Every Bit a Rogue Page 12

  Emma nodded. “Dorothea was up most of the night going over the details and rose far earlier than usual this morning, ensuring that all would be ready. She spent considerable time with Cook devising the menu and even longer with the gardeners. I think half the blooms in Carter’s gardens and most in the hothouse were cut to make all the flower arrangements.”

  “Her efforts are noted and appreciated,” Jon said.

  “She did perform miracles in a mere day. It was important to her on many levels. Dorothea told me that she wanted this to be a memorable occasion and as normal a wedding as possible.”

  Jon nodded absently, uncertain what to make of that remark. True, the wedding had been planned and executed in haste. And it was fair to say they had but a brief acquaintance with each other. Yet that was hardly an uncommon start for a marriage among the nobility.

  In fact, the marriage of many couples of their class was viewed as a business transaction, the establishment of familiar connections, the exchange of wealth and position. And of course, the continuation of their noble bloodlines.

  It suddenly occurred to him that despite the delightful kisses they had exchanged two nights ago, Emma might be feeling particularly nervous and anxious about the physical intimacy they would share later that night. She was far from a prude, but he believed her to be a virgin.

  Could that account for her queasy stomach?

  That thought lingered, troubling him. Jon sipped his wine. Perhaps he ought to ease her nerves and suggest putting off the consummation for a few days, until they were more comfortable around each other. She might appreciate the considerate gesture.

  Damn. Just the thought brought on a sharp stab of disappointment. He wanted her in his bed. She was his wife. The woman he had just vowed to honor, cherish, and protect. That reminder brought on a powerful possessiveness inside him that was as surprising as it was strong.

  He intended this to be a simple, straightforward relationship. One of mutual respect, admiration, and when appropriate, affection. One that was devoid of intense emotions—like this possessiveness—which clouded sensible judgment and actions.

  Would they be able to achieve it?

  Jon’s reflective mood was broken by the marquess. Atwood stood, raised his glass, and offered a toast to their union and added wishes for their future happiness. The others echoed the sentiments, with smiles and laughter. Beside him, Jon felt Emma still.

  He leaned close and asked, “What are you thinking?”

  She stiffened further. “Everyone has been very kind.”

  “Yes. What else?”

  She turned toward him, holding his eyes as she sipped from her goblet. “The truth?”

  “Always.”

  A flush rose in her cheeks. “As I look around the table and observe my sister, Carter, and your mother, I cannot help but realize they seemed far more pleased over our nuptials than either of us.”

  He cast a glance at those she mentioned and realized that Emma was right. “Damn depressing, isn’t it?”

  She appeared startled, but then her demeanor transformed and she smiled broadly. “I agree.”

  “What do you propose we do about it?” he asked.

  “Lower their expectations?”

  Jon’s lips quirked into a slight grin. He always appreciated a quick wit. “Shall we start a row?”

  “Quietly at first, and then escalate to shouting?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with humor.

  “Ah, now that would be a scene to remember.”

  “And cherish,” she added.

  Jon reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She responded in kind. The feelings of warmth pouring through his chest surprised him.

  Sharing this silly, conspiratorial moment together lightened his heart, making him consider that there could be more, much more, between them than a congenial, pleasant relationship.

  The idea piqued his interest more than was sensible. Practical. Yet much to Jon’s chagrin, it refused to disappear.

  * * *

  The clock struck three chimes, indicating it was past time to depart. The remains of the meal had long been cleared from the dining room and the conversation had slowed to a trickle.

  Realizing it could be delayed no longer, Emma caught her sister’s eye, nodded and stood.

  Everyone followed her lead. Jon placed his hand in the small of her back and she could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of her dress. It was a protective gesture, part of his duty as her husband.

  Husband. A shock went through her, along with a sense of disbelief. Emma tamped it down. ’ Twas done. Falling to pieces after the fact was a useless waste of emotion and energy.

