Fortune's Bride (25 page)

“Damn it,” Robert growled softly, reaching out for Esmeralda
again, “why shouldn’t I kiss my wife?”

“Oh, you should,” Esmeralda murmured, nonetheless evading
him as she heard booted feet in the corridor and then mounting the stairs, “but
not while dinner burns.” She giggled softly. “I am sure that would cause
comment. You never did so before.”

“The more fool I,” Robert said, but he laughed.

“We could eat upstairs,” Esmeralda suggested. “There is a
table. It is small—”

“We will manage very well,” Robert agreed quickly. “If we
remain here, we will have half the camp tramping in and out.” He paused and
sniffed appreciatively. He had eaten nothing all day, of course, and now that
his stomach was settled, the savory odor had wakened a sharp appetite. “And you
will invite them all to dinner because you are much too charitable. Don’t. I
intend to eat it all myself.”

Esmeralda stooped to pick up the fallen spoon, and Robert
ran a hand over her buttocks. She jerked upright with a gasp.

“Yes, indeed,” Robert went on, “I am very hungry.”

“Well, if you do that again, you won’t get any dinner,”
Esmeralda said severely. “I will end up putting sugar over the chicken and salt
in the tea.”

“It was an irresistible temptation.” Robert looked innocent
as an angel, but his eyes glittered. “And anyway, I don’t take sugar in my
tea.”

“You don’t take it on chicken, either,” Esmeralda retorted,
and brandished her spoon at him. “Sit down. I am afraid to turn my back on you,
and I must baste the chicken or, hungry as you are, you will not be able to eat
it. Neither will I, and I am just as hungry as you are.”

The words were innocent enough. The blush that accompanied
the last few made them into a suggestive promise. Naturally, instead of sitting
down, Robert took a step forward, but Esmeralda slid sideways toward the sink.

“If you feel so energetic,” she said quickly, tipping what
remained in the water bucket into a washing pan, “you can pump up some water
for me.”

Robert laughed. “That was not the activity I had in mind,”
he protested.

“I know,” she admitted, laughing too, “but it will do you
good.”

A door slammed on the floor above, and the floorboards of
the upper corridor creaked. The footsteps came down the stairs.

“Cold water is said to have a beneficial effect,” Robert
remarked, sighing.

He laughed again at Esmeralda’s puzzled expression, grasped
the handle of the water bucket, and went out the back door. Although Robert
claimed ignorance, he was not being completely truthful. He did, in fact, know
the convention that required “good” women to find lovemaking a trial rather
than a pleasure. He had heard it used as an excuse by husbands who frequented
houses of pleasure, and it had struck him as a most peculiar and unpleasant
idea. Now he was certain that it was also wrong.

Everything Merry said and did marked her innocence. As he
moved the pump handle, Robert began to laugh again at the idea of finding the
proper mode of response to lovemaking in a book of etiquette. Perhaps it was
cruel, because it was apparent that Merry had loved her mother but with a
husband like Henry Talbot it was probably Robert’s good fortune that Mrs.
Talbot had died before she could pass along to her daughter her notions about
the correct behavior of a wife to a husband. As it was, Robert believed he
could teach Merry to act in any way that pleased him best. He began to pump
with more vigor as he contemplated that delicious prospect and was so absorbed
that the bucket overflowed and flooded his boots before he realized what he was
doing.

When the cold water seeped through the seams and wet his
feet, Robert jumped back with an oath, but then stood still, frowning. Cold
water did have a beneficial effect, he decided somewhat grimly. It was all very
well to revel in Merry’s innocence, but it could easily get her into trouble.
He had been a fool to fondle her as he had in a relatively public place. That
sort of thing wasn’t done, and he must not give her the impression that he
wanted her to violate convention. She was so mischievous that his bad example
might make her push a joke too far.

Until now Merry’s natural modesty had protected her from
behavior that would be censurable by the toffee-noses home in England. But he
now realized that he must be careful not to lead her astray. Merry was very
conformable to her company. She had been totally ignorant of military matters
when they met. Now she was as interested and probably more knowledgeable than
any army-mad subaltern. And she was right, too, about his never having behaved
affectionately before. Nonetheless, any change in his manner toward her
would
raise comment, which was best avoided. Bedroom manners had best be kept in the
bedroom.

