A Gamble on Love (12 page)

Then he turned and stalked toward his own
bedchamber, pausing only long enough to take up the bottle of port.
An observer might have said Mr. Lanning was close to running. His
bride, however, did not notice, for she had slammed her door and
was leaning back against it, eyes closed, bosom heaving. She had
done it! The legalities of her marriage were a triumph.

Why then, was the actuality such a bitter
disappointment?

~ * ~

Throughout the next two days Mr. and Mrs.
Lanning, keeping well away from the precipitous edges of the
flagstone terraces, explored every shop on the hillside known as
The Pantiles. They sat on conveniently placed benches and enjoyed
the fountains, while watching the slow parade of those who had come
to take the waters, to shop, to see and be seen. They dined,
meticulously attired, in The Swan’s elegant dining room. They spoke
in desultory tones of nothing, as if they were chance met at a
teeming London rout party.

Yet at no time did they come close to the
all-too-brief rapport they had reached for few hours in front of
the fire on their wedding night. Each had retreated from the brink
of what neither wished to acknowledge, enclosing themselves in a
shell of pride and wilful misunderstanding. Mr. Lanning reminding
himself, sometimes forcefully, that his bride was merely enduring
his Cit presence, wishing him back to London as fast as he was
able. Mrs. Lanning, equally certain that her husband wanted nothing
from her that he had not already acquired, and that he could
scarcely wait to be released from the obligation of his wedding
journey so he could disappear down the London road behind a team of
fast horses, unlikely to return for some time to come.

On the third morning after their wedding, the
newly wed couple, carefully repressing mutual sighs of relief,
boarded their coach and set off for Pevensey Park. The journey was
accomplished in near silence, as they had already exhausted every
innocuous topic of conversation from books to the weather. If
Thomas recalled that he had arranged for his wife’s maid to travel
and sleep as far from her mistress as possible so that he might
become better acquainted with his bride, he gave no sign he now
recognized the futility of this plan. That they were, in fact,
almost as close to being strangers as they had been on the day they
met.

Miss Augustina Aldershot, not standing on
ceremony, was waiting on the broad front steps with open arms as
Relia descended from the coach. Thomas Lanning, his perfectly bland
façade firmly in place, watched as the ladies embraced. One would
think he and his wife had just returned from a year’s journey to
the far side of the world.

“
Thomas, welcome home!” And there was
Charles beaming at him, shaking his hand, spouting nonsense, as if
Pevensey were truly his home. “I must whisk you away, I fear,” his
friend said. “You’ve only been gone a sennight, and already the
walls of the Exchange are crumbling. Come now, into the library.
Your bride will forgive us, I know. Undoubtedly, she wishes to
change out of her travel clothes.”

Charles, Thomas noted, was quite right, for
his bride had already disappeared into the house, without so much
as a backward glance at either her husband or her acting steward.
So be it. He handed his gloves and hat to Biddeford and followed
Charles Saunders to the bookroom. At least the demmed boxes of
books, evidently safely restored to the bookroom, no longer
cluttered the foyer

“
Relia. Relia!” Gussie huffed as she
followed the new Mrs. Lanning’s rush up the grand staircase.
“There’s something . . .my dear, you’re going the wrong
direction!”

But Relia paid her companion no heed,
dragging off her bonnet, spencer, and shawl and throwing them
carelessly onto the counterpane of her wonderfully familiar bed.
“Oh, it is so good to be home, Gussie. I am always happiest when
surrounded by my very own things.” Relia turned slowly around, arms
outstretched, absorbing the comforting atmosphere of the bedchamber
that had been hers since she was old enough to leave the nursery.
She frowned. “Gussie . . . why are the dressers bare?” With
purposeful step, she walked to the chest of drawers against the
wall, pulled open the top drawer. It was empty. She dashed to the
tall wardrobe filling one corner of the room, flung open the door.
“Gussie,” Relia inquired on a more ominous note, “what have you
done with my things?” For everything was gone—from gowns, bonnets
and shoes to chemises, reticules, and handkerchiefs.

