by Mary Balogh
She was a bride on her way to her own wedding. Her groom was waiting for her. Part of her yearned toward him-she had missed him so very much. In a moment she would actually see him.
Despite herself she felt buoyed by a sudden excitement.
Keeble opened the door to Claudia’s sitting room for them with as much gloom in his manner as if he were ushering them in to their own funeral.
Sydnam had felt terribly alone all morning though he had brought his valet with him from Wales. He still felt it after he had taken up the clergyman in his carriage. He rarely missed his family despite the fact that he was deeply fond of them all and wrote regularly to his mother and father and to Kit and Lauren. But today he missed them all with a raw intensity.
And he kept remembering Kit and Lauren’s wedding, both of them surrounded by their families and friends, the church packed with people, the bride and groom driving away afterward in their decorated carriage, the wedding breakfast after that, the toasts, the laughter and the happiness.
If the truth were told, he admitted with some disgust at himself as he arrived at Miss Martin’s school, he was feeling rather sorry for himself. It was his wedding day, and there was no one to make a fuss over him.
He and the clergyman were taken upstairs instead of being shown into the rather gloomy visitors’ parlor again, as Sydnam had expected. The elderly porter with the creaky boots opened the door into what appeared to be a private sitting room, which was cheerfully, even elegantly furnished. It was also unoccupied. In the meadow beyond the window he could see a crowd of girls engaged in some sort of vigorous game.
The clergyman launched into a pompous monologue on the dangers educating young ladies posed for the future of society, and Sydnam waited nervously for the arrival of his bride.
They were not kept waiting very long. The door opened and Anne came into the room with her son and Miss Martin and another young woman who he assumed was Miss Osbourne.
But he had eyes only for Anne.
She was wearing a green silk evening gown he had seen more than once before. Her hair was prettily styled, and it was threaded through with pearls, as if she were about to attend a ball. Instead, she was attending her own wedding.
As her eyes met his, he wished desperately that he could be whole for her, that he could have courted her properly, that this wedding were a joyful celebration involving their family and friends. But at least it was a wedding, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
As for their marriage and the rest of their future-well, that would be up to them. The future always held hope.
He smiled at her, and she looked back at him with huge eyes and half smiled as she came toward him.
It seemed to him during that moment, while everyone else stepped into position around them, that he had never encountered any woman more lovely than Anne Jewell. Or more desirable. Or more lovable. And she was his bride.
“Dearly beloved,” the clergyman began in a formal, sonorous tone as if he were addressing a congregation of hundreds.
And suddenly it did not matter to Sydnam that this was not the wedding he had dreamed of. He was being joined in holy matrimony with Anne because they had been lonely and so had taken consolation in each other’s arms at Ty Gwyn and conceived a child. But the cause did not matter.
He was being married to Anne and suddenly it seemed to him that it was all he had ever desired of life.
He felt a wave of such tenderness for her that he had to blink away tears.
And when she looked at him and promised to love, honor, and obey him as long as they both should live, it seemed to him that her eyes regarded him with yearning and tenderness and…hope.
A cathedral and a thousand guests could not have made his wedding more real to him.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the brief nuptial service was over and the clergyman was declaring that they were man and wife together.
Anne was his wife.
She was safe. So was their child.
He took her left hand in his and raised it to his lips. He felt the smoothness of her new gold ring, which he had bought the afternoon before.
“Anne. My dearest,” he murmured.
“Sydnam.” She smiled at him again.
But weddings, he discovered, even very small weddings, did not allow the newly married couple much time to be alone together. Anne stooped to hug her son, and the clergyman shook hands with Sydnam before Miss Martin did so, her hand clasping his firmly, her eyes regarding him very directly.
“I will expect you to look after her, Mr. Butler,” she said. “She is as precious to me as a sister. And I will expect you to look after David.”
And then she hugged Anne while the other young lady turned to him and reached out her left hand.
“I am Susanna Osbourne, Mr. Butler,” she said. “Anne told nothing but the truth when she described you as tall, dark, and handsome. I wish you every happiness in the world.”
Her green eyes twinkled with mischief. She was a small, auburn-haired, very pretty young lady.
“Did she really say that?” He chuckled and was absurdly pleased. “What a bouncer.”
And then he found himself face-to-face with David Jewell, who was staring gravely up at him with unblinking eyes. Sydnam had hoped the boy would accept his mother’s marriage, but he had shown no enthusiasm for it yesterday. Quite the contrary, in fact. It had seemed to Sydnam after David had been brought down to the visitors’ parlor that he had shrunk from the prospect with some horror. And when mention had been made of the new baby that would soon be part of their family, the boy’s eyes had looked first bewildered and then wounded-and then blank.
“David,” Sydnam said now, “I will always do my best to care for your mother and to make you happy. You are my stepson now. You may call me Papa or Father if you wish.” He held out his hand. “But only if you wish.”
David set his own limply in it. “Thank you, sir,” he said with no hostility or defiance-or any other detectable emotion-in his voice.
