Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 7

  James immediately nodded, surprising her. “Yes. New things can be just as wondrous.”

  Then he smiled at her, a gentle curve of his lips that made her heart flutter. Her breath caught, and she was stunned at her response. It wasn’t simply his smile, though he truly had a wonderful smile, but the way he looked at her.

  His words, their meaning, and the very direct way he spoke them to her, only her.

  It was an echo of something intangible, the way he looked at her. She grasped at it, but it slipped through her fingers.

  Rose felt an answering smile on her lips. She started to speak, though whether to agree or ask what new things or simply consent to move forward, she did not know.

  “Sir, ma’am, Mrs. Wallis, the dressmaker, has arrived,” Barrett said, effectively interrupting them.

  Rose stepped back, swallowed hard, and tried to control her breathing. She looked from James to Barrett then out the window, a whole new problem now before her.

  “Show her to the parlor,” James instructed. He waited until Barrett left then turned to her. His hand hovered by her cheek as if to cup it or raise her gaze to his, but he did not touch her.

  “Do—” He cut himself off and she looked up at him. “Would you allow me to join you in choosing fabrics for your new gown?”

  Relieved, and not a little overwhelmed at the turn her life took, Rose nodded. “I’d enjoy that.”

  She was only a little surprised that she meant it.

  Chapter Nine

  ROSE TOOK HAMILTON’S carriage to her favorite modiste. Situated on the other side of town from James’s townhouse, Helene’s was not only affordable—a definite plus with Robert’s notoriously tightfisted ways and even more notorious temper—but Helene herself was a close friend. And today, a week after her sudden wedding, Rose needed a friend.

  James had, thus far, kept his distance. Well, in the marriage-bed sense. He kept his promise though every night since their wedding Rose waited, tense and unable to sleep, for him to appear in her bedchambers. He hadn’t, however, and lulled her into a sense of security.

  At the very least, she finally had a decent night’s sleep.

  Still, she needed to speak with someone, and Helene was the only person Rose thought of who would lend a sympathetic ear.

  Dressed in one of her newer gowns, a beautiful blue creation of the finest wool, Rose pushed open the door to Helene’s. She glanced around the modestly crowded interior at midday, and looked for her friend. Several customers watched her curiously, but Rose ignored them.

  “Rose!” Helene called and glared. “You’ve finally decided to inform me of your marriage! I cannot believe you have not visited to tell me of this before now.”

  Rose winced but maintained her smile. Apparently news of her marriage spread. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised, not with Robert’s insistence on her marrying James for his own gain.

  “Helene,” Rose said softly, refusing to look around the shop. “Forgive me? That was not my intention.”

  “Forgive me,” Helene said, but her frown remained. “I simply jested. You could never invite a woman like me to so distinguished a wedding.” She blanched and quickly added, “Mrs. Hamilton.”

  “No, Helene,” Rose disagreed, though her stomach flipped at the title. Even after a week of hearing it from James’s servants, she hadn’t expected an old friend to call her such. “It’s still just Rose.”

  Helene gestured to the rear, where she kept tea and cakes in a private sitting area. Rose didn’t look back as she ducked behind the curtain, grateful for Helene’s understanding and discretion.

  “Are you not excited to marry a man of such note?”

  “It was not a marriage,” Rose said slowly, “as I expected a marriage.”

  “Perhaps tea will help,” Helene offered and poured two cups. “Now, why are you vexed? Clearly you are.”

  “Helene,” Rose began slowly, “we’ve known each other since I was young. My mother brought me here for my very first dress fitting. I feel,” she added with a soft smile, “as if you’re family.”

  Helene watched her shrewdly and slowly set her teacup down. “Your mother and I were inseparable friends,” she agreed. “And I had hoped to dress you for your day, but I recognize with such a marriage it could not be.”

  Rose bit her lip against telling the beautiful modiste what she actually wore to her wedding. Instead she sipped her tea and cleared her throat.

