The First Snowdrop

Chapter 4

Viscount Merrick and his bride arrived at Red-lands at dusk. They were quite unexpected. The butler, Dodd, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Rush, always ran a strict establishment. No holland covers over the furniture in the best rooms for them. The servants were kept as busy when the master was from home as they were when he was in residence. The house was kept as immaculately clean. But it was a shabby house. The viscount had never made it a principal residence and had never taken any great interest in its decoration or upkeep. The gardens, similarly, were kept neat around the house by a hardworking gardener, but no one had ever taken the initiative to make anything beautiful of the extensive grounds.

When a dilapidated carriage was seen, then, by a groom, to be driving toward the house, and when the master himself was seen to alight and to turn to help a lady to descend, there was considerable excitement and curiosity, but no panic. Dodd pulled at his waistcoat to make sure that it was free of creases, and smoothed back the little hair that remained to him. Mrs. Rush shook out her white apron and inspected it quickly for spots. She ran her hands around the lacy brim of her cap to make sure that it was straight on her head. Both were standing in the hallway, flanked by the marble busts that had been painstakingly collected by the former viscount, when a footman finally opened the door to the travelers. Dodd bowed stiffly from the waist; Mrs. Rush curtsied, her lined face wreathed in a smile of greeting.

"Welcome home, my lord," Dodd said in his most stately fashion.

"Such weather, my lord," Mrs. Rush added. "We must be thankful to the good Lord for bringing you safely here."

Both glanced curiously at Anne.

"May I present my wife, the viscountess?" Merrick said, and watched with unsmiling eyes the quickly concealed amazement of the two elderly and faithful servants. He must become accustomed to such reactions, especially from those who would see her. Fortunately for himself, he did not intend that many people would do so-for the present, at least.

Mrs. Rush jumped into action. "You will be cold and tired, my lady," she said. "Come to the drawing room. There is always a fire in there from early afternoon. I shall have a tray of tea brought up to you at once. You must be longing for one. I shall have your bedchamber made up immediately and some nice hot bricks put between the sheets." She was already bustling up the wide curved staircase ahead of her new mistress, while Merrick lingered in the hall to give some instructions to Dodd and to see that his wife's boxes were removed from the carriage and carried upstairs.

Anne was feeling tired and bewildered. The journey had been a tedious one. They had made only one brief stop for a change of horses. Although she had had tea, she had not been invited to alight from the carriage. The refreshments had been brought out to the carriage for her. The atmosphere had not improved as the day advanced. Her husband had remained silent. She did not believe that they had exchanged ten sentences during the whole journey. It was puzzling and hurtful. She knew that she should have said something, asked him what was the matter. She should have done so before the wedding ceremony, in fact. There was certainly something very strange about his attitude. But she had not done so. She was far too timid. It was very easy in her mind to be positive, to take the initiative. In real life she allowed herself to be swept along by the plans of other people.

Now she found herself in the very uncomfortable position of being in a strange house, of which she supposed she was now mistress, with a strange man who was her husband but whom she knew not at all. And she had the growing suspicion that he did not really welcome her presence. However, as she followed the housekeeper up the stairs and along the hallway to a warm and large drawing room, she felt a measure of comfort. Mrs. Rush was friendly and seemed genuinely concerned for her comfort. She chattered constantly as she walked. Anne smiled with gratitude as she allowed her gray cloak and bonnet to be removed and a chair to be drawn closer to the dancing flames of the fire. It seemed to be years since anyone had fussed over her. Their servants at home had been chosen by Bruce and generally had his own sternness of manner.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rush," she said. "I have never been so glad in my life to see a fire. All I need to complete my happiness is a cup of tea."

The housekeeper smiled back. "I shall have a whole pot sent up right away, my lady," she said, "and a plate of currant cakes that Cook made fresh this afternoon. It was almost as if she knew you were coming."

