Chapter 21
Snuggled next to Colin, Anne felt safe and very, very satisfied. If this was what married life held in store, she would enjoy it immensely, even marriage to the grump.
Colin pulled the counterpane over them both and kissed the top of her head. “Get some actual rest. We wouldn’t want to be proven liars now, would we?”
She grinned and wiggled closer, pleased when his arms wrapped tighter around her. Grump though he may be, he was her grump. She might even forgive him for calling her a nuisance. Eventually.
With delicious ideas both from Alice’s book and ways to get Colin to smile, she drifted off into a pleasant slumber.
At least until someone rudely shook her awake. “Anne. Anne. It’s time to wake up.”
Forcing her bleary eyes open, she blinked Colin’s face into focus. “What? I just fell asleep.”
A slow smile crossed his lips—which she wanted to kiss. “You’ve been sleeping for four hours. People will believe I’ve murdered you.” His smile widened. “Or more likely that you’ve murdered me.”
Gently, he slipped his arm from underneath her body. “My arm is asleep as well. Put on your dressing gown, and I’ll draw you a bath. Burwood recently had this room plumbed.”
When he rolled out of bed, Anne admired his backside—firm and nicely rounded. She’d been in such a state earlier, she’d not had ample opportunity to really look at him in his state of undress.
Her husband was exceptionally well-formed for a man his age. Which speaking of.
“Colin?”
With one arm in his dressing gown, he paused and turned. “Yes, Nymph?”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty-eight next month. Why?” He cocked an eyebrow and slid a seductive gaze over her exposed torso. “It’s a little late to decide I’m too old.”
“I was simply thinking you look quite fit for a man in his old age.”
“Old age!” The dressing gown tossed to the side, he pounced back onto the bed next to her. “If you weren’t so tender, I’d show you who is in their dotage.” Instead, he kissed her soundly and drove all thoughts of insulting him from her mind.
Long minutes later, he rose again, and no longer distracted, retrieved her dressing gown from her room before drawing a bath.
The bath was luxurious, and Colin insisted on washing her back—among other things. Anne blamed her red face on the water, which was actually the perfect temperature, quite sure by his soft laugh Colin believed none of it.
Before Colin shooed her into her room to call her maid and dress, he kissed her once more. “I would suggest we allow my sister to believe we’re waiting for tonight to consummate our marriage, but since you wouldn’t sneak off quietly as I’d hoped, I’m sure we’ve dispelled that notion.”
Her face heated again. “Will everyone know?”
He chuckled and patted her backside. “No doubt, but it would have been no different in the morning had we waited. It’s one of the disadvantages of not leaving for our own home after the wedding breakfast.”
“One? What else should we worry about?”
He cocked his head and studied her. “A house full of people. Although I might suggest we leave for Blackthorne Manor soon, if that is agreeable with you. I think the other guests are eager to return to their own homes as well. They’ve already been detained longer than planned.
This has been a most eventful house party. ”
Indeed. And as Colin’s laughter echoed behind her, she didn’t even mind she’d more than likely said that aloud.
Unlike most balls, Honoria had decided to serve supper first instead of midway through the evening, allowing the night to end sooner than the usual wee hours of the morning, no doubt out of consideration for the bride and groom.
When Colin led her into the dining room, rather than people staring and whispering behind gloved hands and fans, everyone seemed to avert their gazes, and the tightness in her chest eased.
Savory aromas of roast goose and herbed vegetables filled the dining hall and smelled almost as good as Colin.
Amid the tinkling of silverware against the Sévres china, guests chatted pleasantly about the beautiful ceremony.
No one even enquired whether Anne enjoyed her rest. All appeared absolutely normal, as if husbands and wives shared such intimate moments every day.
Perhaps they did. She giggled a little at the idea.
Now an experienced woman, she glanced at Honoria and Burwood, Juliana and Mr. Pratt, Charlotte and Mr. Beckham, and it dawned on her what Charlotte meant by marriage being enjoyable.
That certainly proved to be true. And hopefully Charlotte was also right about Anne’s and Colin’s differences balancing them out rather than tearing them apart.
She would thank Charlotte later.
Another thing to be thankful for was that only a few gooseberry tarts remained from the wedding breakfast, and Anne insisted Lord Stratford have them all, especially since Honoria had her cook make a chocolate cake.
Discussion turned to the recent reform in Parliament, especially regarding the election of MPs.
