Fenella J Miller (5 page)

After two bowls of soup, she found herself unable to tackle anything else. However, she had no intention of letting the tray out of her sight. She would eat her fill during the evening and when she rose in the morning. The food would keep fresh enough if she covered the tray with a damp cloth. The napkins were ideal for this purpose. She used the jug of boiled water that had been left beside her bed.

Should she leave the tray visible? Would Sally come in and, believing the meal finished with, take the tray away to share amongst her friends? Certainly, in Thorrington Hall the staff ate better than she did. Her room was on the west side of the house, until the sun set it would remain hot. Where should she put her food to keep it fresh?

Under the chest of drawers, if there was not too much dust, would be ideal.

That done, she returned to the privacy of her bed, drawing the hangings around her. If anyone came in, she would seem to be asleep. She had no wish for further conversation with Jane tonight. If Edward was back, she didn’t wish to know. That way she could sleep peacefully, believing tomorrow she would be free of him forever.

She clasped her hands in front of her and thanked the Almighty for intervening in her life. Only the hand of God had given her this extraordinary opportunity. All she knew about her prospective husband was that he was wealthy, handsome, a widower and had more than one child. Whether his union had been a happy one she had no idea. His wish to keep their marriage unconsummated could mean he found her so unattractive he could not bear to share his bed with her. On the other hand perhaps he had been so much in love with his first wife the thought of being with another woman was abhorrent.

She giggled. He was a vigorous man; she could not imagine him without female company of some sort. Did he have a mistress? Someone he could not marry, but wished to remain faithful to? She had agreed to be his wife in name only, to love his children and remain in the country, she would not enquire about his private life.

She was used to following orders. Now was not the time to question or to disobey.

“Damnit, man! What did she say?”

“Lady Eleanor has agreed to your proposal, my lord. The details I require in order to obtain the marriage licence are written on the back of your missive.”

Alex stuck out his hand and Foster placed the paper in it. She was four and twenty, the middle name was Martha. There was nothing else. She asked no questions, made no demands—just sent the details.

“Did Lady Eleanor send me a message of any sort?”

“Her ladyship said no one must know of your nuptials. I am to bring a curate from Town to perform the marriage. She intends to remain in her room until everything is ready for the ceremony.”

“Good man. I am glad that is settled. I am not receiving and shall remain in my bed until tomorrow.”

“Very well, my lord. I’ll arrange for someone to take my place whilst I’m absent. Would you prefer it if I sent young Sam up from the stables?”

“Sam? Why the devil should I want a groom in my bedchamber?” His head was pounding and he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

“I thought someone in your employ, who could be relied on not to gossip, would be preferable.”

“Of course; I should have thought of that. Make sure you have sufficient funds to travel post in both directions, and I expect the fee for the licence might well be several guineas.”

Foster collected what he needed and left his master in peace. When the door opened, from the whiff of stable, Sam had come to tend him. Alex required nothing; sleep was the best healer.

Eleanor heard the door open softly but remained silent, hidden behind the hangings on her bed. The door closed again and she was left in the darkness; only the moonlight filtering through the shutters lit the chamber. The girl who had been assigned to her could be heard moving around the room before she, too, departed for her bed.

Certain she would not be disturbed again that night, Eleanor pushed back the curtains and scrambled out of bed. Taking the candlestick she carried it to the mantel shelf and deftly used the tinderbox. She moved around the room, lighting them all until she was able to see enough to read. Next, she retrieved the tray and put it triumphantly on the octagonal side table.

Good heavens!

The maid must have been looking for the missing tray. She hoped there would be no recriminations downstairs. How thoughtless of her! She removed the cloths—even the cold soup remained appetizing. Determined to stay up all night if necessary in order to devour every last morsel, she set to with gusto.

Again her appetite failed before she had attempted the desserts. The buttermilk was the most likely to turn rancid overnight so she finished that off before replacing the napkins, freshly dampened, across the remainder of the food. There was no need to secrete the tray under the drawers, no one was going to come in and take it away before the morning.

Having slept for several hours, she was wide awake and restless. The last thing she wanted was to dwell on what was to take place the following morning. Was she stepping from the frying pan into the fire?

Lord Bentley had shown himself to have a fearsome temper. Had she not seen for herself how he had ripped his sleeves from his jacket in order to…? Why had he done so? Now that she recalled the incident more clearly he had not railed at her, had not been shouting or swearing. In fact, he had made no move to harm her. Only when Ned had attacked him had he seemed angry.

Was it possible that she had misjudged the situation? Had she attacked an innocent man? In which case it made no sense for him to offer to marry her in order to make amends for
his
behaviour.

No, he had regretted his fury and wished to make things right.

She sighed. She could not fathom this at all. What mattered was he had offered her an escape route.

Did he not say in his letter that he had already decided she would suit him as a wife? The incident had only precipitated matters; no doubt he would have spoken to her at a later date. This way her brother would not be able to prevent it. His permission was not legally necessary—she was well past her majority—but Society would have expected Bentley to speak to him first.

No point in repining; she would be better off spending her time selecting something suitable to wear for the ceremony the following day. Taking two candles, she walked into the dressing room and pulled open the doors of the massive closet.

Well, it wouldn’t take her long to make a decision; she only possessed six gowns.

Two of these had been turned and re-sewn twice already, two were plain brown and even her brother said she looked hideous in them and one she had ruined with Bentley’s gore.

