Larken (4 page)

A scant few minutes later, the clergyman pronounced them husband and wife, and invited Mr. King to kiss his bride. Her new husband merely brushed his lips against the back of Larken’s hand, and thereafter moved over to the registry to sign his name. After he put the pen down, he bowed to Larken and then strode from the chapel. He’d gone through the entire ceremony without looking at her once.

Larken signed her maiden name in the registry with trembling fingers. As she went up the aisle alone afterward, she could see pity in the faces of the onlookers…and still she felt nothing. The carriage brought her back to the house, where Mrs. Mason greeted her with a cheerful smile.

“You have my most sincere wishes for a happy marriage, Mrs. King. There’s wedding cake for you in your sitting room.”

“Thank you.”

For some reason, Larken’s legs were shaking as she climbed the stairs, but she grasped the handrail and managed to pull herself up as best she could. When she entered the sitting room, she noticed a small cake waiting for her on the table, along with a single plate, napkin, and a fork. The reality of the situation hit her, and she suddenly felt as if she’d just been the victim of a train accident for the second time in her life. Her bridal bouquet slipped from her grasp, and she sank into a chair just as the tears began to fall.

What have I done?

Chapter Three

Myles

N
ELL
A
PPEARED
. “M
RS
. K
ING
, do you—” She broke off.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me for crying, but I can’t help it.”

The young maid made a sympathetic noise, sat down next to Larken, and put a soothing hand on her shoulder. She said nothing until the sobbing began to slow.

“Has Mr. King always been so cold?” Larken asked finally.

A shake of the head. “I haven’t been working here more than a few months, so I couldn’t say. All the staff are new, as a matter of fact.”

“What happened to the former staff? Did he frighten them off?”

“I was told Graceling Hall was locked up for several years, and the former staff was let go. I’ve never heard Mr. King be cross or cruel to anyone, but he’s always remote…like he was today.” She paused. “It’s none of my business, but why did you marry him? You could’ve had any gentleman you chose.”

“I only wish that were true, but I’m deformed and I have no dowry. I was obliged to take the first offer I received or be turned out.”

“
Deformed?
Beg your pardon, but I’ve seen you in the altogether and saw nothing where it oughtn’t have been,” Nell said. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“The scars,” Larken whispered. “No man wants to see that on his wedding night.”

Nell’s eyebrows drew together. “Oh, Mrs. King, someone was very evil to tell you that. You’re a beautiful woman and it’s going to be a privilege to serve you. I’m just sorry you’re in this situation, since it pains you so.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t have been so bad if Mr. King had just met my gaze or murmured a kind word. He made me feel like I was beneath his notice, hideously ugly, or both.”

“You’re neither, and I don’t believe he was thinking about your feelings at all.”

Larken glanced over at the wedding cake and sighed. “I don’t want to offend the cook, but I’m not going to eat that.”

“To tell you the truth, nobody thought you would.” Nell stood and picked up the cake. “I’ll take it to the staff dining room and say you invited them to partake of your happiness.”

Laughter broke through Larken’s tears. “Now I understand why the cake is so small.”

Nell giggled. “You’ve a real quick wit about you, Mrs. King. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you. As one makes one’s bed, so one finds it, the saying goes. How long will Mr. King be away?”

“Nobody can say for certain.”

After Nell left with the cake, Larken went to her bedroom, washed her face, and pulled the rosebuds from her hair. She twirled one of the stems between her fingertips before tossing it onto the vanity with a frown. For good measure, she removed her wedding ring and threaded the plain gold band onto a candle sitting there.
I hope Mr. King stays away for a good, long time.

She changed from her Sunday best into her worst gown, the better to probe all the nooks and crannies of her velvet prison. Although she’d thought about leaving the worn garment behind, she had so few clothes that she’d decided to bring it anyway. Now she was glad she had, because exploring was likely to be dusty work. After she was dressed, she set about looking for furniture or art to brighten her sitting room. The first two bedchambers were decorated largely the same as the one she occupied. In the closet of the next, however, she was delighted to find a dusty old silk satin opera hat, which sprang open with a sharp movement of the wrist.

“Lord Topper, your presence will brighten my misery considerably.”

She dashed back to her sitting room and left the hat at the head of the table as a permanent guest. Somewhat cheered, Larken went off to see what other treasures were waiting to be discovered. A few knickknacks caught her eye, as well as a silk shawl draped over a dressing screen. A staircase at the end of the hall brought her into an attic storage area lit by several large dormer windows. Several trunks of old clothes looked promising. Paintings of various sizes were stacked against the wall, and Larken spent several pleasurable minutes examining a few of them. One painting featured two handsome young boys posing in blue velvet suits. The brass plate at the bottom read, “Theo and Brandon King.” Larken peered at both the boys’ faces, trying to decide which one was Brandon, but she gave up. Neither child resembled the large bear of a man she’d glimpsed in the chapel.

A portrait of a handsome gentleman took her fancy, and she examined it more closely in the light from the window. A memory stirred within her as she admired the sheer beauty of his visage and splendor of his form.

“You, sir, will definitely improve my view.”

