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“Come along, everyone. We must go tell the others.” Donella whisked herself out of the room.
Bathsheba took Beath’s arm, nudging him toward the hall. “Dear Lord Beath, you must besodelighted to see Samantha finally settled. This is so wonderful for everyone.” She glanced over her shoulder at them, a clear warning in her gaze. “Are you two coming, or shall we wait?”
“No, we’re coming,” said Samantha. She took Braden by the elbow and started to propel him toward the door.
“I do love a masterful lass,” he said, trying to lighten the moment.
Samantha’s chocolate eyes narrowed to irate slits. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yes, but I’m now your idiot.”
“Lucky me,” she muttered as she hurried him out of the room.
CHAPTER23
Samantha stared at her reflection in the mirror over her dressing table. It was her wedding night, and she looked positively ghastly.
The last three days had been hurried and stressful. Braden had been busy with work, while she’d been reorganizing her household to accommodate his arrival. Surprisingly, he had few possessions beyond his clothing, books, and materials from his study. Although her new husband was a complex man, he led a simple, efficient life.
“You’ll barely notice me, I promise,” he’d said as he lugged books up to her study just yesterday. “Some days, you’ll probably forget I’m even here.”
Forget him? She could barely go five minutes without thinking about him, a fact she found both annoying and nerve wracking. Thankfully, for the time being, physical intimacies were not a concern. Although she was wildly attracted to the man, she was far from ready to share his bed. She would remain in possession of the master suite, while Braden had the spare room down the hall.
Essentially, they’d contracted a marriage of convenience. How ironic, given the passionate kiss that had led to this state of affairs.
What choice had been left to her? When she’d seen the look of horror on Beath’s face, Samantha had instantly known what she needed to do. In order to save Felicity from her grandfather’s clutches, she’d taken the leap of faith that Braden had talked about when he’d proposed to her. And she’d done it without a second thought or a qualm.
Those had come later.
Braden had taken it all in stride and had even seemed mildly amused as he’d also done his best to keep to a minimum the resulting uproar over their precipitous engagement. He’d held her hand through the worst of the Kendrick family fussing, agreed to one champagne toast, then directed the focus back to the Christmas activities.
Discussions with Lord Beath that night had also been kept to a minimum. Braden, supported by Bathsheba, had managed to convince his mighty lordship that the best situation for Felicity was to remain in Edinburgh. He later told her that Beath had grumbled and put up some resistance, but had finally capitulated in the face of their combined persuasions.
As for Felicity, she was initially stunned by the news but also tremendously relieved to be out from under her grandfather’s thumb. The girl liked Braden a great deal and seemed content to accept him into their little household.
While all that was splendid, it meant that Samantha now had a husband she didn’t quite know what to do with.
She finished braiding her hair after she dismissed her maid, preferring to be alone. Then she contemplated pinching her pale cheeks to give them some color, not that it would matter. Braden had already deduced after their wedding dinner at Heriot Row that she was fighting a headache, and he’d promised to bring her some headache powders.
When the clock in the bedroom chimed the hour, she made a face at her reflection and stood, retying the sash of her dressing gown. A woolen plaid designed for warmth rather than style, it left much to be desired as wedding night garb. But prancing about in a frilly night thing would surely send the wrong message, though the fact that she owned no frilly night things suddenly struck her as rather sad.
She left the small dressing room and was crossing to her bedroom’s fireplace when a soft knock sounded on her door.
“Enter.”
Braden opened the door, balancing two glasses in one hand. “Ready for your powders?”
Samantha’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He’d discarded his coat and cravat, but was still in the waistcoat and trousers he’d worn for dinner. He was also wearing his spectacles, which suggested he’d been reading.
And his feet were bare. They were very nice feet, she noticed, long and well shaped, and proportionately as big as the rest of him. An old wives’ tale she’d once heard about husbands with big hands and feet and what that said about—
Slamming the door on that thought, she dredged up a smile. “Why are you wandering around in bare feet? You’ll catch a chill.”
He closed the door behind him. “Och, your house is as snug as a tea cosy. No chance of me getting a chill.”
“It’s not that snug,” she replied as she picked up the small fireplace shovel. “Mrs. Johnson scolds me constantly for letting the fires go out.”
Placing the glasses on the round table between the two needlepointed armchairs, Braden took the shovel from her hand.
