4. Chapter 4 #3
My pulse thrummed as Ames led Molly and me out of the Great Hall, holding the candelabra aloft.
We entered a large dining room with another massive fireplace and a long table.
Several doors led out of the dining room, and one went into a long, dark hallway lined with oversized portraits with gilt-edged frames.
The candlelight did little to banish the inky blackness, though it sent enough light to flicker over the ghoulish faces.
Were these the people who had inhabited Pickering Castle over the past several centuries?
Were some of them Ames’s ancestors? Perhaps the unwise dukes and duchesses who preceded us?
What would they think of an inexperienced American darkening their hallowed corridors?
“You’ll find the library, music room, and my study down this hall,” he said as he walked to the corner of the hall where an alcove revealed a circular stone stairway.
“This side of the castle houses most of the family rooms. You’ll find the public spaces on the east side, including several drawing rooms, a chapel, and the state bedchamber, used by royalty when they used to visit.
” He started walking up the stairs, the candlelight bouncing off the stone walls.
I lifted the hem of my gown and followed. The narrow steps were not made for cumbersome dresses.
“The steps were built clockwise,” Ames volunteered, “so knights could use their right hand to wield their swords in battle, if the castle was being attacked. Watch your step,” he warned, glancing at me with his emotional facade carefully in place.
“My great-grandfather died falling down these stairs.”
A shiver ran up my spine at the reminder of the untimely deaths in Ames’s family.
Narrow, rectangular windows dotted the stairwell, but I could not see anything outside.
At the top of the steps, there was another long hallway with more portraits. These looked newer than the ones below.
A droplet of water hit my nose.
I looked up, surprised, and wiped it away.
Ames lifted the candelabra to see where I was looking.
“The entire roof leaks,” he said with a sigh. “But now—”
“You have the money to fix it.”
He made no comment about my fortune but motioned down the hall. “Our apartments are this way.”
My entire body shook with apprehension as I followed him. I knew what I was agreeing to by becoming his wife, yet the thought of being with a stranger terrified me more than anything I’d ever encountered.
“This door leads into my bedchamber,” he said, indicating the door on the left. “And just beyond is the door to yours.”
I’d almost forgotten Molly was still with us, but I caught her staring at the large portraits as we passed beneath them, her eyes wide. Her presence brought more comfort than I realized it would.
Ames opened a heavy door, and I was surprised to find light coming from within.
“I told Freemont to prepare your bedchamber,” Ames said, watching for my response. “It was—” He paused. “My mother’s room and no one has slept in here for over fifteen years. It will need work, I’m certain, but hopefully it will suit your purposes. For now.”
A large four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room with burgundy-colored drapes held back by gold cords.
The fire inside the massive hearth crackled, offering a bit of light and warmth to the drafty room.
There were two comfortable-looking chairs near the fireplace, a generous wardrobe, two bureaus, a desk, and a small table with two chairs near a large bay window.
“It is—” I wasn’t sure how to convey my feelings. “It will do nicely. Thank you.”
He went to a candelabra on a bureau and lit each wick, allowing more light into the room, then motioned to a door in the corner, handing the newly lit candelabra to Molly. “The nursery is through there. Please give your mistress and I a moment of privacy.”
Molly offered a slight curtsey and took the candelabra, leaving us alone.
My heart beat so hard, I was afraid I would pass out. I tried not to let my trepidation show, but I was certain I failed.
Ames did not move from where he stood near the bureau. The light from the candles and the fireplace danced over the planes of his handsome face, highlighting his scar.
He indicated a third door in the room. “That leads to my bedchamber.”
I glanced at the door in question and my breath became shallow.
“If you need anything,” he said, “please don’t hesitate to alert me.”
My mouth was dry, so I simply nodded.
He took in a deep breath, then said, “I’m certain you have—questions—about what will be expected of you.”
I tried to breathe as I said nothing.
“My sole desire to marry was to ensure this estate has the money to protect the people who call it home. I—” He paused, though his gaze did not waver from my face.
He watched me closely as he said, “I have no other expectations of you—or of this marriage. Had I desired a love match, I would have taken a different route to marriage.”
I licked my dry lips, wanting to understand, but unsure how to voice my questions out loud. “And what of . . . heirs?”
He was quiet as he studied me. I wanted to play the same game he played with me and not let my emotions show on my face. But every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire, and I was certain he could tell.
Finally, he said, “If—” He halted. “If, one day . . .” He let the sentence trail off and then set his shoulders. “I have no false hope of gaining your affection. This was a business arrangement and that is how we will treat it.”
At first, I felt immense relief. But then a memory hit me hard.
I’d fallen in love, the year before my debut.
The young man, Patrick Farrow, had been handsome and well-liked.
Many of the girls in my circle of friends were enamored of him.
I had thought he cared about me, so I’d confessed my feelings to him.
But he had regarded me with a mixture of pity and humor and told me that of all the girls in his acquaintance, I would be his last choice.
He’d told me I had no good looks, no real charm, and no talents or abilities to commend me.
The only thing of value I possessed was my money.
His words had wounded a place within me—the place that refused to make me beg my husband to find me attractive or desirable now. I could not stomach it if Ames looked at me the same way Patrick had, so I could not reveal to him how I felt.
If Ames Welby wanted a marriage of convenience—a business deal—he would have it.
“Will there be anything else?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Ames simply bowed and left my bedchamber, closing the door behind him.
Rain and wind rattled the windows as I lowered into one of the chairs near the bay window, wondering what horrors might be revealed to me in the weeks and months ahead.
No matter what came my way, I would show Ames I had what was needed to be the Duchess of Severton.