While the newlyweds were partaking of champagne and the various specialties of the chef and sous-chef at Kettleston Hall, Ian was closeted in his study with the Bishop of Coultrip.
Everyone had been in bed when the servant had come for Ian. Fortunately, Jane hadn’t wakened, twelve days of celebration having taken their toll. Ian met Aubrey in his study, the bishop immediately assuring Ian that Caroline wasn’t being kept against her will. She and the duke were in fact, married. He handed Simon’s note to the earl.
Ian read it quickly. “Married,” he breathed. His gaze snapped up and he looked at Aubrey sharply. “Are you real?” He indicated the clerical collar with a flick of his hand.
“Yes.” But Aubrey’s voice indicated a small measure of his unease.
“Did he make you do this?” Ian challenged, taking note of the cleric’s discomfort.
“No.” If Aubrey were a religious man, he would have had to pray over the ambiguities in his answer.
“You say she wasn’t forced?”
“She seemed very happy when I left,” Aubrey replied, choosing his words carefully; there was no point in stirring up unnecessary debate.
Ian tapped the note. “He says I’m not to visit for a fortnight.”
“Perhaps-I mean… their, er, honeymoon… might-ah…”
“She’s fine now?” Ian dropped into a chair, a faint frown creasing his forehead. “You’re sure?”
“I believe they’d planned to marry several years ago, but had some disagreement”
“Simon no doubt refused.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
Ian’s expression registered surprise. “She refused him?”
“It rather seemed that way according to the duke.”
“Good God!… er, beg pardon. But Simon rejected? As long as I’ve known him, he’s been fighting off the ladies.”
Aubrey cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps fighting off matrimony would be more precise; his reputation reflects a rather different approach to… er, the ladies.”
Ian suddenly smiled. “‘Pon my word. So, he was finally caught. I think that awe-inspiring event calls for a drink!” He came to his feet. “Care to join me, parson?”
“Perhaps a wee dram.”
Ian looked back on his way to the liquor table. “You like our whiskey?”
“I grew fond of it while studying in Edinburgh.”
“Our Northumberland stills are first-rate. Let’s see,” he murmured, surveying his choices. “Why don’t we try the whiskey from Talbot vale first?”
Chapter 25
The wedding dinner didn’t remain long in the dining room.
Simon had more pressing interests on his mind.
Although, he was infinitely polite when he suggested, “Why don’t we have the servants bring some of this food upstairs?”
Caro grinned. “You’re afraid I’ll spill on this gown.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid I’ll spill on your gown.”
She slanted a glance his way. “You always were impatient.”
It had been four weeks, three days, and twenty-one hours he wished to say, hardly an instance of impatience. “I’ve good reason,” he said instead, rising from his seat. “I’ll ring for the servants. Pick out what you want; I’ll have some champagne.”
The footmen were given their directions. Picking up Caro’s train, Simon draped it over his arm and offered her his hand. “So far, this marriage is going very well,” he said, his smile affectionate as he led her from the room. “I’ll have to write my mother and tell her she was wrong.”
“Oh, Lord.” Caroline made a small moue. “Do I have to take orders from Isabella? If so, I may consider an annulment” A not entirely facetious remark.
“Relax, darling. I won’t let her touch you.”
Her brows lifted faintly. “I’m not sure you have sufficient authority.” Caroline knew Simon’s mother. They’d both avoided her whenever possible during their childhoods.
“Remember who controls the exchequer, darling. She’s relatively manageable.”
“I hope you don’t consider me in the same light.”
His guffaw echoed through the high-ceilinged corridor. “Darling, you’ve never been manageable.”
She flashed him a smile. Thank you.“
Once they reached Simon’s apartment, Caroline suggested Simon wait for the servants in the sitting room. “Tell them to put all the food in here. I’m going to freshen up.”
He glanced at her, her tone as odd as her mannered phrase. But maybe women had some esoteric rituals they performed on their wedding night-freshening up a case in point, “Yes, dear,” he replied.
“What does that mean?”
Maybe they both were on edge. He kept his voice exquisitely noncombative. “It means, yes, dear, I will tell them where to put the food.”
She looked at him. “That’s all?”
He opened his arms. “I swear.”
“Sorry.” She exhaled softly. He smiled. “Go. I think I can take care of this.” The footmen arrived a few moments later with the food, an extra table to hold it and several bottles of champagne on ice. Simon oversaw the disposition of the items and once the servants had withdrawn, he went to fetch Caro.
On opening the bedroom door, he came to a stop, a slow smile forming on his lips. “What do we have here?” he drawled. “Am I a pretty package?”
She was lounging nude against a mass of pillows, all the jewelry he’d given her artfully displayed on her voluptuous form. Bracelets sparkled on her wrists and ankles, several necklaces were layered at her neck, her fingers glittered with rings, a long string of pearls was wrapped around her waist and the ruby tear-drop earrings shimmered in her ears.
He hung in the doorway, his hands braced against the door frame, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen you like that?”
“But now this jewelry is mine, not your mothers.”
“I always thought mother’s jewels looked better on you than they did on her.
“Do you remember the ones you couldn’t see?” His eyes shut for a fraction of a second and when they opened again, a visible heat glowed in their depths. “I remember,” he murmured.
“You can come closer. I won’t bite,” her voice dropped to a silky whisper, “unless you want me to. And if you find the hidden jewels, you win an additional prize…”
He didn’t move or speak for a moment.
“Frightened?” she murmured.
“On the contrary.” He smiled. “I was debating my options. Do you like your jewels?”
“I adore them.” She adored more that he’d taken the trouble to care. Or had Gore selected these? Don’t ask, she told herself. You may not like the answer. “Did you buy these?” She touched her earrings. “Or did Gore?”
“Does it matter?” He let his hands drop and stood in the doorway resplendent in full evening attire- including ruffles on his shirt front in honor of the occasion.
Be polite, some inner voice reminded her. “I suppose it does,” she replied, ignoring her voice of discretion. “Actually, it does. Odd, isn’t it, considering the manner of your proposal?”
His mouth quirked faintly. “I thought my proposal was courteous. Your acceptance on the other hand,” his lashes lowered marginally. “And yes, I bought them,” he added, understanding the answer mattered, like it mattered to him that they were married. “I knew you liked rubies and the rest”-he half-lifted his hand- “were for your amusement.”
“When did you buy them?”
His brows arched as he moved toward her. “Why the catechism?”
She shrugged, her need to know as ambiguous as her feelings that fluctuated wildly.
“I bought them in London four days ago. I wanted you to have jewels of your own.”
“You say that to all your paramours, no doubt.”