Caroline and the Captain: A Regency Novella (5 page)

The wedding took place two weeks later at St George’s, Hanover Square, the church pews filled with relatives and friends of both families. Her father and mother beamed. She was pleased she’d finally done something that made them happy. After she and Nicholas had signed the Registry, they left the church under an arch of rifles formed by his regiment in their handsome ceremonials.

Nicholas was obviously very much liked by his men. They all milled around them on the pavement keen to convey their good wishes.

“That went well, I thought,” he said, as they settled in the carriage together.

He smiled at her, and bent to kiss her.

Caroline tried to respond as his lips covered hers. He was a confident lover, and while that would please most women, it only frightened her. She moved slightly away with the pretext of rearranging her skirts, and ignored his assessing gaze, as the carriage took them to the wedding breakfast held at her new London abode, Debenham House, a grand, five-story townhouse in Mayfair. Why couldn’t she be filled with joy, and look forward to a life that any woman would be thrilled to embark on. Instead, she felt bitter and hollow, and worse, deceitful.

♥♥♥

Nicholas roamed the drawing room, chatting to the guests, but his eyes strayed again to his graceful bride in her gown of pastel pink muslin stitched with silver thread, with ribbons threaded through her soft fair curls. A delicate diamond necklace nestled in her creamy décolletage and sparkling gems adorned her ears. He was proud of her, and wanted to tell her so.

As soon as the last guests departed, Nicholas took the stairs two at a time and knocked on Caroline’s bedchamber door.

Her maid opened it.

“I am about to change,” Caroline said in frigid tones. She stood with a garment in her hands, a picture of loveliness, her chin raised. Utterly unapproachable.

“I shan’t stay above a moment,” he said, his heart sinking. “Do you care to attend Lady Bishop’s recital this evening?” It was quite clear what he wished for, to undress his wife and enjoy making love to her, but by the expression on her face, he doubted his wish would be granted tonight, or any night soon.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’d like to go home.”

He raised his brows. “Home?”

“To Debenham Park.”

“But we’re in London. The city is our oyster. We have the theatre, the opera and other entertainments at our fingertips. We’ve been invited to several parties and there’s Lord and Lady Ralston’s ball tomorrow evening.”

She dropped her gaze. “Of course. How unreasonable of me.”

Nicholas turned to the maid. “Please leave us.”

Caroline’s eyes widened.

“Sit down.” Nicholas pointed to a pair of armchairs covered in striped royal-blue and cream chintz.

She sat down and he took the other. He wondered if the rake who had supposedly deflowered her was in London. Did she think of him? “I need to know what this is about.”

Caroline put a hand to her hair. “I’m a little tired, I suppose. All the preparations for the wedding, the church and the wedding breakfast. Which was all quite wonderful,” she added with a quick glance at him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Nicholas said dryly. He had no idea if she meant it, and suddenly felt helpless as to how to handle her. That a lady didn’t welcome his attentions was unfamiliar and he didn’t like it. That that lady should be his wife, was even worse. He was tempted to go out—chase up some of his friends and get drunk. However, that would tell the world how it was between them, and even though many marriages were thus, he did not want it for himself. But when the battle looked lost retreat was the only sensible option.

He stood. “Have a light supper and an early night. I believe I shall go out.”

She looked so relieved, he almost laughed. Had he lost his charm? He’d never had to persuade a lady into bed before.

“Thank you for understanding, my lord.”

“Call me Nicholas, Caroline,” he said, determined to gain some kind of intimate footing with her.

“Nicholas,” she carefully pronounced, with those beautiful lips so right for kissing.

He sighed and left the room.

The next morning, Nicholas woke alone in his bed with a thumping headache, his eyes gritty. He’d spent most of the night at his club catching up with friends and playing cards, while explaining to those surprised to find him there, that his wife was unwell. He wasn’t sure anyone believed him, and after a good deal of wine, he didn’t much care. His closest friend, Freddie Masters, who knew of Nicholas’ circumstances, raised an eyebrow. “Everything all right, Nick?”

“My bride’s a little overwrought. Thought I’d give her some time alone.”

Freddie nodded. “A wise move. These ladies are gently bred. One has to take it slow.”

Taking it slow meant being in the same room and hopefully the same bed, Nicholas thought dejectedly.

A glance at his watch told him it was late morning. Aware he should make an effort, he dragged himself from his bed and allowed Holmes to shave him. Then he went down to the breakfast room where Caroline was drinking tea, looking fresh and far too delectable in a lacy apricot-colored morning gown.

“Good morning.” He signaled the footman for coffee.

She put down her teacup. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Was that shame he spied in her eyes?

“Not particularly.” He wasn’t in the mood to humor her. “Did you?”

She eyed him carefully. “I was tired. You look a little under the weather.”

“Do I? That might be because I am.” Nicholas took a deep sip of coffee hoping it would clear his head. It didn’t. Perhaps a hair of the dog was needed.

“Shall I send for some willowbark tea?”

“No thank you. The coffee is helping.” The throb in his head was more from a lack of sleep than wine. He hadn’t been foxed when he came home. In the end, he’d felt disinclined to reach that inebriated state. It seemed a coward’s way out, and he needed to think clearly to deal with this wife of his.  

She cast her eyes downward. “What do you plan to do today?”

He wanted to go back to bed. And he wanted her to come with him. “What would you like to do? We might take a carriage ride in the park, if the weather remains fine.”

She gave a grateful smile. “I’d like that. That is kind of you, I’m sure you don’t feel like it.”

“I shall rally by this afternoon. What shall we do until then?”

She flushed. “I need to familiarize myself with the house. I have requested an interview with Mrs. Fort after breakfast.”

