Chapter Six
Winifred sat at the foot of a bed in an unfamiliar room with her head in her hands as her stomach gurgled and the stale oatcakes she’d eaten that morning threatened to rise.
Not once during the ocean crossing had she expected her wedding to be so stressful.
Despite weeks of anticipating this moment, she felt as if she’d been dropped into the situation entirely unprepared.
That her future husband hadn’t met them at the door made her even more nervous.
What if he had changed his mind and would spurn her at the altar?
It was an absurd thought, as such an action would result in a terrible scandal, but she couldn’t seem to convince herself that it wasn’t going to happen.
Oh, God, she was about to marry a man she’d never met.
It was not a future she’d ever seriously imagined for herself, even though such matches were not uncommon.
She had, in fact, barely considered what marriage would be like until recently.
It had been much easier to envision a life focused on research and the eventual companionship of her cousin.
Now she was in Scotland, becoming the wife of a man who would have nearly as much, if not more, control over her than her parents had ever had.
She dropped her hands from her face. There was no point in moping.
If Marcus kept his word, she would soon be free of her managing mother and ready to begin her new life.
She would simply have to force herself to endure standing in a crowded, noisy room for an hour.
This was not the first time she’d had to smile and nod while screaming inside her head.
She smoothed the fabric of her gown, which had become slightly wrinkled from her terrible posture.
At least the garment was lovely, made of ivory silk moire with a white tulle veil.
The bodice had puffed sleeves trimmed with white knitted lace.
For jewelry, her mother had generously gifted her an opal-and-seed-pearl pendant in the shape of a sun on a gold necklace with matching teardrop earrings.
It was strangely comforting wearing her family crest, even though the same symbol was burned into her flesh between her collarbones, the last gift her uncle had given her before she’d left England.
She checked her coiffure one last time in the small mirror above the writing desk and then lifted her chin and strode with confidence she did not feel into the hallway, where her father was waiting.
Her feet seemed to sink into the floor as she realized how much he’d aged in the past year.
The silver strands in his hair had multiplied tenfold.
The slim-fitting silver coat he wore made him appear almost sickly thin, and when he turned to her and smiled, there were noticeably more dark spots on his wrinkled cheeks.
“It is not too late to change your mind,” he said as she placed her fingers on his arm. “You could still accept that scoundrel Vincent’s offer.” His tone was serious, but his wide smile gave him away. She responded by “accidentally” stepping on his toes.
“I almost wish I’d been kidnapped by pirates,” she said. At least then she’d have some idea what to expect.
He squeezed her arm. “Are you sure about this?”
She kissed his cheek. “Yes.”
A chance to achieve her dream of becoming an esteemed scholar was worth the risk of venturing into foreign territory, and far better than being shackled to a man whose presence made her nauseated.
“Wait until you see the earl,” her father said, when they arrived at the dining hall. “I’ve never seen such fearsome scars, and an eyepatch, too. All he is missing is a parrot on his shoulder. You might yet get your wish.”
She stomped on his foot again. Not that it stopped the old man from laughing.
A strangled laugh drew Winifred’s attention to her cousin Felicity, dressed in her white bridesmaid’s dress. When Felicity met Winifred’s gaze, she grinned and waved. A small gesture, but it settled Winifred’s nerves more than anything her mother had said.
“Thank you,” Winifred whispered as her father led her toward the door. She wished Felicity could have joined her while she’d prepared, but Mrs. Belltree had insisted that an archaic Sorrow family tradition required that the mother of the bride solely perform the task.
“Ready?” Winifred’s father asked.
She licked her dry lips, then nodded.
The doors opened, revealing a small crowd sitting in rows in front of a friendly-looking man she assumed was the vicar. Her mother was there, of course, along with Aunt Ethel. Uncle Ethan was noticeably absent, along with Felicity’s brother, Vincent.
Winifred did not miss them.
The remaining guests were unfamiliar, two men Winifred assumed were related to Marcus.
Both were tall, with unusually pale skin and dark hair, but their countenances could not have been more different.
The man closer to her looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon; his lips were pressed into a tight line and his bright, blue eyes were wide.
The other man wore the slack, bored look of a parishioner impatiently waiting for the end of a lengthy sermon.
Then Winifred saw Marcus, and time stood still.
He was shorter than she’d expected, although broad of shoulder, with unfashionably long, brown hair, startlingly pale skin, and a nose of extraordinary proportions.
He held his arms stiffly at his side while rocking back and forth slightly on his feet, looking as if he’d rather have been anywhere else in the world.
It was that last detail that gave her the strength to step forward when he met her gaze and an electric heat shot through her.
His eyes widened and his finely shaped lips spread into a grin.
She hardly noticed her father drawing her forward, because all that mattered was Marcus, and the warmth in his expression.
Nor did she remember the words her father whispered as he handed her to her new husband.
Later, all she would recall from the few minutes she spent next to Marcus was feeling his boney arm beneath her fingers and the way he gently cupped her cheeks with his ice-cold hands before pressing a feather-light kiss to her lips.
There was some business with signing a contract with witnesses before her mother ushered her into a cavernous room decorated lavishly with roses, now a married woman, surrounded by chattering family members yet feeling completely alone.
She twirled the simple gold band wrapped around her finger.
According to the books on ceremonies she had read, she should have been bustled into a carriage and taken to her new home.
That, of course, had not been necessary, as the wedding had taken place at her new home, but it left her scrambling to determine etiquette.
Should she be speaking to her guests? Standing next to her new husband?
