Chapter Nine Nervous

Chapter Nine

Nervous

“A h, what a dreamy Christmas Eve wedding!” As darkness enveloped the old castle, Rosalind crossed Lisburne Manor’s traditional nuptial chamber and hoisted herself up beside Hazel on the raised bed, an imposing, canopied relic from a previous century. “You’re married now, Lisbet, just like us!”

Elizabeth looked down at her wedding gown, smoothing the fine velvet. A fire roared in the grate and winter flowers graced the tops of various chests and bureaus. The bed was high, though narrow, and outfitted with multiple blankets and overfilled white pillows. A narrow bed for newlyweds. Wasn’t that the saying?

The ornate bed, and this spacious chamber, had been prepared days ago for her and Lord Fortenbury, but now she awaited August, her friend. The whole idea of marriage had been turned on its head, although the chamber looked the same.

“Aren’t you glad it was Lord Augustine at the end of things?” asked Hazel, propping herself on a pillow. “Stupid old Fortenbury can run off a cliff. I think August will make a better husband. He’ll be caring and fun.”

“Yes. I’m certain of it,” said Elizabeth, turning so her lady’s maid could undo her gown’s ribbons and buttons.

“He looked very handsome all day, and you were a beautiful bride.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at her sister as several other maids appeared to remove and pack away her priceless wedding attire. “You know, I forgot his name was Julian until today, when the parson said it. Julian Method Randolph. We’ve called him August as long as I can remember.”

“He’s been Lord Augustine since he was born. Now you are Elizabeth Morgaine Randolph…the new Countess of Augustine!” Hazel exclaimed, as if just now realizing it.

Well, everything had happened rather suddenly.

Rosalind studied her, ever sensitive to her moods. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

Elizabeth’s “of course” was muffled as her lady’s maid drew a snow-white, embroidered shift over her head. A velvet robe followed, with matching embroidery and a soft, wide belt. It became apparent the wedding-night ensemble did not include any pantalettes. She dismissed the bustling servants, who seemed eager to linger, and re-tied the belt a bit tighter.

Rosalind climbed from the bed, took her hand, and led her past the fireplace to a low dressing table with an age-clouded, gilt-edged mirror. “Let me do your hair.”

“Why? There is nothing to do.” She’d worn it down for the wedding, wishing to feel as natural as possible after she’d been fancied up for Fortenbury the first time around.

“There is always something to do,” said Rosalind.

She made her sit on the tufted bench and gathered her long black locks to the back, smoothing and arranging them into a loose braid. Elizabeth had always wished for honey-gold hair like Rosalind’s or Hazel’s, but now, she rather liked the dramatic effect of her dark hair against her white wedding robe. Her friend separated a piece here and there, letting it lie at her temples to frame her face, and drew the messy braid over her shoulder.

“Rosalind, what is this styling?” said Elizabeth. “I look as if I’ve just rolled out of bed.”

“That’s the idea,” said Hazel, “except that you’ll be rolling into bed with your husband.”

Elizabeth turned from the mirror. “Already? Tonight?”

“They’ve prepared this chamber just for that purpose, so I would assume…”

“I’ve never slept with a man before now.”

Rosalind giggled. “I should hope not.” A succession of quick emotions flitted across her face. “It’s nothing to get in a tangle about, you know. Husbands can be very…surprising when you’re alone together with them, but in a good way. They kiss you and hold you, and make you feel very…content.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is nice,” said Hazel. “It’s wonderful.”

Rosalind continued to play with her hair, arranging wisps of ebony this way and that. Elizabeth thought about August coming to this room, so they might go to bed together…

How would he look? What would he wear? She’d seen him in his nightclothes once before, not that she could tell her companions about that experience.

“Will he leave his clothes on when he sleeps?” she asked.

Rosalind gave her a funny look. “I don’t think so.”

A soft knock, and her mama entered, still dressed in her formal attire. She came to Elizabeth and fussed over her velvet robe and haphazardly styled hair, smoothing out the pieces Rosalind had so carefully disarranged.

