“It’s going to be all right, Jessie,” he said, and lightly touched his mouth to hers again. “Trust me. It will be all right. Come, kiss me. Let’s enhance everyone’s pleasure.”
She said nothing, merely stared up at him, wondering how this could have come to pass. She was married to James, something she’d dreamed of since she’d met him six years before when she’d seen him at the Weymouth racecourse striding confidently beside a quarter horse, speaking to Oslow, speaking to the horse, telling both of them that no one could possibly beat them. She remembered he’d beaten her in the second race, just as he’d said he would to his horse and to Oslow.
The sky had been clear that day, but she’d been struck by lightning. One big strike and it was all over for her. She fancied that lightning strike would stay with her for as long as she lived.
She kissed him. Not enthusiastically as she would have liked, but there were many people here and it was a bit embarrassing, even if that bishop said they could do it. She kissed him just once more for good measure. He smiled down at her and patted her cheek. “Well done. Let’s speak to our guests.”
Mr. Bagley and his wife were present. A very nice man, Jessie thought, having met him and his wife at the Duchess’s first dinner party for her. The poor man shouldn’t torture those poor strands of long blond hair, brushing them from one side of his head to the other, pomading them to his scalp. Jessie liked him, but to no avail. The Duchess had said since they needed a special license and no delays, Marcus had spoken to the bishop, more’s the pity. Marcus’s and the Duchess’s doctor, George Raven, and his young bride from York were there as well. Since George Raven, Marcus had said, had saved their respective hides more times than he cared to count, he didn’t mind at all having him close since one never knew what could happen, even at a wedding. And besides, Marcus no longer minded Dr. Raven coming to tend the Duchess now that the good doctor was married and wouldn’t lust after the Duchess the way he had in the past, or tried to.
The Bishop of York would have been gravely disappointed had he but realized that no one else at the wedding wondered how the devil Master Charles’s nurse and Anthony’s horse nanny could be marrying the American male Wyndham. Being a discreet bishop, however, he’d mentioned this distressing fact only once to the earl, who’d carefully begun pulling at the magnificently tied cravat that had taken a good ten minutes to get just right, just so he wouldn’t pound the man into the Aubusson carpet.
Frances Hawksbury, the Countess of Rothermere, congratulated James, then turned to Jessie. “Now that you’ve got him in harness, my dear,” she said, lightly patting her shoulder, “give him his head when he’s kicking at the traces, then rein him in gently but firmly.”
“James,” Marcus said, coming up to them, “I see you’re being likened to a horse.”
“It does seem to fit nicely,” Jessie said, smiling at the Countess of Rothermere.
“And I’ll nip her neck to keep her obedient,” James said, “perhaps nudge her rump a bit to move her in the directions I choose.”
The Duchess laughed. “You’re both abominable. It’s over, finally, the bishop is already at the champagne bottle, and Badger has prepared a wedding breakfast that will have everyone begging to move in.”
“They will all move in or they will all try to kidnap Badger from us.”
“I do wonder how you remain so thin,” Jessie said.
“It’s those damned traces,” Marcus said. “I kick and I kick to try to get to her, but she just smiles and tells me to keep moving, that occasional restraint is good for my manly parts.”
After a half dozen toasts with the very dry champagne from the earl’s cellars, James looked at his bride and whistled. “You’re tipsy, Jessie. Come to think of it, you never drink spirits, do you?”
She hiccupped and asked for another glass.
“Oh dear,” the Duchess said. “Do you still want to go to Candlethorpe for the night, James?”
“Yes. I want to go home.”
“Come along, Jessie,” the Duchess said in that serene voice no one ever resisted, and led her upstairs. Since they were riding to Candlethorpe, the Duchess and Maggie helped her change into a magnificent riding outfit that the Duchess had had made for her. It was a soft burnished gold with darker gold braiding on the shoulders. It was pinched in tightly at the waist, with three layers of thick braiding at the hem. It made her skin glow and her hair look like a fierce sunset.
