First Comes Marriage (22 page)

Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip again.

“Today,” Margaret said firmly, “Nessie begins her happily-ever-after. And she looks absolutely spendid.”

She was dry-eyed and rather tight-jawed. But there was such fierce affection in her eyes that Vanessa could not look into them for longer than a few moments at a time for fear of breaking down.

They had sat up far too late last night, Vanessa propped against the pillows of her bed, Margaret seated at the foot, her legs drawn up to her chin.

“I want you to promise me,” she had said, “that you will not lose your ability to be happy and to spread happiness about you, Nessie. No matter what. You must not lose yourself. Promise me.”

She was afraid that living with Viscount Lyngate would drag at Vanessa’s spirit. How foolish she was. The opposite would be true. She would make him smile and laugh. She would make him happy.

She had promised him that she would. She had promised his mother the same thing. More important, she had promised herself.

“I promise,” she had said, smiling. “You goose, Meg. I am not going to the guillotine tomorrow. I am going to my own wedding. I did not tell you before, but on the day he asked me to marry him—we were out at the lake—he kissed me.”

Margaret stared at her.

“I liked it,” Vanessa said. “I really
really
liked it. And I think he did too.” That part was probably untrue, but it was not an outright lie because she had not asked him and so did not know for sure. Anyway, he had certainly
wanted
her.

Margaret rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped about her knees.

“I
need
kisses, Meg,” Vanessa had said. “And I need more than kisses. I need to be married again. I think sometimes men believe that only they need ...kisses. But they are wrong. Women have such needs too. I am glad I am getting married again.”

And it was not even a complete lie, she had thought. She really did want more of his kisses and more
than
his kisses.

She wanted love and happiness too. If she tried very hard, perhaps she could achieve one of the two.

This morning, though, as Stephen held out his arm and she took it so that he could lead her downstairs and out to the carriage for the short ride to the chapel, she was not so sure that she wanted any of this.

She was going to marry a stranger. A handsome, virile, frowning, impatient, morose, sneering . . .

Oh, dear.

He had also gone down on one knee to propose marriage to her even though it had been unnecessary since
she
had already proposed to
him
—and he had probably ruined his pantaloons on the wet grass in the process.

She settled herself on the carriage seat, leaving room for Stephen beside her, and felt a little as if she
were
on the way to the guillotine after all.

Foolishly, she wanted Hedley.

There were no more than thirty wedding guests all told. Even so, they almost filled the small private chapel.

The nuptial service was not a long one. That fact had always surprised Vanessa at the weddings she had attended—including her own first wedding. And this one was no different.

How could such a momentous and irrevocable change in two lives be effected in so short a time and with such little fuss? The only real moment of drama came with that short pause after the clergyman asked if anyone knew of any impediment to the proposed marriage.

As on all other such occasions that Vanessa knew of, that pause remained unfilled today, and the service swept onward to its inevitable conclusion.

She was aware, as soon as Stephen placed her hand in Viscount Lyngate’s, that her own was cold, that his was firm and steady and warm. She was aware of his immaculate tailoring—he wore unadorned black and white, as he had at the Valentine’s assembly—of his height and the breadth of his shoulders. She was aware of his cologne.

She was aware of the quickened beating of her heart.

And she was aware of an era slipping away from her as her name changed and she became Vanessa Wallace, Viscountess Lyngate.

Hedley slipped farther into her past, and she had to let him go.

She belonged to this man now.

To this stranger.

She raised her eyes to his as he slipped her new wedding ring on her finger.

How was it possible to marry a stranger?

But she was doing it.

So was he. Did he even realize how little he knew her? Did it matter to him?

The ring safely in place, he looked up into her eyes.

She smiled.

He did not.

And then, a dizzyingly short number of moments later, they were man and wife. And what God had joined together, no man was to put asunder. No woman either, presumably.

They signed the church register and then walked along the short nave of the church together while Vanessa smiled to the left and the right at their guests. Meg was dry-eyed, Kate was not. Stephen was grinning. So was Mr. Bowen. The viscountess—now the
dowager
viscountess—was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. The duke was looking at them from beneath craggy eyebrows, a ferocious frown on his face. The duchess was smiling sweetly and nodding her head. Sir Humphrey was blowing his nose.

Everything else was a blur.

The first thing Vanessa noticed as they stepped out of the chapel—she had not noticed on the way in—was that the grass of the churchyard and the hedgerows beneath the trees were dotted with crocuses and primroses and clumps of daffodils.

Somehow spring had arrived late and almost unnoticed. How could she possibly have missed it? It was the end of March already, and spring was always her favorite time of the year.

“Oh,” she said, looking up at the man beside her with a bright smile, “look at all the spring flowers. Are they not lovely?”

And the sun was shining, she noticed. The sky was a clear blue.

“The ones in your hat?” he asked her. “They are indeed.”

And for one brief moment, before their guests came spilling out of the church behind them, it seemed to her that his eyes came close to smiling.

She laughed at the absurd joke—and felt suddenly breathless and weak-kneed. This man was her husband. She had just promised to love, honor, and obey him for the rest of her life.

“Well, Vanessa,” he said softly.

Ah. No one ever called her that—except his mother. How lovely her name was after all, she thought foolishly as she smiled back at him.

They were the last words he spoke privately to her for several hours. Even during the carriage ride to Finchley Park for the wedding breakfast they had company, since the viscount’s Aunt Roberta had had quite enough of her sister’s whinings about drafts and carriage sickness during the ride to church and chose to ride back with her nephew and his bride. And since she had a word or two of warning to pass along to young Merton about all the pitfalls that would be awaiting him when he stepped into the wicked world of London later in the spring, she insisted that Stephen ride with them too.

