Married to a Stranger Read online

  ‘Sir. I’ll go along to Shepherd’s Market at once. Shall I get roses if I can? They may have some hothouse ones, sir.’ Andrew looked as though he was bright enough to choose the right thing.

  ‘Yes. Something pretty and elegant. Deep pink, if possible. Do not stint on quality or quantity.’ Callum probed at his own motives as he tied a fresh neckcloth. Was he attempting to woo his new bride? Or was this some sort of apology for that afternoon at Long Welling when he had so shocked her by his ardour? He caught his valet’s eye in the mirror and smoothed the frown off his forehead. What did it matter, so long as Sophia was not unhappy and the household ran smoothly?

  ‘Buy flowers regularly. Use your discretion unless Mrs Chatterton expresses a wish for anything in particular.’ In India flowers and garlands were available in lavish abundance, for a few paice. Here they would be more of a luxury, an easy way to make Sophia feel that he was paying attention to her comfort.

  She was sitting in the drawing room with tea pot and cups arrayed in front of her when he came down: a picture of domesticity. Cal thought she looked chilly, although he would have been hard pressed to explain why. He took the seat opposite and accepted a cup from her hands. ‘Thank you. Is it me, or is this room dull? I never noticed it before.’ He had bought the house from another bachelor.

  Perhaps her presence in it, the little vignette of femininity she created, showed up the bland masculinity of the rest of the room. ‘A trifle.’ Sophia fished in her cup with the mote spoon to remove a stray tea leaf.

  ‘Shall we move? I am sure we could find something else soon enough. You can choose somewhere you like.’ He found he wanted to please her.

  ‘One cannot simply pack up and shift houses just because one does not like the wallpaper, Callum!’

  ‘Why ever not? It is commonplace in India to move house at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘But I like the house itself,’ she protested. ‘It is just that it isn’t ours yet, not like Long Welling is. Will be.’ A soft pink colour tinged her cheeks. He liked the way it made her look, and he liked, he discovered, the fact that he was able to make her blush.

  Best not to pursue that now. But it was strange how attached she was to the old house even after it had been the scene of their first falling-out. ‘But we will come to feel at home here, I am sure,’ Sophia added hurriedly.

  Cal crossed his legs to disguise the effect that thoughts of Long Welling’s master bedroom were having on him. ‘Redecorate as you wish. It needs to be fit for entertaining.’ Sophia brightened and he realised that he had done something that gave her pleasure. It was about time, he thought, mentally kicking himself. His had hardly been a considerate courtship. Not a courtship at all, just a demand. ‘Do the whole house, if you wish. My bedchamber is dull, too.’

  ‘How much—?’

  ‘Whatever it needs. I trust you not to indulge in embossed Spanish leather wall hangings, Egyptian-style chaises and full Meissen dinner services.’

  ‘Oh, but I am so tempted,’ Sophia said. ‘Just think, I will be able to obtain all the most fashionable journals now I am in London. I can follow the latest style, the most outrageous mode.’ Her blue eyes danced as she teased him and warmth stirred inside. Desire, certainly, but something unfamiliar, comfortable and comforting too. ‘When shall we go and view the showrooms and warehouses?’

  She wanted him to come with her? No, surely not. She was just checking that he did not wish to supervise her expenditure. It had been fun to furnish a house with Dan and they had haunted the auction houses and the bazaars together. But now, without him? No, too many ghosts.

  Dan would have loved it and would have indulged his peacock tendencies to the full. He would have chosen some outrageous and impractical wallpaper, teased Sophia into giggles with improper remarks about bed hangings and bought frivolous gadgets just for the fun of it. But there was so little between Sophia and himself to build upon, and he did not want to spoil her enjoyment in doing up the house just as she wanted it.

  ‘Callum?’ Sophia said, her head on one side, that smile curving her lips. It was only a shopping expedition, yet somehow he felt as though he was facing a test of real importance.

  ‘You will have to do that yourself,’ Callum said, bending forwards to put his cup down. ‘I will be too busy for shopping and, besides, the house is your realm. Take one of the footmen and your maid.’

