Fortune's Bride (9 page)

He raised her hand and kissed it and then left the room.
Esmeralda did not permit herself to turn and watch him go out the door or to
touch with her other hand the spot he had kissed. Her chest was heaving with
sobs, but at the same time it was impossible not to laugh. Although Esmeralda
was certainly not experienced in dalliance, it occurred to her that no man who
was could possibly make so many stupid errors in dealing with a woman as Robert
did.

Suddenly Esmeralda sat down hard. Could it be true? Could
any man with a face and figure like Captain Moreton’s not be a practiced hand
with women? Odd pieces of evidence came together. Esmeralda knew Robert to be
kind. If he did not wish to marry until after he had sold out of the army, a
kind man who looked like Captain Moreton would avoid any except brief and
casual social associations with young unmarried women of his own class.

As abruptly as she had sat down, Esmeralda jumped to her
feet and began to pace the room, all sense of fatigue gone. If Captain
Moreton’s sole contact with gentlewomen was the kind one indulged in at balls
and with his sisters—she paused and bit her lip, thinking back on their
conversations, yes, the only women he had mentioned were his mother and
sisters—then the unflattering remarks he made were not at all surprising. Such
comments could not hurt a sister.

Esmeralda walked slowly toward the most comfortable chair,
her lips curving into a wry smile. If she had not been such an idiot as to fall
in love with the man least likely to be attracted to her, the remarks he made
would not have hurt her, either. She might, if she were a fool obsessed with
her own importance, have been offended at the clear and implied avowals that
she was a nuisance and a burden, but she could not have been hurt by them.
Sighing, Esmeralda leaned back and closed her eyes. She was very tired again.

It was dark in the room when a knocking on the door awakened
her. She jerked upright, uttering a low cry as her neck and back, stiffened by
sleeping in an awkward position, protested, and she looked wildly around,
totally disoriented. A second soft tapping brought her to her feet. No one
would tap on the door of the hut. The thought recalled the adventures of the day
to her, and she called “Enter” in Portuguese.

Two servants came in, one carrying a candle, the other
carrying a supper tray. There were apologies for not lighting the room earlier.
Captain Moreton had told them not to disturb her until suppertime unless she
rang for service. Esmeralda thanked them and agreed that supper should be set
on a small side table. Then she started toward the door to the bedchamber,
intending to wash her hands and face, but the servant who had carried the
candle held out to her a small parcel, saying that the captain had asked him to
give it to her. Esmeralda took it with a mechanical smile and hurried off to
the inner room. She was quite certain that Robert had changed his mind about
taking her with him and had sent her what money he could spare. She did not
want the servants to see her distress.

When she tore open the parcel and a hairbrush, comb, and
toothbrush tumbled out, she had to bite her lips hard to keep from either
laughing or crying aloud. How ridiculous to think so odd-shaped a parcel could
contain coin. And how clear a betrayal of her emotions that silly fear had
been. No matter what pain she would suffer in the end, there was nothing she
desired more than to marry Captain Moreton and travel south with him. But if
they were to be married—an odd warmth suffused her—she realized that she would
have to use his given name now. Robert…how nice it was to think of him as
Robert… Robert would have to call her Esmeralda, too.

She had been staring at the toilet articles without really
seeing them while these thoughts ran through her mind, but when she focused on
them, the realization of Robert’s consideration rushed upon her. Very few men
would have thought of her need. She had been so eager to leave the village, she
had taken with her only the clothing she was wearing. Tears stung her eyes. He
was the dearest, kindest man in the world. How unfortunate that he should be so
handsome. If only he had been ugly, there would have been a chance for her to
win his affection.

The hand Esmeralda had stretched out to touch Robert’s gifts
hung suspended as she considered her last thought. Was it utterly impossible
that Robert could come to care for her? He seemed far more irritated by his own
appearance than proud of it. Could it be possible that he was also annoyed or
embarrassed by the pursuit of women attracted by his looks? If so, would not
the presence of a wife be an advantage? Particularly a wife who would encourage
his dedication to his career and never interfere with him?