This left her the one smart ensemble she owned, and that was really a misnomer. She fingered the faded silk which remained a pretty pink. Fortunately the waistline was fashionably high, but that was all that could be said to recommend it as a wedding dress. At least this gown possessed silk stockings and slippers to match as well as a gossamer wrap.

Perhaps, if she added a new sash and refurbished the silk roses sewn around the hem and neckline, it would do. Her sewing box had been brought down with her other things. Eagerly she rummaged through, she was certain there was a length of ribbon that would be perfect. Over the years she had become expert at trimming bonnets and such. She was allowed no pin money at all and was entirely dependent on her brother for any purchases she wished to make. However, Jane had often brought her back little gifts of haberdashery which Eleanor treasured and used to embellish the sad garments that were her wardrobe.

The sun was rising before she had completed her task. She hung her dress back in the closet, satisfied she would not look quite such an antidote in the morning. As soon as the girl appeared she would demand a bath and wash her hair; that alone would make her feel more feminine.

Finally tired enough to sleep she scampered into bed, forgetting to extinguish the remaining candles. She was drifting off to sleep when she remembered her dereliction but for the first time since her dear mama died, she ignored this duty. For some strange reason she was now being treated as a true house guest, and no one, this time, would rail at her for such extravagance.

Alex took the laudanum the physician had left him and slept dreamlessly through the night. He was roused by the sound of clattering in his dressing room. He must attempt to stand upright. He was not going to be married from his bed, however urgent the matter might be.

His memory had not returned. He still had no recollection of anything past his entry into the wood. Once they were safely married he would demand that Lady Eleanor tell him exactly what had taken place. Fortuitously, this woman fitted his requirements perfectly. He would have been obliged to marry her even if she had been a veritable pea- goose.

“Sam, where the hell are you? I want to get bathed and dressed.”

The erstwhile groom appeared at his side. “I ain’t used to all this paraphernalia, me lord. I never knew it were so complicated to get up if you was a gent.”

Ignoring this inappropriate remark, Alex gave his instructions. “Send the chambermaid down to arrange for hot water for my bath to be brought. Get her to bring something to eat, and coffee, black.”

“Do you need a hand to get out, sir? It’s a right long time since you—”

“Exactly so. Here, let me lean on you; my head’s spinning.”

Refreshed, and relieved, Alex practised walking around the bedchamber until he was fairly sure he could remain upright without support. The bath was being filled in his dressing room. He would feel more himself when he was clean and dressed. The tray of food didn’t interest him, but he must eat something if he was to get through the day.

Sam heaved him out of the bath. His legs were as weak as those of a newborn foal. He decided to rest until Foster returned from London. Once his manservant was there to assist him, dressing would take no more than thirty minutes.

Dismissing his temporary assistant, he sank back on the pillows. The physician had said amnesia was not uncommon after a head injury and that his memory might well be fully restored in time. However, the quack had not committed himself as to when this might happen. He might recall the missing events tomorrow or several months in the future, or never.

He abandoned the notion to question his new bride; better to let her forget all about it, to build bridges and establish trust and friendship between them. As soon as they were married they would leave the abbey and return to Blakeley Hall, his ancestral home in Suffolk. This monstrous pile, built in the time of good Queen Bess, desperately needed the loving touch of a woman. Most of it was under holland covers. The children used only the nursery and the few servants he had kept on after Anna’s demise rattled about in the east wing.

This left the problem of where to hold the marriage service. He could hardly invite Lady Eleanor into his apartment and he could not go to hers. Perhaps they could marry in the nursery; the nursemaids and Foster could act as witnesses. Although his face was clean, the bandage around his head made him look grotesque. He hoped his fearsome appearance would not make her change her mind.

God’s teeth!

How the devil was Foster going to spirit in the curate without it being remarked on by any of the other guests? His man was resourceful; he would no doubt introduce him as a lawyer or some such fustian. The time was a little after ten o’clock, with luck the business would be concluded satisfactorily by noon.

He frowned and regretted it. When he had married Anna, it had taken weeks of negotiation with the lawyers to arrange a satisfactory settlement. All this would have to be organised after the event, rather than before. Whatever money his wife might bring to the union he would have settled on her to do as she wished with. He would also ensure she had sufficient pin money to replace her hideous wardrobe.

Would Sarah approve of his choice? He would not be in this predicament without her interference. He closed his eyes, could see his mistress smiling down at him, her golden curls loose around her shoulders, her full breasts…

He stopped. Despite his fearsome headache his groin tightened. How he wished she was with him now. She would enjoy the secrecy, the intrigue of it all. The sooner he got back to London the better.

Eleanor had been curled up on the window seat, her hair loose around her, allowing the sunshine to dry it, for an hour or more. A second message from Lord Bentley had informed her that the ceremony was to take place at half past eleven, in the
nursery
of all places. Time to get dressed.

Thankfully, she had received no visitors. Jane would take the opportunity of her husband’s absence to remain in her chambers. Edward demanded his wife be dressed and ready to do his bidding by nine o’clock each morning.

“Shall I put your hair up for you now, my lady, or do it after you’re dressed?”

Reluctantly Eleanor stood up. “I shall put on my under things, Sally, and then you may do it. I do not wish to crease my gown by sitting in it.”

At ten minutes before the appointed time she was ready. She did not look exactly pretty, but with her hair freshly washed and arranged in a more becoming style she would do. Her newly refurbished dress gave her confidence; she looked better than she had done for years. Sally had suggested she pad the bodice to give her a more feminine outline but she had declined.