She looked at it once more, her chin tilting upward to take in the entire structure.
“Lady Wexford, welcome to your new home.”
She looked at him, her brows drawn together. “My temporary home, you mean. For that is all it is—temporary. As is this marriage.”
He cleared his throat, pulling his shoulders back. “Of course. Temporary, as agreed,” he said and proffered his arm. But as they walked together toward the grand manor house he had called home all of his life, he could not deny that the warm prickling feeling in his stomach had disappeared and was once again replaced by nothing but emptiness.
CHAPTER 7
MARIANNE
The wedding breakfast passed in a rapid fashion—or at least that was how it felt to Marianne. It was held in one of the grand rooms on the first floor. She had not had a chance to see the entire estate yet, nor had she met the staff. Usually, there would be a row of servants awaiting her arrival so they might meet their new Countess. Because of the wedding breakfast, and because of the unusual way they had become engaged and married, however, that had not happened yet. She was grateful for it. She hated such a parade, and though she had not discussed it with Lucien beforehand, she was relieved to be spared it.
Once the wedding breakfast, which to her delight had featured all of her favorite foods—no doubt thanks to Aunt Eugenia’s assistance—had ended, her aunt and sisters departed along with all the other guests. She accompanied them to the carriage, and after kissing Aunt Eugenia twice on the cheeks and helping her into the carriage, she turned to her sisters. Evelyn took her right hand, Charlotte her left. Charlotte, in particular, looked uneasy.
“I pray you did not make a mistake, my dear sister.”
“Will you stop it? She is wed now,” Evelyn tried.
“She may be married, but that does not mean anything—not when it comes to her stubbornness. Lucien is a capital fellow. You ought to consider giving him a chance.”
“But I do not want to give him a chance. Moreover, he does not want me to. We have an agreement. I am no more a wife now than I was before the wedding. I am no longer a mother, and I never will be. Soon our time together will come to an end, and I shall do what I have always wished. I shall be free.” They spoke quietly so her aunt would not hear. The last thing she needed right now was for her aunt to try and give her a lecture on the virtues of marriage and how scandalous it would be if she left her husband—even if it was prearranged.
“He has been through a great deal,” Charlotte said. “I was not there for it, but I have heard from Rhys that he has endured much pain.”
“Because his wife died, yes,” Marianne said—although the truth was, she knew very little about the fate of the previous Countess of Wexford.
“Yes, because of that,” Charlotte said. “I do not wish him to be hurt again—by you.”
“I shall not hurt him. It is not my intention. I intend to barely even see him unless we must. And he will do the same. You will be well, Charlotte. Not all of us must have a dashing husband and a grand house and a happy marriage.”
“And yet it looks as though you have two of these things,” Evelyn suggested, nodding her chin toward the ground behind them.
Marianne swallowed. “I do, yes. For now. Now I shall have to return to the house. Since we are not going anywhere for our honeymoon and would rather have a honeymoon at home, I shall see the two of you on Sunday. We will attend church and then tea, as we always do.”
Her sisters embraced her, although Charlotte’s embrace was a little lackluster. Then she watched them board the carriage and drive away. As she walked back to the house, the last of their guests’ carriages pulled away, and Marianne returned to the house that was now her own. It felt so very strange to be entering this house as its mistress.
Did all new wives feel this way? Or only the ones who had come by their grand new houses through arrangements that were less than proper?
As she stepped inside, she heard giggling coming from the parlor to her right. She turned and paused. It sounded again—and a man’s voice came: “You will meet her in a moment. She is seeing her sisters and aunt off.”
He was talking to his son. And now it was time to meet the little boy. She had not thought much about this child, who was, for all intents and purposes, her stepchild now. But now that she was about to meet him, a strange feeling spread across her stomach. It was not quite dread—no, nor was it anticipation—it lay somewhere in between. Still in her wedding gown, she walked to the door and saw Lucien bent over as a little boy lay on a rug, his arms and legs in the air, kicking exuberantly as Lucien tickled his stomach. A stern-looking governess stood nearby, her lips curled up into a smile.
“What did I say?”
“Be polite,” the boy said in a sweet voice that made Marianne smile as well.
“That is right.”
“My lord,” the governess said, having spotted Marianne as she stood in the doorway. Lucien turned and saw her and instantly lifted the boy to his feet. “There she is now. This is Lady Marianne. She has come to live with us, as I told you.”
The little boy had fair blond hair and blue eyes, which did not resemble Lucien’s darker features. He had to take after his mother. He wore a pair of powder-blue breeches, a white shirt, and a cardigan on top. And the moment he saw her, he ran to her.
“Lady Marianne, are you to be my mama?”
Instantly, she felt the blood drain from her face. She was not going to be anybody’s mama. Who had told this boy this? She looked up at Lucien and saw that he, too, looked rather pale as he hastened toward them.
“I do not think that—that is a title...”
