God, the last time he’d cried had been his first year at school, when he’d been homesick, lonely, and a little bullied. He’d lived over half his life without giving in to such a bout.
He felt the loss of his mother deeply. These rooms, these hallways, had always been filled with her presence. And now, on his wedding day, his mother had not been alive to see it.
Was that partly why he’d felt such bitterness in the chapel? Ah, the ironies of life. Three weeks after his mother’s passing, he became a married man. He’d dodged and maneuvered out of numerous bachelor traps only to be caught by, of all people, Penelope Crone.
Penelope Chesterton.
He’d imagined announcing the birth of a son one day, making his mother happy at last. He’d thought he had an endless surplus of time. What a fool he was!
Yes, his life had, indeed, turned into a comedy of errors. And he had mostly only himself to blame.
Hehadproposed to Penelope.
In London, he’d decided he wanted a wife who could assist him with his estates, with his finances, but also one who aroused him physically. He’d decided she would suit.
If he’d not been so blinded by his own wants, his own needs, would he have realized her circumstances before proposing?
She’d faintedwhile at Augusta Heights!
She’d sickened at the ball. He’d watched her turn slightly green while dancing with Pinkerton.
He was a fool!
And now, he was a married fool.
He had a wife, who this very moment awaited him in her bedchamber.
She’d not emerged for supper, or at all, for that matter. Did she await his presence or was she merely avoiding the animal appetites of her husband? He could not help but wince at the memory of the jars and cosmetics falling to the floor as he’d taken his satisfaction with her. He also could not help the surge of blood that flowed to his groin at the memory.
Without making a conscious decision, he found himself heading toward the master suites. He would not learn anything new by sitting alone contemplating matters. He tapped three times upon the door separating their chambers and stepped in confidently.
Except that she was not alone.
Penelope’s maid, Rose, sat on the chair beside the bed and looked at him accusingly. Penelope was in virtually the same position she’d been in when he’d left her. She was lying down on the bed, her knees slightly elevated.
Her hair had been braided, though, and she wore a different gown. This gown was less tent-like, he could tell, even with the covers pulled up to her bodice. This gown had crocheted flowers about the neckline and appeared to be made of a less durable material.
Except the other had not been so very durable after all.
Penelope appeared healthy enough, but had something happened? Was there a problem with…? “Are you well?” He paused in the doorway, suddenly feeling less confident than he had a mere moment before. At her nod, he turned to leave, but her voice halted him.
“Hugh,” she said. And he realized he liked the way she said his name. It made her sound breathless and less managing. “Please stay.” And then she looked purposefully at the maid.
He didn’t enter any farther until Rose passed by him and closed the door with one last meaningful look. Damned impertinent chit.
“Please,” Penelope said, “Come in.” She gestured for him to sit in the chair her maid had vacated. This was not at all what he’d had in mind when he’d come.
But he acquiesced. And as he did so, a horrible thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d been rough with her this morning. And now she was bedridden, it seemed. “Oh, God, Pen. Is everything…? Are you…? The babies?”
“The babies are fine. I am fine.” She turned her head on the pillow to look at him.
When he sat down, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’m a brute. I’m worse than a brute.” But his words only made her smile; a secret, sensual smile.
“You are!” She sounded breathless again, without even saying his name. “Husband.”
He stared into her eyes. “I am.” He kept hold of her hand. He was surprised at how fragile it seemed. Penelope was always so capable. He was learning she’d hidden an astounding level of sensuality behind her starchiness. “But? You are abed. And I think you have been abed all day.”
“I have been. And I’ve had the midwife come in to attend to me.” She had grown serious, but her hand squeezed his reassuringly. “I wanted to seek you out but… I am to rest for a few days.” She seemed hesitant now.
