“I was thinking of coming to Paris.” Lazenby sounded reflective. Cecilia looked intently at him, for he did seem sincere. “I was sorry to hear of Marchmont's death. He was a good man. I know that Dacre will miss him dearly.”
“So will we all.”
“Lady OrmistonâCecilia. You did permit me to call you Cecilia.”
“Yes.” Cecilia watched Lazenby as he dismissed his thought without speaking it.
“Nothing. Let us dance.”
Lazenby offered her his arm and they joined a cotillion.
Ormiston was watching his wife. He found Lady Ketley at his elbow, also contemplating her niece with the debonair earl.
“Watch that one carefully. His reputation dwindles with every new dalliance and he preys on young wives. Bad enough that Dacre should have thrown him together with Ceci last year, let alone draw his attention now.”
“Lady Ketley, Cecilia appears immune to his charms. He may choose to dangle after her, but I'd stake my life that she'll not succumb.”
“You are very sanguine. It may not happen now, but he'll keep up the acquaintance and in a year or two he'll come sniffing round. That's his way. We saw it with the Melchetts and the Waverleys.”
“We shall see.”
“Personally, I don't see Lazenby's appeal. He seems too obvious a flirt to me, but perhaps I am too old to merit his coquetry. Your ways can be just as winning. But I don't see you exert yourself much with Cecilia.” Lady Ketley's blunt comment drew a chuckle from Ormiston.
“You may depend upon my affection for your niece, Lady Ketley. But you must leave us to fend for ourselves.”
“You are as exasperating as Dacre.”
At that, Ormiston could not suppress a guffaw. Never before had anyone compared him to Dacreâand if anyone had been so rash, never before would he have been amused. Lady Ketley's frustration with the tiresome marquis and his still more tiresome son increased and it was Cecilia who bore the brunt of her ire. Once the cotillion had drawn to an end, Burden announced that supper was served and there began a drift from the ballroom to the dining hall.
The supper was a buffet meal, taken standing up. Lady Ketley took the opportunity to corner Cecilia and harangue her soundly for dancing with Lazenby.
“You know his character well enoughâwhy, you were rash enough to refer to it in the receiving line. Yet you dance with him and make eyes at him, in public on your wedding day. It is the height of folly, Cecilia.”
“He is a neighbor, he is our equal in Society and in the county. I cannot cut him, Aunt Letty. It would put Dacre in a most difficult position. And I was not making eyes at him. He is amusing and he makes me laugh, but I know exactly what dangers he presents. Stop trying to manage meâI am a married woman now, and unless and until my husband instructs me not to dance with guests in his own home, I will do as I please with whom I please.”
“How can you speak so to me? Such ingratitude! I, who have kept your secret and launched you in Society and taught you all you know of the world. Sharper than a serpent's tooth indeed!” whispered Lady Ketley with ferocity.
“Aunt Letty, we must speak now and in private. We cannot leave things between us so. Come with me.” Cecilia took her aunt in a firm grasp and led her away from the ballroom into a small music room down the hallway. Once Lady Ketley had settled herself in a wing chair, Cecilia went over to her and knelt at her feet and took her hand.
“Dearest aunt, you know that I am deeply indebted to you and will never forget all that I owe you. But this very morning, you were telling me how I must make my way at Hatherley, and make something of this marriage, how I must now be one of the Dacres and follow their lead.”
Lady Ketley made a sound which sounded like “mmpff,” which might, Cecilia thought, be taken as an invitation to continue.
“I know full well what Lazenby isâa flirtatious rogue. But I also believe there to be something dangerous in him, Aunt Letty, and I do not wish to unleash that on my family.”
Lady Ketley dropped a kiss on Cecilia's brow and smoothed a ringlet back from the girl's temple before reaching into her reticule to withdraw a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes.
“Forgive me, Ceci. We have been so happy since you came to us, Ketley and I, and now we have lost my dear Marchmont and with him, we are to lose you. I am so grieved by this, I was not just. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course. I can never forget what I owe you.” She stretched up to kiss her aunt on the cheek.
