Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Is it normal to be this nervous?” Vivian paced around her room, intentionally avoiding looking into the mirror in the corner.
Her room, like the rest of Elington Manor, her new home, was opulent yet comfortable. The mahogany bed was grand and a little intimidating; the sofa by the fireplace was warm and inviting, surrounded by a scattering of armchairs.
It was a room that should have been full, but with only Vivian and Henrietta in it, it felt empty. Her eyes drifted to the walls, and she wondered if a painting or two could make it feel more inviting.
What is the point of decorating if you might lose it all at any moment? Why get comfortable only to have it snatched from you?
Vivian’s hand rested on her chest, over the dressing gown that covered the nightdress she had bought at the modiste’s.
Across from her, Henrietta gave up pretending to embroider and instead clasped her hands in her lap. “Every bride is nervous on her wedding night, my lady.”
“I feel like I am about to be sick.” Vivian clutched at her stomach as her heart thundered in her chest.
“Sip on this tea; it will calm your nerves.” Henrietta pointed to the mug.
“I do not think tea will help, Henrietta. I have no clue what I am doing. Look at me! I look like a Covent Garden nun—you know, one of those women who—” Vivian flushed and was grateful when Henrietta interrupted her.
“Do not be silly; you look exactly as a young lady ought to on her wedding night.”
Henrietta tsked, but Vivian noticed that there were faint spots of red on her maid’s cheeks. “Besides, while you are in that dressing gown, you are practically decent.”
“If you think this is decent, I fear what you might dress me in tomorrow.” Vivian swallowed and glanced toward the hidden doorway behind the painting. “Goodness only knows what will happen if I run into a servant looking like this.”
“You are the mistress of this house; they will know better than to question you.” Henrietta waved a hand in the air.
“They need not question me if I die of embarrassment.” Vivian imagined running into the kindly housekeeper, Mrs. Bird.
The sight of me might kill her.
“You do not need to be embarrassed. You are a married woman fulfilling your wifely duties.” Henrietta gave Vivian a frank look.
Panic swelled within her chest. “But what are these duties? I know I am supposed to bear him an heir, but how—”
“He will show you what to do. Just make sure you kiss.” Henrietta gave Vivian a smile that did absolutely nothing to soothe her rapidly fraying nerves. “The rest will follow.”
Vivian glanced toward the door and then at the clock in the corner. “What if he is not in?”
“Then you will wait for him in his room.” Henrietta handed her a candle. “It is his bedroom after all; no doubt he will return to it sooner or later.”
“Am I just supposed to stand there like some fool until he does?” Vivian could just picture it now.
The things one must do to secure a future for oneself.
“Of course not. You may as well be comfortable. But remember, you must also be alluring.” Henrietta gestured to Vivian’s night robe. “I suggest waiting in bed. That will be best.”
“The bed?” Vivian’s voice rose to a pitch she had not realized she could make. “Is that not… is it not a bit presumptuous?”
“My dear lady, you are going to the man’s bedroom in the middle of the night.
I think we are well past presumption.” Henrietta squeezed her hand.
“Besides you… Well, you just focus on bringing him to you. Think about how you are arranged on the bed, and which features you may wish him to see first. Men usually have a sort of preference, though it is hard to say what the Marquess’s might be. ”
“A preference?” Vivian gaped at her lady’s maid. “For a feature of my body?”
“I suggest you choose the bits that you feel are most inviting. You are trying to tempt him after all.” Henrietta glanced at the clock and then turned back to face Vivian. “But do not be too obvious; you must leave something to the imagination after all.”
“If that is the case, I am in the wrong nightdress.” Vivian tried not to think of just how little the garment hid.
“That is why you have a dressing gown. Though, do not have it fastened so tight when you enter his room.” Henrietta adjusted the gown, revealing more of Vivian’s skin than was decent.
“Surely I will be freezing if I arrive like this.” Vivian shook her head.
“Which will give you the perfect way to bring him to your side.” Henrietta opened the servant’s door and looked at Vivian like a proud mother seeing her child take her first steps.
Vivian would have been offended if her thoughts were not so preoccupied with what was waiting for her in her husband’s room.
But once this is done, you will be safe. No one will be able to take this from you.
“I will not be at the mercy of anyone else, not again.” Vivian rolled her shoulders back and straightened.
“That’s the spirit.” Henrietta squeezed Vivian’s arm. “You remember the way?”
“Yes. I think so.” Vivian glanced toward the corridor. “At the very least, I remember what his room looks like, so I will at least know if I have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
Vivian took a deep breath and slipped into the servant’s corridor, praying harder than she ever had before that no one would run into her.
Her footsteps echoed as she wound through the passages, trying to remember whether to turn right or left. Once or twice, she stumbled, nearly falling. The candle sputtered, but thankfully did not go out.
By the time she reached what she thought was the right door, her heart was beating so hard and fast she could not even hear the echo of her footsteps. She was fairly certain it was mere seconds from flinging itself from her chest.
“I suppose if that happens, I will not need to worry about my future anymore.” It was not as comforting a joke once she said the words aloud.
She raised her hand and realized that it was shaking. “Should I knock? Surely it would be best to knock. But what if he is not in? Then I might knock and wait, and there would be no answer. But if I walk into his chambers, he might take offence. Or maybe he would like that?”
Men like him appreciate such boldness. Henrietta’s words played in her head.
“Bother and damn—do all women struggle with this sort of thing, or am I uniquely inept?” Vivian growled and, throwing caution to the wind, flung open the door.
It smacked against a wall, making her jump and nearly spill candle wax over everything.
That would be perfect. Greetings, husband; oh, do not mind the spilled wax. Let us make an heir. Even thinking it made Vivian want to curl into herself and vanish.
