Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 8

It was remarkable how quickly one could be married when one was a cousin to the Bishop of London. They’d had to wait until quite late in the evening but William had been able to get the license with satisfactory swiftness.

From the time he had left her to the time he’d come back to collect her had been less than twelve hours and, in that time, he’d managed to acquire something just for her.

The coach rumbled to a halt before William’s townhome, the last vestiges of the summer sunset falling behind London’s ever present, smoke-tinged sky.

He glanced over at his wife.

Wife!

By God, he could scarcely believe it. Despite any reservations he might have held, in her presence now, he felt certain that he’d made the right decision.

Felicity was a beautiful and intelligent woman. A woman who would give him beautiful and intelligent children.

She’d been calm and capable during the hasty ceremony. Once again, she’d carried herself off with admirable aplomb as though their marriage had been planned from the cradle.

He quite liked that about her. There was no silliness to her. No fainting fits. No feminine alarm.

In many ways, she reminded him of a man.

Well, not too much like a man.

Her body was decidedly feminine but the way she looked at the world was so much more. He had a strong suspicion her father’s education had done that. And he found himself wondering if all ladies might be so much more if given the chance.

The coach door swung open and he jumped down then held his hand out for her.

She took it again, no wavering, and followed him out.

With little evidence of any nerves, she lifted her violet-blue gaze to his home. She smiled.

“You like it?” he asked, surprised to find that he cared.

She nodded. “Indeed, I do.”

It was, in fact, a palace that had been built some hundred years before. But many nobles these days were choosing modern new homes either in Regent’s Park or west towards Hyde Park.

He guided her up the steps and into the foyer.

The butler, Sims, waited for William’s things and he bowed, gaping slightly.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had not sent message to his mother or the servants what he had been up to this day.

In fact, he had left Felicity this morning in such an absorbed state that he had thought of nothing but her and his impending marriage all day.

Which was not like him at all. How had such a thing occurred?

Obsession was not a trait he was given to. But he had forgotten entirely about everything but her as he’d gotten the license and arranged for her gift.

When he had been home to change, his mother and sisters had been out.

He suddenly realized he might have made a very bad mistake.

William turned towards his bride who was beaming, ready to tell her that he had been foolish but then he recalled that his mother and sisters were out again. They had likely departed some time ago for the Countess of Wystead’s ball.

He drew in a deep breath, grateful that he had avoided a terribly awkward and possibly painful interchange.

He’d simply have to wait up and tell his mother about his marriage when she returned home, likely near dawn.

William suddenly felt a wave of relief, glad to have the house to himself and his new bride. He grinned and turned to the butler he’d known since his boyhood. “Sims, meet Lady Felicity, the Marchioness of Talbot.”

Sims who already seemed slightly off foot, turned positively slack-jawed before he coughed and bowed. “Welcome, my lady. It is an honor to welcome you.”

She smiled gently. “Thank you so much, Sims. I look forward to knowing you better and seeking your advice in the running of the household.”

Sims stood a little taller, clearly very pleased she’d thought ahead to their future relationship. “Of course, my lady. It will be my absolute pleasure.”

Having clearly conquered the old man, she nodded then proceeded towards the stairs. “I’m ready to retire. Are you, Husband?”

William stared at his wife, stunned by her self-assurance. “Yes. I am.”

She kept beaming.

William suddenly wished to see her beam like that every damn day for the rest of his life. “Is there anything you wish?”

She turned towards Sims. “Might we have wine and biscuits?”

“Of course,” Sims, replied as if he might be willing to go all the way to France to pick the grapes and make the wine himself which was saying something because Sims loathed Frogs.

With remarkable self-confidence, she started for the stairs.

William realized he was still planted, standing next to Sims. When she turned halfway up the stairs, her dark hair was haloed by candlelight.

She smiled slowly. “I do not know the way. Will you show me, Husband?”

For a solid moment, he lingered, transfixed by the sight of his very attractive, very clever wife, glancing down on him like a goddess giving her grace to mere mortals. Then he blinked, brought back to reality.

Such flights of fancy were not something he was given to. So, he drew in a breath and strode after her. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

When he met her on the stairs, she leaned in and whispered. “Nothing?”

He laughed. “Hyperbole, Marchioness. Hyperbole.”

And then to his furthering shock, he slipped his hand around hers and began to take her up the wide stairs and down the west hallway.

Night had long since fallen and with his sisters and mother gone, the house was silent.

As he savored the feeling of her small hand in his, it struck him that in all the years he had been a man, he had never held a woman’s hand as they walked.

He was a rake. He’d enjoyed the ladies. But he’d never done something so simple or so surprisingly intimate with a lady.

When they came to what would become her room, he turned the handle and entered.

Now, she was quiet. Her confidence seemed to waver ever so slightly as he took her towards the table beside the bed. A candle waited, unlit.

Loath though he was to do it, he let go of her hand and took up the flint and lit the wick. A small flame licked to life barely illuminating the large room. However, the soft light felt perfect. As if there was nothing else in the world but the two of them

He wanted her. He wanted her now. But he was not a beast.

He turned to her, cupped her chin with his hand and gazed down into her eyes.

There was no fear in her gaze, but at long last there was the first glimmer of her uncertainty.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he whispered.

She blinked, her long dark lashes two shadows against her pale skin before she drew in a shaking breath. “I wish to. I wish us to be man and wife.”

Of course.

Of course, she longed for surety in a space where everything must have seemed interminable to her.

There was a soft knock then the door swung open.

Ruth, one of the maids, entered bearing the light repast that Felicity had requested.

“Am I to stay and help my lady with her things?” Ruth asked.

“No, thank you,” Felicity replied softly. “Lord Marksborough can assist me.”

Ruth’s eyes rounded into twin saucers but then she put the tray down by the banked fire, curtsied and hurried out of the room.

“Oh dear,” his wife said softly. “I think I have shocked your maid.”

“She is your maid, too, and, to be frank, I think you shall be doing a great deal of shocking in the near future.”

Her eyes rounded. “Shall I?”

“Oh yes. We are quite boring here.”

“You?” Her brow furrowed. “Boring?”

“Well, I am typical if not boring.”

She grew quiet.

Wordlessly, he went to the tray and poured the wine. He offered her the plate of biscuits but she shook her head and, instead, took the glass.

“Should I try to be less shocking?” she asked quietly.

He replied honestly, “I don’t know.”

She nodded then sipped her wine.

“Felicity, I wish you to be happy.” He did. Oh, how he did. He barely knew her, but he knew that’s what he wished for her. Happiness.

“I will be,” she said confidently.

He wondered. He’d saved her from ruin but could he make her happy? Would being his wife be enough for the daughter of the greatest poet of their time?

“Come,” he said holding out his hand to her.

She floated towards him, her long skirts dancing about her legs.

She was an enigma, his new wife. For one moment she seemed afraid that her life had taken a strange turn and, in the next, she was as confident as a queen.

When she stood before him, he noted that she didn’t cast her gaze down but rather looked him squarely in the eye.

Many men would have found it disconcerting. He did not. He found it thrilling.

Had he found a mate who would truly be a mate? Someone who was his equal?

He shoved the strange thought aside. Whoever and whatever she was, she was his wife and that was all that mattered.

“You’re certain?” he asked. “I can wait.”

“I’m certain.”

So, he drew her to him slowly, circling her waist with his arms. Her light summer cloak was a barrier he suddenly loathed and, so, he slipped his hands up to her throat and pulled the silken tie.

The cloak whooshed to the floor.

She let out a soft breath in surprise.

“You are wearing too many clothes, Felicity.”

And to his delight, she shivered with anticipation under his touch.