Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(42)
Sunny was tempted to sling the nearest platter of veal collops at her mother-in-law, but it seemed too soon to get into a pitched battle. A quick glance at her husband showed that he had either not heard his mother, or he chose to ignore her. Clearly Alexandra had heard, for she was staring at her plate, her face flushed.
Carefully Sunny said, “The eighth duke’s death was a great tragedy. You all have my sympathies on your loss.”
The dowager sighed. “Gavin should have betrothed himself to you, not that Russell woman. If he had, he might be alive now, in his proper place.”
Sunny had heard enough gossip to know that the fatal problem had not been Gavin’s fiancée, but his inability to keep his hands off other women, even when on the way to his own wedding. Hoping to end this line of discussion, she said piously, “It is not for us to question the ways of heaven.”
“A very proper sentiment,” the dowager said. “You have pretty manners. One would scarcely know you for an American.”
Did the woman suppose that she was giving a compliment? Once more Sunny bit her tongue.
Yet in spite of her good intentions, she was not to get through the evening peacefully. The gauntlet was thrown down at the end of the lengthy meal, when it was time for the ladies to withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port. Sunny was about to give the signal when the dowager grandly rose to her feet and beat Sunny to it.
As three women followed the dowager’s lead, Sunny’s blood went cold. This was a direct challenge to her authority as the new mistress of the household. If she didn’t assert herself immediately, her mother-in-law would walk all over her.
The other guests hesitated, glancing between the new duchess and the old. Sunny wanted to whimper that she was too tired for this, but she supposed that crises never happened at convenient times. Though her hands clenched below the table, her voice was even when she asked, “Are you feeling unwell, Duchess?”
“I am in splendid health,” her mother-in-law said haughtily. “Where did you get the foolish idea that I might be ailing?”
“I can think of no other reason for you leaving prematurely,” Sunny said with the note of gentle implacability that she had often heard in her mother’s voice.
For a moment the issue wavered in the balance. Then, one by one, the female guests who had gotten to their feet sank back into their seats with apologetic glances at Sunny. Knowing that she had lost, the dowager returned to the table, her expression stiff with mortification.
As she waited for a decent interval to pass before leading the ladies from the table, Sunny drew in a shaky breath. She had won the first battle, but she knew there would be others.
*
The evening ended when the first clock struck eleven. Accompanied by the bonging of numerous other clocks, Justin escorted his wife upstairs. When they reached the door of her room, he said, “I’m sorry that it’s been such a long day, but everyone was anxious to meet you.”
She smiled wearily. “I’ll be fine after a night’s sleep.”
“You were a great success with everyone.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “I’m sorry my mother was so... abrupt. Gavin was her favorite, and she took his death very badly.”
“You miss him, too, but it hasn’t made you rude.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound impertinent.”
“My mother is a forceful woman, and I don’t expect that you’ll always agree. Blanche and Charlotte used to have terrible battles with her. Just remember that you are my wife, and the mistress of Swindon.”
“I shall attempt to be tactful while establishing myself.” She made a rueful face. “But I warn you, I have trouble countenancing unkind remarks about other people.”
That sensitivity to others was one of the things he liked best about her. A volatile mix of tenderness and desire moved through him, and he struggled against his yearning to draw her into his arms and soothe her fatigue away.
He might have done so if he hadn’t been aware that the desire to comfort would be followed by an even more overwhelming desire to remove her clothing, garment by garment, and make slow, passionate love to her. With the lamps lit, not in the dark.
Innocently she turned her back to him and said, “Could you unfasten my dog collar? It’s miserably uncomfortable.”
The heavy collar had at least fifteen rows of pearls. As he undid the catch and lifted the necklace away, he saw that the diamond clasp had rubbed her tender skin raw. He frowned. “I don’t like seeing you wearing something that hurts you.”
She sighed. “Virtually every item a fashionable woman wears is designed to hurt.”
He leaned forward and very gently kissed the raw spot on her nape. “Perhaps you should be less stylish.”
She tensed, as she did whenever he touched her in a sensual way. “A duchess is supposed to be fashionable. I would be much criticized if I didn’t do you credit.” Eyes downcast, she turned and took the jeweled collar, then slipped into her room.
He felt the familiar ache as he watched her disappear. Who was it who said that if a man wanted to be truly lonely, he should take a wife? It was true, for he didn’t recall feeling lonely before he married.
But now that he had a wife, his life echoed with loneliness. The simple fact was that he wanted more of her. He wanted to hold her in his arms all night while they slept. He wanted her to sigh with pleasure when he made love to her. He wanted to pour tea for her at the breakfast table. He wanted to be with her day and night.