London, 1758
“M-married?” Jocelyn Townsend clamped her hands in her lap and frantically sought the right words for the occasion. “Congratulations.”
Tobias Sherbourne, the Earl of Melburn, beamed. Happiness lit his craggy face, taking it from ordinary to compelling. His eyes sparkled, the bright blue emphasized by his snowy white wig. “I’ve offered for the Neville girl.”
“I wish you happy, Melburn.” Jocelyn’s spine pressed against the back of the damask sofa, the squeeze of her stays grounding her again. Gossip and rumors had circulated for months now. Yes, she’d known Melburn’s declaration would come, but hearing it still hurled her into panic. She wanted to vent her frustration for everyone to witness, but of course, she didn’t. Her mother was the only person who shrieked in this household.
She picked up the teapot. “Tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Brandy, please.” Melburn straightened from his casual lean against the mantle.
A raucous feminine screech pierced the air and tea sloshed from the spout. Jocelyn sighed inwardly, forcing her smile to remain intact while she set the china pot down. Not again. “Perhaps we would both benefit from something stronger.”
She rose and maneuvered her skirts around her mahogany table and a square-backed chair to ring for a maid. The high-pitch scream repeated, louder and closer to the parlor. Jocelyn flinched, shooting a pained look at the closed door.
On her return, Melburn took possession of the seat opposite her, his large frame dwarfing the delicate furniture. “How is your mother?”
One would think the ear-piercing shrieks were nothing out of the ordinary, given his calm demeanor but, after two years as her protector, her mother’s peculiarities no longer disturbed him.
A maid appeared, and Jocelyn relayed her request for a bottle of brandy and two glasses. It mightn’t be the thing for a woman to drink strong spirits, yet if ever there was a time for her to imbibe, it was tonight. The maid’s face blanked, although she curtseyed in acquiescence and hurried off to complete her errand.
“My mother is having a bad turn. She insists someone is watching the house and spying on us.” It was a relief to share the latest drama with Melburn.
“Have you investigated to allay her concerns?”
Jocelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We have been more vigilant than usual. I haven’t noticed anyone suspicious and neither has Woodley or Tilly, but Mother is steadfast in her charges.”
Her butler and her mother’s nurse were equally adamant no one lurked in the alley outside their Cork Street house. While it wasn’t the best location in London, a night watchman patrolled the surrounding streets, and lamps chased away most of the gloomy shadows once evening fell.
The maid returned with a tray bearing the requested brandy.
“Would you like to adjourn to the bedroom, Melburn?”
“No, Jocelyn. I—”
Jocelyn leaned closer and covered his hand with hers, halting his refusal. “It’s a love match. I understand.” His bergamot and spice scent washed over her, familiar and comforting. He was a good man and a spurt of envy chased through her. Silently, she acknowledged her loss and the difficulties she’d experience in finding another protector of his caliber—someone she could trust not to abuse her.
“Ashleigh is a wonderful woman. I wouldn’t see her hurt by spiteful gossip.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you. It was a lucky day for me when you won me from Boynton.” And even better he’d become a friend as well as her lover.
Melburn’s eyes narrowed. “The man is a brute. The minute I saw the bruise on your cheek, my course of action was clear. Besides”—the tension in his upper body eased—“I like your red hair.” He reached over to tug on an unfashionable red ringlet, grinning at her like an errant boy.
“Thank you.” Her words acknowledged far more than the compliment. He’d rescued her from a bad situation and, for that, she’d always be grateful. She poured a measure of brandy and handed it to him before taking a smaller portion for herself. An abrupt ear-piercing shriek right outside the parlor made her wince. “Perhaps I should attend to my mother.”
Melburn set his glass on the mahogany table. “Let me. I’ll take a lantern and check outside in the alley. Help set her mind to rest.”
Reality crashed over Jocelyn as she watched him stride from the parlor and disappear into the hall, the door shutting behind him. This really was the end of their relationship. She’d miss his caring ways and passionate lovemaking. The Neville girl was lucky, and Jocelyn tamped down her envy. She fingered her gold locket and fought her growing agitation. A shiver crawled down her spine as she considered a search for a new protector.
No one could call her beautiful, and the last thing she wanted was to make another mistake, yet time would be of the essence because living in London was expensive. She was certain Melburn would give her a parting gift, yet even so, she’d have to tighten her purse strings until she found a suitable replacement.
