His Makeshift Wife. Anne Ashley
and all, and you not having had a mother to guide you, so to speak.’
It took Briony a moment only to appreciate to what her dear Janet was alluding. It was perfectly true that she had no very real idea of what took place in the marriage bed, her godmother having only ever touched briefly on the subject by divulging that young brides had nothing whatsoever to fear, providing they had married considerate gentlemen.
She wasn’t so naïve as to suppose all females found the married state entirely to their liking. There were several young matrons in the locale, and not all appeared well pleased with their lot. But what did that matter to her? Her union was one of convenience only, therefore she had nothing to be concerned about.
‘Don’t trouble yourself on my account, Janet. I assure you I’m not in the least uneasy.’
‘Well, of course you’re not!’ Janet agreed, smiling reassuringly. ‘As I’ve mentioned before, Master Luke’s such a kind, considerate soul, one of life’s real gentlemen.’
And it’s in his own best interests to act like one if he desires the marriage to be annulled! Briony mused, attaining more reassurance out of this knowledge than any words of comfort the housekeeper might offer an innocent young bride.
‘And the way he looked at you in church!’ Janet continued, oblivious to her young mistress’s highly contrasting thoughts. ‘Fair touched my heart to see how much he cares for you!’
Briony scarcely knew what to say to this. She could hardly dismiss it as arrant nonsense, thereby arousing the housekeeper’s suspicions. Furthermore, Janet wasn’t fanciful as a rule. Evidently she’d seen something to make her suppose that Luke cared for his new bride. Clearly he was doing his utmost to appear the doting spouse. And she must at least attempt to do likewise!
‘I must own to having come to a—er—better understanding with Mr Kingsley soon after his arrival in Dorset.’
‘That goes without saying, mistress, otherwise you wouldn’t have wedded. And I’m so pleased you didn’t allow your head to rule your heart for very long. It’s plain to see you and Master Luke are made for each other.’
Oh, God! Briony inwardly groaned. Maintaining the pretence of a perfect union might well turn out to be far harder than she had ever imagined. How on earth was she going to pretend to be a blissfully contented married woman for a whole six months?
Striving not to dwell on the ticklish problem, she occupied herself with getting ready for bed. Not attempting to make conversation, and her rather business-like approach to changing into a freshly laundered nightgown didn’t appear to arouse the least suspicion in the housekeeper’s breast. It was only when Briony collected the book she had begun to read a day or so earlier, before settling herself in the bed, that the housekeeper’s greying brows shot up in surprise.
‘Why, Miss Briony!’ Dismay had clearly caused Janet momentarily to forget her young mistress’s new status. ‘You’re never thinking of reading … not on your wedding night?’
Briony was nonplussed for a moment. ‘Why ever shouldn’t I?’
Janet spread her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Well … because I swear I heard the master’s footsteps along the passageway a few minutes ago.’
‘In that case you’d best not tarry,’ Briony advised.
Which had clearly been the right thing to say, for an expression of approval replaced the look of bewilderment on the housekeeper’s face, a moment before she whisked herself out of the room.
Briony released her breath in a long sigh of relief, as she made herself comfortable against the mound of lacy pillows. At last she could relax with her book and forget about all the subterfuge, at least until morning.
No sooner had the comforting thought filtered through her mind than she detected the click of the door leading to the master bedroom and discovered none other than the tall figure of her husband filling the aperture.
More intrigued than unnerved, she found herself studying his attire, or lack of it, for beneath the crimson-brocade dressing gown she strongly suspected he was wearing absolutely nothing at all. Dark curling hairs clearly showed between ornately embroidered lapels, and there was a suspicion of the same dark covering caressing the ankles of unshod feet.
‘Is there something amiss? I was informed all your belongings had been placed in your room,’ she remarked as he slowly approached the bed, all at once seeming far taller and broader in his casual attire. His face seemed different, too—younger somehow, with several locks of waving brown hair tumbling over his forehead—and there was a definite intense, almost hungry look in those grey eyes that never for a second wavered from her direction.
‘Have you misplaced something, perhaps?’ she added, all at once feeling decidedly ill at ease when he seated himself, uninvited, on the edge of the bed and placed one bronzed hand so close to her that his thumb rested against her thigh.
‘Only my bride,’ he returned silkily, sending her unease soaring in an instant.
Her response was to draw up her knees and tug the bedcovers up to her chin, clutching them frantically. ‘You—you f-forget yourself, sir!’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded little more than a choked whisper. ‘Or have you forgotten the bargain you made?’
‘I forget nothing. But for appearances’ sake I felt I must at least—er—pay you a visit,’ he responded, his voice growing increasingly guttural. ‘So whilst I’m here I might as well avail myself of the opportunity to discover if, perchance, you’ve changed your mind and natural maidenly modesty forbids you to reveal that you desire to become a wife in … every sense?’
The response to this was a violent shake of the head, which sent silky chestnut tresses whipping across wide, frightened eyes, and induced slender tapering fingers to clutch more frantically at white linen, as though her very life depended upon it.
Luke wrested the bed sheet from her grasp as easily as if he were depriving a child of its toy and smiled softly. ‘There’s no need to look so terrified, Briony,’ he assured her, reaching out to trace the soft line of her jaw with surprisingly gentle fingers. ‘I’ve never yet forced myself on an unwilling female and I have no intention of doing so now. The marriage will be as you wish … mere pretence.’
Letting his hand fall, Luke rose from the bed. ‘I shall never again enter this room unless bidden to do so. You have my word on that. Goodnight, my dear.’
Briony couldn’t have responded even had she wished to do so. A painful obstruction had unexpectedly lodged itself in her throat, making speech impossible, and her pulse was racing, though no longer through fear. That portion of her face that had been touched by, oh, so gentle fingers continued to tingle strangely, and the unerring feeling that she had just rejected something very precious entered her mind and remained there to torment her long after she had watched the light disappear from beneath the communicating door.
By morning she was once again feeling more herself. Her resolve had reasserted itself and restored her determination to play her part in the mock union in order to secure what promised to be a very comfortable future existence, once the farcical marriage had been annulled.
She woke much later than usual, a circumstance that certainly didn’t seem in any way extraordinary to Janet, who brought in a breakfast tray and cast her young mistress a long, considering look. The smile she received in response appeared to please her because she went about the room humming a ditty as she twitched back curtains to her satisfaction and rearranged several items on the dressing table.
‘I trust you slept well, mistress?’
‘Eventually … yes.’
The housekeeper’s smile widened at this response. ‘Master Luke’s up and about already,’ she revealed. ‘I expect he wants to familiarise himself with all the old property again. People tend to forget that, apart from the large garden, the Manor has quite a bit of land attached to it. Besides which, two of his other people arrived earlier this