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But couldn’t he just glance at her, from time to time, even if he couldn’t think of anything to say to her? He didn’t even meet her eyes when he handed her into her chair before sitting down at table beside her. It wasn’t that she expected him to act like Lord Becconsall, who was fawning all over his bride in the most revolting manner. But did he really have to make her feel about as attractive as somebody’s maiden aunt?
She reached for her wineglass, which a footman had obligingly filled. And reminded herself it wasn’t Lord Rawcliffe’s fault her feelings were all over the place like this. He was being remarkably affable, all things considered. He had held her hand and he had spoken a word or two of encouragement. She’d got to stop comparing his behaviour with that of Lord Becconsall. Stop hankering for the impossible. Stop being so ridiculously sensitive.
Besides, a man who took his bride’s hand for himself, rather than allowing the vicar to join them, was declaring that the marriage would be entirely of his own design. He’d conduct himself the way he wished, no matter what was written in the prayer book.
And she was just going to have to accept it.
She got through the meal by keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her plate, or her lap, and since nobody attempted to converse with her, she didn’t need to come up with any kind of response. But, oh, how glad she was when Lord Becconsall eventually got to his feet and made a short speech. It made everyone else laugh, with its allusions to how he’d fallen at Lady Harriet’s feet, but only served to make her feel a bit apprehensive. For what could Lord Rawcliffe say about his own bride when it came to his turn to make a toast? Not that she could believe he would really relate how she’d shouted at him like a shrew, then punched him on the nose. Or that he’d had to marry her, or she would have ended up without a shred of reputation and without a job or a home, as well. Because he’d done all that to prevent gossip. He might share some things with his closest friends, but he would never broadcast his private business to all and sundry.
Nevertheless, when Lord Rawcliffe got to his feet, she gripped her hands together in her lap, bracing herself for whatever might come next.
‘I thank you all for coming,’ he said, just as if it was his own house they were sitting down to dine in. ‘And for all your good wishes for my future happiness.’ Though to her knowledge, nobody had actually given him any. ‘But now my wife and I must bid you farewell. As you probably know, she has recently been bereaved and feels that it would not be appropriate to stay for the dancing.’
She laid her napkin carefully on the table next to her plate, hoping that her fingers did not resemble those of a woman who could cheerfully wring her husband’s neck. How dare he use her father’s death as an excuse to leave a gathering he had not wished to attend in the first place? Let alone make everyone believe it was her wish? Not that she did want to stay and dance, because she couldn’t, anyway, what with her father having so recently died…
Oh…swear words and profanities! He might at least have asked her what she was thinking before informing everyone else what it was.
‘But before we go, I invite you to raise your glasses to absent friends.’
“Absent friends,” went the sombre echo around the table. The contrast between his toast and the cheerful one Lord Becconsall had made could not have been more stark. Which hurt and angered her in about equal measure.
‘Come.’ He held out an imperious hand to hers, which he clearly expected her to take like a meek little biddable…serf.
It was the last straw. She might have just promised to obey him, but that didn’t give him the right to speak for her as though she had no mind of her own. And it was all very well telling herself she must expect a man like him to go into marriage on his own terms and make it what he wanted, but if she didn’t make a stand at some point, he’d trample all over her, the way he appeared to trample all over everyone else.
‘I must just bid Lady Harriet farewell,’ she said. ‘She has been so very kind to me over the last couple of days.’
His mouth thinned. And he gripped her elbow as she walked to the chair upon which Lady Harriet was sitting, as though he didn’t trust her to get there and back to him on her own.