“Who is Mrs. Fort?”

“The housekeeper. We must discuss the running of the house; it has been rather neglected. I notice some of the linens are practically threadbare.”

“Good God yes, one should never ignore the linens. The future of our fine country is at stake.” He pushed back his chair. Food was out of the question. “I shall be in the library if anyone expresses an interest.”

He stalked into the library. Why was this house kept fully staffed, when George had been so short of funds? It made no sense. He couldn’t help a wry grin. That was George all right. Nicholas went to the sideboard and poured a small glass of brandy in the hope it would improve both his head and his bad temper. He hadn’t been particularly pleasant to Caroline, and that served neither of them. He would make it up to her that afternoon.

He began to feel better as he drove Caroline around town in the phaeton. She admitted to having seen very little of London. They traveled down Pall Mall and he showed her colonnaded Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales resided.

“Father was angry with Prinny’s lavish spending and unfair taxes,” Caroline said. “He thought the Prince failed to support the country during the years of war.”

“Your father is right,” Nicholas said shortly.

He drove past the Horse Guards parade ground in Whitehall, pointing out historical landmarks, on a circuitous route back to Hyde Park, while his pretty wife asked questions from beneath her lacy lavender parasol.

“There are all sorts of amusing tales about London,” Nicholas said, wishing to entertain her and draw her out more. “Have you heard of the Berners Street hoax?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“It’s believed it was carried out by a Mr. Theodore Hook in Westminster back in ’10. Hook made a bet with his friend Samuel Beazley, that he could transform any house in London into the most talked-about address within seven days.”

Her eyes widened with interest. “And did he?”

Nicholas pulled on the reins as the coach ahead stopped at a crossing. “He did. He sent out thousands of letters to tradesmen in the name of Mrs. Tottenham, who lived at No. 54, requesting deliveries, visitors and assistance.” With the road free ahead, Nicholas urged his horses into a trot. “At five o’clock in the morning, the first sweep arrived to sweep the chimneys. He was sent away by a maid who said no such sweep had been hired. A dozen sweeps followed.”

Caroline put her hand to her mouth, her eyes dancing. “My goodness.”

“Then a fleet of carts entered the street, delivering coal. Cake makers brought wedding cakes. Doctors, lawyers, vicars and priests, called at the house, summoned to visit someone purported to be dying. The incredible debacle continued, with fishmongers, shoemakers, and over a dozen pianos and an organ…”

“Oh no!” Caroline started giggling.

Nicholas turned to gaze at her appreciatively. “Dignitaries including the Duke of York and the Lord Mayor of London arrived. The narrow streets became congested with tradesmen and onlookers, as the unrelenting deliveries and visits continued, and brought a large part of London to a standstill.”

“How very wicked,” Caroline said with a naughty laugh that made him grin.

“Officers were enlisted to disperse the people and prevent trades people from entering the street. Hook and his friend apparently watched from the house over the road.”

“Was he caught and jailed?”

“No, Hook managed to avoid arrest by disappearing into the country. Convalescing, so it was said.

“And here we are.” Nicholas guided the horses through the park gates where a line of carriages drove down the South Carriage Drive and horse riders cantered along Rotten Row. Those in vehicles wishing to see and be seen, crowded the thoroughfare. The men greeted Nicholas and a woman fluttered a lacy handkerchief from a carriage window, smiling at him. He nodded briefly and turned back to his nervous horses.

“Did you know that lady?”

“Yes. Lady Pamela Wallace. The sister of a university chum.” He settled the horses again as the crush edged forward.

A fellow riding past on horseback, pulled up beside them. “Good to see you in town, Debenham.”

“Lord Forster, I’d like you to meet my bride.”

The man bowed in the saddle. “Lady Debenham. We look forward to seeing more of you both during the Season.” He rode on.

“Do you know
all
these people?”

“I’ve been away for years, but some attended my school and university, and many would have known George, and my father too. The
ton
are often referred to as the Upper Ten Thousand.”

“Like a large unruly family.”

“Some are not always so kind to one another.”

“Should I be careful when in their company?”

He turned to look at her. “You’ve nothing to hide and therefore no reason to be. I meant that the gossipmongers can be cruel at times.”

“Oh?” She fiddled with her bonnet ribbons.

Another horse rider cantered down the row.

“I should love to ride,” Caroline said sounding wistful.

“When we return to the country. One can barely get their horse to canter when the Row is crowded, and galloping is frowned upon here.” They reached the end of the South Carriage Drive, and left the hubbub behind. Nicholas drove the phaeton back to Berkley Square. “You should rest. We are to attend Lady Ralston’s ball tonight.”

“I know we must go,” she said, exhibiting a surprising amount of reluctance. Didn’t young ladies like dressing for balls, and dancing? “But might we go home tomorrow?

He raised his eyebrows. “We have received many invitations to dinners, card parties and routs. Enough to fill the next sennight.”

“Would they mind very much if we didn’t attend?”

“I shouldn’t think so.” Nicholas didn’t care for such things anyway. “They will think we wish to be alone.”

She flushed and looked down at her lacy gloved hands. “It’s just that I want to stroll through the gardens, as well as ride. To curl up with a book by the fire, while you read the broadsheets. Doesn’t that sound attractive? It’s all been so hectic and I confess I’m a little tired.”

Nicholas wondered about her health. She ran like a hare, not someone suffering any sort of ailment. While he disliked being organized into the habits of a man of sixty, going home did appeal, so he wasn’t about to argue. At Debenham Park, he could persuade her, gently of course. ... It wouldn’t do to start on the wrong foot, just to get his leg over, he thought, smiling at his clumsy mixing of metaphors.