The Earl's Untouched Bride (11 page)

Charles hardly dared breathe until the last rope was cast off and the ship began to slide out of the harbour. She had not made a last desperate bid for freedom. Even when the coast of France was no more than a smudge on the horizon, she remained resolutely belowdecks.

Avoiding him.

He paced restlessly, heedless of the spray which repeatedly scoured the decks.

His conscience was clear. After a night spent wrestling with it, he had deliberately given her several opportunities to give him the slip during the day. Why had she not taken them? She was not staying with him because she was avaricious, nor was she all that impressed by his title.

The only thing that might explain her resolute determination to stick to their bargain was the fact she had given her word. Did it mean so much to her? He pictured her eyes, burning with zeal when she had promised to be the best wife she knew how to be, and accepted that it must.

It was a novel concept, to link a woman with integrity. But then Heloise, he was beginning to see, was not like any woman he had ever known.

Below decks, Heloise groaned, wishing she could die. Then he would be sorry. She whimpered, reaching for the conveniently positioned bucket yet again. Or would he? No, he would probably just shrug one shoulder and declare that it was a great pity, but after all he could always marry someone else. It was not as though he cared for her
—
no, not one jot. How could he, to leave her to endure such suffering alone?

Not that she wanted him to see her in such a demeaning state, she amended, heaving into the bucket for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Oh, when would this nightmare be over? How long before she could leave this foul-smelling cupboard and breathe fresh air again?

Never, she realised, after an eternity had rolled and pitched relentlessly past. Though she could hear the sounds of the hull grating against the dock, of officers shouting commands and sailors running to obey, she was too weak to so much as lift her head from the coarse cotton pillow.

'Come, now, my lady,' she heard her husband's voice say, none too patiently. 'We have docked. It is high time to disembark
—
Good God!'

The evidence of Heloise's violent seasickness finally caught his eyes.

'Go away,' she managed resentfully when he approached the bunk, stern purpose in his eyes. He was a brute to insist she get up and move. Later, once the ship had remained steady for several hours, she might regain the strength to crawl. 'Leave me here to die,' she moaned.

'Nobody has ever yet died of seasickness,' he said briskly, swinging her into his arms. It was amazing how cheerful he felt to discover it was seasickness which had kept her belowdecks, when he had been imagining her lying there weeping for her lost freedom. 'I know it must have been unpleasant for you, but you will be right as a trivet once you get upon dry land.'

'Unpleasant?' she protested. 'I have never suffered anything so horrid. How could you be so cruel as to force me to go to sea in a storm? I think
—
' she hiccupped down a sob '
—
that I hate you.'

'I am sure you don't mean that,' he reproved her mildly. Although he wasn't at all convinced. 'Besides, the sea was scarcely more than a bit choppy.' He consoled himself with the reflection that, even if she did hate him, nothing but the direst distress would ever induce her to endure another sea voyage.

He had planned to push on to London straight away, but he could not force Heloise to travel in her weakened state. He told the coachman to stop at the first hotel that could offer a suite of rooms.

He left her to herself for as long as he could. But when night fell concern for her had him knocking on her door and marching in before she had time to deny him admittance.

She was sitting up in bed, looking much better. Indeed, the nearer he got to the bed, the rosier her cheeks grew...

He checked in the middle of the room, biting down on a feeling of irritation. Did she think he was crass enough to insist on his marital rights, after she had been so ill? But before he could begin to defend himself Heloise blurted out, 'Oh, I am so sorry, Charles, about what I said.'

'What exactly that you said are you apologising for?' He frowned, drawing a chair to her bedside and settling himself on it.

'For saying that I hate you! I thought you meant to force me to walk off that ship and try to behave like a lady, when all I wished to do was die. I never guessed you were going to pick me up and carry me. And I had spent the entire voyage cursing you, so it was hard to get myself out of thinking that everything was entirely your fault. Indeed, at that precise moment I think I did hate you. But of course now I have calmed down I fully accept it is not your fault that I have seasickness. And you weren't at all cruel to force me to go on that ship. It would only have been cruel if you had known how ill I would be
—
and how could you, when I never knew myself? For I have never been on a ship before!'

'Nor will you ever set foot on one again,' he said with determination.

She shuddered. 'Indeed not.'

He paused. 'You know, of course, that means you can never return to France.'

They eyed each other warily as the import of his remark sank in, each convinced the other must regret this truth, and each equally determined to conceal their hurts.

It was Charles who ended the impasse, by leaning back, crossing one leg over the other, and declaring, 'Since you do not hate me at this precise moment, perhaps this would be a good time to discuss our mode of life together?'

Recalling the way he had indicated he wished her to keep herself amused, and not interfere with his no doubt hectic social life, Heloise forced herself to nod, waiting to hear what further layers of humiliation he meant to heap on her.

'I don't wish to raise any speculation about my marriage by appearing to pack you off to the country as though I did not like you.' She would have to live with him in London, just to begin with, to prevent any speculation regarding their union. Not that he cared what people said about him. But he did not want her exposed to the sort of malicious gossip that was bound to hurt her. 'The season has not yet properly begun, but that will give you time to procure a suitable wardrobe and settle into your new role. I expect it will take you some time to find your feet, socially speaking, but until you have acquired your own circle of acquaintance I will ensure you always have a trustworthy escort to any event you may wish to attend.

