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Chapter One
1757, England
Dara dressed herself in the nightgown of a virgin bride. As she pulled the white shift down over her head, she succumbed to a fit of unfortunate shaking. The cotton slip had a slight opening at the front that exposed her inner thighs, and the very nature of the garment instilled within her both a modicum of dread and a slither of excitement. The balance was in danger of tipping one way or the other without warning. However, regardless of her state of nerves, she was resigned to her duty as a newlywed wife. It would not do to harbour doubts on the first night. Her maid helped her onto the bed, where Dara sank into the luxurious mattress with its thick layers of feathers.
“Best lie still and wait, milady. He’ll come presently. If he’s ready,” the maid added, then blushed.
Why would Dara’s husband not be ready to accomplish the final act of their wedding day? Dara’s limited knowledge was exactly why she needed him to dispel her fears and visit her room. Naturally, she was curious to how he might overcome her lack of experience and build upon her innate desire to please her husband, a man who was little more than a stranger to her. What young bride would not be inquisitive?
“Off with you, then.” She waved away the girl.
She waited until the moon rose and the candle burnt through. She yawned, tapped her fingers on her generous bosom, and huffed. What was keeping him? Even though stricken by anxieties, she preferred to have the matter dealt with as swiftly as possible. The wait grew tiresome. She fiddled with her lacy cuffs and sighed some more, this time with frustration, and a small amount of hurt at his tardiness. The long day caught up with her and eventually, she fell asleep. When she woke, it was to the sound of the drapes being shaken out and a window opened. Birdsong heralded the morning.
“Lovely spring day, milady.” The girl was back; the night over in a flash.
“His lordship?” Dara asked, astounded by his night-long absence. Had he crept in, found her asleep, and removed himself? She’d expected him to wake her. Was it not his prerogative to conquer her concerns and show her his passionate nature, which she believed lay beneath his sombre features? She’d read the romantic poetries, her only source of education on such matters.
“Gone riding. It’s past nine. He likes to break his fast early. So should you if you want to see your husband.” The girl grinned and hurried over with a basin of water.
Dara sighed. She wasn’t sure if they were husband and wife, but the pastor had said they were and made no mention of the necessity of a bedroom visit. She washed her face, took the clothes handed to her, and dressed methodically, allowing the girl to pull her bodice tight around her waist. She needed to try harder to attract his attention, if that was what was amiss.
In the afternoon, he hunted. She watched for his return using the drawing room window. He cantered up to the door with his gamekeeper, who carried the brace of pheasants and a musket, and dismounted. Her husband’s breeches were muddy and his grey-flecked hair was whipped to one side, probably due to the blustery wind. She had not decided on his degree of handsomeness, because his maturing years had given his features a slightly saggy appearance around his jowls, but only slight. The warmth she felt toward him was entirely down to his deep pockets and extravagant lifestyle, something that was pointed out numerous times by her sisters. He tossed the reins to the stable hand and walked into the house. Dara hurried to greet him in the marble-clad entrance hall.
“Husband,” she said pointedly.
“Milady,” he said, nearly colliding with her. “There is no need to wait for me. I shall be hunting every day.” He slumped into an armchair by the fireplace.
She lingered as a footman pulled off the filthy boots and pressed two slippers onto his feet.
“Ah,” sighed her husband. “I shall enjoy a slice of beef tonight.”
“Cook has picked a prime joint for you, my lord.” The man rose from his knees and bowed.
“Still here?” he snorted at his wife. “You should change for dinner. So should I.” He trotted upstairs, followed by his manservant, leaving Dara alone in the vast hallway with the yapping, stinking dogs. She sighed heavily, the lingering sense of hurt augmented by his abrupt dismissal.
Dinner was not the occasion for speeches, her mother had taught her. Be seen and not heard was the motto of her childhood. Raised as the sixth of six, the least likely to marry well and therefore not worthy of much education, she suffered under the tutelage of Miss Bramhall, who rumour had it had been a nun until some fall from grace. Miss Bramhall was not lenient with the rod upon Dara’s palm, nor the stool upon which she had to stand for hours. However, away from the nursery and schoolroom, Dara would not deny to anyone that she was accustomed to having her way. After all, she was the sixth child of an earl.
Her mother had despaired of her mischievous ways. Dara would rather spend frivolous hours playing in the haystacks or damming a stream than studying her books or needlework. Often hauled in by the ear and dressed down in front of her well-behaved siblings, Dara had cared little for her weaknesses. It never crossed her mind that her childhood would come to a crashing end on her eighteenth birthday.
“You’re to marry,” boomed her father. “Lord Coleman seeks a young wife. Somebody to look after his household and tend upon his arm. You should be grateful, daughter. He’s rich and cares not that you have a meagre dowry. I have not invested in you, I grant, like your sisters, but then I didn’t expect five of them.”
Her brother was the apple of her father’s eye.
“What if I say no?” She stomped her foot on the carpet.
Her father’s bloodshot eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Say that again,” he growled.
“I shan’t—”
“Miss Bramhall!” he bellowed.
Her governess hastened to his call and curtsied.
“What have you been teaching her about obedience and respect?”
“That my lord God will not tolerate a child who defies her beloved parents.” She curtsied deeper. “But the girl is wicked at heart sometimes, and the rod will not mend her ways. A husband is what she needs.”