She bustled from the room and soon had the cook and two chambermaids rushing around to produce the promised refreshments without delay. All the while, she gave it as her opinion that the master had chosen himself a very good sort of a girl for a bride. Not one of your grand ladies that was all frills and curls and never a sensible or a kindly thought in her mind. "Though I was never more surprised in my life," she added. "I always expected that his lordship would marry a beauty. In fact, it has been rumored that he was about to get himself betrothed to a marquess's daughter. I can't think why he has suddenly gone and got himself wed to someone we have never heard of. She has only two trunks, too, and no maid. But a very sweet lady, if my judgment is correct."

No one suggested that perhaps it was not. Mrs. Rush's word and her opinion were law belowstairs at Redlands. Only Dodd would ever have dared to dispute any of her pronouncements, and fortunately for the peace of the house, these two leaders of the household almost invariably agreed on all major topics. Thus it was that Anne Stewart, Viscountess of Merrick, was favorably received by the servants of her new home, at least.

She was unaware of this, however, having felt only the early kindliness of Mrs. Rush. She drank her tea and ate her cakes alone in the drawing room, gazing around her almost timidly, as if she were spying into a place where she had no business to be. Her mind registered the largeness and airiness of the room, which was somewhat spoiled by the shabbiness of wall tapestries that had been bleached by the sunlight of most of their color, of carpets that were worn in the places where they were most trodden and therefore most exposed to view, and of furniture that was heavy and inelegant. Strangely, it was a cosy room, but she felt strongly that it must be a long time since anyone had taken any real pride in the appearance of the house. The fact surprised her. Even in the gathering dusk, she had been able to see as they had approached the house that it was far more magnificent and the grounds far more extensive than even she had pictured them in her imagination.

She did not know what to do when her second cup of tea was finished and still she was alone. She began to have painful visions of being forgotten there and of finally having to make up her mind to leave the room and find out where she was to go next. It was with great relief that she turned to the opening door and saw Mrs. Rush bustle in again.

"If you are warm and ready to leave the fire, my lady," she said, "I shall show you to your chamber. You need not fear that it will be unaired. I always see to it that there is a fire in the room twice a week and that bricks are put into the bed just as often. You will find a cheerful fire there now, and Bella has unpacked your boxes already and had everything put away for you. She will be your maid until you wish to make other arrangements. His lordship says that will be suitable, and I am sure that you will, like Bella. She dresses a head better than any ladies' maid I know, and she is a very cheerful sort of a girl. She does not talk your head off when you are trying to think of other things, like some servants I could name."

Anne smiled and allowed herself to be led away and to be fussed. It was from the housekeeper that she learned that dinner would be served at eight, and that presumably she would see her husband again that night. She had begun to wonder. Certainly it was proving to be a far stranger wedding day than she had ever imagined. Even during the past two days, when the viscount had been so silent, she had imagined that everything would be well once they were married and alone. She had conceded that he was in a very awkward position, living in a house that was not his own, constantly in the presence of her brother whenever he came indoors. He would be smiling and charming once more after their wedding, she had thought, and would show once again that he appreciated her as a woman. But she still waited.

The meal proved to be as painful as the journey earlier in the day had been. They sat in a very formal dining room at a table that would have seated twenty quite comfortably. Merrick sat at one end, Anne at the other. Even if they had wished to converse, they would have had to raise their voices to an unnatural pitch. But they exchanged hardly a word. Anne was constantly aware of the butler and a single footman almost ceaselessly walking between them bearing bowls and tureens, removing dishes of food that had hardly been touched. She looked anxiously down the table when the last course had been carried away. Did he expect her now to leave him alone with his port? Fortunately, Merrick picked up his cue on this occasion.

"I have given instructions that the fire in the drawing room need not be built up," he said. "I assume you are tired after our long journey?"

