Mary Balogh - First Comes Marriage

Somehow spring had arrived late and almost unnoticed. How could she possibly have missed it? It was the end of March already, and spring was always her favorite time of the year. "Oh," she said, looking up at the man beside her with a bright smile, "look at all the spring flowers. Are they not lovely?" And the sun was shining, she noticed. The sky was a clear blue. "The ones in your hat?" he asked her. "They are indeed." And for one brief moment, before their guests came spilling out of the church behind them, it seemed to her that his eyes came close to smiling.

She laughed at the absurd joke - and felt suddenly breathless and weak-kneed. This man was her husband. She had just promised to love, honor, and obey him for the rest of her life. "Well, Vanessa," he said softly.

Ah. No one ever called her that - except his mother. How lovely her name was after all, she thought foolishly as she smiled back at him.

They were the last words he spoke privately to her for several hours.

Even during the carriage ride to Finchley Park for the wedding breakfast they had company, since the viscount's Aunt Roberta had had quite enough of her sister's whinings about drafts and carriage sickness during the ride to church and chose to ride back with her nephew and his bride. And since she had a word or two of warning to pass along to young Merton about all the pitfalls that would be awaiting him when he stepped into the wicked world of London later in the spring, she insisted that Stephen ride with them too.

The chapel bells pealed joyfully as they drove away.

Vanessa listened to them wistfully. No one else seemed to notice.

Elliott had decided a couple of weeks before the wedding - as soon as he had realized it was an event his whole family would wish to attend, in fact - that he and his bride would not spend their wedding night at Finchley Park. Although the house was large enough to accommodate everyone and he had his own private apartments there, he had no desire to bid everyone good night as he took his bride off to bed or to greet everyone at breakfast the next morning.

He had had the dower house down by the lake cleaned and prepared for them. He had had a few servants moved in there, including his valet and his wife's new maid. And he had announced to everyone at the house that after the wedding breakfast both the dower house and the lake would be out of bounds for three days.

Three days seemed a long time for them to be alone, and he hoped he would not regret his decision - though they could always go back to the house sooner if they became bored with each other's company, he supposed. But he felt the need of a few days in which to establish some sort of relationship with his wife. A sexual relationship anyway even if none other proved possible.

It was late in the evening by the time they left the main house. The revelries were still continuing there as they walked along the path that wound its way between wide lawns toward the lake. It was a night bright with moon and stars. Moonlight gleamed in a wide band across the water.

The air was cool, but there was no wind. It felt like spring at last.

It all seemed uncomfortably romantic. Vanessa's arm was drawn through his, but they had not spoken since the flurry of good nights back at the house. He ought to speak. It was unusual for him to feel uncomfortable, tongue-tied.

She was the one to break the silence. "Is this not beautiful beyond belief?" she asked him. "It is like a fairy wonderland. Is it not /romantic, /my lord?" He might simply have agreed with her. He had already thought similar things himself. But he chose to take exception to two of her words. /"My lord?" /he said, irritated. "I am your husband, Vanessa. My name is Elliott. Use it." "Elliott." She looked up at him.

She was still wearing the green dress in which she had been married. And she had put the absurd straw hat back on for the walk in the outdoors.

It was a pretty thing, he had to admit, and became her well.

They had arrived close to the bank of the lake, to where the path bent in order to approach the dower house from the front. For some reason they both stopped walking. "Do you not appreciate beauty?" she asked him, tipping her head a little to one side.

Another accusation. "Of course I do," he said. "You have looked very pretty today." It was only a slight exaggeration. He had found his eyes straying to her even more than was necessary on such a day. She had been bright with animation as she mingled with their guests. She had been vibrant with smiles and laughter.

She had looked happy.

In the moonlight he could see laughter light her eyes now. "I meant the beauties of nature," she said. "I was not fishing for a compliment. I know I am not pretty." "You also do not know how to accept a compliment when one is offered," he told her.

The laughter died from her face. "I am sorry," she said. "Thank you for your kind words. Your mother chose my dress and the color. Cecily chose the hat." Nobody, he realized with sudden insight, had ever called her pretty.

What must it have been like, growing up in a family in which her siblings were all extraordinarily good-looking while she was not? And yet she could still smile and laugh at life.

He set one forefinger beneath her chin and leaned forward to kiss her briefly on the lips. "Well," he said, "now that I look, I can see that /they /are rather pretty too." The dress and the hat, that was. "Oh, well done." She laughed. She also sounded rather breathless.

He had been celibate for far too long, he thought ruefully. He was very ready to proceed with the wedding night. Which was, he supposed, a good thing. "We had better go into the house," he said. "Unless you want more refreshments, I will show you to your room. Your maid will be waiting for you there." "/My /room?" she said. "I will visit you there later," he told her. "Oh." He was certain she was blushing, though the moonlight hid the evidence from his eyes. She was, he guessed, /very /close to being a virgin.

They were silent again then as they covered the remaining distance to the front door and he opened it to allow her to precede him inside. The caretaker and his wife were in the hallway ready to greet them, but Elliott soon dismissed them for the night.

He led Vanessa up the stairs, well lit by the candles in the wall sconces. She was his wife, he thought. He would bed her tonight - within the next hour, in fact - and for the rest of their lives there would be no one else but her.

It was a private vow he had taken very recently, though he was surprised that it had taken him so long to know his own mind. After his marriage, he had decided even before his return from London, he would be unswervingly monogamous, no matter how satisfying or unsatisfying he found his marriage bed to be. There was too much pain in the alternative.

He had only to look at and listen to his mother and his grandmother to understand that. His father and his grandfather had done them irreparable harm. And both ladies feared he would follow in the footsteps of his ancestors.

He would not. It was as simple as that.

It was not necessarily a happy resolution considering the identity of his bride. But it was a firm one nonetheless.

He stopped outside her dressing room and bowed over her hand as he raised it to his lips before opening the door. Her maid was busy inside there, he could see.

He turned in the direction of his own room.

VANESSA'S room overlooked the lake. The moon still shone across it in a wide silver band. The view was really quite breathtaking. And the house itself - the little she had seen of it anyway - was lovely.

But her mind was not really on either the moonlight or the house, which she would explore tomorrow.

She was in /her /room.

As opposed to /his/.

Or /theirs/.

She and Hedley had shared a room from the day of their marriage. She had assumed that all married couples did. With Hedley -

But she would not think of him tonight. She must not. She belonged to someone else now.

He had actually called her pretty on the way here. /Very /pretty, to be precise. He had almost joked with her, telling her that her clothes were pretty too - meaning that /she /was prettier, that it was /she /he had noticed first.

What a thorough bouncer! She sighed even as she smiled.

But he /was /capable of humor, even if only of a very dry kind. He was not inhuman.

Well, of course he was not.

She set her forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes.

The bed behind her had been turned down for the night. She was very aware of its presence. Perhaps she should be lying in it. But she kept remembering how he had accused her a month ago of offering herself like a sacrificial lamb. She would look like one - she would /feel /like one - if she lay there waiting for him.

She felt like a virgin awaiting the deflowering, she thought in some disgust. She was /not /a virgin. She was an experienced woman.

Well, /almost /experienced anyway.

And if her brain did not soon cease its incessant chattering she would surely go mad.

There was a tap on her door and it opened before she could either cross the room or draw breath to call out.

He was wearing a wine-colored dressing gown that covered him from the neck to the ankles. He looked menacing. And gorgeous too, of course.

His face was blank of any nameable expression. His eyelids were half drooped over his eyes, as they had been the first time she saw him. He was looking steadily at her and she could not help thinking of the very different reaction she must be provoking in him.