  “I understand it was a very quick courtship.” Helene looked shrewdly at her, and Rose wondered if she heard all the rumors and wished to know what exactly those rumors were. “How did this happen?”

  “I—” Rose set the teacup down and stared at it for a long minute. Raising her eyes to Helene’s, she almost laughed. “I’m not exactly sure myself.”

  “How do you mean?” Helene asked. “I know the courtship was fast, but—” She cut herself off and looked to Rose’s belly.

  Rose nearly laughed, except she was afraid the laugh would turn hysterical and she’d never be able to stop. “No. Heavens, no. Mr. Hamilton is…an odd sort,” she confessed. “We were acquainted for an extremely short time before our marriage.”

  Helene looked as if she wanted to know details, but Rose wasn’t up to divulging those. As much as she thought she wanted to confide in Helene, suddenly Rose didn’t want to share the strange intimacy that had developed between them this last week.

  “The entire affair was rather peculiar,” Rose said instead. “Mr. Hamilton arranged things with my father. Have you ever heard of such things with people like us? Why would Mr. Hamilton wish to arrange marriage with a girl such as me?”

  “Darling, you’re a wonderful girl!” Helene smiled. “Smart and witty and fun.” But her face fell, the smile transforming into a frown. “However, I see what you mean,” she added in a softer voice.

  Rose only nodded. What else could she do?

  “Has he…mistreated you in…any way?” Helene asked, sounding more like a dear friend than her dressmaker.

  “No.” Rose shook her head adamantly. “He’s been the perfect gentleman. He’s promised me anything I desire or ever want for.”

  Slowly Helene nodded and leaned over the table. Her larger fingers closed over Rose’s, and she patted her fingers softly. “Then do not look at Mr. Hamilton, or your marriage, as odd. Consider your marriage fortunate.”

  Helene paused and released Rose’s fingers, though her gaze remained hard and focused. “I’ve seen so many young women marry in blissful happiness, who did not understand what some marriages entail. There are rough men, cheaters. No matter what class you hail from, there are always rotten men.”

  “I do not believe Mr. Hamilton to be a rotten man,” Rose said slowly. “However, I wish he offered me more time to adjust to the idea of marriage. To be elevated to such a position.” She stopped and sipped her tea, though she didn’t want the drink. “Unlike most women, I don’t simply want position. I want happiness.”

  She set the cup back on the table and bit back further words. As much as she loved Helene and as much as she trusted her, what happened in the last week between her and James, the strange dreams, the tales of Scotland, were between them only.

  “Be grateful for what you have, Rose.” Helene nodded firmly. “Find happiness within it. Many have thought happiness lay in a pair of beautiful blue eyes, only to realize later their folly.” Helene slapped her hands on her thighs and stood. She watched Rose for a long moment and grinned widely. “Now, shall I show you my most expensive fabrics?”

  Rose laughed and stood as well. The weight that followed her since marrying James hadn’t disappeared, but it had lightened. It was something, she thought as she waited for Helene to pull her fabrics. For the moment, it was more than enough.

  * * * *

  ROSE HADN’T SLEPT well since her marriage. Despite James’s promise to wait until she was ready, she spent most of her nights wound tight. Those first nights, the dread in the pit of her stomach choked her a
nd she paced her rooms, just waiting.

  Then, as it became clear James was not going to demand anything from her save cordiality, Rose simply waited to see what happened next. Her confusion over his actions—or inactions—kept her awake long into the night.

  Tonight, after her conversation with Helene and having admitted to herself, at least, that James was an honorable man, Rose expected to easily fall into sleep.

  But her thoughts whirled with images of the dresses Helene promised her and of the occasions she might wear them to and who she might be sitting with. The idea of having tea with the Duchess of Strathmore terrified her.

  The idea of doing anything with a duchess terrified her.

  She hadn’t ever so much as entertained the idea of tea with a duchess, let alone met one. And while the other woman was polite and cordial, Rose had no idea how to behave. Her upbringing had not prepared her for any bit of her life with James.

