling like a shrivelled plant that was coming back to life aft
er a shower of rain.

  Only then did Madelyn risk looking in the mirror. A pink-nosed, heavy-eyed creature stared back at her from beneath a haystack. Dragging the brush through her hair hurt her aching head, but the result was worth it for the slight improvement. She found another nightgown—all of them seemed to be constructed of a small amount of thin lawn, an excessive amount of lace and a few ribbons to hold everything together—and put it on, vowing never to let Harper out to buy her intimate garments unsupervised again.

  Perhaps if Jack kept his eyes closed...

  He was sitting up against the pillows when she edged cautiously back into the room, his eyes wide open, the intense blue gaze fixed on her.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Dersington. That is a quite delightful nightgown you are wearing.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘For the nightgown?’

  Infuriating man.

  She was hot with embarrassment. He could probably see her glowing pinkly through every inch of the indecent garment. ‘For last night. For drinking too much. I did not realise that the sherry was so strong and I forgot that I had the champagne at the breakfast.’

  His lips twitched, then he was serious again. ‘I should take the blame. I had thought that a few glasses of wine might make things easier for you. We both miscalculated. Do you have a headache?’

  Madelyn nodded, then almost winced. It was not wise to move her head too much, but it certainly was not politic to appear less than eager to join her husband in bed.

  ‘I will have Tanfield give Harper his infallible hangover remedy and you must drink it straight down. I warn you, it tastes ghastly, but it will settle your stomach. Breakfast and then fresh air will do the rest.’ He reached for the bell pull beside the bed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Stretching like that had made muscles ripple and drew her attention to that intriguing dark hair on his chest.

  Is it rough or silky? Oh, my goodness, I had forgotten he was naked. How could I have forgotten that?

  ‘Ringing for your maid.’

  ‘You do not want to...? I mean—’

  ‘We have rather less than two hours before we need to set off, unless we want to arrive at Dersington long after dark. And besides, you need to give Tanfield’s remedy an opportunity to work before you do anything more strenuous than wielding a bath sponge.’ He gripped the edge of the covers as though to throw them back, and Madelyn turned tail and fled back into the dressing room.

  She was sitting on the edge of a chair trying to will her spinning head into some sort of steadiness when Harper came in carrying a glass of cloudy brown liquid on a small tray. ‘Here you are, my lady. Mr Tanfield’s remedy for a hang... For a headache.’

  ‘It is a hangover,’ Madelyn said grimly, taking the glass. It looked thoroughly nasty. She held her breath and gulped it down, pressed her lips together and waited. Something seemed to be happening. Either she was going to be very ill or cured.

  ‘I think it is working,’ she said after a minute.

  ‘Thank goodness. If I’d had to drink that, I’d have cast up my accounts,’ Harper said, whisking a napkin over the glass. ‘The hot water for your bath is on its way, my lady, and His Lordship has gone back to his own chamber.’ She set the screen between the bath and the chair so that Madelyn was hidden when the footmen brought in the water and began to busy herself with soap and towels.

  ‘I do not understand how men can drink so much,’ Madelyn said. ‘I felt awful. Oh, how could I?’ Harper was her maid and she knew she should be maintaining a dignified front before the staff, but she was a woman and Madelyn badly needed a female to confide in. ‘On my wedding night!’

  ‘Hush, my lady. Here come Charles and Saul with the hot water.’

  Madelyn sat listening to the sound of pouring water and Harper hustling the footmen out again. Her head was slowly clearing and that only made everything worse. Her memory was returning with horrible clarity, presenting her with one disturbing image after another.

  ‘There we are, my lady. Let’s get you out of your nightgown and into the bath. That will help.’

  ‘Harper, I fell asleep, almost as soon as he came into the room.’ Madelyn climbed in and lay back in the warm water. ‘I said a few things—none of them at all coherent, I’m sure—and then I just drifted off. Last night, of all nights.’

  ‘I’m sure His Lordship knew it wasn’t deliberate, my lady. Mr Tanfield says he’s ever such an understanding gentleman and he has known him for years.’

  He is? Madelyn was not at all certain that was how she would describe Jack, although he had certainly been very kind, if teasing, that morning. And he had been considerate the night before. Some men, from what she had heard, would have taken out their frustrations on their wives’ unconscious bodies.