The rise and fall of an emotional diatribe pierced the door. Jocelyn sipped her brandy and pulled a face at the harsh bite. At least the burn pierced the chill inhabiting her body. Her mother’s crying ceased, and a reassuring masculine rumble filled the silence. She couldn’t decipher the words but knew Melburn would offer comfort. It was his way. The respite allowed Jocelyn to ponder her predicament. Even if she located a protector, finding one who accepted her mother’s presence would prove nigh on impossible.
She could approach her sisters… No, Georgina and Charlotte barely acknowledged her these days. They wanted to send their mother to Bedlam. Jocelyn hated to think of her one remaining parent incarcerated in the hospital, treated like an entertaining exhibit for those who possessed the price of admission. Her mind raced, attempting to fashion a workable solution. She drank more brandy, allowing the spirit to chase away her growing disquiet.
Ten minutes later, the door opened, and the earl entered the parlor. His cheeks were ruddy from the nippy spring evening.
“Did you discover anything unusual?” Jocelyn asked.
“Not apart from an old tomcat lurking in the alley. I informed your mother of my findings.” He sent her a rueful grin. “She decided she’d scared the spy away with her warning cries.”
“Thank you.” Another burst of fancy on her mother’s part.
Melburn sat again, a man with something on his mind, given the way he darted a searching look at her and toyed with his brandy. “What will you do now?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll look for your replacement.” She pulled a face, then let him know she bore no malice by adding a smile. After all, their involvement was basically a business proposition. She’d offered the use of her body in exchange for his financial support. The easy camaraderie between them had come as a bonus. “It won’t be easy to find someone who suits my situation.”
“I might have an answer to your problem.” He hesitated as if he was unsure about his solution.
“Tell me. I’d like to think we’re at least friends after all this time.”
Melburn paused a fraction longer before appearing to come to a decision. “My cousin, Leo Sherbourne, requires a wife.”
A shocked gasp escaped her. “But I’m a fallen woman. I—”
“You’re not a mistress by choice.”
“Well, no but—”
“Think about it. Marrying Leo would give you an opportunity to start afresh.”
Most men wanted to distance themselves from their ex-mistresses. Jocelyn frowned at his quiet insistence, questions flying through her mind. “I see the benefits for me, but what about your cousin? What does he gain from such a match? Why would you suggest that I join your family? What if your betrothed learns of our shared history?”
“Leo lost his wife last year. He has a daughter, and he finds himself in want of a wife.”
Jocelyn’s brows rose. “Surely he could hire a nursemaid?”
“There are unusual circumstances that make a wife the better solution.”
“What unusual circumstances?” Jocelyn wasn’t sure she liked Melburn thrusting her into the middle of a mystery. “How can I make a decision if you don’t give me the full facts?”
“Jocelyn, it’s not my story to tell. I’m merely acting as Leo’s agent in this matter, gauging a sense of your interest. What I can tell you is that my cousin is a good man. He’s trustworthy. He won’t beat or degrade you.”
The chance of a new start wasn’t something that occurred every day. “What about my mother? Where does your cousin live?”
“Leo knows of your situation.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Is your cousin willing to give my mother his protection?”
“He’d like to meet with you tomorrow morning,” Melburn said. “If you’re agreeable, you can ask your questions then.”
Jocelyn drank the last of her brandy and set her glass aside. She laughed lightly. “Very well, you wretched man. You’ve piqued my interest with your suggestion, and you know it. I’ll meet with your cousin here at eleven tomorrow morning.”
Leo Sherbourne halted his agitated pacing when he heard footsteps approaching the library. He ducked into the shadows, squeezed against the book shelves, and faced the door to wait. Melburn was the only person he wished to speak with this evening. If it was someone else, he’d prefer to remain alone.
The library door burst open. “Leo?”
Leo stepped into the light cast by the fire and the single candlestick sitting on the corner of a rosewood desk. “Did you see her? Did she agree?”
“I told you she’d have questions. She wants to see you tomorrow at eleven.” Melburn tossed his cocked hat and cane aside and strode to an oak sideboard to pour two brandies. He handed one to Leo.
Leo cupped the crystal goblet in his hand and stared into golden liquid. “What sort of questions?”
