She did not know what to do when her second cup of tea was finished and still she was alone. She began to have painful visions of being forgotten there and of finally having to make up her mind to leave the room and find out where she was to go next. It was with great relief that she turned to the opening door and saw Mrs. Rush bustle in again.
"If you are warm and ready to leave the fire, my lady," she said, "I shall show you to your chamber. You need not fear that it will be unaired. I always see to it that there is a fire in the room twice a week and that bricks are put into the bed just as often. You will find a cheerful fire there now, and Bella has unpacked your boxes already and had everything put away for you. She will be your maid until you wish to make other arrangements. His lordship says that will be suitable, and I am sure that you will, like Bella. She dresses a head better than any ladies' maid I know, and she is a very cheerful sort of a girl. She does not talk your head off when you are trying to think of other things, like some servants I could name."
Anne smiled and allowed herself to be led away and to be fussed. It was from the housekeeper that she learned that dinner would be served at eight, and that presumably she would see her husband again that night. She had begun to wonder. Certainly it was proving to be a far stranger wedding day than she had ever imagined. Even during the past two days, when the viscount had been so silent, she had imagined that everything would be well once they were married and alone. She had conceded that he was in a very awkward position, living in a house that was not his own, constantly in the presence of her brother whenever he came indoors. He would be smiling and charming once more after their wedding, she had thought, and would show once again that he appreciated her as a woman. But she still waited.
The meal proved to be as painful as the journey earlier in the day had been. They sat in a very formal dining room at a table that would have seated twenty quite comfortably. Merrick sat at one end, Anne at the other. Even if they had wished to converse, they would have had to raise their voices to an unnatural pitch. But they exchanged hardly a word. Anne was constantly aware of the butler and a single footman almost ceaselessly walking between them bearing bowls and tureens, removing dishes of food that had hardly been touched. She looked anxiously down the table when the last course had been carried away. Did he expect her now to leave him alone with his port? Fortunately, Merrick picked up his cue on this occasion.
"I have given instructions that the fire in the drawing room need not be built up," he said. "I assume you are tired after our long journey?"
"Yes, my lord," she agreed. "I shall be glad to retire early to bed." And she blushed as she said the words. Was this part of the wedding day, at least, to be normal? Was there to be a wedding night? She noticed with sudden clarity his extreme handsomeness. He was no longer in the expensive but severe riding clothes that he had worn for the last several days, including his wedding, but in a russet satin coat over a gold brocade waistcoat and crisp white shirt with an elaborately tied neckcloth. His near-black hair was freshly washed and was brushed back in thick, soft waves from his face. The severity of his expression merely served to emphasize his quite devastating good looks.
She was equally aware of her own appearance. She wore a silk dress of olive green, her best, but she knew that its high neckline and natural waistline were not fashionable. And the plainness of the design served only to emphasize her unflattering plumpness. She was aware of her hair, which Bella had tried valiantly to coax into feminine ringlets, but which looked far too young with her round face. She felt hopelessly inferior.
"I shall follow you up in a short while," Merrick said stiffly, answering one of Anne's questions, at least. She left the room, hoping that her blush was not as obvious to the eye as it felt.
Merrick lifted to his lips the glass of port that Dodd had just filled for him, and stared ahead. It was far worse than he had expected. He could not understand now why he had allowed it all to happen. He should have made a firm stand right from the start. Bruce Parrish and the Reverend Honeywell should have been made to understand that Anne had extended only a very necessary hospitality to him on the night of the storm, that his very survival had depended on his staying there at the house. It had been quite ridiculous to claim that honor demanded that they marry. He should have pointed out to them in no uncertain terms that he was already betrothed, that he could not change the course of his whole life just to suit their strange notions of propriety. Miss Parrish's reputation need not be tarnished, anyway, if they chose to say nothing of the matter. No one knew of it except the four of them.
Instead, he had allowed himself to be manipulated by them just as if he had no will of his own. He found it difficult to understand himself. He was usually a leader, not a follower. He had never thought of himself as having a weak will. The worst of it was that he was more than ever convinced that he had been used very cleverly by Anne herself. His wife! She was so quiet, so timid. He had found annoyance growing against her all day. It was all so artificial. She was a clever little schemer, he was convinced, a woman quite capable of getting what she wanted without having any good looks or character with which to do so. He had waited all day for her to show her true self. Sitting beside her in the carriage, he had waited for her to begin to talk, to show her satisfaction in what she had achieved. He had waited for her triumphant reaction to the house, which was one of the most imposing in the country, though he had to admit that it was somewhat shabby.
The fact that she still persisted in the timid, innocent behavior that she had shown from the beginning only served to make him more irritated. This woman was his wife, yet she had never shown anything of her true self to him. This was his wedding night. Merrick gritted his teeth and motioned to Dodd to refill his glass. He hastily tried to drown out images of Lorraine as he had imagined her on such an occasion. He had not sent word to her or to anyone of the change in his state. He did not know how he was going to do so.
But he did know that he could not stay here. Redlands had never been a home to him. It had been his since the death of his father, but because he had been an infant at the time, he had been taken to live with his grandparents, visiting his own home only on rare occasions. By the time he grew up, the place had grown to look sadly neglected, and his own youthful tastes had run to more social pleasures than the country estate could supply. Under ordinary circumstances he would not have dreamed of bringing his bride here. It was not his idea of an ideal site for a honeymoon. He would not be able to face living here for any length of time.
At the same time, he could not face taking his wife to London. The Season would not begin for a few months yet, but the capital was crowded enough already now that winter had come. He would have to take her to numerous social activities, introduce her to the ton. His friends would see her. She would meet Lorraine and her parents. No, it was quite impossible. How could he bear to see the surprise and derision in everyone's eyes when they learned that he had wed in such haste a girl whom he would not normally afford a second glance? How could he bear to see her next to Lorraine and be painfully reminded of what he had lost? The contrast between them would be almost laughable: Lorraine tall and slim, exquisitely dressed, beautiful, while Anne was small and plump, dowdily clothed, and quite plain.