Before her was a large room, with a roaring fire in the hearth. Its light filled the space with a friendly glow that did nothing to soothe her thundering heart. She glanced at the bed and saw that it was empty.
Her stomach dropped, but she could not tell if it was with disappointment or relief. She blew out her candle and tiptoed toward the bed. She glanced over her shoulder, half hoping, half dreading that Thomas might appear.
He did not.
Vivian shivered despite the warmth of the fire and reached a hand toward the bed. Her mouth was bone dry as her fingers brushed across the decadent silk of the bedcovers, tracing the fine embroidery. Just touching it with her fingers felt strangely intimate.
“In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.” Gooseflesh covered her arms and legs as she gingerly crept onto the bed.
It was more comfortable than she expected, and she let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. She glanced toward the door, but it remained shut.
“The fire is lit, so surely he will return before long.” Vivian leaned back against the pillows. “Comfortable, but alluring. What does that even mean?”
She shifted, moving her dressing gown to reveal more of her legs. She raised an arm above her head and tried to think of what she had heard people say of temptation.
“Features? What features do I want him to see? Surely she was not talking about… No, that would be too vulgar. But maybe, perhaps I could show a little more of myself.” She gently adjusted her dressing gown, revealing more of her pale skin in the firelight.
“What am I supposed to do with my hands?” She tried to prop herself up on her elbow to steady herself on the bed, resting her head in her hands, just like she had seen in a scandalous painting before her mother had yanked her away.
She moved her legs, crossing and uncrossing them, trying to angle herself so that she looked alluring. Or at least, hoping that she would.
“These accursed sheets are so slippery that it is impossible to lie like this.” Vivian cursed and caught sight of herself in the mirror. “And of course, I look exactly as ridiculous as I thought.”
She groaned and flopped back onto the pillows, massaging her temples with her fingertips. The smell of amber surrounded her, and for a moment, she remembered the feel of his hand at her back as they had danced at the wedding.
“Doubtless, if he were here, he would tell me to breathe. To relax.” She could practically hear his voice in her head.
‘I am not the kind of man who lets his partner fall.’
“Easy enough to say,” Vivian murmured, remembering the way they had danced. “He dances like… like a painter. No… That makes no sense. He is like a bird, beautiful and elegant.”
Vivian knew she was talking nonsense, but she did not care. The bed was so warm, so comfortable. And it smelled of him. She had not thought that she would find the scent of amber so reassuring, but she did.
Her eyelids felt heavy. She knew she should resist, but she could not.
She let herself drift as the smell of amber intensified.
She dreamed of warmth surrounding her, of being carried, not flying through the air, only to land in a soft meadow.
Small fairies that smelled of amber laid a blanket of swirling vines across her.
“What am I going to do with you?” The fairies turned into Thomas, his piercing blue eyes pinning her in place like a moth beneath a magnifying glass.
“Thomas?” she tried to say, but her mouth would not work properly. “Is that you?”
“This is dangerous,” Thomas murmured, and for a moment, she thought he would stroke her face.
“What is?” she wanted to ask, but the words stuck in her throat. “Why are you here?”
“I cannot stay.” Thomas stood, and the whole meadow rocked.
Vivian tried to move, to reach for him, but something pinned her in place. “No, wait. Don’t leave me.”
“Goodnight, Vivian.” The words were so distant, and she struggled harder. “May your dreams be pleasant.”
“Thomas!” Vivian bolted upright, blinking furiously in the bright light that was streaming through the window.
There was a startled cry from the foot of the bed, and the maid leaped back, a hand clutched to her chest. Vivian yelped and attempted to cover herself, but soon realized that there was no need. The bedclothes were already drawn up around her.
I must have gotten cold during the night.
“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you…” Vivian gestured to the maid, struggling to remember her name.
It is too early for this sort of thing.
“Greta, your ladyship. And it is no bother. I am sorry if I woke you.” Greta’s cheeks were a shade of scarlet that Vivian was sure matched her own.
“I am grateful that you did. I… Where is the Marquess?” Vivian looked around. She was still in his room after all.
“His Lordship is in his study.” Greta gestured toward the door.
“He is working already?” Vivian frowned, wondering how long she had been asleep.
Did he not even return to his room? How am I supposed to get with an heir if the man will not even come to his own bedchamber!
There was no way she would walk through the halls of the house dressed as she was. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed down the rising panic clawing at her throat.
She needed to get some time with her husband, but how? An idea struck her. “Has Tho—Lord Elington broken his fast this morning?”
“I do not believe so.” Greta’s brow furrowed.
Vivian nodded to herself, drawing her dressing gown more tightly around her. “Please have the cook prepare a plate for him, and I will bring it to his lordship myself once I am dressed.”
“There is no need for that, my lady. I am sure one of the servants would be more than happy—” Greta began, her eyes widening.
“I know you would.” Vivian interrupted, giving the maid what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
“It is a silly superstition my family has. A wife brings her husband breakfast to bring good luck and prosperity. And after all, the Marquess is working so hard, I want him to know that I will support him.”
Greta nodded solemnly, and Vivian managed to hide her relief that her lie had worked. “I will see that it is done, my lady.”
“I meant to mention it to Mrs. Bird on my tour yesterday, but in the excitement I completely forgot.” Vivian did not have to feign her look of embarrassment as she leaned toward Greta. “It was, well, a little more overwhelming than I anticipated. I just want to do a good job as your Marchioness.”
“Of course, my lady.” Greta curtseyed. “I am sure you will. I will let Cook and Mrs. Bird know, and then return to clean his lordship’s room?”
“That would be perfect. Thank you.” Vivian waited until Greta had left the room before climbing out of bed and making her way back to her own.
One way or another, she was going to get some time with her husband. “He may not need sleep, but no man can resist a good breakfast.”
She hoped she was right.