  Sophie felt the pleasure at his generosity ebb a little. It seemed Callum did not attach any importance to them creating a home together, simply to her making a suitable framework for entertaining and the advancement of his career. Shopping would be delightful, of course, especially as she had both her wardrobe and the house to buy for, but it would be lonely too. How on earth did a new wife, with no contacts and a busy husband, make friends?

  Sophia felt her smile slip and hastily adjusted her expression, but Callum was looking severe again. What to talk about now? He seemed dismissive of housekeeping and decorating, they had exhausted the matter of her clothing and, so far, they had not established any topics of mutual interest—always assuming any existed at all.

  It would be rather a long time before there would be the children to discuss, she thought ruefully, and then remembered what must come first in the elegant French bed upstairs.

  ‘What is wrong, Sophia?’ Callum seemed uncannily perceptive. She must try harder to mask her thoughts from him.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ That was too vehement and his brows drew together as though he suspected her of keeping secrets from him. ‘I will go and oversee the unpacking.’

  ‘I am not sure you should be spending your wedding day doing that sort of thing. If it had not been for that journey, which must have tired you, I would take you to the theatre. As it is—’ Callum stood up and the room seemed subtly smaller, as though he had moved closer and was crowding her. Sophia found her eyes were at precisely the right level to notice what he was thinking of as suitable employment for a wedding day. She stood up with more haste than elegance.

  She was blushing, she knew she was. Somehow, through the past few days, she had kept at bay the memory of what had happened at Long Welling, with the kind of desperation that a child applies to pretending it has not got toothache and does not need to visit the dentist. Not that being made love to by Callum would be like visiting the tooth-puller, exactly. She knew, in theory, what to expect, and surely it would not be so bad? Embarrassing, of course.

  Even thinking about it made her tremble. Was that desire? Ladies did not take pleasure in the marriage bed, Mama had explained. It was a duty that led to the reward of children. With a man one loved it would be easier, but with Callum she felt desperately shy and worried about disappointing him.

  ‘I must … I mean, there are things I need to have today, and Chivers does not know what I want. There’s my dressing case and my nightgown and …’

  Callum’s mouth curved as she stumbled to a halt. ‘I am sure Chivers will realise that you will require a nightgown.’ That smile. He was a younger, much more approachable man when he looked like that.

  ‘No … but, I mean she will not know which one.’ Oh, for goodness’ sake, Sophia, you are in a deep enough hole. Just stop digging!

  ‘A special nightgown for your wedding night?’ He was teasing her now and the embarrassment began to give way to something else. Something more than liking. The desire to be friends, to share that amusement.

  ‘Um … yes. Well, I thought I ought … I enjoy embroidery.’ The laughter was still there, so she ventured, ‘A young lady is not supposed to think about wedding nights, but sewing roses around one’s nightgown gives one time to contemplate …’ Now she really had mired herself into the hole. In a moment he was going to enquire acidly who she had been imagining in her bed with her. How tactless of her. No doubt she was crimson. He must think her completely gauche.

  ‘I will be very careful with it, then, if you have made it yourself,’ Callum said and the hint of a smile in his voice somehow made her conf
usion even greater.

  ‘Thank you. Anyway …’ she began to edge towards the door ‘… I really need to make sure she knows what she is doing …’

  Callum opened the door for her and Sophia escaped into the hall. She had to be pleased that Callum wanted to come to her bed—at least that aspect of their marriage would be close. As she climbed slowly up to her bedchamber she wondered how much he minded that she had been betrothed to Daniel. How would she have felt if the positions had been reversed and she had had a sister who had been betrothed to Callum and who had then died?

  Jealous, she decided and stopped on the landing to consider that. She would have been jealous because, frankly, Callum Chatterton was a very attractive man. Or would she have felt that way if her imaginary sister … ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she muttered under her breath. Men did not have the same sensibilities over such matters as women, she was certain. Callum was a man, and she was a woman, so he wanted to sleep with her. And he wanted an heir. For the rest, she was sure he regarded her, at best, tolerantly and, at worst as a constant reminder of his twin.

