Beloved (42 page)

“Do join us for the wedding feast,” Grandmama said with a decided lack of enthusiasm. When he nodded acceptance and left the
room with surprisingly light steps, she rolled her eyes.

“I collect you do not admire our holy friend,” Saber said.

“Then you collect entirely wrong, Saber, my boy,” his grandmother told him. “You would do well to show suitable respect to
members of the clergy.”

Roundly chastised, Saber grinned nevertheless and drew his wife into his arms. “I bless the man,” he said, resting a fingertip
on Ella’s lips. “Of course I do. He has declared that you will forever be mine, beloved.”

The soft Cotswold hills. Fields of purple linseed, of yellow rape, of tender green, and freshly turned brown earth, a quilt
made by men’s hands and stitched together with woolly hedgerows.

The carriage bowled through late-afternoon sunshine. Ella leaned her forehead against the window and allowed blossoms in the
grasses beside the road to become blurry. Long purple orchid and yellow pimpernel. Here and there, patches of sweet woodruff
showed their first clusters of tiny white flowers. She must pick some, as was her custom each spring, to dry for their sweet
scent and place between her linens.

Their linens.

No longer could she think of what was hers alone. She was Saber’s wife and the things of his life were now hers, just as her
life was his.

Ella looked at Saber. He sat across from her, his face turned toward the opposite windows. From this angle his scars were
hidden, his face the face she’d first seen as a girl of fifteen— the same but older, and, today, deeply fatigued.

“You’re tired,” she said, breaking a silence that had lasted for what felt like hours.

He glanced at her. “I’m well enough.”

“I didn’t say you were ill. I said you were tired. You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”

“You slept.”

“Yes, I believe I did. At least for a while. Does that mean I wouldn’t know if you happened to doze for a few minutes? That
I wouldn’t have noticed if you closed your eyes in the chair where you spent our wedding night?” The instant the words were
spoken she longed to be able to whisk them back. “Forget I said that, please, Saber.”

“You understand nothing.” Once more the landscape claimed his attention.

Every inch of Ella’s skin tingled at the sharpness of his retort. She scrunched down in her seat and held the collar of her
cape around her neck.

Saber might have been made of stone—stone with dark slashes beneath his eyes and a white line about his thinned lips.

She could not bear this tension between them. “I had not been to Maidenhead before yesterday.”

“No?”

“No. And I thought The Dog and Partridge a delightful place.”

“You must have stayed in enough inns before.”

“Yes. But not on my wedding night.”

His eyes closed, and she knew she did not imagine his pained expression.

“I could hear them singing beneath the windows.”

Saber kept his eyes shut.

“I suppose they come from all around. Those people. From the farms, perhaps. For good company. And the landlord keeps such
beautiful gardens, it’s no wonder the people sit outside and—”

“They go there to drink,” he said, still shutting her out.

“You did not like The Dog and Partridge?”

“For God’s sake!”

“Saber!” Ella felt the prickle of tears and blinked hard. He should not make her cry. “What have I done? What happened since—?”

“Stop it. Please, Ella, leave me be. The inn was more than pleasant. I have always been particularly fond of it, in fact.
I’ve stayed there many times.”

“Yet you did not care to share a bed with me there.” She had spoken it aloud. Good. Starting the way one intended to continue
was the thing. Openness. She remembered that much from Mama’s observations on the manner in which men and women should live
together.

Rather than respond, Saber rested an elbow on his knee and buried long fingers in his hair.

“This is unbearable,” she said, wishing her voice were more steady. “Pay attention to me, my lord!”

His face came up slowly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not take that tone with me. I gave you every opportunity not to marry me. You chose to insist otherwise. Now I am your
wife and you will just have to make the best of it.” Ella raised her chin.

“You are the best of it, Ella.”

He spoke so softly, she had to lean forward to make sure she heard.

“You are my wonderful girl. I do not deserve you, but for some reason, you love me.”

“Of course I love you.”

Ella felt too warm. She took off her hat and placed it on the seat beside her. Their marriage had been a mistake. Despite
his declaration of love, Saber was already withdrawing from her. She held her bottom lip in her teeth and sniffed.

