Chapter Ten
Sunlight spilled through the mullioned windows of Ralston House’s dining room casting a warm golden light over a table laden with fine china rimmed in gold, silver chafing dishes and crystal goblets.
The wedding breakfast had begun, and guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand talking and laughing.
‘I agreed with the dressmaker. You look lovely in the blue,’ Sara said as she adjusted a piece of lace at Nora’s sleeve.
‘You should eat something before you indulge in a second glass of champagne,’ Candace said.
‘I’m not that hungry.’ Nora touched her stomach.
Her nerves had been strung tight the moment she’d arrived at the church.
The ceremony at St George’s Church had been a blur, and she could hardly recall the priest’s words.
She’d been too aware of Ralston standing beside her.
Tall and confident, if he’d been even a bit nervous it hadn’t shown.
When it was her turn to speak her vows, her voice had been a low murmur.
In contrast, Ralston’s voice had been loud and clear.
She was now a married woman in her new home.
She scanned her surroundings. The room felt too grand.
Velvet drapes held back with tassel fringe revealed a glimpse of manicured gardens beyond.
A portrait above the fireplace of a dark-haired man with a serious expression wearing a ruffled neck ruff and velvet doublet stared down at the guests.
Something about the man’s nose reminded her of Ralston’s and she suspected it was an ancestor, possibly the first earl.
He’d told her the ancient title had been passed down for generations.
The thought made her chest feel as if it would burst.
Goodness, how would she fit in here?
‘It was a beautiful ceremony,’ Candace said.
Nora’s voice was whisper soft. ‘I wish I could remember more of it.’ She scanned the opulent room and the richly dressed guests and took a shaky breath. ‘What if I don’t belong here?’
‘You belong!’ Sara surprised her by gripping her hand. ‘Do not let the wealth intimidate you. Papa may not have had a title, but he was just as worthy and so are you.’
‘She’s right,’ Candace chimed in. ‘It’s just a house, no matter how large.’
Nora wasn’t so sure. They lived in a rented townhouse in Picadilly.
It was a fine home in a fine area of London in her opinion.
But this house, this mansion, in Berkley Square dwarfed hers.
It boasted a dozen bedrooms, not including the staff’s quarters, the kitchens, an orangery and garden.
There were more than two dozen staff, and with Ralston by her side, she’d made an effort to greet each one earlier in the day as they’d lined up to welcome their new mistress.
She’d paid the head housekeeper the most attention and she knew the competent woman was one she’d want on her side.
And then there was the Earl of Ralston himself.
Her husband.
Her gloved fingers closed around the delicate stem of her glass, as she glanced across the room.
He was especially striking in his black coat and snowy cravat.
He carried himself with confidence as if he knew his place in the world and everyone should respect it.
Men must envy him. She knew firsthand his tailor did not need to pad the shoulders of his coat.
He spoke with his friend, the Marquess of Adler.
As if sensing her attention, his eyes met hers across the room. He raised his glass to her, and his full lips tilted in a grin.
Tingling from head to toe, she released a slow breath. She was all too aware that tonight was their wedding night. She breathed lightly between parted lips and felt a curious swooping pull in her stomach. Would he always unnerve her with a simple glance?
‘He’s coming your way,’ Sara said.
Her pulse leaped once again. She was vaguely aware of her sisters moving away and leaving her alone with her husband.
‘How are you faring?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘Not too overwhelmed, I hope?’
‘It is all a bit overwhelming. Your house is grand, much grander than what I’m accustomed to.’ Was she meant to belong here in the Earl’s world of gilded mantel clocks and ancient portraits of ancestors watching her from the walls?
‘It’s no longer mine, but ours. I hope you will be comfortable here. I know the staff is happy to have a mistress.’
He held her gaze a moment longer, then brushed her back with his fingers. ‘Come. Let us greet all our guests together.’ Warmth followed the path of his hand, comforting and possessive at the same time, and a tiny shiver travelled down her spine. Could he tell her reaction?
She’d agreed to a businesslike marriage of convenience without emotional entanglements. But she’d also agreed to an heir.
Which meant she would share his bed. Her heart did a pitter patter. A different nervousness settled low in her stomach. Which made her ponder.