  Which probably explained his coolness most of the time. It isn’t my fault, she thought resentfully as she pushed open her bedroom door. I never expected him to marry me. I did not ask him to. But men know best. Or they think they do …

  ‘Ma’am?’ Chivers looked up from the trunk she was bending over, her expression wary.

  Sophia realised she must have been frowning and smiled. ‘I came up so we could discuss what needs unpacking first.’

  ‘It is all done, ma’am.’

  And so it was. The pretty lawn nightgown with the roses around the neckline was laid out on the bed, her brushes and jars were arranged on the dressing table and a glimpse through the open door into the dressing room showed open drawers and presses. The trunk that Chivers was emptying was the last of the luggage.

  ‘You are very efficient,’ Sophia said, sensing that the maid was a trifle put out to be supervised.

  ‘I hope to give satisfaction, ma’am. I thought the black silk with the beading for this evening? I have it downstairs in the washhouse to steam out the creases.’

  ‘That will be perfect, thank you, Chivers.’ It was her only suitable evening gown so the maid was being tactful by implying there was a choice. ‘I need to shop for just about everything,’ she admitted. ‘Mr Chatterton will be entertaining a great deal, so I will need a number of evening gowns.’

  ‘And morning and walking dresses and lingerie, ma’am. And hats, pelisses, spencers, shawls, shoes, gloves, reticules …’

  ‘Oh dear. Is all of my wardrobe that unsuitable for town, Chivers?’

  ‘It is very suitable for an unmarried lady who has been in mourning, ma’am,’ she said with tact. ‘But not for a married one. Will you be shopping soon?’

  ‘We will start tomorrow and I hope you will be able to tell me where we should go.’

  ‘Me, ma’am?’ Chivers closed the lid of the trunk and stared at Sophia. ‘Surely the ladies of your family and your friends …’

  ‘I have none. Not in London. And I have never been to town before; I have no idea where to go.’

  The maid’s face showed a hint of pity and Sophia realised just how lonely she felt. Mama, her friends and acquaintances, were all miles away and here she was with no one to confide in and a husband who was virtually a stranger. Husband. Oh dear, I wish I had a married friend I could talk to.

  ‘My last lady was very fashionable, ma’am. I know the fashionable shops and the best modistes, never fear.’ Chivers was all practicality again as she bustled into the dressing room and began to tidy up in there. ‘Will you be having a lie down before dinner, ma’am? And then a bath before I dress your hair?’ The answer required was, she made clear, Yes.

  Of course, Sophia realized; the maid knew it was her wedding night and was expecting her to be devoting the time before dinner to resting and then primping. Probably she should be in a flutter of romantic and maidenly excitement, not torn between unladylike desire, resentment, excitement and downright nerves. ‘Yes, Chivers,’ she said with every outward sign of confidence. ‘That is exactly what I shall be doing.’

  Chapter Nine

  The clock struck eight and Cal laid down the newspaper he had been reading. It was pointless; he was not absorbing a word of it. It was beginning to dawn on him that marriage was going to turn his life upside down. The shock of the shipwreck, the grief of losing Daniel, the strangeness of life in England after so long away, had been a huge upheaval. He had got through that, largely by sheer hard work and a refusal to wallow in self-pity. Dan had gone and with him boyhood dreams and illusions about love. He did not think himself a coward, but he knew with a deep certainty that he was never again going to lay himself open to the pain of loss such as he had just experienced.

  He loved Will, his other brother. If anything happened to him, he would mourn and grieve deeply, but he would not lose a part of himself, part of his heart and soul, as he had with the death of his twin. It was good that he had married Sophia out of duty and not out of love because he did not think he could risk making himself so vulnerable ever again.

  But marriage, even a marriage of convenience, was an intimate thing. For better or worse he was tied to Sophia now. He had been tied to Dan by love and affection and the mental link that others found so uncanny but which, for a twin, was perfectly normal. Now he must live with a woman with whom he did not share any kind of mental closeness.