But
never interfere
could mean something quite
different from not making a fuss when one’s husband went into battle. Esmeralda
bit her lip again as fear washed over her, bringing a cold sweat out over her
body. Still, she knew she could look outwardly calm and smile and speak
cheerfully while she shook like a jelly inside. She had had plenty of practice
at that when she had done things of which, had he discovered them, her father
would have disapproved violently. And she was certain she would never show
hurt, nor, indeed, feel it, when Robert dined with his mess rather than with
her. But what if, protected by a plain wife for whom he did not care, he
developed a taste for pretty women?

Esmeralda looked down at the brush and comb, which she had
automatically laid on the mirrored dressing table. Robert was kind. He would
not flaunt his affairs in her face. If she did not look for trouble, she told
herself, she would not find it. But she would know. Esmeralda shuddered. Would
she be able to bear it, loving him as she did? Would it be more agonizing to
her to walk away from the marriage, as Robert now planned, or to try to induce
him to continue it, knowing he did not love her?

What devices Robert used to induce the bishop to direct his
priest to marry them, Esmeralda never discovered. However, she needed to
exercise considerable willpower to control a tendency to giggle all through the
service, since the poor priest was so plainly astonished at what he was doing.
Not that it took much that morning to make Esmeralda laugh. She had eaten her
supper and gone to bed in a very uncertain frame of mind and spirits, quite
unable to decide what she wanted. By the time she wakened in the morning,
however, her depression had evaporated with her fatigue.

It was dreadfully foolish, Esmeralda decided, to worry about
the future of her marriage as if planning in advance could help her direct that
future. In this case, where she knew so little really of the person with whom
she was involved and, in addition, had not the slightest notion of what would
occur, it was impossible to lay plans. A far more sensible line of procedure
would be simply to enjoy each moment as it came, without considering the future
at all.

To encourage this brighter viewpoint, a note from Robert
came up with Esmeralda’s breakfast tray, “having the pleasure and honor” to
inform her that the wedding was set for one o’clock that afternoon, and if
Esmeralda had no objection, he would do himself the honor of joining her for a
light luncheon at noon so he could escort her to the church. The formal tone
tickled Esmeralda’s fancy, but she realized she had no time to waste on
amusement and sent an urgent message to the dressmaker with the waiter who had
brought up the note.

By heroic efforts on both their parts, the morning dress was
ready by eleven. It was not what Esmeralda would have chosen as a wedding dress
under ordinary circumstances, but nothing else was available. The gown was made
of a soft silk crepe in a dull orange color, cut very low over the bosom, with
tiny puffed sleeves, and with the tight waist right under the breast. It was
fortunate that Esmeralda’s breast was very firm and not overlarge. Looking down
at herself, Esmeralda resolved not to take any deep breaths, lest she become
totally naked above the waistline. In addition, the soft silk clung to her body
in a rather startling manner.

As soon as she saw the dress, Esmeralda had been aware that
this might be true and had sent the dressmaker’s assistant to procure pantalets
and petticoats. Unfortunately, although several of each were available in
Esmeralda’s size, they were all of silk and, although they somewhat blurred the
lines of her body, only encouraged the dress to cling. The color, too, was
scarcely suitable to a wedding, but when Esmeralda looked in the mirror, her
spirits lifted.

The gown
did
become her. She had a fine figure, which
the dresses her father insisted on her wearing had deliberately obscured, the
color lent warmth to her complexion, making her skin look rich and velvety, and
it also seemed to brighten her eyes. Only her hair was wrong. The sun’s
bleaching had dulled its rich chestnut in irregular streaks, which were made
more apparent by the fact that it was drawn smoothly back into a heavy knot at
the nape. Esmeralda’s small, round chin became more prominent as a daring
notion came to her.

She dismissed the dressmaker with strict injunctions to
bring the riding dress to her room by dinnertime at the latest, even if it was
not completed. They would work on it all night if need be. Then, as soon as the
woman was gone, she slipped out of her dress, undid her hair, took a deep
breath, and seized a pair of scissors she had asked to borrow. Closing her eyes
momentarily and offering up a prayer, Esmeralda began to snip the hair
surrounding her face. Although she knew that some women cut their hair short
and realized that it would be much easier to care for that way, she did not
dare attempt the back. Besides, she was reluctant to sacrifice her heavy mane.