“Foremost, she’s worried about her mother, but she wants to know why you’re willing to marry her when you know she’s a courtesan. I think she’s wondering why you’d want to marry your cousin’s cast off, although she didn’t put it into words.”
Leo’s answer was simple, though not one he intended to broadcast.
He wanted to send a clear message to Hannah. Despite her assumptions, he had no intention of chaining himself to his first wife’s sister. He wished he could tell her bluntly, but given the circumstances…
Leo swirled his glass, watching eddies in the brandy with close attention. “You said she’s trustworthy, and I know you said she’s plain, but she doesn’t need to be a beauty. I don’t care about that. Her character is more important than her physical appearance.”
After his debacle of a marriage, he wanted a woman he could easily control. Yes, this was the best way. He’d walk into a second marriage with a woman beholden to him—one who understood her place.
“Jocelyn is above all things sensible. I’ve known her for two years, and she’s never done anything to draw attention to herself or our agreement. She’s discreet, and I doubt many people know of our connection. The only time we ever met outside her house was at masquerade balls, and we always left before it was time to unmask. I believe she promised her two older sisters she’d keep a low profile, and she adheres to her pledge. From the little she’s said, her sisters both married minor titles and don’t wish to recall their merchant roots.”
Leo dropped onto a chair in front of the fireplace and yanked off the cravat he’d disordered hours ago. “Most women in her position would use your alliance for their benefit.”
“Jocelyn’s not like that. From what I understand, her two older sisters refused to take in their mother when her behavior became erratic. Their father died leaving debts, and they lost their home. Jocelyn was desperate and fell into life as a courtesan. It was the only way she could keep her mother safe and a roof over their heads.” Melburn took possession of the neighboring chair and stared into the flickering flames. “You won’t find fault with her. I told you she’s tall and possesses a pleasing shape. She has bright red hair and lots of freckles, while her eyes are an unusual light blue. If you’re determined to go through with your plan, Jocelyn is the perfect candidate.”
“You think I’m wrong to want to provide a mother for my daughter? A wife to bring peace to my household?”
“Of course not,” Melburn said. “It’s what we men want.”
“The important thing is she has nothing in common with Ursula.” A flicker of distaste swept Leo, the same one that struck whenever anyone mentioned his dead wife.
“You’ll find Jocelyn is exactly what you search for.” Silence fell, a companionable quiet. Melburn rose to refresh their drinks. “Jocelyn Townsend is a practical woman. As long as you word your proposition carefully, I think she’ll agree to wed you.”
Leo snorted. “Practical? I’ve yet to meet a woman who isn’t ruled by her emotions.”
“Not all women are like Ursula.”
“The ones I’ve met to date are high-strung and anything but peaceful, although I’m sure your betrothed is the exception.” Leo said all that was right to reassure his cousin, but he didn’t believe Melburn. Ursula had been a traitorous bitch, and she’d cuckolded him whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hell, he was pretty sure Cassandra wasn’t his daughter. His first wife had sucked him dry of emotion, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. A mutual marriage of convenience with Melburn’s mistress would give him leverage. He’d forever have the upper hand, and that was exactly what he needed to keep peace in his household.
At precisely the stroke of eleven, a sharp rap of the door knocker announced a visitor. Jocelyn set her needlework aside and rose. A flutter of nerves stirred as she smoothed her blue skirts and contrasting pale blue petticoats. It made her realize she’d already half-decided to agree to the proposition. She’d always thought she’d marry like her sisters, but fate and her father had set her on a different path. Under normal circumstances, her intuition would propel her to act with vigilance.
This wasn’t a typical situation.
Her instincts were shouting “yes” because Mr. Sherbourne was Melburn’s cousin. She trusted the earl, and marriage would solve several of her problems.
Out in the hall, Woodley’s somber tones greeted her caller. Her hand crept up to smooth over her locket as she wondered for the hundredth time what Mr. Sherbourne would look like and how he’d react to her and her mother. A man who was willing to overlook her past and offer her the security of matrimony was unusual indeed. He’d most likely possess an appearance similar to Melburn. Yes, the resemblance would help Jocelyn to keep her composure and stifle the anxieties that had kept her from slumber last night.
Woodley tapped on the parlor door and entered. “Mr. Leo Sherbourne to see you.”
“Show him in, Woodley.” Amazed at her calm voice, she concentrated on presenting a serene front.
