In the Wake of the Wind (6 page)

“Serafina? Are you attending me, child? This is no time to go off into a daydream. I thought you were breathless for information.”

“Yes, I’m listening,” Serafina choked, wishing she’d never laid eyes on the rogue.

“Good. There’s nothing worse to my way of thinking than having a girl go uninformed to her marriage bed, but it doesn’t do to inform her before the fact.” Elspeth peeled another piece of apple. “So, to begin. I’m not to know how much you understand and how much you don’t, but if you’ve seen the livestock going about nature’s business, the mechanics of the act aren’t all that different for humans.” Elspeth chewed thoughtfully, looking off into the distance. “I suppose that it’s simply a matter of refinement,” she eventually said.

“Refinement?” Serafina repeated, for lack of anything better to say. She burned with mortification, thinking that refinement had absolutely nothing to do with it. She was obviously no better than an animal in the barnyard, given her physical reaction to a man she didn’t even like, let alone love.

“Indeed. You see, my child, when a man comes to a woman, his body goes from a state of sleeping to complete wakefulness.”

This statement caused Serafina’s gaze to lift to her aunt’s in fascination, hoping she was going to fill out the pieces of the puzzle the rogue had left unstated. “What do you mean, Auntie?”

“Well, you must understand that a man’s private part changes when he’s aroused. It grows hard and stiff in readiness, not unlike a flagpole. Do you understand?”

Serafina stared at her. A flagpole? The rogue hadn’t said a thing about a flagpole, and Serafina found the image alarming in the extreme.

“Excellent,” Elspeth said with satisfaction. “So now you have a man in a state of full arousal, his sexual organ ready to enter your body.”

Serafina nervously touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. The rogue had mentioned the part about joining bodies, but he’d made the whole thing sound so pleasant, so enjoyable, male coming to female in a perfectly harmless way. What Elspeth was telling her didn’t sound the least bit harmless.

“But Auntie, how does this happen exactly?” she asked desperately. “I can’t imagine being impaled by a flagpole—it must be the most awful thing!”

To her surprise, Elspeth crowed with laughter, slapping her knees. “Oh, my dear child,” she said, wiping her eyes on her napkin, “it’s no different than putting a cork into a bottle.”

Serafina gazed at her aunt suspiciously, wondering if maybe the lecture was another one of Elspeth’s flights of fancy. She’d never been married after all, so how was she to know? “Not all corks fit into all bottles,” she said nervously.

“Oh, it will fit all right, although it will probably hurt. But that’s only because of your maidenhead, and one quick thrust puts an end to that. It’s a bloody process, but virgin blood is a sacred sacrifice, so you should be pleased about it.”

Serafina’s mouth dropped open in horror.
Blood?
First Aiden was going to pierce her with a part of himself that resembled a flagpole, and then he was going to draw her blood? Her hands gripped her skirts, sweat beading her palms. “You’re sure about all of this?” she said faintly.

“Naturally I’m sure. Really, Serafina, how do you think babies are born? What comes out has to be put in, and there’s only one way to go about it.” She hopped to her feet. “So now that we have that straight, it’s time for you to go to bed. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Serafina mutely nodded.

‘You’re a good girl, and I know you’ll be a fine, willing wife,” Elspeth said, giving her mouth one last wipe.

She picked Basil up off the chair, parking him on her shoulder where he proceeded to twirl her earlobe with a little croon. “And don’t you worry about tomorrow night,” Elspeth said, swatting him away. “Aubrey will know exactly how to go about things. You’ll become accustomed in no time at all.”

She vanished through the door.

Serafina sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. As much as she loved him, marriage to Aiden looked less appealing by the moment.

Aiden lifted his mug of ale and took a long swallow. “I swear to God, Rafe, there she was, straight out of a book of fairy tales. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’d lived in the forest all her life, drinking dew from buttercups.”

“
Buttercups
?” the Duke of Southwell said in disbelief. “You, my friend, have windmills in your head.” He regarded his cousin with amusement. “But I suppose it’s your right to be as addled brained as you please tonight.”

“She had a little crown of flowers on her head,” Aiden continued dreamily. “And bare feet. And a simple little dress the color of ripe apricots.”

“A rare beauty, obviously.” Raphael crossed one leg over the other and rested his cheek on his fist. “An Artemis, complete with fawns prancing and rabbits hopping about her feet, I suppose.”