Arranging the opening of her bridal trousseau?
Then she spotted Felicity in the crowd, clutching a lace fan as she moved through the room. When she spotted Winifred, she changed direction. They met with a clasping of hands.
“I’m so glad to—”
“You look—”
They stopped and blinked before bursting into giggles, which Winifred stifled. She was a married woman now. A countess. It was entirely inappropriate to be so energetic while there were guests for her to entertain.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you sooner,” Felicity said. “Aunt Ethel wouldn’t let me leave my room until the ceremony, as a punishment.” She grinned. “I might have engaged in some gambling on the ship.”
Winifred giggled, then squeezed her cousin’s hands. “Thank you for coming. I will ask him about hiring you as soon as I can.”
Felicity squeezed back. “You are a true friend.” Her thin eyebrows drew together.
“I admit, I didn’t actually expect you to go through with this marriage.
The earl is an excellent match, of course, but…
” She glanced around, then leaned closer.
“Do you not find his complexion rather strange, Winnie? The man is as pale as a ghost.”
Winifred tilted her head. “He is a scientist, Fel. He spends most of his time engaged in research.”
“Then what about his brothers? They are equally as pallid.”
“That is enough,” Winifred said. The words came out more sharply than she’d intended.
She was rather tired of listening to criticism about her husband.
Her parents had spent much of the journey complaining about Marcus’s insistence on a small, late-night ceremony.
They would not refuse him, given his status, but they were not above gossip.
Her mother had speculated the earl was either weak of constitution or so miserly that he refused to spend any more than necessary on the wedding.
Winifred had not enjoyed hearing such talk, especially when it seemed at odds with the Marcus she thought she knew.
Not that scientists couldn’t also be pinchpennies, but she had difficulty reconciling his descriptions of an enormous library with her parents’ speculations.
Felicity’s lips thinned. “I worry for you, Winnie. Your new husband…” She lowered her voice. “Something is not right about him. He is an earl. Why would he offer to marry you when there are dozens of ladies within arm’s reach?”
Winifred shook her head. “I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary.” She forgave her cousin’s worries in part because they reminded her of something that had slipped her mind until that moment.
Marcus’s letters. The ones he’d sent since she’d accepted his proposal.
If Felicity had read them, she’d understand there was a genuine connection between Winifred and the earl. Not love, of course, but fondness.
Her spectacles fogged as she remembered the soft press of Marcus’s lips.
Her attraction to him was entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome.
If she was going to spend the rest of her life at his side, then some level of affection would ease their path, even if their partnership was one of convenience.
Felicity tucked her arm in Winifred’s and led her around the room. “Well, if you are quite certain. Remember that I am only a letter away if you discover anything about the earl that makes you fear for your life.”
Winifred could not help the laugh that burst out of her lips.
“Fear for my life? I think not, cousin. Even if such a thing happened, we are now man and wife. There would be little recourse.” That fact should have been terrifying, but Winifred had reassured herself of her safety on the long trip by reading Marcus’s letters over and over until she could recite them from memory.
“There is one thing that concerns me, though,” Winifred said. She lowered her voice. “The wedding night.”
She had read about the act of intercourse, but the few texts in her parents’ library had only referred to it in vague terms. The books on animal husbandry had been more enlightening, but after exploring her own body with her fingers, she had difficulty imagining how a man would insert himself in such a narrow channel.
Then again, would Marcus even want to engage in such activities with her? He’d assured her in his letters that he did not require an heir, and she had no intention of becoming pregnant, thanks to a special tea she’d learned how to brew from a book.
“I don’t know how—” Felicity started before Marcus appeared in front of them.
Without him having to ask, Winifred released her grasp on her cousin and offered the earl her hand.
He took it, placed it on his sleeve, and pulled her tightly to his side.
This happened so quickly and without a single word spoken that when Winifred peered over her shoulder, Felicity was scowling.
Winifred mouthed an apology before returning her attention to her husband. Even through the fabric, his arm was quite cold. She shivered.
“I’ve grown tired of socializing,” he said, in a voice so deep, it nearly made her swoon.
“Me, too,” she said, and it was true. She’d barely slept the previous night, and the sound of so many people speaking and shouting combined with the scent of roses and the tight clasp of her wedding gown made her want to wriggle out of her skin.
“Come,” he said, tugging her toward the exit. “No one will miss us.”
This was it. Her husband was taking her away.
Anyone remaining in the room would assume he intended to deliver her to her maids.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Her mother had given her very little preparation for what was to come, telling her only that there might be some pain and that Winifred should lie silently and wait for it to end.
That conversation had done nothing to ease her fears.
So, as Marcus led her up the stairs, the fluttering inside her chest intensified until she nearly tripped over her own feet.
She was about to ask him to slow down when he stopped in front of her door and cleared his throat.
“Do you, er, like my castle?”
The way he rubbed his hands together and bit his bottom lip eased her fears. However uncomfortable she felt, this was Marcus, not a complete stranger.
“It’s lovely,” she said. Which was true. The plain, stone walls and lack of gaslights or candles might have been unnerving to some, but she had never been intimidated by darkness.
Monsters that were not afraid to show themselves in the light of day were far more terrifying than those who preferred to remain concealed.
“Good.” He tugged at his cravat. “Good. Well. If there is, ah, anything you require, you need only ask my—our—housekeeper, Mrs. Gillanders.”
Then, before she could raise the subject of Felicity or anything else, he turned around and left her standing there, staring openmouthed at his retreating form.