'Naturally, I do not expect you to understand the British political system. All I expect from you is to be charming to those I introduce as my political allies, and reserved towards my opponents. Even though you may not like them, I shall expect you to be hospitable to the more important party members to whom I shall make you known, and their wives when I have occasion to invite them to any of my homes. Do not worry, however, that I shall expect much of you as a hostess. I have excellent staff running all my properties, and a sterling secretary to whom you may apply, should you find yourself floundering in the political shoals.'

Heloise listened to that patronising little speech with growing indignation. If it would not give rise to the very speculation he wished to avoid, he would as soon pack her off to one of his country houses. Her poor little brain was no match for the intricacies of the English political system. She was not to interfere in the management of any of his households, which were all running exactly as he wished. And if she had any questions, he wished her to apply to his secretary rather than bother him!

'Heloise?' he prompted, when she had been sitting in simmering silence for several minutes. He sighed. She clearly felt overwhelmed by the idea of being a leading figure in society. 'You must tell me if there are any gaps in your education which may cause you difficulties.' He had no intention of throwing her in at the deep end and letting her sink or swim as best she could.

'G...gaps?' she gasped, flashing him a look so indignant even he could not misinterpret it.

'Don't fly into the boughs with me,' he retorted, annoyed that she should cling to her hostility when he was doing all in his power to smooth her entry into society. 'If you cannot dance then I need to know, so that I may engage a dancing master for you. If you cannot ride then there is no point in me acquiring a horse for you to show off its paces in the park. I would instead purchase a barouche, or landaulet, and employ extra grooms to take you about.'

Her cheeks flushing, she hung her head. 'I beg your pardon, my lord,' she said, as humbly as she could. She had to admit he was trying to make the best of a bad job. He was prepared to employ as many staff as it would take to ensure she would be able to carry off the role he expected her to play. Just so long as he didn't have to be personally involved.

'I have learned to dance,' she flashed at him. 'Though you probably never saw me stand up whenever we went to balls in Paris. For not many men have ever asked me to dance, and when I was with you it was in the role of chaperon, so it was not at all appropriate. As for the horse, it is true that I cannot ride.'

'Should you like to learn?'

'Do you wish me to?'

'I should never object to any activity which would give you pleasure, Heloise,' he said wearily. It was clear that he was not going to win his wife's trust overnight. And her mention of how he had neglected her, whilst showering attentions on her sister, reminded him she had a deep well of resentment from which to draw. 'I bid you goodnight.'

He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and retreated before things deteriorated any further. She might declare she did not hate him, but she had withdrawn sufficiently to start calling him 'my lord' again.

All he could do was keep sufficient distance for her to forget to regard him as a tyrant, whilst maintaining a watchful eye on her. She would learn, eventually, that she could trust him.

Wouldn't she?

London was not at all like Paris. The streets and squares through which their carriage passed were so clean and orderly, giving an overall air of prosperity. She frowned. Although perhaps it was just that her husband inhabited one of the better areas. This, she surmised as the carriage drew to a halt outside an imposing mansion, whose doorway was flanked by two massive pillars supporting a portico, was probably the equivalent of the 'court' end of Paris. There were probably overcrowded and dirty alleys somewhere. It was just that as an English countes she would never set foot in them.

A footman dressed in blue and silver livery handed her from the coach, and she entered her new home on her husband's arm. Oblivious to the interested stares of the servants who had gathered to greet their new mistress, Heloise gazed in awe at the lofty dimensions of the hall. A marble staircase swept upwards, branching at a half-landing to serve the two wings of the first storey, then continued up by several more flights, as far as she could see. Light flooded in through a domed skylight at the very top. Walton House reminded her of one of the better hotels in Paris, though it was shocking to think one man lived here alone. In Paris, a house like this would be divided into several apartments, which would be leased to tourists to provide an income for the impoverished nobles who clung to the upper floors.

An upper servant approached, bowing. 'Begging your pardon, my lord, but Captain Fawley has requested the honour of making the acquaintance of your Countess.'

'Has he, indeed?' Handing over his gloves and hat, Charles wondered what new start this might be. 'How does the Captain fare today?'

'Restless, my lord,' the footman replied, wooden-faced.

'My lady,' Charles said to Heloise, placing his hand under her elbow. 'A word in private, if you please?'

Drawing her into a little ante-room, he shut the door to ensure total privacy. 'I have little time to explain, but I would request a further favour of you. I had planned on sparing you the worst of Captain Fawley's temper, but on this one occasion I would ask that you bear me company and back me up in whatever I say. Can you do that for me?'

'This Captain Fawley...he is the man you wished me not to meet, who lives here with you?'

'I have no time to explain it all, but the salient facts are these: Captain Fawley is my brother. He hates me. He hates the fact that since he was invalided out of the army he has been forced to depend on me. I fear he will use your presence in my life as an excuse to try to strike out on his own. He must not do so, Heloise.'

He took her by the shoulders, his eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before. 'He must stay in Walton House!'

'Of course I will do whatever it takes to prevent him from leaving, if that is your wish,' she replied, though it all seemed very strange to her. Whatever could have gone wrong between them? Was this to do with the rift Charles had referred to before, with certain of his family?

'Robert
—
that is Captain Fawley
—
occupies a suite of rooms at the rear of the house, on the ground floor,' he explained as he steered her out of the little ante-room and across the hall. 'His condition when I first brought him back from the Peninsula made it imperative that he not have to attempt stairs. Also, I had hoped that installing him in these particular rooms would encourage him to make free of the place. They have a private entrance, leading to the mews, which would have made it easy for him to come and go as he pleased.'