Chapter Twenty-Four

J ames returned late the following day from Salisbury where he'd obtained the Common License from the bishop for a cost of three pounds. They would have to wait another week, and then they could be married in the local church by the Reverend Whitaker. Kit and Sam rode over to the vicarage together and engaged his services. It was, Kit explained as Sam stood silently listening, to be a very quiet affair with only the family present. If the Reverend Whitaker was surprised by this request and the speed with which the marriage had been arranged, he kept his opinion to himself.

Ysella, to Sam's surprise, put her foot down about that. "A girl only gets married once in her life," she said with a defiant jut to her lower jaw. "And I would at least like my dear friend Caro to be present."

Sam frowned. "Are you sure? Might she not be a little surprised at the haste with which we are to be wed?"

Ysella shook her head. "She'll hear we've married in a hurry anyway, so she might as well come. Then if she wants to ask me why, I can tell her the truth."

Sam's all-too unsettled insides performed a leap of concern. "Is that wise? Should you not keep it to yourself?"

Ysella frowned at him. "She's my best friend apart from Morvoren, and I'd like her there. And she would never divulge my secret." For a moment Sam thought she might stamp her foot.

"I'll let Kit know," Sam said, his voice wary. Was it altogether a good idea to let her get her way even before they were married? Might she think she could go on like that after the wedding and force him into agreeing to things he didn't approve of? After all, Kit must be hoping Sam's influence would calm her down. But he couldn't find it in him to say no to her for one good reason—because he loved her. That she didn't love him didn't matter for the moment, and to make up for this, he wanted to give her everything else she could possibly want.

So, Miss Caroline Fairfield and her Mama and Papa were duly invited to the wedding.

It was a small affair indeed. Sam was pleased that Morvoren had been allowed out of bed shortly after the engagement was brokered, and had declared herself well enough to attend the service. Baby George, of course, remained at home in the nursery with Jessie Jenkins and his milk sister. The last thing they needed, Sam reflected with a rueful sigh, bearing in mind Ysella's possible condition, was the sound of a baby crying mid-service.

And so it was that Sam found himself standing at the altar at exactly eleven in the morning in his smartest coat and breeches, his heart hammering so loudly he was sure Kit and the Reverend Whitaker would hear it. In the front pews sat the Dowager Lady Ormonde, very regal in a puce satin gown, beside her friend Mrs. Fairfield and her husband. Caroline, always an astute young lady, wore a slightly puzzled frown on her face that Sam didn't like.

Neither of Ysella's sisters had been able to attend, for which Sam was grateful for small mercies. He'd grown up alongside Derwa and Meliora and a strong sense of embarrassment threatened him every time he thought of how they might disapprove of his having the temerity to marry their youngest sister. He couldn't rid himself of the thought that they had most likely always seen him as only the son of the land agent and a person of low rank and importance. Admittedly, he was the land agent himself now, and his father was dead. Which meant he had no family of his own on his side of the church.

To make up for this, he'd invited Mrs. Higgins, his housekeeper, so his side would not be quite empty, and she sat, stalwart in her best bonnet, back rigidly straight, but with an expression of the strongest disapproval on her face. Possibly she didn't like the idea of his marrying above his station, or it might be that she resented the idea of a woman, any woman, coming to usurp her place controlling his household. Not that he could imagine Ysella running a household herself. Not successfully, anyway. She was far too flighty for that.

The doors at the end of the church opened, and Kit led Ysella inside, her hand tucked demurely into the crook of his arm. Sam caught his breath. The Misses Sedgewick had produced the loveliest pale lemon gown at very short notice. A short, embroidered train swept the flagstoned floor behind her, and small puff sleeves emphasized the delicate roundness of Ysella's arms. She wore long gloves to above her elbows and carried a bouquet of flowers from the hothouse at Ormonde in a cascade of whites and yellows. A heavy veil hung to her waist obscuring her face, but Sam knew without any doubt that she would be beautiful beneath it. The most beautiful bride in the world.