“
But, my dear,” Gussie protested,
“surely you must realize you cannot stay in this room. We have all
worked very hard while you were gone to move your things into the
master suite. Relia,” Miss Aldershot added as the new Mrs. Lanning
looked at her in horror, “you are married now. You and Mr. Lanning
must share the suite that belongs to the owners of the house.
Relia? Dear child, somehow I have failed you. I cannot believe you
did not understand—”

“
You have moved my things into
my
mother’s
room?” Relia
whispered.

“
Oh, my dear,” Gussie
breathed.

“
And—and my—and the
Cit
into my papa’s chamber?”

“
Relia,” Miss Aldershot said on a note
close to the sternness of her days as a governess, “it is the way
of the world. He is now owner of Pevensey Park. It would have been
a dreadful insult to do anything else. And you are his wife.
Therefore you must share the suite. Not to do so would cause a
scandal and likely have your uncle and your cousin down about your
ears quicker than cat can lick an ear.

“
Most young ladies,” Gussie continued
more softly, “do not face this dilemma. They leave home when they
marry, and only the husband must face sleeping in his father’s bed.
Men do not, I believe,” she added judiciously, “suffer from an
excess of sensibility.”

“
Excess?” Relia cried. “You call it
‘excess’ because I do not care to live in the room where I watched
my mama slowly wither into a husk of her former self. Because I do
not care to sleep in the bed in which she died?”

“
But it is such a grand bed,” Gussie
wailed, with draperies that match the wallpaper.”

“
I will not sleep in it!”

The two women, who had moved from a
relationship of teacher and pupil to that of companion and friend,
stared at each other, both betraying a mix of anger, frustration,
and sorrow. They were at an impasse.

Biddeford, fixed just inside the doorway to
the library, cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Lanning,
I fear there is a bit of a contretemps above stairs.”

“
Not now, Biddeford,” Thomas snapped.
“Can you not see we are busy? I leave domestic matters entirely in
your hands.”

“
Begging your pardon, Mr. Lanning, but
the matter concerns Miss Trev—Mrs. Lanning—and is of some
urgency.”

Thomas and Charles, frowning, raised their
heads from the papers spread out before them. “Very well,” Mr.
Lanning said, rising to his feet. “You may tell me about it as we
go up.” He waved the butler toward the stairs, with Charles
Saunders following close behind.

Thomas found his bride sitting stiffly on the
edge of a chaise longue near the window, while Miss Aldershot sat,
even more upright, on a chair across the room. He wished he might
have found their tale a web of nonsense, but he had to concede that
his wife’s stubbornness was not totally misplaced. He could,
unfortunately, see her point. “We will redecorate the entire
suite,” he told her in a voice that left no room for argument.
“Charles tells me I must go up to London immediately, so I will
choose the colors for my bedchamber while I am there. Then I will
send the upholsterer to you, Aurelia, so you may choose what you
wish. You may, if you wish, order a new bed or have your old one
moved to your new room. The choice is yours. During the renovation
you will, of necessity, sleep in your old room. I shall tell
Biddeford to have your things returned to this room immediately.”
Thomas gave a regal nod, then stood quietly, watching his wife with
some interest.

Relia’s exultation was short-lived. She had
won . . . so why did she feel so very peculiar about her victory?
Possibly because, no matter the odd English legalities about males
owning their wive’s property, Pevensey was hers, and she must never
let him forget it.

“
You
will
choose the colors for your bedchamber?” Relia
challenged.

“
Do
gentlemen
not choose the colors for their
bedchambers?” Thomas responded, presenting the epitome of innocent
ignorance.

“
Not in
my
house!”

“
Ah . . . but I thought it was mine. I
wonder how it is I could have made such a mistake.” Suddenly,
Thomas laughed, while, out in the hallway, Mr. Saunders and
Biddeford heaved sighs of relief. “I beg pardon, Aurelia, but if
you could but see the look on your face. No matter. From what
Charles tells me, I must be off to London immediately. You will be
untroubled with my presence for some time to come.
Biddeford!”

