Barbara Metzger (17 page)

Alissa let out her breath. It was an order, but he had not said to wait in her bedroom. So he meant to talk, to get to know her, to come to an understanding of her wants and needs, as she had to learn about him. That was the way it should be, the way a marriage between strangers had to begin if they were to be comfortable together. Rockford was not an insensitive clod after all, then. Alissa felt her clenched muscles begin to relax.

The servants were still bustling about, cleaning up. She told them to finish in the morning; they had worked hard enough today.

*

Upstairs, Rockford was at a loss. “Good night” seemed inadequate, but he had nothing else to say, so he lightly touched the cheek of William Henning, who was nearly asleep.

“Night, Papa Rock,” the boy murmured, before turning over. Rockford felt the name made him sound like something from a fairy tale: “…And the papa rock rolled all the way down the hill.” Lord.

Will had been three when his father died, so was not as sensitive about using “Papa” as his brother was. To Mrs. Henning’s older boy, he was still “sir.” Kendall now said, “I am glad you are going to look after my mother, sir.”

“And I am glad you will protect her when I cannot be here,” Rockford replied, winning him a rare smile.

His own William was still awake, and still sticky from the piece of iced cake he had smuggled into his bed. “Night, Papa. Thank you for finding us a new mother.”

Rockford had worried about his heir, that the sickly child might have overexerted himself at the party or eaten the wrong foods. The earl glanced uncertainly at all the bottles on the bedside table, but Rothmore appeared fine. In fact, he looked better than when he’d been with Lord and Lady Chudleigh, less like a starved owl. He put his book down and said, “Good night, Father. You have an excellent library.”

“Thank you. What about Mrs. Henning, ah, the countess?”

“Oh, she likes it too.”

Which seemed to be high encomium from Hugo.

Rockford congratulated himself on handling fatherhood so well. Now if only he could breeze as easily through this first night of matrimony.

*

While Alissa was waiting she thought of the sheer nightgown laid out on her bed upstairs, the vases of flowers the giggling maids had carried in, the extra candles they had placed around the large bedchamber, the bottle of wine. The picture of Rock Hill was there too, just a quick sketch, really, all she’d had time for, but she could do a better one if the earl seemed interested. She also thought of all the topics they could discuss, to put off going upstairs.

When the earl returned, his neckcloth was hanging loose, his shirt collar was open, and his jacket was off.

A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and a faint shadow of new beard limned his square jaw. Oh, my. Alissa licked her suddenly dry lips. Perhaps they need not discuss a pension for the gardener right now.

Rockford had a glass of brandy in one hand, and she wondered how many drinks he’d had that day. Who could keep count between the toasts and the supper and the punch? She had no way of telling if he was in his altitudes, for he wore his habitual unsmiling expression, like a pagan god carved from marble. For that matter, she did not know if Rockford was a maudlin drunk or mean, if he grew silly or sleepy. If she had to guess, she would wager her new husband held his liquor as well as he rode a horse. The Earl of Rockford was not one to make a fool or a spectacle of himself. Even now, in his undress, he was elegant, in control. And masculine. Very masculine.

Alissa wished she had something to drink now too, but he did not offer. She licked her lips again. When he scowled at her, she hurried into speech. “I am glad we have this chance to speak, my lord.”

His frown deepened. “We are married. Do you think you could cease handing me the title with every breath?”

Alissa ran her tongue over her lips to try to call him Rock, or Rockford.

“And stop that!”

Perhaps he was drunk after all. “Yes, well, we, ah, have a great deal to discuss, uh, Robert.” She smiled at him. “Will that do?”

He had not taken his eyes off her mouth. He raised his glass to his own lips and took a long swallow, then nodded.

Alissa took a deep breath and began again. “For instance—”

His eyes had moved to her expanded chest, and he growled.

Nervous enough to start with, Alissa was nearly in a panic, but then she started to grow angry. She could not be the only one trying to make something of the marriage. He could be civil, at least. Otherwise she would lock that bedroom door, marriage license or not. Rockford had conjugal rights, but she had more self-respect than to put up with a besotted brute. The servants would talk and the whole village would know the wedding night was a failure. They would shake their heads and ask what else one could expect from such a mingle-mangle of a marriage.

“For instance, what?” he asked when she started to get up from the love seat before she started to cry.

She sat back. “We need to talk about the boundary dispute between Mr. Tavistock and Ned Danvers. And hiring an underbutler for Claymore. The wall hangings in the master suite need replacing and I do not know your preferences. The miller wishes to put up a new building, and the boys need a tutor, especially Hugo.”

Only the last seemed to catch his attention. “I thought the boy was bookish. What, did his grandparents merely let him loose in the library without instruction? Confound it, they taught him to add and subtract, didn’t they?”

“Of course, but—” She did not get to finish, to tell him that Hugo was so far advanced in his studies that neither she nor the vicar could teach him anything. She did not even know what books to order.

“Well, find one to bring him up to par. As for the rest, I am certain you are capable of handling everything. I have every confidence you can manage while I am gone.”

“Gone?”

Chapter Thirteen

“Yes,
I have matters that need attending. You knew I was a busy man. That was why I took another wife.”

“Yes, but…”

Lud, if he did not get out of here soon, he’d pull the pins out of her rose-scented, honey-colored hair just to see how long it was, and if it could be as silky as he thought. If she smiled, he’d have her out of that revealing gown and on the floor in front of the fireplace before she could say his name again. Robert. He let the sound echo in his mind, like a sweet, unfamiliar song. If she licked those lush lips of hers once more, he would not bother with the hair or the gown. He’d lift her skirts right where she sat and bury himself in her softness.

And then where would he be? In the arms of a woman who had married him for his money but who wanted words of love. They always did, before, during, and after lovemaking. There would be tears and recriminations and bitter words, and she’d take a lover to spite him.