When Jessie was dressed and Maggie had lovingly placed the last streamer to frame her face, the Duchess set the riding hat on her head and stood back. The dyed ostrich feather curled around her cheek.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Will James say I look like a trollop?” The effects of her two glasses of champagne had long fled.
“If he does, he’s an idiot. If he’s an idiot,” Maggie added, “then you just bite him. Men love little love bites or little correction bites as I call them. Dear Sampson purrs like his lordship’s bloody cat when I nip his shoulder, and then he—”
The Duchess cleared her throat. “Maggie, would you please see if James is ready to leave?”
Maggie, no fool, winked at Jessie, then took herself off, saying over her shoulder, “You look a treat, Jessie. You surely do. I want you to look at every man when you come downstairs. You’ll see that all of them will be undergoing bouts of lust when they lay eyes on you.”
“It’s true,” the Duchess said once Maggie was out of the bedchamber, the door closed. “Now, Jessie, do you wish to ask me anything?”
“Ask you anything? Oh, you mean about sex?”
“Well, yes. Just think of me as your older sister.”
“I think I know everything, Duchess. I was raised with horses, after all. James will come up over my back and stick himself inside me. That’s all there is to it.”
The Duchess gave her an engaging smile. “Well, perhaps you’re in store for a bit of a surprise. But you can trust James to do everything properly.”
“Yes.” Jessie turned away and walked to the wide bank of windows. She stared onto the west lawn. She wondered where Fred and Clorinda were today, on her wedding day. She said quietly, “He was married before. He knows all about wives.”
“Jessie? Does that bother you?”
She waved her hand, as if to ward off unpleasant thoughts, turning away from the windows to face the Duchess again. “No, that would be foolish. I only just thought of it now. He’s had a wife and thus knows all about everything. Was she beautiful, Duchess?”
“Alicia? Well, yes, she was, actually. She was very small, with hair as blond as those paintings you see of angels and the bluest eyes you could imagine. But enough about Alicia. The poor girl died years ago. A tragedy, really, but she’s nothing to do with you, Jessie.”
“Did she help James with Candlethorpe?”
“If you mean did she help him train horses and muck out stalls, no, she wouldn’t have considered such a thing.”
“She just sat in the drawing room and served tea? She didn’t race or ride?”
The Duchess smiled at the acrimony in Jessie’s voice. “Forget her. Now, let’s go see if your new husband is ready to leave.”
The Bishop of York eyed Jessie as if she were an exotic bird from another world in her glorious gold riding outfit. She wondered if after all the champagne he’d consumed he even recognized her as the bride. “I suppose,” he said, his voice even more resonant, “that a gold riding ensemble is very American. Did her ladyship approve of this unexpected spectacle?”
“I did,” the Duchess said, and quickly took Jessie’s hand and pulled her away.
Jessie said her good-byes to all the guests, then turned and looked at the Duchess. “You’ve been very kind to me. I don’t deserve it, but you were kind nonetheless. May I come to see Charles and Anthony?”
“You may visit anytime you wish,” the earl said, coming up to take Jessie in his arms. He hugged her, then said, “Those damned martinets are all waiting to wish
you and James well.”
“Yes, come along, Jessie,” James said, and took her gloved hand. He led her from the great massive doors of Chase Park, down the well-worn stone steps to where the four martinets stood, huge smiles plastered on their faces.
Badger handed James a huge covered basket. “I’ve packed you some lamb cutlets and cucumbers, a bit of apple pudding, and one of James’s favorites, boiled knuckle of veal. You’ll get thirsty on your ride, so there’s also some of the earl’s champagne. It’s very cold, so drink it soon.”
“Here’s a packet of cream for you, Jessie,” Maggie said. “Don’t forget now, you can’t wear it on your face to bed anymore. It would make your husband laugh or cry, depending on his whim at the time.”
