Chapter Four
I feel it is my duty to inform you that unless the marriage is…ah, consummated, your uncle could attempt to force an annulment.
“I assure ye that will no’ be a problem, Mr. Kendall.”
Christine settled in a comfortable chair at the rear of the restaurant she’d chosen, those words playing over and over in her mind. Of course, she knew that marriage included intimacy between husband and wife, but she’d hoped to take some time—weeks perhaps—to get to know her husband before they did that .
At first she thought perhaps bringing it up now so to prepare Laird Lindsay for her thoughts on the matter would be a good thing, and ease her mind somewhat. However, now that she sat only a few feet from him she found speaking of such a thing near impossible.
She now had the time to actually study the man. His broad shoulders and warrior’s build she’d noticed the minute she saw him. With everything that had happened in rapid succession, she’d not really studied his face. He was handsome. More so than she had the right to expect. His deep green eyes mesmerized her as they sparkled with mirth and life. He certainly seemed the cheerful type.
The server arrived at their table, and time was taken up with ordering food. The ring on her finger kept slipping off until Laird Lindsay reached over and took it off her finger. “After we eat, we shall find a jewelry store and buy you something that you like and that fits better.”
She shook her head, the familiar panic settling in her stomach. “I don’t think that is a very good idea. I am very sure my uncle is out hunting me.”
He tilted his head as he studied her. “That subject seems to be a good place for us to start learning about each other.”
The laird nodded as the server arrived at their table and placed bowls of white soup in front of them. He also set a bottle of wine on their table. The man went through the procedure of opening the bottle, smelling it, pouring a small amount, then passing it to her husband to approve.
Once they were alone again, she said, “My laird, I—”
He held up his hand. “Before ye continue, I believe we have gone beyond any formality. Although we have kenned each other only a few hours, we are married. I would prefer if ye call me Kerrigan, and I hope to have leave to call ye Christine.”
Again she felt a rush of blood color her face. “Of course. That is probably best.”
Kerrigan took a sip of his soup and waved at her. “Please continue.”
“Yes. Well, my uncle wished me to marry a man I did not want to marry. No, that is not completely correct. He ordered me to marry this man that he drew up a marriage contract with. From what I was able to discover before my uncle locked me in my room was that Lord Newton—my ‘so-called’ betrothed—is a gambler, drinker, and heaven knows what else. I met the man, and the way he looked at me made my skin crawl.”
She took a sip of wine and continued. “My uncle, Viscount Carl Allenby—my father’s title he inherited when Papa died— is a wastrel, also. My father spoke to me many times about his younger brother. My papa gave Uncle Carl a very generous allowance, but the man was always in debt. Apparently one of his creditors is Lord Newton.”
“How do you ken this?”
Christine sighed and looked at her plate. “I snooped. When Uncle Carl was away from the house, I went through the papers in Papa’s desk so I could find out what he planned to do. Papa had warned me that since his brother would try to find a way to get the money from his estate, he’d been assured by his solicitor that the will was solid.”
“Yet yer uncle inherited the title. ’Twas there nothing besides that for him?”
She looked back up. “No. Papa said he would leave him nothing, but certain things were, of course, entailed, so Uncle Carl got those—houses, estates, things like that. He would also get any income from the estates which Papa said would provide a decent living for him. But the rest of Papa’s money was his to do with as he wished, and he wanted me to have it since he didn’t trust his brother to take care of me until I was settled with a husband.”
Another sip of wine. “My father didn’t count on his brother forcing me to marry one of his cohorts so they could split the money.”
“And no doubt lose it,” Kerrigan added.
“Yes.”
He looked down at the plates laid before them of Haricot lamb, pickled figs, fish with wine and mushrooms, and vegetable pie. “I suggest we finish this conversation once we are through with our meal. It is wonderful food, but it will grow cold.”
It was indeed wonderful food, and Christine was quite happy that the la—rather, Kerrigan—liked it, since it had been her suggestion. The rest of the meal passed in comments about the various offerings, which gave Christine time to settle her nerves. She felt as though she’d been talking forever. But then, most couples had that kind of conversation over a period of weeks or months before they married.
Kerrigan tried not to stare at his wife while they ate. She was a beauty. Although he’d been prepared to marry any woman he needed to in order to save his clan, never in his very active imagination had he conjured up a lass such as this one.
The new Lady Christine Lindsay, however, would never succeed in a game of poker. Every thought was visible on her face. She smiled, grinned, frowned, and everything else to show the world what she thought as she spoke. Her voice, alone, was enough to drive his blood to his shaft. Deep, soft, and inviting. He didn’t think he ever had to worry about his wife lying to him. It appeared it was merely not in her nature.
They finished their meal with tea and an array of sweets. As much as he was looking forward to retiring to the townhouse Mr. Kendall had offered them, he was feeling a tad guilty as to how very tired his new bride looked. He imagined that what she’d gone through the last few days with escaping her home, seeking out Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and wedding a stranger, was taking a toll on her body.
Kerrigan placed money on the table and stood. “I believe it is time to make use of the generous offer Mr. Kendall made us and retire for the day.”
Most likely not thinking about the looming consummation of their vows, she smiled warmly at him. “Yes, I am quite tired.”
Yet that was all he could think about with his bonny bride at his side.
Once they left the building, Kerrigan waved down a hackney and gave the driver directions. Despite his desire to bed his wife, the more he studied Christine, the more convinced he was that any intimacy between them was better left off for now. She was a gently bred lady, after all, and even though she’d had the resourcefulness to seek a husband, he was still a stranger to her, and she was very tired. Since it was best to start his marriage as he intended for it to go on, he would forego any romantic notions he had and let his wife have a good night’s rest. After all, he told his disappointed shaft, they had the rest of their lives.
The townhouse was in a very fashionable neighborhood, with well-kept front gardens and freshly painted doors. Kerrigan assisted Christine up the steps and before they even reached the top, the door was opened by an older looking man, dressed in a full butler ensemble. Apparently, not having the master in residence didn’t cause his employee to slacken.
“Good evening, Lady Lindsay, Laird Lindsay. After your belongings arrived, along with a note from Mr. Kendall, I arranged for one of the bed chambers to be readied for you, but it might take a bit more time. However, you may rest in the drawing room, and I can send for tea if you would like.”
“Thank you so much, Stevens, but we just finished our meal,” Kerrigan said.
The butler led them to a lovely room just as a maid was leaving with a bundle of dust covers in her arms.
“There is brandy and sherry on the sideboard, Laird.” He waved toward the south wall. “I have retained the services of a cook for the few days you will be staying. Will you be breaking your fast in the dining room, or your bedchamber?”
Christine looked at Kerrigan. “You may have our morning meal sent up,” he said.
She tried very hard not to let the warm flush from her middle climb all the way to her face, but she thought she hadn’t succeeded. Kerrigan was kind enough not to notice or react if he had.
The butler walked to the door. “I will advise when the bedchamber is ready.” He softly closed the door, leaving Christine and Kerrigan staring at each other.
He took her hands in his. “Are all English butlers as efficient as Stevens?”
She couldn’t hide her smile. “No, I think not.”
Kerrigan grinned back at her and waved to the sideboard. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Yes, I believe so.” She certainly needed something to fortify her before she was marched upstairs as if she were headed to her execution.
“Nay, lass, it won’t be that bad.” Her husband smiled.
“Oh, my. Did I say that out loud?”
“Aye. But calm yerself. Tonight I believe we should continue to learn about each other, relax and have a good night’s sleep.”
She couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped her lips.
With a soft laugh, Kerrigan walked to the sideboard.