Free A June Bride by Teresa DesJardien

Alessandra Hamilton was such a quiz her husband would not even spend their wedding night with her? Bah!” he cried, suddenly throwing himself into one of his wife’s sitting-room chairs, his hands holding either side of his head.
    “I don’t mean to insult her. Nor you, sir,” Geoffrey said, trying to make annoyance sound like reason.
    Lord Warring looked up. His face scrunched into a mask of thoughtfulness and exasperation combined, and he leaned forward to plant his hands on his knees, his elbows at right angles, obviously assessing the situation, trying to control his anger.
    “What does Lessie say to all this? You have spoken to her, I should hope?” he demanded.
    “I have. She is agreed there is no hurry.”
    Lady Warring uttered some sort of prayer or invocation, and sank into the chair next to her husband’s.
    Lord Warring fell silent, his mouth held tight as he stared at the man before him. At length, he sighed, and stood once again. He planted himself before Geoffrey, his arms crossed in resignation. “Well then,” he sighed heavily. “I suppose she’s been a trifle ruffled. She’s young and…and delicate, as a miss of but eighteen ought to be.”
    Geoffrey found the word “delicate” unsuited to the Alessandra he’d met with over the last week, but chose not to speak.
     “One night then. You can have your cursed room to yourself this night, but tomorrow you shall resume your husbandly place in the marriage bed.”
    “Such talk!” Lady Warring took up a book and began to fan her face with it.
    There was nothing for it, of course. He and Alessandra meant to try to play at this game called marriage. Time would march forward; there must be a coming together at some point anyway. “Very well, sir,” he said. “I agree.”
    Lord Warring “hmphed” and took up Geoffrey’s hand to press it with both his own. Then he said, “She’s pretty, my Lessie, eh?”
    Geoffrey inclined his head. “She is.”
    “And as of tomorrow you’ll share the Sapphire Room with her?”
    “I have given my word that I will.” Although I said nothing about the how of that sharing, he thought to himself.
    “And you’ll give me grandchildren?”
    “I never said so.”
    Lord Warring’s jaw dropped. “But you must!”
    Geoffrey smiled ever so slightly. “I need not. You and I arrived at no such bargain.”
    “I add it now—”
    “No, my lord. Your bargain is made. But, fear not, your daughter and I shall inform you if ever such a blessed event is to be.”
    Geoffrey issued a sharp bow, and left his new relations gaping at his retreating back. Perhaps Lord Warring would henceforth think twice before trying to dictate his—or even Alessandra’s—behavior in the future.
    ***
    Having found and downed his snifter of brandy, Geoffrey was led to a different bedchamber by a bleary-eyed footman.
    Despite his claim to Alessandra, Geoffrey found he was not sleepy. A servant had moved his portmanteau to a quickly opened room, and filled a chest of drawers with the few garments he’d brought along with his wedding clothes.  His nightshirt lay across the bed’s pillows. He grimaced a little as he looked at the garment, thinking that Lord Warring’s servants were certainly efficient, and almost without doubt as wont to gossip about two rooms for the newlyweds as Lord Warring feared.
    As he’d done for Alessandra, Geoffrey pulled the counterpane from the bed and wrapped it about his body, then sat before the fire. It was a blasted chilly room—albeit better than in the Sapphire Room.
    He stared into the flames, willing his mind to rest and think of nothing, but before long he was bored and wishing he had something to read. That thought led to the fact there was only one lamp lighted. Surely there would be candles in some drawer or other?
    He rose, doffed his blanket with a disapproving shiver, and moved about the room until he had located no candles but a second lamp. Old lectures from his nanny came to mind to assure