“Oh, I say.” Saber shifted to sit beside her and took her hands in his. “I have saddened you. What am I to do to make you
happy?”

“Stop sitting on my beautiful hat.”

He shot up, forgot to duck, and banged his head on a luggage rack. “Damn!”

“Saber!” She retrieved her ruined hat.

He promptly sat down again, rubbing the top of his head. “Never mind that.” He took the white chip creation with its yellow
and green tartan ribbons, and threw it across the carriage. “You shall have hundreds of them if you want them. Thousands,
if that will stop your tears.”

“My tears have stopped,” she told him, still sniffing.

“But you are miserable.” He flopped against the squabs.

Sitting very straight, she swiveled toward him. “The night before our wedding was heaven. I thought I should die of so much
joy. Every touch of yours was a miracle, and I cannot wait to—”

“Please, Ella.”

“Oooh, you are making me so angry. Last night was the night of our wedding, am I correct?”

“You know you are.”

“Yet you chose to sit in a chair looking out of our bedroom window at The Dog and Partridge, rather than rest with me. Rather
than be a
husband
to me.”

At first he stared at her steadily. Then he bowed his head and offered her his right hand.

Ella frowned. “What is it?”

“Hold my hand, sweet. I am embarrassed.”

She frowned even deeper, but took his hand in hers.

“The Dog and Partridge is a public place, Ella.”

“Yes.”

“I am a very private man.”

“Yes.”

“You make this so difficult.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t understand you.”

“Is it so complicated?” Saber brought her fingers to his lips. “You are a passionate creature.”

Ella became even warmer. “I thought that was in order between a husband and wife—according to you.”

“It is. It is. But passion can cause… well, certain
noise
.”

“Noise?”

“Yes, noise.” He kissed each of her fingers, then held her hand to his breast. “I prefer that your cries of passion not be
heard by strangers.”

Ella stared at him. She snatched her hand away and said, “Oh. Oh, what a horrid thought.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“I understand that you find my…my passionate cries so ugly they embarrass you!”

Before she could turn from him, Saber grabbed her by the waist and sat her on his lap. “I find your passionate cries incredible.
Incredible, and incredibly arousing. I will not share any part of you with another, including your cries. And—in case this
subject should arise again—I am a man who prefers to feel secure when he sleeps. I cannot feel secure in an inn where people
come and go.”

She kept her hands in her lap. “Our door was locked.”

“I have it on good authority that such locks are not to be trusted. I could not bear to have you mortified by some drunken
intruder.”

“I should not care for that either,” she told him. “Not at all.”

“Exactly.” Saber sat her on the seat once more and went about pulling shades over the carriage windows before replacing her
on his lap. “There, now we have privacy.”

Ella fiddled with the silk frog at the neck of her cape.

“Let me do that for you,” Saber said, and quickly accomplished the task of undoing the fastening. He easily disposed of the
cloak altogether.

“What are you doing?” Ella asked. She felt nervous, excited—shaky—all at once.

“A recreation is what it’s called, I believe.”

To her total disbelief, he ran a hand beneath her skirt, stroked the inside of her leg all the way to… “Saber!”

“You do say that rather often, don’t you?” He parted her drawers and slipped inside. “Mmm. Evidently our minds are not too
far distant from each other. I do believe you will enjoy this as much as I shall.”

Ella tried to draw away. “You can’t be serious. You will not come to my bed at an inn, yet you want … you suggest. Well, in
a
coach
?”

“A very noisy coach. My coach. And with several hours ahead of us before we reach our destination.”

Alarmed now, Ella made another attempt to leave his lap— with pleasantly disastrous results. “Even if we were to …If we were…It
wouldn’t take
hours
.”

“Certainly it will. Slip your bodice down.”

Ella felt her nipples harden. “Saber!”

“Saber!” he mimicked, laughing while he made it harder and harder for her to think at all. “Off with it, I say. Now, wife,
if you don’t mind.”