Ah. Only in fairy tales, Sydnam supposed, did a man and his bride rush off from their wedding into an eternal happily-ever-after.
“Anne, Mr. Butler,” Miss Martin said, taking charge, “I have taken it upon myself to arrange a small reception for you, with Susanna’s help. I have invited a few people to join us for wine and cake. I hope you do not mind.”
And so a whole hour passed before Sydnam could finally leave the school with his new wife and her son. He was introduced to the other teachers, including Mr. Huckerby, the dancing instructor, Mr. Upton, the art master, Mademoiselle Pierre, the French and music teacher, and Miss Walton, the junior assistant. He accepted their good wishes and congratulations and acknowledged the toast that was drunk to his health and Anne’s and felt incongruously lonely for a newly married man. There was no one of his own among the small gathering-except his wife and stepson.
But finally they were on the pavement outside the school, Anne having changed her clothes, Miss Martin and Miss Osbourne with them. Both ladies shook hands with him again and hugged Anne and David. Miss Osbourne shed a few tears over them both, though she was smiling with bright tenderness. Miss Martin shed no tears but gazed sternly at Anne with what Sydnam recognized as desperate affection.
Sydnam handed his wife into the waiting carriage and took the seat across from hers after David had scrambled in beside her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands clasped in her lap-until she leaned forward as the carriage lurched into motion and waved a final farewell to her friends.
“They love you,” he said.
She turned her eyes on him, and he saw in them an awareness that she had just entered irrevocably upon a new phase of her life.
“Yes,” she said. “I will miss them.”
It was not just a school and a teaching position from which he was taking her, he realized. It was a home and a family. Anne was as dear as a sister, the rather formidable Miss Martin had said yesterday. Why was it that a woman, when she marr
ied, had to give up everything in order to accompany her husband wherever he chose to take her? The unfairness of it had never struck him before. What right did he have to feel all alone today, to somewhat resent the fact that she had had two friends-as well as a son-with her at their wedding and a few more friends at the small reception? Now she was leaving all except David behind.
“Where are we going?” she asked as the carriage turned from Sydney Place onto Great Pulteney Street.
She looked surprised, and he realized that she must have expected that they would set out without delay on the journey to Wales. He had not spoken to her yesterday about any plans beyond their wedding. He had not thought to consult her. He had always made his own decisions about the course his life was to take-hence his brief sojourn in the Peninsula. He had every right to continue in the same way, of course-he was, after all, the husband in this new marriage of theirs. But he would prefer to adjust his ways if he could.
“I have taken a suite of rooms at the Royal York Hotel,” he said. “I thought we would stay here for one night.”
He met her eyes across the narrow gap between their seats and noticed the slight flush of color in her cheeks. He felt an answering shortness of breath and tightening of the groin. It would be their wedding night. The reality of the morning’s events had still not quite struck home, he realized.
“I want to take you shopping this afternoon,” he told her. He shifted his gaze to David. “Both of you.”
The boy’s eyes widened with interest though he said nothing. He was sitting very close to Anne.
“I have found a shop on Milsom Street that sells oil paints,” Sydnam said. “I thought we would purchase some, David, since you seem ready to use them. And if we are to buy the paints, then we must buy everything else you will need at Ty Gwyn in order to use them to advantage-canvases and palettes and brushes, for example.”
David’s eyes had grown round, giving him for the moment the look of his mother.
“But I do not know how to paint in oils, sir,” he said.
“I will find someone to teach you after we return to Ty Gwyn,” Sydnam promised.
Mrs. Llwyd, he knew, liked to paint, though he did not know if she painted in oils. Perhaps if she did, she would be willing to give David some lessons. If not, there must be someone else.
“The purchase of paints will be an extraordinarily generous gift,” Anne said. “But will you not be able to give David some instruction yourself?”
“No!” he said far more sharply than he intended.
She sat farther back in her seat and compressed her lips.
“What is Ty Gwyn?” David asked.
“It is your new home,” Sydnam told him. “The words mean white house in the Welsh language. It is not white, though an older version of the house was, or so I have been told. It is larger than a house, though not nearly as large as Glandwr. It is close to it, though, and not far from the sea. There are neighbors, several of them with children. I daresay a few of them are close to you in age and will be delighted to be your friends and playmates. I think you will get along famously with the Llwyd brothers. They go to the village school, and you will be able to go there too if you wish and if your mama wishes it. I hope you will be happy in your new life.”
David gazed back at him and pressed the side of his face against Anne’s shoulder. He looked as if he were considering the prospects and not finding them altogether unpleasing. Sydnam looked into Anne’s face. The wheels of the carriage were rumbling over the Pulteney Bridge.
“Ty Gwyn is yours, then?” she asked him. “The Duke of Bewcastle has sold it to you?”
“Yes,” he told her, “though I have not lived there yet. We will move in together.”
As he held her glance, he knew that she was remembering what had happened at Ty Gwyn. It was there that today had become inevitable.
“We will not be in Bath long enough to hire a dressmaker,” he said. “I hope we will be able to find sufficient ready-made clothes for you in the shops this afternoon.”