  Lady Octavia had been the kindest to her, the most understanding, Rose wanted to say. Even so, Lady Octavia was so far above her station that Rose often found herself tongue-tied and at a complete loss with all of them.

  No, she never envisioned this sort of life for herself. A shop merchant? Oh yes, she long thought she’d marry a man who owned his own business. And they’d have gatherings in the back after hours with noise and laughter and drinking.

  Here, Rose discovered silence. And that silence lent her time to think. Life among the rich was far quieter than she envisioned. Of course she’d yet to attend any sort of party or gathering outside those few women James considered friends. Mayhap large balls were very noisy, with copious amounts of wine.

  Rose didn’t know.

  Throwing the covers off, she slipped from her bed and paced to the window. The panes were cool against her palm, but she welcomed the shock of it. In the darkness below, Rose couldn’t make out details, only vague shapes of the gardens and benches, the walls and gate.

  Though exhaustion tugged her limbs, Rose turned from the window and grabbed her dressing gown. She spent the last week in her rooms, reading or watching the outside world, not comfortable enough to venture beyond these walls to do more than speak with Cook or search the library for a new book.

  Tonight, with the household silent and a restlessness she didn’t understand, Rose opened her bedroom door and slipped out. The hallway lay in blackness, but she didn’t bother with a candle as she silently made her way down the corridor.

  She didn’t know where she wanted to go, what she wanted to see and explore, and simply wandered. Which was how Rose found herself in the gallery. Even with no candle or outside light, she knew she stood before the painting of Scotland that James showed her that first day. The large castle that felt so familiar.

  It hadn’t looked familiar; Rose certainly couldn’t say she’d seen it before. But the feeling of it, the way her heart flipped when she first laid eyes on it, the soul-deep knowledge that she knew that place.

  Shaking her head, she quickly left the gallery. Drawn as she was to the painting, Rose didn’t want to dwell on a room she visited many times. She wanted to explore the rest of the house without the servants watching her as if she didn’t belong. Without waiting for James to suddenly appear out of nowhere.

  Mayhap she would visit the library, explore the section on—what had James said?—pirates. Rose almost laughed and suddenly felt lighter than she had in a week. Longer, actually. But she shook away the heavy weight living with Robert pressed against her shoulders.

  Once in the library, Rose tugged open the curtains to allow a little light.

  “Rose?”

  Jumping at the voice, Rose banged her knee against the windowsill. Cursing, she rubbed her throbbing knee and turned to face James.

  “I’m sorry,” James said, sounding both contrite and amused. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  Only faint light illuminated the library, but even so she saw his grin widen. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. Nerves continued to jitter in her belly, but she straightened and managed a small smile.

  “I suppose my face in the darkened night can be considered that of a warlock,” he added, still smiling.

  Rose laughed, more of that tension fading. “No. No, James, I’d never think such a thing. Especially not of a man who wanders his own home.”

  Whatever he’d been about to say, James paused. “You wander your own home as well,” he reminded her.

  Rose couldn’t pinpoint the tone of his voice, the strange depth there, the waiting for her to acknowledge it. Instead she nodded and waved a hand around the room. “I wanted to explore your library,” she admitted.

  James stepped back just enough to allow her to walk past him, away from the window. She kept him in her peripheral gaze as she wandered to the bookcase he showed her that first day.

  “You remembered.”

  Rose paused and looked over her shoulder.

  “You remembered where I said my mother kept all her scandalous little novels,” he elaborated.

  “Well,” she said and grinned, “if there’s no scandal in a novel, then what fun is it?”

  His laugh, rich and warm, washed over her. “No fun at all.” James looked at her but pointed to a short row of books just below her sight. “These are my favorites.”

  He walked away and sat in one of the chairs bracketing the banked fire. Rose tore her gaze from him and blinked blindly at the books he pointed out. She grabbed the first one she saw and turned back to face him.

