Of course, Lady Hightower was no doubt correct, and he went into it with eyes wide open.
Finally, the door to his bedchamber was shut behind them.
“Conbatten,” Rosalind said, flinging herself into his arms. “I suppose you might throw me on the bed. We’re married now so I am certain it is all right.”
As he found himself always so agreeable to Rosalind’s requests, he did throw her on the bed and then threw himself after her.
Rosalind’s divine wedding dress became a shambles, a mere shadow of its former self. Balthazar’s perfect coat was rumpled and creased and his neckcloth would likely never be resurrected. Clothes were near-ruined, and then missing altogether. It would perhaps be expected that at least one of the couple might find themselves suddenly shy or hesitant at such a moment.
Shyness or hesitancy was never to be between them, though, as the setting sun streaming in through the windows could attest to had it the means to speak.
Some hours later, they sat in a ninety-eight-degree bath, he wearing nothing and Rosalind wearing only her tiara. It was charmingly askew, and her hair was in entire disarray.
Naturally, now that his bride planned to join him often in the bath, Henri had been sent away and Balthazar would manage the thermometer and the jug of hot water himself. An ice bucket stood nearby, with champagne ready for precisely twenty-six minutes in.
As he gazed at her, this adorable lady he’d married, he thought he really ought to buy her a very elaborate diamond necklace. It would look smashing round her neck in the bath.
“I suppose your family will have been shocked when they realized we ran off from the party,” Balthazar said.
“Not at all,” Rosalind said, using her toes to march up his chest. “I informed them we would do so at the earliest possible moment. I told my father that we had a lot to talk about.”
“And he believed that?” he asked, kissing her soapy toes.
“No, he went to my aunt and told her she’d better explain to me the facts of a marriage. She was very amused by it and informed him that all personal ladies’ matters had been thoroughly discussed.”
“Your poor father.”
“Now tell me of this wedding trip, Conbatten. You’ve kept me very much in the dark about it. What shall we do in Sweden?”
“Ah yes, we will sail on my own ship, theCarolina, making landfall near Stockholm. Then we will make our way to a very charming place called Ekolsund Bay. I have a house there that I inherited from an uncle. We will walk along the water and take horses out to the countryside, we’ll have late dinners by the fire and as many baths as you like. I expect the crossing to be smooth. Have you sailed before?”
“I have not set foot on a ship myself, but I did see a regatta once,” Rosalind said. “I did feel, as I watched the boats rounding the buoys, that I should have very sturdy sea legs. I am convinced I will take to it exceedingly well.”
As it happened,Rosalind did not take to sailing exceedingly well. Or at all well. She spent the majority of their days at sea with either her head over a basin or running up to the deck shouting, “I need air!”
Balthazar held her hair out of her way for her moments over the basin, and walked with her on deck, supporting her arm as she sucked in air and claimed she would never eat again.
Lynette, who had come along as Rosalind’s lady’s maid, was not much better. Though, she had the further problem of imagining the boat was sinking at every creak and groan.
Henri spent the trip drinking wine and muttering about the Benningtons’ peculiar brand of madness.
His dear wife subsisted on dry toast and was decidedly pale by the time they’d landed at port. Conbatten carried her off the boat and she sank to the ground and hugged it.
The change from rolling deck to firm land took nearly a day to readjust to, and Rosalind weaved and staggered through their hotel until she began to regain her balance.
After that, her recovery was swift. When she became dismayed that their wedding trip had begun under such unfortunate circumstances, Conbatten had assured her that she’d looked very charming in her seasick pallor.
After her recovery, the trip was spent gloriously strolling along the bay and having long dinners in front of a cozy fire at night. Rosalind began to inquire of her husband what else he did not prefer, aside from the iced cake she already knew about. He did not like duck, which she seemed surprised to hear.
She went on to tell him that she could not abide fried kidneys and he declared she should never see them. Then, one night very late as they were just drifting off to sleep, she told him she did not read music, despite her originality at the pianoforte.
He did his best to seem suitably surprised.
When it was time to return to England, Conbatten delayed the crossing until the weather would be at its calmest possible.
It really was calm, though that had not prevented a repeat of the trip over.
His duchess was courageous in all respects, but Balthazar would never put her on a sea-going vessel again.