Woodley directed Mr. Sherbourne into the parlor, and she forced her lips to curve upward when she really wanted to gasp aloud.
Leo Sherbourne was stunningly handsome, his dark eyes piercing and direct. Taller than Melburn, he’d clubbed his midnight black hair in a tail, and this highlighted the stark planes of his face, his olive complexion. Impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit with a pale blue waistcoat embroidered in a deeper blue, he appeared the wealthy gentleman. His choice of color matched her attire perfectly. A sign, perhaps.
“Good morning, Mr. Sherbourne.” She finally rediscovered her manners.
“Miss Townsend.” He regarded her steadily and not a measure of flirtation showed on his features. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” His deep voice caressed her senses, and she stared, mesmerized for an instant. He was…unexpected. Why would he want to take her as his wife? Young misses likely fluttered their eyelashes at him in flirtation, and she imagined older, more experienced women offered to jump into his bed on a regular basis. He didn’t seem like a man who’d experience difficulty in attracting the fairer sex.
“Please take a seat,” Jocelyn said, her mind twisting and prodding this new development. Her right hand rose to check her cap, and she forced herself to still the self-conscious action. Despite her fidgeting, her cap was likely still straight and hid a large portion of her red hair.
He waited until she seated herself before taking possession of the same chair his cousin had sat on the previous night.
“Why are you entertaining marriage with me, given my history?” Jocelyn almost winced at her forthrightness. She caught the flash of surprise in him, the slight narrowing of his eyes then his slow smile. Her heart beat a little faster at his approval. It seemed devastating smiles were one trait borne by both cousins. She found it difficult to focus with his full attention directed at her, almost impossible not to gasp at her physical reaction to his potent masculinity.
“I have a young daughter and require help with her.”
“Forgive me, but surely there is no shortage of women willing to accept you as husband.” More candor. This was not the impression she wanted to present, yet she required answers. To her relief, he didn’t take umbrage and merely scrutinized her closely in return.
“My first marriage wasn’t an enjoyable experience. This time I seek a marriage where both parties know their duty from the beginning and are under no illusion as to how the liaison will proceed—the way I want.”
Well, he was blunt too. Jocelyn wrenched her gaze from his face and concentrated on her lightly clasped hands. The romantic part of her faded under reality. This wasn’t a love match. She had to remember that, yet the situation was strange. He hadn’t told her everything. There was more. She lifted her head. “Did you beat your wife?”
His dark brows shot upward. “I’m not a brute.” He half stood as if he intended to leave, and her hand shot out to grasp his forearm. Muscles flexed beneath her fingers, leading her thoughts directly to the marriage bed. Like a hot coal, his heat burned her palm, and she released her hold.
“Forgive me. Please, don’t leave. This is an unusual situation and my nerves are ruling my manners. Stay. Tell me exactly what you expect from me.”
Instead of sitting again, he prowled the parlor, putting her in mind of a caged beast. And, despite her growing alarm that she’d destroyed any chance of a marriage, she couldn’t tear her gaze off him. He was a man in his prime, strong and sure of himself—an attractive quality in a husband. Her breasts prickled against her chemise, and her stays felt suddenly unbearably tight. Heat bloomed between her legs. The unusual reaction took her by surprise.
Mr. Sherbourne ceased his pacing and spun to face her. Determination etched his face, giving him the look of cool marble. “I want a wife who gives her loyalty to me, a woman to raise my child and warm my bed. Someone to instill order in my home and do things the way I direct.”
Jocelyn nodded. That sounded reasonable. “And what would I receive in return?”
“In return, my wife will receive the security of my name and home. She’ll want for nothing, and I hope she’ll find happiness.”
“What about my past relationship with Melburn? If I agree to wed you, there might be times when we socialize with Melburn and his new wife. Will that create difficulties?”
He laughed softly, a gleam entering his eyes. “Are you asking if I’ll experience jealousy?”
“Yes.” Nothing like a little honesty to get to the heart of a matter.
“Melburn and I have discussed this. He told me if you agreed to marry me, you’d also give your loyalty. He said you possess both honor and discretion. Integrity. I hadn’t heard a single rumor of your relationship. This reassures me that we might suit. Will you miss your close…friendship with Melburn?”