"Yes, my lord," she agreed. "I shall be glad to retire early to bed." And she blushed as she said the words. Was this part of the wedding day, at least, to be normal? Was there to be a wedding night? She noticed with sudden clarity his extreme handsomeness. He was no longer in the expensive but severe riding clothes that he had worn for the last several days, including his wedding, but in a russet satin coat over a gold brocade waistcoat and crisp white shirt with an elaborately tied neckcloth. His near-black hair was freshly washed and was brushed back in thick, soft waves from his face. The severity of his expression merely served to emphasize his quite devastating good looks.

She was equally aware of her own appearance. She wore a silk dress of olive green, her best, but she knew that its high neckline and natural waistline were not fashionable. And the plainness of the design served only to emphasize her unflattering plumpness. She was aware of her hair, which Bella had tried valiantly to coax into feminine ringlets, but which looked far too young with her round face. She felt hopelessly inferior.

"I shall follow you up in a short while," Merrick said stiffly, answering one of Anne's questions, at least. She left the room, hoping that her blush was not as obvious to the eye as it felt.

Merrick lifted to his lips the glass of port that Dodd had just filled for him, and stared ahead. It was far worse than he had expected. He could not understand now why he had allowed it all to happen. He should have made a firm stand right from the start. Bruce Parrish and the Reverend Honeywell should have been made to understand that Anne had extended only a very necessary hospitality to him on the night of the storm, that his very survival had depended on his staying there at the house. It had been quite ridiculous to claim that honor demanded that they marry. He should have pointed out to them in no uncertain terms that he was already betrothed, that he could not change the course of his whole life just to suit their strange notions of propriety. Miss Parrish's reputation need not be tarnished, anyway, if they chose to say nothing of the matter. No one knew of it except the four of them.

Instead, he had allowed himself to be manipulated by them just as if he had no will of his own. He found it difficult to understand himself. He was usually a leader, not a follower. He had never thought of himself as having a weak will. The worst of it was that he was more than ever convinced that he had been used very cleverly by Anne herself. His wife! She was so quiet, so timid. He had found annoyance growing against her all day. It was all so artificial. She was a clever little schemer, he was convinced, a woman quite capable of getting what she wanted without having any good looks or character with which to do so. He had waited all day for her to show her true self. Sitting beside her in the carriage, he had waited for her to begin to talk, to show her satisfaction in what she had achieved. He had waited for her triumphant reaction to the house, which was one of the most imposing in the country, though he had to admit that it was somewhat shabby.

The fact that she still persisted in the timid, innocent behavior that she had shown from the beginning only served to make him more irritated. This woman was his wife, yet she had never shown anything of her true self to him. This was his wedding night. Merrick gritted his teeth and motioned to Dodd to refill his glass. He hastily tried to drown out images of Lorraine as he had imagined her on such an occasion. He had not sent word to her or to anyone of the change in his state. He did not know how he was going to do so.

But he did know that he could not stay here. Redlands had never been a home to him. It had been his since the death of his father, but because he had been an infant at the time, he had been taken to live with his grandparents, visiting his own home only on rare occasions. By the time he grew up, the place had grown to look sadly neglected, and his own youthful tastes had run to more social pleasures than the country estate could supply. Under ordinary circumstances he would not have dreamed of bringing his bride here. It was not his idea of an ideal site for a honeymoon. He would not be able to face living here for any length of time.

At the same time, he could not face taking his wife to London. The Season would not begin for a few months yet, but the capital was crowded enough already now that winter had come. He would have to take her to numerous social activities, introduce her to the ton. His friends would see her. She would meet Lorraine and her parents. No, it was quite impossible. How could he bear to see the surprise and derision in everyone's eyes when they learned that he had wed in such haste a girl whom he would not normally afford a second glance? How could he bear to see her next to Lorraine and be painfully reminded of what he had lost? The contrast between them would be almost laughable: Lorraine tall and slim, exquisitely dressed, beautiful, while Anne was small and plump, dowdily clothed, and quite plain.

