An Undomesticated Wife (7 page)

“My poor Marcus.” Jocelyn's arms slipped around him as the musky scent of her perfume washed over him. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she whispered, “Never fear, for you have me to provide succor to you when your wife turns you from her bed.”

“She would have welcomed me.”

She stepped back and scowled. “I thought you said she had no wifely skills.”

“At managing the house and the servants.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he began pacing again. “I have had no time to think of anything else.”

“I'm glad,” she purred as she sat on the settee, drawing her feet up beneath her.

Marcus wondered if there was a disease sweeping London that left every woman mind-numb. “Jocelyn, you know how desperate Father is for me to have an heir. A legitimate heir,” he added when she opened her mouth, although he had to own he could not imagine Jocelyn allowing herself to get into such an inconvenient condition.

“Come and sit with me.” She patted the cushion beside her. “I vow you will give me a headache just watching you go back and forth.”

“It could not compare with the ache I suffer in my head.”

“Do sit, Marcus. Let me massage your temples with perfumed water. That will ease your discomfort.”

He nodded. When he sat, putting his head on her lap, he listened to the soft sound of her voice while he enjoyed the light brush of her fingers on him. He appreciated her sympathy, but nothing would ease his discomfort now, for he could not erase the image of Regina from his head.

Having a wife, he had known, was a problem. But only now was he beginning to understand exactly how big a problem.

Regina found herself the focus of much curiosity as the guests arrived at the house on Berkeley Square. Standing between the duke and his son at the top of the stairs by the ballroom in the glow of the gold and crystal chandelier, she kept her smile in place with practiced ease. Not for the first time was she grateful to her father for the training he had given her. Otherwise she was unsure if she could have handled the pointed questions aimed at both her and her husband.

She knew that although she was wearing her best gown of white jaconet muslin, she still appeared hopelessly out of style. The bodice was not as high as fashion apparently dictated, and the simple hem was too long and did not have as much as a single ruffle. Only her hair, which was curled around her face, and the lacy fan that was hooked around her wrist with a purple ribbon seemed to be à
la mode
.

“Thank you for asking about Papa, Lady Auburn,” Regina said to a decidedly plump matron who was trying to make her feel more comfortable by sharing reminiscences about Papa. “He has spoken of you and your family with affection as well. He often told me of his youthful visits to your family's country seat.”

“Will he be returning to England soon?”

“Papa waits upon the Regent's favor, madam. I know he would enjoy a visit back to our homeland.”

Lady Auburn turned to talk to Lord Daniston, and Regina took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. Small talk and prattle were other skills she had never mastered, and she was aware of her husband listening to every word she said.

She tried not to think where Lord Daniston had spent his afternoon. When he had come to her bedchamber door to escort her to the ballroom where they would greet the guests of the soirée, he had acted as if nothing was amiss. She could find no fault with the excellent cut of his black coat or gray breeches, but she wished he would be honest with her. Mayhap if he told her the truth about keeping a mistress, she would find the situation easier to accept.

The past two days had been among the worst in her life. Not only had her husband been avoiding her, but she was bored. Ennui was something she never had had time for in Algiers. There she had ridden out daily with Kamil or her father to talk with the Dey's viziers. Now she was imprisoned in this house as surely as if she was one of the women in the seraglio.

When Lord Daniston cleared his throat and offered his arm, she put her hand on it. He led her past the ballroom toward the smaller room where their guests would be enjoying wine and conversation. The guests' voices burst from the room and swirled in a low rumble up to the high ceiling of the hallway.

“You must speak with Grandmother about getting you some new clothes,” he said quietly.

“It was not my intention to put you to the blush with my lack of a proper wardrobe.”

“Or in any other way?”

At his grim tone, she could not keep from smiling. “My lord, I know the importance of presenting a proper facade.”

Before he could answer, the dowager duchess bustled up, her cane playing a tattoo on the marble floor. Her gown was a bright green that matched the ribbons tied to her cane. The color might have appeared ludicrous on another woman, but she wore it with equal quantities of dignity and delight. “Why are you two lagging? Marcus, you know that Mrs. Fielding is anxious to speak with you this evening.”

“Mrs. Fielding?” He shook his head in resignation. “Can she not stop her matchmaking even now?”

“She does not wish,” his grandmother returned with a victorious grin, “to own that I have succeeded where she failed. Look at the two of you! Anyone can tell that this match will be a successful one.”

Lord Daniston arched a brow in Regina's direction. When she pressed her lips together tightly to hide her smile, he bent to kiss the dowager duchess on the cheek. “Grandmother, I have never known you to be less than successful at anything you put your mind to.”

“Just you remember that.” She slapped his arm playfully, then pointed toward the parlor. “Now, do not loiter out here, or I fear our guests will be enjoying even more poker-talk than they are already at your expense.”

“Dash it!”

“And watch your language, young man. Ladies are present.”

Regina released her laugh, which refused to be held any longer, as the dowager duchess scurried away. “Does she always order you about like that?”

“She has since I was in short coats.”

“I am sure you were a rapscallion then.”

He lifted her hand from his sleeve and ran his thumb along her palm. As she savored the shiver of delight surging outward from his touch, he whispered, “And what makes you think I have changed?”

“You still are a naughty little boy?” she asked as lowly.

“I am not a little boy any longer, madam.” His fingers curved along her cheek as he tipped her mouth toward his.

Her breath caught, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she stared up at him. She should pull away, should tell him that she would not be his when he was also sharing his particular's bed, should remind him that they must not consummate their marriage until after the ceremony. But she could say nothing. She wanted to discover if his kisses were as wondrous as she had dreamed.

“Here they are!” The Duke of Attleby's voice rolled over them, pressing all desire from her.

