Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (15 page)

“If I might have a moment of your time,” the duke said, smiling as he looked around the room. “As you all know, my sister has agreed to marry Adam Gresham, a fine man and a longtime friend of our family. I want to welcome him to the fold and propose a toast to the couple.”

“Hear, hear!” piped Jack and Cade and several others.

“So please join me in wishing them every health and happiness.” He raised his glass. “To Adam and Mallory!”

All those in the room lifted their glasses, a few of the ladies hoisting teacups instead. “To Adam and Mallory!”

Huzzahs filled the room, and a fresh flood of congratulations came her and Adam’s way. She didn’t have time to talk to him alone again the rest of the evening.

It was only as she was climbing into bed hours later that she wondered again what he’d been on the verge of saying. Deciding he would tell her later if it was important, she curled under the sheets and went to sleep.

Chapter 14

T
he next two weeks sped past in a flurry of preparations, the entire household buzzing with anticipation and excitement over the coming nuptials. All of the house-party guests had elected to remain for the ceremony, while neighbors from near and far began to pay impromptu calls in hopes of eliciting an invitation.

For Mallory it seemed as if she’d been tossed into the eye of a storm, the world spinning around her at a whirlwind pace while she did her best to keep up. At least the burst of activity kept her occupied from morning tonight, leaving her so weary by day’s end that she fell asleep almost instantly.

At first she’d worried about having more nightmares, but to her relief none arrived, her dreams filled instead with seating charts and invitation cards, color schemes, table settings and menus.

At the beginning of the second week, Madame Morelle and her assistants arrived to complete her wedding dress. Mallory dreamed of that as well—imagining herself drowning in yards of silk and being prodded by a thousand and one fitting pins.

But no dreams caught her attention like the ones she had of Adam. Perhaps that, more than any other, was the reason the nightmares did not return.

In her imaginings, he held her in his arms, kissed and caressed her with a slow pleasure that sent her pulse racing in fantasy as well as fact. More than once she awakened to find herself clutching her pillow to her chest, disappointed to realize it was made of feathers instead of flesh and blood.

As for any real kisses from Adam, there had only been a few, always stolen and far too brief to be truly satisfying. For although she saw him every day, they spent little time alone. The wedding plans kept her busy during the day, while the guests monopolized both of their evenings. And with everyone scrutinizing her and Adam, the two of them agreed that he shouldn’t come to her room again before they wed.

Not that she was sure she was ready for him to do so. For in spite of their engagement and the undeniable passion she experienced in his arms, as well as her dreams, she was still getting used to the changes in their relationship. After years of friendship, it sometimes seemed odd to think of him as her fiancé.

As she stood in her sitting room, being fitted for her wedding gown, it was even more astonishing to realize that in only one day’s time, he would be her husband. A mere twenty-four hours from now, Adam would be sanctioned by God and man to come to her bed, and more, to have complete carnal knowledge of her body.

“Ow!” Mallory cried, a jab of pain rousing her from her woolgathering.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Madame Morelle said, a length of pins set in paper draped around her neck, “but it is difficult to fit you properly if you will not hold still.”

“O-of course. My apologies,” Mallory said, promising herself that she wouldn’t let her mind wander again, especially not onto the dangerous subject of Adam. “I shall endeavor to be as still as a statue.”

“You may certainly continue to breathe,” the modiste said as she pinched a length of fabric underneath Mallory’s raised arm. “When I say you can, that is. Breathe and hold, please.”

Doing as she was ordered, Mallory inhaled and waited, the mantua maker securing a pin with a quick pair of thrusts.

“There, all done,” Madame said. “You may lower your arm again, my lady.”

Mallory did so gratefully, wondering how much longer the fitting was going to take.

As if Madame had heard her—or perhaps it was the heavens taking pity instead—the seamstress stepped back and reviewed her work with an appraising eye. “
Et voilà! Fini!
” With an elaborate sweep of her arm, she motioned toward Mallory. “Your Graces, your ladyships, may I present you with the bride.”

The five Byron women, who were arranged in a semicircle of chairs, looked up and gave collective sighs of approval.

“Oh, you look exquisite,” Ava declared.

“Beautiful,” Grace agreed.

“Perfection.” India smiled.

Claire clasped her hands against her chest. “Only wait until Adam sees you coming down the aisle. He’ll be dazzled.”