“
My lord!—beg pardon . . . Mr.
Lanning?”

“
See to the removal of Mrs. Lanning’s
things back to this room. Miss Aldershot, Charles, a few moments
alone with my wife, if you please. And close the door on your way
out.”

In a remarkably short time Mr. Thomas Lanning
and his wife found themselves alone. He stood, with his hands
behind his back, gazing down at her bent head. Her victory and his
imminent departure had not produced the blazing triumph he had
thought to see on her face. “Aurelia . . . I am sorry for this. I
did not expect our marriage to be so full of . . . drama. It seemed
a fortunate arrangement for both of us. I believe it may still be
that, but . . . there have been a few more bumps along the way than
I had anticipated. I will be returning to London within the hour,
and with all that awaits me there, it may be some weeks before I
can return.

“
Aurelia . . . look at me.” When she
did, Thomas could not fathom what he saw in the depths of those
blue-gray eyes. Not animosity, however. At least he dared believe
she did not actively dislike him. “It is possible I may not return
until the renovations are complete. When they are—as soon as they
are—I shall expect you to move in. It is essential we keep up
appearances. Do you understand me? There can be no control over
Pevensey or any of its inhabitants if they think you and I are at
odds. Do I make myself clear?”

“
Yes.”

“
Yes, what?”

“
Yes . . . Thomas.”

“
And, Aurelia, while I am gone, pray
remember that you sought me out. You, in essence, offered for me.
Now that you have me, do not turn missish and succumb to a fit of
the vapors. I may be off to London, but I am here in Pevensey Park
to stay. You will not be rid of me as easily as you are undoubtedly
anticipating at the moment.” Thomas cocked his head to one side,
studying his bride of three days, whose look was now easily
identifiable as defiant. “Something to remember me by,” he declared
with considerable cheek and dragged his wife up from the chaise,
his grip as firm as the one he had used to rescue her so handily in
Tunbridge Wells.

The embrace he offered her was even tighter,
longer . . . and far more punishing. His lips met hers before she
could even think to pull away. Shock and tumult struck them both.
And then he was stepping back, charging for the door even faster
than he had run from her on their wedding night. Relia’s knees gave
way. She sat down hard upon the chaise longue.

She had not married a Cit. She had married a
barbarian!

Dinner that night was a near-silent affair,
with Miss Aldershot offering a series of conversational ventures,
to which the new Mrs. Lanning replied in monosyllables. It was very
quiet. Never before had Relia noticed how silent the vast expanse
of the house was at night. Somehow, with Thomas Lanning’s
departure, life seemed to have been drawn from the structure, a
revelation she found most displeasing. In truth, her husband had
run off with such haste that he would likely be forced to spend the
night at an inn instead of in the warmth and comfort of Pevensey
Park.

It was, of course, quite possible he did not
find warmth and comfort at Pevensey Park.

Relia chewed a mouthful of apple tart that,
to her disordered senses, might as well have been wrapped in bark
instead of Cook’s flaky pastry. She had made such a desperate
effort to find a husband, and now that she had him, what was she to
do with him?

Very little
,
whispered the insidious voice of truth inside her head. It was more
a question of what
he
would do
with
her
.

“
Relia, my dear,” said Gussie brightly,
making yet another attempt to penetrate Mrs. Lanning’s inattention,
“that nice Mr. Saunders is going to search out a new steward for
us. Such a dear boy. He managed Mr. Tubbs so well I do believe the
old humdudgeon is actually looking forward to doing nothing but
living on his pension.”

Miss Aldershot suddenly had Aurelia’s
complete attention. “Mr. Saunders is going to do
what
?” she inquired.

Slowly, Gussie put down her fork, staring at
Relia in some consternation. “Find a new steward?” she offered.