Chapter 23
Anne struggled for something to say to ease Colin’s mind.
Goodness, she had enough trouble maintaining her own composure during the ordeal.
Illness and death didn’t just make her uncomfortable; they terrified her.
Each time someone had so much as a cold, she would hide away in her room or would plan an extended stay with friends.
Barely sixteen when her father died, Anne found herself the only one left to comfort her mother while Andrew raced off to India in pursuit of Alice.
And having recently married Lavinia, Arthur was no help either—not that he would have been much help regardless.
Ill-equipped to manage even her own grief, she felt so helpless and alone.
She never wanted to repeat a nightmare like that again.
But Colin needed her. Oh, he didn’t say it in so many words, but the haunted look in his eyes, and the way he clung to her hand as they left Honoria’s sitting room spoke for him.
“Thank you, Anne.” Colin’s words surprised her.
“What for? I haven’t done anything.”
He stopped mid-stride. “Haven’t done anything? You’re here with me. I don’t want to be alone.” Lifting their joined hands, he brought hers to his lips. “I’m sorry our wedding day was ruined.”
“That wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Except for the gooseberries.”
A rueful smile flickered across his face so quickly, she might have imagined it.
“It is what’s wrong, isn’t it? The bicarbonate of soda will help, won’t it?”
His gaze became unfocused and drifted to a place somewhere over her head, and something in it triggered the desire to run. “Colin? That’s all it was, wasn’t it?”
His attention jerked back to her. “Let’s go to our room and discuss it there.”
Oh, she didn’t like the sound of that at all, but she followed Lady Stratford’s example. She would support her husband and resist the urge to yank her hand from his and run away.
Once inside his bedchamber, he strode to a table by the window and poured himself a drink. “Do you want one? Although it’s whisky.”
She swallowed her fear. “Will I need one with what you have to say?”
He answered by pouring a tiny amount into another glass.
Fear, bitter and dry, gripped her throat.
After he guided her to the bed, she dropped onto the soft mattress. An errant thought slipped through her panicked mind as she ran her hands across the smooth counterpane. “Someone made the bed.”
“So they did.” He handed her the glass of whisky. “Sip.”
Contrary to his instructions, he took a large gulp of his and then poured himself another.
The amber liquid burned her throat, but it warmed her icy stomach and gave her the courage to ask, “Is he dead?”
Colin shook his head, then after another drink—that time not draining his glass—he sat beside her. “But he’s extremely ill. I couldn’t tell Mother or Honoria just yet as he doesn’t want them to know.”
Anne clutched the glass as if it could give her strength and listened while Colin explained what his father’s physician and Harry had said.
“But they could be wrong.” She refused to accept such a negative outcome.
Colin stared at her as if she were a silly child who believed in Father Christmas. “Even if they’re wrong, it’s more than an overindulgence of gooseberry tarts, and we must prepare ourselves for the worst. In the meantime, Father wants to apply for a writ of acceleration.”
“A writ of what?”
“Acceleration.”
“What would it do?”
“Allow me to join my father in Lords prior to his death under one of his lesser titles.”
Why didn’t he look pleased? “But that’s good, isn’t it? You said that you want to serve in Parliament.”
“In Commons as an MP.”
Men were so confusing. “It’s not the same?”
He shook his head. “I’ll explain more later. But if approved, and I’m summoned, it means we can’t be away on an extended wedding trip. Of course, if I was elected to Commons, we would have to limit ourselves anyway.”
Oh, she hadn’t thought about that; everything had happened so quickly. After hearing how much Juliana loved Florence, Anne would have liked to go to Italy. “So we can never go anywhere?”
Colin’s sad smile returned, but that time it didn’t disappear. “If nothing else happens, we could take a belated trip next summer if you like. Or perhaps when the session is out for the winter, although I’d prefer to be home with the girls at Christmastide.”
Anne didn’t want to think of what else might happen to delay or prevent their trip. When thinking of the future, she preferred to dwell on fun, exciting things.
Like more kisses. It was their wedding night, after all. Even if they had become a little overeager and indulged earlier.
She sipped more of her liquid courage. “Colin?”
Those lovely sea-foam-green eyes met hers. “Hmm?”
“It’s our wedding night.”
He frowned. “Yes.”
“Aren’t we supposed to, you know?”