“I would like to present you with a pair of earrings, Jessie,” Sampson said. “My Maggie assures me that they’ll look exquisite in your little white ears.”
“Goodness, Sampson, they’re sapphires.”
“Yes, my Maggie tried them on to ensure that they would be becoming to you. Yes, hold them up and let’s judge this. What do you think, Mr. Badger?”
“I don’t think,” Badger said slowly, studying them carefully, “that they flatter the gold. They are too bold a color and fight with that particular shade. Yes, just as I would never serve sweet potatoes with blueberries, you should never wear the sapphires with this gold.”
“I think the colors complement each other well enough,” Spears said, gently edging Badger aside to eye them himself. “But I agree, Mr. Badger, that sweet potatoes wouldn’t at all enhance themselves served alongside blueberries.”
“Well,” Maggie said, “I can’t keep them since dear Sampson already gave them to you. What do you think, James?”
“I like her ears naked,” James said.
Badger looked like a cook whose cake had just collapsed in the middle.
Spears looked like a disapproving judge.
Sampson looked at his wife’s ears and grinned shamelessly.
Maggie just patted Jessie’s hand and told her to do as she wished with them. “You trust James to select the outfits that will complement them best.”
Spears still looked stern, his face set in austere lines, and Jessie realized he was looking at James. He was all garbed in black.
“Thank you, Spears,” she said.
“You will take good care of James,” he said, and she nearly laughed at that thought. “Yes, I will try to.”
“You will see that he stays on his course.”
“What course, Spears?” James said, hefting the basket of food from his left hand to his right. “These damned cutlets weigh as much as the new saddle I bought for Jessie.”
“What new saddle?”
“Forget it. It’s a surprise. Do you swear you’ll act surprised when I finally present it to you?”
“Yes, I promise. What course, Spears?”
He broke into a smile. “You’ll know the course when it appears, Jessie. If you need us, just send a message. We’ll be there as quickly as can be. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” she said, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “You smell good, Spears. Are you using some of Maggie’s cream?”
Badger roared with laughter. Maggie giggled. Sampson guffawed. Spears did nothing at all. The new bride and groom laughed and waved as they rode side by side down the beautiful tree-lined drive of Chase Park, James on Bertram, a gray Barb with a white nose out of Croft’s stud and Jessie on Esmerelda, a Byerley Turk bay mare from the Rothermere stud.
The afternoon was warm, the sun bright overhead, the sky studded with white clouds. Jessie said after fifteen minutes, “James, can we open that champagne now?”
He eyed her. She’d not said a single word since they’d left Chase Park. She’d ridden Esmerelda with single-minded intensity; he recognized that from watching her race, but why the intensity now? Her cheeks were flushed from the ride, her hair flying in long loose streamers from beneath that very provocative riding hat perched on her head with that feather curving around her face to stroke her chin.
He pointed to the left off the road beyond a white fence to a small copse of maple trees. “Just behind those trees is a small meadow.”
They took the fence in an easy jump. Jessie fell in behind him through the copse of trees on a narrow trail that suddenly ended in a small, circular meadow filled with wildly blooming pink and red hollyhocks, purple gayfeathers, white baby’s breath, and yellow wood violets. James searched around until he found a moss-covered rock flat enough and large enough for the two of them, bowed to Jessie, and with a flourish, said, “I don’t want to smash the flowers. Moss is a different matter.”
They spread a cloth between them and arranged Badger’s offering. James popped the champagne cork, pulled two glasses from Badger’s basket, and poured. He laughed when he poured too quickly and sipped as fast as he could before too much champagne was lost.
“Here, Jessie.”
He poured himself a glass, then clicked it against hers. “Why did you want champagne?”
“I thought if I drank the whole bottle, then you could just get it all over with.”
“Get what all over with?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She downed the entire glass and held it out for more.
“Oh, you want to fall into a stupor. Then while you’re stuporous I’ll do degenerate things to you and then the deed will be done and you won’t have to worry about it anymore?”
