Free The Temporary Wife by Mary Balogh Page B

lady."
    Well. And that was that, Charity thought. The scene had been played out and she would have to say that the Marquess of Staunton had won his point resoundingly. But perhaps the welcome home would have been just as chilly even if she had not been with him. There was no way of knowing. She knew nothing of the quarrel that had sent him from home and kept him away. And she had no way of knowing either what was to come next. She had not thought beyond this moment and she did not know if her husband had either. With a hand at the small of her back he was turning her in his father's direction again. The housekeeper stood just a few feet off. She had doubtless been summoned by some silent communication—a lifting of the ducal eyebrow, perhaps.
    "Mrs. Aylward," the duke said, "you will conduct the Marchioness of Staunton to the marquess's apartments, if you please, and see to her comfort there. Tea will be served in the drawing room in precisely half an hour. You will attend me in the library, Staunton."
    Did anyone ever smile here? Or do anything with any enthusiasm or spontaneity? Charity was supposed to be quiet, dull, and demure, and she had been all three ever since setting foot over the threshold. But she was oppressed by the atmosphere, offended by it. These people were family . Family members were supposed to love and support one another. And she was, however temporarily, a member of this family. This silver-haired, stern gentleman was her father-in-law . Some gesture was necessary—even imperative—if she was to maintain any of her own identity. She smiled warmly at him and curtsied again.
    "Thank you," she said, and she hesitated for only the merest moment, " Father ."
    Nobody said anything—or rather everybody continued to say nothing. But Charity did not believe she imagined a collective stiffening in everyone around her just as if she had opened her mouth and uttered some obscenity. She turned her smile on her husband, who bowed to her.
    "I shall see you shortly, my love ," he said, throwing just a little emphasis onto the final two words.
    They jolted her. He had never mentioned that part of his plan was to pretend that they had a fondness for each other. But then he had not said a great deal at all about his plans. She turned and followed the housekeeper toward a marble arch and the grand staircase beyond it.
    "My lady," the housekeeper said stiffly as they began the ascent, "we were not informed of the fact that his lordship was bringing a wife to EnfieldPark. I do beg your pardon."
    "For calling me an impertinent baggage?" Charity said, laughing. She could just imagine the woman's embarrassment. "I was amused, Mrs. Aylward. Please forget it."
    But Mrs. Aylward herself looked far from amused, especially at the open reminder of her own words. It must be a rule of the house, Charity decided, that no one was allowed to smile beneath its roof. Her laughter had echoed hollowly and disappeared without a trace. She felt that sense of oppression again. This was not going to be easy. She must hope that the first stage of her marriage would last for very few weeks. She longed for home and for the familiar, cheerful, smiling faces of her family.
    The marquess's apartments, on the second floor, consisted of two large bedchambers, connected by adjoining dressing rooms, and of a study, and a sitting room of equal size. It was clearly an apartment designed for a married couple.
    "I shall have the bed aired and made up immediately, my lady," the housekeeper said, leading her into one of the bedchambers, a square, high-ceilinged room, whose predominant colors of green and gold gave it a springlike appearance. It was by far the least oppressive room Charity had seen in the house so far. It was also a chamber into which her room at home would fit four times over, she was convinced.
    "What a lovely room," she said, crossing the soft carpet to look out of one long window. It faced across a lawn to a horseshoe-shaped lake and