“Now, tell me, Ceci, whatever makes you think Lazenby is dangerous?”
“Perhaps it was nothing. But you remember my friend Susanna?”
“YesâMaria Melchett's little sister. What of her?”
“When Melchett threw off Maria, she returned home. Susanna said that Maria gave her father her oath that there had been nothing between herself and Lazenbyâit was all a hum. He had put the rumor about because she spurned him. He makes me very uneasy, Aunt Letty. But he is the marquis's friend and I cannot be rude to him.”
“Tell Ormiston of this, I beg, Cecilia. Not tonight, but soon. Lazenby has you in his sightsâI'd wager your fine amethysts on it. You may trust Ormiston, I feel sure.”
“Maybe.”
“Is all well between you, Ceci? You seemed to have come to an accommodation with Ormiston very swiftly, but I was too glad to see you settled without any great legal kerfuffle to fuss. Should I have done?”
Cecilia shook her head. “The truth is, we are newly wed, even though we have been married more than five years. We must learn each other's ways.”
“Will you learn to love him, Ceci? I pray you will find as much pleasure and passion as I have known with Ketley. But this match has been unorthodox from the start and I worry for you. Another reason for my anxiety over Lazenby.”
“I cannot tell. I do know that since he came to Sawards, he has been warm to the children, he has striven to put himself forward as a support since Papa's death, he has made every effort to be pleasant to me. This is not love, but it is an advance on the contempt in which he held me five years ago.”
“But what of you, child? He hurt you very bitterly then.”
“We were both young and foolish. Hurting me was understandable, if not excusable. He was badly enough wounded by his father. He is a man now.”
Lady Ketley was wise enough to go no further. It had occurred to her to ask whether Cecilia felt any frisson of attraction for the viscount, but that seemed impertinent. Besides, she had been told clearly enough on three separate occasions this evening that she should not interfere in the lives of her niece and the viscount. She stood and gathered up her niece and led her back to the ball.
Ormiston came over as soon as they appeared in the doorway of the dining room. He looked intently at his bride's face, but Cecilia appeared calm enough.
“Now that supper has been served, we must cut the cake and dance a final dance. Then we are under no further obligation.”
“If it is not too soon, by all means let us complete the ceremonies.”
Ormiston led Cecilia over to a confection of five tiers. He took up a great knife and held it out so that Cecilia might rest her own hand on his. Then Dacre called for silence, they sliced down, and a great cheer passed around the room. Ormiston smiled at Cecilia.
“Are you ready for a final dance, my lady?”
“With pleasure.”
They took to the floor, no longer the cynosure of all eyes, able at last to concentrate on each other. Ormiston noticed slight shadows of fatigue under Cecilia's eyes. She was avoiding his gaze as well. What could be worrying her? He drew in his breath and closed his eyes as he caught the scent of her, delicately musky, overlaid with vanilla and honeysuckle. He opened his eyes and saw the swing of her earrings and remembered the temptation offered upstairs by her soft skin, her unmistakable frisson of response to his hand against the nape of her neck. He caught her eyes on him, uncertain, watchful.
“We may excuse ourselves as soon as we wish. There will be ribald comments whenever we take our leave. Are you ready yet?”
She tensed as he continued to guide her through the crowd in time to the dance. Now, certainly, was not the time to discuss whether their bargain included conjugal relations or not. Surely, thought Cecilia, it would be better to get the discussion out of the way. If, indeed, there needed to be a discussion. She knew he wanted her; he had made it clear upstairs before the ball, and his dark eyes made it plain enough now that he was ready to fulfill his duties. Honesty compelled her to acknowledge that the sensation of his hands close to her aroused her curiosity.
“I am ready. Let us bid the guests good-night.”
Ormiston led his bride to the dais where the musicians were playing. They ascended it and waited until the lead violinist fell silent. There was an expectant hush in the room.
“Dear friends, my bride and I thank you for attending our wedding. We will now withdraw, leaving you to enjoy the festivities still further.”