Besides, Robert thought suddenly, he couldn’t jump Merry for
a quick tumble before dinner as if she were fully accustomed, as many troopers’
wives were, to snatching at any brief opportunity for lovemaking or as if she
were a camp follower. He would have to be very careful this time. She said she
was not frightened, and she had kissed him willingly, however, if he hurt her
again, she might become less willing. That was a worrisome notion, but it was
soon overlaid by a contemplation of the many pleasant ways of making Merry not
only willing but eager. A minute later Robert jerked his mind back to reality. If
he went on thinking along those lines, he told himself, he would have to find a
way to work off his energy that was more effective than pumping water. Maybe he
ought to sit in the bucket.

The idea made Robert laugh and considering how he would
explain his wet breeches in addition to his wet feet was amusing enough to
permit him to pick up the water bucket and enter the kitchen in a less indecent
condition than that of a few minutes earlier. As he lifted the bucket to the
counter, however, the bottom just caught on the edge. Had the bucket not been
overfull to begin with, this would not have done any harm, but Robert had not
been thinking of water or buckets and had not poured away the top two inches of
liquid as he should have. A gush of cold water spilled out over him. Merry
uttered a little cry of warning, but it was too late. Robert jerked, tilting
the bucket even farther, and half the contents cascaded down his thighs.

Esmeralda clapped both hands to her mouth in an agonized
mingling of an urgent desire to laugh and real fear that Robert would be very
angry. After all, she had sent him for the water. However, to her surprise, he
burst into roars of laughter himself, nearly spilling what remained in the
bucket. Esmeralda seized it before this could happen and pushed it back to a
safe spot on the counter.

“I am so very sorry,” she cried. “I should have known you
were not accustomed to fetching water.”

But Robert only gurgled something about the beneficial
effects of cold water and, still laughing, staggered up the stairs to find
their room and change his clothing. He did not come down again, which made
Esmeralda rather nervous. She had visions of entering the room and finding
Robert naked in the bed. This was exciting and repellent at the same time. She
would have to put the dinner aside and take off her clothes with him watching.
She was still dusty and sweaty, too, from the long ride and the heat of the
kitchen. She had been too busy to wash and had not expected Robert so early.

However, Esmeralda’s fears were unfounded. She found Robert
wearing a shirt, pantaloons, and slippers. He was sitting quietly at the table,
staring out the window, so deep in thought that he did not hear the click of
the latch, and Esmeralda caught a glimpse of an expression of deep concern on
his face. Instinctively she said, “Robert—” and he jumped to his feet and came
toward her.

“Good God, Merry, why did you carry that heavy tray up the
stairs?” he exclaimed, taking it from her.

“Shall I be cruel and say I lacked faith after the water
incident?” she replied lightly.

Robert smiled as he set the tray safely on the table, but
his look of concern returned as Esmeralda detoured around his boots, which he
had set to dry in a patch of sunlight in the middle of the floor. “Merry,” he
said, “I have been thinking of what to write to my parents and of how…how
peculiar all this will sound in a letter. I do not like to lie to them—”

“No, don’t,” Esmeralda interrupted. “They would never
forgive me if they discovered I was the cause of such unfilial and dishonest
behavior.” She sat down in the chair opposite Robert’s and stared at him. “I
don’t know what to say, Robert. I would not for the world be a cause of discord
between you and your parents. I did not love Papa, but I would have done
anything for my mother. I do understand how dear parents can be.”

“It’s nothing to do with
you
, Merry. My parents won’t
have any objections to you. Can’t see why they should. You’re a lady, and
you’ve got something as a dowry—not that they’d be likely to worry too much
about that anyway.”

Esmeralda opened her mouth to tell him that she had a good
deal more than
something
as a dowry, but the words would not come. For
one thing, keeping the amount of her fortune secret had become second nature.
For another, she wanted very much to have Robert accept her for herself rather
than because she was exceedingly rich.