Fifteen minutes later, she gathered the cut strands from the
floor and dressing table, brushed short bits off her shoulders and breast, and
put on her new dress again. Then, taking a deep breath, she put up the long
hair in a high bun at the top of her head and attacked the short ends around her
face with dampened brush and comb. Finally she permitted herself to inspect the
result.

A long sigh eased out of Esmeralda. Her daring had not
utterly destroyed her. The trimming had not turned her into a beauty, Esmeralda
knew she would never be a beauty, but there was an improvement. She looked
fashionable. A smile of pleasure further illuminated her features, but she was
accustomed to her own expressions and did not realize the charm it added to her
appearance. Still, she felt satisfied and happy so that when Robert entered
less than half an hour later in full regimentals which she realized he had
donned in honor of the occasion, she greeted him with a glow of confidence.

His reaction was an additional delight, for he paused when
he saw her and almost seemed about to excuse himself for intruding on a
stranger. Then he grinned broadly. “That’s a bang-up dress, Miss Talbot,” he
said. “I hardly recognized you. I’m glad it was done in time. I’m a little
early, but I wanted to ask whether you would prefer to eat here or in the
dining room?”

“In the dining room, by all means,” Esmeralda replied. “I’m
rather tired of this apartment. Orange isn’t exactly the right color—”

“Why not?” Robert asked. “It certainly suits you.”

“Thank you,” Esmeralda said, her high spirits momentarily
checked by the realization of just how unreal the wedding was to him. Obviously
he did not associate her comment with the fact that young brides wore pale and
delicate colors. However, bubbles of mirth rose in her, and she said with abnormal
gravity, “But do you not think you had better call me Esmeralda now? You will
not be able to continue to call me Miss Talbot without arousing considerable
curiosity among your fellow officers, and it is our first purpose, is it not,
to avoid—”

Robert’s hearty laughter interrupted her. “You’re a bit of a
tease, aren’t you?” he asked with obvious enjoyment. “I was just about to
suggest that we do away with surnames. In case you don’t know, I’m Robert
Francis Edward—the Honorable Robert Francis Edward, second son of the Earl of
Moreton.”

Esmeralda’s big eyes opened wide. “No,” she gasped, “I
didn’t know, that is, I remembered that your name was Robert, but I had no
idea… Oh dear, whatever will your parents think of this escapade? Perhaps—”

“We aren’t going to tell them,” Robert said firmly, “but not
because they’d have any objections. Thing is, my rnother’d welcome you with
open arms. Very set on seeing me married, no matter how often I tell her that
it wouldn’t do at all for a military man to take a wife. Damned unfair thing to
do to a woman. Don’t think my father would mind, either After all, you’re a
gentlewoman. Nothing wrong with your family, even if…” He stopped abruptly.

“It’s all right,” she said a bit absently. “I don’t mind
that you think Papa was a queer nabs.”

“Speaking of your father,” Robert added, avoiding a direct
reply to Esmeralda’s rather unfilial statement, “I have obtained a certificate
of his decease and burial. I think you will need that.”

“Oh, thank you,” Esmeralda replied, accepting the folded
document Robert held out to her.

But her mind was not on what she was saying. Robert’s
statement about the unfairness of marriage for a man of his profession obscured
every other idea, even the essential subject of proving her father’s death so
she could obtain her inheritance. At the moment it was more important to her
that Robert’s stated feelings came very close to her own thoughts on the
subject and added considerable weight to her guess that his forthright remarks
were owing to a relative ignorance in the handling of women rather than any
intention of warning her off.

Even more interesting were his comments on his family’s
probable attitude to a sudden marriage under peculiar circumstances. He might
be mistaken, but even if he were, the revelation of a dowry of over five
hundred thousand pounds would, Esmeralda was cynically certain, reconcile the
Earl and Countess of Moreton to any slight irregularity in the marriage or the
background of the bride.

The information could not resolve the problem of how she
would feel about being married to a man who did not love her, however, the
implication that the Moretons were not so high in the instep that they would
add disdain to her problems or even attempt to dissolve the marriage increased
Esmeralda’s pleasure. She responded to another remark without being aware of
what she had said, until Robert opened the door and stood aside for her to
pass.

Having shepherded her down, seated her, and ascertained with
the utmost courtesy what she wished to eat, Robert suddenly seemed at a loss.
Esmeralda smiled as another piece of evidence was added to the growing record.
Plainly Robert had no small talk suitable for a woman who was not a relative.

