Chapter Seventeen
‘He certainly worked fast.’ Jacob read the crisp white card with gold lettering, then passed it across the breakfast table to Margaret.
She stopped reading the newspaper and took it from his outstretched hand.
They really were turning into a married couple—seated at the breakfast table surrounded by marmalade pots, coffee and teacups and all the other breakfast paraphernalia, him reading his correspondence, her the newspaper.
Not long ago such an image would have filled Jacob with horror, but he had no objection to this turn of events, none whatsoever.
As much as he enjoyed their time in bed together—and enjoy it he most certainly did, more than his inadequate words could convey—he also enjoyed these quiet times they spent in each other’s company.
That was as much of a surprise as anything else about this marriage.
Never before had he wanted to spend time with his lovers doing anything remotely domestic.
She looked down at the card, a teacup in her other hand, and read it aloud.
‘Mr and Mrs Fitzsimmons would be honoured by the presence of the Duke and Duchess of Rosedale at the wedding of their daughter, Gwendolen, to Henry Larcomb, the Earl of Northwood.’
She lowered her cup. ‘It’s in two weeks.’
‘Yes, as I said, Henry has worked rather fast. Do you know this Gwendolen Fitzsimmons? Was she at Henry’s weekend party?’
‘Yes, we did meet. She’s about seventeen, pretty, blonde, petite, somewhat reserved, but very sweet and rather nice. She was quite excited about her first Season.’
‘Exactly Henry’s type then.’
‘Yes, young, fresh and presumably compliant.’
He raised his eyebrows, questioning how Margaret knew what Henry’s type was, especially as she’d summed it up to a T.
‘I believe I overheard him stating his preferences,’ she said with a slight blush.
He was tempted to ask when she had overheard Henry making such a pronouncement but thought it best not to dwell on the matter, especially as there was a danger that he’d been the one with whom Henry had that unfortunate conversation, and an even greater danger that his responses had been equally offensive.
He certainly did not want to remind her of the man he had been when she had first met him.
She reread the card then placed it back on the table. ‘Well, I hope they make each other very happy.’
‘Hmm, I suspect happiness is not what this is all about. Mr and Mrs Fitzsimmons will be pleased their daughter is to become a countess and, given the haste, I suspect Henry has been put under some pressure to marry.’
‘I don’t think either of us is in a position to judge them on that account.’
‘No, well, then I too hope that, despite the haste, they find happiness, the way we have.’ He lifted his coffee cup. She raised her teacup and tapped his cup in a toast.
‘It does mean we’ll have to return to London within the next two weeks,’ she said, stating what he already knew, and causing an unsettling feeling to burn up inside his chest at the thought of returning to London.
That was peculiar. He loved London. Usually, he couldn’t bear to be away from the theatres, the parties, the excitement and hectic lifestyle.
The only time he did leave London was when he had no choice but to do so, such as having to take a brief sojourn in the country to get away from an irate husband, as he had on the occasion of Henry’s weekend party.
And yet he felt hesitant about returning there and ending this time alone with Margaret.
What he had to fear he was uncertain about.
Was he worried he would revert to being the man he had been before they’d married?
Was he concerned that it would mean this precious time with Margaret would come to an end?
Or was he worried that if she saw him back in London, she would remember he was the man she’d never wanted to wed and had only done so under duress?
He picked up the card and reread the invitation.
He was tempted to suggest they turn down the invitation, perhaps send a letter of regret and make some excuse.
Then he could keep Margaret all to himself for much longer.
But he knew that would never do. Henry, for all his faults, had been a good friend to Jacob over the years and it would be remiss not to attend his wedding, and especially for the selfish reason that he was racked with misgivings over his wife coming to her senses and remembering what the man she had married was really like.
And he certainly couldn’t keep her imprisoned up in Northumberland and away from her friends and family. Could he? No, he could not.
‘Our return to London will give you a chance to see your friends again.’ And a chance for you to see me with all my reprobate friends.
‘Yes, it will be lovely to see them again,’ she said, frowning at the card in his hand. Was she too having misgivings about returning to London? No, she had nothing to fear. There was nothing about her life that he had disapproved of.
‘And your parents.’ Including your father, who always had his doubts about me and my suitability as a husband.
‘Yes,’ she said, almost absentmindedly, still staring at the card in his hand.
