“What did you decide about a gown?” he asked. She hadn’t mentioned it in the afternoon, but he knew Selina had peppered her with comments earlier in the week.
“Selwyn Court sent over Selina’s cerulean silk. With a bit of updating, it will do nicely. It flatters me, and Selina is positive it will harmonize nicely with the jonquil lustering she plans to wear.”
She put a finger to his lips before he could object to Selina’s self-centered interference. “It is a lovely dress, truly, and her determination that the Selwyn ladies make a good showing in spite of ‘the taint of scandal’ has given her incentive to heal. I’m confident she’ll be able to stand up with me.”
“I will buy you a new wardrobe as soon as we are married,” Gideon said, kissing the convenient finger. He put an arm around her waist to bring her close. She rose to meet him in a tender kiss and then another. When he took possession of her lips, openmouthed and hot, she didn’t object. His breathing grew ragged as he kissed a line to her ear and down her chin, to her neck, driven mad by the way she leaned trustingly against him. His hand came up to cup her breast through her gown, and she stiffened, reminding him of her inexperience. And yet…
How can we go from a few chaste kisses to a pleasurable wedding night in one step?
She settled back against him and kissed his chin, an invitation if ever he’d had one. He took her mouth in his, this time moving farther to the modest decolletage of her gown. Did he dare unfasten it and pull it down?
“Mia…”
She peered up at him, eyes dark with passion, and her trust humbled him. He recalled belatedly that his young bride had no mother to confide in.
“Has anyone spoken to you about the marriage bed?”
She dropped her forehead to his chest.
He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Do you have any idea what will happen?”
“Only whispers. Some of it sounds unlikely.”
He could imagine what she might have heard her cousin Eustace and his vile friends say. “Does it worry you?” he whispered.
She thought about that, his serious-minded bride. “A bit. I don’t know what I’ll be expected to do.”
He kissed her tenderly. “No expectations. Let me lead, and do what feels comfortable. Tell me if you dislike anything.”
He captured her mouth again and let passion swell. Certainly, carrying their lovemaking a bit farther wouldn’t hurt. He reached behind her and opened the door to her room.Just a bit more. Just for a brief—
“Oh, miss! Oh, sir.” The little maid, Mercy, dropped the nightgown she was folding across the bed and scurried to the door. Gideon and Mia jumped apart, and Mercy ran down the hall.
Mia clamped a hand over her mouth. He felt sick that he’d embarrassed and upset her, but when she dropped her hands, she was convulsed with silent laughter. “There goes the biggest gossip at Woodglen and in all of Nether Abbas,” she choked out. She lay her head on his chest and laughed until he joined her.
“That’s our lesson in indiscretion,” he said with a grin. He gave her one more smacking kiss. “Until Friday, then.”
*
Her wedding daydawned gray and stormy. It wasn’t a good omen. Lady Tavernash had resumed her sniping attacks at dinner the night before after Gideon had been called to the stables to see to a problem with Hannibal. She’d waited up for him to come to her that night, but he had not.
Now she stood on the covered hexastyle at Woodglen’s formal entry, dressed in a borrowed gown with a simple veiled bonnet, and watched the Selwyn carriage lumber up the road. Fillmore stood nearby with an umbrella, while Selina complained about her hair, the weather, the hour, and “that horrid mother of dear Tavernash.” How he’d gone from “fat and old” to “dear” was beyond Mia at the moment. All of it was beyond her. She wanted to run back up to her room.
A footman jumped down and stood ready to open the carriage door. Selina stepped toward Fillmore, but the old gentleman surprised them both. “The bride goes first today of all days, Miss Selwyn,” he announced. He walked Mia to the carriage and went back for Selina.
Uncle Ludlow, who sat in the rear-facing seat, greeted her with a stern expression. “Well, girl, you dragged your feet, but I’m glad to see you are prepared to do your duty.”
Dragged my feet?It had been eight days since he’d given her a choice of marriage or exile to her great-aunt.
Selina climbed in fretting about the impact of rain on ladies’ hair. Through the window, Mia was stunned to see Fillmore and his umbrella climb up to the box with as much dignity as the starchy butler could manage.
When they reached the church, she understood why. All of Nether Abbas appeared to have crowded into the church, eager no doubt for the sight of the independent Miss Selwyn wedding the Glenmoor bastard. These weren’t well-wishers. They were gawkers hoping for spectacle.
She swallowed back bile, wishing the common license would have permitted a private ceremony at home. Fillmore stood at the door with his ever-present umbrella, holding out a hand. She didn’t expect the sympathy in his eyes, but whether it rose from the attitude of the village or from her forced marriage to a man he continued to view as a colonial interloper—at best—she couldn’t be sure.
Uncle Ludlow and Selina, who had gone before, met her in the back of the church. Fillmore closed his umbrella and made his way to a pew halfway down occupied by Marshall and Mrs. Morrit, who wore a plain gray gown—one Mia suspected was her Sunday best—and a sour expression. She was surprised to see Mrs. Demming, the Woodglen cook, next to them.
Every seat in the church was occupied, and people stood in the side aisles—villagers, servants from Selwyn Court, and others from Woodglen. She scanned the crowd with growing panic until Gideon stepped into the center aisle, his eyes fixed on her. She breathed in one shuddering breath, and peace settled over her. It was Gideon. All would be well.