  Everyone followed them out of the house, standing beneath the porticos to say goodbye. The rain that had persisted earlier in the day had thinned to a mist, shrouding the horizon in a foreboding landscape.

  It looks like something out of those gothic novels Gwen loved to read when we were younger. All that is missing is the howling of a wild beast in the distance.

  Shaking off those bizarre thoughts, Emma turned toward Lady Sybil to bid her farewell.

  The older woman’s eyes were suspiciously moist. “I wish you every happiness, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” Emma clasped her mother-in-law’s hand tightly. “Are you certain you won’t return home with us?” she asked.

  “Oh, my no,” Lady Sybil replied. “A newly married couple is entitled to their privacy. For ages I have been promising my dearest friend, Eileen, that I would come and stay with her for an extended visit, and this is the perfect time. My bags are packed and loaded on the coach. I will be departing for Lincolnshire the moment the fog lifts.”

  “We shall miss you,” Emma said truthfully. “Don’t stay away too long.”

  “Only a month,” Lady Sybil replied, hugging her fiercely. “Or two.”

  Dorothea embraced Emma next. “Please give your marriage a fair chance,” her sister whispered in her ear. “I truly believe that you can find happiness.”

  Emma merely raised her brows. This was hardly the moment to verbalize the many doubts and uncertainties she was feeling.

  The carriage arrived. Emma accepted Jon’s outstretched hand and he assisted her inside. The door shut and the panic and apprehension that had begun rattling around in Emma’s chest when they left the dining room settled firmly in her stomach.

  The drive to Jon’s home was short, silent, and uneventful, yet unfortunately did little to ease Emma’s nerves.

  A footman hurried to pull down the carriage steps and gallantly offered his hand to help her descend. Emma was relieved to see his livery was simple and less formal than the servants in her sister’s household. She was far from prepared to take on the running of a grand, formal house.

  She waited for Jon to join her and they entered the manor arm in arm. The servants were lined up in the foyer, eyes front, waiting politely to greet them. The butler and housekeeper approached and were introduced. Mr. Hopson and Mrs. Fields offered what Emma determined were sincere congratulations on their marriage and wishes for a long, happy life together.

  Emma then moved slowly down the daunting line of underlings, silently repeating their names and positions as they were presented to her, in the hope it would aid her in remembering them. As for their duties, well, judging by the spotless condition of the foyer it was clear they all worked hard.

  Jon followed closely behind her and she noticed he was pressing a guinea into each one of their hands. She was pleased to discover that he was honoring this long-held tradition. Since they had not been married at the church, he had been unable to toss coins to the village children, another tradition she enjoyed witnessing.

  “What time would you like supper served, Lady Kendall?” Mrs. Fields asked.

  Emma smiled vaguely, then jolted, realizing the housekeeper was addressing her. “Uhm, well, we have just eaten a rather substantial meal,” she hedged.

  “Of course.” The housekeeper nodded, but Emma saw the o
lder woman’s brows draw together. “I’ll inform Cook there will be no supper service this evening.”

  Emma blinked. In all likelihood some sort of celebratory dishes had been prepared for the viscount and his bride. Though Emma knew it would be difficult to eat again, it would be rude not to at least sample the food.

  “Do you think the dishes will be spoiled if we eat later than usual, Mrs. Fields?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, no. Cook will naturally accommodate whatever schedule you prefer.”

  “Well, then, just for tonight we shall dine at eight thirty,” Emma replied, knowing that was more the city fashion than the country.

  “Very good.” Mrs. Fields broke into a conspiratorial smile. “Cook will put the extra time to good use, decorating the special cake she’s prepared in honor of your nuptials.”

  “How thoughtful. I’m sure it will be delicious.” Emma glanced down the row of servants who were still standing at attention. “Once Lord Kendall and I have enjoyed it, I would like you to make certain that each member of the staff is given a slice.”