Merrick decided as he sat there that he would return to London alone the next day. The decision had really been made a few days before, but now he made the conscious choice. His wife would stay at Redlands. Who would blame him? It was quite common for wives to be left in the country while husbands lived in London. The house was quite comfortable and well-run. He would make her a generous allowance. She had achieved what she wanted. She had his name and his title, and was assured of a comfortably secure future. That had been her goal, Merrick was convinced. He had learned in the few days he had spent at her brother's home that they were impoverished. If only he had traveled one day later, they would not even have been in the area but at a village thirty miles distant, where his wife's brother had taken up a position as a schoolmaster. If only he had listened to Horace!

Merrick twirled his empty glass in his hand and resisted the idea of motioning to Dodd again. This was his wedding night and tomorrow he would be gone. The marriage must be consummated. He could not have the girl writing to her brother or to that vicar complaining that she had been cheated, that hers was no proper marriage. Distasteful as the idea was, he must go to her. And, since go he must, there was nothing to be gained from delay. He put the glass down on the table and pushed himself to his feet.

Anne was standing beside the high bed when Merrick entered the room from the dressing room that joined their two rooms. She was looping back the heavy blue curtains that surrounded the bed, looking timid and hesitant, as if she did not know whether she should climb into the bed or not. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his hand on the knob, taking in with some distaste her most unbride-like appearance. She wore a long and loose nightgown of white flannel, quite unadorned. It hung shapeless around her plump figure. She wore no nightcap; her hair had been brushed loose about her shoulders. It framed a round and anxious face that appeared far too childish for her years. She was two-and-twenty, her brother had informed him. Merrick closed the door quietly behind him.

"I expected to find you abed already," he said as he approached her.

"No," she said. "I have been trying to pull back these curtains. I suffer from fear of suffocation when I am enclosed in too small a space, my lord."

"Then you must instruct Mrs. Rush to remove them altogether tomorrow," Merrick said, and put back with one hand the hair that hung over one of her shoulders. His knuckles brushed the nape of her neck.

"I would not wish to appear too demanding so soon," Anne said breathlessly, hardly aware of what she said. His lips were against the hollow between her shoulder and neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"Nonsense," he said. "You are mistress here now, as I am sure you fully realize. You must begin your relations with the servants as you mean to go on."

His hands moved to her breasts as he looked down into her upturned and dazed face. They were as firm and as feminine as they had felt during the light, exploratory touch he had permitted himself just a few nights previously. Merrick half-smiled down at his bride. He wanted to humiliate, even hurt her. She had schemed to acquire him as a husband. Let her take the consequences, find that she had a husband who would not be content with a discreet exercise of his rights. He lowered his head to hers, took her mouth beneath his parted lips, and nibbled lightly at her lips until they relaxed.

This time he found that his probing tongue met no resistance. He ravished her mouth, one hand spread firmly behind her head. His other hand still fondled one breast, teasing the nipple erect, reaching to undo the buttons that held her nightgown primly closed to the neck. He was hardly aware of the fact that her passivity was gradually melting, that her head angled against his own and her mouth opened wide to his invasion, that her shoulder shrugged aside the nightgown to assist his pushing hand, that her body, naked from the waist up, molded itself eagerly against the brocade of his dressing gown. He was too much involved in the desire that had swept over him in a flood and that made him forget for the time all else except that he held a woman whom he wanted with a passion that was not to be denied. He turned her in his arms and tumbled her to the bed.

Anne reached out for him in bewilderment, feeling bereft. But he had not left her. He was merely shrugging out of his dressing gown and pulling off his nightshirt. She gazed at him through passion-heavy eyes, quite unembarrassed, aware only of male beauty and of the blood that was hammering through her veins and against her temples. She did not for a moment think of covering her nakedness, but instead lifted her hips when he reached down to remove the nightgown that still clung around her. He did not extinguish the candles before coming down on top of her on the bed.