“Is all your stock in as you expected?” she asked.

His face lighted. “Yes. They even managed to turn up about a
hundred and fifty horses, and there are over five hundred mules. On the other
hand, there are very few oxen.”

“I should think the mules would be better for military
purposes,” Esmeralda offered tentatively. “Oxen are dreadfully slow.”

“That’s true enough,” Robert replied, beaming with approval
and thinking that he had never come across so sensible a girl or one so easy to
talk to. “But any draft animals at all are precious. As it is, I’m afraid half
the guns will have to be left behind. It’s those damned Spaniards. Almost
everything they told us seems to have been a lie.”

“Are you permitted to tell me about it?” Esmeralda asked,
aware that she had made Robert comfortable and that he would remain comfortable
and eager to talk as long as he could stick to his favorite subject.

Esmeralda had not the smallest objection. In fact, she was
delighted that Robert was willing to discuss serious matters with a woman. Many
men were not, Esmeralda knew, and she had been worried about being bored if
Robert wanted to make the kind of conversation she had heard between young men
and young women at the houses of friends. Being Henry’s daughter had honed
Esmeralda’s mind, for what he said to her—although it was largely not addressed
to her personally, being letters or instructions he required her to write to
his bankers, agents, and customers—had given her a taste for exercising her
brain. That, plus the fact that she had rarely been an object of more than the
briefest civil attention, resulted in Esmeralda being no more accustomed to
small chitchat than Robert.

“God knows, it’s no military secret,” Robert said. “The
Spanish sent a mission to Britain in June to say that they had taken up arms
against the French and to appeal for aid from us. I believe the government was
given to understand that the Spanish army would push the French out, provided
they were able to obtain arms and money and a leavening of experienced troops.
The damned Spaniards said there would be no want of supplies or of horses and
draft animals if the British could pay for them. Well, when Sir Arthur arrived,
they wouldn’t permit the troops to land, and though they were glad enough to
take guns and money, they didn’t like to be asked what they intended to do with
them.”

“That does not seem very open behavior,” Esmeralda remarked
to show her interest and encourage him to continue.

“Open!” Robert exclaimed. “I said they were damned liars.
They told Sir Arthur that their General Blake had had a great victory, but it
turns out that Blake had been beaten to flinders. Heaven only knows what’s
going on in the rest of the country.”

“I hope you will find the Portuguese more honest,” Esmeralda
commented, frowning in thought.

Robert shrugged and mentioned the unwillingness of the
Portuguese to advance him credit or even change money, and Esmeralda spoke
soothingly of the fears they must have concerning the eventual outcome of the
present effort to drive out the French.

This made such good sense that Robert complimented her on
her perspicacity and went on to discuss methods for getting his cattle over the
awful roads in the shortest time and for arranging that they not starve along
the way. This led naturally to the question of the choice of a mount for
Esmeralda, which permitted her to ask if she could come with Robert when he
looked over the animals.

He agreed readily, even with pleasure, to this request and
said, “We can do it right after the wedding, if that will suit you,” and then
looked stricken.

“If you dislike it so much—” Esmeralda began, her voice
shaking.

“No, no, not at all,” Robert assured her “I just remembered
that I forgot to get a ring. I remembered about the saddle, and I even
remembered flowers—”

“Flowers?” Esmeralda repeated in amazement.

Robert flushed slightly. “I know it isn’t real, but…well, it
seemed wrong not to mark the occasion with some small observance. Why the devil
I didn’t think about the ring when I ordered the flowers, I don’t know.”

Esmeralda did not reply to that directly, only saying calmly
that they could no doubt find a shop that sold trinkets on their way to the
church, but she had to look down at her plate while she spoke to hide the mist
of tears that rose in her eyes. She understood Robert’s omission, even if he
himself did not. Flowers were a kindness, a small gift any man might give to
any woman on the slightest pretext. A wedding ring was a symbol of their union,
no matter how temporary.

However, once Robert took the plunge, he was generous about
it. He could not afford to buy Esmeralda a real ring since no jeweler would
take pounds for gold and gems, but he would not allow her to choose the
plainest and narrowest silver band, either. He searched through the stock of
the shop until he discovered a lovely filigree ring set with tiny semiprecious
stones.