Chapter 42
The Royal Hotel
Ventnor, Isle of Wight
At last they were alone in the amazing suite of rooms on the top floor of The Royal Hotel.
Graham unfastened Cam’s dark green pelisse and laid it carefully on a chair back.
Together, they looked through the narrow front windows that gave onto a wide sandy beach and the English Channel, although since it was full-on dark and there was no moon to speak of, they saw nothing at all.
They did hear the occasional squawks from ducks sitting beside the wooden fence next to a wide stone path leading down to the beach.
This fence and the birds were mentioned to them by Mr. French, the extraordinarily voluble manager of The Royal Hotel who’d escorted them personally to their handsome accommodation.
He congratulated them on their union, talked volubly about the short history of The Royal and didn’t stop there—he continued to wax eloquent about the splendid views of the coastline that would greet their eyes in the morning.
They dutifully admired the lavish drawing room and their large bedchamber with attached dressing rooms, pointed to the smaller bedchambers for Cilly and Nutworthy, Graham’s new valet, a cousin of Earl St. Lucy’s long-time valet Terrance.
And lastly, he proudly showed them the water closet and attached bathing room.
Two liveried young porters had brought up their luggage under Mr. French’s eagle eye, as well as Cilly’s and Nutworthy’s.
Mr. French nodded to the two young porters, and said, “A storm is expected tonight, but tomorrow, so the sailors assure us, we will enjoy the return of our splendid warm weather, unlike England proper, raining at the drop of a hat, but here, yes here, we will enjoy bright sun, so healthy, you know. You will doubtless want to enjoy a lovely walk on the beach and of course a stroll through our renowned south-facing gardens.” He smiled at them, gave a sharp bow, and left the suite, herding the two young porters.
Cam whirled about, so pleased, so happy, she couldn’t stand still.
She hugged her new husband close, kissed his chin, laughed, “Can you believe there is a water closet, Graham? Though mentioning it was a bit daring of Mr. French. Oh my, this is luxury indeed. At last Mr. French took himself off. We are alone, husband, for the very first time in absolutely forever we are really alone. Even on the train people were close by, porters hovered, but not now. Ah, husband—what an excellent word—a delicious sound to the ear. It’s been an incredible day, Graham, most all of it perfect except for the few minutes Eliza drew me aside and told me Eugenie, yes, your older sister, believes I did not have enough modesty for this occasion, that I was too exuberant, too free with my smiles and Eliza said she agreed with her. Do you know what I did?”
Graham stared down at her, gently pushed up her glasses. “Tell me, what did you do?”
Cam laughed. “I gave her a big kiss, told her she was beautiful in lavender and asked her to wish me well. And do you know what? She was so taken aback, she did.
“Oh my, Graham, I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw you standing next to the vicar when I came into the drawing room, our families and close friends sitting there, turning to stare at me. I believed you the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life.
I didn’t tell you earlier because you might have puffed up in conceit.
” She touched her fingertips to his beloved face.
“But now, you may puff up all you please. You looked so splendid, my lord—ah, how I love the sound of that. When you told my father who you really were—the Earl St. Lucy’s long-lost son—I thought he would pop his vest buttons, he was so pleased, and frankly, relieved, and perfectly willing to overlook your made-up name and background.
And there was Mr. Sherbrooke standing next to you, proud as a peacock, grinning from ear to ear, nodding to his brother, to the Earl of Northcliffe, who’s really very impressive.
“Goodness, when I realized I actually had to walk into the drawing room, I was afraid I would trip on my gown and fall on my face since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, maybe break my nose or worse, vomit since my stomach was jumping about like beans in a shaking jar, and I knew when I had to speak my feelings to you, I would stutter, my knees would knock together loud as St. Paul’s bell—” She came to an abrupt halt, cleared her throat.
“Then you looked at me and smiled. Those glorious wild blue eyes of yours made me want to run and leap at you.” A beautiful hank of hair had come loose from the braids wound atop her head and lay provocatively against her cheek.
He gently lifted the hair, smoothed the silk between his fingers, and smiled down at her.
“I was lucky I didn’t have to walk in those two-inch slippers of yours, all I had to do was stand there and try not to shudder myself into the floor.
You’re mine now, Cam, at last. It seems I’ve known you forever and now you’re my wife, a miracle of fate, and yet such a short time ago I didn’t know you existed.
” He wrapped the thick hank of hair around his hand, pulled her close.
“You are amazing, and now you belong to me. You’re my wife, amazing really, since before I met you I hadn’t even thought of marrying.
You’re beautiful and remarkable and—best of all? ”
She stared up at him. “And best of all?”
“And best of all you can speak a hundred words without pausing for breath or a period. You give me all the information I need in a minimum amount of time. If ever we argue in the future, you will doubtless win since I will be fascinated just listening to you.”
She gave this some thought. “Do you know Father wanted to count my words once? He told me my mother spoke exactly the same way, everything came out of her mouth at once. Oh dear, do you really think we will argue? I can’t imagine what we would have to argue about. You are rarely a dolt.”
“Thank you. I shall try for a record. Cam, when I saw you standing in the doorway, then walk—no, you nearly skipped on those two-inch slippers—into the drawing room, I nearly keeled over at the sight of you. Ryder had to steady me up or I might have swooned right there in front of Vicar Piercebridge. But you want to know what really pleases me as your husband?”
His lovely words settled sweetly, deeply, into her, and she wanted to kiss him with all the breath she had. “What really pleases you?”
He leaned down and kissed her nose. “Shall I tell you?”
She lightly poked his arm. “Yes, now, tell me. I must know.”
“What really pleases me is you are so smart. I cannot think of anything more a husband could possibly ask for in a modern wife.”
She started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Soon she was holding her sides, gasping for air.
“My lord, what is the matter? Can I assist you? I was pulled by her ladyship’s extravagant laughter from my very nice bedchamber even though I had three more shirts to place in my own armoire.
” Nutworthy paused, looked back and forth between them.
Cam hiccupped. “Ah, there appears to be a problem of excessive jocularity. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe her ladyship’s throat? ”
Cam hiccupped again, grinned over at Graham’s new valet, Norton Nutworthy, just Nutworthy, please, my lady.
She found herself charmed by his wonderfully proper and convoluted English, so stiff and formal, still, it was obvious his concern was real.
His admiration of her new husband was obvious for all to see.
She realized Nutworthy thought of the two of them as his new family.
According to Cilly, who’d whispered to her on the train that she’d heard him bragging to the other servants that his master, Lord Graham, was the most handsome, the most splendidly fashioned gentlemen he had ever seen in all his thirty-seven years.
A young god not at all stiff in the collar, only when it was right and proper.
And he boxed, took on all comers, sweated and dirtied himself up too with all his tinkering with his inventions, appropriate for a gentleman of his stature since he was so smart.
Graham said to his very concerned valet, “There is a bit of jocularity, you are right about that, but nothing to concern you. Her ladyship was laughing at one of my jests, a good thing for a new wife to do. Mr. French told me our dinners would be arriving”—he consulted the watch in his waistcoat pocket—“in about ten minutes from now.” He and Cam had decided what they wanted to do, this their first married evening.
He looked from Cam to Nutworthy and beyond to Cilly, standing in the drawing room doorway.
“This is our first meal together. We would like to invite you to dine with us.”
Nutworthy was so appalled he couldn’t help himself. “But, my lord, that isn’t at all proper, it is—” Words failed him. He cast a quick look at Cilly, an odd name but it suited her. And here she was nodding and smiling. What was he to do?