The Obedient Bride Part 2

"Will you?" he had said, reaching down and drawing back the blankets that covered her. She had not flinched. He almost forgot to snuff the two candles that stood on the table beside her. He normally preferred to make love with light around him, but he did not wish to make the consummation of his marriage an unnecessarily embarra.s.sing ordeal for Arabella.

He had been somewhat touched by her quietness. If she meant to be as obedient throughout their marriage as she had been in the performance of her first duty as his wife, he supposed he must consider himself a fortunate man.

She had said nothing and had given no indication of discomfort or shock or pain. She had not resisted him in any way. She had lain apparently relaxed while he raised her nightgown, lowered himself on top of her, and eased her legs apart. And he had felt her take a slow and deep breath before he had mounted her. She had made no sign as he did so, even though he had felt the breaking of her virginity. And she had lain quiet and still until he was finished with her. It had taken rather longer than he would have wished. He was not used to proceeding immediately to the final stage of lovemaking without all the pleasurable stages that usually went before when one dealt with a mistress rather than a wife.

It was only as he had been withdrawing from her that a whimper had escaped her. It had been quickly stifled, and he had not remarked on it. He guessed that she had been feeling far more than her calm manner had indicated. He had not wished her to feel that she had failed. He had sat on the edge of her bed and touched her cheek again before getting to his feet. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, but he could not see her expression.

"I am afraid I hurt you," he had said. "But I believe you will find your duty less painful after tonight."

"That is what Mama said," she had replied. "But it was not your fault, my lord. It is always that way for a bride on her wedding night, Mama says."

He had smiled in the darkness. "Well, your duty is done for tonight," he had said. "Good night, Arabella."

"Good night, my lord," she had said.

Lord Astor found that he was smiling now at the canopy over his bed. She spoke just like a child, seeming not to choose her words with the diplomacy one expected of an adult.

It was a relief at least to know that he was not going to have trouble with Arabella. She was going to be obedient and dutiful, she had told him. And she had proceeded with unexpected docility to prove she meant what she said.

Strange! There had been something almost erotic about the stillness of her small body, her silent surrender, her total lack of involvement in what he had been doing to her body. He tried to imagine Ginny lying and behaving so, but he repressed the thought before it had a chance to develop in his mind. It would not be fair to make comparisons. Not tonight. Not when he had just left his wife's bed. She was probably still suffering from shock and pain.

4.

The dowager Viscountess Astor and her two unmarried daughters returned early to Parkland the next morning so that the travelers might be on their way. Arabella met them at the outer door, which a footman held open. Her husband came behind her, having moved from the breakfast parlor at a far more sedate pace than his wife when they heard the carriage.

"Mama!" Arabella cried, rus.h.i.+ng into her mother's arms as if they had been apart for a month.

"There, there, my love," her mother said, patting her daughter on the back. "Let me look at you. Lady Astor! Whoever would have thought that one day you would have my t.i.tle, my love? How pretty you look this morning."

Arabella doubted the truth of that remark. She knew that she must look more childish than usual with her cheeks flushed.

"Welcome back to your home, ma'am," Lord Astor said, coming up behind Arabella and extending a hand to his mother-in-law. "We will be on our way as soon as we can."

Frances was sobbing into her handkerchief. "Bella," she said. "Oh, dear Bella, how happy I am for you. Such a handsome husband! Even more handsome than Theodore, I do declare. I am so glad for you. I know you will be wonderfully happy."

"Are you very sad to be leaving Theodore?" Arabella asked, her face sympathetic. "It must be dreadful for you, Frances."

"I do not know why you say that, Bella," Frances said, dabbing at her moist eyes and putting her handkerchief away. "Sir Theodore is merely a neighbor and friend."

"Bella. Oh, Bella." Jemima was bouncing on the spot, waiting for some of her older sister's attention. "You will send me a present from London? You will not forget, Bella?"

