Was she expected toreply? Apparently not.
“We would not wish to be s-seen, of course,” he said, “though there is something mildly t-titillating about imagining the expressions on the faces of stagecoach passengers as they p-passed by. There are perfectly serviceable curtains to cover the w-windows, however. As to s-swayings and bouncings, my coachman will scarcely notice them if we are on a n-normal stretch of road. We will try it sometime this afternoon. I b-believe the experience will rival for pleasure that of r-rolling around on a bed large enough for ten.”
“Is pleasure all you think about?” she asked him.
“Hmm.” He gave the question some thought. “I sometimes think about hard l-labor too, the kind that has one damp from one’s exertions and panting for air. And I sometimes think of the near pain of holding b-back from going off like a firecracker that will not wait for the main show or like a schoolboy who has never h-heard of self-control. And sometimes I think about the p-propriety of waiting until evening before having marital r-relations with my wife, who might consider it improper to have them in the daytime. Except at half past five o’clock in the morning, that is, when she shows no r-reluctance at all or spares not a single thought to p-propriety.”
Agnes’s shoulders shook. She would not laugh. Oh, shewouldnot. He ought not to be encouraged. But he was holding her shoulder and must know she was either laughing or suffering from the ague. She gave up the struggle to stay silent.
“You aresoabsurd,” she said, laughing out loud.
“No!” He shrugged his shoulder so that he could look into her face. His eyelids, as she had expected, were half-lowered over his eyes. “I thought I was m-maybe one of the world’s great lovers.”
“Well, I would not know, would I?” she said. “Though I daresay you come pretty close.”
His eyes opened wide suddenly and his face was filled with laughter, and her stomach performed a complete cartwheel inside her.
“You would not dare,” she said. “Dothatinherein broad daylight, I mean.”
He leaned back in the seat again and tipped his head sideways to rest his cheek against the top of her head. And she realized that he had prattled on about absurdities in order to take her mind off the parting with Dora, and perhaps to takehismind off the parting with his friends.
“Agnes,” he said a few minutes later, when she was feeling a bit drowsy and thought he might have dozed off, “neverissue dares to your husband if you even suspect for a moment that you may be a poor loser.”
Oh, he wasserious. It was scandalous and horrifying and undignified and...
She smiled against his shoulder but did not answer.
***
Flavian had written to Marianne a week or so ago. In the letter he had informed her when he expected to arrive in London. But he had said nothing about going down to Candlebury for Easter, and he had said nothing about bringing a wife with him. How could he? He had not even known at the time that there was going to be a wife.
He wrote to his mother from the inn where they spent the first night of their journey. It was only fair to warn her. He informed her that he had married by special license, his bride being Mrs. Agnes Keeping, widow of William Keeping and daughter of Mr. Walter Debbins of Lancashire. He made a special note that she was a particular friend of Viscountess Darleigh of Middlebury Park. He was taking her to London for a short while but would bring her to Candlebury for Easter.
His mother would not be pleased, and that was surely a gigantic understatement. But there was nothing she could do about it now that the deed was done, and she would understand that, given a day or two of reflection. And practicality and good manners would of course prevail. By the time she was presented with Agnes, she would be gracious and impeccably good mannered at the very least. How could she not be? Agnes was the new mistress of Candlebury Abbey.
It gave even Flavian a jolt to realize the truth of that fact. Time had moved on. David had been pushed back a little further into history. So had his mother. She was now theDowagerLady Ponsonby.
The carriage drew to a halt outside Arnott House on Grosvenor Square late in the afternoon of the third day of their journey, only an hour or so later than he had predicted.
He did not move for a few moments after the coachman had opened the door and set down the steps. He would have been quite happy to extend the journey by a few days. He was in no hurry to move on to the next phase of his life after this brief, mindlessly delightful honeymoon.
He had not for a moment regretted his impulsive marriage. The sex was the best of his life, both what had happened each night in decent beds and what had happened three separate times in the carriage—especiallywhat had happened there, in fact. As he had expected, it had been extremely difficult and horribly cramped and uncomfortable and earth-shatteringly satisfying.
Agnes would not admit it. She had remonstrated with him each time, both before and after. But each time she had been unable to hide the passionate pleasure she got from copulating inside a carriage on the king’s highway.
That was one thing about Agnes. She was the very proper lady in public. She could have passed for a prim governess any day of the week. But in private, with him, she could be transformed into hot, uninhibited passion. Steam rose around them when they coupled.
He could not get enough of her and wondered whether he ever would.
But the honeymoon—if a three-day journey could be called that—had to end, and here they were outside his London home, and the door of the house stood open, and there was nothing to do but get out and proceed with the future. At least he had brought her here first. At least he would have her to himself for a few days longer. And there was novelty and appeal in the thought of his familiar home with the unfamiliarity of a wife to share it with.
His butler bowed stiffly, welcomed him home, and glanced warily at Agnes.
“My wife, Viscountess Ponsonby, Biggs,” Flavian said.
Biggs bowed again, even more stiffly and warily, and Agnes inclined her head.
“Mr. Biggs,” she said.