“Melburn and I have always been friends. I hope our friendship will continue in the future—in a platonic way, of course. Your cousin is right in that I refuse to play games or pit gentlemen against each other to ensure a better offer or a richer lover. If I agree to become your wife, you’ll receive everything you require in a spouse.”
His brows rose again. “It’s not often a woman surprises me.”
“I’m not an ordinary woman.”
“I’m coming to understand that.”
“Thank you.” Jocelyn found herself drawn to him. Along with his pleasing looks, he bore an air of confidence. But the stillness in him, the faint note of impatience hinted at hidden depths. Winning his friendship and perhaps his love would prove a challenge. Aware of the lengthening silence, she rushed into speech. “Did Melburn tell you about my mother? Her behavior is erratic at times, and she suffers episodes where she has mad fancies. Despite family pressure, I refuse to place her in The Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem. If we marry, I’ll expect her to come to live with me.”
He hesitated and acute disappointment gripped her. This point was nonnegotiable. If he didn’t offer her mother protection, she couldn’t accept his proposition.
“Is she violent?”
“No! Not at all. At worst, she shrieks loud enough to deafen everyone in the vicinity. I employ a nurse to oversee her and have found this is a satisfactory solution.”
“Is she likely to harm my daughter?”
“I don’t believe so,” Jocelyn said. “You’re welcome to meet her and judge for yourself. She does become agitated at times, but Tilly is good with her. Melburn will tell you.”
The man stalked another tight circuit of her parlor, dodging an urn of flowers and the settee. “We could keep them apart if problems occurred,” he said, almost talking to himself. “Yes, that should work.” He focused on her then, his deep brown eyes searing through her.
A flutter of something—not fear—stirred in her belly.
“If you accept my proposal, your mother and any of your staff are welcome to accompany you.”
“Thank you. My butler and my mother’s nurse have been with me from the start and are husband and wife. I should like to offer them positions. The rest of the staff will continue to work for the next tenant who rents this house.”
“As it happens, my current butler is past the age of retirement.” One of his wondrous smiles flashed and her breath caught. “He worries about leaving me in the lurch, having been with our family since he was a young boy.”
The glimpse of affection in his voice cheered her. “Melburn didn’t say where you lived.”
“Near the town of Tavistock in Devon.”
“Dartmoor?”
“Yes, I’m a farmer and hold an interest in several mines. We live a simple life, although we socialize with our neighbors. You will find Merrivale much quieter than London.”
A silent question hovered in his words, prompting her to rush into speech. “I have no problems with a country life.” Devon was a long way from London and her two sisters. Their husbands both owned estates in Kent. The distance between Devon and Kent gave her the illusion of safety, especially from rumors about her past. “That sounds satisfactory. You’d better meet my mother.” The poor man deserved to know exactly what he was letting himself in for, although the change of scenery might aid her parent. A thought occurred. “Do you have gardens and a stillroom?”
A bemused expression followed her question. “Yes. Merrivale Manor has extensive gardens. Is that important?”
“My mother enjoys working with herbs and flowers. A garden would help her settle and make her more amenable to a move.”
“So you’re seriously considering my proposition?”
“As long as you don’t take a dislike of my mother when you meet her, I think we’ll deal well together.” A tremor went through Jocelyn. She’d share a bed with this man and perhaps bear his children. “Do you want more children?”
A sensual gleam lit his dark eyes without warning. “Of course.” His gaze traveled to her breasts and lingered before returning to her face. His avid attention left a raft of goose bumps creeping over her arms and legs. Sharing a bed with Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t going to be a hardship.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“No, I think we’ve covered most things. I’ll give you free rein in the manor, and you’ll receive a quarterly allowance.”
A thought occurred. “Do you travel to London often?”
“I don’t enjoy the city. I visit Melburn at his estate in North Devon several times a year. Of course, you would come with me.”
Jocelyn bore a fondness for Melburn, yet she frowned at the disclosure. “I wouldn’t have thought Melburn would want me to meet his wife on a regular basis.”
“Melburn and I discussed this at length. We decided to tell anyone who asks that we met in London. Melburn assures me you’ll do nothing to blacken the Sherbourne name.” Though spoken in a mild voice, his words carried an unpinning of coldness. His expression gave away nothing, yet Jocelyn sensed he’d be a bad man to cross.