‘And you can organise those art classes you’ve been anxious to attend.’
She looked up at him. ‘You mean stay in London?’
‘Is that not what you want?’
Selfish cad that he was, he was hoping she’d say, No, I want to stay here for the rest of my life, alone in the countryside, away from all my friends, away from my family, with only you. It looked as if he still was that appalling man she had first met.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She looked at the card he had placed back on the table then up at him.
‘It will be lovely to see my friends and parents again, and now that I’m a duchess I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding a reputable art teacher prepared to put aside his objections to providing instructions to a woman. ’
‘Maybe you should put together a portfolio of the drawings you’ve done while you’ve been here.’
She sent him a wicked smile. ‘Have you seen the drawings I’ve done recently?’
‘That bad, are they?’ he said with a mock frown.
She lightly swatted his arm and laughed. ‘They’re all of you and they’re scandalous, as well you know, and I won’t be showing them to anyone. We’ll just have to keep those drawings between the two of us as a memento of our honeymoon.’
Jacob made himself laugh at her jest, hoping the drawings would not become exactly that, a memento of a fleeting time they’d spent together, which would come to an end when they returned to their old lives in London.
Over the next two weeks he tried to put those misgivings aside and enjoy the remaining time they had together.
But those weeks passed much faster than he wished, and soon they were on the train returning to London, and whatever that city had in store for them.
While he had many questions that would have to remain unanswered until they got back to London, there was one question that had plagued him on their journey to Northumberland and he was hoping Margaret would help him provide the answer.
Sitting beside her in their private compartment, where they would later be sleeping, he took her hand, lightly kissing the palm. ‘Darling, do you remember what you said to me the first time we made love?’
‘I imagine I said a lot of things.’ She sent him that now familiar cheeky smile. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’
‘You said you wanted me to satisfy your curiosity.’
‘Hmm, and you most certainly did that.’
‘Well, I’d like you to do the same for me.’
‘Is there something you haven’t yet shown me? You have me intrigued.’
‘I’d like to discover what it is like to make love on a train.’
She gave a small laugh. ‘Funny, I was wondering the same thing myself. Shall we call the steward to make up the bed? We could tell him we are in desperate need of sleep.’
‘I’m in desperate need of something, and I have no intention of waiting for the steward.
’ He stood up and pulled the lever that released the bed, closed the blind on the window, locked the door and even pulled the blind down on the outside window, in case they pulled into a station at an inopportune moment or were seen in a compromising position by someone working in the passing fields.
They soon discovered the jolting of the train and the confines of their small compartment, with the bed taking up an inordinate amount of space, was not entirely conducive to a romantic encounter.
But after much giggling from Margaret, a lot of contortions from him, the occasional elbow in his face and a balancing act to stop them falling off the narrow bed, they managed to finally find their rhythm.
And he was right. Making love on a train, despite the awkwardness, was sublime, but making love to Margaret was always sublime, as was the time they spent together afterwards, exhausted and lying in each other’s arms, and, he had to admit, the time they were together outside the bedchamber.
‘So, is your curiosity satisfied?’ she asked, lying sated in his arms, as she ran her hand along the centre of his chest and curled her fingers through his damp hair.
‘Hmm, it wasn’t quite as smoothly done as it was in the fantasies I had during our trip up to Northumberland.’
She sat up and looked down at him, her eyes wide. ‘You were fantasising about making love to me on the train?’
He pushed back the hair that was falling over her face. ‘Yes. In my mind I had you doing all sorts of wicked things to me.’
‘So was I. Well, I wasn’t thinking about wicked things—I didn’t know about wicked things then—but I was imagining you kissing me and touching me.’
‘So, we were both lying in our separate compartments, thinking about each other and driving ourselves mad.’ He ran his hand along her cheek. ‘And now we’re in the same compartment and you’re still driving me mad, I’m pleased to say.’
With that, he kissed her again. ‘And I don’t think my curiosity is entirely satisfied,’ he added, pulling his giggling wife on top of him.
Throughout the journey they never left the compartment.
Jacob was determined to make the most of these last precious hours with Margaret, before they faced whatever awaited them when they arrived in London, where he hoped and prayed nothing would change between them.
That she wouldn’t remember all those reasons why she had originally dismissed him as a strutting peacock, a superficial rake and a man no sensible woman would ever see as worthy of marriage.