“Look at you,” she said. “An exquisite young woman on her wedding night. You know what is supposed to happen, yes? Although it will be up to August, if he wishes to…” Her mama did not seem to know where to look. “Well… It was a quick wedding, so things may not proceed as normal.”

Normal? Elizabeth watched her mama think…worry…bite her lip. “I suppose you can leave everything up to him,” she said after a moment. “You must trust in your husband, darling. I’m sure he is…is one to be trusted.”

Elizabeth nodded, wondering for the twentieth time if her understanding of wedding nights was sufficient, or sorely lacking. “I do trust him.”

“Good. If you trust him, if you have warm feelings for him, we’ll call that serendipitous. You’ve always done so well at reading people.”

“August is not a stranger,” Hazel reminded her mama.

“Of course not. All will be well. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Oh, don’t listen to me.” She combed fingers through Elizabeth’s hair, tousling it again. “Well, do listen to me. You must follow Lord August’s guidance as well as you can, and give your heart to him, no matter how frightening husbands seem at the outset.”

She glanced past her mama to Rosalind, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Frightening, Mama?”

“Not frightening, darling. I didn’t mean that. Puzzling, perhaps, is a better word, until you know how they work.”

Her mama sighed, turning toward the mirror, so Elizabeth noticed how alike they looked, with similarly colored eyes and hair, and the same tilt to their chin.

“I felt so many memories today,” her mama confided. “I suppose that’s why I’m like this, all full of flutter and nerves. You know, your father and I wed in that same church. We were as much strangers as you and August are friends. And after our wedding feast, all the guests in attendance carried your father upstairs to me, crowding into this very bedroom…”

“Oh, Mama. Did they really?”

“Indeed,” her mother said. “And they’ll do it tonight, I warrant. It’s the tradition around here, so we must get you prettily arranged beneath the covers.”

“Everyone will come to this room? When I’m in bed?”

“Yes, and they’ll bring rosemary and flowers from the greenhouse, to strew all over the blankets. They’re lovely and fragrant, dear. Don’t look upset.”

“You’re the one who wanted a Welsh wedding, Elizabeth.” Hazel stifled a smile. “I wonder how you’ll get them to leave?”

Mama smiled. “On our wedding night, your father bellowed at them to go away. Even drunkards listen when he uses that certain tone of voice. You know the one.”

They laughed together, then her mama took Elizabeth’s hand to lead her to the bed. “Lord August was an attentive groom today, wasn’t he? I believe he cares for you very much.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “But I feel…nervous to be alone with him tonight.” She climbed up on the bed, nestling beneath the sheets and blankets. “What will we do?”

“You’ll talk together, drink some wine, perhaps.” Her mother indicated the trays of refreshment arranged near the fire. “Not too much, though.” She smiled and sat beside her, drawing her close. “There’s no need to worry about anything. As Hazel pointed out, he’s no stranger. He’s the same August you’ve always known.”

But he wasn’t. He was her husband now, and that was a totally different thing.

“You may leave the robe on for now,” her mama said as the silence lengthened between them. “But when everyone’s gone and you’re alone with him, you ought to take it off and let him see your pretty shift.”

Elizabeth laced her fingers together, hoping her blush didn’t look as red and hot as it felt.

“And it’s all right if you don’t have romantic feelings toward one another right away,” her mama continued. “You must trust those feelings will grow.”

“Yes. It seems trust is one of the main things in marriage.”

“It is, darling. Trust and connection.”

Elizabeth undid her trembling fingers and laid them atop the soft sheets and blankets, trying to look serene. It was a big step, leaving maidenhood behind and becoming a wife. She’d been so eager to do it, but now the way forward seemed murky and complicated.

“It was kind of August to marry me,” she said aloud. “To step in and be the hero.”

“He has been a hero,” said Rosalind, “but he’s a lucky man, too.”