Absorbed in his problem, Robert did not notice and went on.
“No, it’s nothing to do with you, it’s just that I never wrote them about it
when we were married. I guess I thought it would worry them, and I didn’t want
to give m’ mother any ideas. And I’ve never mentioned you in any letter I
wrote—well, there were only two—since then. It’s not only that they might be
hurt if I write now and say we’ve been married since the twenty-eighth. I guess
I can explain that, but how the devil am I going to explain why I’m telling
them
now
? I mean, I could explain it to Fa if I could talk to him, but
in a letter? And if m’ father’s not home, m’ mother would open any letter from
me.”

“Oh, no!” Esmeralda cried, “Please do not. What will they
think of me!”

“Think of you! Fa’ll want to take a horsewhip to
me
for getting so drunk I’d treat a decent girl like a whore.”

“Perhaps,” Esmeralda whispered, “but more likely they would
think I…I did not behave as I should.” It was the truth, of course. Robert had
been very drunk, but if she had not encouraged him, she believed he would not
have persisted.

Robert frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.
“Damn it. Once they set eyes on you, they’ll know it was my fault, but I’m not
very good at writing letters anyway, and this is so complicated…”He looked at
her appealingly.

“Oh, Robert, no!” she exclaimed. “I may be much better at
writing letters and explaining, but your parents would know at once that you
had only copied out what someone else had written, and think of the impression
that
would give.”

“Oh, Lord,” he sighed, “they’d start to imagine that I’d
fallen prey to a particularly clever harpy. They should know better, of course,
but m’ father thinks I’m an idiot anyway, and m’ mother’s convinced I’m still
ten years old.”

Esmeralda was not really as worried as she sounded. She was
cynically certain that whatever Robert’s parents thought originally, they would
be happy to welcome her as a daughter as soon as they discovered the extent of
the deposits at her bank. However, it seemed to her that the longer his
affectionate parents had to think and worry about what Robert had done, the
worse their opinion of her would become. If she and Robert returned to England
together and Lord and Lady Moreton saw that Robert was happy, that she was
socially acceptable, and simultaneously heard about her fortune, they might
still be shocked but not, she hoped, antagonistic. She could take the blame upon
herself, too, saying she had been so frightened, she had begged Robert not to
tell them. Fear was not nearly so reprehensible as seduction.

“Do you think the extent of time will be significant?”
Esmeralda asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you think your parents would be more deeply hurt
or worried if you wrote a week or a month from now instead of immediately?”

“Probably not,” Robert said, his expression lightening. He
was not at all reluctant to put off an unpleasant duty, but then his face
clouded again. “But I don’t see that it can help, either.”

“It may not,” Esmeralda agreed, smiling, “but I think this
is not the best time to consider so important a subject. You are hungry and
tired, and, I suspect, still a little disordered from your potations. If it
cannot do serious harm, I would suggest that you put the question of the
announcement aside for a day or two, at least. Perhaps something will occur to
us.” She pushed the chickens invitingly nearer to him and extended a carving
knife. “If you will carve, I will serve out the rice and greens and sauce. I’m
sorry it’s so very simple a meal, but we didn’t arrive until five o’clock, and
Molly didn’t think there would be time to cook anything besides chicken. If you
hadn’t come when you did, I would have sent Carlos to discover whether there
was a cook shop, but I didn’t even have time for that.”

As she spoke Robert had swiftly carved both small birds and
distributed pieces on the plates Esmeralda readied. He took a bite and smiled.
“Simple but tasty. I swear Sir Arthur must hire a cobbler and tell him to cook
old shoes.” He chewed for a while in silence, then reached for a second
helping.

As she added the garnishings to his plate she asked,
“Robert, where are we and why? Can you tell me? I mean, I know the name of the
town, but M’Guire couldn’t tell us anything else.”

His eyes lit, and he began to describe the battle of Roliça.
Esmeralda shook her head. “First tell me why your coat was all torn and your
breeches all stained.”