Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
BENNET HALL, SURREY - JUNE 12, 1816
CHARLOTTE
It was a fine instrument, releasing rich bass notes on command and mingling the tinkling, delicate highs. I kept the tunes jaunty and bright, displaying no hint of the turmoil within. This was already quite the opposite of my last wedding night.
That was, of course, a good thing. But the waiting… The waiting was interminable and agonizing.
Two songs became three, after which I turned away from the instrument and spun to face my husband, Lee .
The firelight cast the scarred half of his face in shadow. The left side of his face was beautiful, almost too beautiful. His eyes shone bluer in the dim light, the silver chased away by the fire. That side of his face wasn’t merely unmarred, it was flawless. Only the shadow of his beard kept the ethereal descriptor from him. The stubble and overgrown blond strands atop his head were just dark enough to contrast his skin, kissed by the sun. From my perch on the piano bench across the room, his lips appeared warm and dry but not chapped, and a deep rose, a shade I tried to achieve with rouge—though I would never admit to it.
He really was too lovely. It was honestly a relief he had the scars. Perfection was a falsehood—especially in a man.
I hadn’t the slightest idea how he would like to go about this evening. It had been an unbearably long day and my body ached for sleep. But surely my husband had expectations.
Yet he remained silent long after the last notes had faded away to nothingness.
Of course, so did I.
It seemed I must be the one to break the tension if I wished to retire. I stood, clinging to the quiet a moment longer as I gathered my courage. The evening’s conclusion would not be any more enjoyable for dallying.
“I believe I should like to retire, unless you have an objection?”
“None at all,” he stood and collected my hand, then placed it on his arm again. I could not imagine the motion was comfortable. With his height, he had to lean down or force me onto my toes, and he had chosen the former at every turn. But he seemed to take comfort in the effort, leading me to and fro through his home, my arm tucked to his side.
When he drew me down the hall to the staircase and guided me up, I knew it was time. My heart gave a nervous skip before I willed it into submission. It would be fine. He was, at the very least, not repulsive and had never been unkind in the slightest.
In front of the door that was now mine, he dropped my hand. His eyes trailed over my face, considering, searching for something. Then he squared his shoulders in a nearly imperceptible movement and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of my head, atop the curls piled there.
“Good night.” He turned for his rooms with lighter steps than I had seen from him before. I blinked absurdly at his retreating form before slipping into my rooms.
I found Imogen at the ready, night rail laid on the bed. My husband had given me no notion of when to expect his attentions, and I was left to rush through my toilette lest Imogen still be there when he returned.
It was the work of only a quarter of an hour before she abandoned me. In want of an occupation, I explored the confines of my four walls for the space of several laps. The plaster had not increased in interest upon a second viewing.
I did, however, find the novel Lee had mentioned earlier atop my bedside table.
The servants were quite possibly magical here.
I perched in what I hoped was an enticing manner atop the chaise with my book to await the inevitable knock. One page became two became ten. For an entire hour, I read and enjoyed my selection. But it was not so interesting as to distract me from the rising frustration I felt at my new husband. It may be a husband’s right to demand relations on his schedule, but it was entirely rude to leave me here with no indication of when he might return.
I had been awoken from sleep before by my late husband, returned from the gaming hell smelling of drink and smoke, and I loathed nothing more.
Perhaps he expected me to come to him? That was not how this sort of thing was done.
Snapping my book shut, I tossed it onto the newly vacated chaise. It was the work of but a few angry steps to knock on the adjoining door.
No response.
My knuckles rapped even more sharply on the wood, just shy of painful in their force.
Nothing.
Still flushed, I let my annoyance fuel my brazen grip on the doorknob and turn it. Light from my room poured into the empty, darkened chamber on the other side, illuminating the massive four poster bed. There, a form lay blinking in irritation at an interrupted rest.
Said form released a snappish, chirped mrroow .
The damned cat was curled into a ball on the pillow. And my damned husband was nowhere to be seen.
Awake and unhappy about it, the cat unfurled into a lengthy stretch before prancing to the end of the bed with another chirp. There, it— she , Lee had said—paced, releasing another agitated meow every few steps until I walked over to her.
I tipped my hand out for her to sniff. She gave my fingers a delicate whiff before rubbing her head against them. Taking that as permission, I flipped my hand over and gave her a quick scratch behind the ear. She was soft, softer than Angora.
Without warning—not even a chirp—the cat turned her head and sank her teeth into the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger.
I cursed, and the cat merely meowed in response. It was impossible for a cat to smirk. I knew that. But that was precisely what her expression resembled, a smirk, cruel and self-satisfied.
Convinced my husband was nowhere to be found, and contemplating cat murder, I fled his rooms, slamming the door closed behind me.
I was done with waiting. It was late. I was tired. He could damn well wait until tomorrow to consummate the marriage.
The bed coverings had been turned down long ago and I slipped between them before blowing out the candle beside my bed.
I lay there staring at the canopy for minute after agonizing minute, nowhere near sleep, not while my hand still throbbed. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the tick of a nearby clock I hadn’t noticed earlier.
Finally, I closed my eyes and turned to my side, curling my knees up. Sleep was approaching, so tantalizingly close.
Scratch… Scratch… Scratch…
My eyes shot open and found the adjoining door. In the dim light, I could just barely make out a tiny gray paw reaching underneath the door.
Damned cat!