She didn’t mind. Her bodice and chemise were around her waist when the waves of ecstasy broke. She heard Saber croon her name,
felt his mouth on her breasts—and his strong arm supporting her. But very soon she was astride his thighs and his trousers
were undone and he entered her.

“In a coach!” she cried, dropping her head back.

Saber suckled a nipple and murmured, “Very nice in a coach. Perhaps we should ride in a coach every day. Several times a day.”

“Saber!” Her breasts were afire, her entire body burned.

“Ella! Oh, yes, Ella. Oh, yes.”

“It will not take hours,” she panted. “Not even seconds.”

“Each time? You’re right, my love.” He groaned, leaned back, shut his eyes tightly, and she felt the warm rush within her
again. “You’re right, Ella. Think how often we can do this in even a few hours.”

Paneling taken from a Spanish galleon after the Armada covered walls in the large vestibule of Bretforten Manor. Ella stood
beside an ebony demilune as dark as the intricately carved panels. She pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her reticule.

No one had greeted them upon their arrival. Saber had obtained keys to the manor in the tiny village of Bretforten, from the
landlord of the Fleece Inn, and had himself helped Potts carry in the trunks.

Darkness had descended as they entered the village, and now a fine, steady rain fell.

Saber’s boots clattered on stone flags as he came in with the final valises. “Potts will deal with the horses. He’ll be comfortable
enough over the stables.”

She smoothed her hair self-consciously.

“Beautiful house,” Saber remarked. “I’d forgotten.”

“I thought you probably intended to take me to Shilling-down,” Ella ventured. “After the wedding.”

“I never said I would. And surely you must have known we were heading in quite another direction. Eventually I shall take
you on a more appropriate wedding journey. But I think we shall be happy enough here for the present.”

He headed for a staircase fashioned of wood as rich as the vestibule. “I’ll get you settled and see what I can find to eat,”
he said, starting to climb.

Get her settled
. “Saber?”

“Let me take these up. You might want to wander around a bit. Get your bearings.”

She didn’t want to wander around or get her bearings. Instead, she ran up the stairs behind Saber and followed him through
well-furnished rooms to a pretty yellow bedroom where he set down his burdens.

“Who owns this house?”

“Old friends of Devlin’s. That’s why he could not be at our wedding. He came ahead to make arrangements.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Devlin? Shall we see him?”

Saber laughed. “Hardly. A man knows when to make himself scarce. The owners are away at the moment.”

“I noticed. There are no servants, Saber.”

“I shall do whatever your maid would do,” he told her, looking anywhere but at her face. “A woman will come in each day to
take care of our essential needs. We’ll use very little of the house.”

“How long are we to stay here?”

“I think you’ll be comfortable in this room.”

Ella layered her hands over her middle. “How long do you intend for us to remain here, Saber?”
She
would be comfortable in this room?

He busied himself throwing open draperies at two windows. “By daylight you’ll be able to see a lake from here.”

“It isn’t daylight.”

“No.” After a pause, he closed the draperies once more. “We’ll remain at Bretforten as long as seems appropriate.”

“How will you decide what is appropriate?”

“I will decide.” He turned to her. “Please allow me to make these decisions for us.”

Yet again he had become distant, autocratic. “I am agreeable to your making such decisions,” she told him quietly. “I merely
asked what that decision might be, but no matter. I will wait until you’re more comfortable treating me as an equal.”

He made no response.

Ella studied the room. “I would have expected you to choose something more to your own taste than this. You favor more bold
furnishings.” Flower miniatures in gilt frames covered one of the silk-hung walls. Meissen figurines, ladies in wide crinoline
skirts, shared every surface with porcelain flowers and small portraits in silver frames. Fashion dolls posed in outdated
copies of gowns probably once featured in Ackerman’s plates, and hundreds of shells, crowded the shelves of a narrow glass-fronted
corner cabinet. The delicate, feminine furniture was all French.

Saber made no comment about the room. Instead he lifted a travel case onto the embroidered yellow counterpane and undid the
straps.

“You’re really going to wait upon me?” she asked him.