“That settled it,” said Nicholas. “More than three days fastened to this hideous lumpy mattress have made me more lame than the damned fire has, and all I can smell is lavender and cattle shit. I’m not sure which is worse. So I’m going to visit my wife.”
The earl narrowed his eyes. “This is wilful stupidity, and you know it, Nicholas. I doubt you even remember the girl’s name. If you were a little younger –”
“You would beat me senseless as so often before, dear Papa, or when too pissed to hold the belt yourself, have someone else do it for you.” Nicholas also narrowed his eyes, wedging himself up painfully against the bolster at his back. “But as you have so sensibly noticed, I am now a little too old for that, and you are a little too large in the paunch. I advise caution, my lord. And patience. For I now intend doing exactly as I wish.”
Baron Wrotham regarded his daughter with an expression closely resembling that with which the earl regarded his son. Emeline sat hunch shouldered as her father stood over her. The baron said, “After Mass, and after thanking the good Lord and all the saints for your preservation during such worthless female hystericals, you will then beg my pardon, Emeline. I shall be waiting for you in my chambers.”
Emeline nodded, keeping her eyes carefully on her lap. She had not yet been given the opportunity to dress, or even wash, and felt increasingly embarrassed. She mumbled, “Yes indeed, Papa. I am quite happy to beg your pardon now. For I am sincerely sorry, truly I am. I had a nightmare. I never meant to – inconvenience you, my lord.”
“Your very existence inconveniences me, Emeline,” said her father. “Even when contrite, you manage disobedience. But you will not thwart me, madam, and the longer you attempt wilful arrogance, the longer I shall call on the good Lord to punish you in an appropriate manner. So now, without argument, you will prepare yourself for Mass in the makeshift chapel below. You will cleanse yourself, clothe yourself modestly in one of your old gowns, and present yourself without delay at the Lord’s altar. Our own family priest awaits you and Father Godwin is ready to hear your confession and grant absolution. After this, and not before, you will make your apologies to me as I have intrusted you. Following that, you will begin to prepare yourself for your return to Gloucestershire in two days’ time.”
“Two days? Not tomorrow?” It was a relief, and would allow a little more time for discovering further excuses.
“You are a fool, Emeline, as I have always known,” her father informed her. “Tomorrow is a Sunday. I have never travelled on the Sabbath, and never shall, as you are certainly aware.”
She hung her head. “I had forgotten which day it was – so much has happened.”
It was as she pushed back the chair and stood, keeping the edges of her bedrobe meekly together and straightening her knees to disguise the trembling, that her very new husband walked in entirely unannounced. Nicholas limped heavily, and leaned on the shoulder of his page. His other arm was in a sling, his hands were thickly bandaged, and his face shone with both exertion and lard. His great sorrel bedrobe swept the floorboards as he struggled in, nodded to the baron, and collapsed on the high backed chair which his wife had just vacated. He stretched the more seriously injured of his legs out before him and, closing his eyes momentarily, said, voice rather faint, “Apologies for the improprieties, but perhaps I should not have left my bed after all.” He then opened his eyes again, and smiled at Emeline who hovered before him. “You look delightful, my lady,” he croaked. “Ashes and sackcloth suit you.”
The baron interrupted. “My lord, I am relieved to see you so much recovered. Although from the doctor’s reports, I feel sure you should still be abed for many days to come. I trust your good father has informed you that, under these unfortunate circumstances, we feel it best to take Emeline home with us for some months while you remain under doctor’s orders. We shall leave this coming Monday, sir.”
Nicholas looked up at his wife. “So eager to be gone, my dear?”
She shook her head and blushed, one eye to her father’s frown. “It is not – nor my own –”
And Nicholas said, “Perhaps you intend applying for an annulment?” and then looked up at the page boy now standing intent beside the chair. “Get wine,” he ordered him. “The cellars weren’t all destroyed, I presume? Bring the best of whatever remains.” He turned again to Emeline. “Well, madam? I know your feelings, and I think you know mine.”
The baron coughed. “I do not consider this to be an appropriate time, sir, but am I to understand–?” and was interrupted yet again. The door was pushed wide as the pageboy hurried out, and the baroness and Avice promptly hurried in with the slightly tumbled appearance of those who might possibly have been listening outside the door. Emeline sighed and the baron scowled.
“Emma dear, and my dear Nicholas,” said the baroness, recovering her dignity, “how delightful to see you well enough to leave your sickbed, though I hardly think –”
And Avice said, “Papa says Emma has to come home with us but she says she doesn’t want to.”
At which Nicholas raised one eyebrow, sat a little straighter and said, “How alarming.”
“Emeline’s wishes have nothing to do with this,” said the baron with deliberation. “It has been decided between myself and his lordship, your esteemed father.”
So Nicholas said at once, “On the contrary, my lord. My esteemed father’s wishes are of no consequence whatsoever.”
“Oh dear, it would be for the best, sir,” sighed the baroness. “With the Keep and all the principal chambers destroyed and yourself so shockingly injured, I cannot feel that Emma should remain, and it having been only four days since the wedding –”
At which point Emeline took a step forwards, cleared her throat, blushed again, and announced, “I cannot go home, Maman. I have decided – and would prefer – and the fact is,” with one wild look around at the hedge of impatient irritation surrounding her, continued, “I am – I believe I am – with child.”
The little fire sizzled on the hearth as the wind blustered outside the window and was funnelled down the chimney. Smoke billowed and the small arid chamber became suddenly fogged and acrid. There was, for a moment, total silence until Avice began to cough and squinted, saying, “Gracious. Is that how babies happen?”
Her Maman said quickly, “Emma my dear, after just four days? I hardly think – nor would anyone – and this does not seem the moment for such delicate –”
Nicholas was watching his young wife in considerable amusement. “My apologies, but I believe I should like a quiet word with my wife in private. If everyone would be so good?” And waited as the baroness hesitated, then clutched her younger daughter’s wrist, and left with one last desperate look over her shoulder.
The baron stood his ground. “My daughter is an innocent, sir, and has passed a night of disturbance and discomfort. Before that, there was the fire – the injuries – I fear she is unwell. I would prefer to speak to her myself first, also in private. I trust you do not object?”
Emeline stared from one to the other. Her father stood impregnable as she had always seen him. Nicholas sprawled, slack in the chair to which he clung. Bandaged, scarred and in pain, he could neither stand, nor should have left his bed. She had no idea why he had, since he showed little interest in where she had gone or why. But when he spoke, although his voice was weak, he said, “But I do object, my lord. It appears I have something of an intimate nature to discuss with my wife.”