To Marry a Marquis Page 10

  The marquis stood with one hand on the carriage door, observing the speaker impassively. Rosamund noticed that he made no move to take the hand held out to him and after a moment the woman tucked it back inside her fur muff.

  'Well, my lord, are you not going to introduce me?' she said, directing a quick glance towards the carriage.

  'No, Barbara, I am not.'

  Rosamund blinked. The marquis was smiling, but there was no mistaking the implacable note in his voice.

  Barbara. Her suspicions were confirmed: this was the notorious Mrs Lythmore, Ullenwood's mistress. Rosamund regarded her with interest.

  Mrs Lythmore was a renowned beauty and there could be no denying that she presented a very agreeable picture, but unlike Lord Northby's mistress, who had been a little coarse but very kind-hearted, Rosamund thought there was hardness about Mrs Lythmore's mouth, and a calculating look in those cerulean blue eyes. She noted something else in her eyes, too, as the lady heard Lord Ullenwood's reply: a flash of fury. It was gone in an instant and the widow gave a tinkling laugh.

  'Ah, I understand. I intrude upon your day, do I not? How foolish of me, but then, if I had known….' She let the words hang delicately for a moment before giving the marquis another smile, this time – to Rosamund's mind, at least – full of invitation. 'Au revoir, my lord.'

  She swept away, and the marquis climbed into the carriage. As the carriage began to move, Rosamund could not remain silent.

  'Why would you not introduce us, my lord?'

  'She is not worth your attention, my dear.'

  'But she clearly knows you, sir.' She challenged him and immediately wondered if she had gone too far.

  'I have many acquaintances that I would not wish to introduce to my wife,' he said shortly. 'We shall not speak of it again, if you please.'

  Rosamund turned her head to look out of the window. Of course he would not discuss his mistress with her: if he had taken her to wife with expressions of devotion then perhaps there would have been some excuse for the anger and hurt she now felt. She blinked rapidly. This was an inauspicious start to their marriage.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The newly-married couple returned to Ullenwood house for the wedding breakfast, and they visited Sir James before departing for France. They found him sitting up in bed surrounded by papers and books.

  'So you are leaving me,' he greeted them jovially. 'Traitors.'

  'Careful, James or I shall cancel my plans. March is not the best of months to journey to Paris.'

  Sir James reached out and gripped his hand.

  'I know, old friend, and I am very grateful to you,' he said, suddenly serious. 'And to your lady too, for agreeing to go with you. I am much in your debt, ma'am. Well, off you go. The sawbones says I must keep to my bed for another week at least, but by the time you come back I hope I shall be up and about again. I might even have gone back to my own house.'

  'You must take as much time as you need, Sir James,' Rosamund told him. 'We were very pleased we could help you and you are no trouble at all.'

  He rewarded her words with a grin.

  'My wife takes too much upon herself, James.' growled the marquis. 'You are a damned nuisance. But I don't want your death on my conscience, so you had best stay here a little longer.'

  'Thank you, Elliot. Au revoir, then. I wish you a safe journey, and an enjoyable one.'

  It was Ullenwood's turn to grin.

  'Of course it will be enjoyable,' he said. 'I am going on my honeymoon!'

  ***

  Dover. Rosamund looked out of the window at the expanse of heaving grey water and shivered. A curtain of rain moved across the sea, and occasionally a gust of wind would send it spattering against the glass in front of her. All she had gone through during the last few months had not frightened her as much as setting foot on board the packet for France. For her honeymoon.

  Looking out at the restless sea, Rosamund gave a sigh that had nothing to do with the dismal prospect outside the window. Except for a chaste kiss after the ceremony, her new husband treated her very much as he had done before the wedding. He had even been at pains to make sure Henry reserved them separate rooms at Dover, in case they were obliged to wait for a favourable tide.

