A Marriage Of Rogues

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After returning to the hall, she followed Mrs. Wessex up the ornately carved staircase to the family and guest bedrooms and dressing rooms.

“The guest rooms are to the left,” Mrs. Wessex explained, nodding at the wing over the masculine side of the house.

She gestured at the first door in the right corridor, on the side that would overlook the garden. “This is the master’s bedroom, with his dressing room just beyond.” She continued to the third door. “And this is your room. I do wish we’d had more notice about the wedding. All Sir Develin said before he left the other day was ‘Make up my mother’s room. It will be needed when I return.’ Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. This room hasn’t been used in years.”

Thea smiled in response, trying to make up for the way she’d acted when she first got out of the barouche. She was unfortunately sure she had made a terrible first impression. She had been too tense, too anxious, too stiff and unyielding. But she’d also been too aware of the strange nature of their marriage as well as her lack of beauty and fine clothes to be more herself.

Develin’s attitude hadn’t been helpful, either. He’d been cold and formal, then deserted her.

Yet she couldn’t lay the blame for her unfortunate first impression at his door. It was her fault, so it was up to her to try to undo any damage her manner had caused.

“It must be even more shocking that he came home with a wife,” she offered, speaking in her usual tone.

The housekeeper blushed. “Unexpected, to be sure, but he’s always been an impulsive fellow. His father used to chide him for his heedless ways.”

Thea remembered the portrait of that stern man in the study and wondered what it would have been like to be chided by him—surely far from pleasant.

“I can be rather impulsive, too,” she said, “although I more often take time to consider.”

“Do you, now?” Mrs. Wessex murmured as she opened the door to the lady’s bedroom and moved back to let Thea enter first.

She stepped into the bedroom of her dreams.

Tall windows provided ample light and a canopied bed dressed with light green silk coverlet stood against one wall papered with twining leaves. Across from the bed was a fireplace with a marble front, carved with vines and plump little cherubs. A looking glass rested in one corner, and a delicate dressing table boasting another mirror was against the other wall. Silver candleholders rested on the two bedside tables.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she cried, clasping her hands as if offering a prayer of thanks, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“I’ll leave you to rest, my lady, and I’ll send Ella to help you dress for dinner,” Mrs. Wessex said.

“I can manage for myself,” Thea said, wanting more than anything to be alone. So much had happened today and in the few days before that...and then she saw the furrowed brow of the housekeeper. “Until Ella arrives,” she hastily added.

Mrs. Wessex gave her a very small smile, nodded and left her.

Alone at last, Thea wandered around the lovely chamber. This was also what she’d dreamed of when she decided to ask Develin Dundrake to marry her—a beautiful home, evidence of a new and prosperous future. She need no longer dread that she would be all alone in the world, poor, cold and starving, with no home and no family, no husband, no children.

But what of love, Thea? a little voice inside her queried. Don’t you want to be loved?

Surely love would come, too, if not from her husband, at least from her children.

* * *

Thea didn’t see Develin again until he joined her in the drawing room before dinner that evening.

She had ignored Ella’s shocked expression when the maid discovered Thea had only three dresses to her name, and the one she wore now, of plain blue taffeta, was the finest. The youthful maid had hesitatingly offered the information that there was an excellent dressmaker in the village, as well as a milliner. Thea had thanked her and silently vowed she would visit them as soon as possible.

Upon entering the drawing room, whose glories she had only glimpsed earlier that day, she’d managed to avoid gawking like a stunned peasant. She had never seen so much gilt furniture richly upholstered in blue velvet, or so many delicate figurines as those on the mantle, not to mention the silver sconces and candelabra and the very fine pianoforte in an alcove.

She’d wondered if her husband would expect her to play. If so, he would be disappointed. She’d only begun her musical education when the family funds started to be depleted, and her music lessons had been one of the first economies.

Although she’d waited with growing impatience for her husband to appear, she hadn’t chided him when he finally arrived to escort her in to dinner. Nor had she pestered him with questions or forced him to make conversation as the meal progressed. After all—and so she fervently hoped—he might not be annoyed with her. He might simply be a quiet man.