  The door opened and Sophia entered. For a moment he was still, so lost in his thoughts that he just stared at her. Then, as she came further into the room, he got to his feet with a murmur of apology and pleasure. His wife—he really must get used to that word—was glowing.

  ‘Sophia.’ He took her hand and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘You look lovely. And you like the roses, I think?’

  ‘Pink roses in my hair and corsage with a black gown is unconventional, I know,’ she murmured, but he could see he had pleased her. She was wearing a modest string of pearls at her throat and studs in her ears and pale pink long kid gloves, and the effect with the sheen of the black silk gown was surprisingly sophisticated and dashing. ‘It was a lovely surprise. I came out of the dressing room after my bath and there they were.’

  Cal’s imagination seized on the image of Sophia, flushed pink from her bath, emerging into a room full of pink roses. ‘I find I can take pleasure in pleasing my bride, even if I was not very good at it as an engaged man,’ he admitted. She glanced up at him and blushed and he could tell she knew what he was thinking about. Not all of it, he hoped, not an innocent like Sophia. She could have absolutely no idea what he would like to do with her, to her.

  Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. What did he converse about with a wife who had no idea about his life? They had nothing in common except Dan, and that was not something they could talk about; it would be too painful for her, he was sure. Should he risk boring her by talking about the Company? Or life in India?

  As though she read his mind she asked, ‘Will you be attending the East India Company offices tomorrow?’ Sophia sat down in the exact middle of the chaise and spread her skirts elegantly around her. Was that deliberate to stop him sitting next to her? She had recovered her poise faster than he had, it seemed.

  ‘I am afraid so.’ Callum took the chair opposite.

  ‘Afraid? Is something wrong?’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. ‘I am sorry, I do not mean to pry into your business.’

  ‘Not at all, you have every reason to ask. I can always tell you if something is confidential. No, I meant I was sorry I could not be with you.’

  ‘Oh, I will not need you—you know I must be shopping for clothes.’ Sophia laughed. ‘It would be worse than the things for the house; I am sure you would be bored to tears. Chivers knows just where to go. But I must ask you to tell me what my dress allowance will be before I catch a glimpse of all the temptations in the shops.’

  Callu
m relaxed. She seemed happy at the prospect of shopping. He had feared sulks because he was leaving her alone, but this was excellent; the maid was obviously competent and shopping appeared to keep females occupied for hours on end. He was not going to have to dance attendance on her all day.

  ‘I had given that some thought and I have jotted down these figures,’ he said and reached into the breast of his coat for his notebook. He extracted a slip of paper and passed it to her. ‘That is what I thought for your dress allowance, your pin money and the housekeeping.’

  Sophia stared at it. ‘For the year?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘No, quarterly. The redecorations will be extra. I suggest you take notes of what you think would be suitable and we can discuss it. Sophia?’

  She stared at him. ‘This is very generous. I had no wish to be such an expense to you. You paid off our debts.’

  He shrugged. ‘Any wife would cost as much. I cannot expect to be married on a bachelor’s budget.’

  ‘No, of course,’ she agreed, once more the polite lady, all the animation she had shown at the prospect of a shopping expedition banished.

  Once she had found her feet she would be an excellent hostess, he thought. Her natural grace, good breeding and restraint easily outweighed the sheltered country life she had lived. It was a pity that those flashes of vivacity were so few and far between.

  ‘Dinner is served, madam.’ Hawksley stood by the open door.

  ‘My dear.’ Cal rose, extended a hand and escorted his wife into the dining room to sit at the foot of the table. She seemed rather distant when he took his own place, but perhaps that was the length of the table, the exuberant display of flowers halfway down—he really must remember to thank the footman—and her reserve in front of the servants.

  As the meal progressed it was obvious that his anxiety about finding topics of conversation was misplaced. Sophia progressed smoothly through remarks on the weather, speculation about the latest news on the royal family, some amusing anecdotes about their country neighbours and solicitous enquiries about the hour at which he preferred to take breakfast.