Page 12 of For a Lady's Fiery Heart
His mind was reeling at seeing Lady Beatrice again. Why on earth would she think she could show up now and on the day of his wedding of all days?
Chapter 6
Caroline could hardly breathe as they made their way down the hall that housed the second-floor bedrooms. She was unsure what to expect, for her mother had given her little information about her wifely duties. However, she had surmised some of the conventions for a married couple on their wedding night.
She gulped as James halted in front of a white-washed door and opened it for her. He motioned for her to pass through first and expected him to follow her. She stood just a few feet from the doorway. Her back turned to him. He cleared his throat, and she spun around to see that he had not followed her.
"You looked beautiful today, Caroline," he said with a smile. "Please let the servants know if there is anything you require."
She returned to the door, placing a hand on the jamb while he started moving away. "James!" she called but did not know what to say to convey her thanks. Relief washed over her as he turned, curiosity rooted in his gaze. "I–" she halted, not wanting to offend him. "I thought–"
James returned to the door, and Caroline's heartbeat again thundered in her ears. Her mouth went dry at his nearness. He reached up and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.
"Later," he said softly. "I know this has been a difficult day for you in many ways. We still do not know each other as well as I would like. It can wait until we do." He let his hand fall back to his side. "For now, get some rest and settle in. My room is just down the hall if you need anything. Good night, Caroline."
He turned and walked away, and Caroline watched him for a moment before closing the door. She let out a sigh of relief, resting her back against the door. However, her relief was soon replaced by a tinge of disappointment. She liked James, and his show of chivalry only attracted her all the more.
He was a man that was difficult to figure out. Whenever she thought she knew what he was going to do, he did something else, like this, which totally bewildered her.
Caroline pushed herself away from the door and travelled further into the room. It was a beautiful space double the size of her room back in London. It was decorated in the French style, with light blues and ivory and gold accents. The four-poster bed was made of dark mahogany and hung with light blue embroidered silk curtains. A cheery fire burned in the hearth, sending dancing shadows across the room.
She walked over to the small sitting area before the hearth, running her hand over the cream-coloured fabric of the lounge chair. A chair flanked on either side of the settee with the same ivory fabric. Everything was light and feminine, everything she would have dreamed of for a sanctuary.
Had the room been like this before she was set to marry James, or had it been prepared for her like this? She had told James that her favourite colour was blue. Perhaps that is why he had given her this chamber for her own.
No matter the motive, she was grateful to have a peaceful haven as she started her new life.
Caroline jumped as a knock sounded at the door, and her maid came in with a pitcher of water and basin, a towel draped over her arm. "Good evening, my lady," her maid said, staying close to the door. "Is it alright if I come in?" she asked, looking about for Viscount Hereford, no doubt.
"Yes, Marche, it is safe," Caroline teased.
Marche had been with her for several years now. And while she had shared the duties of seeing after her and Grace, she had asked to come along and continue to serve Caroline. It was a fact for which she was grateful. Indeed, upon thinking on the subject, there was much for which she had to be thankful. Caroline went to the vanity and sat down on the heavily carved chair.
It was of the mediaeval style, with the curved legs coming up and spreading out in an hourglass shape. The padded seat was of the same blue fabric covering the bed posts. All her things had been set out on the dark wooden vanity: her brush and ribbons, silver combs, lotions, and perfumes.
"You made quick work of unpacking the trunks," Caroline pronounced. "I am impressed."
Marche seemed to glow under her praise. "I wanted the room to feel as homey as possible. With the ordeal you have been through today, I thought this was the least I could do." Her maid came to stand behind her, reaching over her shoulder to retrieve the brush. "Now, I suppose we should hurry to get you ready."
Caroline's cheeks flamed to life with colour. She hung her head, picking at her fingernails. "Viscount Hereford will not be joining me this evening. There is no rush."
Marche stilled with the brush poised above Caroline's head. "Oh?" she asked, trying not to sound curious. She came to herself, shaking her head slightly. "Well, good. It is going to take a while to get all of these pearls out of your hair."
Caroline gave a short laugh, sitting still. At the same time, Marche worked the brush through small sections of her hair, removing the pearl pins stuck in every which way to secure her curls in the elaborate hairstyle. She breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing her scalp when Marche had finished. It was a blessed relief to have the ornamentation out of her long blonde curls.
She stood and allowed Marche to help her out of her wedding gown. She loosened her stays, and Caroline went behind the screen to change into a fresh linen nightgown. The soft fabric caressed her skin, the scent of lilacs and rosewater travelling up to her nostrils—the scents of home.
A pang of homesickness assailed her as she appeared from behind the screen again. Marche stood at the head of the bed, turning down the plush covers for her. However, Caroline was still too on edge to sleep yet. It had been a long day, but her nerves were still on high alert from the day's events.
"Is there anything I can get you, my lady? Perhaps a cup of tea?" Marche asked. She slung her wedding gown over her arm, along with all the underclothes and stood to attention at the foot of the bed.
"Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely," Caroline replied. She sat down on the chaise lounge with a contented sigh.
Marche nodded. "I will just take these things down to the laundry and have a tray sent up," she said and left the room. Caroline turned toward the hearth and curled her legs under her. She stared into the flames, thinking over all that had happened to her that day.
"I cannot believe I'm married," she whispered aloud. Her voice sounded the same in her ears, but she knew that from that day forward, her life would never be the same again. She wrapped her arms around her legs, bringing her knees to her chest. She rested her chin against her knees and sighed.
James was the most gentlemanly man she had ever met. She should be proud indeed to be his wife, and she was sure the emotions would follow as soon as she had time to settle in, as he had suggested. But a sense of foreboding goaded her heart.