And what a meal it was! There was a lovely cream of mushroom soup, followed by breaded haddock, then roast beef and chicken with peas and carrots in a thick sauce. The dinner ended with three kinds of pie, a cake and other confectionaries arranged on a tiered plate. There was also ample wine, although she was very careful not to drink too much. She was unused to fine wine and wanted to keep her wits about her. She had made enough mistakes already today.

At last the meal ended, and she retired to the drawing room again, alone. She perched on a gilt chair near the ornate marble fireplace where a fire warmed the room. After a time, Mrs. Wessex arrived, as well as Ella bearing a tea tray. The silver service gleamed in the firelight, and more delicate cakes and sweets were on a pretty china plate beside it.

“Shall I pour, my lady?” the older woman deferentially inquired.

“No, thank you,” Thea replied, determined to prove she wasn’t completely ignorant about such things.

She didn’t get the chance. The housekeeper simply nodded and she and Ella left the room.

With a heavy sigh, Thea poured a cup of tea and sipped it while she waited. And waited some more.

Just when she had decided Develin wasn’t going to join her, he strolled into the room as if no time at all had passed since dinner. Or as if she was of no importance whatsoever.

“I was about to give you up for lost,” she said, trying not to sound irate or frustrated, although she was both. “The tea is probably cold. Shall I ring for more?”

“No, I don’t want any tea,” her husband replied. He walked past her and leaned against the mantelpiece, his forearm casually draped across it and all the while regarding her with an enigmatic expression.

“That was a very sumptuous meal,” she said at last.

Still no response.

“Do you usually have such meals? It seemed quite extravagant.”

“I’m quite rich.”

She would not continue this uphill struggle to have a conversation. If he was upset with her, she would rather find out. He did have some cause to be annoyed—but then, so did she.

She rose and faced him squarely. “I appreciate that I may not have acted as you might have wished when we arrived here today.”

He lowered his arm and raised an eyebrow, but did no more than that.

Even if he was going to persist with his silence, she would admit the truth, at least about her feelings that day. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? You were afraid?” he repeated, as if that was hardly to be believed. “Of my servants?”

“Not precisely. But I...that is, this house...” Annoyed with herself for being so incoherent, she began again. “This house is so large and there are so many servants, I was afraid of making a mistake, or saying the wrong thing. Instead I may have appeared more haughty and arrogant than I intended.”

Her husband’s lips turned up a little at the corners in a manner that struck her as condescending, as if she were a naughty child. “I did wonder what had gotten into you,” he said, his tone no less patronizing.

Her pride piqued, she rather tartly replied, “If you’d talked to me more in the carriage, I might not have been so anxious.”

Develin frowned. “I suppose it didn’t occur to you that I might have some cause for concern about how we would be received when word of my marriage got out.”

“Did you not take that into account when you accepted my proposal?”

“I didn’t expect you to act like an arrogant—”

“I’ve explained that,” she interrupted. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect a man like you to understand. As for arrogant...” She ran a coolly measuring gaze over the man standing arrogantly before her. “I believe I’ve met my match in that.”

“If I am arrogant, at least I have cause to be,” he returned. “I am a baronet, you’re the daughter of an impoverished gamester who abandoned you. Yet you acted like the Queen of Sheba—hardly a way to ensure good relations with the servants whose help and favorable opinion you’re going to need if this house is to run smoothly.”

“I may not be the Queen of Sheba,” she replied frostily, “but I am the woman you married. I’m the woman you made your wife in every way. Whatever you may be thinking, there’s no undoing that now.”

He didn’t answer. He simply regarded her with cool, unnerving confidence.

Dread flooded through her. They were married, truly married. Surely nothing could change that.

Except that he was a rich and titled man. He would have powerful, influential friends and could afford the best attorneys, men capable of finding ways to overturn any contract or agreement.

“We had a bargain,” she reminded him, her voice rising even as she fought to maintain her composure. She went closer to him, until she was a mere handbreadth away. “If you’re an honorable man, you will keep it, as I shall keep my word. I shall run your household as required, and first thing tomorrow I will go to the village and order some new clothes from the dressmaker there. Ella has informed me she’s quite excellent, and I’ll visit the milliner, too. And tonight, should you wish to come to my bed, I will not refuse you.”