The chapel bells pealed joyfully as they drove away.

Vanessa listened to them wistfully. No one else seemed to notice.

Elliott had decided a couple of weeks before the wedding—as soon as he had realized it was an event his whole family would wish to attend, in fact—that he and his bride would not spend their wedding night at Finchley Park. Although the house was large enough to accommodate everyone and he had his own private apartments there, he had no desire to bid everyone good night as he took his bride off to bed or to greet everyone at breakfast the next morning.

He had had the dower house down by the lake cleaned and prepared for them. He had had a few servants moved in there, including his valet and his wife’s new maid. And he had announced to everyone at the house that after the wedding breakfast both the dower house and the lake would be out of bounds for three days.

Three days seemed a long time for them to be alone, and he hoped he would not regret his decision—though they could always go back to the house sooner if they became bored with each other’s company, he supposed. But he felt the need of a few days in which to establish some sort of relationship with his wife. A sexual relationship anyway even if none other proved possible.

It was late in the evening by the time they left the main house. The revelries were still continuing there as they walked along the path that wound its way between wide lawns toward the lake. It was a night bright with moon and stars. Moonlight gleamed in a wide band across the water. The air was cool, but there was no wind. It felt like spring at last.

It all seemed uncomfortably romantic. Vanessa’s arm was drawn through his, but they had not spoken since the flurry of good nights back at the house. He ought to speak. It was unusual for him to feel uncomfortable, tongue-tied.

She was the one to break the silence.

“Is this not beautiful beyond belief?” she asked him. “It is like a fairy wonderland. Is it not
romantic,
my lord?”

He might simply have agreed with her. He had already thought similar things himself. But he chose to take exception to two of her words.

“My lord?”
he said, irritated. “I am your husband, Vanessa. My name is Elliott. Use it.”

“Elliott.” She looked up at him.

She was still wearing the green dress in which she had been married. And she had put the absurd straw hat back on for the walk in the outdoors. It was a pretty thing, he had to admit, and became her well.

They had arrived close to the bank of the lake, to where the path bent in order to approach the dower house from the front. For some reason they both stopped walking.

“Do you not appreciate beauty?” she asked him, tipping her head a little to one side.

Another accusation.

“Of course I do,” he said. “You have looked very pretty today.”

It was only a slight exaggeration. He had found his eyes straying to her even more than was necessary on such a day. She had been bright with animation as she mingled with their guests. She had been vibrant with

smiles and laughter.

She had looked happy.

In the moonlight he could see laughter light her eyes now.

“I meant the beauties of nature,” she said. “I was not fishing for a compliment. I know I am not pretty.”

“You also do not know how to accept a compliment when one is offered,” he told her.

The laughter died from her face.

“I am sorry,” she said. “Thank you for your kind words. Your mother chose my dress and the color. Cecily chose the hat.”

Nobody, he realized with sudden insight, had ever called her pretty. What must it have been like, growing up in a family in which her siblings were all extraordinarily good-looking while she was not? And yet she could still smile and laugh at life.

He set one forefinger beneath her chin and leaned forward to kiss her briefly on the lips.

“Well,” he said, “now that I look, I can see that
they
are rather pretty too.” The dress and the hat, that was.

“Oh, well done.” She laughed. She also sounded rather breathless.

He had been celibate for far too long, he thought ruefully. He was very ready to proceed with the wedding night. Which was, he supposed, a good thing.

“We had better go into the house,” he said. “Unless you want more refreshments, I will show you to your room. Your maid will be waiting for you there.”

“
My
room?” she said.

“I will visit you there later,” he told her.

“Oh.” He was certain she was blushing, though the moonlight hid the evidence from his eyes. She was, he guessed,
very
close to being a virgin.

They were silent again then as they covered the remaining distance to the front door and he opened it to allow her to precede him inside. The caretaker and his wife were in the hallway ready to greet them, but Elliott soon dismissed them for the night.

He led Vanessa up the stairs, well lit by the candles in the wall sconces. She was his wife, he thought. He would bed her tonight—within the next hour, in fact—and for the rest of their lives there would be no one else but her.

It was a private vow he had taken very recently, though he was surprised that it had taken him so long to know his own mind. After his marriage, he had decided even before his return from London, he would be unswervingly monogamous, no matter how satisfying or unsatisfying he found his marriage bed to be. There was too much pain in the alternative.

He had only to look at and listen to his mother and his grandmother to understand that. His father and his grandfather had done them irreparable harm. And both ladies feared he would follow in the footsteps of his ancestors.

He would not. It was as simple as that.

It was not necessarily a happy resolution considering the identity of his bride. But it was a firm one nonetheless.

He stopped outside her dressing room and bowed over her hand as he raised it to his lips before opening the door. Her maid was busy inside there, he could see.

He turned in the direction of his own room.

13

VANESSA’S room overlooked the lake. The moon still shone across it in a wide silver band. The view was really quite breathtaking. And the house itself—the little she had seen of it anyway—was lovely.

But her mind was not really on either the moonlight or the house, which she would explore tomorrow.

She was in
her
room.

As opposed to
his
.

Or
theirs
.

She and Hedley had shared a room from the day of their marriage. She had assumed that all married couples did. With Hedley—

But she would not think of him tonight. She must not. She belonged to someone else now.

He had actually called her pretty on the way here.
Very
pretty, to be precise. He had almost joked with her, telling her that her clothes were pretty too—meaning that
she
was prettier, that it was
she
he had noticed first.