Marjorie Farrell (11 page)

No, thought Arden, although you were happy enough to make fun of me. That flash of irritation broke whatever spell was falling over her: the food, the wine, the warmth of Gareth’s fingers on her arm and around her waist. How had he gotten his arm around her waist without her knowing? She pulled away, and walked up the stairs, while Gareth said his smiling good-nights to the landlord.

Arden had already taken refuge in her bedroom when Gareth reached the top of the stairs. She sat down on the edge of her bed and began to struggle with her dress to no avail. There were a few tapes she could not reach, and it seemed her choice was to sleep in her dress, ask the landlady or ask Gareth. She could not bear the idea of wearing the dress another whole day, and after Gareth’s foolishness, she could not speak to the landlady without insulting her. She would have to ask her husband.

When he opened the door this time, thank God he had only removed his coat and cravat. He looked at her, puzzled, and then asked with patently false humility, “Could it be that you have decided to make this a real wedding night?”

“No, I have not,” Arden declared flatly. “I cannot get out of my dress without help. Could you please untie me?” Arden turned her back before Gareth could see the blush rising to her face.

“Of course,” agreed Gareth. “I had forgotten you have been used to an abigail’s assistance. Let me see if I can find these tapes.” Arden’s hair was covering the back of her dress, and Gareth placed both hands under it in order to lift it away. He drew his fingers down and through her hair as though combing it out, with one hand, while the other cupped the back of her neck. Arden forgot everything as she relaxed into an almost hypnotic state which his touch created. No one had ever brought her to such a place. She was utterly in the moment, and would have been happy to let him touch her like that forever. Had Gareth pulled her gently backward into his room, she would surely have followed. Instead, he placed her gathered hair over her shoulder, untied the last two tapes and brought her back to herself with a slight tap on the shoulder.

It had taken all Gareth’s willpower not to continue combing Arden’s hair with his fingers, but she could not know that. He sounded utterly uncaring as he said jokingly, “There you are, all undone.” She reached back to hold her dress together and stalked off to her room after a muttered “Thank you.” She barely had the energy to hang her dress in the wardrobe before she fell into bed and immediately into a deep sleep.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, they headed north again. Arden had been rather surprised the first day that they had come so far west, but the reason soon became clear. Gareth had detoured so that they could change horses and have a light luncheon in Stratford and drive past the Forest of Arden.

“I could not resist it,” he said with a grin as Arden gazed out the window, half expecting to see Rosalind and Orlando. They spent the night in Coventry and in the morning Gareth took the time for them to tour the cathedral. Arden found herself moved in spite of herself; the sun shone through the windows in such a way that it looked as if they were made of jewels and not colored glass.

Coventry was the last big city they stopped in, however.

“I do not wish you to see York in one day. We shall come down again and spend a week exploring, but I wish to get home quickly, now that we’ve had a few leisurely days to get used to one another.”

And Arden had been lulled by the last few days. The inns Gareth had chosen had been comfortable and large enough to give them their own rooms. The food, so far, had been good and the countryside new to her, so that she had been lifted out of the blue-deviled mood of her wedding day.

Now, however, the countryside was changing, becoming wilder. The inn at Ruddington, which, while not luxurious, had been more than adequate, was not to be compared with the next evening’s hostelry. The Blue Boar at Thorne was cramped, and worst of all, had only one room for Mr. and Mrs. Richmond. Arden wondered why they had gone out of their way to stop there. She was beside herself, but could say nothing until they reached their accommodations, which seemed to be nothing but bad, since the room was so small.

“I will not share that bed with you,” she declared.

“That is a shame,” replied Gareth. “I am sure the floor will be uncomfortable and make you quite stiff.”

“Me on the floor?” sputtered Arden.

“Well, I have no problem with this bed, with or without you in it,” said Gareth, as he flopped back onto the mattress. “They gave us the largest bed they have, the landlord assured me.”

“But no gentleman would let a lady sleep on the floor.”