She caught the sharp intake of his breath, saw the flash of desire in his dark eyes. Yet that look of bridled passion was followed quickly by another frown.

Not wanting to hear his response, Thea turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

* * *

Breathing hard, frustrated and aroused in spite of all his efforts not to be, Dev was tempted to slam the door behind her, but that would only alert the household that something was amiss between the baronet and his bride—although they’d probably find that out soon enough, just as he had come to realize he’d made a grave mistake.

He should have told her before dinner that their marriage was wrong. That he wanted to annul it and would find a way to do so.

But the words had stuck in his throat then and afterward. Even when she was so obviously angry and despite her haughty behavior, he hadn’t been able to tell her he was sorry they had married.

It must have been his pride that kept him silent on the subject of an annulment. Now that he was aware of that weakness, he could surely find the right words to inform her of his decision. He would secure the annulment and provide her with a sufficient sum to live on for a few years, as well as foregoing any repayment of her father’s promissory notes. If she still balked, he would offer his solicitor’s assistance in securing lodgings in any city that she named, although preferably far from London. Surely then she would be willing to end what was clearly a misalliance, and he could be free of any guilty obligation.

Whatever happened in the future, however, one thing was clear: he would not be going to her bed tonight.

Chapter Five (#ulink_76981458-6c7d-548f-8340-e9f2522f1869)

After another restless night with little sleep during which her husband did not arrive, Thea wasted no time summoning the carriage to take her to the village of Dundrake. Whether her husband regretted their marriage or had simply tired of her already, she was his wife in every way and she would do whatever was necessary to remain so, beginning with a new wardrobe suitable for a baronet’s wife.

Mrs. Wessex looked a little askance when Thea told her she was going to the village, but being a servant, she could ask no questions. The butler, who seemed more statue than human, helped her into the carriage and told the coachman where she wanted to go. The drive wasn’t unpleasant, and she was curious to see more of the estate and surrounding area, or as much as she could from the road.

It was very pretty country, still wild enough to be ruggedly beautiful, but tame enough to have decent roads and prosperous farms. The village itself, named after the Dundrakes, was charming, with a large church built of weathered gray stone, an ample green and several shops in addition to the Maiden’s Arms and at least one other tavern.

She wasted no time before calling upon the dressmaker, a petite Yorkshirewoman named Mrs. Lemmuel who wore a simple gown of dark blue wool that fit her hourglass shape perfectly. Her light brown hair was neatly parted in the middle and pulled back. More important, although she took in Thea’s cheap and ugly garments in a single glance and probably estimated to the penny what they had cost, she gave Thea a welcoming smile.

“Good day,” she said as Thea studied the display of Mrs. Lemmuel’s work and the bolts of fabric on shelves nearby.

Thea returned her greeting, then voiced the purpose of her visit. “I’ve heard you’re a most excellent dressmaker. I require some new dresses and two ball gowns. Also some undergarments.”

Mrs. Lemmuel’s brown eyebrows rose. No doubt she was wondering how a woman currently dressed in such cheap and flimsy garments could possibly afford so many new and costly items.

“I’m newly married and have been traveling, so my wardrobe is in a very sad state, as you can see,” Thea offered, telling herself that little lie was forgivable. “My husband says I’m to purchase whatever I require. Cost is no consideration.”

Mrs. Lemmuel’s expression softened. “Most generous! Are you to live in the vicinity?”

“I understand my husband’s family has lived here for quite some time.”

Confusion came to the dressmaker’s face.

The servants at Dundrake Hall had somehow learned of her marriage; word would soon spread beyond those confines to the village, so there was little point in prevaricating. “I recently married Sir Develin Dundrake.”

“Sir Develin Dundrake!” Mrs. Lemmuel cried, her voice so shrill it was almost a squeak.

Then suddenly it was as if Thea had announced she was indeed the Queen of Sheba come to shop. The dressmaker’s attitude became if not exactly fawning, certainly much more accommodating. “You must look at this silk,” she insisted, running her hand over a silver-colored bolt. “It will suit you admirably and bring out your eyes.”

From that better beginning Thea spent the next part of the morning choosing a pattern for a ball gown to be made of that silk, as well as fabric and patterns for several day dresses and another ball gown, that one of deep sapphire blue trimmed with wide lace.