The guests applauded and drew apart, opening up a passage through the ballroom and into the hallway. As they walked down it, arm in arm, the guests, forearmed, threw rose petals before them and over them, as the musicians played a lilting Irish air. To Cecilia, their passage through the crowd, to the foot of the great stairs, seemed to take an age. Ormiston and she paused at the first landing to wave farewell and a cheer went up, with raucous shouts of encouragement from the more castaway of the male guests.
“We should be thankful that it is no longer the custom for the bride and groom to be accompanied into the very chamber,” said Ormiston as they made their way to their own room, the racket of the throng fading somewhat as the next dance started up.
They stood before the door to Cecilia's chamber. Ormiston opened it for her, but once she had entered, he waited outside.
“You must ask me in, Cecilia.”
Chin up, voice firm, she said, “Will you enter, my lord?”
Eleven
The room was lit only by the wall sconces and a single candelabra, placed on the writing table near the window. The drapes around the four-poster bed were drawn and the counterpane drawn back, exposing an expanse of eiderdown and the stark whiteness of the pillowcases. Cecilia went to the dressing table and began unbuttoning her gloves.
“You dismissed Dorcas. Allow me to fill her position.” Ormiston resorted to formality to stifle his impulse to crush his wife in his embrace. She turned and nodded her agreement. She drew her breath as he refastened her glove.
“Later,” he whispered. Slowly, he removed the bracelet and dropped it onto the dresser. Then she felt the warmth of his fingers brush against the side of her neck as he removed her earrings. Once they were gone, he trailed a finger along her neckline, brushing the lace and the skin of her décolletage. Her lips parted. She swallowed and closed her eyes.
“Are you sure, Cecilia? I can call Dorcas back still.” His voice was uncertain. She opened her eyes and moved away.
“I asked you in. I knew what I was doing. There is no going back, no annulment, nothing but the possibility of separation. But we must tryâwe must make some sort of effort. There are many marriages with less chance of success.”
“How reassuringly you frame things, my wife.” Ormiston smiled, his tone dry. “What next, I wonder?” His voice was low and soft and close. She watched him as he came to stand so close she felt she could scarcely breathe. When he was near, every nerve seemed to stand to attention; she found herself expectant, taut. It was an entirely novel sensation. Gently, he propelled her onto the banquette by the dresser. “Slippers, I think.”
The viscount knelt before his bride. He unlaced the ribbons of her shoes, unwound them from her ankles, his thumbs tracing the fine bones of her heels and feet. Cecilia's arms were rigid, her knuckles tight on the edge of the stool where she sat. Ormiston abruptly ceased his caresses and knelt back on his heels, accompanied by the rustle as her satin dress slipped back into place.
“Let us not forget the necklace.” He rose up onto his knees, skimmed his palms up the length of her arms and then around her neck, which he encircled. Then his fingers stroked up her neck, and along the underside of her chin before reaching behind her to fiddle with the clasp of the necklace, his forehead pressed against hers, the tip of his nose brushing against hers, his lips slightly apart, his breath mingling with hers. The necklace came away from her skin.
“This time, fair Alice, there is no need for haste.” She nodded in agreement and uncertainty. “This time,” he continued, “there are no masks.”
She pulled back. “There will be no more masks.”
“Very well, Cecilia. No more concealment.”
“I do not believe that you have concealed anything from me. I cannot expect anything from you. You have been trapped into this.” She moved away and gazed into the fire. Her husband followed her and turned her so she had to look at him.
“No. I haven't. We could have arranged something, my father and I. I am not trapped. I am here willingly, as I hope you are.”
“I am here.” She still sounded a little distant.
“Alice, I promise you, I shall always be faithful.” Her eyes were still wary. “I swear it, Cecilia.”
“Men say these things. So do women. Sometimes they say them but they find they can't keep the promise. Don't swear anything irrevocable.”
“Our union is irrevocable. No woman could compare to you. You bedazzle me. It's rare. Unique. We mustn't be afraid of this.”
“I can't help it, Will. I never expected it. I don't know what to do about it.”