"I will not allow her to do so," Lord Astor said, having finished his conversation with his mother-in-law. "Is there anything in particular you would like, Jemima?"

Half an hour more pa.s.sed before Lord Astor's traveling carriage was finally on its way, a coach from the Parkland stables following behind with the baggage and his lords.h.i.+p's valet. The dowager viscountess had had a private word with both daughters and a hug for each.

"I can see from the harmony between you and his lords.h.i.+p that you did your duty last night as I instructed you," she said to a blus.h.i.+ng Arabella. "You will continue to do so, Bella? It will not be near so fearsome from now on. Oh, my love. So young and a married lady already. It seems no more than a couple of years ago that you were a babe in arms."

Both Frances and her mother shed tears at the parting, but Arabella fought hers. The last thing she wanted was to have to face Lord Astor in his carriage with a s.h.i.+ny red nose, blotched cheeks, and bloodshot eyes.

Arabella was glad they were on their way. There was a certain anxiety, of course, about knowing that she was at the beginning of a three-day journey that would take her far from home, far from all the familiar people and places she had known in her life. She felt some misgiving too in knowing that at the end of that journey lay London and the Season and the ton.

But even so, given the circ.u.mstances, she was glad the journey had begun. The farewell from Mama and Jemima had been heart-wrenching. She had never been away from them for even so much as a night before last night. There had, of course, been some consolation in knowing that she was at least to take Frances with her. And perhaps it had helped her somewhat in the parting from her mother to be forced to spend the first half-hour of the journey consoling a weeping older sister. However, the worst was over. Arabella did not think she could endure too many such partings.

But perhaps her main reason for being glad she was on her way was knowing that her wedding day was safely behind her, that her new life was inevitable, and that it was as well to begin that new life without delay. In truth, she faced London and the Season with excitement as well as anxiety. She had always dreamed about seeing all the members of fas.h.i.+onable society of whom she was one by birth. And it would be wonderful to attend a real ball, to watch a play at a real theater, to see the queen, perhaps. If only the poor king were not indisposed!

Arabella was glad that the journey was to last for three days. For three days she would not have to undergo the embarra.s.sment of being alone with her husband. He talked to Frances after she finally recovered from her grief, and answered her eager questions about the latest style in bonnets in town. Frances always knew what was appropriate conversation for a lady, though she had had no more exposure to fas.h.i.+onable living than Arabella. Why could she never think of anything to say to him?

The evening before had been pure agony. The day had not been so bad, as they had been surrounded by friends and family. And even when she had stood next to Lord Astor at the altar she had known what to say. There were certain prescribed responses, and she had had no difficulty at all in making them. But at dinner and during the evening they had been alone. And she had become almost paralyzingly aware again of what a poor excuse for a bride to such a handsome gentleman she was. How dreadful it was to know that he must be looking at her undergrown, plain, and childish person, knowing that she was his wife.

She had found herself horribly tongue-tied. She had been able to think of no fascinating topic on which to converse, though she had searched and searched her mind while she chewed each mouthful of food far longer than was necessary. Yet during the few moments when she had forgotten herself, she had suddenly discovered that she was gabbling on about George and his exploits or about Emily, her horse. She had even asked him about the health of the poor king, when she knew she should have maintained a polite silence on the topic. Who wished to admit that the King of Englanda"poor dear gentlemana"was mad? She should have asked about the Prince Regent or Princess Charlotte. But she had not thought of them.

It would be a great relief to have Frances staying with her in London. Perhaps her husband would not notice her plainness and her dullness so much while he had Frances to look at and converse with. Though of course he would also be able to see them together and be reminded of the contrast between them. How he must wish that Frances was his wife and she his sister-in-law.

Arabella was hoping quite fervently that she would not have to perform her marriage duty until they reached London. They had not brought a maid with them. Surely, then, Frances would not be expected to occupy an inn room alone for three nights. She would certainly have fits of the vapors and the hysterics at the prospect of some desperate villain breaking in upon her in the dark of the night. Besides, it would not be at all proper. It stood to reason that Arabella would share her room and Lord Astor stay alone.

