Lyn Stone - Marrying Mischief

Emily tugged one of her hands from his and waved at her father as the old fellow smiled at them and turned to leave.

Nicholas stood with her as she watched the vicar climb into his trap and ride off down the lane.

From the road through the wood in the opposite direction, he heard hoofbeats approaching. “Wait over there out of sight,” he ordered Emily and nodded his approval when she obeyed. He could see no point in having to explain a wedding in the middle of his courtyard in the misting rain.

The rider halted in confusion when he noticed the closed gates. It was Carrick, his first cousin. The brat had been the bane of Nick’s existence and seven years without his company was not nearly long enough.

“Hallo, Nick! Welcome home,” the man said, doffing his hat and nodding in lieu of a formal bow. “Are you refusing me entrance?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Nick answered with little regret. “You must ride on, Carrick. If you wish a reunion, it must wait.”

The outright rudeness seemed to shock even Carrick, who issued a small laugh of disbelief. “Are you going to tell me why you cannot speak with me now?”

“No, I am not,” Nick declared with no room for argument. “Do as I say, Carrick, and leave me in peace for the remainder of this month.”

“Something’s amiss here. I feel it.” Carrick paused, obviously expecting Nick to relent. Then he warned Nick, “I shall discover what it is.”

Nick said nothing, simply stared him down.

After a long moment of tense silence Carrick nodded. “As you wish.” He slowly reversed his mount and galloped away toward the village. No one moved until the distance had swallowed up horse and man.

It ill became an earl to speak so to any of his family or to deliberately slight his own heir, but Nick knew that—even at his worst today—he had been far more patient than his father would have been in like circumstances. He promised himself he would be more civil to Carrick when next they met.

For the time being, however, he would dismiss that small problem from his mind. It was his wedding day and he had other, far more important things to consider. Not the least of which was how he might go about regaining Emily’s good opinion.

Nicholas then gestured to her. “Come, we must go in now,” he told her as he glanced up at the threatening storm clouds.

He heard her sniff, but she had lowered her head and he could not tell whether she wept or was merely offering a wordless sound of indignation.

In many ways Emily had changed from that sunny girl he had known and believed he loved. He had altered even more than she, he supposed. Only time would tell whether they had grown too far apart in their maturity to reconcile somehow. One thing he did know: they never would find out if they attempted to live together as she intended.

For the duration of their seclusion here, her edict of celibacy made sense. Nicholas would have insisted on it had she not done so first, but their reasons were in no way the same. She expected it to be a permanent arrangement. As it was, the mere fortnight required by his reason would sorely test his resolve.

He would never risk her health to assuage desire. But when the quarantine was over, he feared they would have set the pattern for their life together. That would never do.

His goal at the moment should be to reestablish trust between them and renew their friendship. Then later, the path would be cleared so that he could coax her into his bed. Not much of a plan, but it would have to suffice.

“Our wedding breakfast will be ready by now if you are hungry,” he told her, forcing himself to speak amiably. “Even if you are not inclined to eat, we should both make a show. The men will expect it.”

“Of course,” she replied stiffly. “We would not wish to disappoint. What of the quarantine? How are we to gather for this when you have said there is to be no close interaction by the crew members?”

Nicholas led her up the front steps. “You and I shall take our meal in the dining room. The others usually help themselves from a buffet set up in the kitchens and wander where they will to eat. The only difference for the men today will be in the special dishes I ordered prepared to celebrate our marriage.”

“What sort of special dishes?” she asked.

Nicholas almost laughed at her attempt to sound nonchalant. “Leek soup. Fowl stuffed with rice and truffles. Asparagus and the usual peas.”

“We have all that?”

He nodded. “Certainly. The larders here were quite full when we arrived. There also will be the obligatory bridal cake with the bean, of course.” He stifled a smile as he added, “And lemon ice for everyone if Cook did not find the icehouse empty.”

Her hopeful gaze jerked to his. “Lemon ice? You…you remembered?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Hard to forget. You once made yourself ill you ate so much.”

To his great surprise, she laughed merrily. “So I did! I cannot credit you recall that incident. I was only eight. Such a little glutton!” she admitted, shaking her head. “Your fault, you know, for stealing it.”

He frowned. “You wound me! That was no theft. It was made for my birthday, after all. Shouldn’t I have had the choice to share it with whom I pleased?”

As they chatted on about their misbehavior, Emily took his arm and lengthened her steps to match his, exactly as she used to do when they were friends. It was an unconscious habit she reverted to, but Nicholas took immense pleasure from it while it lasted.

If she could assume this small intimacy again without thinking, there might be hope that she would one day make another, more profound slip in her determination to keep their marriage chaste. He devoutly hoped so, because even this casual sort of closeness threatened his control.

Did she know that? Was this a subtle form of torment she had devised to make him pay for past deeds? He suspected it was just that. Yet undeserved as it was, he would not wish her to cease plying it.

He spied Seaman Lofton waiting at the far end of the foyer and gave him the signal to get the feast under way. Then Nicholas escorted his bride to the formal dining room.

At every step, he cursed the circumstances that kept him from ushering her on up to the master chamber. And he wished he did not know how stubborn Emily could be once she had made up her mind about something. Sometimes the very things he liked most about her proved to be the most exasperating.

Happy is the bride the sun shines on. Emily grimaced at the rain now driving against the windows of the dining room. Wishing it away, she trained her attention on the food before her. She tried to ignore Nicholas as best she could, but he made that impossible.

She was heartily sick of small talk. It was difficult to respond to it when the realization that she was a wife now had just hit like a wall falling on her. She felt trapped by it, unable to wriggle this way or that. This could not be undone. It was forever, better or worse. She feared worse. She stared at the ring on her finger.

“I’ll buy you another when I go to London,” Nick said, obviously following her gaze. “Something grander if you like.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t. I like the design of this one. It will do nicely, thank you.”

Fisting her hand in her lap, she glanced out the window again to avoid looking at him. In the distance, through the rain, she could see the spire of Father’s church above the treetops.

“I wish we could have married in the church,” Nick said as if he read her thoughts. “We should have had the entire county there to wish us happy.”

“You dreamer,” she replied and almost snorted. “They would have attended out of curiosity to see whether you had lost your mind. I noticed you neglected to break the news to your cousin.”