“He won’t be able to tear his eyes away.” Meg shifted baby Zachary to her opposite arm, then redraped the shawl around her shoulders so he could continue nursing.

Esme, who was the only Byron female not seated in a chair, looked up from where she sat in the window seat, a sketch pad in hand. “You look lovelier than a princess.”

“A duke’s daughter shall have to suffice, but thank you, dear heart,” Mallory said, sending her younger sister a smile. “Thank you everyone, especially you, Madame.”

The modiste gave a Gallic shrug, clearly confident in her own talent. “But come, you have not seen the dress.” Striding forward on a swish of poplin skirts, Madame turned Mallory so that she faced the floor-length mirror, two of Madame’s assistants scurrying to adjust the angle.

Mallory stared, not quite recognizing herself for a moment. It had been so long since she’d done more than cast a quick glance in a mirror that it was as if she were gazing at a stranger. But a very fashionable stranger, she had to admit, the gown made in a style Madame assured her would be all the rage come the new Season.

Made of snowy white silk organza, the dress billowed around her like a gossamer breeze. The sheer, almost transparent half sleeves were stitched with tiny seed pearls that caught the light to cast a creamy glow. Encircling her torso just beneath her breasts was a satin ribbon adorned with small, delicate white silk rosebuds. The ribbon was tied in a bow at her back, the ends left to trail down amid two sweeping double lines of white leaves that cascaded to the hem. Matching leaves swept around the hem, where they intermingled with another scattering of seed pearls.

To complete the ensemble, her dark hair would be pinned high and twined with a double strand of round pearls. She would wear a pair of long white kid gloves, and delicate creamy satin pumps would grace her feet.

“So? What do you think, Mallory?” Ava said, coming to stand at her side.

“I think Madame has outdone herself once again. My appreciation for making me a beautiful bride and with so little time in which to accomplish it.”

The modiste bustled forward. “You would be a beautiful bride no matter what you chose to wear, Lady Mallory, but I am most gratified that you approve. And that you selected my establishment to create your gown.”

“I would go nowhere else.”

Madame beamed. Then, turning abruptly, she clapped her hands. “Hurry, girls! Let us help Lady Mallory out of her gown so that we may work. There is much yet to be done before tomorrow.”

Taking care not to stab her with any of the pins that held the dress together, Madame’s assistants extracted Mallory from the garment. Left standing in her shift and a single petticoat, she stood mute as the women departed in a swirl of energy and skirts.

Her maid, who had been keeping a quiet watch from the nearby dressing room, came forward, a peach day dress draped over her arm. Lifting her arms, Mallory let Penny help her into the gown.

After her maid departed again, Mallory joined the others. As was generally the case these days, they were reviewing plans for the ceremony and the elaborate wedding breakfast that would follow. Rather than join the debate about whether to substitute local apples for a variety of hothouse fruits being transported from London, Mallory slid into an empty chair next to Meg.

“Is he asleep?” Mallory asked in a soft voice as she regarded the infant held in her friend’s arms.

Meg nodded. “With his tummy full, he dozed straight off. I’m thinking about taking him up to the nursery, but the instant I lay him in his cradle, he’ll probably wake again. On the other hand, I need to be going up soon anyway. I promised Maximillian that I would read him a story before his afternoon nap. If I plan things correctly, they’ll both be asleep by the time I need to come downstairs for a nap of my own before dinner.”

“May I hold him?”

“Of course. Careful now, or he’ll take exception to being passed about and make all of us sorry.” She shared a smile with Meg as her sister-in-law leaned across so they could make the transfer. For a moment the baby scrunched his face tight at the disturbance, but as soon as he settled against Mallory’s warm bosom, he quieted.

“He’s lovely,” Mallory said, stroking a finger lightly over the paper-thin skin of one of his rosy cheeks.

“Just wait until you have your own. Who knows, mayhap we’ll be sitting here together next year admiring your new baby.”

Warmth spread through Mallory like a rising sun, a shy smile playing over her lips at the notion. “Yes, mayhap.”

She held Zachary for several minutes as the others continued to review the arrangements for the next day. She made no comment, content merely to listen. Then it was time for Meg to take the baby up to the nursery, time as well for Mallory to go downstairs to greet the latest influx of guests and family members who had arrived for the wedding.