Kit led her with stately, measured steps up the aisle towards Sam as the organist played, his face solemn with the portentousness of the occasion. With carefully studied precision, he handed Ysella to Sam, whose heart felt as though it might burst with happiness. This was it. This was his wedding to the woman he loved above all else. Sam gazed down at her, too awed by the occasion to smile. She looked so small and delicate beside him that he felt hulking and clumsy. Through the gauzy veil, she gave him a tremulous smile as her eyes met his.

*

Ysella stood on the path that led to Sam's front door, her veil removed now but still in her wedding gown. This was it. She was married now, for better or for worse. She was Sam's wife and could never be anyone else's. No matter that he'd said they could live as friends and he'd make no husbandly demands on her, she was still his wife and that made her his possession. He could change his mind any time he wanted, and she would be able to do nothing about it. A sobering thought.

She'd seen his house before, of course, countless times, and even been inside it with Kit, as a child, but only into the kitchens. But back then it had been Sam's father's house, and Sam merely a callow boy, like Kit. As for her, she'd been a very small girl, trailing in their wake, eager for their approval, and wanting to join in with everything they did, somewhat to Kit's annoyance. Now it lay before her, a blank she could remember nothing about.

Sam made as if to take her hand, then let his own hand drop. That barrier again, stopping them from touching one another. They were married, but they were also strangers, stranger to one another than they'd ever been. "Come inside," he said, his voice laden with the same awkwardness she felt.

She followed him up the path.

The front door opened into a long corridor off which several closed doors suggested rooms she'd never entered as a child. Mrs. Higgins, who must have gone home straight after the wedding service, was waiting just inside the door. She bobbed a curtsey, sour faced and dour. "Mrs. Beauchamp, ma'am. Welcome home."

How forbidding the housekeeper looked. How unapproachable and disapproving. Did she know what Ysella had done and why she was marrying Sam? All the servants must know she'd run away, and that Sam and Kit had brought her back. It didn't take the brains of a genius to work out why she was now being married off in a hurry. How mortifying to be the subject of intense disapproval from people who'd cared for and served her for most of her life. Worse, even, than having to brave out the London season again, because at least she didn't know the people in London. She felt as though she'd disappointed everyone connected with Ormonde.

Sam pushed open the door into what looked like a drawing room. An air of disuse clung to it, as though Mrs. Higgins had spent the last few days airing it ready for the new mistress of the house. Perhaps Sam never used it. Perhaps no one had used it since Sam's mother died, and that must be thirty years ago. A fire burned in the grate, but the room still felt chilly. And unwelcoming, much like Mrs. Higgins.

"We'll take tea in here, thank you, Mrs. Higgins," Sam said.

Was that a snort from the housekeeper? Ysella watched her leave, her step loud on the tiled floor, her back view rigid with disapproval.

"Do sit down, Ysella," Sam said, as if she were an honored guest. But she wasn't, was she? This was her house now as well as Sam's. Ormonde would never be her home again.

She perched on the edge of the rather faded chaise longue and folded her hands neatly in her lap, unable to rid herself of the sensation of being an unwanted interloper. What was she supposed to do now? Not that she wanted to be sewing, and most likely the piano in the corner would need tuning before she could play it, but she needed something in her hands to stop herself from fidgeting.

Sam went to stand beside the fire, one arm leaning on the mantelpiece. An ornate clock, twin candelabras and the statue of a horse's head occupied its run. She peeped sideways at him from behind her lashes, hoping he wouldn't see her doing so. But he was gazing out of the window at the distant, rather-gray view of the park and she was safe.

For the first time in her life, Ysella saw Sam as a man, and not just the friend of her childhood. Seeing someone every day, as familiar as the furniture around her, had made her blind to what he really looked like, immured to his attractions. As tall as Kit but broader, his wide shoulders pleasingly filled his well-cut coat. His hair, which more often than not was windblown and untidy from being outside on the estate, had been artfully arranged to resemble one of Ysella's fashion pamphlet pictures, but added nothing to his good looks. She preferred him windblown and natural, not stiff and formal like this.