Dreams could never begin to capture the wonder of it all: his long-fingered hands exploring and caressing, finding out unerringly the places that made her ache with longing; his mouth and tongue, which claimed her own and that left hot trails of desire along her throat and on her breasts; his body, so warm and firm and heavy on her own; and his legs, which pushed firmly between her own. And then the moment of entry, so often imagined with terror, so wonderful beyond imagining. She was quite unaware of pain, all her desire culminating in the blazing shock of invasion.

She felt no reluctance. Anne knew in that moment that she loved her husband with all her being, with all the feelings that had been frozen inside her since the death of Dennis. She opened herself to him, lifted her legs from the bed so that he might thrust more deeply into her, and wrapped her arms around the firm muscles of his shoulders and back. She shuddered against him and stifled her cry of fulfillment against his shoulder moments before his full weight pressed her into the bed as he pushed himself deep inside her and gradually relaxed.

Anne was the first to recover conscious thought. Her husband was still lying heavily on top of her. His weight made it difficult for her to breathe freely. But she lay very still, staring up at the shadows cast on the canopy of the bed by the candles. She did not want to move, did not want him to stir. It was a more wonderful wedding night than any she could have dreamed for herself. All was well. The unease she had felt for the last few days and during this day had been unnecessary. He had just proved to her that he desired her, that he wanted her as a wife. She could not feel more beautiful if she had all the most lovely clothes in the world and the most sylphlike figure. He had made her beautiful with his hands and his lips and his body. He had worshiped her. She was filled with wonder. She did not know why it was so. She was not beautiful and he was. It was impossible to imagine a man who could be more so. But somehow it had happened. He had seen beyond the outer appearance to the Anne beneath, and he loved her.

She moved her head slightly until she could feel his thick hair against her cheek. She closed her eyes and concentrated on holding back the tears that wanted to flow. She must not let him see her cry. He might misinterpret her tears. She reveled in the discomfort of his weight on her.

Merrick awoke with a slight start. He had never fallen asleep on a woman before. Most females he knew would have pushed him away long ago. He lifted himself away from his wife with something like reluctance and lay beside her. He turned his head to look at her and found that she was looking back with steady gray eyes. She was the same unattractive Anne; she looked even more childish, in fact, with her cheeks flushed and her hair in tangled disarray. Was it possible that he had felt such desire for her only a few minutes before? It must have been sheer lust, he decided. She had not a single one of the attractions he always demanded in his women.

She smiled and touched his arm lightly. Merrick did not return either gesture, but he did feel an unease. Where had been the punishment? She had enjoyed the consummation; he could recall that clearly. In fact, it was partly her response that had enflamed his own desires. She had not been shocked by his unnecessary intimacies or embarrassed at being stripped of her clothes while the candles burned. Yet she had been undoubtedly virgin. He had still to show her that she had made an unwise move in trapping Alexander Stewart into matrimony.

The problem was too tricky a one to consider at the moment. He would decide what to do when he returned to his own room. Later. He leaned across to the table on which the candlestick was set and blew out the lights, then curled back into the warmth of the bed for a few minutes. He slept.

Anne was alone when she awoke the following morning, but the dented pillow and the ruffled bedclothes beside her showed clearly that her husband had slept there. Her husband! How easily the thought had come to her mind, and how impossible it had seemed even a week ago that she would ever marry. She stretched lazily in the bed, enjoying the warmth that lingered beneath the bedclothes even though her nose told her that the room was cold. No one had yet been to build the fire in her room. She did not care. She felt wonderful: alive, beautiful, and loved. Nothing could ever be the same again. She now had a reason for making herself physically attractive. But she was almost glad that she was at present looking her worst. The fact proved to her that her husband loved her for herself. How delightful it would be to watch his pleasure when he saw her as she would be in a few months' time-or even a few weeks, if she set her mind to it.

Bella entered the room at that moment carrying a cup of steaming chocolate on a tray. "Good morning, my lady," she said, smiling knowingly at her mistress and at the tumbled bed around her. She busied herself at the fireplace, clearing the ashes from last night's fire.