  Mrs. Fields nodded approvingly. Emma felt a rush of relief. Starting off on the right foot with the housekeeper would help make her transition to mistress of the household run much smoother.

  If only there was an easy way to do the same with her husband.

  “If you will excuse me, Emma, I have some papers in my study that require my immediate attention.”

  What? He is abandoning me already?

  Jon gazed at her expectantly and for the briefest of instant Emma wondered what he would do if she objected.

  “I am quite comfortable being left in Mrs. Fields’s capable hands,” Emma replied, pleased to hear her voice gathering strength.

  “Until dinner.”

  He bowed and Emma watched him disappear from view.

  “Shall I show you to your suite, my lady?” Mrs. Fields asked.

  “That would be lovely.” Emma paused as a sudden, troubling thought occurred. “I have not displaced Lady Sybil, have I?”

  “Oh, no. The viscountess—the dowager viscountess,” Mrs. Fields corrected herself with a smile, “moved out of those rooms ages ago.”

  “Good.”

  “I supervised the unpacking of your garments this morning,” the housekeeper informed Emma as they climbed the long staircase. “I hope it all meets with your satisfaction.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Emma replied.

  “Lord Kendall told me to arrange for any changes that you wish to make to your chamber,” Mrs. Fields added.

  Emma nodded vaguely, as she was too busy focusing her attention on the marble sculptures that graced the second-floor hallway. They were magnificent, as were the gilt-framed paintings. Emma had been inside the manor on several occasions, however she had never ascended to the higher floors.

  They made several twists and turns before reaching her rooms. The moment she entered, Emma knew there would be little to change. Decorated in pale shades of green, the chamber was serene and soothing. Swags of silk drapes were drawn back from the windowpanes with matching ties, and the pattern on the carpet was a pleasing combination of white, gold, and green.

  The furniture was a rich, dark hue, yet delicate, with clean lines and pleasing shapes. There were large windows on two walls that even on this overcast afternoon flooded the room with natural light. Emma was pleased to note that there was not an abundance of decorative vases or figurines to clutter the space.

  The bed was an elegant four-poster piece, set high off the floor. Emma noticed the silk-covered stool discreetly placed to the side and realized she would need to make use of it to get into bed every night.

  Unless my husband decides to carry me.

  Shocked and uncertain where that errant thought had emerged from, Emma turned her complete attention back to Mrs. Fields. The housekeeper showed her the sitting room, which led to her private dressing room. At the back of it, Emma immediately noticed the door that no doubt connected her rooms to the master’s chamber. She swallowed hard at the sight.

  A timid knock provided a welcome distraction.

  “Ah, here’s Dory. ’Tis my understanding that you did not bring a lady’s maid. If you approve, Dory can serve in that capacity. She’s young, but has a fine talent with a needle and arranging hair.”

  “I’m sure she and I will get along splendidly,” Emma replied, liking the choice of a maid closer to her own age. “Hello, Dory.”

  The maid smiled and bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Kendall.”

  Emma sighed inwardly, telling herself she had to cease being startled every time she was addressed by her new name.

  “We’ll leave you now to rest,” Mrs. Fields announced. “Just ring if you require anything.”

  Jittery at being left alone, Emma spent a few minutes exploring her rooms, then flopped down in one of the gilt chairs set in front of the fireplace. She glanced at the ornate porcelain clock on the desk, dismayed to read the time. Not yet five o’clock!

  She now regretted asking supper to be served so late. What was she going to do with herself until then?

  An exploration of the house might be enjoyable, especially if she discovered more art treasures. But the house was vast and the potential for getting lost high. Best to wait for another day.

  Emma glanced out the window. The rain had ceased; the fog dissipated. Ah, yes, fresh air was precisely what she needed. Invigorated now that she had a plan, Emma exchanged her elegant leather slippers for a pair of sturdy walking boots.

