“Wherein a ceremony ...”
Crecy had not been seen since she’d left the house this morning in the company of a groom. The groom had returned about an hour after they’d left, having been given the slip. Belle was informed in no uncertain terms that her sister was a bruising rider, and whilst Crecy might have glowed with pleasure from the man’s accolades, Belle felt rather differently. All she could imagine was her sister, lying in a ditch as the temperature plummeted.
She stifled a sob and was about to demand a search party be mounted immediately when Crecy strolled through the front door.
Her face was flushed with the cold and her hair all awry, but other than that, her eyes were sparkling and she looked perfectly lovely and full of life.
Belle wanted to strangle her.
“Crecy!” she exclaimed with relief, still not sure if she wanted to hug her sister or throttle her. “Where on earth have you been?”
“Sorry, Belle, Mrs Russell,” she said, looking a little sheepish as she saw the groom she’d abandoned and various other members of staff gathered around and clearly discussing her whereabouts. “I got lost.”
“And no wonder!” Belle threw back at her. “What were you thinking, going off without a groom or anyone to chaperone you? How could you? Anything could have happened.”
Crecy blushed and put up her chin a little. “Well, it didn’t, Belle, and I said I’m sorry already. I am cold however, and famished. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and dress for dinner.”
Belle watched her go in mute astonishment and could only echo Lady Russell’s words as the old lady leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Keep an eye on that one, Miss Holbrook, she’s full of secrets.”
Belle experienced a chill of foreboding as she knew only too well that Lady Russell was right. She didn’t believe for a moment Crecy had been lost. Which begged the question, where the devil had she been?
***
Belle did not manage to get anything further from Crecy, who was adamant she’d been lost and nothing more. With her own future a more immediate concern, Belle had to let it rest, for now, at least. For now, she stood before the looking glass in her best blue gown as she prepared to go downstairs and marry the Marquess of Winterbourne.
“You look lovely, Belle,” Crecy whispered, slipping her fingers into Belle’s and squeezing. Belle returned the gesture, but found her face was too frozen to attempt anything resembling a smile.
“Thank you, Crecy,” she replied, sounding rather faint and unlike herself. She hadn’t seen Winterbourne again since their row, and somehow the man had become a monster in her mind in the intervening hours. She tried to cling to Violette’s words and prayed he might not be as unreasonable as she had painted him during the long, anxious hours of a sleepless night. But the idea that she would have to share a bed with the man tonight ...
She was assailed with so many conflicting emotions at that idea that she didn’t know which one to grab for first. The idea of being intimate with the bullying brute who had been so odiously rude to her the previous day was nothing short of horrific. Yet if she allowed her mind to drift back to the evening in the library, with those soft lips tracing a path across her skin ... a flush of heat assailed her, at least putting a little colour in her otherwise wan complexion.
“Are you ready, Belle? It’s time to go.” Belle nodded and turned and saw Crecy watching her with such anxiety that she knew she must do a better job at putting a brave face on. After all, it wasn’t so bad. Longwold would be her home, the beautiful gardens she had already come to love would be hers to discover and walk as she wished. She would be the Marchioness Winterbourne, with position, money, more than she had ever dreamed of at her fingertips, and most of all, a future for Crecy. A future where her sister could be allowed the time to fall in love with a man who loved her in return. Something Belle would likely never know. But neither would she starve, nor be forced to live a life outside of polite society in an effort to put food on the table and a roof over her head.
It could be so much worse.
So, she forced her unwilling face to move into something resembling a smile and her voice when she spoke was even and did not tremble. “I am,” she said, giving Crecy a quick hug before picking up the pretty little bouquet that had been sent to her room. Anemones from the estate’s hothouse tied into a sweet little posy. Violette’s doing, no doubt. Anemones, if she recalled correctly, meant love ever steadfast. She choked back the bitter laughter that accompanied that idea. Somehow, she couldn’t see Lord Winterbourne choosing something that made such a bold declaration. Belle wondered idly if there were a flower for can barely stand to be in the same room with, or maybe trapped into marriage. She did laugh, then, and had to feign a coughing fit as Crecy ran to fetch her a glass of water.
Well, no use in delaying now. Winterbourne would be waiting, though she doubted he’d linger after the formalities were done. She’d be lucky if he waited to attend the wedding breakfast before disappearing, if past experience was anything to go on.
***
Belle didn’t remember too much of what happened next, which was perhaps a blessing. They were married in the ancient little chapel on the estate, and all she could really remember was being frozen to the core. It was icy inside, their breath clouding around their faces as they spoke their vows.
She might have thought her new husband desperately handsome, if she’d dared to more than glance at him. He didn’t so much as look her way after an initial and formal greeting.
Belle stared down at her plate and tried to shut out the sound of her aunt’s conversation. Lady Russell had quelled her a number of times already, but now that her niece was a marchioness, the wretched woman was harder than ever to shut up. She would have to do something about that.
The estate’s cook, to whom Violette was keen to introduce her, was a marvel indeed. Mrs Puddleton, or Puddy, as Violette referred to her, had provided a surprisingly simple but sumptuous meal which Belle had barely touched. Her throat was so tight with stress she could barely swallow, and the very idea of putting food in her stomach was enough to make her retch.
The atmosphere had little of a celebration about it, despite the best efforts of everyone gathered - outside of the newlyweds, that was. Violette and the earl’s wife, Celeste, did all they could to make it a joyous occasion, and both of their husbands did what they could to help, but somehow that just made it all horribly worse. Seeing two such obviously happy marriages, two couples who shared such a deep accord displayed before her, just added insult to injury.
