Candice Hern (6 page)

“Well, I will say good night, then.”

Good night?

“Mrs. Gibb always sets out breakfast in the back parlor. I, um, wasn’t sure if you preferred tea or coffee.”

Breakfast? He wouldn’t see her until breakfast? The air in her lungs suddenly felt thin, starving her of breath.

“Tea. Th-thank you.” She had no idea where those words had come from, how she’d managed to form them with her mouth when she could barely breathe.

He wasn’t coming to her. He wasn’t going to make love to her.

“Tea. Right. So, I will, um, see you at breakfast. Good night, Pru.”

He turned on his heel and left. Pru stood frozen in the middle of the room. She heard him open and close the door to the room next to hers.

He was not coming back.

She stood and listened to the sounds of him moving about. He would be able to hear her as well. He would know she hadn’t moved. What a fool he must think her.

She forced one foot in front of the other and walked to the open door. She closed it, then tried to empty her mind of despair while she undressed. It was difficult without a maid to untie her corset strings in the back. But she could not have borne the presence of a maid, or anyone else, just now. She had to bear this humiliation alone.

A short time later, she lay in her bed and stared at the door. She couldn’t keep her eyes from it. It was just possible she had misunderstood. He might come after all. He
might
.

No. He wasn’t coming back.

She was a great goose to think Nicholas would walk through that door. He was a gentleman with a powerful sense of honor. It had driven him to marry her, and now kept him from her bed. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.

She wished he were not quite so honorable. But then, she did not offer much of a temptation to be
have dishonorably. Even in her beautiful lace nightgown.

Was this to be the first of endless nights spent in the dark, staring at that door? Lord, how was she to bear this marriage?

She turned away, buried her face in the pillow, and wept.

Nick wasn’t surprised to find Pru in the back parlor when he came downstairs the next morning. He’d heard her up and about early, but he deliberately stayed in his own bedchamber until he was certain she was gone. Cowardly, to be sure, but he had not wanted to run into her in the close confines of the upstairs corridor.

A tilt-top tea table was usually kept flat against a wall in the back parlor, but was opened and set in the middle of the room for meals. Ever since the Crimson Ladies—the colorists for the magazine’s engravings—had taken over the dining room for their use, Nick and his sister had taken most of their meals either here or in the front drawing room.

Pru sat at the table sipping tea and reading some loose, handwritten pages. She looked up at his entrance, removed her spectacles, and blushed.

Damn. This whole business was so blasted awkward.

“Good morning,” he said, and took a seat opposite her.

She scooted back her chair, and in a sudden rush of words, said, “I have just finished my tea. I
have much to do today, having missed a whole day’s work yesterday. I need to finish these edits and review some of the advertising contracts. I will leave you to your breakfast and newspaper.” She rose to leave, as if she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him.

“Please stay a moment, Pru. Sit down. We have a great deal to talk about.”

She looked thoroughly flustered, poor girl. He hated what this marriage had done to her. Theirs had been a perfectly comfortable friendship until yesterday. Now she could barely look him in the eye, so shy of him they might have been complete strangers rather than friends of several years.

She appeared to have had as little sleep as he did. There were purplish shadows beneath her eyes, which were reddened from lack of sleep. No, not that. She’d been crying. Damn, damn, damn.

“Please, Pru. It’s important we talk about”—his hands made a vague gesture encompassing the breakfast table and the two of them—“all this.”

She sat back down, perched on the edge of her chair like a governess, her back ramrod straight. “May I pour you tea?” she asked. “Or coffee?”

Nick had been about to reach for the coffee pot, but decided to let Pru do it for him. Her first wifely duty, he supposed. “Coffee, please. With just a touch of cream.”

He watched her pour and was pleased to see that her hands were steady. She looked so uneasy, he had half expected the cup to rattle with her trembling. She had beautiful hands. He’d never
noticed before. Slender, long fingers and perfectly shaped nails. Just like his mother’s. An artist’s hands. He wondered if she painted.