As if she were carrying a basket of eggs, she descended the stairs with the precious portrait and brought it into her sitting room. After some experimentation, she discovered a spot over the fireplace which would allow her to gaze into the man’s eyes wherever she stood. She climbed up on a chair, lifted the painting onto the mantle, and climbed back down again.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Lord Apollo.” She sank into a deep curtsy. “Very lovely indeed.”

Six weeks passed during which Larken was left to her own devices. The rose bushes were in full bloom by that time, so she cut some of the flowers, removed the thorns, and hung them by a string upside down. While they dried, she wove a wreath of willow branches to fashion a frame for the roses. When it was ready, she hung it in the room Nell had prepared for Mr. King’s ward, Myles.

“Isn’t that pretty!” Nell exclaimed. “It brings a lovely splash of color.”

“Thank you. The adjacent sitting room will make a nice play area for the lad, but we haven’t any toys for him,” Larken said. “Do you suppose Mr. King plans to furnish any?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask him when he arrives. In the meantime, I’ll canvas the attic for whatever I can find.”

“You’ve quite transformed your sitting room, I noticed!”

She laughed. “My foster parents never appreciated my fanciful nature, but I can’t seem to help myself. I hope Myles likes it.”

“It’s very kind of you to worry about the boy.”

“Not at all. I only wish I’d had someone to care about me after I was orphaned.”

Over the next few days, Larken busied herself in the attic, searching for playthings. She finally found a chest of old toys which she lugged down the stairs and into Myles’ playroom. Inside the chest were a Noah’s Ark with carved animals, a spinning tin top, a jumping jack, toy boats made of wood, several jigsaw puzzles, a cloth bag full of beautiful marbles, and an assortment of droll hand puppets. Although some of the items were scratched and chipped, they were still serviceable. Larken touched up the scratches with paint and spent several pleasant afternoons playing with the puppets on the oriental rug.

Voices startled her as she was in the midst of devising a drama between a puppet jester and His Royal Majesty.

“It’s nearly teatime,” a deep, unfamiliar male voice rang out from the hallway. “Give the lad something to eat, please.”

“Right away, sir,” Mrs. Mason said. “We’ve set up a playroom for the young master in there. Excuse me while I fetch the tea.”

The door burst open, and a man filled the doorframe. Larken scrambled to her feet. Although she hadn’t really ever known what he looked like, from the full, dark brown beard and longish hair, she assumed she was in the presence of her husband. As he regarded her with the puppets, an incredulous expression came over his face.

“Who the devil are you, and which idiot gave you permission to get into my things?”

He thinks I’m a servant. In a way, that’s exactly what I am.

“You did, when you married me.”

Mr. King looked taken aback. “Oh, it’s you.” His gaze swept over the toys. “These belonged to my brother and me when we were children. I suppose someone should get use out of them, but I’ll order some new ones.” He gave her a curt nod. “Carry on.”

Annoyed, she bobbed up and down in a curtsy. “Aye, aye, sir.”

His eyes narrowed at her temerity. “What’s your name again?”

“Mrs. King,” she snapped.

“Your
Christian
name.”

“Larken.”

“Why are you dressed in those rags, Larken?”

She glanced down at her dusty gown, which had become even more worn over the last few weeks from her efforts in the attic. In addition, her hands were still encased in puppets. Her chin lifted even as her face burst into flames.

“This is what I wear when I’m doing something useful.”

His eyes stared pointedly at the puppets. “Clearly. Well, change into something else before you meet the boy. I don’t want him to suppose you’re the scullery maid.” He paused. “And burn that dress. I never want to see you wearing it again.”

The man left. Larken knew it was childish, but she stuck her tongue out at the space he’d just occupied. Mr. Brandon King had all the warmth of a dead fish, and far less charm. Would it have hurt him to greet her politely or to acknowledge her efforts on his ward’s behalf? With a sound of frustration, she removed the puppets from her hands, arranged them on a shelf, and went to change her clothes.

Brandon chuckled and shook his head as he strode down the hall. Surprisingly attractive Larken was, and more spirited than he would have imagined for a mail-order bride. At the wedding, he’d gone through the motions of what needed to be done and hadn’t even noticed her face. His vague impression of her appearance at the time—gleaned from the corner of his eye—was only a slender young woman with fair hair. Today, he’d had a better look.

Larken. A pretty name, and extraordinarily unusual.

His valet prepared a bath to wash off the dust of the road. As Brandon relaxed in the hot water, he thought about his new wife. She hadn’t seemed glad to see him—resentful was more like it—but he didn’t blame her. His cold manner at the marriage ceremony must have been obvious to everyone, certainly, and to her most of all. A pang of remorse reached his consciousness, but he brushed it away. The girl had been made aware of his disinterest in her before agreeing to wed. Besides which, if her ragged garment was any indication, the marriage had improved her condition in life drastically. He oughtn’t feel any guilt. None whatsoever. Nor should he feel any guilt regarding the boy. Myles had been retrieved at great personal cost, and Brandon had undertaken the responsibility of seeing to the lad’s needs. Every so often, he’d check on the lad to make sure he was happy, and that’s all he was required to do. No, he’d done his painful, emotionally wrenching duty, and now he just wanted to be left alone.