What had begun as a modest list of forty had swelled to more than a hundred, with another seventy-five invited for the wedding breakfast. As things now stood, she would much rather be married with only her family and a few of Adam’s closest friends in attendance. With his father and sister deceased, he had few relations—only an elderly aunt too frail to travel and a few cousins with whom he exchanged letters at Christmas and little else.

At one time, Mallory knew she would have adored the hullabaloo of a large Society wedding. Now, she rather envied Ned and Claire, who’d run off to marry in a small parish church with only the vicar’s wife and daughter there to serve as witnesses. How exquisitely peaceful that must have been, how beautifully romantic.

But as tempting as an elopement might be, everyone was counting on tomorrow’s ceremony. The entire household had put so much work into the preparations—cleaning, cooking and arranging the various rooms that would be used for the festivities. Madame Morelle and her assistants had been sewing, often long into the night, in order to complete her wedding gown and a couple of new dresses for her honeymoon. Her family and friends had helped wherever they could. And then there was Mama, who had done everything possible to make sure tomorrow would be the most special event in Mallory’s life.

She couldn’t let them down, any of them, even if she might have talked Adam into running away. Besides, tomorrow was only one day out of her life—not so very much to ask for all that she had been given.

A single day that would forever after change her life.

Swallowing against a fresh fluttering of nerves, she stood and was about to follow the others from the room when Esme appeared at her side.

“I’ve been working on this,” Esme said, a piece of drawing paper in her hand. “I thought you might like it, as a memento of your old home after you’ve moved into your new one.”

Carefully, Mallory took hold of the drawing, struck by the fine details and how beautifully the scene was rendered. It was a view of the grounds from her bedchamber window, a vista as familiar to her as her own name. In the foreground lay a portion of Braebourne’s vast formal gardens, trimmed and maintained with elaborate precision by a small army of gardeners. The trees still carried a full complement of green leaves, the late-summer flowers providing a final burst of color before the coming cooler temperatures would take them away until spring.

A pretty folly with a small lake stood off to the east, an array of birds always gathered ’round. While to the west lay an area of fallow earth not at all in keeping with the rest of the landscape. Ned had installed the garden plot for Claire not long after their marriage. He called it her “mole patch”—a term that never failed to elicit an embarrassed laugh from Claire, even if none of the rest of the family was allowed in on the joke.

In the distance beyond was a wilder landscape that flowed into rolling hills and lush stands of old-growth trees, shady spots where she’d spent many an idle hour lounging with a book or lost in daydreams during her childhood days.

The vista was so very dear, and Esme had captured it perfectly.

Blinking away a tear, she pulled her sister close for a warm hug. “You could not have given me anything better. Thank you, love.”

Esme smiled, showing her pretty white teeth, as her arms wrapped tightly around Mallory’s waist for a long moment.

“I shall have it framed and hung in my room at Gresham Park,” Mallory said, after they eased apart. “That way, I shall be able to see the views from both of my homes every morning.”

“There’s something else I should like you to have,” Esme told her, her smile falling away to be replaced by a serious look. “I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I want you to take Charlemagne with you.”

“But he’s your cat.”

Esme shook her head. “He likes me, but he loves you, and I think he will pine with sadness when you leave. I shall miss him, of course, but I have lots of other pets. Besides, you and Adam will need a cat, and he’s a good one. Tell me you’ll take him, Mallory. I won’t feel right otherwise.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, her throat squeezed as if it had been tightened by a bowstring. “If you’re sure, then yes, I would love to have him. He and I have become old friends these many months.”

“I know, that’s why he belongs with you.”

Wrapping her arm around Esme’s waist again, she drew her near. “Has anyone told you what a wonderful sister you are?”

Esme ducked her head, her lips curving upward. “Just you, but that’s because you’re my only sister.”

“Well, if you had more, they would all sing your praises.” Turning away, Mallory daubed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Everyone must be wondering where I am. And you as well. You’ve probably been missed in the schoolroom despite your reprieve for the fitting.”

Esme made a face. “I’m supposed to be reading history today.”

“Then you had best get on with it.” Crossing to her escritoire, Mallory laid down the drawing, admiring it once more.

“Mallory?”

She turned and met her sister’s gaze. “Yes, dear?”