Arabella hoped so. She even crossed her fingers on both hands and pressed them hard into her lap for a moment to induce the fates to be kind to her. It was not that she was undutiful. She was Lord Astor's wife now, and she planned to spend the rest of her life obeying him, doing all within her power to make him comfortable. But she needed the three days to recover from the night before.

She was so dreadfully sore. Mama had not warned her of that, and Arabella had not been able to muster the courage that morning to ask if it was a natural result of a wedding night. She had expected to feel pain only at the actual moment of the consummation.

She certainly had felt pain then, but it had not ended there. Arabella had not been unduly shocked by the marriage act. She had grown up surrounded by animals, and at quite a young age she had concluded that what applied to them probably applied somewhat equally to humans. But she had not expected quite such a deep invasion of her person. And she had not expected that it would hurt quite so much. She had thought, as she lay quiet and submissive beneath the weight of her husband's body, that his movements would never stop. Each stroke had seemed to rub her raw.

She had concentrated all her thoughts on doing her duty like a good and obedient wife. By some superhuman power she had resisted the impulse to push at his shoulders and to cry out to him to stop, to please be finished quickly. She had let sound escape her only once. He had stopped finally and blessedly, and she had been vastly relieved. But when he had begun to withdraw, she had thought for a moment that it was all going to start again, and she had been unable to quell that sound of protest. She had been horrified. She had fully expected that he would express deep displeasure with her. But he had said nothing.

She was still sore. Arabella stole a glance at the dismayingly handsome profile of her husband as he discussed parasols with Frances. She would perform her duty again tonight if she must. After all, it was something to which she had to accustom herself. But please, dear G.o.d, she thought, let it wait until London. She could still feel the raw hurt along every inch of her he had used the night before.

Arabella set one hand loosely on top of the other in her lap and watched her husband and her sister as if she were a child who must not interrupt adult conversation. If only she were taller, she thought, and thinner. If only she could converse interestingly about bonnets and parasols. If only she could weep and look pretty. If only she could look pretty even without weeping!

It seemed strange to have ladies in residence at the house on Upper Grosvenor Street. Lord Astor, used to burying his head in the morning paper at breakfast while partaking of his usual kidneys and toast and coffee, was somewhat taken aback to find his wife already seated at the table when he came downstairs the morning after their arrival in town. He had always a.s.sumed that ladies kept to their beds until noon. Though why he should have thought so of Arabella, he did not know, since she had usually been outside riding or walking with her dog at Parkland whenever he came downstairs.

He bade her good morning, helped himself to breakfast at the sideboard, and sat down at the head of the table. He glanced regretfully at his paper, folded as usual beside his fork. He left it where it was. He wished Arabella were easier to talk to.

"I had thought to take you shopping this morning," he said. "Both you and your sister will need completely new wardrobes for the Season. However, on second thought, perhaps it would be advisable to have a lady of some taste to help advise you. I plan to call on Lady Berry, my aunt, this morning. Perhaps she will have time to accompany you to a modiste this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Will that suit you?"

"If you wish it, my lord," she said, looking up at him brightly. "I know I am no beauty and I know I am ridiculously small for a lady. But I wish to do credit to you when I appear in public."

He smiled. "Very few people are raving beauties, Arabella," he said. "Most of us have to make the best of the a.s.sets we have. You are not an antidote and I do not wish to hear you repeatedly belittling yourself."

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "I beg your pardon, my lord," she said. "I shall not do so again."

"My name is Geoffrey," he said. "Will you use it?"

"If you wish it, my lord," she said.

He smiled fleetingly again. "If you are not to go shopping after all," he said, "may I send a hairdresser, Arabella? I believe you will find that fas.h.i.+onable hair styles are a great deal lighter and curlier than yours. One of the new styles would become you well."