  ‘You’ll have a nice long journey to rest and talk and everything will be all right tonight—you’ll see, my lady. Now, we agreed on the plum-coloured walking dress, didn’t we? And the light straw with the satin ribbons. I’ll just get everything laid out.’

  Madelyn worked up a good lather on the sponge and began to wash. Thinking about her wardrobe was a helpful distraction. Medieval gowns were all very well for evenings, but they looked most strange with modern hats. No lady could go out without a head-covering, of course, but she thought she had managed a workable compromise. She would have to see what Jack thought. If he was in any mood to be civil about her clothes, that is.

  * * *

  What her husband thought of her walking dress was not apparent. He stood up when she arrived at the breakfast table, waited while she asked Saul for scrambled eggs and toast from the sideboard and drank coffee while she sipped gratefully at weak tea.

  ‘The weather appears to be set fine. Provided there are no accidents on the road we should make good time.’

  So, he was going to ignore her intoxication the night before, pretend that disaster of a wedding night had not occurred. Perhaps even ignore the stir her wedding gown had caused. On the other hand, it was too delicate a subject to risk the staff overhearing, so he was probably saving a comprehensive scold for the journey.

  ‘The newspapers, my lord.’ Partridge removed three folded papers from the salver he was holding and placed them beside Jack’s plate. ‘Your man asked me to inform you that the chaise will be at the door within the half-hour, as will the carriage for those members of staff accompanying you. He left, riding Your Lordship’s horse, over an hour ago.’

  ‘Excellent. Then, if you have finished, Lady Dersington, we will leave.’

  When Madelyn came downstairs with the simple jacket like a spencer over the bodice of her gown and a plain bonnet on her head, Jack did raise an eyebrow as he helped her into the chaise. ‘I had wondered how you would continue your unique style of dress to accommodate day wear. That is intended as a walking dress, I assume?’

  ‘Yes.’ Madelyn took her seat looking forward out of the wide glass-front window of the chaise. The two postilions were mounting, taking control of four horses—Jack clearly intended to make good time. ‘The skirt is not as full and it is slightly shorter so it is clear of the ground. The bodice is a very fine silk so that the fitted jacket is not too warm. It is a mixture of the two styles and, I believe, will be practical.’

  ‘But a modern hat.’

  ‘I imagine that a hennin with veil, or even a bourrelet, would appear most strange.’

  Jack’s very silence was comment enough.

  Madelyn decided that she was going to have this out, there and then. ‘I have no desire to dress as a medieval woman, but I do wish to wear a style of gown that I believe suits me and in which I am comfortable. Surely that is not so unreasonable?’

  ‘From your point of view, I can understand that it is not. That ensemble, and what you wore last night, seem practical and elegant.’ Jack unfurled a newspaper. ‘The other papers are in the side pocket, should
you wish to read.’ He cleared his throat from behind the cover of the spread pages. ‘You are correct, that style does suit you very well.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, startled by the concession. ‘And thank you, but I will not take a news sheet. I prefer to watch the scenery. This will be unfamiliar countryside for me.’

  ‘No countryside for a quite a while.’ Jack lowered his paper and folded it for more convenient reading. ‘And you will recognise the streets as far as St Paul’s.’

  ‘Very well, I will read until we arrive somewhere new, thank you.’ It seemed there would be no lecture. Not yet, at any rate and he thought her gowns suited her well.

  With a silent sigh of relief, Madelyn opened the Morning Post, rather guiltily skipped past the political news and turned to the Court and Society section, which was usually surrounded by various interesting snippets of news from around the country.

  The wedding of the Earl and Countess of Dersington took place yesterday at the church of St George’s, Hanover Square.

  Madelyn almost dropped the paper. Of course she knew society weddings were reported—she had read enough accounts of them since she had been in London, but somehow it had not occurred to her that hers would be among them.

  The Earl has only recently taken up the title, which he inherited upon the untimely death of his brother...

  She glanced at Jack, but he seemed absorbed by the foreign news section so she read on.

  The nuptial service was attended by a large congregation of the most fashionable in society...

  Virtually everyone seemed to have been listed. She skipped over the names.

  The bride, only child of the scholar and antiquary the late Mr Peregrine Aylmer, created much interest with a gown of medieval cut and design: we have no doubt that images of this innovative form of dress will appear in all the most select journals for the delectation of the Fair Sex.