“No—no. Nothing like that.” He frowned, wondering how to describe her. “She’s not beautiful in the classic sense, with perfectly ordered, chiseled features. She’s … unusual looking. Delicate. Soft.” He realized he was babbling, but he couldn’t help himself. “She’s … striking,” he said, sitting up straighter, his palms pressed together. “Striking in the way that takes your breath away, as if you’ve just come around a corner and unexpectedly stumbled across a field of brilliant flowers, wild and—and unordered, just as nature designed them. Do you see what I mean?”

Raphael grinned. “She’s a departure from your usual cultured rose garden?”

“That’s it exactly,” Aiden said, delighted that Rafe had grasped the point so quickly. “You can’t help looking at her and seeing sunshine. And innocence. My God, I’ve never come across such an unaffected woman in all my life.”

He paused, remembering her shy smile, the way her sea-green eyes had regarded him steadily as he dodged his way through a hazy explanation of lovemaking, and later, the way she regarded him with profound pity when he told her that he didn’t believe in true love or fairy tales either. He hoped to God that her chosen husband wouldn’t hurt her too badly, disillusion her too swiftly, that he would at least be careful with her. Jealousy coursed through his veins at the thought of the man she was going to marry, lucky bastard. And for one wistful, absurd moment, he wished it could have been him.

“Now what’s running through your convoluted brain? You look a hundred miles away,” Raphael said.

“Rafe, you live on the other side of the forest,” Aiden
said. “You haven’t ever run across a dark-haired nymph in your wanderings, have you?”

“Oh, dear God. What am I going to do with you?”

“Order another round of ale, I think.” Aiden sighed. “I asked the innkeeper if he’d ever seen anyone of her description, but he came up blank, said there was no one who looked anything like that and he’s lived here all his life. I’m beginning to think I imagined the entire thing.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility, although I’ve never known you to be prone to hallucinations. Still, it is the eve of your wedding, and you haven’t been yourself since your father delivered the grim news. Which reminds me—I’m delighted to have bumped into you entirely by accident, but surely Miss Segrave must have arrived at Townsend by now?”

Aiden shuddered. “Don’t remind me. That witch is probably touring her new home as we speak, making a mental appraisal of everything in it.”

“Tell me. How is Charlotte taking your approaching nuptials? I haven’t had a chance to visit her in the last fortnight to find out for myself.”

“Oh, you know Lottie. She’s a saint. She can’t be pleased about my marriage, naturally, and she’s concerned for me, but she’s doing her best to be stalwart.” He fell silent while Raphael called the barmaid over.

“What may I bring your grace?” Betsy said, dipping a curtsy and flashing Aiden an inviting smile as
Rafe
ordered two more mugs of ale.

Aiden looked away. Betsy was a pretty girl, and a few years ago he’d enjoyed a night in her bed, but he was in no mood for tumbling barmaids tonight, especially when he had the image of a fairy queen burning in his brain. He really was beginning to question his sanity.

There wasn’t another village for miles and miles around, and young women didn’t just disappear into nowhere, especially when they had nothing but their feet for transport. She’d have to have walked for hours to arrive anywhere but here in Dundle, and it was a small village
where everyone knew everyone else. She was a mystery to be sure.

“Charlotte will manage,”
Rafe
said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a damned shame that she hasn’t any hope of a marriage for herself. She doesn’t even have a life outside the house with the exception of attending church on Sundays, as much as I’ve tried to persuade her to get out and about, do a little socializing. Her wheelchair is easy enough to transport, but she insists that she’s happier at home.”

“You know how Lottie feels about her condition,” Aiden said, ignoring the display of bosom being offered to him as Betsy returned and plunked down the mugs. “She doesn’t like people to feel sorry for her, and I can’t say I blame her.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t have left her alone tonight, but I swear, I couldn’t stomach the thought of dealing with the scheming Miss
Serafina
Segrave or her equally scheming aunt. I have a lifetime ahead of me for that.”

“Don’t worry, Charlotte will manage. She’ll fix Miss Segrave and her aunt with one of the stem looks she gives a misbehaving parlormaid, then read them a passage from the Bible about the consequences of avarice.”

“Very funny,” Aiden said, staring down into his mug.

“I’m perfectly serious,” Raphael replied. “You know what your sister is with her lectures on morality. Godliness is above cleanliness, or something like that.”

“Nothing is above cleanliness in Lottie’s eyes,” Aiden said with a short laugh. “I live in fear of tracking in a speck of mud onto her polished floors. I can’t tell you how I relished being away the last three years, able to throw my boots where and how I pleased with no one to scold me like a child in leading strings.”

“Ah, well, she means no harm by her lectures,”
Rafe
said. “Charlotte really hasn’t anything else to do with her time, poor girl. Maybe now she can bend her attention to reforming your wicked wife, and that just might distract her from trying to reform us.”