I hate my hair," she said. "It is far too heavy and will not hold into any style. I wish we still lived in an age when everyone wore wigs. I would be able to shave off my own hair beneath it."

He laughed. "Then I am very glad that the fas.h.i.+on fell from favor long ago," he said. "I shall see if Monsieur Pierre can come this morning. Perhaps he can persuade you to like your hair a little better."

"Yes, my lord," she said and smiled. "I shall try what he can do if it will please you. Are you really going to send for George and Emily as you promised last evening? It would be so splendidly generous of you to do so. George will be lonely without me, for everyone else treats him like a dog instead of like a person. And animals are really persons, my lord. At least, what I mean is that they have very real feelings and need love just as we do."

Her eyes widened suddenly and she blushed and looked down at her plate. She busied herself pus.h.i.+ng the remnants of a m.u.f.fin around her plate with the tip of her knife.

"I shall make the arrangements today to have them sent for," Lord Astor said. "Of course I meant it, Arabella. This is your home now, and I wish you to be happy here. You will have ample opportunity to ride your horse and walk your dog. The park is very close by."

"The park?" Her eyes were directed at him again. They were very dark gray eyes. Sometimes they looked almost black.

"Hyde Park," he said. "Did you not know? We are close not only to the park but also to the Grosvenor Gate leading into it."

"Oh," she said. "Gra.s.s and trees and the chance to walk and run?"

"Yes to the first three," he said. "But perhaps before you run, Arabella, you had better look around you carefully to make sure that there is no audience."

"Yes," she said, and blushed deeply before starting the m.u.f.fin on its travels again. "I would not wish to do anything that might prove an embarra.s.sment, my lord."

Yes, it was very strange to have ladies in his keeping, Lord Astor thought as he left the house an hour later and set out on foot the short distance to his aunt's house on Grosvenor Square. He was finding Arabella just a trifle amusing, but amusing very much as a child would be. It was hard to see her as a mature woman. She had sat quietly through the three days of their journey, saying hardly a word except on the rare occasions when she forgot herself and burst into speech.

This morning at the breakfast table, in fact, was the first time he had been alone with her since their wedding day. The first time he had been alone to converse with her, that was. He had, of course, visited her on their wedding night and again the night before. But one did not visit one's wife's bed in order to converse.

He found her amusing now. But for how long? He had not expected to have to share his breakfast table with her. He supposed that soon he must show her that it was his normal practice to read his paper at breakfast. Surely he would tire of her silences and her bursts of speech before many days had pa.s.sed. Even so, he preferred her speech habits to those of her sister. He had wished for his horse or his curricle on the return journey even more than he had when traveling into the country. Miss Frances Wilson's conversation was even more trying than Henry's snoring had been. She was very beautiful, but rather tiresome. Thank heaven that she had not been his chosen bride!

Lord Astor sighed and looked up at the heavy gray sky. It was a decidedly chilly day for the beginning of April. But the weather perfectly matched the type of day that he was expecting to have. The whole of the morning was going to be taken up with talking to his aunt and seeing if Monsieur Pierrea"London born and bred despite the impressive name, he would wagera"could call on Arabella and do something with her hair.

That would not have been so bad if he could at least have looked forward to an afternoon to himself. He was impatient to see Ginny after five weeks away from her. But he would have to be at home to present his wife and her sister to his aunt. Doubtless Aunt Hermione would wish to meet Arabella without delay. And it was probable that they would make a trip to Bond Street to have Arabella and Frances fitted out for new wardrobes. He could quite easily avoid that excursion, of course, but he had definite tastes in feminine apparel, and he would wish to approve Arabella's colors and styles. She would have to choose both with extreme care to suit her very small stature.

And he must not forget to send a groom on his way to Parkland to arrange to bring her horse and her dog to London. During their long journey, he had begun to realize how very important they were to her happiness. And if he were soon to get his own life back to its contented normality, then he must see to it that his wife too was as happy as he could possibly make her.