“I’m running for MP in our borough, Father,” Colin said.
The gooseberry tart Lord Stratford held dropped to the plate before him. “I thought you’d given up on that ridiculous idea. Why are you still pursuing it?”
Colin’s jaw pulsed, and his hand fisted his knife like a weapon. Hadn’t there been enough dueling for one house party? And he certainly wouldn’t challenge his father, would he?
“I want to make a name for myself. Is that so wrong?”
Lord Stratford brushed it aside. “You will when you assume my place in Lords.”
Anne placed her hand on Colin’s clenched fist and squeezed. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go into politics?”
Under hers, his hand relaxed. He shrugged and cast a glance at his father. “Between bickering with you, being caught in a compromise, and our marriage, there never seemed to be a good opportunity.”
“Your father doesn’t approve?”
He shook his head. “Not of Commons. I’d hoped he would come around since he seems to have been swayed a little by Burwood and Ashton, but apparently he hasn’t. He says Commons goes a little too far with their ideas.”
“Such as?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You have an interest in politics?”
“If it interests you, it interests me. We’re married after all.”
He gave her hand a reciprocal squeeze. “We’ll discuss it later. Right now, let’s concentrate on enjoying the evening.”
Once supper ended, Colin escorted her into the ballroom. “You’ll be the belle of the ball, and every man here will ask you to dance, but promise you’ll save the waltz for me.”
Anne had never been the center of attention at a ball, and although she’d always dreamed of men vying for a dance, she had to admit, she only wanted to dance with Colin.
Odd, that. Especially when such a short time ago she’d disliked him with a passion.
Burwood was the first to approach and request a dance, and all the discomfort of what she’d put him through four years earlier vanished like fog on a sunny day.
“I wish you all the happiness, Anne. And welcome to the family. It’s all Honoria can talk about.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Drake, Anne. And please try to get your husband to call me by my Christian name as well. I’ve been insisting for three long years.”
She danced with Mr. Beckham, the Duke of Ashton, Lord Montgomery, Mr. Pratt, and Mr. Grey. Even her father-in-law, Lord Stratford, requested a dance.
Her dancing slippers had never had so much use in one evening.
“I trust you will do your utmost to avoid any whiff of . . . scandal and be a . . . dutiful wife to my son.” The man’s words came between breathy pants as they performed a pass in the lively country dance.
When they finished, his cheeks were red from exertion, and he held a hand to his abdomen.
Anne grabbed his arm. “Lord Stratford, are you unwell?”
He waved her off, his words still coming in choppy pants. “I’m fine. But I shall . . . leave you to . . . more exuberant . . . and younger partners.”
As they left the dance floor, it seemed she was supporting his arm more than he was hers.
Colin hurried to their sides. “Father—”
“I’m fine. Stop your fussing and dance with your bride.”
After depositing Lord Stratford in a comfortable chair by the refreshment table, Colin led Anne back to the dance floor. “Finally. I’ve been jealous of every man here. It’s a good thing they’re all happily married.”
“Except for Mr. Grey and Mr. Ford,” Anne reminded him.
Colin gave her a wink. “I think you’re safe from them as well. Besides, unless you want to become a widow, I don’t think I’ll be challenging Grey anytime soon.”
Anne’s gaze slid to her husband’s cheek. The wound had healed, and only a faint pink mark remained. A wicked part of her hoped it would leave a little scar, making Colin more dashing than he already was.
With that, Colin pulled her into his arms for the waltz, and thoughts of fathers-in-law, other dancing partners, and dashing scars flew from her head as Colin spun her around the dance floor.
As Colin held his wife—his wife!—in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, his head spun as well. Married within a few short weeks, practically strangers with the petite woman, he couldn’t believe how his life had changed so drastically.
And by all accounts so far, it had changed for the better.
Would Anne support him in his run for MP, even with the long hours and time away from home? When he’d first considered the idea, he’d only had himself and the girls to think about, and frankly, the idea of burying himself in work had appealed.
Burying? Had he really thought of it that way? He supposed he had, and Alice Weatherby’s words came back to haunt him. He truly had tried to commit emotional suttee.
But now, he had Anne. Petite though she was, she possessed an energy and vitality that literally stole his breath. Qualities that promised the owner a long and healthy life. Except for the risks of childbirth. As much as he needed an heir, would pregnancy put Anne at risk?