“Ah, but you have reminded me several times that I am no gentleman, just a rudesby ex-army man and sheep farmer,” replied Gareth in maddeningly even tones as he placed his hands behind his head and rested his boots on the bedstead.

“You are a a…ruffian, sir.”

“Come, come, nothing more original than that yet?” teased Gareth.

Arden sat down suddenly on the bed, her back bent and shoulders shaking.

“Come, come, my dear, you need not weep. I promised you that I would not force you. And after all, we had better get used to sharing a mattress, for at Richmond House there is only one room suitable for us.”

“I am not scared, sir,” replied Arden. “I weep out of anger, I assure you.” And indeed she was. Her inability to keep Gareth at a distance created by a witty or cutting phrase infuriated her. She felt defenseless with him, not because he was ever on the attack, but because he seemed almost indifferent. There was no way to wound him that she had found.

Gareth was anything but indifferent as Arden lay rigidly beside him that night. Here he was, the new Marquess of Thorne, only a few miles from his uncle’s, no,
his
estate, where they would have had hot baths and separate chambers and servants scurrying to do his bidding. And separate beds, so that he wouldn’t have been lying in this agony of desire. The more time he spent with his new wife, the more he wanted her, and the more he realized that his show of indifference was the only way to set about winning her. He wanted Arden to want the rudesby sheep farmer for himself, not for his new title. He felt more vulnerable in love than he had ever been in battle. It surprised him and it scared him. But he was a good strategist, and he knew this tactic was the right one: hide his heart until Arden discovered hers—if she had one at all.

* * * *

The next two nights were the same: small inns and shared beds. Arden thought she might go mad. There was no way to get away from Gareth: he was her husband, and the reality of marriage was beginning to sink in. She had not wanted marriage at all, but since her father had forced her into one, she thought, he could, at least, have contracted a more usual bargain.

She could have been living in London in an elegant town house in separate bedrooms mutually agreed upon. Her husband would have gone his way, she hers. Oh, she knew that eventually such a marriage of convenience would have been consummated, but she thought she could have dealt with her wifely duties, knowing they would be infrequent, especially once she conceived. This union with Gareth Richmond was more like a marriage of inconvenience. There would be no buffers that life in the city provided for an ill-suited pair. The countryside was becoming wilder and more desolate with every mile. She would be living with Gareth in the middle of nowhere. Living in enforced intimacy with a man she despised and one who didn’t give a fig for her, it was clear. Here he was, lying next to her night after night, and he had never touched her. Not that she wanted him to touch her, she reminded herself. She would kill him if he did…but he seemed affected by her proximity not at all. Perhaps he was not normal in some way, she wondered. Or was she so repulsive to him that he had no desire for her at all? And yet he had talked of attraction when he made his offer. Well, if that attraction was only a fiction, she should be, she was, grateful. For if everyday living was going to be hard, it would be torture to be with someone who wanted her and might eventually force her. Their mutual indifference, she supposed, would make their marriage easier.

Their last night on the road was spent at Harrogate, for Gareth did not want to arrive in Sedbusk late at night and exhausted from another day in the chaise. He wanted to do the last thirty miles slowly—would have to, due to the roads—so that Arden would be able to drink in the beauty of Wensleydale.

Unfortunately, the next morning the sky was a uniform, leaden gray, with no promise of anything but rain. There was no wind to separate the sky into clouds, no indication that they would benefit from the changeableness of English weather. And no chance that the picnic luncheon Gareth had ordered for them would be eaten anywhere but in the confines of the chaise.

The rain began around ten, after they had been on their way about an hour. The road turned to mud, and the going was very slow. The closer Gareth brought Arden to her new home, the farther away she seemed to be. She gazed out the window expressionlessly, hardly registering what little she could see of the landscape. She had the impression they were entering a long valley, with treeless fields rising up on either side of them. The fields were very evenly crisscrossed by stone walls and every now and then, where the walls intersected, would be a stone barn. And less frequently, a single tree. She saw nothing else. Presumably people and animals lived here, but nothing moved except the rain, which came down steadily.

