Page 35 of Their Wildest Dreams

“That hardly recommends him.”

“In most matters, perhaps not. In this one, experience is preferable to confusion on both sides.” Mrs. Mercer’s voice softened. “He is not a rogue, Harriet. Whatever else you may say of him, he has kept his word to you even when doing so has plainly cost him some comfort. If you trust him enough to ask, then trust him enough to guide you.”

“What does that entail?”

“It entails not stopping him every few moments to demand an explanation.”

“I would not do that.”

Mrs. Mercer said nothing.

Harriet frowned. “I might ask one or two questions.”

“Then ask them before you begin. Afterward, pay attention to what you feel rather than what you think ought to happen next. If you like something, let him know. If you do not, tell him. Men are not mind readers, however often they behave as if women ought to be.”

It was sensible advice. It was also infuriatingly imprecise.

“That is all you intend to tell me?”

“There is no set of instructions that will make the experience entirely predictable. You wished to know how it will feel with Benedict. I cannot tell you that because it is different for every person and with every person.” Mrs. Mercer rose. “You will have to discover the answer for yourself.”

Harriet threw back the covers with more force than necessary and allowed Mrs. Mercer to help her into the morning gown. She had wanted facts. Instead, she had been advised to trust Benedict, avoid questioning him excessively and allow him to lead her through an experience she did not fully understand.

Yet the idea no longer seemed quite so frightening.

Benedict had stopped the previous night because she had asked for only a kiss. He had wanted more. She could not doubt that now. But wanting had not made him careless of her wishes. If she changed those wishes, she believed he would still be careful with her.

That belief was the only certainty Mrs. Mercer could offer.

Everything else would have to be learned through experience.

Chapter

Seventeen

The letter from Everton arrived shortly after breakfast, folded into a plain sheet and sealed without any identifying mark. Selby dismissed the footman who brought it to his study and waited until the door had closed before breaking the wax.

Crandell’s hand was small and precise, each line written as carefully as if the letter contained nothing more dangerous than a household account.

My position remains secure, but greater caution will be required. Lord Everton encountered me in the upper passage at an hour when I could offer no entirely satisfactory reason for being there. He accepted my explanation, though I do not believe he was convinced by it. I shall not risk another such encounter until his suspicions have eased.

Selby read the paragraph twice, displeased by the caution it advised and more displeased still that Crandell had given Benedict any cause to doubt him. The man had not been placed at Everton to creep through corridors like a common thief. A butler required no excuse for knowing what occurred beneath his employer’s roof. He had only to listen while others spoke and observe what the household could not fully conceal.

The remainder of the letter proved he had done precisely that.

There may, however, be some truth to your suspicions regarding the marriage. Two of the maids spoke yesterday while sorting the household linen. They remarked upon the condition of her ladyship’s bed and the absence of anything which might indicate that Lord Everton shares it. Household gossip indicates that his lordship visits her chamber in the evenings, but because there is a private passage between them it is unknown how long he remains with her or what occurs within. Last evening, there was insufficient time from the point he retired to the point he left his chambers to indicate any sort of marital congress. I cannot swear the marriage remains unconsummated. It is equally possible that the couple has quarreled or that her ladyship’s indisposition is of a temporary nature. I will learn more when I may do so without attracting notice.

Selby lowered the letter.

So Benedict visited Harriet’s chamber each night and left it again. The pretense was clever enough to deceive servants who had no reason to question what they saw. It was less clever when one of those servants had been instructed to question everything.

Selby had never believed Harriet would submit meekly to the marriage. She had accepted Benedict because her father left her no other means of saving Alderley, but acceptance was not desire. Her pride would have demanded terms. Separate rooms, perhaps. A marriage in name only. Benedict, forever pleased with his own honor, might even have agreed to them.

The possibility gave Selby the first true satisfaction he had experienced since learning the marriage would take place.

An unconsummated marriage was vulnerable. Not so easily dissolved as the ignorant might suppose, but vulnerability did not require certainty. If Harriet had refused Benedict and the marriage remained a bargain in name only, Selby could challenge the settlement founded upon it. He could claim that Denham had discharged the debt and taken possession of the mortgaged land through fraud—that the marriage had never been intended as a true joining of the families at all.

Would he prevail? Perhaps not. The Earl of Denham possessed wealth, influence and friends who would be eager to protect his heir. Selby had no expectation that a dispute carried before the Lords would be judged without regard for rank or connection.