Page 37 of Suddenly a Bride
He pulled away and kept on walking, while she followed behind more slowly. Her heart could have broken in pity for him, because she could not imagine being so feared. She knew now that she was the only one who could make things different for him.
Edmund felt more than saw Gwyneth fall into step at his side. He was walking too fast for her, but she quickened her pace without complaint.
He had known this day was bound to happen, but he’d never imagined the shame of it would feel like a kick to the stomach. Did one ever become accustomed to striking terror in eight-year-olds? All his protestations had never stopped his tenants from believing he’d had a hand in Elizabeth’s death.
Yet Gwyneth had taken his hand, offering comfort.
Suddenly he felt her hand slide between his body and his arm. Stunned, he bent his elbow without thinking, and they were linked as they walked. She didn’t look up at him, just wore her usual smile as she studied everything around her with interest. He told himself to push her away, but the tavern door was before him, and he opened it instead, then released her arm to put a guiding hand on her lower back. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him like a woman in love.
Then he knew her game, and he helplessly watched her play it as if she were a seasoned actor. She projected such innocence and goodness as she looked at the dozen or so assembled villagers. She wanted them all to think they had a normal, happy marriage. Was that for his benefit—or hers?
Goodman Walcot, the owner, came forward, wiping his large hands on a towel. The man’s shaggy beard and mustache framed a generous smile. He was always good-natured, for he knew how to keep his customers.
“Sir Edmund,” he said jovially, and his merry eyes played over Gwyneth, “a good day to you.”
“Goodman Walcot, I would like to introduce my wife, Gwyneth, Lady Blackwell.”
To Edmund’s surprise, Gwyneth slid her slender hand back under his elbow.
“Goodman Walcot,” she said, smiling that angelic smile, “I am so pleased to meet you. My husband has spoken often of his friends in the village.”
Edmund wanted to roll his eyes, for surely his tenants, suspicious as always, would not believe such foolishness. But as he looked about the low-ceilinged chamber, he could see men and woman eyeing Gwyneth with interest.
Goodman Walcot gave a little bow over the large roll of his stomach. “He should have brought you here before now.”
“I would have liked to,” she said almost conspiratorially.
Edmund stiffened.
“But I fear I have been busy becoming accustomed to my new duties. I am only a city girl, Goodman Walcot, and easily overwhelmed. But Edmund”—and here she blushed like a well-satisfied bride—”Sir Edmund—is very patient with me.”
Edmund wanted to laugh and almost bit his lip to stop himself.Patient?
Although there was a low rumble of laughter about the room, Gwyneth seemed not to notice. She just smiled up at Edmund serenely as Goodman Walcot showed them to a table. Unlike the long tables and benches that lined the room, this was small and private, with two chairs. Edmund set her basket beneath the table then helped her to sit, and her smile turned intimate as she reached up to touch his cheek in full view of the interested occupants. He froze, still bent over her, stunned by her gesture.
“Thank you for your kindness, Edmund,” she said softly—but loud enough to carry in the stillness.
Oh, she was good at this. Even he was falling under her spell. He sat down across from her, let her take his hand as he ordered fish soup and bread for them both. But her playacting chilled him. If she was this good at pretending for an audience that they had a normal marriage, was she already fooling him as well?
Because every soft touch was torture, and every smile made him wonder how things would have been if he could have trusted her.
Two of the village women ventured forward timidly to speak to her, casting worried glances at him. As Gwyneth stood up, the women exchanged smiles. All he could do was drink his ale and watch her work her magic.
When the meal was finally over, he rose before she had even finished drinking. Yet she dutifully set down her tankard and stood up without complaint. A quick escape seemed unlikely when Goodman Walcot strolled over and smiled at Gwyneth.
“Lady Blackwell, has Sir Edmund shown you the falls yet?”
“Falls?” she echoed, looking up at Edmund with interest.
“The Swaledale Falls. Famous waterfall in these parts. ’Tis not much out of the way to Castle Wintering.”
She put her delicate hand on Edmund’s arm and smiled up at him. “Sir Edmund, might we?”
“If there’s enough light,” he said reluctantly.
While he paid for their meal, he noticed Gwyneth waving good-bye to the other patrons. She received a few nods in return and even one smile, though he thought it was a pitying one.
When she headed for The General, Edmund shook his head. “I have people to see here first.”
