Emily Hendrickson (24 page)

When Julian entered the neat little sitting room from the bedroom he adopted as his, Chloe turned to him and brought matters to a head. “How vexing this must be for you, Julian. Saddled with an inexperienced girl who does not know the first thing about married life or what is entailed.” She twisted her hands together, the only sign of her unease.

He gave her a surprised look. Crossing the room to her side, he studied her anxious face for a few moments, then gestured to a nearby chair.

“Sit down. I expect the sooner we discuss this the better you will sleep at night.”

After a look at his face, Chloe abruptly sank on the chair without more than a glance at it. “Well?” Her hopeful gaze was nearly his undoing.

“Ours is a most unusual marriage,” Julian began, starting to walk back and forth with his hands behind his back. “I appreciate your sensitivity to the circumstances and would not for the world upset you. I must say,” he added in an aside, pausing to look at her again, “I am surprised that you wish to discuss it at all, considering that you are intent upon an annulment.”

Chloe made little noises that could have been anything, but made not the least sense. Finally, her gaze fixed on the floor, she blurted, “I read that it does not make any difference to an annulment whether consummation occurs or not. I wished to know what to expect.” She could feel the heat in her face at this bit of plain speaking. Where the nerve to say such words came from she did not know.

“I see. And what do you wish?” he said with grave courtesy.

Chloe looked up at him with wide eyes and bravely said, “I should like to spend time with you, if I may. Perhaps we might be friends for the time we are together?” The matter of consummation was left suspended.

Julian fought the urge to laugh. She wanted to spend time with him? Be friends? He cleared his throat of a sudden obstruction and said, “I think that is a very excellent idea. What a wise young woman you are.” He was rewarded by a brilliant smile and an instantly relaxed girl.

“So, I will order us up a fine supper and we can spend time visiting. Tell me, what sort of books do you enjoy? We never seemed to find the time to discuss our reading habits in all that has gone on to date.”

Julian plunked himself on a matching chair that also faced the fireplace, turning so that he faced her. When he saw she fingered the buttons of the lightweight pelisse she still wore, he was up again and at her side.

“Let me help you, my dear. Ellen is busy sorting out your things in the next room, is she not? This room is very warm, even with the windows open. Shall I call for lemonade?” He slid his hands over her shoulders to ease off the garment, taking note of her heightened color at his touch.

“Lemonade? That sounds lovely,” she stammered. Chloe half rose to assist in removing her offending pelisse, then abruptly sat down again once it had been whisked away.

Julian went to tug at the bellpull, then gave orders for not only the lemonade but a fine supper as well. When he returned, he found her smiling. “Pleased?”

“Yes, well, I think we may do well enough.”

“Indeed.” Julian sat down, relaxed against his chair, and smiled.

And it did go well enough. They managed tolerably well through dinner and when they retired for the night Chloe paused long enough to thank Julian for his indulgence of her whims.

“Never fear,” she said in a confiding manner, “we shall find our way out of this predicament one way or another.”

As the door closed behind her, Julian stood musing on her words. And then he grinned. Indeed they would find their way—but perhaps not quite as she envisioned.

The following day was all amity between them, although the weather turned nasty. A mist fell, making the road a sea of water-filled holes and muddy ruts. When they straggled through the gates of a well-tended avenue Chloe exclaimed with relief.

“We are at Aubynwood. This is to be our home, my dear,” Julian said, opening his window to look over the fields they passed. Things looked to be in fair condition, better than he expected after his stay in London. His father had been reluctant to allow Julian a say in managing the estates until Julian had badgered him to permit the control of one of the minor estates to be his own.

“You said this is your own house, not your father’s?”

“He has deeded the place to me—it is not entailed.”

“That means?”

“That if I have no heir, my widow could remain here as long as she wished. I have a distant cousin who is my heir at present. Fortunately he is in good health and pocket, so I need not fear him.”

Chloe shivered at the thought of death, for it lurked about them all too often. “Well, it will be interesting to see what we may learn about Lord Twisdale’s first wife. It is very hard to prove a poisoning in court?”