“Let me show you.” He silenced her with his mouth and hands and skin and flesh, helping her shed her clothes, leading her to their bed, until they were together, lost in a conflagration of desire.
Afterwards, slick with sweat, entwined, they returned to earth.
“You called me Will.” Ormiston's voice was low in her ear. Cecilia turned and looked at him, raising a hand to sweep the strands of hair from her face.
“You called me Alice.”
“Why did you pretend that night?” He pulled away from her, then lay alongside her, his head propped on his elbow.
“I thought I could have some sort of revenge on you. You were so cruel about me when we first married. I wanted to punish you. But in the end, I only punished myself.”
“Is this child a punishment?” His hand trailed over the slight curve of her belly.
“No. But leaving you that night felt like torture. It felt wrong and cruel, and I knew I'd miscalculated. I'd been a fool.”
“I don't know that we would be here now if you hadn't made that miscalculation. This is no punishment. This feels like a piece of heaven.” He kissed her neck and stroked her waist.
Cecilia shivered. “When you say something like that, I feel as though we are about to be blasted by a thunderbolt. Hubris.”
“Don't you think we can be happy? Don't you think we are allowed to be happy?”
“I don't know. It just makes me feel uncomfortable.”
“I've married a pessimist. This may have been arranged in the clumsiest way, but I believe it is up to us to set things to rights. I believe things between us can be set to rights.”
“Do you believe in love, then? You didn't seem to at Sawards. You spoke of expedience and the preposterousness of expecting happiness in marriage.”
Ormiston lay back, his arm concealing his face. “I don't know about love, Cecilia. I thought I was in love for several years, and it proved a chimera. I do believe that we have as much chance as anyone else of happiness, particularly if we remain true to one another, tell no lies, and treat each other with respect.”
Cecilia could not answer immediately, for if she did, she knew she would cry. This was not the romantic declaration she had expected after the maelstrom of physical passion which had engulfed them both. It was perhaps unrealistic to expect Ormiston to understand that she had teetered on the brink of love with him since she was a child, and since Paris, she had fallen into the brink and was struggling not to sink into a passion that she felt must demean her so long as it was not mutual.
She slipped from the bed and doused the last four candles. When she climbed back into bed, Ormiston took her in his arms and held her spoon fashion, his whole body curved around hers. Soon, his breathing sounded deep and regular.
It was strange to attempt to sleep with another person in the room, after so many years in her own bed in her own room. Perhaps Ormiston had shared his bed with so many women, or one woman so frequentlyâCecilia could not decide which was the most unpleasant notionâthat he was accustomed to the sensation. For her part, it was acutely uncomfortable. His breath tickled at her neck, his arm was very heavy about her waist, impeding her breathing somewhat; she could not stretch out her legs and her back was slick with perspiration. Altogether, it seemed inelegant and disagreeable. Eventually, she wriggled out of his reach and teetered on the edge of the bed, desperate for some cool cotton against her skin.
Restless and unable to settle, Cecilia rose and fumbled for a tinder box. She lit a single candle and sought out a peignoir. Sleeping without clothing was another thing she was not used to. Once she was dressed, she felt more wide awake than ever, so she took her candle and slipped into the dressing room next door, where there was a chaise longue and a copy of Fanny Burney's
Camilla,
which she was in the middle of rereading.
The next thing Cecilia knew, there was a rustle of material and she was hoisted up in the most alarming fashion. She was too bewildered and befuddled with sleep to put up any resistance as he dropped her back on her bed.
“You thought you could escape me, Cecilia?” Ormiston did not sound very pleased. She could not make out more than a dim outline of his face. Slender beams of light falling on the carpet through the divide in the curtains indicated that the sun had risen, but the heavy damask ensured that the room remained in the gloom.
“No. I couldn't sleep and I did not wish to disturb you.”