Perhaps he would be able to call the evening his own, he thought hopefully for one moment. But of course, good manners would dictate that he take dinner at home with his wife and their guest on their first day back. And if he was to visit his wife's bed with any regularity, he must not be in the habit of staying from home too late at night. It would be unfair to expect her to arouse herself at all hours of the night in order to be at his service.

Lord Astor lifted the knocker on his aunt's door with the head of his cane and allowed it to rattle back against the metal plate. He hoped that his life would quieten down again soon. He hoped that this marriage business would not after all disturb the hitherto satisfying pattern of his days.

Arabella was standing very still even though she was aching in every limb and muscle and was fit to scream with boredom. Mama and Miss Carter, the seamstress from the village, had never taken longer than a few minutes to measure her for a dress and to decide upon a fabric and a pattern. She could not quite understand why Madame Pichot needed to measure and remeasure every last inch of her body. It was quite decidedly tiresome.

She might have rea.s.sured herself that once the business was over with, then Madame would be able to use the same measurements for the rest of her life. But that was not true. Arabella was planning to lose weight. By the time she needed winter clothes, all these measurementsa"except those relating to her height, alasa"would be inaccurate.

Frances was enjoying herself enormously. She had positively buzzed with animation all the time they had been in Madame's parlor looking at fas.h.i.+on plates and examining endless bolts of cloth carried in by tireless a.s.sistants. With the help of Lady Berry she had finally decided on a dazzling array of new garments and had gone happily off to the workroom to be measured.

But then, of course, Frances had good reason to be delighted. She would look beautiful in a potato bag. She looked lovely in Miss Carter's unfas.h.i.+onable frocks. It went without saying that she would be quite breathtaking in all the new clothes that Lady Berry had a.s.sured her would be quite essential for a young lady making her come-out.

Arabella herself had not been in the charge of Lady Berry. Lord Astor had decided to accompany them to the modiste's, though Arabella had been quite dismayed when he had said so. She had expected that perhaps he would stay outside in the carriage or would hover somewhere just inside the door. But noa"he had come right into the parlor, seated himself beside her, and proceeded to tell her exactly what clothes she needed and how they should be designed and what color they should be and what fabrics would best suit her figure. No, he had not told her. He had told Madame Pichot while she had sat, a silent and obedient child in their midst.

She must not be seen in any heavy fabric, it seemed. Not velvet and not brocade. Her gowns were to be adorned with the minimum of frills and flounces. And there were to be no wide sashes. Stripes could be allowed to go downward, apparently, but not across. As well as white and pastel shades, she was permitted to wear bright greens and yellows, but definitely not reds or dark blues. These colors were much too heavy, for some reason. Her sleeves were not to be too puffy.

Madame had agreed with all of Lord Astor's suggestions and had even added some of her own. In fact, the two of them had had a most comfortable coze about her, the silent third. She had wanted to suggest to him quietly, when Madame turned her attention to Lady Berry and Frances at one point, that perhaps he would be wasting his money to outfit her so lavishly. She could never look more than barely presentable anyway. She was far too small and plump. But he had forbidden her that morning to belittle herself, so she had kept her lips closed and folded her hands in her lap.

He wanted her to have all these new clothes. All of us have to make the best of the a.s.sets we have, he had said at breakfast, though it was easy for him to talk when he had nothing but a.s.sets. He wanted to make the best of her. And if that was what he wanted, Arabella thought, standing still while Madame busied herself with a measuring tape at the back of her waist, then she would stand here for five hours if necessary so that the dressmaker could get the measurements right. She could not be beautiful for him, but she could at least allow him to do his best for her.

He had approved with a nod all the plans for Frances that his aunt had described, though he was paying for all of those clothes too. Obviously Frances did not need to be dressed with such care. He would realize that she would look lovely in any fabric, color, or design. How he must have wished that he could have changed places with Lady Berry and allowed her to worry about Arabella. He would not have had to worry about her if Frances were his bride and she a mere sister-in-law.

