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Her unease was not lessened as she was led through a white tiled foyer and up a sweeping marble staircase to the back of the house where the gothic chapel was located. She might not have been raised as an aristocrat, but she had spent enough hours in the library to recognize the stunning masterpieces that lined the paneled walls of the long gallery and the impressive Italianate ceiling in the formal salon that was painted with miniature scenes from Greek mythology. Certainly she had no difficulty in recognizing the priceless Venetian chandelier that hung just outside the chapel.
It all served to remind her that Lord Ashcombe’s title was not simply a mark of his social standing. It was more important an inheritance that came with overwhelming responsibility. Not only to his vast number of tenants and servants who depended upon him for employment, but to his family and the dignity of his position as the current earl.
For all her father’s wealth, she was unprepared to enter a world where a person was judged on their ancestry and the purity of their bloodlines. Even if she weren’t an awkward wallflower, she would never be capable of bringing pride to her role as Countess of Ashcombe.
These dark thoughts might have made Talia crumble into a ball of terror if she had not still been protected by the numbing sense of shock that had managed to survive their last humiliating encounter.
Certainly she would never have been able to walk down the short aisle to stand beside Lord Ashcombe waiting at the scrolled wooden altar.
As it was she stiffly marched past the worn pews, only briefly glancing at the vaulted ceiling and the exquisite stained-glass window before shifting her attention toward the man who was to become her husband.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his golden hair shimmering in the light from the silver candelabrum and the arrogant features that were so perfectly carved they did not seem quite real. His lean body was attired in a black jacket that clung with loving care to his broad shoulders and black breeches that seemed more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding. And his silver eyes—
They held the ruthless power of a predator.
He had never appeared more godlike, and despite her layers of protection she shivered in fear.
Gabriel made no move to touch her as she halted at his side. In fact, he did not glance in her direction during the brief ceremony. Not even at its close when they signed the marriage certificate and shared a glass of sherry with the visibly curious rector and the rigidly composed butler, as well as a woman who Talia assumed must be the housekeeper.
Then, with an imperious nod of his head, Ashcombe gestured her to leave the chapel, following behind her with obvious impatience.
Distantly Talia was aware that her entire life had just been irrevocably altered. She was no longer Dowdy Dobson, the painfully shy daughter of a mere merchant. She was the Countess of Ashcombe.
Not that her elevated status offered her any comfort, she ruefully accepted.
How many years had she longed to be rid of her father’s oppressive rule? Even after it had become obvious that she was never going to attract a bevy of eager suitors, she had continued to dream that a kind, decent gentleman would appear to whisk her away. A man who would treat her with dignity and respect.
But now her hopes were forever crushed.
She had just traded one tyrant for another.
As if to ensure she understood her submissive role as his bride, Gabriel cast a dismissive gaze over her demure attire. Her rose gown was threaded with silk ribbons around the high waist, and a single strand of pearls circled her neck.
“Mrs. Manning will show you to your chambers,” he informed her icily, a gesture of his hand bringing forward the plump woman with gray hair tidily knotted at the back of her head. Her black gown was as spotless as the townhouse, and her movements brisk. The housekeeper, just as Talia had suspected. “Let her know if you prefer a dinner tray in your private salon or if you desire to eat in the dining room.”
“You will not be joining me?” The question tumbled from her lips before she could check them.
“I have business I must attend to.”
Acutely aware of the housekeeper’s presence, Talia felt her face flame with color. Was it necessary to shame her by abandoning her before the ink had dried upon their license?
“What of your mother?”
“Her ladyship is visiting her sister in Kent.”
Safely tucked away from her ill-bred daughter-in-law. “I…see.”
The silver eyes briefly darkened as he gazed down at her, but his expression remained aloof.
“You are welcome to explore the house and gardens, but you will not leave the grounds.”
“Am I to be a prisoner here?”
“Only until tomorrow.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “Do not bother to unpack, my dear. You leave for Devonshire at first light.”
