Marriage of Inconvenience. Cheryl Bolen

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СКАЧАТЬ to undertake such a charge. I felt as if the Lord were guiding me to you. To you and your children.”

      Thankfully, the serving woman entered the chamber, saving him from having to reply. He would not have known what to say, he was so stunned. He hadn’t thought of God in a long while, but now he did. He, too, could feel God’s hand in this marriage. Why else would a sensible, pragmatic man like himself have agreed to so speedy a marriage with a woman with whom he had scarcely ever communicated?

      After they ate, Aynsley turned to his wife, one brow hiked and a grin pinching his cheek. “A most peculiar wedding night this is.”

      “Thank you for being so understanding.”

      He lifted her hand to brush the back of it with a sterile kiss. “Don’t give the matter another thought. Earning your trust is all I ask. For the present,” he added wickedly.

      A parlor maid carrying a candle led them up a flight of dark, narrow wooden stairs to their chambers. “These rooms at the top of the stairs are fer yer lordship and ladyship,” she said. “They should be nice and toasty now. Yer servants have already laid yer own linens on the beds.” She curtsied and took her leave.

      His gaze flicked to his bride, who stood in her doorway. “Tomorrow will be another long day. I shall ask to be awakened at dawn. We’ll dress and eat, then hopefully push off by seven.” My, but you’re pretty. And uncommonly intelligent.

      “A very good plan.”

      * * *

      The first night of their journey Rebecca had been too exhilarated to sleep. For that is how she felt now. After eight-and-twenty years of utter loneliness and a melancholy acceptance that she was different, she had at last found someone who thought like she did. She even began to believe that with Lord Aynsley she could salvage a semblance of a normal life.

      Throughout the long night she had recollected every word of every one of their conversations and mentally added new topics to discuss with her husband the following day.

      On the second night of the journey, her body cried out with fatigue, but she could not sleep then, either. But this time for entirely different reasons.

      Now she found herself wondering about Lord Aynsley the man. Had he loved his first wife terribly? Had theirs been an affectionate marriage? The very thought of him with someone else ignited a strange sensation. Good heavens! Was it jealousy?

      She also thought about his confession that he had shut God out of his life. Please, Lord, help me help him find You again.

      She felt completely at ease with her husband and was coming to know him as she had never known any man. She had learned of his fondness for plum pudding, his disdain for men who could not hold their liquor, and she had come to relish the ready grin she seemed so capable of eliciting from him.

      He was coming to know her well, too. The last day of their journey he sat across from her in the carriage, a concerned look on his face. “You did not sleep well,” he said.

      His words jarred her from reverie. “How did you know?”

      That rakish grin on his face, he studied her. “I’m coming to know your face rather well.”

      The interior of the coach at once seemed a most intimate place. She felt as if all that mattered in the world was enclosed within that cubicle, that nothing else existed. This was uncomfortable territory for her. Equally as disconcerting was the way he continued to watch her so intently.

      Did he stare at her because he found her wanting? If he’d been able to determine she had not slept, the evidence of her sleeplessness must show in her face. “I must look wretched,” she finally said. What was happening to her? Rebecca never gave consideration to her appearance.

      “Not at all. You’re lovely.”

      Men never said she was lovely. “You, sir, will put me to the blush.” She could now add blushing to her areas of expertise.

      “I’m sorry you’ve been unable to sleep,” he murmured. “I expect the mattress is not what you’re used to.”

      “I’ll be fine once we get to Dunton. When will we arrive there?”

      “Before dark.”

      Her thoughts flitted to her new home, and she realized she would take the chambers occupied by the former Lady Aynsley. “Will I be given...your wife’s rooms?”

      “You are my wife, Rebecca.”

      It suddenly seemed very hot within the carriage. Intimate. Did the intimacy account for her sudden urge to pry? She vowed to be less personal, but her resolve dissipated before five minutes had passed. “What was her name?” Rebecca asked.

      “Your predecessor?”

      He had cleverly chosen not to call the former Lady Aynsley his wife. “Yes.”

      “Dorothy.”

      “Do you miss her dreadfully?”

      “It’s been a long time. I can’t even remember what her voice sounded like.”

      How neatly he had avoided answering her question. “Were you utterly heartbroken when she died?” What’s wrong with me? Rebecca never dwelled on personal matters. She’d always concerned herself with ideas, not people.

      “She’s dead, Rebecca. You’re my wife now, and we’ll make a new life. It’s very important to me that you’re happy.”

      It didn’t seem that her happiness had ever mattered to anyone else before. Maggie, of course, loved her, but had never understood her. In that instant, in that cozy carriage, Rebecca came to believe that she did matter to this man who had honored her with his name. “I’ve never been happier,” she whispered.

      “I wonder if you’ll feel that way a year from now.” His voice softened. “I sincerely hope so.”

      * * *

      That afternoon they passed through Birmingham. Aynsley had always found the city’s jungle of bulging, belching, blackening factories oppressive. Now, he wished to gauge Rebecca’s reaction. She seemed unable to remove her face from the glass as their carriage jostled over the filthy streets, and it was not until the city’s unhealthy haze was behind them that she spoke. She turned from the window to face him, an incredibly solemn look on her face. “My heart bleeds for those people.”

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