Chapter 13 A Reluctant Bride #2
Even while Rose had been alive, the baron had never been a particularly amiable man.
And in the years since her death, he’d grown even more morose.
His reddish hair, even his horrible mustache, were now streaked with gray.
His eyes were dull, his skin white and pasty, and his lips pinched thin, always disapproving. Lilly turned her head away from him.
God help her, she was terrified to contemplate her wedding night.
Surely her brother-in-law had no desire to consummate their marriage. Surely not! There had been no discussion on the topic, but of course, it was to be a white marriage, wasn’t it?
When they arrived at Beauchamp Manor, Lilly climbed out of the carriage, stiff and tired. Since returning from Edgewater Heights, she had gradually come to feel her heart was exhausted from lost love.
It pumped only what was required to keep her alive.
Having rained for most of the day, the weather precluded the servants from lining up outdoors to greet their employer’s new wife.
They stood in a formal line along the entrance hall instead.
Lilly hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the manor when visiting before.
Her attention had been diverted by spending time with her sister, and then later, with her niece.
Now, as she entered, she looked around and thought it gloomy and the air stifling.
A life-size painting of her sister hung on the wall near the staircase—the perfect English rose.
The painting had been commissioned around the time of her wedding, and her smile spoke of happiness untold. It ought to make Lilly happy, seeing an image of Rose like this, but on this occasion, it did just the opposite. In fact, Lilly turned her gaze away from it quickly.
Except that Rose was memorialized throughout the house.
On every pedestal was a vase. In every vase, roses. Fresh roses in some, dried in others. No wonder the air was thick with perfume. It was pungent with the scent of roses.
Lord Beauchamp cleared his throat so he might have her attention. Lilly obeyed his nod and faced the servants.
“Mr. Richards, Mrs. Bertie, this is the new baroness, Lady Beauchamp. Lilly, Richards and Bertie have the house well in hand. If you are in need of anything, direct your requests to either of them. Mr. Richards and Mrs. Bertie manage the household to my standards. You need not interfere.”
Lilly blinked in surprise. Surely it was the lady of the house who managed the home? But she would not argue today. Exhausted from the turmoil of the past month, she lacked the energy to address such a trivial matter right now.
The baron then introduced a dozen or more servants to her. She nodded and greeted them but knew she would not remember most of their names. Today had been a nightmare with no end in sight. And yet, tomorrow held only bleakness.
“I’ll show you to your chamber.” The baron winged his arm in her direction.
Lilly had been introduced to too many servants to remember, but her young niece was nowhere to be seen. “Is Glenda napping? I was looking forward to seeing her.” The prospect of spending time with her sister’s daughter was like a candle in the darkness.
“She and her current governess, Miss Hokes, are with an aunt of mine in Wales this summer.” His voice sounded matter-of-fact.
“Glenda will return here for a few weeks and then depart again for school. Miss Hokes will leave us for a new post at that time. Your father suggested you perform the duties of a governess to Glenda while she is at home.”
A governess? Not a mother? Was that not part of why the baron needed a wife? So that Glenda would have a mother? Lilly looked over at the man she’d married. He continued holding out his arm for her to take. His pale face showed impatience.
She was not comfortable taking his arm. There’d never been a need until today. It felt…awkward.
He was different from Michael in many ways. His googley eyes and boney face were fine for somebody else’s husband. Just not hers. If only he weren’t so…baronish—so stuffy and meticulous. If only he were softer looking and exuded even a hint of warmth.
If only he were Michael.
For the thousandth time that day, she tried not to think about the night ahead.
After reaching the third story, they walked past several doors until he finally opened the second to last.
“Wasn’t Rose’s room on the second floor, adjoining yours?” This room, although pleasant, was far from the master suite. Ought she to be grateful for this?
Lord Beauchamp dropped her arm and solemnly walked to the window. “I could never put another woman in Rose’s room. It will always be hers. You will refrain from entering it. Ever. You must understand my feelings on this matter?”
“I…yes…I suppose.” But it has been three years!
“I do not want the room disturbed, do you understand?” She could see him swallow hard, as though holding back emotion.
Feeling distressed and uncertain, not to mention a little homesick already, Lilly nodded.
“Your trunks will be delivered and unpacked shortly, I presume. You may rest and then meet me for dinner downstairs in two hours. Ask one of the upstairs maids if you find yourself in need of anything.” He hesitated a moment.
“It is to be hoped we can go on well together. Your father explained the bad luck you had in London.”
“He did?” Her eyes went wide at this information. For some reason, she hadn’t thought her father would have informed Lord Beauchamp of her relationship with Michael.
“He told me everything. And as much as I abhor such behavior, out of the regard I still have for your sister, I am willing to give you my protection. It is something she would have wanted.”
A deeper foreboding began to take root. “What, exactly, did my father tell you?” She felt like she were being lowered into a grave—cold and alone and ashamed.
And she felt betrayed. Had her mother suspected she’d given herself to Michael completely? And if so, how could her parents have shared this with Lord Beauchamp, of all people? He was a virtual stranger to her, and now he was to know of her most personal secrets?
“He told me you’ve likely been ruined.” The words came out clipped and monotone.
“He told me I may very well have married a whore—one who could possibly be carrying another man’s child.
” His tone dripped with judgement. “But, as I’ve said, Rose would have wanted me to extend to you the protection of my name. ”
This was why Lord Beauchamp had deigned to marry her? As a favor, no—as a tribute—to his love for Rose? He was martyring himself—for her?
“Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to make your existence here…tenable.” This was the nicest thing he’d said to her all day.
Turning on his heel, he strode toward the corridor. “Do not be late for dinner. I abhor tardiness.” With that, he exited and closed the door.
Lilly dropped to the bed, stunned. Was this why her parents insisted upon such a hasty marriage? Surely it must have been, for her father was not on his deathbed yet. Lilly wanted to cry again but had no energy to do so. Neither was she to be given a chance, apparently.
There was a short knock on the door. “Yes?” Lilly said.
A servant who looked to be the age of her mother entered and made a short bow. “My name is Hilda, ma’am. I am to be your maid. The master told me to see if you needed assistance before dinner. Do you require a bath?”
Lilly thought about the two long flights of stairs the servants would be forced to carry water up and shook her head. Although a bath sounded lovely, she would limit them if possible. It would do her no good to draw the ire of the servants in her new home by creating additional work for them.