“I agree to whatever story you’ve planned,” she said. “I’ll see if my mother has time to say good day.” The entire journey to her mother’s second floor chamber, she thought about Mr. Sherbourne. Jocelyn prayed her mother didn’t take one of her instant aversions, for she’d instinctively liked the man. She wanted to embrace this chance to make a fresh start.
To her relief, Mr. Sherbourne charmed her mother and the pair chatted about gardening and plants for ten minutes before he needed to leave to visit his lawyer. By the time Jocelyn handed him his hat and cane and showed him out, they’d agreed a marriage between them would suit both parties.
The carriage rattled over a rut, jolting the entire vehicle. Jocelyn braced her hand on the interior to hold her position. Once she’d committed to Mr. Sherbourne, affairs moved rapidly. With Melburn’s help, she’d signed a betrothal contract and a few days later, she became Mrs. Leo Sherbourne. An urgent message came from Merrivale, summoning Leo home and he left London the same day, leaving Jocelyn to arrange the move to Devon.
Now that she was on her way to join her new husband, trepidation traveled with her. Anxiety jostled in the pit of her stomach each time the carriage struggled through a pothole.
“Are we there yet?” Elizabeth Townsend’s querulous voice pierced her thoughts—an oft repeated question, that had grated Jocelyn’s nerves raw.
They’d taken the journey in small stages over many days, but even so, by the time they reached the outskirts of Dartmoor, Jocelyn wanted to strangle her mother.
“We should reach Merrivale later this afternoon.” Jocelyn pushed down the carriage window and tilted her face to the bright sunshine. Fresh air ruffled her hair, tugging the strands not covered by her cap.
The carriage labored up a slope, the wheels protesting and the coachman urging the horses on with a snap of his whip. When they reached the crest of the hill, Jocelyn’s breath caught. The countryside stretched out before them—an endless carpet of greenery, studded with piles of rocks, stacked like a haphazard pile of oversize books. A cloudless blue sky completed the majestic panorama.
“Mother, look at the view. Isn’t it glorious?” She’d heard the area could be inhospitable and eerie with dangerous mists and treacherous bogs, yet it wasn’t today. For their arrival, Dartmoor was showing her finest.
“I can’t see,” her mother complained.
“Come and sit beside me,” Jocelyn said.
They shuffled around the carriage interior until her mother could view the vista.
“Pretty,” her mother said. “Are we there yet?”
“It won’t take long now,” Tilly said in a firm voice.
The hours passed and, after a brief stop for lunch and to change horses, they finally approached Merrivale Manor. Mature trees and extensive gardens surrounded a sprawling gray stone building, screening it from sight until the last minute. When the carriage came to a halt, several people hurried down the front steps of the manor.
“Are we there yet?”
“Yes.” Jocelyn wiped clammy hands on her skirts, nerves striking her afresh now that they’d arrived. Today her marriage would start in truth, and tonight, she’d share a bed with her new husband.
The carriage door opened and Leo appeared. He extended a hand to her. “Welcome to Merrivale Manor.”
Jocelyn inclined her head, cautious and hesitant, unaccountably shy in front of her husband. She stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother and Tilly to alight. “Ah, Woodley,” she said, spying her butler—posture erect and proper—amongst the somber servants. “How was your journey?”
He inclined his head respectfully. “Very good, Mrs. Sherbourne. We arrived three days ago.”
“And you’ve settled in well?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne.”
Jocelyn nodded, the small talk settling the worst of her anxiety.
“Let me introduce you to the staff,” Mr. Sherbourne said, placing her hand on the crook of his arm. His good looks dazzled her, stealing her breath as his dark gaze caressed her face. His focus dropped to her lips before his attention shifted to the waiting line of servants.
Men often scrutinized her thus, as if they wanted to strip her clothes from her body and take their ease, and that was despite her unattractive red hair and freckles. A burst of heat crawled across her skin and part of her wished it was time to retire now. She’d spent her waking hours since their marriage pondering Mr. Sherbourne’s bedroom prowess. Would he hurry the act without regard to her pleasure? Or would he take his time, caressing and touching her until they both burned? Breathless, disturbed by her thoughts, Jocelyn swallowed rapidly, seeking distraction.
Ah, yes. The servants.
She scanned their faces and caught a glower from one of the maids, apparently aimed at Mr. Sherbourne. The rest of the faces were expressionless, absent of welcome, and that raised her curiosity. Did they not like their master? Fear him for some reason?
