Part 11 (2/2)

”But I'm still the same person,” Arabella protested. And then wondered if that was true. She did feel as if some profound changes had occurred in her since Jack Fortescu walked into her life. But perhaps she was confusing changes in herself with the ma.s.sive changes that had happened in her life.

And the most dramatic personal change had not yet occurred, she thought as Jack and the rest of the wedding party came into the house. She was as yet a wife in name only. But not for much longer. She took a gla.s.s of champagne from the tray that Franklin proffered and watched Jack thread his way towards her, taking a gla.s.s for himself in pa.s.sing.

”Where are the dogs?” he inquired. ”I was sure that they'd walk you down the aisle.”

”They would have done, given half a chance, but they rolled in the midden this morning and reeked to high heaven, so one of the grooms had to give them a bath. Mrs. Elliot won't let them into the house until they're dry.” Keep the conversation on this ordinary plane and everything would be fine, her nerves completely under control, she told herself.

But Jack clearly had other ideas. He lightly touched her gla.s.s with his own. ”How do you feel?”

”The same as always,” she returned. ”Should I feel any different?”

”Perhaps not yet,” he said, tuning in to her earlier thought.

Her skin p.r.i.c.kled and her stomach seemed to drop. She felt her cheeks warm, and couldn't tear her eyes away from the steady gaze that held hers. She moistened suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. He raised an eyebrow and deliberately bent to kiss the corner of her mouth. ”I always find antic.i.p.ation sharpens the pleasure.” Then he strolled away to greet his guests.

Meg, who had been watching the byplay with curiosity, came over to Arabella. ”I don't know whether he has the devil's protection, but he's devilishly handsome,” she observed in a low voice. ”I wonder what kind of a lover he is.”

”That's the least of my worries,” Arabella said, absently touching the corner of her mouth where the sensation of that kiss seemed to linger. She was remembering that moment in the garden when she'd realized that Jack Fortescu, the sheer power and magnetism of the man, could swallow her whole. She was much more worried about her soul than her body.

”Is there anything I can help with?” Meg asked. ”I don't think I can give you any practical tips, since one night of pa.s.sion with a gondolier who spoke no English doesn't an expert make, but I can listen.”She smiled encouragingly at Arabella over her champagne gla.s.s.

”Now, what are you two whispering about?” Sir Mark came over to them, his eyes grave although he managed a smile. Like all of Arabella's friends, he had his doubts about this arrangement.

”If only you knew,” Meg whispered, and Arabella felt her tension dissipate at the ridiculous idea of the baronet being a party to their conversation.

”You mustn't monopolize the bride, Meg,” her father declared, bestowing a kiss on Arabella's cheek. ”Congratulations, my dear. You look radiant.”

Arabella smiled her thanks at the conventional pleasantry. Brides were supposed to be radiant on their wedding day but she was fairly certain the plat.i.tude did not apply to her. She certainly didn't feel radiant. Her stomach was in knots. She glanced across the room to where Jack was moving among the small group of guests. He acted as if he'd been the lord of Lacey Court all his life, she reflected with a now familiar surge of confused resentment. Lord of Lacey Court and earl of Dunston. But resentment was immediately followed by the realization that she was now and forever the undisputed lady of Lacey Court and no one could take that away from her.

The wedding feast continued throughout the afternoon as course after course appeared on the dining table. Arabella had told Franklin and Mrs. Elliot that there was no need to go to any extraordinary efforts, but Franklin had his own views on what was right and proper for Lacey hospitality, even if the wedding itself was such a hastily contrived affair, coming on the heels of a death in the family. There was to be no official mourning for the dead earl, but there would be an official celebration for his sister's wedding. Doggedly he opened bottles of the best burgundy that had been laid down by Lady Arabella's father. The old earl would have insisted upon it when his daughter became a d.u.c.h.ess.

As the afternoon waned, Lady Barratt rose to her feet and came around the table. She gave the groom a vague smile and then bent to whisper in the bride's ear. ”Arabella, my dear, you must allow me to act as your mother. It is only right that you should have someone to prepare you for your wedding night.”

Startled, Arabella looked up into the kindly face hovering over her. ”My dear ma'am, that's so kind of you, but really it isn't necessary. I'm no ingenue debutante, you know.”

”That may be so, my dear, but your mother would expect it of me.”

Arabella hoped desperately that Lady Barratt did not intend to launch into an explanation of the mechanics of the marriage bed. A bout of hysterical laughter was the last thing she needed. She said only, ”I thank you, ma'am, you're very kind.” She glanced at Jack, who sat beside her. He was doing a very creditable imitation of ignoring this sotto voce conversation.

Except of course that he knew exactly what was going on. He laid a hand on her knee beneath the table. The unexpected touch made her jump. She could feel the heat of his hand through the thin muslin of her gown. Throughout the feast he had said and done nothing to imply any intimacy between them and she'd been grateful for the consideration. They were too small a group for intimacies to pa.s.s unnoticed, however casual they might appear, and what wouldn't have embarra.s.sed her among strangers would certainly do so in front of her friends.