“Yes, he’s lucky to have you. Never forget that.” Her mama stood and gave her one last kiss upon her forehead. “We’re so proud of you, darling. We love you so much.”

“Now, are you ready for the drunken well-wishers?” asked Rosalind with a giggle. “Because like it or not, here they come.”

*

Elizabeth’s father had warned August to be ready, warned him that Lord Lisburne would insist upon a communal bedding in the Cairwyn tradition. “They won’t stay the whole time,” the duke told him with a subtle eye roll. “Although they’d probably like to. You must be firm in sending them away.”

So, when the shouts and clapping began, half of it drunken jibberish, he let himself be drawn into the raucous huddle and borne upstairs.

The nuptial chamber was an upgrade from his parson’s quarters, with its elegant furnishings and roaring fire, but of course, the nicest thing was beautiful Elizabeth awaiting him on the herb-strewn bed. She looked part bemused, part unsettled by the guests that crowded into the chamber.

Goodness, it was so medieval, putting the bride and groom to bed. Would he even bed her tonight, consummate this marriage of convenience?

Hmm.

He couldn’t imagine it. No.

It’s not that he wasn’t attracted to his bride. Elizabeth was a rare beauty, with her striking green eyes, her soft black hair, her feminine figure. She was sylph-like, restless and floating and full of mystery.

As for him…he was baser in nature, not floating or mysterious at all. He was a bit of a clunk, in truth. He could summon charm when necessary, for short periods of time, but he was otherwise not a natural lothario. Marlow had been the practiced flirt of their friend group, Wescott the most dashing, Townsend the most dark and handsome. Now here was August, married to his friend’s sister out of pity for her plight.

Not pity. She was not one to be pitied. It was more outrage, that someone so worthy of love and marriage would be left at the altar. By Fortenbury, that stuck-up prig.

August decided he would not try to bed Elizabeth tonight, though the boisterous crowd sang slurred Welsh verses that doubtless encouraged that very thing. He would hold and soothe her, though, for she’d endured a trying couple of days.

“Any room for me?” he joked as the guests bore him to the bed.

She gave a nervous laugh and moved over as they tossed him onto the blankets.

He did not like that she was nervous.

“Very well,” he said to the crowd. “You’ve brought me here. I can handle the rest without your assistance.”

His strident tone registered with all but the most inebriated, and they were escorted out by the ladies, including Elizabeth’s mother, who blew the couple a kiss before she firmly shut the door.

“Goodness, they are vivacious,” said Elizabeth.

“They are drunk,” he replied with a chuckle.

She pushed her hair back. It was in a loose braid, giving her a charming, unkempt appearance. “So much energy, after such a long day.”

“I have a feeling some of them are just getting started.” He rose from the bed to lock the door from the inside, lest one of them arrive to join them later. That done, he went to check the fire and noticed trays of food and mulled wine on the tables nearby. “They’ve left us sustenance, Elizabeth. Come look.”

She hopped down from the tall bed. “Goodness, what a lot of food for two people.” The plates were full of sweet things, cakes and biscuits, and candies in jewel-like colors. “I’ve already eaten so much. How wonderful to be the married ones and be spoiled with all this.” She didn’t touch the food but wandered to the center of the chamber. “It’s a magical room. Are we at the very top of Cairwyn’s tower? Oh, look at the great window.”

She was off again, moving away from him, like a bird who couldn’t find a place to light. He took off his formal coat and waistcoat, then went to stand beside her as she peered from the frosted panes of glass. From the room’s vantage point, they could see fields and forests of white.

“Isn’t it gorgeous out there?” she said. “We had a beautiful winter day for our wedding.”

“It’s what you wanted. What you deserved.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you.” She turned to him, staring at his shirt as he loosened his cravat. “I suppose someone might have married me eventually, but goodness knows what kind of scoundrel he might have been.”

I have my scoundrel moments , he thought. He was uncomfortable with the worshipful way she regarded him; he was a very normal man.

“I am nervous,” she blurted then. “I’m so nervous tonight, August.”