“Clothes?” She flushed again. “I do not need to buy any clothes.”
This day and their new relationship were as unreal for her as they were for him, he realized as he saw in her eyes the dawning understanding that now he had every right-and obligation-to clothe her in a manner suited to his wife. But causing her embarrassment or even distress was the farthest thing from his intentions.
“A new wardrobe will be my wedding gift to you, Anne,” he said. “I have looked forward to it.”
“A wedding gift,” she said as the carriage turned onto Milsom Street and proceeded in the direction of the Royal York. “But I have none for you.”
“It is quite unnecessary,” he said.
“No, it is not,” she said firmly. “I shall buy something for you too this afternoon. We will all have gifts.”
They looked at each other. She was the first to smile.
She did need new clothes-quite desperately. It had been perfectly obvious to him during the summer that she had very few, and today she had worn an old evening gown for her wedding. The winter was coming on, and so were the advanced stages of her pregnancy. She needed clothes, and he was going to purchase them for her.
And after the shopping expedition, he thought, they would dine together in their private suite of rooms, the three of them, before David went to bed. And then there would be the wedding night.
He hoped he could do better than he had at Ty Gwyn. He hoped she would grow accustomed to him and find it possible to derive some pleasure from their marriage bed. He hoped so.
He remembered her as he had first seen her on the cliffs above the beach at Glandwr-like beauty personified stepping out of the dusk and into his dreams. And here she was three months later…
She was Anne Butler.
Mrs. Sydnam Butler.
David was ready for bed soon after the evening meal had been eaten. It had been an emotional day for him, though not without some pleasurable excitement. After they had all arrived back at the hotel from several hours of shopping, he had spread all his new painting supplies over one of the narrow beds in the room assigned to him and touched and examined them all one at a time with reverence and awe. He was going to be very impatient, Anne knew, to reach Ty Gwyn and meet the new art instructor Sydnam had promised to find for him.
But she had been hardly less excited about her own gifts and had spread them over the other bed in the room so that she could admire all the day dresses, the three evening gowns-one of which she was now wearing-the shoes and bonnets and reticules and other garments and accessories that Sydnam had insisted she needed. She had realized anew during the day how wealthy he must be. He had even insisted upon taking her to a jeweler’s, where he had bought her the diamond earrings and gold chain with a diamond pendant that she was also wearing this evening.
She had bought him a new fob for his watch at the same jeweler’s, recklessly spending almost all the money she possessed. He had stood in the doorway of the bedchamber, fingering it as he watched her and David admire their own far more lavish gifts.
Anne had been very aware all evening of the other bedchamber-the one with the large canopied bed-at the other side of the private sitting and dining room, where she would presumably spend her wedding night with her new husband.
Although David had been with them the whole time, something in Sydnam’s manner all afternoon and during dinner had assured her that though this had been a forced marriage, he nevertheless desired her and had no intention of making this a mere marriage of convenience.
She did not want a marriage of convenience either. She wanted to be a normal woman. She wanted to have a normal marriage.
And perhaps, she thought, now that she had been with him once, her body would believe what her mind had told her. Perhaps it would be a magical wedding night.
All day she had been partly terrified, partly excited at the prospect.
She felt the tension again now as she sat on the side of Davi
d’s bed telling him a story, as she still did each evening before he settled for sleep. As usual she picked up the narrative from where she had left it the night before, continued it for ten minutes or so, making it up as she went along, and then broke off at a particularly suspenseful moment. As usual she laughed at David’s sleepy protest and bent to kiss him.
“How are we expected to live until tomorrow night before finding out what happens to poor Jim?” Sydnam asked from the doorway, where she knew he had been standing though she had been sitting with her back to him.
“You have no choice,” she said, getting to her feet. “Until tomorrow night I will not know myself what is to be Jim’s fate.”
She turned back to smooth David’s hair away from his brow and saw resentment in his eyes for a moment before he closed them.
Oh, David, she told him silently, give him a chance. Please give him a chance.
“Good night, David,” Sydnam said, not advancing farther into the room.
“Good night, sir,” David said-and then, after a brief pause, “Thank you again for my paints.”
Anne followed Sydnam back into the private sitting room a few moments later, closing the door of the bedchamber behind her.
“He will be wanting to get to Ty Gwyn as quickly as the carriage wheels can turn,” she said, “so that he may use his new paints. You could not possibly have given him a more welcome gift.”
“I think we will not go there immediately,” he said. “We are relatively close to Alvesley. I would like to have my parents meet my new wife. I believe we will go there for a few days.”
Anne froze as she sat again at the cleared dining table and Sydnam sat opposite and picked up his wineglass. It was strange that in all the time she had waited for him to come to marry her, it had not once occurred to her that she would also be marrying into the family of the Earl of Redfield. Whatever would they think of her? The answer did not bear contemplating.
“Do they know about me?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
And for the first time she realized what an awkward position she had put him in with his family. Though she must not begin to think that way. He was as much to blame for what had happened as she was-if blame was the right word.