Without bothering to wait for her reaction, Gabriel brushed past her and disappeared down a long corridor.
An unexpected stab of misery managed to pierce the protective fog.
She felt…lost in the vast, imposing house. As if she was an imposter who was bound to be humiliated when she was at last exposed.
Which was, no doubt, exactly what her husband desired.
She was thankfully distracted as the housekeeper waved a plump hand toward the nearby stairs.
“This way, my lady.”
My lady. Talia hid a sudden grimace.
She wished to heavens she was back in her father’s library, forgotten among the dusty books.
Instead she forced a sad smile and headed for the stairs. “Thank you, Mrs. Manning.”
She allowed herself to be escorted to a charming suite that was decorated with rich blue satin wallcovers that matched the curtains and upholstery on the rosewood furniture. Along one wall a series of windows overlooked the formal gardens and the distant mews, while through the doorway she could catch sight of an equally luxurious bedroom.
“It is not the largest apartment,” Mrs. Manning said kindly, “but I thought you might prefer a view of the garden.”
“It is lovely,” Talia murmured, her breath catching at the sight of the exquisite bouquets of roses that were set on the carved marble chimneypiece. Turning, she laid a hand on her companion’s arm, well aware that her husband was not responsible for the considerate gesture. “I adore fresh flowers. Thank you.”
The housekeeper cleared her throat, as if embarrassed by Talia’s display of gratitude.
“It seemed appropriate for your wedding day.”
Talia strolled toward the lovely view of the gardens, not surprised by the marble grotto that was larger than her aunt’s cottage in Yorkshire.
“I am certain you are aware that I am not a typical bride. The earl has hardly made an effort to disguise the fact I am an unwanted intruder.”
“It is no fault of your own, my lady,” the servant surprisingly claimed. Was it possible Mrs. Manning felt a measure of sympathy for the earl’s discarded bride? “His lordship is merely disappointed in Master Harry and his behavior toward you.”
Talia was not so easily fooled, but she appreciated the woman’s kind attempt.
“I was under the impression that Lord Ashcombe was equally averse to having me as a sister-in-law. I would have assumed that he was pleased to have me jilted.” She grimaced. “At least until my father coerced him into honoring Mr. Richardson’s promise.”
“As to that, I suppose you shall soon enough discover that his lordship and Master Harry have a…” The housekeeper paused, searching for the appropriate word. “Thorny relationship.”
Despite her earlier promise to treat her husband with the same disdainful lack of interest as he had displayed toward her, Talia couldn’t prevent her curiosity.
“I did suspect as much.” She turned, watching as the servant fussed with the silver teapot set on a pier table. “It would not be easy to be a younger son.”
“A good sight too easy, if you ask me,” the woman muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
For a moment the woman hesitated. Was she debating the wisdom of sharing family gossip? Then, obviously deciding that Talia was destined to discover the Ashcombe secrets, she straightened and squarely met Talia’s curious gaze.
“The previous earl died near ten years ago, leaving his lordship to assume the title, as well as to take responsibility for his grieving mother and younger brother.”
Ten years ago? Talia blinked in astonishment. She had no idea.
“He must have been very young.”
“A week past his eighteenth birthday. Just a lad.”
“Good heavens.”
“Not that his lordship ever complained.” Mrs. Manning heaved a sigh. “He returned from school and shouldered his father’s duties while his mother remained in mourning and Master Harry began to fall into one scrape after another.”
Against her will, Talia felt a stab of sympathy for the arrogant brute.
“There was no one to assist him?”
“The earl is not one to share his responsibility.”
“Not particularly surprising,” Talia said in dry tones.
Even before their farce of a wedding, Talia had sensed Gabriel’s air of isolation.
At the time, she had imagined that his seeming need to distance himself from others had given them something in common. Now, of course, she knew that it was merely an arrogant need to control those around him.
Just like her father.
