Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
84 brOOK STREET, LONDON - JUNE 12, 1816
CHARLOTTE
A married woman again.
I had always assumed I would remarry after my husband died, and I did assume he would predecease me. But in my mind it had never been quite like… this.
Three years ago, I was wed in Saint George’s. Though my wedding hadn’t been what it would have if I had married Rosehill, there were attendants and flower girls and family in the pews. We were greeted with cheers when we stepped out into the bright sunny morning. An elaborate wedding breakfast followed the ceremony.
In my musings—fantasies if I was truthful—my second marriage had been a grander affair.
How wrong I was. Lord Champaign and I wed in a small chapel with no one to witness but his servants and mine. My gown was quite literally one of only three that concealed my growing belly. A meal for just the two of us and a bowl of punch for the servants was all that could be named a wedding breakfast.
And still, it was infinitely better than the first.
Lord Champaign was reclusive and elusive, scarred and marred, but unlike Ralph, he was the man I had chosen. I knew more about him, even with his evasive nature, than I had known about the first man I wed. And what little I did know, I liked so much more than anything I knew about Ralph, before or after the ‘I dos.’
I hadn’t wanted to wed again this quickly. I didn’t wish to be with child. I hated that Wesley had forced me into this situation. But I couldn’t help hoping, desperately, that this one choice, the only one of significance I had ever made, was as right as it seemed on the face.
It was a leap of faith, the trust I was putting on the word of Leopold Bennet, and I was left with nothing but prayers that he wouldn’t forsake me, abandon me, or destroy me the way every other man in my life had forsaken, abandoned, and destroyed me.
It was a terrifying prospect to be sure.
Made all the more terrifying by the worrying way he eyed the carriage before us.
“My lord?” The weary warble in my tone escaped even as I strove to mask it.
He turned toward me, heaving a great sigh. “How would you feel about riding? We can send the carriage along with your things.”
Absolutely wretched. I wanted to arrive with my things, to be able to change after my journey. Not to mention, my solitary riding habit did not fit particularly well any longer, and it was packed at the bottom of one of the precariously stacked trunks being loaded onto the back of said carriage at that precise moment. And I had spent the morning bathing and dressing with care so I would feel as beautiful as possible in spite of the growth in my belly come our wedding night. Currently, I smelled of lavender and orange blossom, I had no desire to smell of horse, manure, and sweat. What’s more, my stomach was a tempestuous beast. Even now that I had discovered the wonders of peppermint tea it would occasionally rebel, and it would certainly be more manageable in a carriage than on horseback.
He must have sensed my hesitation because he reversed course. “I apologize, that was an impetuous request. I am not overly fond of carriages, so I usually ride. But I should not ask that of you.”
There was something unnamed lining the undercurrent of his words. It was unknown, mysterious, and I suddenly knew that, as much as I wished to sit in the comfortable shade of the carriage, he wished to be out of it even more. And he wished for me to be with him.
“No. We can ride. I will need my riding habit though.”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t considered that…”
“Why would you? It is not a concern you are accustomed to.” Imogen passed me, hat box in hand to be loaded onto the carriage. “Imogen, would you be a dear and pull out my riding habit? Lord Champaign and I shall ride.”
Her eyes widened and flitted first to my stomach, second toward the carriage where I was almost certain my habit was in the trunk at the very bottom of the stack, and third to my new husband. It was almost comical, watching her thoughts mirror my own so completely and so transparently.
Brigsby, having overheard the conversation, began to unload the trunks without comment. Imogen went to join him, adding the hat box to the growing stack with minimal and almost entirely inaudible grumbling.
A quick glance at my husband showed something like guilt in his pinched brow but also relief in his easier countenance. He had asked for almost nothing in agreeing to wed me. I could give him this without complaint. Quietly, he directed the chipped- tooth footman, Jack, to have two horses saddled, and the boy complied without question or surprise.
No one from Lord Champaign’s household was surprised, in point of fact.
In short order, I was bundled into a too-tight riding habit and assisted onto a brown mare by my new husband. We set off, leaving the carriage to be repacked in our wake.
I shuffled after him, immediately regretting every single choice that led me to this moment. I was aware that, in the grand scheme of problems one could have with one’s husband, this was quite low. Lower, in fact, than nearly every single one of Ralph’s foibles. But Ralph was dead, had been for months. And Lord Champaign was in front of me, the perfect target for every single imagined arrow in my quiver, and I had exceptional aim in such circumstances.
LEE
I never should have asked. I had not intended to ask. This was a terrible thing to ask of a bride on her wedding day.
But the sight of her about to enter the carriage…
That she agreed to ride was something of a surprise in retrospect. In fact, she agreed with nothing but a longing look at the conveyance and a request for her riding habit.
Of course, now I could feel the glare burning through my back. She wasn’t happy about the situation, but she was game and I could appreciate that.
It was a short ride to Bennet Hall, two hours at a walk, though I usually set a faster pace. But I had no idea how confident a horsewoman new my wife was.
The lane widened ahead, allowing for two abreast easily. She angled Celaeno up next to my mount, cutting a fine figure when I glanced beside me.
A fine, slightly green-tinted figure. Oh, good lord. Women with child were known to have tetchy stomachs. And I plunked her on a horse.
“Oh damn,” the curse escaped me without permission. “I didn’t consider—I am so—I should not have…”
“I will require the whole of the sentence if you wish to convey some sort of meaning, my lord.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot what?”
“A great many things. Would you believe I forgot you were with child? And that such a condition leaves one feeling unwell. And that riding might exacerbate that illness.”
