The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER TWO
The morning after
Bleary eyed,with a splitting headache, a turning stomach, and his heart pounding like a team of blacksmiths at the forge, Sinclair stood before the vicar and recited his vows. Beside him, his mouse of a bride recited hers as well. Her voice was soft and low pitched, and she only shed a few tears. His recklessness, his drunkenness, had done that. Whatever her hopes and dreams for a future had been, whatever thoughts of marrying some simple vicar or cleric she might have had, had been irrevocably destroyed by him.
“And now you are husband and wife,” the vicar said, snapping his prayer book closed in a decisive and most displeased manner. “May God have mercy on you both.”
It was not uttered as a benediction. That much was clearly obvious. The vicar was quite put out with him but seemed far more put out with his unfortunate daughter. Perhaps being forced to marry him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She might have had to continue on under the less-than-caring eye of her father. The vicar was beyond cold, and he couldn’t imagine that it was just their current and somewhat scandalous circumstances that resulted in his icy demeanor.
As they signed the register, silence reigned supreme. Not even a breath was heard in the sanctuary. The witnesses, the local physician and the innkeeper, stepped forward to do the same.
“And you need not think to come crawling back to the vicarage,” the vicar continued with his malicious disdain. “I’ve washed my hands of you, girl. I’ll not have you shaming me further.”
Beside him, his bride was stonily silent. She didn’t acknowledge her father’s disownment of her. But, then, she didn’t acknowledge him either. Somehow, she seemed to be quite above the entire fiasco. A simple vicar’s daughter or not, she’d mastered the art of quiet dignity.
He offered his arm to escort her from the church. She glanced down at it then up at him to meet his gaze. After a not-so-subtle hesitation, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her from the church, to his waiting carriage. As they left the building, he spared a glance at her profile.
She was not a beauty. There was nothing particularly striking in her features, though they were pleasant enough. She had dark brows that did nicely set off her eyes, which he thought were blue, though he couldn’t be entirely sure. In all, she was pretty, but not extraordinary.
It could be worse. At least he wasn’t saddled with a crow.
Helping her into the carriage, he climbed in after and let out a weary groan. His entire body hurt after his ridiculous night of excess. It was a night that would live in infamy in their small village, and the consequences of it were life altering—quite literally, until death would they part.
“The house will be a bit of a surprise to you,” he warned. “It’s in shambles.”
“I can set it to rights,” she said with soft assurance.
He smiled. “I’m sure you can. But I do not wish for it to be set to rights. I wish nothing more than for the entire structure to fall into ruin and be reclaimed by the earth. It is naught but a mausoleum to misery, regardless.”
“You do not wish for me to set your house to rights?” she asked.
“No. I’m certain there are other things you can occupy yourself with,” he replied.
“On the contrary, my lord. As a woman, my entire life has been devoted to learning the skills that would allow me to maintain my husband’s home. If I am not to do so, I’ve frankly no notion what else I would do.”
“We shall endeavor to find you something, then. Perhaps the first thing we should do is see to your wardrobe. I’ve not been to London in ages, and I do have numerous family members to irritate with news of my nuptials,” he said. “If you’re game, that is.”
“I’ve never been to London,” she said softly. “I’ve always longed to see it.”
Satisfied that his new wife would not find their union entirely miserable and regrettable, Sinclair laid his head against the seat back and promptly fell asleep.
There were somany thoughts whirling in Thea’s mind that she couldn’t even make sense of them all. She’d gone to bed a dowdy spinster just the night before, and now she was a baroness, Lady Mayville. Still dowdy, for the moment at least, but no longer a spinster.
Surreptitiously, she surveyed her sleeping husband’s face. While still handsome beyond measure, there was no doubt his excesses of the previous night had taken a toll. His pallor was not the normal sun-kissed shade she’d grown accustomed to seeing when she chanced to pass him in the village. Whiskers shadowed the firm line of his jaw, and there were dark circles spreading beneath the thick fan of his lashes where they rested. None of that managed to alter the fact that she found him astoundingly beautiful.
For all the time she had been living in poverty and obscurity in Boston Spa, she’d been well aware of him. Every chance encounter, every glimpse of him in a shop, on the street, or at the rare social gathering he attended, she’d been struck by how perfect he was. And in all that time, when she’d been pining for him, building fantasies about him miraculously falling in love with her like something from a fairy story, he hadn’t even known her name. When he’d recited it in the church, he’d fumbled it abominably. It stung her pride, but it didn’t surprise her.
Turning her gaze away from him, Thea focused on the countryside instead. It was a safer subject for contemplation. This would not be a happy union, of that she was certain. No couple could enter into wedlock where one was loved and the other invisible and not have it end in misery.
It didn’t take long to reach his estate.
Rosedale Manor.
Recalling what he’d said about it, about his desire to let it fall into decay, Thea frowned. It had always seemed such a lovely house to her, despite the air of neglect that hovered about it. She’d thought perhaps it only needed a woman’s touch, a mistress to make it into a proper home. But that was not to be. Was he impoverished? Was there some secret debt or reversal of fortune that had occurred? She didn’t think so. His clothes were perfectly tailored and in the latest fashion. Nothing in his personal effects gave the indication of being worn and tattered. His horses and equipage were all in top form. So why?
“You’re thinking very loudly.”
He’d spoken without ever opening his eyes. His head was still tipped back against the seat, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Rosedale Manor is lovely.”
“It is. But so are many rotten apples,” Mayville remarked.
“Who is it that you are punishing by letting it fall to ruin?” she asked pointedly.
At that, he did open his eyes. He leveled an inscrutable glance at her, its meaning completely hidden from her. “Myself, I suppose. You will find I am a perverse creature, Lady Mayville.”
He hadn’t used her newly acquired title out of a desire for formality or even as a means of acknowledging their union. He’d done so, she thought, because he couldn’t recall her name. With another sigh, Thea turned away from him again and pinned her attention firmly on the horizon.