Mrs. Manning heaved another soulful sigh. “A pity really.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Perhaps if Master Harry had been expected to take his fair share of duties he would not have…”
“Left me at the altar?”
“Yes.” The housekeeper’s plump lips tightened with disapproval. “His lordship did attempt to put a halt to his brother’s excesses, but Lady Ashcombe always was one to indulge him. If the earl refused to pay his brother’s debts, then Master Harry would simply apply to his mother.”
Talia frowned, rather taken back by the servant’s revealing words. Even if she was now a member of the family, it was not often a servant was willing to openly gossip about her employers.
Not when the merest breach of confidence could see her tossed onto the streets.
Then Talia was struck by a sudden realization.
Mrs. Manning was clearly devoted to Gabriel. And while she might sincerely disapprove of his treatment of Talia, it was obvious she felt compelled to excuse his cruel manner.
Perhaps she was even ridiculous enough to hope that a truce between Gabriel and his new bride could eventually be called.
Talia swallowed a sigh.
A futile hope, but Talia did not have the heart to inform the kindly woman that her beloved Gabriel was a coldhearted bastard who believed his wife no better than a rank title-hunter who had used her father to bully him into marriage.
“That must have been frustrating for Lord Ashcombe,” she instead agreed.
“Needless to say.” The older woman frowned. “In fact, six months ago he at last…”
“Yes?”
“He insisted that her ladyship not interfere in his attempt to force Master Harry to live within his allowance.”
“Ah.” Talia’s lips twisted. “That explains why he accepted my father’s offer.”
There was a brief hesitation. “Yes.”
“And why Lord Ashcombe is so angry. He thought to teach his brother a lesson only to once again be the one to suffer the consequences.” Talia pressed a hand to her aching heart. “It is no wonder he hates me.”
Mrs. Manning shook her head. “He is angry for the moment, but once he has accepted that you are to be his countess, I am certain that all will be well.”
Talia swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh. She was quite certain nothing would be well again.
“I wish I possessed your confidence,” she said dryly.
Perhaps sensing Talia’s disbelief, the housekeeper stepped forward, her expression troubled.
“His lordship can be a hard man in many ways,” she admitted. “When he took the title at such a tender age there were any number of unscrupulous individuals who thought to take advantage of his inexperience, including several gentlemen who had claimed to be his friend. He had no choice but to learn how to protect himself and his family from those who would exploit his naïveté. But he has a good heart and he is fiercely loyal to those he considers his responsibility.”
Talia shied from the temptation to pity the boy who had lost his innocence at such a young age. The Earl of Ashcombe was determined to crush what little was left of her spirit. The moment she thought of him as anything but the enemy she would be lost.
“Responsibility?” She latched onto the revealing word. “What of those he loves?”
The housekeeper grimaced. “I fear he has become convinced that such an emotion is a weakness.” She deliberately paused, meeting Talia’s gaze. “A wise woman would remind him of the joy to be found in sharing his heart with another.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GABRIEL HAD NO formal plans for his wedding day. Nothing beyond ensuring that his new bride understood she was an unwelcome intruder in his home.
Something he had achieved with admirable results if her stricken expression at his abrupt departure had been anything to go by.
But once away from his townhouse, he discovered himself turning his restless horse toward the outskirts of London, refusing to admit he was disturbed by the lingering image of Talia’s pale face and wounded eyes.
What did it matter if she had looked like a forlorn waif as he had walked away from her? Or that she was spending her wedding day alone in an unfamiliar house? She was the one who had been willing to trade her soul for a title. She could damned well learn just how empty her victory was doomed to be.
Determined to dismiss Talia and the travesty of a wedding from his mind, he traveled through narrow lanes and at last into the countryside. He paused to watch a brilliantly painted wagon pass that was loaded with a bear locked in a cage and allowed himself to be distracted by the sight of two burly men wrestling in the middle of a village green.
But as he stopped in a small posting inn to slake his hunger with a simple meal of venison stew and freshly baked bread, his thoughts returned to his neglected bride.