Were her nerves due to being with a man or to being with him?
What on earth was taking Ralston so long? Was his toilette with his valet some grand and ceremonial affair that required longer than an hour? Surely, he understood that his new bride would be waiting. And that she was a bundle of nerves.
The soft tick of the mantel clock in her bedchamber became unbearable.
She had watched the long hand inch forward for what felt like an eternity.
The coals had died down in the brazier and settled to a quiet amber glow, casting flickering shadows along the damask walls.
Never in her wildest dreams did she think her wedding night would be filled with silence and solitude.
Her gaze wandered to the door that connected their rooms, and an intriguing thought crossed her mind.
Was he waiting for her to come to him? That couldn’t be proper…
could it? Of course, she hadn’t received a proper education on wedding nights.
Her mother had been of no help, saying in passing that the man would take care of things.
Well, at this point, Ralston had not taken care of anything.
Her lips flattened with determination, and she stiffened her spine.
She was not a woman accustomed to being ignored, certainly not by her husband on her wedding night.
And in truth, she was currently too anxious to sleep.
Not bothering with a robe, she approached their adjoining bedroom door in her nightgown, the fine silk whispering around her ankles as she moved.
Her bare feet made no sound on the thick Aubusson carpet.
When her fingers curled around the brass handle, her heartbeat tripled.
She turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room beyond was dimly lit by the red glow of coals in the grate.
‘My lord?’ Her voice was whisper soft.
No answer.
‘Ralston?’
Still nothing.
She stepped over the threshold.
His bedchamber was masculine and richly appointed.
A towering four-poster bed, its dark velvet hangings drawn back, dominated the middle of the room.
A tall mahogany wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a writing desk flanked the walls.
The scent of shaving soap and sandalwood lingered faintly in the air.
But the bed was untouched. The coverlet hadn’t even been turned down.
He wasn’t there.
Nora stood frozen as myriad thoughts crossed her mind. Where on earth was he? Her nervousness shifted to annoyance. Had he gone out? Was he at one of his clubs, meeting with friends? Either way, he was elsewhere and ignoring her.
With her jaw set, she returned to her chamber and shut the adjoining door with a firm click.
If he wouldn’t come to her, then she would find a way to calm herself.
Warm milk might soothe her into sleep. On second thought, a dram of whisky would do it faster.
Her father had always kept a sideboard full of liquor in his library and it was a good guess the Earl did the same.
Lighting a candle, she left her room and padded silently down the grand staircase. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of a loose floorboard. She passed portraits of long-dead relatives in the shadowed corridors and a painting of sporting animals, a white horse and hunting hound.
The library door was ajar.
Ralston was inside.
He sat before the low-burning coal brazier, his profile bathed in copper light.
A glass was cradled in his hand, the amber liquid inside catching the glow of the fire.
He looked thoughtful, as if he were considering a complex problem.
The crisp white of his shirt was undone at the neck, his waistcoat abandoned, and his dark hair slightly mussed, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
He stood the moment he noticed her.
‘Nora.’
She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. ‘I realize our wedding was unusual—’
‘The ceremony was perfectly normal,’ he said with a shrug, ‘so I assume you speak of our arrangement.’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘You did not intend to marry.’
‘Neither did you. At least…not how it came about. But here we are.’
‘Yes. And it’s our wedding night.’ She eyed the whisky on the sideboard. ‘And yet here you sit. Alone.’
His eyes followed hers to the decanter. ‘You needn’t worry. I do not intend to visit your bed tonight.’
She gave a dry little laugh. ‘I came to that understanding. But why?’
He looked into the fire for a moment before turning back to her. ‘You need time to adjust to our…to your…situation.’
‘I do?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I have never forced a woman,’ he said, his voice low but firm, ‘and I won’t start with my wife.’
Uncertain how to respond, she decided to be grateful and yet she could not quite rid herself of an odd flicker of disappointment. What was wrong with her? She should be relieved and appreciative of his consideration. Still, she acknowledged she was wildly curious.
‘Is it something I’ve done?’
‘No. It’s not you. Never you. Like I said, our circumstances are different than the typical marriage.’