  Fearing Ros was entering her marriage as a total innocent, Arabella had taken her aside and explained to her in colourful detail the delights of the marriage bed. Rosamund had blanched at the very thought of a man kissing her, let alone anything more intimate, but Arabella had insisted that sharing a bed with a husband could be a most rewarding experience. Rosamund had stored all this knowledge away, determined to be a good wife, but as they began the long journey to Dover the marquis had apologised for rushing her into a marriage, and promised that they should take time to become better acquainted before he forced on her anything other than his name.

  Rosamund would have found this forbearance admirable if she had not seen the exquisite Mrs Lythmore. Rosamund did not consider herself a vain person, she knew that with her dark, waif-like appearance she would never turn heads when she entered a room, but it was still very lowering to know that the marquis found her so unattractive that he could not bring himself even to touch her.

  The sound of the door opening broke through her reverie. She turned to see Lord Ullenwood come in.

  'The captain says the storm is easing,' he said, taking off his caped greatcoat and draping it over a chair before the fire. 'He hopes we shall be able to sail tonight.'

  'Then I should tell Meggie not to unpack.'

  He put up his hand.

  'No need. Davis was on the stairs when I came in. He will tell her.'

  'And your coachman?'

  John is already on the quay, overseeing the dismantling of the carriage.' He went to the table and picked up the wine bottle. 'So you see, there is nothing for us to do but wait. Will you take a glass of wine with me, my dear?'

  'Yes, thank you.'

  'You are very pale.'

  She tried to smile. 'I admit I am a little frightened. I had never seen the sea before today.'

  'And now I am asking you to sail upon it in the dead of night. I am sorry.'

  He came to stand before her, holding out a glass. She took it, looking fleetingly up into his face.

  'Pray do not be sorry. The sooner this part of the journey is over the better. And I am sure there is nothing to worry about: people make this crossing all the time.'

  'Bravo, little one.'

  She was warmed by his approval, but tried not to show it.

  'Besides, she continued, 'Meggie is far more frightened than I am, so I must set her a good example.'

  Later, when the party left the shelter of the inn, Rosamund was relieved that the rain had stopped, but the wind was still gusting around the buildings and she had to raise her voice to be heard above the hiss of the waves on the shingle bank.

  'How long will the crossing last, do you think, my lord?'

  'Upwards of three hours, depending upon the wind and the tide,' he replied. 'It has been known for travellers to wait more than a week for a favourable wind. We are fortunate to be away so quickly.'

  'Fortunate,' snorted Meggie, walking close behind them 'Madness I calls it. To be setting off on such a stormy night. And it's as black as pitch, too.'

  A sailor was tossing bundles wrapped in oil cloth on to the deck, but at these words he turned and gave a coarse laugh.

  'Lord love 'ee, missus. This ain't dark. They rain clouds is breaking up, see, so we shall have a fair bit o' moonlight to show us the way.'

  The maid ignored this well-meant interruption and continued to mutter as she followed her mistress on board.

  Several well-placed lanterns illuminated the deck but Rosamund did not know whether to be thankful or sorry that the enveloping darkness hid from them the sight of the water. She could hear it, the waves slapping against the wooden hull, and she could feel it, for the deck moved alarmingly beneath her feet. She clung to Lord Ullenwood's arm as they followed the c
aptain across the deck. He led them down the narrow, ladder-like steps to the cabins, where he opened one door a stood back.

  'If your ladyship would like to rest here, and my lord, there is a cabin for you and your valet this way.'

  'Heaven help us, 'tis a floating coffin!' exclaimed Meggie, following her mistress into the cabin.

  'Nonsense,' said Rosamund in bracing accents. 'It is a very practical room.'

  A lantern had been suspended from a hook in the ceiling and by its feeble, shifting light Rosamund inspected her quarters. The walls and ceiling were lined in a dark wood and a narrow bed was built against one wall with a small cupboard to one side, holding a metal ewer and a basin. Rosamund's portmanteau had been placed on the floor. She gave a little cry of relief.

  'Thank heavens. I have ginger and lemons in there, Meggie. There must be a galley somewhere on this ship: do go and see if you can find a little hot water and I can make us both a warm drink. Mrs Trimble told me that a tisane is very good for settling the stomach.'