“Next to impossible.” Julian had decided to confide the information about his reading law to Chloe, with the hope it might prepare her to better accept the coming news. He knew that sooner or later he must tell her.

The traveling coach came to a halt before the main entrance to the house. There was no sign of life, most likely because of the weather being what it was. The house sat on a rise with a view of a lake on the far side. Today the wind whipped at the branches of the oaks and birch and the rain nearly obscured the lake.

“It must be a pretty place when the sun shines.”

“I like it,” he said with clear satisfaction in his voice.

Chloe was surprised that the scoundrel of London should care about his estate other than as a source of ready money to use for gambling and high living.

The door swung open and a spare, tall man bowed to them. “Sir and my lady. Welcome to Aubynwood.”

“What a lovely name,” Chloe exclaimed with delight, quite capturing the hearts of all in the room.

The entry seemed vast to Chloe, with columns marching around the edge of the room and niches holding statues that appeared to be bronzes. Delicate plasterwork and a fine fireplace surround that looked to be the work of Robert Adam caught her eye. Shades of rose and gray contrasting with the white marble pleased the eye, and she liked her first glimpse of her new home.

“This is Godfrey, my dear. He presides over the house when I am absent,” Julian said at her side.

Chloe shook hands with suitable gravity, murmuring her “I am pleased to meet you” with proper restraint.

Around the entry room ranged the smallish staff. Housekeeper, cook, footmen, housemaids, grooms, and a few others who could be anything stood at attention while Julian introduced them to Chloe. Again he surprised her by knowing each and every name.

“Rogers will be here later on this week. He is my agent and oversees operations of the land.”

Chloe began to suspect there was a great deal more to the estate than she had been told.

They left the assembled servants and walked up the stairs. They paused outside the third door.

“This will be your room.” He showed her inside, placing a casual arm about her shoulders while pointing out the beautiful—and vast—bed, and pretty cherrywood dressing table in front of the window, and the large armoire for her clothes.

Through an open doorway Chloe caught sight of a charming sitting room with more of the delicate plaster-work done in white with blue walls and a rich carpet. The furniture looked comfortable, the sort in which one might truly relax. On one wall hung a painting of a boy and Chloe guessed it to be of her husband. It was a handsome, wistful boy with beautiful eyes and a beguiling smile.

“We will share this room for our quiet moments,” Julian said, trailing his fingers down her arm.

Chloe trembled at his light caress. The days ahead looked to be quite intriguing.

* * * *

The following week passed most agreeably. Ellen settled into the new house and staff with scarcely a ripple.

The tensions that Chloe had felt the day of their wedding dissipated somewhat. Nevertheless it remained to some degree, lingering in the air, haunting her when her husband touched her—which he seemed to do very frequently. At first these little touches had disturbed her, sending her pulse racing and color rising.

Now—well, Chloe admitted that she still remained acutely conscious of his presence and even more of his touch. But she was becoming accustomed to it.

One day about a week after their arrival Chloe came down to breakfast with a purposeful stride. She entered the family dining room, concentrating on the man who sat at the linen-covered table.

“And what do you plan that lures you so strongly, my dear,” Julian inquired from behind the newspaper that had arrived the evening before.

Chloe sank onto the chair closest to him, propping her chin on her hands. “I think it is time we go detecting. I had a letter from Laura and it is clear to me that she is being pursued by Lord Twisdale even as I was. Could we begin today? The weather is pleasant, there is nothing pressing, for I asked Godfrey.”

“Covered all bases, I see.”

Chloe gave him a confused look, not understanding his slang, but persisted. “I think it important. After all, I could have been his wife by now and I shudder at the thought. I would not have Laura trapped into that state.”

“Do you feel trapped, my dear? It would not be surprising considering the nature of our betrothal and marriage.” He looked concerned, perhaps angry.

She glanced at him in alarm. “I may have felt trapped at first,” she said carefully, “but no longer. Were Lord Twisdale as considerate as you, there would be no dilemma. Somehow I do not believe he would be a caring person.”