He placed his drink down and took her hands. “You’ll be too tender for that so soon again. But I would love to hold you. Go into your room next door and call your maid. I’ll give you time to change into your nightclothes.”
In her room, she rang for Joan, and once she’d changed, Anne waited for Colin’s knock on the door.
Thirty minutes later, she still waited. How long did he think it would take her to change?
Was she supposed to go back to his room when she’d finished? What had he said? She tried to remember.
Her eyelids grew heavy and her mind fuzzy.
The bed looked so soft and inviting. For a few moments she debated whether she should go to Colin or continue to wait.
Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to stretch out on the bed for a while.
She glanced at the clock. Ten forty-three.
If he didn’t arrive within ten minutes, she would go to his room.
She woke with a start as the mantel clock chimed. Midnight! She stretched out her hand and found the side of the bed next to her cold and empty. Where was he?
After rising, she slipped on her dressing gown and padded to the door. Carefully she peeked around the corner and confirmed the hallway was free from servants or other guests.
At Colin’s room, she tapped lightly then opened the door. Dressed in a beautiful brocade banyan, Colin stretched across his bed. Asleep.
Unsure whether she should be angry, hurt, or disappointed, Anne found she was all three.
The nerve of him to leave her alone on their wedding night!
Had he not found her desirable enough to stay awake for a mere fifteen minutes while she changed?
And she certainly had anticipated more of those wonderful kisses.
Time stretched as she watched him sleep, and evil satisfaction crept in that his slumber was not peaceful. He jerked and started as if caught in a nightmare. But as he clutched at the bed linens and gave a pitiful moan, her heart softened.
Grump though she believed him to be, he’d given her such pleasure earlier that day before everything had fallen apart.
Hadn’t he said he wanted to hold her? She tiptoed to the bed and climbed in next to him. “Colin,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
All the events of the day weighed heavily on Colin’s mind as he changed out of his clothes and slipped into his banyan.
Even Fitz sensed his distress and was wise enough to stop his chatter after a brief enquiry as to Colin’s father’s health.
Only Fitz’s departing words as he closed the door behind him drew Colin back to the present.
“Oh, and felicitations on your marriage, sir.”
His marriage. Colin fell back onto the bed and drew a hand over his eyes. How had the day devolved from something joyful and hopeful to something ominous and soul-crushing?
Shame slithered through him that even with his father lying ill, Colin still hoped to find pleasure in the arms of his wife.
Selfish bastard. He wished to wipe the second half of the day away.
The sudden awareness of his father’s mortality.
The quelling of his hope to serve as MP in Commons.
The constant pressure of living in his father’s shadow and never measuring up.
Only the desire to give Anne the attention any bride deserved served as balm for his guilty conscience. But the truth was he wanted her more than was prudent. Hadn’t his behavior after their wedding proven that?
Yet, perhaps in that case, the fates had been kind. At least he’d been able to consummate his marriage before fear for his father’s health loomed over him like an ominous specter.
Exhaustion of body, mind, and spirit slammed into him so fast and so hard it was as if his arms and legs weighed seventy stone.
He glanced at the clock. Half past ten. He’d give himself ten minutes to rest and compose himself before he went to Anne.
Ten minutes should be plenty. It was his last thought as he stretched out on the bed.
A beast, black and snarling, chased him. Teeth sharp and snapping, eyes wild. Red, festering sores peeked through missing patches of mangy fur.
Colin ran, his legs heavy as if stuck in a quagmire, but instinctively he raced toward safety ahead, although he was unsure what exactly that haven was. He only knew he had to get there. The sweet scent of sweet pea beckoned him, and his hands reached out greedily.
Almost there. Almost there. The snarls grew closer, and the fetid stench of the beast—of death—wafted over him. With a snap of its wicked jaws, the beast would devour him whole.
Just a little farther.
“Colin. I’m here.”
Desperately reaching out, he buried his face in the sweet softness. A blanket of warmth wrapped around him. Safe at last, he settled into a peaceful slumber.
Sometime in the night, he awoke with a start. “Anne!” He was supposed to go to her. A muffled moan rose next to him, and her eyelids fluttered open. Unfocused and drowsy from sleep, those blue eyes gazed at him in question.
What she must think of him to abandon her on their wedding night. Still, she had come to him. “I’m sorry, Anne.” He traced a fingertip over her cheek. “I wanted to come to you, truly.”