  Even as she spoke the roll of the ship became more pronounced and Meggie cast her eyes heavenwards.

  'I do not see that anything will help us if this gets much worse.'

  'Of course it will get worse,' snapped Rosamund, her own nerves fraying. 'We are not yet at sea. Now go and do as you are bid.'

  Alone in the little cabin, Rosamund sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to fight down her fear. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Hundreds, no thousands of people went to sea, many ladies like herself now went on the Grand Tour, so they must all have experienced just such a crossing as this. Once she was used to the rocking motion she was sure she would find it quite soothing.

  There were muted shouts from the deck, the scrape of metal upon metal and a sudden increase in the movement of the ship beneath her. She gripped the edge of the bed. They were putting out to sea. The lantern swayed wildly and the moving shadows added to her sense of panic. She would have preferred to be outside in the air, but the captain had asked that they stay below deck until they were safely on their way.

  Rosamund sat very still, allowing herself to move with the ship. Tentatively she let go of the bed and untied her bonnet and cloak, then she risked standing up to hang them from a hook on the wall. Encouraged by this achievement, she took another look at the cabin. The bed was very narrow, barely wide enough for Meggie's ample form. She knew that a harsher mistress would insist upon her maid sleeping on the floor, but the narrow strip of bare boards between the bed and the wall was scarcely wide enough to walk upon. They must take it in turns to lie down, she thought, or they could sit up, and trust that the crossing would not be a long one.

  Rosamund lay down upon the bed to wait for Meggie's return. Gradually the ship settled into a gentle, steady motion, the activity on the deck ceased and only the creaking of the ship's timbers disturbed the silence of the little cabin. Rosamund was beginning to grow concerned for her maid when she heard familiar heavy footsteps approaching and Meggie came in.

  'At last. I thought you had fallen overboard.' Rosamund sat up. 'Did you bring some hot water?'

  Meggie held up a jug in one shaking hand, her eyes wide and glazed.

  'Yes'm, but – ooh miss, I do feel queer!'

  Struggling up on to the deck an hour later, Rosamund clung on to the deck rail and looked about her. A scattering of grey clouds scudded across the paler grey-blue sky, their edges tinged with light from the half-moon. Below her and in every direction the sea was a constantly shifting mix of grey and black with occasional splashes of near-white on the wave crests. The icy wind stung her cheeks but she threw back her head, revelling in the feel of the biting, salty air on her skin. The huge sails snapped and fluttered above her, and in the centre of the deck stood the black bulk of the Ullenwood travelling carriage, securely lashed to the deck.

  She jumped as a figure detached itself from the shadows.

  'Are you ill, madam, can I be of assistance?' The marquis came towards her. His face was in shadow but she could hear the concern in his voice.

  'No, I am very well, thank you. I came up for a little air.' She saw the gleam of his teeth. He was grinning at her.

  'Well there is plenty of that.' He came to stand beside her, gazing out over the water. 'It has a certain beauty, does it not?'

  'Yes. It is exciting, but a little frightening, too. It is so vast. I feel very small, very vulnerable.'

  'Would you not be happier in your cabin?'

  'Perhaps,' she said, 'but my maid is indisposed, poor thing. She is suffering quite dreadfully. I have given her a little lemon and ginger in hot water, and she is sleeping now.'

  'Ah. I see.'

  'I should not think you do,' she retorted. 'I have spent the past hour ministering to the poor girl.'

  'But I do understand,' he said, amusement rippling through his voice. 'You see, Davis has been – ah – similarly affected.'

  She stared at him and he nodded.

  'It is true, my dear. My man was taken ill almost before we left port and is now laid out in the cabin, unable to move.'

  Rosamund tried hard, but she could not suppress a gurgle of laughter.

  'Oh dear, poor Davis. Should I take him some lemon and ginger, perhaps?'

  'I have already given him brandy, which I think will suit him better than your more wholesome mixture.'