How little they knew each other, after all.

He filled his plate from the dishes of food that had been set out, and thought of what he wanted to say. He’d tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to silence the thoughts that agitated his brain. Anger. Frustration. Self-pity. Blame. In one day his life had changed so dramatically, it was difficult even to grasp it all. He had not wanted marriage in his life yet. He had certainly not wanted Pru. He had big plans, big dreams, and this marriage interfered with everything.

And it was his own fault. If only he’d taken more care about not being alone in the house with Pru. If only he’d insisted on driving her home before he left for the evening. If only he’d checked the office before going upstairs to bed.

If only.

The words had rung in his head throughout the night. After all that sleepless agitation, however, he’d come to a firm decision. He would
not
let this marriage ruin his life. Or Pru’s. Wallowing in blame and self-pity wouldn’t help matters. The thing was done. It had to be faced. Nick had determined to waste no more time feeling sorry for himself, and Pru needed to do the same. They needed to concentrate on making this marriage work, as unwanted as it was to both of them.

“I believe we must discuss how we are to go
on,” he said. “We are married, Pru. I know you didn’t want this any more than I did, but what’s done is done. We must accept it.”

“I know.” Her voice was softer even than usual

“We’ve always been friends. That should count for something. We can make the best of this situation, over time.”

“Yes, of course.”

She still wouldn’t look up at him. He needed to see her eyes. He reached across the table and tilted her chin until she was forced to look up. He almost wished he had not done so. The misery in those big blue eyes was almost palpable. Poor Pru. He had done this to her with his casual indifference to her presence in his house.

“I am dreadfully sorry.” He kept his hand on her chin, stroking it with his thumb, trying to soothe the faint tremble that proclaimed her nervousness. “I know you must be heartsick about all this, but we will work it out. We will. But my dear, we should not waste time and energy lamenting what might have been, or resenting each other, or blaming each other. It is pointless in any case, since we cannot change what is done.” He looked deep into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “Pru? Do you agree?”

She took a deep breath and nodded her head. He cupped her cheek briefly—Lord, what incredibly soft skin she had—and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and removed his hand.

“M-may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Was there…was there someone else you had hoped to marry? Someone you were courting?”

“No.” Thank heaven for that. No others were hurt in this business. Or were they? Dear God, what if—

“But what about you?” he asked. “Was there…is there someone special?”

She gave a little smile tinged with self-mockery. “There was no one I dared hope to marry, I assure you.”

“Well, then. At least neither of us is breaking someone else’s heart. One less obstacle to overcome. Easier for us to make the best of things. I realize you have no choice, but are you willing to try?”

“Yes.” Her voice was steadier than before. “Yes, I am.”

“Good girl. I do think, though, we need to move slowly. It’s all been so sudden, we should take some time to get used to the idea of marriage. Even though we’re friends, there is much we do not know about each other. Small things, like whether we drink tea or coffee in the morning, for example. And larger things, like our expectations of life, our hopes, our dreams. Even our backgrounds and upbringing. Yours is still a surprise to me, and I need to become more comfortable with it. I’m sure there are surprises you will discover about me as well. So we should take it day by day, and learn to live under the same roof. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “I thought it might. But there are practical matters we must discuss. I spoke with your father yesterday about…money.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, you musn’t worry about that. I should not be a burden on your income. I have a bit of money of my own. In fact I—”

“Yes, I know. Your father told me about your inheritance. But I want you to understand, Pru, that I would never touch your money. It is yours to use as you please.”

“But I am happy for you to have it,” she said. “I know you have plans and could certainly use it.”

“No.”

“But what about the factory in—”

“No, Pru. And that is final. Your money stays with you.” It pained him to know that so much money was within his reach, but he could not, would not, take it from her. Besides, he was certain of some decent profits from Amsterdam very shortly, and that would help his project in Derby get off the ground. The warehouse there would not remain empty much longer, but it would be fitted out through his own efforts, not by relying on his wife’s fortune.