Despite their lack of exercise over the past week, or perhaps because of it, Arden and Gareth devoured the sandwiches and fruit the last innkeeper had packed for them. It was chilly inside the chaise, and Gareth wished there were someplace to stop for a hot cup of tea, since the bottles of cider he’d bought were more appropriate for an outdoor picnic. And awhile later, when he heard the groom curse and felt the chaise suddenly stop, he wished they had kept to the toll road instead of heading into the dale at Ripon. He knew they were but a few miles from Hawes, but he also knew there was nothing along the road between them and the town.

Arden, who had dozed off after lunch, sat up at the sudden cessation of movement.

“Are we arrived?” she asked, beginning to straighten her hair and dress.

“I’m afraid not,” replied Gareth. “We are several miles from Hawes still, and that is a mile away from Sedbusk and Richmond House. Let me find out what has happened.”

What had happened is that their horse had slipped in the mud and stones of the road and lamed himself. Someone was going to have to walk for help, and someone stay behind with the vehicle. Gareth opened the chaise door and gave Arden the choices.

“I will not leave you alone, Arden, so either you and I sit here together, or we walk to get help and leave the groom behind. I give you the choice.”

Arden didn’t want to do anything. She couldn’t imagine sitting for hours in the rain with Gareth, nor getting out and walking several miles in this awful weather. What she really wanted was just to be home in Sussex, where there were houses and people and one would not have to walk for miles to find help. But walking would at least make her feel like she was getting somewhere, and movement felt better than sitting still.

“I am no great walker, Captain Richmond, since I never walk when I can ride, but I fear I would feel too confined here. How long will it take us to get to a town?”

“In good weather, three miles should not take longer than a little over an hour. In this mud, it could take two.”

“Well, let us get started, then,” said Arden with a sudden surge of energy.

* * * *

After twenty minutes on the road, however, she was wishing she had stayed in the chaise. The rain, though not hard, was steady, and they were both soaked within minutes. She couldn’t look around, because the road was so slippery and treacherous, so she trudged along behind Gareth, her eyes on the mud and stones in front of her. Her half boots were next to useless as protection, since the mud was ankle deep. She had never minded being out in the rain on a horse, for she was used to riding in all weather. But she most certainly did not like walking in the rain. Her traveling dress clung to her legs, and that and the ruts and puddles in the road combined to slow her down and make her stumble a few times. On the last stumble, she fell with a splash into what she immediately realized from the smell was not just mud, but a combination of puddle and cowpat.

Gareth turned at the sound and had a hard time keeping his face straight at the sight of the regal Lady Arden sitting on the side of a Yorkshire road, dripping wet from the rain and covered on one side with mud and cow manure. He reached out his hand to help her up, but she pushed him away, saying she would get up by herself, thank you.

“Why don’t you hold onto my arm for the rest of the way? Then we can hold each other up,” offered Gareth.

Arden was about to refuse, but could see the sense of his suggestion, and also the opportunity for revenge on this awful man who was probably used to rolling in mud and muck. She deliberately moved over to his left side so he would be forced to take her right arm, which was now filthy from trying to brush off her dress. Let some of it rub off on him, she thought. Now that she was less likely to stumble, she lengthened her stride to match his, and they walked on for twenty minutes or so, if not companionably, at least pleased with their progress and each secretly relishing, for different reasons, Arden’s arm clinging to Gareth’s.

They passed one farmhouse on the way, and Arden expected Gareth to stop, but they continued walking until they came to the small bridge over the River Ure which led into town.

“If we turn right here, we will be in Hawes and can send some help back from the tavern. If we turn left, we are another half-mile from Sedbusk, where I can leave you to get dry and warm. If you come with me into town, I won’t feel I’m deserting you at the house, but the choice is yours.”

“I do not wish to go near the town looking and smelling like this, Captain. Let us go to the house. I am perfectly capable of spending my first hour there alone.”