“I would indeed. I was all but certain you had forgotten at least one of those things when you made the request.”
“Why did you not say anything?”
She merely shrugged. “You’ve asked for very little in this arrangement.”
“Yes, but you should not agree to anything that causes you discomfort.”
“Marriage is often a source of discomfort.” She said it so matter-of-factly, almost unthinkingly. Of course marriage was an unpleasant thing. Whether that was her opinion on all marriages, or merely this one, was less clear. That I couldn’t determine her meaning—that was a wretched understanding.
I considered my next words carefully. “It would mean a great deal to me—that is—going forward, I would prefer that you let me know if something makes you uncomfortable. I am afraid I have little experience with women in a delicate condition. While I expect I may make more than a few blunders in the coming months, I would prefer to make you as comfortable as possible.”
She had turned from the path ahead, caught my gaze and held it. Her expression was quite unreadable. The direct sunlight lent her eyes a more golden bronze coloring than the candlelight and firelight of our previous meetings.
“I shall try.”
Even with the peaked undertone to her skin and the glisten of sweat below her hairline, my wife was a beautiful woman. Stunning. It had been painfully obvious the night we met, and it was an even more painful truth that she should have nothing to do with me.
We didn’t fit the way the other couples of my acquaintance did.
Amelia and I had fit, once upon a time.
Mia had been an obvious choice, beautiful, poised, kind. Tall, fair with blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, she was everything a wife ought to be. And I was tall and fair with blue eyes and, though my face was longer and not shaped quite the same way, we were beautiful and bright together. Our life together had been beautiful and bright too.
Until the day it all turned to ash in that damned carriage.
Now I was hidden away in the darkness. My hair had darkened, no longer exposed to the sun. Most of my skin was still golden fair, except for the twisted, red-and-white marbled bits on my temple, cheek, chin, shoulder, and chest. Yes, I was still beautiful if one ignored half of me. My life was still beautiful, if one didn’t mind hiding in darkened rooms alone.
No, Lady Charlotte and I did not fit . And that thought worried me more than it ought.
I didn’t for one second believe she would try to tell me if I made a misstep. Whether it was her father, her late husband, or the prospect of marriage to me, she seemed convinced that discomfort was all her future had to offer.
I had saddled this woman with a broken man. My attempts to ease the burden—the time limit, the financial provisions, the return of her freedom—paled in comparison to what I asked of her. A year was a very long time to be uncomfortable at best, miserable at worst.
I would need to do better, be better, and anticipate her needs. It was unacceptable—I could not, would not be the cause of any suffering that was within my power to amend.
“We should stop, wait for the carriage. It cannot be more than a quarter of an hour behind us.”
“No, that is not necessary,” she said, swaying in her seat.
Her expression was so familiar to me, despite never having seen it on her before. I leaned over, pulling the reins to halt her mount.
I hopped off Poseidon, dropping his reins and steadying Celaena. Both horses could have their moods, but they generally heeded me and they were behaving well today. Lady Charlotte allowed me to pluck her out of the saddle and set her gingerly on two feet.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a peppermint, then pressed it into her palm. She unwrapped it eagerly and popped it between full, pouting lips. Her cheeks pursed as she sucked on the sweet, emphasizing the angular cut of her jaw.
Her color returned, leaving only a fetching flush in its wake. Distractedly, she dragged the back of her hand across her brow before reaching to take the reins from me.
“We’ll wait,” I insisted. Her posture eased ever so slightly in relief. She would have traveled the entire distance on horseback, desperately trying to avoid casting up her accounts the entire way.
Mere hours into marriage, and I was already proving a poor husband. While entirely predictable, I rather hoped I could offer a better showing than this.
After slipping my hand back in my pocket, I snuck a peppermint of my own. I would need all the grounding relief it might offer.
I should join her in the carriage. That was the proper way of things. But perhaps out here would be better. Even if we were farther apart than I would prefer… I could assist her better if something happened. Or would I be of more help inside? I was unlikely to be of any use in either situation if the tightening of my breath at the mere thought was any indication.
Before I could arrive at a decision, the carriage trundled into view, the wagon just behind it. They were making excellent time in spite of her numerous trunks.
They passed us before pulling to the side of the road. Brigsby popped his head out of the window, took one look at the two of us, and ushered a relieved Lady James—Lady Champaign, rather—inside. Me, he raised a brow at. With a jerk of my head, he followed my silent command and stepped out to join me.
“Well, that went as well as could be expected,” he said. I didn’t appreciate the inherent I told you so in his tone. He hadn’t specifically told me so.
“I… can you?” Words were failing me now with a wife settled within the confines of a carriage once again.
He nodded in answer and climbed back inside the carriage to explain my absence… somehow.
I looped Celaena’s reins to the back of the wagon. She might follow Poseidon, but it wasn’t a sure thing.
They started off down the rutted path. Had it always been so uneven? My heart lodged in my throat as I watched my wife’s conveyance jounce into various trenches and pits. The lantern swayed with every jolt, unlit for daytime travel.
It was, in point of fact, the finest carriage money could buy. Well sprung and maintained to perfection. At the cost a small fortune, I purchased it before I realized the extent of my fears. With gilded mahogany details and plush velvet seats and ornate lace curtains, it bordered on ostentatious. I only hoped my wife was too distracted by the luxury within to notice her wayward husband.
My pace was slowed by the necessity of remaining with the carriage. Leaving it was not an option, not with her inside.
And so we lumbered down the road, if such a holed, pitted thing could be termed as such. Wobbling along at a glacial pace, while every jolt, every bump, every shock, sent an icy knife through my chest, all the way to Bennet Hall.