“I will do my best to make you comfortable here,” he said. “I have enough for that. But you must tell me if there are any changes you wish to make, or if there is anything you need. Servants, for example. I had thought perhaps to bring Lucy in on a full-time basis, if she will agree to it. And if you would like to hire a lady’s maid, of course you must do so.”

“That won’t be necessary, if Lucy is here. Please do not think I am used to luxury, Nicholas. I am not. My father is not a rich man, you know. There were nine of us living on Brooke Street. It was quite cramped at times. And I never had a lady’s maid of my own. I always made do with one of the housemaids. There is no reason I cannot do the same here. If you like, I can speak to Lucy about it.”

“Thank you, Pru, that would be fine. And there is also the matter of Mrs. Gibb. She only comes in the mornings and prepares everything for the day. She has come in to cook a hot supper when we’ve asked, if we had guests, for example. But I thought we should ask her if she would like to expand her role in the kitchen, to come on full-time. There are servants’ rooms on the top floor, so both she and Lucy could both live in.”

“Are you certain, Nicholas? I do not wish to be the cause of more upheaval than necessary.”

“It is no great upheaval to make things a bit more comfortable and orderly. I’ve been too careless of household matters since Edwina left, I’m afraid. I’m not very good with those sorts of details.”

“If you are quite sure you want to make these changes, then you may leave it to me. I shall speak to Lucy and Mrs. Gibb. And I will take a look at the rooms upstairs to make sure they are ready for use.”

“I can see you will take your wifely duties seriously.” He smiled at her, and she blushed.

He knew what duties she was thinking of, and
it had nothing to do with the household help. It was something they needed to discuss, though. He took a deep breath.

“There is one more thing,” he said, and felt uncommonly fidgety and anxious. “I intend to honor my vows, Pru. This will be a real marriage, in every respect.”

Her blush grew brighter, spreading to her ears and all down her throat, and she shifted nervously on her chair. She didn’t want this, dammit. Well, neither did he, but there was no escaping it.

“I know how difficult this is for you, my dear. It is for both of us. But if this marriage is to work, it must be a complete one. I think, though, that we should wait a while before…before taking that step.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to hold it. Was she relived?

“It is all too new,” he continued. “And we both need time to overcome the anger and distress over this unexpected union. We shall give ourselves time to adjust to the idea of being married. I shall not impose myself on you, Pru. I will wait until I am sure you are ready for…something more. All right?”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. She was such a shy little thing, this conversation must be mortifying for her.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “We shall rub along well together. You’ll see.”

She rose so abruptly, she had to grab the chair back to keep it from falling over. “I must go,” she said. “These edits…” She picked up the pages
and clasped them tightly. “I have work to do. If you will excuse me.”

And she bolted from the room like a rabbit. Poor girl. If Nick was feeling awkward and angry, how much more so must Pru feel? Women gave up so much more in a marriage than did men. They lost their names and their identities as individuals, they were uprooted from their families, their fortunes and their bodies no longer belonged to them but to a husband.

Pru must know he would never subvert her needs to his own. He would never ask her to sacrifice her will to his. Surely she knew that. He would certainly never take away her fortune. As to her body…that was a different matter. He would take it eventually. He would have to, if there was ever to be a family. And he wanted children someday. It must be a mutual giving and taking, though, and so he would wait.

Nick found it difficult to imagine Pru as a bed partner. For one thing, he had no sense of the body beneath all those layers of muslin. She revealed very little, keeping herself all wrapped up in fichus and scarves and such. And she was so closed in and shy. Would she be too shy to express passion? Too inhibited to be truly involved? He had no experience with such a woman. He would not know what to do.

One of her cousins had made a snide remark about how the quiet ones always surprised you. He hoped to God Pru would surprise him.