She studied his face. A good shape, with a strong chin and a nose that was neither too large nor too small. A pleasing face. Maybe a handsome face, despite him not being at all like Oliver. She dismissed that thought forthwith. She did not want to start comparing Sam with Oliver. That would be to venture down a dangerous road. She must not think of Oliver ever again.

They waited in an uncomfortable silence until Mrs. Higgins returned with a tray of tea which she set on the low table near the chaise longue. "Would you like me to pour for you, Ma'am?"

Ysella jumped. She was "ma'am" now, of course. "No. No, thank you. I will do it myself." No need to let Mrs. Higgins think she could do nothing for herself. Sam had already explained that apart from the odd-job boy who did the gardening, polished his boots and brought in the wood, his only servant was the housekeeper.

Mrs. Higgins departed, taking her air of frosty disapproval with her, and Ysella poured tea for Sam and herself. She held Sam's out to him.

He took it, and sat down on one of the upholstered chairs. "Thank you."

Ysella bit her lip. This was worse than awful. How could two people who up until just over a week ago had been the best of friends now have nothing to say to one another? "I take it that you don't often use this room," she tried. As an icebreaker, it lacked a lot.

Sam nodded. "I'm told my mother used it, but of course I don't remember as she died shortly after I was born."

Ysella nodded. The room did have an air of having been trapped in time. Were the ornaments on the mantel his mother's? Had she chosen the chaise longue and the other bits of furniture? Ysella had a disturbing sense of having intruded into his mother's domain, despite her death having been so long ago. "It's a lovely room."

Sam nodded. "I used to sneak in here as a child to see if I could capture her spirit."

This was better. "I do that in Papa's old study. Kit doesn't use it, so I thought no one but me ever went there. Until one day I found Mama there, sitting in Papa's old chair, sniffing his box of cheroots."

"I think we none of us want to abandon the past."

Ysella sipped her tea. It was a good China blend. "That's true." What to say now to keep this stilted conversation going?

Sam spoke into the awkward silence. "Your mother has sent Martha down to wait upon you, so we'll have two female servants in the house." He chuckled. "I think that might account for Mrs. Higgins' long face. She won't at all like having another woman about the place."

"Does that mean me, too?"

He pulled a wry expression by downturning his mouth. "I fear it might. She's been used to a bachelor establishment for a long time now. But you must be firm with her and take no nonsense. She may have begun as my housekeeper—well, as my father's housekeeper—but she is yours now, and she must listen to you. You are the lady of this house now."

Ysella wrinkled her nose. "I'm afraid I have to admit that I know very little about housekeeping. I fear Mama intended me not to have to concern myself with anything other than choosing what to order for dinner."

Sam smiled, the smile reaching his eyes and making them very tender. Ysella's susceptible heart, in need of succor, did a treacherous leap. Was she bad for wanting him to put his arms round her and hold her close? To make her feel safe and wanted? Because that was all she wanted right now. Nothing more.

He set his empty cup down. "In that case, do not concern yourself with the daily running of the house above telling Mrs. Higgins what you would like to eat. You may spend your days as you wish, Ysella, and you will not find me asking you to do otherwise."

"That sounds perfect. What I would like to do, then, is to ride out every day. I will be able to do that, won't I? Lochinvar is still in the Abbey stables, so I can walk up there and ride him if I want to?"

Sam's smile widened as though she'd said something pleasing. "Nonsense. I'll send James down with him and another horse every morning when I go up to start work in my office. I'm sure Kit won't object. James can accompany you on your rides."

Ysella sucked in her lips, pressing them together. Wouldn't it be nicer if her husband wanted to ride out with her of a morning? Much better than taking one of the grooms, even if it was James who'd shared her and Morvoren's adventurous dash into Cornwall a year ago. She'd have to work on that.