Page 14 of Suddenly a Bride
But an hour passed, and she found herself pacing the wooden floor. Soon she was looking through another coffer for needlework, anything to pass the time as her nervousness melted into a sick dread. She’d foolishly left her own embroidery in the coach. But there was nothing useful to occupy her hands, no books to occupy her mind.
Where was he?
Finally, when Gwyneth had watched the moon rise into the night sky and it was well past midnight, she blew out the candles and crawled up into the bed she’d avoided. Lucy had thoughtfully turned down the covers, and she now slid beneath the icy sheets and pulled the blankets and coverlet up beneath her chin. She huddled there, her back against the headboard, her face pillowed on her knees, and tried not to cry.
Her husband wasn’t coming.
When she finally admitted it to herself, a single tear fell from her welling eyes, and she angrily brushed it away. She would not cry. Surely there was a reason why Sir Edmund did not come—maybe he’d drunk too much, celebrating with the soldiers, as men were wont to do. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep going over the castle accounts; he seemed so diligent in his work.
Or else, once again, he’d just forgotten her.
It was so difficult to imagine such a thing, yet he’d spent the day forgetting he had a wife. But without consummation, she didn’t feel married.
Had he already changed his mind? Would he send her home in disgrace, with nothing to help her family?
No, she was letting her imagination run away with her. He didn’t know her well enough to decide such a thing, not after just one day. But maybe he was biding his time, waiting for her to prove if she was worthy of him. Then she had a chilling thought—was this how he had treated Elizabeth? Was Gwyneth’s marriage destined to follow the same pattern as her cousin’s?
She fell asleep with that awful thought making her restless and haunting her dreams.
~oOo~
Edmund stood leaning against a tree in the courtyard, staring up at the tower where his new wife slept. He could tell when she blew out the last candle, for the window darkened, although because of the fire, the gray emptiness still glowed. As a chill wind hinting of autumn swirled around him, he told himself not to imagine what she was doing.
If Gwyneth was anything like her cousin, she was probably relieved and already sleeping peacefully.
He wondered if she would confront him in the morning. What would he say? Not the truth, for that would lose him the dowry fast. Perhaps he would say he was respecting her feminine sensibilities, letting her get to know him first before forcing intimacies on her.
What rot.Perhaps he should just avoid her.
But still he remained in the courtyard as the moon rose high above him, looked at her window, and imagined being between her warm thighs, holding her in his arms.
Once he was in bed, he couldn’t sleep, of course. There was a woman waiting for him, and everything in him rebelled at staying away from her. He finally flung the blankets off him and paced before the hearth, but he could not erase the image in his mind of Gwyneth in that big bed. He wondered what she looked like, and before he understood his motives, he pulled on breeches and wandered up through the levels of the castle.
He carried no candle; he knew every corridor and chamber. It was all his, and he had walked it with pride for so many days and nights. When Elizabeth was alive, he had walked it to remind himself of the only good that had come from his marriage. After her death and his recovery from his wounds, he had walked it to heal himself, to understand and accept that Wintering was all he had left. He had vowed to make it a success, no matter what he had to do.
The earl’s challenge had given him a second chance, he thought, as he began his limping climb up to Gwyneth’s chamber. He stood outside the door for a moment, listening, but hours had passed since she’d blown out the candles. She had to be asleep.
Carefully he lifted the latch and leaned his head inside. The fire had died to a few glowing sticks, but he could still see well enough. On silent feet, he approached the bed and stared at his bride. She lay on her side facing the hearth, her brown lashes half-moons across her cheeks as she slept. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks seemed to glow with that healthy color he’d thought so remarkable when he’d first seen her. Her golden curls were scattered behind her across two pillows, and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from testing the silkiness with his fingers.
She was all soft loveliness, testing his vow of celibacy as his imagination never had. He wanted to slide in beside her, to see if she was as brave as she’d seemed.
But he would not touch her. Turning away, he limped to the door, then out into the corridor. If anything, this visit had proved his resolve.
~oOo~
Gwyneth awoke so suddenly, she thought someone must have startled her. She sat up, hoping to see her husband, but she was alone. She’d never slept alone in her life; she’d always had her sister Caroline to confide in as they drifted into sleep. The fire had gone out, the sun was already rising in the morning sky, and she had slept too long.
What would Sir Edmund think of her lying abed so late? Though her mind was back to wondering and worrying over why he had not come to her in the night, she could not allow her thoughts to be distracted now. She would be a pleasant, helpful wife in hopes that he wouldn’t change his mind about their marriage. Somehow she had to prove he’d made the right decision.
She flung back the blankets and jumped to the cold floor, ignoring the little stairs. She dressed quickly in a brown homespun gown that had little rolls at her shoulders and a starched collar that angled out from her neck. She thought it flattered her and could only hope her husband approved. Lastly she pinned an apron to her skirt, then set off to learn about her new home.
When she left the tower, she tried Lucy’s bedchamber first, but the girl must have been awake long before now—the morning was half gone. Gwyneth took only one wrong turn on the way to the great hall, but she found it soon enough.
The first servant she saw was a maid, who was diligently cleaning the large oak table. The girl looked up with wide eyes when Gwyneth entered, but she relaxed and gave a stiff curtsy.
“Lady Blackwell?” the girl said hesitantly.
Gwyneth gave her a friendly smile. “Aye. And who are you?”