Besides, once a female knew the power she had over a man, how her perfume could drive him mad, how the sway of her hips could make his watching eyes cross, then she would make his life hell.

Better he left now.

“You cannot simply leave!”

He raised his eyebrow. Was she trying to tighten that sexual noose already? “I thought we had this discussion earlier.”

“We have discussed nothing! Not where we would live, certainly not that we would live apart!”

“And yet you signed the papers, Countess, making you a wealthy woman. You have no cause for complaint.”

“The money is to replace courtesy, then? Loyalty? Affection?”

It was to replace carping conversations like this. “Ours was, and will remain, a marriage of convenience. Those were the terms upon which we agreed.”

“Your notion of convenience, it seems, does not reconcile with mine.”

“Ah, but my name is the one that signs the checks.”

She inhaled sharply at his bluntness. Her cheeks were flushed, her fists were clenched, and the gold flecks in her green eyes were flashing like lightning in the forest. She looked superb to him, and his arms ached to hold her, to smooth away the hurt. He might as well wear a ring through his nose for her to lead him by.

So Rockford kissed his new wife on the forehead, repeated that he had every confidence in her, and that Claymore could get a message to him at any time. Then he left. Not just the room, but the house, the village, the shire.

He left, on their wedding night!

Alissa sat in the parlor long after the fire had burned down. She did not wish to face that bedroom, the countess’s chamber, more than ever. The flowers, the sheer nightgown—the travesty of her marriage!

She did not feel the cold. What was a chill after the winter in her soul? Her hopes for the future, the dreams she had not dared speak aloud, even to herself, were all turned to shards of ice, piercing her heart. Rockford was gone, and she felt more alone and abandoned than when her first husband had died. At least William Henning had not been in such a hurry to leave!

She tried to convince herself that she was no worse off now than she was then. She had no hopes of happiness then. She had none now.

What she had, in the morning, was a stiff neck from sitting up all night. She also had wealth. With it came the servants’ pity, her sons’ confusion, Rockford’s sons’ disappointment, and a few I-told-you-so nods from the neighbors.

Alissa decided she would play by the earl’s rules. He dealt the cards, he held the bank, but she was still in the game. So she became the Countess of Rockford, all on her own.

She took over the books and the land management. She consulted bankers, the tenant farmers who knew the area best, architects and engineers, but she herself made the decisions of where to invest the earl’s money, which improvements to make first. With Claymore beside her she started renovating the house, the grounds, and everyone’s wardrobes. She hired local men to teach the boys archery and fishing and shooting, but sent to London for instructors in dancing and deportment for Aminta. She turned Hugo loose in the lending library when he had exhausted Rock Hill’s collection, until she could find a tutor who knew more than young Viscount Rothmore.

Even with winter approaching, a lot could be accomplished on the farms. Manures and minerals could be spread, and late crops could be sown to nourish the soil, according to the latest farm journals. Alissa also went to livestock auctions, buying prime bulls for stud, fresh blood to strengthen the herds. She purchased seeds; she ordered the newest equipment. She hired men who were out of work and set them to clearing fields for added productivity, and to draining swamps to avoid spring floods.

Alissa also looked into starting cottage industries, such as pottery, stonemasonry, or brickworks, so the people could be independent of the land—and of their absentee lord.

That was the first two weeks.

The third week she started inviting ladies from the vicinity to tea. Some had raised their noses at her before; some had never known she existed. None refused her invitations, nor her pleas to help start a free school in the village, and a place where orphans could be taught a trade, rather than languishing in the poorhouses.

She had put the emerald pendant and the matching engagement ring back in the vault, keeping only the gold filigree wedding band on her finger. The matrons seemed to approve, noting that she was not flaunting her new wealth and elevated position. They decided among themselves that Lady Rockford was a mature, modest, capable sort, not flighty like the earl’s previous wives. Alissa Henning was not as beautiful, of course, and without the centuries of blood and breeding, but she might turn out to be a better asset to the community than those young ladies who spent all their time in London. She was a good mother, too, not only to her own children but also to the heir and the spare, who obviously adored her. That mattered to these women of Leicester.

While she had the ladies’ attention, Alissa made sure to introduce Aminta, who impressed the women with her sweet smile and demure manner. If mention of her sister’s new dowry found itself stirred into the rumor mill, so be it. Soon the Rock Hill ladies were accepting invitations to the leading houses of local society, where Aminta met a wider circle of possible suitors than Squire’s spotted son, the blacksmith’s nephew, the butcher’s delivery boy. She was the countess’s sister now, and could look much higher, although there was no rush to marry her off. Rockford could not complain of Amy’s continued presence at his residence, Alissa decided, if he recalled her existence at all. If not for her sister, Alissa would have to hire a companion or else take her meals alone and travel to social engagements by herself.

The boys kept her company when she visited the tenant farms and the horse fairs, but they had their own pursuits, their own interests, and she did not want them to grow up knowing only women’s company. Hugo was not as enthusiastic about the sporting lessons, but he happily went off on walks and collecting excursions, finding plants he had only studied in books. His grandparents had seldom permitted him the outdoors, much less physical exertion. Alissa insisted that he take a groom or a footman with him, if not her own sensible Kendall, to make sure he did not injure or exhaust himself. Hugo was the heir; protecting him was half the reason Rockford had wedded her.

The other half was falling out of trees and into fountains, ransacking the pantry, and ruining the gardens by taking Rosie, the pig, on her daily constitutional. When he was not up to some mischief or other, Billy was filling an unused stall in the stable with things that slithered or slimed or swam or stung. Alissa was terrified of half of them, but she wisely let Billy have his menagerie. She knew he’d keep the creatures in his pockets, otherwise. Like his father, Billy knew what he wanted.