“This is Mrs. Green, the housekeeper.” After a brief greeting to the stony-faced woman, Mr. Sherbourne led her down the line of staff, introducing her to the remaining maids and footmen without hesitation. He mentioned their families, his cool charm seeming to set the servants at ease.
Jocelyn inclined her head and murmured a small greeting to each servant, impressed with her husband’s knowledge of his staff. The tension lifted from her shoulders. This wasn’t a ruthless master. They were likely apprehensive about meeting a new mistress.
“Mrs. Green, will you show Mrs. Sherbourne’s mother to her room?”
“Of course.” The housekeeper led her mother and Tilly away, and the servants dispersed, leaving Jocelyn alone with Mr. Sherbourne.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his husky voice stirring her again. A tremor swept her, leaving a tingling awareness in its path. “Let me show you to your chamber.”
She strolled up the steps into the entrance hall at his side. Flagstones covered the floor, her shoes tapping the surface as they progressed deeper into the manor. Mr. Sherbourne led her to a flight of stairs and together, they ascended to the next floor.
“When will I meet your daughter?”
“Cassandra has a nap at this time of the day,” he said. “She isn’t feeling well this week, and Arabella thought it would be best to keep Cassie in the nursery today. Perhaps tomorrow would be better. No doubt you’re tired after your journey.”
“Arabella?”
“She looks after Cassandra, and has done so since her birth.”
Some of her enthusiasm faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear Cassandra isn’t well.” She’d looked forward to meeting her new daughter and had even purchased her a doll before leaving London. “Tell me about my new daughter. We didn’t speak much of her before our marriage.”
Mr. Sherbourne hesitated, as if considering his words. When they reached the top of the stairs, he guided her to the right, his hand a gentle pressure on the small of her back. Family portraits hung on the walls, most depicting serious gentlemen.
“Cassandra is four. People say she looks much like her mother.”
Her husband’s clipped tone suggested he didn’t consider this a good thing. “I thought she’d be younger.” Jocelyn hadn’t realized Mr. Sherbourne had been married for that long. She didn’t understand his strange reticence either but, no doubt, the coming weeks and months would aid her with insight into her husband. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Mr. Sherbourne guided her to the end of the gallery and around another corner. “The manor is easy to navigate. It’s a U-shape. Our rooms are in the left wing while your mother’s rooms and the nursery are in the right wing. The main reception rooms are in the center. My family has lived here since the late 1600s.”
Interesting that he’d changed the subject. Jocelyn decided to let him. “I didn’t realize your family had lived in the area for so long. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I did have two older brothers. One died as a three-year-old during a plague and the other left home after an argument with my father. We haven’t seen him since.” The hard note in his voice repulsed further questions.
Jocelyn squeezed his arm. “Families can be difficult. I know from experience. I understand your parents passed away some time ago.”
“Yes.” The tenseness fell away from him at her words, and he smiled—a brief one that didn’t reach his dark eyes. “Of course you do. I admire you for protecting your mother.”
“Thank you.” She hoped he’d continue to think this way because her mother had been at her charming best during their meetings to date. Heaven help them when she threw one of her screaming fits. At least her mother had ceased her avowals of spies lurking behind every corner. Something Jocelyn was thankful for, if only that lasted.
Mr. Sherbourne halted in front of a door and pushed it open. He stood back, pausing for her to enter.
Her husband.
A flicker of pleasure bloomed within her. The mantle didn’t sit easily at present, but with time, she hoped her new status became comfortable. As she started to move past him, she caught his scent, a hit of bay rum and a pinch of spicy greenery. An urge to touch him struck her, yet she didn’t act on the impulse. They needed time to build a friendship, intimacy.
She entered a large chamber. It was frilly and designed with a woman in mind. Jocelyn hated it on sight. “It’s very…” Good grief. Words failed her, and she stared at her new husband.
His lips twisted. “Pink?”
“Ah, yes.” That was the least offensive of descriptions for the overly fussy room and the multitude of cherubs. They covered every available surface and some even smirked at her from the wall. She looked up. And the ceiling.
“You’re welcome to make changes.”
Instinct told her he’d appreciate a transformation. She was certain of it when their gazes connected, because memories swirled in his eyes and etched into his facial muscles. This room held bad recollections of his first wife.