Aiden grinned. “That would make a welcome change, wouldn’t it? Lottie would have made a brilliant mother superior. ‘Mother Charlotte, the scourge of God.’” His smile faded. “But it’s unkind of me to poke fun at her. You and I are nearly all Lottie has in this world, and I should be more tolerant of her idiosyncrasies.”

“As should I,”
Rafe
said, rubbing an eyebrow. “I confess, sometimes I grow impatient with her, and I shouldn’t. She’s lonely and she has no one else for company, save for the vicar and his unfortunate wife.” His mouth twitched at the comer. “Speaking of which, how does Reverend Liddle feel about your bringing in a bishop to marry you?”

“Not displeased, actually. I think he secretly believes it will be a good political connection, pompous fool. Lottie’s over the moon, naturally, since she expects suitably lofty conversation at the wedding breakfast.” He grimaced.

“As much as Lottie might loathe the idea of the marriage, she’s determined that the proceedings be flawless, appropriately respectful of both the Church and a future marquess. Hence the bishop. I’m lucky it wasn’t the bloody archbishop, but fortunately, due to such short notice, he was previously engaged.”

Raphael burst into laughter. “Oh, dear. Trust Charlotte to give it her best effort, though. If I’m ever unfortunate enough to find myself facing marriage, remind me to be sure that your sister has nothing to do with the arrangements.”

“You can marry when and whom you please, your magnificence, with no one to interfere. If you choose to be married in a bam, all you have to do is wave one imperious ducal finger and not a murmur will be heard. I only hope that you will marry someone you actually have a small degree of fondness for,” he said glumly.

“It’s not my marriage we’re facing at the moment, it’s yours. And as much as I don’t envy you the situation, Aiden, it’s no good getting yourself worked into such a state.”

Aiden just groaned, and Raphael slung a reassuring arm around his shoulder. “I wish I could be of more help to you. I have to confess to surprise that I wasn’t able to discover anything about Miss Segrave from my sources in London.”

“That,” said Aiden succinctly, “is because she hasn’t been to London.”

“But why?”
Rafe
asked with considerable surprise. “She’s an heiress, after all, and most young girls of marriageable age make their come-out, eligible heiresses especially.”

“As for that, I spoke briefly with her cousin Edmund Segrave when I was in town. He informed me that the one time they’d met he found her the most hideous child he’d ever laid his eyes on and, furthermore, she was a nasty little sneak, which confirmed everything my father told me about her.”

Aiden blew out a long breath. “It was Segrave’s opinion that her aunt whisked her away to Wales and kept her hidden there so as not to offend the eyes of society. And you wonder why I’m in a state of despair. Oh,
God,
I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Drink your ale, and tell me more about your mysterious wood nymph. Maybe that will take your mind off your troubles…
”

S
erafina rose the next morning, troubled, her eyes scratchy from only three hours of sleep. She’d spent much of the night tossing and turning, trying to reconcile herself to the marital act according to Elspeth.

She fervently prayed that her aunt didn’t have the vaguest idea of what she was talking about, and yet
Serafina
found it difficult to dismiss her aunt’s words—Elspeth was well versed in matters of a physical nature, often doctoring the villagers, and
Serafina
had not once seen her falter.

She swallowed hard, the knot in her chest tightening as she thought of what the coming night had to hold. Obviously god and goddess had bestowed the ability to receive the pleasures of kissing on women so that they could endure what transpired after.

It was no wonder a veil had been drawn over her eyes in the Dream as to what followed, for if she’d been able to see that, she’d probably have taken the next boat to France.

She went to the window and threw it open, thirstily drinking in the fresh air, sweetly scented with the wisteria vine that grew outside. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky, a perfect day for a wedding.

The Delaware family chapel sat on a little knoll, a pretty fifteenth-century building with stained-glass windows and a square bell tower. That particular stretch of lawn had been mown and the path trimmed in preparation for the wedding, a sharp contrast to the rest of the landscape.

She leaned her elbows on the sill, wondering where Aiden was and what he was doing. In only two hours she’d be facing him at the altar, speaking her marriage vows.

And she felt unworthy.

Here she was, already dreading the night ahead, terrified that he would hurt her, that he would do all the awful things Elspeth had described.

The rogue had said it was nice, that she’d like it, but she couldn’t imagine liking being helplessly torn asunder, bleeding like a poor, stuck pig. The rogue hadn’t said a thing about blood. And he hadn’t said a thing about pain. When it came right down to it, he’d lied to her—no real surprise. He probably lied to all the innocent women he seduced.

