Helping her into the carriage, he took a seat across from her. Avoiding his eyes, she kept her head down or faced out the window as the carriage slowly turned down the road. Pretending not to look at her either, Alexander still felt her presence like a thick blanket wrapped around him.
Too wrapped up in his own mind, Alexander did not notice the silence that hung between them. Every now and then he thought he saw her glance in his direction, but when he turned to look, her eyes were once again focused on the landscape passing by their window.
Before long, they reached Lady Montgomery’s estate, seeing the many lights a mile off, glistening like stars in the darkening night. Cheerful laughter met their ears as the carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door.
Stepping out himself, Alexander turned and offered Emma his hand, grateful to feel the chilly wind on his face, cooling his cheeks.
As she slipped her hand into his, a tingle ran up his arm. Her skin felt soft and tender, yet cool and trembling. Instantly, he drew her forward, determined to get her out of the cold as soon as possible.
When her hand slipped from his and linked through the bend of his arm, he felt a hint of regret.
Many congratulations were offered, but also regret that no invitation to their wedding had been received. Alexander did his best to manoeuvre the sea of people with ease. He knew what was expected of him and played the role that had been his long before his father had passed his title on to him.
Next to him, he felt Emma almost clinging to his arm. Her eyes were wider than usual, taking in her surroundings with apprehension.
***
The noise. Emma had never heard such noise, never seen so many people in one place. The estate was large, almost as large as Langley and in every corner, in every nook and cranny, people were gathered, talking, laughing, dancing and drinking. They sounded like a beehive, only louder, much louder, and their voices held none of the soothing hum of the little honey collectors. Their voices were shrill. Like an instrument out of tune, they hurt her ears.
For the first time, thankful for her husband’s presence, Emma’s hand clutched his arm tightly, afraid to be left behind. Following him through the crowd, she was introduced to her neighbours.
Names and titles flew at her. Some sounded familiar, some didn’t, but none found a permanent place in the corners of her mind. Playing his part with ease, Alexander offered her a drink, which she accepted gratefully.
Her throat felt parched, and the cool liquid offered relief. However, letting go of his arm, Emma soon found others drifting toward them, crowding around her husband and drawing him into a conversation.
Step by step, she retreated from the throng of people until she could barely see him anymore. Her heart hammered and her palms began to sweat as she found herself alone, unsure how to proceed.
As her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, she saw her husband walk toward her, offering his hand. As though it was a lifeline, she reached for it, grateful for his warm touch to her own chilled skin.
He led her through the throng of people to the dance floor. Emma felt his hand on her waist, and even through the layers of fabric, she thought she could truly feel his touch. The hand that held hers, guiding her movements, sent a shiver down her back as his thumb slowly moved over her skin.
Was he doing this on purpose? She wondered. Or was he lost in thought? Letting her feet move, Emma held on to her husband, feeling safe for the first time that night.
Her hand trembled as it lay in his. He could feel her breath on his skin as she forced a mask of happiness on her face. Not looking him in the eye, her gaze was focused beyond his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to observe her more freely.
Her cheeks were flushed as though she had run a sprint or heard something embarrassing. Every now and then her tongue snaked out, moistening her lips, and he thought to detect a small tear drop clinging to her thick eyelashes.
Too soon the music stopped and the dance ended, new couples encroaching on the floor, demanding their turn. Leading his wife into the hall, Alexander’s mind drifted to other dances, dances with Bridget.
These moments holding her in his arms had been the most wonderful moments of his life. He had cherished them like his greatest treasure, and even now the memories put a smile on his lips.
Finally, back in the carriage on the way back to Langley Manor, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. While not altogether pleasant, the evening had passed without further embarrassments, and Emma longed for her bed, feeling her limbs growing heavy with the need for rest.
Pulling up in front of the house, the carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Once again her husband assisted her the two short steps down to the slippery ground, holding her hand firmly in his and guiding her up the stairs to the front doors.
Chapter Eight
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Candles lit the cavernous bedchamber to gold, setting shadows dancing in the corners. Wearing a crimson dressing gown over his nakedness, Alexander quietly closed the door from the adjoining chamber.
He stepped toward the huge four-poster in the center of the room. Sitting against piled pillows in the midst of all this grandeur was one small woman wearing a plain white flannel nightgown. She clutched the blankets to her chest .
He didn’t need to see her slender throat move as she swallowed to know that the girl was petrified.
“Your Grace,” Emma whispered.
"Your Grace,” he responded, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. The impulse rose to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine, but he beat it back.