Page 14 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
Eleanor shook her head. They had been traveling since ten o’ clock in the morning with a brief stop for luncheon at an inn, and it was two o’ clock in the afternoon already.
“No. I am not over-fond of coach trips,” she replied.
“I see. Well, luckily, then, there is only an hour left before we reach Ramsgate,” he replied. Eleanor let out a breath.
“Good,” she said softly.
He chuckled. “An honest answer.”
Eleanor looked at him without speaking. She had no idea what to understand from that comment. He made strange comments sometimes, ones that seemed positive, yet she could not be certain of that. His stare, too, confused her. It was warm and interested, and it set her on fire, a strange discomfort that was also oddly something that she welcomed filling her each time he looked at her.
And yet, his kiss had been a mere brush of lips against hers in the church.
She looked down at the silk.
“If you like,” Lord Glenfield said after what felt like an age, but was probably three minutes, “we can stroll about the grounds when we arrive. It might help you feel refreshed after the long ride.”
“Mayhap,” she agreed. She cleared her throat. As theyapproached his home, she found herself feeling more uncomfortable. The last week or two, while her family and his had arranged the ceremony, had passed in a sort of mist, and she had allowed herself to forget about the reality that was approaching. In the coach, it was not possible to imagine that it was all some wild dream. She was really traveling to Ramsgate Manor in the Kentish countryside, and she was really wed to Lord Glenfield.
She was going to his home where they would spend their first night as a married couple.
She took a deep breath. Betty had talked to her a little—a very little, and mostly in euphemistic ways—about that and what it might mean. Some of it, she had learned from the French novels she’d borrowed from her friends. The realities of what that meant remained largely shrouded in uneasy references, but she had some ideas of what it entailed, and the merest thought made her blush scarlet.
Would she really be expected to do...that...with a complete stranger? She looked at him.
He was turned sideways, his face in profile, but as if he could feel her stare, he turned, and his eyes met hers.
She blushed, heat flooding her. His gaze was dark, a rich brown like chocolate, and it held hers firmly. She swallowed hard.
“Um...do you have very large grounds at Ramsgate?” she asked, clearing her throat, trying to think of something that would distract her and diffuse the tension she felt.
“Quite large, yes,” he said at once, as if he appreciated her efforts to talk. “The grounds themselves are two acres, but the estate is, of course, much larger.”
“Oh.” Eleanor stared. Their garden at Woodford had seemed immense at half an acre. Imagining grounds four times that size was almost beyond her. She gaped at him and then turned,blushing, to stare through the window. Her mind filled with trying to visualize the house and the gardens and what it might be like.
“My father likes gardens,” Lord Glenfield observed. “He had some plans to create a water garden at Ramsgate—they have, in part at least, been acted upon. The barest outline of the water garden now exists. My mother liked gardens too, but, well...since she passed away, there has not been much interest paid to them.” His voice was tight.
“Oh.” Eleanor’s heart twisted. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you. It was a very long time ago.” His voice was still tightly formal, the pain she could hear there not matching up with his dismissive words.
Eleanor swallowed. “I’m still sorry to hear of it,” she said gently. She looked out of the window, watching the trees. A thought slipped into her mind, relieving her dark thoughts. “A water garden?” She had seen such gardens before, at the estates of nobles who they had visited for the odd private ball. A garden based around a large pond or small lake, usually featuring a willow tree or bridge, if it was large enough, and water-loving plants like irises and lilies—water gardens were beautiful.
“Yes. You ought to see it in around half an hour,” he added, staring out of the window. “Or a little bit longer. I believe we are nearing the house.”
“Oh. Good,” Eleanor said, feeling nervous. She rested her hands on the smooth silk of her gown and tried to think about gardens. Everything else was too intimidating.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, and then she cleared her throat.
“Do you prefer the country?” she asked quietly. “Or the town?” She looked at him, hoping he would allow their talk to be diverted to something other than the approaching house.
“I think I like both,” Lord Glenfield commented lightly. “Thetown has its diversions, but the countryside offers real peace.”
“Yes,” Eleanor answered, breathing out. “I prefer the peace of the countryside.”
“Good,” he commented with a smile. “Since we’re here now.”
She smiled. He was a strange man, but there were times when he made her laugh. They were rare, interspersed with oceans of time when he made her feel terribly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat again, trying to think of something to say to keep her mind off the evening.