That didn’t help her with the crippling fear that had taken hold of her. She could only hope that love would carry her through, that Aiden, being the dear, principled man that he was, would make everything all right, wouldn’t hurt her too terribly.

She closed her eyes and brought his golden image to mind, tried hard to remember how she had felt in the Dream when he whispered sweet promises to her of sealing his vow. The problem was that it all looked different to her now, not something to be looked forward to, but to be dreaded.

“Oh, goddess, help me,” she whispered desperately, wiping away a film of tears from her eyes. “Give me strength in my hour of need. I love Aiden, truly I do, and I want to give myself to him, but I’m very frightened.”

A light scratch came at the door and
Serafina
jumped. But it was just two chambermaids who entered with a large brass tub, followed by two more chambermaids carrying pails of steaming water. They first lit the fire, then filled the bath and disappeared as swiftly and silently as they’d entered with the exception of one, a plump girl of about Serafina’s age.

Serafina
instantly took a liking to her, for she had a sweet, open face, little shoe-button eyes, and a simple manner about her.

“Your bath, miss,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “I’m Janie, and her ladyship instructed me to assist you. I’m not a lady’s maid, miss, just an ordinary housemaid, and I’m brand new here, but I’ll do my best for you. Your aunt ordered the bath for you and said to tell you as she’ll be coming in a moment, and you’re not to get into the tub until she does.”

She gave
Serafina
a look of undisguised curiosity, then vanished as swiftly as the others had, softly closing the door behind her.

Serafina
hadn’t been in a hip bath since leaving Bowhill, bathing instead in the cavernous underground baths at Clwydd fed by a hot spring. The tub looked awfully cramped to her, but she was nevertheless happy for it. She might as well go clean to Aiden, even if she was scared out of her wits.

“Ah, good morning, dearest,” Elspeth chirped, coming into the room with a large mahogany box that
Serafina
knew contained her aunt’s oils and herbs. “Come along, Janie,” she called over her shoulder. “Bring in the chest.”

Janie reappeared, this time pulling along the mysterious trunk that had come from Clwydd. “Here you are, miss,” she said, placing it in the middle of the room and lingering over it, clearly longing to see what was inside every bit as much as
Serafina
did.

Serafina
shot her a bewildered smile and shrugged her shoulders, and to Serafina’s delight Janie actually smiled in return, her rosy cheeks plumping up like two apples in her round face.

“The dress your mother wore for her own wedding,” Elspeth said, rummaging in her box. “It’s my little surprise for you. Do open the chest and have a look—I’ve altered the dress slightly to make it more stylish, even though you’re the same size as your mother was. There are underthings and shoes and gloves, and the family veil to go with it all.”

“Oh, Auntie!”
Serafina
exclaimed, a flood of infinite relief washing over her. She’d thought she’d have to wear her Sunday dress, for each time she’d asked her aunt about a wedding dress. Aunt Elspeth had only said, “We’ll make do with what we have, dear, we’ll make do.”

Janie helped her undo the clasps on the trunk, both of them as excited as children unwrapping a present.

“Oh, miss,” Janie breathed, pulling out a white and silver embroidered dress with a panel of lace that ran down the front, a fashionably high waist, and small puffed sleeves. She shook it out and held it up.

Serafina
had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. She lovingly ran her fingers over the soft batiste material, then hugged it to her chest.

“Look, miss, look!” Janie dove into the trunk again and produced a long veil of ivory Belgian lace, worked in a pattern of flowers. “Isn’t it just the finest thing you ever did lay your eyes on?”

Serafina
admired it, sighing with happiness. “Thank you, Auntie,” she said softly. “It’s a wonderful present.”

“Nonsense, child, it’s yours by right. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a good long time. Now be off with you, Janie, and see to the flowers I picked this morning,” Elspeth said, waving a bony hand in dismissal. “I’ll look after Miss
Serafina.
Oh, and don’t forget to leave the tray I asked for outside the door. We’re not to be disturbed for any reason.”

“Yes, miss,” Janie said, casting one last admiring look at the dress she’d laid out on the bed. “You just ring if you need me.”

Elspeth beckoned
Serafina
over to the bath, which now smelled deliciously of various herbs. “Now, my child. It is time for your purification. Put yourself in the proper respectful frame of mind, and once you have, in you hop, and be mindful to keep your eyes closed no matter what,” she said, lighting two candles that she’d placed on the floor at both ends of the tub. Then she took her censer and lit that too, and the rich, smoky smell of frankincense filled the air.