“Why? Because of ghosts?” He glanced back at their nuptial chamber, with its ancient furniture and carved-stone fireplace. “It’s haunted in here, isn’t it?”

“Well…yes.”

He’d been joking. Now hair rose on his arms and the back of his neck. As for Elizabeth, her gaze trailed from his face to his lips, to his jaw, and down to his open collar. He knew why she was nervous. Forget about ghosts. He was the specter in her imagination.

“What do you know of men and women?” he asked. “Is that why you’re nervous? Because we are wed and…?”

And here together. Alone. I don’t know whether to reach out and touch you, Lisbet. He’d touched her before. He’d spanked her several times.

“I wanted to be wed,” she said, as if to reassure him. “Of course, I would have been here with Lord Fortenbury, waiting for…whatever is to come. Now I’m here with you.”

It was the waiting, then, that made her nervous. The uncertainty. He could fix that.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked.

She swallowed hard, nodded. Was she about to cry?

“I don’t know why I’m shaking,” she said. “I’m sure I would love to be kissed. It’s just… I thought I knew things. I do know things, but about this, I am so foolish and worried—”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” He reached across the anxious space between them and touched her arm, slid his hand up to her shoulder. Gently, he tugged her toward him. “If the ghosts are telling you to be afraid, they don’t know me very well. Anyway, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“All right.”

“Tilt your head up for me?”

He was used to bolder women. Experienced, seductive women. Her innocence was novel and strange, as were her maidenly nightclothes. For God’s sake, he didn’t want to muck this up.

He cradled her face in his hands and leaned close, pressing his lips to hers. Ah, how yielding she was, how halting and sweet. He lingered in his task, measuring her delicate breaths until he drew away.

She sighed then, emitted a soft, wondering sigh that made his cock go hard as granite. Emboldened, he kissed her again. He’d thought to play the tutor, to go slow, but eroticism bloomed between them like a winter flower. He pulled her body closer, one hand at her lower back. She was pliant and lovely, as she’d been those times he’d spanked her.

He wanted to spank her now.

He wanted to do so many things.

He drew away, confused by the sudden intensity of yearning. This was his friend’s sister, a young woman of little experience.

Elizabeth went still, studying his expression. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, mute for a moment. “No. Not at all, darling,” he said when he found his voice. “It’s just momentous, isn’t it? Our first kiss.”

“Yes. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much.” He studied her expression. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.” She touched her lips. “But I gather there’s more to a wedding night than kissing.”

Poor, anxious Elizabeth. How tenderly he felt toward her. She was so enigmatic by the half-light, by the cold window, the fire’s shadows playing across her face.

“There is more that can happen between men and women, a great deal more than kissing,” he said carefully, “but we needn’t rush things. We’ve barely gotten used to the idea of being married. We still think of one another as friends.”

“Good friends,” Elizabeth clarified, looking again at him. “Close friends.”

“Yes. Very close friends.” He skimmed his fingertips down her lower back. “If you’d like, I can show you some things men and women do together. Pleasurable things husbands and wives can share.”

“Oh.” She considered this, her cheeks growing pink. “Well, we are husband and wife now, so I suppose that would be all right.”

“If you’re uncertain, we can have cakes and wine instead,” he said, gesturing toward the trays, “and play cards by the fire.”

“Aren’t all brides uncertain?” She let out a small, shaky laugh. “My mother said I must leave everything in your hands. I suppose I shall place my trust in you.”

He wished to be worthy of that trust. He touched a lock of her black, silky hair. “What else did your mother tell you about your wedding night?”

“Oh, the most fantastical things about our bodies joining together, and about husbands and wives becoming one. Do you know what she meant by that?”

“Yes, darling.” If she moved against him, she would have found hard, solid evidence of his body ready to become one with hers. But this was not a night for rushing. For ravishment.

“Shall we go over to the bed together?” He tried to sound steady and collected. Trustworthy. “It’s easiest to show you everything there.”