"Is his lordship at breakfast yet?" Anne asked eagerly.

"He finished a while ago, my lady," the maid replied, "and sent word that he wishes to speak with you in the morning room as soon as it is convenient."

Anne smiled radiantly and flung back the bedclothes despite the chill of the room. "I must dress immediately, then," she said. "Will you help me, Bella? I do not know where you have hidden all my clothes."

A mere ten minutes later she was tripping down the stairs, a new spring in her step. She even forgot to feel embarrassed when she reached the hallway and realized that she did not know where the morning room was. She had to ask a footman.

She entered the room in a rush, smiling with bright amusement. She was all ready to share the joke of not knowing her way around her own home. She must ask her husband to show it to her if he was not too busy. If he was, then she would have Mrs. Rush perform the task. She had liked the housekeeper the night before.

Merrick was standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him. He was not smiling. "Good morning, ma'am," he said. "I trust you slept well?"

She smiled a little uncertainly. "Yes, indeed," she said. "I did not even hear you get up." She blushed.

Merrick regarded her without any change of expression. "I rose early," he said. "I had a great deal to do before I could leave today."

"Leave?"

"I shall be leaving for London within the hour," he said. "Alone."

There was a moment of silence. "When may I expect your return?" Anne asked, her smile gone.

"You may not," Merrick said. "I have no plans to return in the near future."

"Am I to join you later?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," he said. "You are to remain here."

They stared at each other. "I don't understand," Anne said at last. "I am your wife."

"Precisely," Merrick said. "I would say you have gained what you set out to achieve, ma'am. Now you may enjoy your triumph at your leisure."

Anne swallowed painfully. "What do you mean, my lord?"

"You knew as soon as you saw me, did you not," he said, "that you could use the occasion in order to trap for yourself an eligible husband? Even if your plan to lure me into bed failed, you knew that your brother would force me into feeling honor-bound to offer for you. It must have seemed a stroke of unexpected luck that he also brought with him that dry stick of a vicar to echo his moral indictment of my behavior in staying all night in a house alone with you. Well, my dear, you succeeded. I am your husband. But by God, ma'am, I shall not be subjected to having to look at you and converse with you every day of my life. I wish you joy of your new home."

Anne appeared frozen to the spot. She heard what he said, knew the truth of what had happened, realized the nightmare future that faced her, but could not force her body to adjust to the new facts. She would collapse if she could not hold the awful truth at arms' length for a while longer. "Last night?" she whispered.

He smiled, if such an expression could be called a smile. His eyes did not change at all. "Quite delightful," he said. "I compliment you, ma'am. Your eagerness would put a barmaid to shame. You certainly helped pass what would have been a dull night."

Anne said no more. A terrible lethargy was paralyzing her brain and rooting her to the spot.

"You need not worry," Merrick said briskly, moving away from the fireplace across to a large desk in front of the window, from which he picked up a sheaf of papers. "I have spent an hour making arrangements for you here. Your needs will be amply provided for. You will find the servants loyal and eager to please. I shall make you an allowance that I believe you will find ample. If you need more money, you have only to send the bills to me. I shall pay them, provided they are kept within reasonable limits. You will be delighted to learn that you have married a wealthy man, ma'am."

"I shall go back to Bruce," Anne said quietly. "You need not be concerned with me, my lord."

"On the contrary," he said, "I have every need. You are my wife and I shall take care of your needs. I forbid you to leave this estate for so much as a single night without my personal permission. Is that clearly understood?"

Anne did not look up at him. She was examining the backs of her hands. "Yes," she whispered.

"I shall bid you good morning, then," Merrick said, hesitating only a brief moment before striding from the room.

Anne saw him again only as he rode away alone on the high seat of a curricle. She was standing at the window of the morning room, which she had not left since he had said his farewell.