  She smiled and nodded at the servants she passed on her way outside. The grounds of the estate were not as elegant or extensive as Carter’s, but there was a charm to the less formal, almost unrestrained wildness that appealed to Emma.

  Standing at the edge of the woodlands, she clasped her hands together and immediately felt the ring that now resided on her left hand. The bottom of the band was smooth, while the top had textured edges that encased the gems. Four evenly matched emeralds set in a straight line.

  She tipped her hand to view them. They sparkled up at her, winking as though they knew she was not the woman meant to be wearing this ring. Idly, Emma wondered if it was a family piece, as there would not have been time enough to have one made. Yet it fit her finger perfectly.

  She watched the sun begin to set. She entered the house and asked a footman for directions to her chamber. Her new maid, Dory, awaited her, eager to show her skills. Distracted, Emma allowed the servant to select a fresh gown from the wardrobe, help her dress, and fuss over her appearance.

  Jon seemed momentarily startled when she entered the dining room, his eyes widening when they traveled over her hair. Grinning shyly, Emma self-consciously patted the side of her head.

  “Yes, ’tis a rather elaborate hairstyle for an at-home meal with no guests. But Dory—she’s my new maid—was anxious to make a good impression and demonstrate her skill with a curling iron. I didn’t have the heart to object.”

  “It’s very . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Fussy and overdone,” Emma answered with a slight laugh. “I know. I promise to restrain Dory’s enthusiasm in the future. For both our sakes.”

  “Good. I’d hate to have to insist you remain indoors and out of sight.”

  Emma bit her lip as a bubble of laughter rose to her lips. “Do you honestly believe that you could keep me hidden?”

  “Probably not.” He paused and his expression turned mischievous. “But I would feel it was my duty to try. For the sake of the community.”

  “You are a most considerate man, Jon,” Emma remarked, fighting back another wave of laughter.

  “I try.” He strolled to the sideboard. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ll have whatever you are having.”

  His brow rose, but Emma met his penetrating gaze with one of her own. She assumed that he was drinking something far stronger than the ratafia or sherry that was always offered to ladies.

  Well, if he needed fortification, t
hen so did she.

  There was a merry clink as he removed the crystal stopper from the decanter, lifted it, and poured a hefty amount into two glasses. Emma admired his graceful movements and his broad shoulders.

  Emma accepted the glass that was pressed into her hand with a slight nod of thanks. They sipped their drinks in silence. Emma took very small swallows, in hopes of relaxing, but she was cautious not to drink too much.

  Jon had not said if he intended to come to her bed tonight, but just in case he did, she intended to be in full control of her senses. Dinner was announced, and arm in arm they proceeded to the dining room.

  Jon dismissed the staff, indicating they would prefer to serve themselves. Emma gazed down at the multitude of dishes and sighed.

  “By any chance, do you have a dog or two you allow inside the house?” she asked.

  “Why?”

  “We need some help consuming this food.”

  “I can assure you that Cook would be far more insulted to discover you have fed the meal to the dogs rather than leaving most of it uneaten.”

  “Well, then we must soldier on,” she said with false cheer, filling her plate with a spoonful of nearly every item.

  An hour later, they admitted defeat.

  Wiping her mouth with her napkin, Emma pushed herself away from the table and rose to her feet. “It has been a long, eventful day. If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the evening.”

  Jon’s expression remained unchanged. He swirled the brandy in his goblet slowly before taking a sip. “Very well. I shall be up to join you in an hour.”

  Emma’s mouth went dry and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. The question of whether or not her husband planned on consummating their marriage tonight had just been answered.

  Chapter Ten

  Jon tied the sash on his dressing gown and padded across his bedchamber in bare feet. He walked through his sitting room, and for a moment stood and stared at the door connecting his chambers to Emma’s. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the handle, then drew back his hand.

  Uncertainty rippled through him. It was slightly beyond the hour that he said that he would come to her. She was expecting him. Yet should he knock and give her warning? Did he wish to start this part of their marriage so formally?