“I’ve always preferred simpler decoration.” Jocelyn fought a shudder at the unrelenting pink frills everywhere. Her scan of the room drew her over to the windows. Ah, at least the view was beautiful. The garden spread out below, a blaze of summer color—red roses, yellow daisies and deep purple lavender. In contrast to the bright flowers, formal hedges grew in regimented green rows, all sharp angles to please the most exacting gardener. Gradually, the hedges gave way to mature trees, which sent dappled patterns of light and dark over their surroundings.
She crossed to a second window and gave a happy sigh at the greenery studded with rocks and trees, which stretched as far as she could see. “The views are lovely.”
“Yes, they are.”
She turned back to him and found her husband watching her. A pleased flush crept into her cheeks as she strolled toward him.
“This is my room through here.” He opened another door.
She caught a glimpse of a four-poster bed and heavy oak furniture. Deep green wallpaper adorned the walls, a white and gold trim bringing a touch more color. The room was masculine and far more to her taste. “Perhaps I could sleep in your room tonight.” This cherub-festooned decoration was certain to give her nightmares.
“Mrs. Green will want to show you the rest of the house.”
She’d thought he might take her suggestion as an excuse to at least offer a flirtatious comment in return. She was mistaken. Not a shred of carnal interest crept into his expression, and the lack of reaction brought a chill to her limbs.
“Yes, of course.” She followed him from her bedroom and back down the stairs to the doorway of a parlor.
The housekeeper claimed his attention when she spied their arrival. “You have visitors, Mr. Sherbourne. Miss Hannah and Master Peregrine are here to see you.”
Mr. Sherbourne cursed softly. “Where are they?”
“They’re taking a turn about the garden.”
“I’ll go and meet them.” He hesitated. “Jocelyn, why don’t you come with me? Viscount Hartscombe is one of our neighbors. Peregrine and Hannah are his son and daughter. They live on the other side of the village.”
Jocelyn turned to the housekeeper, hoping she hid her pleasure at his use of her name. “Mrs. Green, could you prepare refreshments for our guests please? It’s such a lovely afternoon. Is there somewhere outside that’s suitable to take refreshments?”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Sherbourne will show you to the terrace.”
She took two steps and halted abruptly. Bother, her bonnet was no protection from the sun. Aware of her husband’s impatience, she resigned herself to more freckles and hurried over to accept his escort. His mouth was firm, irritation making his face appear like stone. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Mr. Sherbourne didn’t reply, merely directed her from the house and into a large garden. Roses perfumed the air and birds sang with gay abandon, as if celebrating a day full of sunshine.
“I do like the gardens.” Jocelyn stole a glance at her husband, curiosity surging at the tension in him. Was it something she’d done or was it his unexpected visitors?
The murmur of voices ahead increased the rigidness of the muscles beneath her gloved hand. Not her, then. Her interest grew when a man and woman approached. They made an attractive pair, the brother tall and dashing in a black coat and breeches. The gold braiding decorating the coat caught the sun, sparkling like jewels. His sister was petite and very beautiful in a well-cut black riding habit. Both wore cocked hats, atop golden hair the color of ripe blades of wheat. It was the shade of hair she’d always admired, but not a single rinse came close to shifting the fiery glow from her locks.
Jocelyn smiled in greeting, looking forward to making friends in her new home.
Two sets of dark brown eyes stared at her in astonishment, the woman’s gaze drifting to her arm linked with Mr. Sherbourne’s. She scowled, her attention returning to Mr. Sherbourne. A brilliant smile bloomed, making her appear at one with the sunshine, despite her black garb.
“Leo! At last.” The woman raced across the distance separating them with unladylike haste. “You’ve been in London for weeks. We heard you’d returned but Father and Mother have come home for a brief time. They brought visitors with them, which meant we couldn’t ride over to see you until today. Aren’t you going to greet us?”
Mr. Sherbourne released Jocelyn and caught the woman as she threw herself at him. His fingers banded her upper arms, holding her from his body and resisting her inclination to embrace. Shock flitted across the woman’s face as he adroitly avoided her attempt at physical contact.
“Leo, you’re hurting me.”
Mr. Sherbourne set her away firmly, his countenance harsh. He moved closer to Jocelyn, curling his right arm around her waist. “Wish me happy,” he said. “Jocelyn and I are married.”