Then he’d escorted her three nights in a row to atonball. They’d ridden in his luxuriously appointed coach together, speaking only of things such as the weather and the traffic in monosyllables. Then, once at the ball, he’d take off in one direction and she’d been forced to go in search of her family and friends in another. At some point, her husband found her, danced one waltz with her, left her again, and then gathered her at the end of the evening for the same boring ride home.
Was this how her marriage was to be? Day after day of hardly speaking and barely spending time together? It was maddeningly dull.
And to add insult to injury, her new husbandstillhadn’t visited her bed. Each night, she’d put on the frothy lacy concoction from her wedding night and waited until she heard the snoring. Then she’d sunk into the mattress and pulled the covers over her head, completely frustrated and confused. What waswrongwith him?
Oh, God. Was he impotent? She’d heard about such things. From Meredith, actually. Apparently, her first husband had been,ahem, unable to perform. But something told Gemma that impotence was not Grovemont’s issue. In fact, she got the distinct impression it had something to do withher.
Gemma wanted to ask Meredith about it. But her pride kept her from it. If she explained to either Meredith or her mother what was going on here, no doubt they’d be appalled. Those two ladies lived quite different lives. Lives with talking, and tea sharing, and newspaper discussions, and laughter. And while she didn’t want to contemplate how her mother and father had ever spent time in their bedchamber, Gemma was certain Meredith and Griffin shared plenty of time in that room. And from what Meredith had intimated, they greatly enjoyed themselves there.
This, whatever it was, with Grovemont was something else entirely. Some sort of purgatory of pleasantries that made one feel as if one were going mad. Her husband had never said anything unpleasant toward her or indicated he was unhappy with her, but surely there was something wrong if he hadn’t seen fit to visit her bed at night. Even if she hadn’t yet blossomed, he should at least see fit toconsummate their marriage.
Gemma had tolerated it impassively the last three nights, but now here she was on night four and she was quite tired of theuncertainty and waiting. Either her husband would bed her, or he’d explain to her why not!
Before her nerve left her, she took a deep breath, turned, and stomped to the door. She knocked on it loudly, so sharply her knuckles hurt.
Silence.
She put her ear to the door. The snoring had stopped. She must have woken him.
A few moments passed. She lifted her hand to knock again when she heard “Come in” muttered sleepily.
Gulping and willing her pounding heart to settle, she pushed open the door between their rooms and stepped into the quiet darkness.
The light from her bedchamber illuminated a small space around her.
“Yes,” came her husband’s deep voice from the bed. “What is it?”
What is it? She fought the urge to stamp her bare foot. Did he truly not know? He had to. “I… I…” Oh, God. For all that she’d been impatient enough to knock and enter, she’d thought very little about what she would say once she arrived.
“Are you all right, Gemma?”
It was the first time she’d heard him say her Christian name. She’d begun to wonder if he even knew what it was. But at least he’d given her an opening.
“No. I’m not all right,” she blurted. Oh, so much for acting the regal duchess. Regal duchesses must not have the temper Gemma was born with.
“If you’re ill, I’m certain Mrs. Howard can get you something to?—”
“I’m notill,” she said in a far louder voice than she’d meant to. “I’m…”
The man didn’t even have the decency to light a candle so she could see his face.
“I’m confused,” she finished.
“Confused?”
Here it was. She’d come this far. She might as well say it all. She took a few steps closer to the bed and peered toward him through the darkness. “It’s been four nights since we married, and we haven’t…” She stopped, half-hoping the floor would open and swallow her. But Southburys weren’t cowards. She must press on. “You haven’t…” She bit her lip. How exactly should she put this? “We haven’t shared a bed.”
“Correct,” came his steady voice in the darkness while her heart pounded like a drum.
Wait. What had he said? Correct? Correct. She already knew she was correct. What the devil did that mean?
“And?” she prodded, her hands on her hips now. She’d been nervous when she’d first walked into the room, but she was quickly becoming annoyed.
“And that’s the way I intend for it to remain…for now.”
The complete nonchalance in his voice made her blood boil. He intended? That’s the wayhe intendedfor it toremain? Dear God, the man sounded as if he was talking about a business arrangement rather than an intimate evening between husband and wife.
“I don’t understand,” she continued. “I may not know much about it, but I am under the distinct impression that a man should take his wife to his bed after their marriage.”