Jumping back, Regina forced a smile as the duke introduced her to a friend. The gentleman—Regina's mind was awash with the passions she had nearly let control her, so she forgot the man's name as soon as the duke spoke it—greeted her warmly and clapped Lord Daniston on the shoulder as he congratulated them.

The duke herded them all into the grand parlor. And it was grand. Regina stared about in amazement, for she had not been in this room yet. Although it was less than half the size of the ballroom, the ceiling was as high and ornate, with plaster designs of flowers and vines. Three walls were covered with a mural of a bucolic scene of what she guessed might be the landscape around Attleby Court, because in the far corner she saw a hint of a building that resembled the huge stone house she had seen in another painting. Horses grazed in the fields, and the gardens were a cacophony of color.

She had no chance to explore the mural further, though, because she and her new family were instantly surrounded by the guests. The polite questions she had answered before had vanished as the queries grew more pointed.

What did she think of Town? How long would she and Lord Daniston remain in London before they enjoyed a honeymoon far from the
ton?
Surely her father was returning for the wedding ceremony at the month's end, wasn't he? And …

Regina tried to answer each person without revealing some facet of the truth of the uneasy feelings between her and her husband. If even a hint of that was divulged, the whole family would be the focus of conversation of those upon the gad.

When the folding doors were opened to the dining room and Lord Daniston came to escort her into dinner, Regina smiled.

“You look as if you are enjoying yourself,” he said as they walked behind the duke and the dowager duchess.

“As much as I would enjoy myself while being held in the Dey's prison.”

“That much?”

Again she straggled not to laugh. She wondered how she could be irritated with him when he still could make her laugh with the simplest comment.

“Father's neighbors,” he continued, but his eyes twinkled with merriment, “are of an ilk. They speak of boring matters unless they can find a tidbit of gossip to chew on. I do apologize that you have had them inflicted upon you during your very first week in Town.”

She looked around the room. “I had thought to see that gentleman who is often by the statue in the center of the square.”

“Which gentleman?”

At the sudden tension in his voice, she nearly paused. A sharp tug kept her walking. “I have not spoken with him, my lord, but I have frequently seen him from my window. He seems to prefer smoking his cheroot there.”

Lord Daniston muttered something beneath his breath.

“What did you say?” she asked as they reached the table that was spread with silver and crystal that sparkled brilliantly in the light from the lamps encircling the walls.

“Andrews—”

“Your valet?”

“He has a bizarre sense of humor. He tried to convince me that the man loitering out there is a Bow Street Runner.”

“What would a Bow Street Runner be doing here?”

He smiled. “Again we agree, madam, for that was my thought exactly. I suspect the man has slipped away from his duties in one of the houses along the square and that Andrews has taken the opportunity to create a jest.”

When he seated her at the right of the head of the table, Regina relaxed. This setting was one she knew well. How many times had she sat with her father and the Dey's ministers? She had eaten the spicy food, watched the dancers and listened to the music, and had taken part in the conversation. At first the leaders of Algiers had been unwilling to accept her as her father's aide de camp, but they had learned not to underestimate either her father or her.

Giving Lord Daniston a smile to let him know that he need not worry about her any longer, she turned to the man on her left. She was delighted to discover Mr. Clay, who, if she recalled correctly from when he had been introduced to her by the ballroom, worked in the Home Office.

When she realized she and the gray-haired man had common acquaintances, the conversation flowed with an ease she had despaired of finding that evening. She discovered, too, that Mr. Clay possessed a droll wit. Soon she was laughing with him as he told stories about working with Lord Sidmouth and the others in the Home Office.

“You must find this life very tame after the adventures you had in North Africa,” Mr. Clay said, his face wrinkling more with his smile.

“Papa always has urged me to see all of life as an adventure.”

“But London is nothing like Algiers.”

“No,” she agreed with a laugh as she put her dessert fork on her cake plate, “but each city I have lived in has had its special charm.”

“And what do you find charming about London?”

She faltered. How could she speak the truth and tell him that she had seen nothing beyond Berkeley Square save for the fog-shrouded streets she had traveled on her way into the city? Then she wondered if it was strange for a new wife to wander no farther than her own garden. So many things she did not know yet, and she must learn before she made a serious error.

Pasting her splintered smile back together, Regina answered, “I must beg your indulgence, Mr. Clay, to delay in giving you a reply to your question. There is so much of London that I have yet to see, and I would like to reserve judgment until that time. Of course, that may be the city's source of charm. There are so many places I wish to visit.”

Mr. Clay looked past her. “Lord Daniston, I congratulate you on finding such a witty and diplomatic wife, who is also as pretty as a spring morning.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stood. When Regina stared up at him, wondering what was amiss, he put his hands on the back of her chair. “Madam?”

Even though a dozen questions filled her head, she rose compliantly. Her first pulse of dismay at having made a grievous mistake passed when she saw that the other women were getting up from the table as well. She watched them parade from the room like dandelion fluff floating on the breeze.

“Madam?” Lord Daniston asked again.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

The duke said softly, “Son, I think you should escort Regina to where the other ladies are.”

Regina bit back her curiosity as Lord Daniston offered his arm again. Letting him lead her into the hall, she could not ignore the sensation of every man watching her. She had wanted for sense to delay when the other ladies had departed, but she understood none of this.

“The ladies will be in Grandmother's sitting room,” Lord Daniston said when they stood in the hall. It was deserted, but the sounds of conversation came from the dining room and the sitting room farther back on the same floor.

“I do not understand why I should withdraw at this time.”

“Because that is what the ladies do.”

“Because they have no interest in the conversation the gentlemen are sharing.” She snapped her fan against her palm. “But I am interested in the conversation. Mr. Clay was making some very intriguing points on the present situation in the Mediterranean. I would enjoy speaking with him further.”