Accustomed to her aunt’s fondness for rituals,
Serafina
wasn’t surprised that she’d come up with one for a wedding. There seemed to be one for every season of the year, as well as various events in between. Why should this be any different?

She removed her dressing gown and night rail, and after taking a moment to still her thoughts as her aunt had taught her, she stepped into the warm water, slipping down as low as she could go in the confined space. She dutifully closed her eyes, as Aunt Elspeth always told her to do when she was invoking a rite.

Serafina
was never sure why that was so important, but she did as she was told, not wanting to disappoint her aunt, who probably had some wonderful fantasy about her beloved deities appearing and thought them not appropriate for Serafina’s eyes. She never let
Serafina
attend any of the coven rites, either, but
Serafina
had no complaints. She was perfectly happy honoring god and goddess in her own way and steering well away from the magic and potions and spells that Elspeth was so fond of.

But
Serafina
didn’t mind indulging Elspeth in those either. Her aunt had few enough pleasures, and magic was her all-consuming passion.

She let her mind drift while Elspeth cast her circle of stones around the tub, then began the usual incantation:

“May the powers of the one

The source of all creation;

all pervasive, omnipotent, eternal;

may the goddess,

The lady of the moon

and the god, homed hunter of the sun;

may the powers of the spirits of the stones,

rulers of the elemental realms;

may the powers of the stars above and the
Earth below,

bless this place, and this time, and I who am with you.”

She droned on and on in her usual fashion, calling on the god and goddess in different prayers, and
Serafina
listened for a short time, but eventually drifted off, lulled by the warm water and the sweet scents that emanated from it.

She floated, her thoughts aimlessly wandering in and out of the babble her aunt’s words had become. A lovely golden haze surrounded her, shimmering and shifting, and then pinpricks of lights pierced through the glow, growing in brightness until
Serafina
realized they were torches, burning in a magnificent church crowned by arches, the stone walls covered with paintings of saints.

People filled the church, dressed in elaborate, richly colored costumes. Before her stood an altar, a priest in front of it, his robes encrusted with gold, his beard dark and long, a bishop’s mitre on his head. He looked achingly familiar to her, and yet she didn’t know him.

His arms were raised above him and his words at first sounded like nonsense. But then somehow she knew that they were Greek and she was listening to a marriage ceremony. Her own marriage ceremony.

With a dreamy sense of surprise she realized that Adam stood next to her, her hand held firmly in his. She felt the beating of his pulse through his warm skin, the reassuring pressure of his fingers on hers, heard him speak the marriage vows, his voice strong and certain.

She turned to look at him and he smiled down at her, his dark eyes shining with love, and
Serafina
knew that all was right with the world and she was where she truly belonged…

“Serafina?
Child?”

She started as her aunt’s voice penetrated through her haze and the picture rippled and distorted, as she came fully awake. She brought her hands to her forehead, not sure of where she was for a moment. “I—I’m sorry, Auntie. I must have been dreaming,” she said, still disoriented. The images had been so clear, as real as the room in front of her now.

“Come child, we’re finished here. Out you get. It’s time for you to dress.”

Serafina
stepped out of the bath, letting her aunt wrap her in a towel, feeling strangely weak and light-headed.

Elspeth said very little as she helped
Serafina
into her clothes, and she said very little as she brought the tray in and prompted
Serafina
to eat.

Serafina
was grateful for the silence. She felt as if she were still in a dream state, hovering between that other world and this one, caught in a nebulous web of time, not one place or the other.

But somehow she knew that the two places were directly connected, that she went to her marriage to Aiden today as she had gone to him in that long-ago time. She was sure of it, as sure as she’d been of the other dream that she’d had for so many years, and the knowledge filled her with a peace and sense of security.

All of her doubts and fears vanished as if they’d never been, leaving her with a simple happiness, as if she’d been washed clean of doubt, of hesitation.

She said a silent prayer of thanks to the god and goddess for having touched her briefly with their wisdom, given her their blessing for her marriage.
Time will run back and fetch the age of
gold…

Elspeth arranged the veil on Serafina’s head, pinning it in place with a wreath of roses mixed with lily of the valley and baby’s breath. “So, my child,” she said when she was satisfied. “Look. Look upon yourself and be glad for Aiden.”

She turned
Serafina
to face the looking glass, and
Serafina
inhaled sharply when she saw her reflection. Surely this woman could not be she?

She appeared a stranger to herself, the dress clinging to her form as if it had been made for her alone, the veil falling softly over her shoulders, trailing nearly to the floor: Her hair coiled neatly beneath at her nape, dark against the ivory lace. Her eyes, wide and smoky, gazed back at her bright with happiness, filled with wonder.