Arabella sighed. But she cheered up almost immediately as she caught sight of herself in a looking gla.s.s across the room. She really did like her hair. In fact, she loved it. She did not look nearly so top-heavy any longer with all the heavy ma.s.ses shorn away. She had felt a little sick and not a little panic-stricken that morning when she had heard Monsieur Pierre's scissors chop through the thick locks. Perhaps his lords.h.i.+p had taken her at her word and ordered the man to cut it all off.

But Monsieur had stopped short of doing quite that. He had left a short covering all over her head, and longer tendrils to adorn her neck and temples. And he had done something with her hair to make it curl all over her head. It felt as if there was almost no hair there, but she loved it.

Frances had shrieked, remembered how Papa had always loved long hair on his girls, wept for five minutes, and then hugged her and a.s.sured her that it was quite delightful and that dear Bella looked positively pretty.

Arabella thought she agreed, but she had been almost sick with apprehension as luncheon time approached. What if his lords.h.i.+p laughed or disapproved? She supposed she looked even more of a child now with her hair short and curly. And there was Frances with her long, very feminine blond locks!

He had looked at her for a long time before saying anything while she stood mutely in the hallway where she had had the misfortune to be as he stepped through the door.

"I knew it would do wonders," he had said. "Do you like it, Arabella?"

"If you do, my lord," she had said, blus.h.i.+ng and not knowing what she was expected to say. It did not occur to her that perhaps he expected a simple yes or no.

"Then you like it," he had said, handing his hat and cane to a footman and unb.u.t.toning his greatcoat. "It makes you look very pretty."

"Oh, I am net pretty," she had said one moment before her hand flew to her mouth. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I thank you for the compliment."

And he had asked her that morning to call him Geoffrey, she had thought. But oh, she could not. It seemed far too presumptuous, far too familiar to call him by his given name. Her tongue would tie itself in knots if she tried to call him that to his face, though the name had come out of her mouth quite articulately when she had tried it in her dressing room. She would rather call him nothing at all than have to face the embarra.s.sment of calling him Geoffrey out loud.

"Oh, Bella, is not all this unimaginably wonderful?" Frances said now, hugging her sister as she was finally released from the tyranny of the measuring tape. "And Lady Berry has specifically asked that one evening gown each be delivered two days from now so that we may attend her soiree. If only Mama and Jemima could somehow share in our joy."

Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"We will go home and write them each a long letter," Arabella said briskly. "That way they can feel that they are somehow with us here. And it will be much better than merely crying because we miss them and wish they were here."

She wished she had not added that last sentence. Two tears glistened in Frances' lower lashes for a moment and trickled prettily down her cheeks. But she smiled and linked her arm through her sister's as they turned to reenter the parlor, where Lady Berry and Lord Astor were in conversation together.

"Ah, a task well-accomplished," Lady Berry said. "You are both going to look quite splendid in my drawing room two evenings hence. Arabella, my dear, Geoffrey is going to spoil us all and take us for ices before we go home. Miss Wilson, are you very tired, my dear? I know that all this business of fittings can be quite tedious."

Lord Astor waited while his wife put on her bonnet, then offered his arm to escort her to the carriage.

"Will they order me out of the shop if I merely sit with you and do not have an ice?" she asked him anxiously as he handed her into the carriage.

He laughed. "Order Lady Astor from the shop?" he said. "Not unless they wish to close their doors tomorrow, Arabella. Do you not like ices?"

"Not greatly," she lied, wis.h.i.+ng that she would not have to watch the other three eat theirs. "Will you be offended, my lord?"

"But, Bella," Frances began until she caught sight of her sister's pleading face. Frances had been told about the dieting scheme, though she had cried and protested that she would suffer dreadfully if she had to watch her sister starve herself to death. And anyway, where had Arabella got the ridiculous notion that she was fat?