“That’s right, though I would have phrased it a bit more circumspectly.”
“I’m a man. I’m rarely circumspect. Now why are you worried about having sex with me? You’ve known me forever. You already know all my bad habits—well, most of them. You don’t know as yet if I snore or not.”
She wouldn’t look at him. She studied the clump of foxgloves just beyond her left boot. She drank another glass of champagne. He obligingly poured her another half glass when she thrust the empty glass toward him, her eyes still on those foxgloves.
“As foxgloves go, they’re not bad,” James said as he watched her down that half glass, then thrust her glass at him again.
“No,” Jessie said, thinking the foxgloves looked lovely the way they were fading in and out of her vision.
He supposed dithering wasn’t bad, at least for the moment. It was difficult enough for him, he knew that. He’d acknowledged the problems before he’d offered to marry her. He’d always regarded her as a brat, a younger sister who irritated him and provoked him until he wanted to smack her bottom. And now she was his wife, and it was equally obvious to him that she was as skittish as Sober John was during a Baltimore storm. Did she think of him as an older brother? One with whom she was in competition?
At the moment, he simply couldn’t imagine how he was going to approach making love to her. Making love to Jessie—the brat. It boggled the mind. Except that he had been looking at things a bit differently during the past week.
He drew a deep breath and prayed. “Jessie, I’ve known you for a very long time. I admit I still know the old Jessie more than the new Jessie. But, never have I known you to be a coward. What’s wrong?”
“You’ve never known me married before, either. That’s what’s wrong. You and I, James, we’re married only because—” She paused and shrugged. “There’s no reason to repeat the dreadful sequence of events again. They’re as painful to you as they are to me. Do you really want to mount me, James?”
18
“MOUNT YOU?” HIS eyes nearly crossed picturing her naked, bending over, looking over her shoulder at him as he neared her, as he touched her. He shook his head. He’d been too long without companionship of a sexual sort. If any female spoke to him of mounting her, he would have seen the same sequence of explicit images in his brain.
“Maybe,” he said at last after he’d drunk a bit more of his own champagne, “but not for a while.” Jessie was right. The champagne had been a good idea. It was probably the only way to get through this.
?
??I’m not Alicia. I’m sorry but I had to ask the Duchess about her. She said she was beautiful, all small and blond and blue-eyed. You loved her. I’m none of those things, and you don’t love me. I can’t imagine what will become of us.”
“We will survive, I daresay,” he said, eyeing her glass until she emptied it and he could pour her more champagne. The damned bottle was empty, and he didn’t even feel the least bit tipsy. He prayed she did. He said, “Badger should have realized that a bride and groom have a greater need for spirits than ordinary folk. He should have packed another bottle.”
Jessie picked around in Badger’s basket. “He did,” she said, lifting another cloth-wrapped bottle.
James offered a prayer of thanks toward Chase Park’s vast kitchen. “An excellent man is Badger. Well, why not? Let’s get drunk then here in this lovely meadow. It’s warm. When you’re too intoxicated to know what I’m about, I’ll pull up your riding skirt, unfasten my breeches, and take your virginity. Then it will be over, and we can go along to Candlethorpe and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow it will all be forgotten, and we can muck out stalls side by side. Perhaps we’ll be so at ease with each other that we’ll whistle together, perhaps even sing some of the Duchess’s ditties. What do you say to that, Jessie?”
She didn’t say anything. He’d hoped for a smile; just a hint of a smile would have relieved him, but she didn’t dredge one up. She was trying to remove the cork on the other bottle of champagne. She couldn’t get it out. She put it in her mouth and gnawed on it.
James leaned back, the sun on his face, the scent of the flowers in his nostrils, and laughed. She was the old Jessie, the brat, chewing on a straw, licking the remains of a candied almond from her fingers, gnawing on a champagne cork, it was all the same thing. When he heard the cork pop, he simply lifted his glass and thrust it toward her.