Eammon banged his walking stick against the roof of the carriage, and it sprang into motion. The vehicle jolted with such force that she was pushed backward, letting out a small yelp. He looked at her and smiled. “You ought to hold on. Jacques, our coachman, is somewhat of a rascal. I think sometimes he mistakes this carriage for a curricle or a pantheon—a racing vehicle.” A burst of laughter followed the statement.
What was there to laugh about? They were going to a place that was not her home but would be her prison. And here he was laughing.
“You will like the estate,” he said. “It is grand. Not that I can take all the credit for it. My father and my grandfather before him built it up into what it is today. I assure you it is very comfortable. As I said, your things will be there by now. And whatever you need, you shall buy. There will be a generous allowance.”
“An allowance?” She parroted the words and pictured herself having to ask him for her weekly pin money, the way she had her father.
“Of course. To purchase whatever it is that you ladies want: gowns, bonnets, ribbons.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss these things as frivolous foolery.
“They will all be brought over. I have already arranged it. And you will have a maid—Jean?”
“Jean is coming?” she asked, surprised, for she had expected him to assign her a maid at random. She did not take him for the considerate type, though given his actions regarding Ambrose and now this, perhaps she had to reconsider.
“Of course, I thought you would be more comfortable having a maid of your own. I believe she used to be your maid back at Pembroke.”
“Yes,” she said. “My mother removed her when she thought I was unwilling to wed.”
“I see. Mothers can be like that,” he said with a chuckle.
There it was again—that chuckle. Why was he laughing? Why did he think any of this was funny?
She glared at him, and that stopped his smile. He cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders back as he sat straight, crossing one leg over the other.
“You will, of course, let me know if there is anything you require. Once you are settled in, that is.”
Require…? But I require my freedom…
“Now that you have made me your wife,” she said, surprising herself, but she had not meant to say anything out loud. “Will you tell me why you insisted on this marriage? If your estate is so grand, it certainly cannot be my wealth, for my father was only a viscount.”
She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and she wondered if there was something she had been missing. Was he after her inheritance? Perhaps his estate was in trouble?
“I am well aware of who your father was. He and my father were close. And I assure you, I only sought this match for your protection.”
“Protection…?” He kept saying this. Could it be that her hunch was right and he was not doing as well financially as everybody thought and needed her dowry or her connections? What connections did she have?
“Protection against who? I cannot believe that you are so benevolent a man that you would step in to stop my first marriage to Markham only out of the goodness of your heart.”
He scoffed, shaking his head.
“No, Markham…You ought to be grateful to me for saving you from having to marry that brute. I know him well and I did you a favor. But no, I did not seek you to protect you only from him, but from other men like him. You are…” He shook his head. “I need not justify my actions to you. Know that you are safe, and you shall want for nothing.”
“Nothing but my freedom,” she replied this time, saying the words out loud. He flinched, then opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. After another beat passed, he took a deep breath, and it seemed he was about to issue what she assumed would be a stern rebuke when suddenly the carriage flew around the corner at increased speed, and she found herself flung left against the closed door and then, due to the momentum, bounced backward into his lap. For a moment, she remained in her rather awkward sideways position, her shoulder pressed against his lap and her head precariously hanging in mid-air, when she felt his hands on her shoulder.
“Goodness, I told you Jacques can be quite the reckless driver. You must be more careful.” As he spoke, his breath brushed past her cheek, and she caught a whiff of his scent. It smelled of equal parts brandy, strawberry from the cake they had eaten at the wedding breakfast, and mint, as though he had been chewing on a comfort. Oddly enough, it was a most pleasant scent that momentarily put her at ease. She realized what it was—the peppermint her own father always adored and kept near. She had always associated that scent with home.
His strong hands wrapped around her shoulders to help her sit up. Once she was upright, she found herself utterly flustered, for between the scent and the precarious position she had ended up in on his lap, and the touch of his strong hands around her shoulders made her head began to spin. Who was this man, and why was he making it so difficult to hold onto her rage?
As if he had read her mind, he smiled once more. “We are passing the stable yard now. That is where Ambrose will be staying. Beyond that, we shall see Hayward—your home.”
She turned away from him and focused on the outside when the grand residence came into view. There it was—three stories tall and as imposing as Stafford House. It truly was magnificent. Likewise, the gardens were meticulously kept, and gravel walkways led down to a lake on one side and to what might be a statue garden on the other, with another leading back to where she assumed the wash house was located. The estate was much larger than Pembroke and even larger than Millie’s parents' home.
She took a deep breath as she realized this house was the kind of place she had always envisioned herself living. The garden was of the sort where she had pictured presiding over tea parties, and the tidy paths were like the ones she had thought one day she might run along with her children toward the lake, where they might feed the?—
However, the man sitting beside her was not the man she had envisioned as her husband, and this life she was about to embark on was not the one she had dreamed of.
CHAPTER11
Eammon