“I doubt few men would accept our situation, if truth be told,” he murmured. At least that was what Chloe thought he said but was unwilling to ask for a repetition of his words. They brought back that heart-pounding sensation again and she licked her lips nervously.

“Eat some breakfast while I make arrangements.”

Left to herself Chloe managed to eat a respectable meal. By the time Julian rejoined her she felt ready to face anything. Almost anything, she amended when she looked up from her teacup to see him standing in the doorway.

His handsome good looks still had the power to take her breath away. That he should prove so considerate almost unnerved her, for she had not expected the scoundrel to treat her thus.

“Coming.” She set down her cup with a clink on the pretty china she enjoyed so much. Then with a whirl of skirts, she slipped past Julian into the entry hall where Godfrey waited with her pelisse.

Julian drove in the gig, that useful little carriage that most country folk employed to dash about the lanes. Chloe clung to the sides when he feathered a corner.

“I do hope we may arrive in the village in one piece,” she said at last.

Julian slowed their pace, then settled back on the cushion. “What shall we do? Where do we begin?”

“I think we should separate. You can inquire most casually about Lord Twisdale at the local inn while I will nose about in the shops that the village has to offer. I imagine they will be curious about me, having heard of your marriage.”

“Why do I feel there is an ‘at last’ in that sentence?” he said with a hint of complaint.

Chloe smiled but did not argue with him about it. She had managed to survive this long week by holding tightly to her emotions and avoiding confrontations of any sort. It took all night to soothe and restore her composure after a day spent in his company. And then she listened to his footfalls in the next room, waiting for precisely what she was not sure. Only when all was silent did she drift off to sleep.

When Julian drew to a halt before a likely-looking bow-fronted village shop, Chloe climbed down, peering up at him with a conspiratorial look. “I shall meet you later by the village green.”

He nodded, then went on to the Three Crowns Inn, where he could leave the gig while he explored one way or another.

Inside the pretty little shop Chloe discovered about the same sort of merchandise she had seen back at home. The proprietor was a Mrs. Baxter according to a neatly lettered sign. Chloe chatted with her in an agreeable, disarming manner for some while, then mentioned she had met a gentleman from this area while in London. “A Lord Twisdale. Have you heard of the man?” She carefully called him a man, not a gentleman, a distinction she hoped would be noticed.

The friendly face became shuttered. “Aye, we all do. Not many girls from around here willing to work at the Hall,” the woman reported after a curious look at Chloe.

“He is said to be looking for a second wife. I wonder…” Chloe mused aloud, then continued, “He seems respectable enough, but there are those who will not speak to the man, and a girl I know recently refused to marry him.”

“You don’t say,” said an enthralled Mrs. Baxter, easing her demeanor considerably at this revelation from Town. “Well, I had little to do with his wife, poor dear.”

“Poor dear?” Chloe said promptly, perking up her ears at the tone of voice.

“ ‘Tis said all was not as it should be up at the Hall. She rarely came to the village, not unless he was with her. And as he often left her alone there, she spent most days wandering through the gardens, such as they are.”

“The gardens are not to be remarked, then?”

“Shrubbery and weeds, mostly. My husband used to be the gardener there.”

“Used to be?”

“Aye. He was fired when Lady Twisdale died. They claimed he brought in poison berries, but no gardener would do such a thing and we both know it.”

“Indeed,” Chloe murmured.

Chapter 14

Julian stared across the village green, wondering if his wife sensed his growing regard. A shard of sunlight captured the gleam of her auburn curls where they peeped from beneath her small chip bonnet as she walked toward where he waited. In her green sprigged mull she resembled a summer sprite, a very precious sprite. A gentle breeze blowing her muslin gown against her slim form revealed the slender body veiled beneath. And Julian felt the tension within him increase as he surveyed her perfect little form.

Slim legs, a slender body—a comely shape, all in all. She was his—yet not his—and his sense of frustration grew day by day. Did she experience any of these sensations, he wondered, irritated at his inability to withstand her innocent charms. His patience wore thin.