I am lucky. This is fortunate. I will be content.
Belle repeated the words over and over, as though she could will them to be true. But all she could remember was the fact that there had been no kiss to seal their marriage in the frigid atmosphere of the icy chapel. The man couldn’t even give her that much, when he’d been quite prepared to take so much more that night in the library. She felt a jolt of fury that he should humiliate her so. Perhaps this was his revenge for finding himself trapped in her snare. Yet he’d known it was a trap. If he hadn’t wanted to get caught, why hadn’t he simply warned Nibley and left well alone, or brought a chaperone or ... or ... No matter how she thought it through, she knew he could easily have escaped this situation, unless he’d meant simply to confront her and then been so caught up with desire that everything else had been forgotten.
It was an intriguing idea.
She stole a glance at the man beside her, and was surprised to note that he didn’t look so much angry, as puzzled. He, too, toyed with his food, and cast a leery eye upon the assembled company, clearly wishing them all at Jericho.
Belle wondered at that fact. Violette had told her he had been a man who loved company and laughing, and was rarely serious before the war. Yet he had come back as one who could barely seem to stand himself, let alone others.
Well, she could hardly hope him to change overnight. Whatever he had suffered had obviously had a profound effect on him, and she should do her best to understand him and the things that troubled him. It was her best hope to make something of this marriage, after all.
“Perhaps,” she began, her voice low and tentative as he looked up in astonishment. She wondered if it were possible that he’d forgotten she was there at all. It didn’t seem beyond the realms of possibility. She cleared her throat, determined not to be put off by the suspicion in his eyes. “Perhaps we should cut the cake, and then ... then you can leave if ... if you would prefer some time alone? This has been a strange day, for me, certainly, so I imagine it must be for you also.”
He frowned at her, the suspicious look deepening.
“I can entertain our guests, I assure you,” she said, trying to find a smile or some expression of warmth to give him. “And ... and I can assure you, I will do everything I can not to cause you any ... distress.”
Belle stared at him, finding that her hands were clasped tight in her lap. If only she could read him, could have any idea of the thoughts that were shuttered up behind those dark green eyes. She had never seen such a colour before, and it reminded her of a forest, thick and forbidding and full of hidden dangers.
“Very well,” he replied, his tone gruff.
True to her word, Belle organised everything, and didn’t even notice when her husband slipped away to leave her with her guests. He did not reappear for dinner, though thankfully she only had to face Violette, Aubrey, and Crecy and her dreadful aunt this time. Lady Russell had retired early with her sister, both of them pleading fatigue, though Belle suspected anything was better than a repeat of this morning’s ordeal, and found she could hardly blame them. The Earl and Countess of Falmouth had a previous engagement, and would be away for a week, at least, before returning for Christmas. After that, they and Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair would return to London.
Belle arranged that Violette entertain Crecy that evening, thus ensuring a temporary escape from any awkward questions on her part, and after assuring her sister that all was well, retreated to her room.
Except that now she had a new room, that belonging to the Marchioness of Winterbourne.
Belle looked around the vast space in awe. It was lavish and opulent, and she wondered what her husband’s mother had been like. The bright red and gold paper was lush and exotic, and the furnishing beyond anything Belle had ever seen. Standing amongst such an obvious display of wealth and excess, Belle felt suddenly more alone than ever in her life before. Her dress seemed cheap and plain against the riches surrounding her, and Belle felt lost in a world that she did not know how to navigate.
She jumped as there was a soft scratching sound against the door, and realised that the maid Violette had arranged for her had come to ready her for bed.
Belle cast a glance at the massive four-poster with its scarlet drapes, and blanched, but bid the maid enter.
She was a small, dark young woman of perhaps eighteen, neat as pin with a perfectly starched white apron, a sweet face and large brown eyes. “Good evening, m’lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsey, the excitement in her eyes very clear. “If it pleases you, Mrs Russell asked me to attend you until you make arrangements for your own lady’s maid.”
Belle looked at the girl and her eager, shining face, and realised she might be saved the horror of some terrifyingly fashionable and snooty dresser as she might have feared. “Have you done this job before ... miss?”
“Oh, Mary if you please, m’lady,” she said, blushing and looking anxious. “Well, I’ve a fair hand for dressing hair, and you won’t find a neater stitch than mine anywhere around Longwold, but ... n-no, I haven’t done it afore,” she admitted as her voice dropped away, clearly thinking Belle would want someone with experience, which was the absolute last thing she desired.
“Well, thank heavens for that,” she replied with a smile as Mary looked perfectly bewildered. “As I have never been a marchioness before, and I have no idea how to go about it. Do you think we might perhaps muddle through together?”
After a brief pause Mary beamed at her, and Belle felt certain she had done the right thing. “You can rely on me, m’lady.”
So it was that Mary helped Belle prepare for her wedding night, looking almost as nervous as Belle herself, until finally, she left her new mistress alone.
Belle sat on the edge of the huge and frankly intimidating bed, perched like a swallow about to take flight. Her hair was brushed and loose about her shoulders, thick blonde waves shimmering in the candlelight. She wore her best nightgown, of simple white cotton, which made her feel a foolish sight in the midst of such splendour. Belle comforted herself with the thought that she must look exactly what she was, a nervous virginal bride on her wedding night. After all, surely that was what her husband would expect and want from her? Yet as the hours ticked by and it grew increasingly late, Belle began to wonder exactly what her new husband did want, as it clearly wasn’t her.