For an instant he increased the pressure on her knee, then leaned sideways and kissed her ear. The fine hairs along her spine lifted. ”I'll encourage the gentlemen to take an early departure. They'll take their womenfolk with them in short order.”

”They look set into the port,” she murmured doubtfully.

He shook his head with a dry smile. ”Have no fear, my dear, a bridegroom on his wedding night is not to be delayed.”

The knots in her stomach tightened and her scalp p.r.i.c.kled. It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.

Lady Barratt smiled around at the gathering. ”Gentlemen, pray excuse us.”

”Yes, of course, my dear ma'am.” Sir Mark got to his feet. ”Arabella, my dear, you know I have always thought of you as a daughter, and I know I speak for us all when I say we wish you good fortune and happiness.” He raised his gla.s.s, and David and Peter Bailey, now on their feet, raised theirs and drank to her.

Jack took up his gla.s.s, said quietly, ”I accept the responsibility, gentlemen.” He felt David Kyle's eyes brightly intense staring at him as if they would see into his heart, a heart the vicar considered to be as black as pitch. Jack had no illusions about that. He held the vicar's gaze until it dropped, then he drank.

He caught Meg Barratt looking at him across the table and he thought he read both warning and challenge in her bright green eyes. She too was daring him to hurt her friend. He held her gaze, but unlike the vicar's it didn't waver, and in the end he was forced to turn aside as he took his seat again.

Arabella exchanged kisses with the wedding guests and allowed Lady Barratt to escort her from the dining room. It was only when her ladys.h.i.+p automatically turned towards the east wing that she realized she had made no provision for conjugal apartments. Her mother had had the bedchamber adjoining her husband's. The duke now occupied the earl's suite, but the adjoining room was closed up, left just as it had been after her mother's death.

All her possessions, her clothes, nightclothes, everything she needed, remained in her own bedchamber, and Lady Barratt, whose familiarity with the layout of Lacey Court went back to the days when she and Arabella's mother were close friends, was proceeding inexorably in the wrong direction.

”Lady Barratt . . . ma'am . . . I will be using my own chamber tonight,” she said.

Lady Barratt turned around, her eyes widening. ”My dear, don't be absurd.”

”There hasn't been time to make the necessary arrangements,” Arabella said in a rush. ”But the duke understands. He knows I'll be in my own chamber.” She wasn't at all sure that he did know this. There'd been no discussion but he would be within his rights to a.s.sume that she had instructed the household to make the correct disposition.

”Your husband can't be expected to roam the corridors in search of his wife,” Lady Barratt declared. ”A wife's bedchamber must be easily accessible at all times.”

Arabella said pacifically, ”I'll arrange matters properly tomorrow, ma'am. There really wasn't time before.” She turned back to the west wing.

She entered her bedchamber and then stopped on the threshold, gazing around in bewilderment. ”What's happened? Where is everything?” The armoire stood open and empty, the linen press likewise. Her brushes and combs were gone from the dresser, and Becky was busily stripping the bed of sheets and hangings.

Becky jumped guiltily. ”His grace . . . your grace . . . his grace said we should move everything into the chamber next to his,” she said in a rush. ”He told us this morning, before he went to the church, m'lady . . . your grace, I mean. His grace told Mr. Franklin, when Mr. Franklin said your grace had given no instructions.”

This t.i.tle was extraordinarily c.u.mbersome, Arabella decided. She frowned at the denuded chamber. When it came to giving unilateral orders, it seemed that the duke took seriously his position as master of the house. She would have appreciated being consulted by someone before her entire possessions were carted away. Why had Franklin not mentioned it?

”It seems your husband thought of everything, dear,” Lady Barratt said in approving tones. ”Most unusual for a man to have the ordering of such household matters.”

”The duke has the ordering of everything,” Arabella said with more than a touch of acid.

”I think you'll like the new chamber, your grace,” Becky said rather timidly. ”All the hangings are fresh, and Ben and me have been working all day getting it right. All your things are there, and there's new candles, and a fire in the grate to make it all cozy. It being such a miserable day an' all. And I just took hot water up, just a few minutes ago.”

”Thank you, Becky,” Arabella said with a warm smile that masked her true feelings from the girl. ”I'm sure you've done wonders.” She turned on her heel, her companion following her.

Her new bedchamber was certainly cozy and warm. Arabella wondered where the new hangings had been kept. She'd never seen them before. Thick embroidered cream damask hung around the bed and draped the long windows, much grander than the plain taffeta of her old room. The rich colors of the Aubusson carpet glowed in the candlelight. It was very much the chamber of a mature married woman, with none of the remnants of her childhood that had adorned the room she had slept in since she left the nursery. She felt suddenly bereft.

”Now, let me help you get ready,” Lady Barratt said. ”The duke will be up shortly and he must find you suitably prepared.”

Lamb to the slaughter, Arabella thought, but pasted a smile on her face.

Lady Barratt held up the ivory silk peignoir that Becky had laid out on the bed. ”Yes, this is most suitable,” she said. ”Very pretty. Now, I think a little sprinkle of rosewater on the pillow . . .”

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