  Lifting her chin, Rose closed the distance between them and sat in the chair opposite his. She wanted to remain proper, back straight, feet on the floor. But her toes were chilled, despite her slippers. Curling her feet beneath her, Rose angled her body to face him and waited.

  “I know why I’m up at this hour,” she started quietly. The darkness of the library invited intimacy, and though she barely knew James, Rose was loath to break it. “Why are you roaming these halls?”

  James paused and simply watched her for a long moment. “Restless, I suppose.”

  She only partly believed him and wondered what he normally did in the evenings, late into the night. He’d spent this last week with her; they’d dine then she’d retire to her rooms. Rose never asked how he spent his nights.

  “It’s been an odd week,” he confessed.

  Rose’s breath caught, and she waited for him to continue.

  “I’m learning to be a married man,” he added, his gaze on hers.

  She raised an eyebrow and offered a short laugh. “That’s how I described it to a friend earlier today,” she admitted. “Everything is odd—strange and new. And, I admit, I’m at a loss as to how to handle it all.”

  “Besides our wedding day,” he said, drawing out the words. And again, she couldn’t place his tone. “What is it you find strange?”

  Rose only stared at him. Surely he understood the sheer impossibility of every single thing that happened from the moment she stepped into Robert’s study to see James Hamilton standing here until this moment. But he simply waited, steady and patient, and Rose relented.

  “There are many things strange with our marriage,” she began and tried to add a lightness she didn’t quite feel. “I’m unused to being of this station. To having a household this large to manage. And having acquaintances who are so highborn.”

  “You cannot allow them to intimidate you,” he said far more forcibly than she expected. “They are the same as you and I.” His smile returned. “And in many cases, far worse. While I trust a dockworker more than I trust Lord Cumberry—”

  Rose laughed but didn’t interrupt. She saw the humor fade from his face, and her stomach did that strange flip again.

  “It’ll take time, I understand,” James said softer now, more earnestly. “This new way of life. But I do hope that with time you’ll come to enjoy it.”

  “Of course.” Rose said the words immediately and wondered where they came from. “It’s simply…overwhelming. I had not expected
my life to take this turn. I always thought I’d one day manage my husband’s shop or manage my husband’s books as I have my father’s.”

  She paused and shook her head, once more shocked at the turn her life took. No, she never, ever imagined this.

  James grinned and stood, walking between his chair and the cold fireplace and back again. But never looking away from her. “I always wondered what it’d be like to manage a shop. Would I berate the customers into buying my goods? Or would I swindle them?” He shrugged and gave her that smile again. “Until I had a string of shops.”

  Rose laughed. She stood as well and gestured as she spoke, feeling far more comfortable than she had ever felt in James’s presence. “I do believe the customers would swindle you. You’d be surprised what it takes to run a shop in London. It’s not ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘Right away, sir.’ It’s ‘Keep your grubby hands off my fine linens,’ and ‘You still owe me six tuppence!’ That is how you must run your shop.”

  James laughed, a full sound that wound its way through her with a warmth she hadn’t expected.

  When had they moved closer? When had she moved at all? Rose remembered standing, but when had she walked the steps that brought her closer to James? That same warmth curled through her, and she felt more relaxed than she ever remembered being.

  “I think we could do it.” James nodded confidently. “A shop right on Bond Street. I’ll see the gentlemen pay their bills, and you’ll see the ladies buy overpriced baubles.”

  Rose laughed with him, and didn’t move away. She looked up at him and simply waited, more settled than she thought a simple midnight conversation would ever make her. But then she stopped herself. Licking her lips, she stepped back. Broke whatever connection developed between them.

  “A fun thought,” she admitted, her voice low and hoarse. “But I think it’s time I retire with my book.” She took another step back then another, but didn’t look away from him. “Good night.”

  Chapter Ten

  TWO WEEKS; JAMES hardly believed he had Rose with him for these last two weeks. Even if they did not sleep in the same bed, the mere fact she now lived in his home—in their home—comforted him.