  'It is very cruel of me to laugh, I am sorry. But should you be with him?'

  'I most certainly should not,' he retorted. 'He would not thank me for it. He would prefer me not to witness his frailty.'

  'Meggie is just the same. She thinks it most unnatural that I should wait on her.'

  'Then let us consider instead what we are to do for the remainder of the journey.'

  Rosamund was philosophical.

  'We must hope the crossing will not be of long duration.'

  'I fear it will be several hours yet.'

  'Oh.'

  'You sound anxious.'

  'Well yes, I am. A little.'

  'We should try to rest.' He held out his hand to her. 'Come along.'

  She took it without hesitation.

  'Where are we going, my lord?'

  'To find a place where we can be comfortable.'

  He led her past the crates and the carriage that formed a black mountain on the deck and on towards the stern, where a mass of dark bundles was stacked.

  'Fleeces.' He said, leading her towards them. 'British wool is still prized in France.' He threw himself down amongst the fleeces and held out his arms to her.

  'Well, madam wife: you had best sit on my lap, and I will wrap us both in my cloak.'

  Nervously Rosamund sat down across his knees, and he pulled her against him until her head was resting on his chest. She drew a breath and was aware of the faint rancid smell of the fleeces around them. He wrapped his heavy cloak around them both.

  'I must not allow you to catch a chill,' he murmured, his mouth against her hair.

  She leaned against him and tried to relax. She had never been so close to any man before, but strangely, she thought she had never felt so safe and warm in all her life. His arms tightened around her.

  'Are you comfortable, Ros?'

  Oh yes.

  'I am, thank you,' she said, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 'I have never travelled so far from home before.' She lay quiet for a moment. 'I do hope Sir James will not try to walk too soon. His leg is still not strong. I fear, sir, that without you there to restrain him he will attempt to do too much.'

  'He has his man to look after him. You must not be concerned for James: he may seem a frippery fellow but he is really very sensible, you know.'

  'I do hope so. The doctor promised to look in tomorrow – today – to change the dressing on his leg. He must prevail upon him to remain in his bed for some time yet.'

  She heard him chuckle. 'I vow you missed your calling, my dear.'

  'I looked after Mama when she was ill.'

  'You nursed
her until she died?'

  'Oh no: that was a fever. Mama and Papa both caught it and I was not allowed to go near them. But Mama had never enjoyed good health. I believe she became ill when I was born and never really recovered. That was why I was sent off to school. Papa could not look after me and applied to my grandfather, who paid for my education.'

  'Ah yes, your excellent education.'

  'Yes it was excellent. Miss Troughton held very advanced views on female education. She considered our intellect in every way equal to man's'

  'Good God! Did your grandfather approve of this?'

  She chuckled.

  'Grandpapa did not know of it. He was satisfied that I was doing well at school and never enquired too closely into what I was learning.'

  'And your lessons included Mrs Wollstonecraft's doctrines?'

  'Yes, as well as Latin and Greek. Everything that a young man learns at school.'

  'Hence your assertion that you could support yourself.'

  She sat up. 'And I could, if only –'

  'If only?' he prompted her, amusement in his rich voice.

  She scowled at him, although she doubted if he could see it in the darkness.

  'If only gentlemen would not try to seduce me!'

  He laughed gently and pulled her back against him.

  'Unfortunately, my dear, that is what happens to pretty young ladies,' he said, yawning.

  She sat up again.

  'Oh. Do you think I am?' she asked shyly.

  'What?'

  'Do you think I am pretty?

  Peering, she could see that his eyes were closed.

  'You have a certain charm.'

  'But not enough,' she sighed.

  He opened his eyes.

  'What do you mean by that?'

  'That I am not pretty enough for you to want to seduce me,' she said, greatly daring.

  There was silence. Rosamund held her breath, wondering if she had angered him. At last he said quietly,

  'I have no need to seduce you. You are my wife.'

  'But –'

  'Ros, do you intend to talk all the way to Calais?'