“Luckily, you left the door ajar. I was not compelled to wander the passage unclothed in search of my errant wife.” He joined her on the bed and his hands began to ease the gauzy tissue of her peignoir away. “This is a fetching garment, but I see no need for it.” He stroked the bare skin of her upper arms and began to kiss her neck and the tender skin below. Cecilia quelled a brief desire to mutiny against the pull of desire. He may not love her, but at least here, she knew that she had some sovereignty over him.
“We won't be disturbed?”
“We are not expected to emerge from here until midafternoon. The marriage must be seen to be soundly consummated. Particularly given your condition.” Ormiston dealt curtly with Cecilia's query, preferring to inspect the curves of her legs, the tangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, the small but significant indentation of her navel. Then she laced her hands in his hair and pulled his head up so she could kiss him and they both forgot everything except one another.
This time, Cecilia did sleep soundly in her husband's arms. She was roused by the sound of the curtains opening, and a sudden glare of light from the windows, which faced south-east. She buried her head under a mound of pillows. She heard Ormiston's muffled voice.
“Cecilia, are you hungry? I'm ravenous, I was planning to ring for some food. Do you care for some, too?”
“Yes, please. And a bath.”
“An excellent plan. We may share it. An imaginative wife is indeed worth more than rubies. Move overâI would not frighten Dorcas with my nakedness and she will be here shortly.”
Dorcas did indeed come rushing to the room, clearly agog with curiosity over the fate of her mistress, now in the clutches of a ravening male. Ormiston dispatched her promptly, instructing her to bring a dressing gown before she returned below stairs with their request for hot water and sustenance. When she had gone, Will turned to Cecilia.
“Do you wish we were going away on a wedding trip? We could still arrange it if the prospect of constant inspection by our servants seems wearisome.”
“Not to mention our families.” Cecilia sighed. “It is tempting, but I feel we should remain here until Reggie and Amelia are properly settled. I feel as though I have neglected them grievously, what with nursing Papa and now this rush to regularize things between us. Besides, we have a great deal to learn about Hatherley, both of us.”
“Sensible Cecilia. But then, there is amorous Alice, hidden under that dutiful exterior. An enticing combination.”
There was a knock and Dorcas entered quietly, laying Ormiston's robe and a fresh set of clothing on the windowseat. She turned back and bobbed a curtsey at the bed, her eyes fixed firmly on one of the wooden columns of the frame, evading any eye contact with its occupants.
“Please, your ladyship, Lady Ketley asked me to pass on a message to you. You are not expected downstairs today. But she did say that Master Reggie and Miss Amelia were pining a little after all the excitement.”
“Thank you, Dorcas. We'll inform you of our plans for the day once we're fed and bathed.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” The girl bobbed and darted off again. Two trays of food arrived soon thereafter. Ormiston and Cecilia withdrew to a dressing chamber while a procession of maidservants and footmen organized the water for their bath. Ormiston commanded Cecilia to read to him, but soon pronounced
Camilla
to be a tiresome girl and declared her troubles with her arriviste family insignificant.
Ormiston had hoped that the bath would provide an opportunity to reacquaint himself with the pleasures of his wife's body, but she was anxious to see her siblings and brushed his hand aside when he attempted to sponge and rinse her. He withdrew and watched her instead, and was compelled to call for a fresh bath, reluctant to submerge himself in cold, lavender-scented water.
Cecilia did not wait to watch him wash. Instead, she left their chamber in search of her brother and sister. She found them with Lavauden, establishing their schoolroom in an airy set of apartments in the east wing.
The children greeted her warmly, while Lavauden inspected her gravely, as though checking porcelain for blemishes and irregularities. They were surrounded by primers, atlases, and curious-shaped devices for the drawing of angles and curves and were busy tacking up maps of the oceans, the night sky, and various land masses to liven the bare walls.
On seeing her, Reggie began clamoring to know whether he might have fencing lessons and music lessons and riding lessons and swimming lessons.
“We have been here so brief a time, there has been no opportunity to consult with Dacre or Lavauden about your curriculum. It will all be settled shortly, and I am sure that if you wish to pursue all these activities, it can be managed. But I thought you had already learnt to swim at Sawards?”