Free The Kidnapped Bride by Amanda Scott

his arm, and they went downstairs. Half an hour afterward, Miss Sarah Lennox-Matthews had become the Countess of Moreland. Darcy insisted upon cracking a bottle to celebrate, and Mrs. Stanley, a small and dapper little white-haired gentleman, was nothing loath, having accepted a handsome recompense for his journey and eyeing with favor the bottle of champagne presented by Beck for his master’s approval.
    Beck, too, was invited to join in the toast as were Tom and Matty, who had also stood witness to the ceremony. Sarah could not think Matty really needed the drink and hoped she would not pass out somewhere and forget about their luncheon. Darcy also poured out a small glass for his bride. Sarah really didn’t enjoy the taste of wines and spirits, but it did seem a bit surly to refuse to toast her own wedding. The two gentlemen finished off the bottle, and Darcy invited Mr. Stanley to stay to luncheon. That gentleman accepting with beaming pleasure, they adjourned to the dining parlor, and if the little minister was any the less pleased with his decision after he had partaken of the tasteless meal, he hid his feelings well. Of course, he and Darcy had imbibed a good deal of the grape by then, so Sarah thought it possible that he did not really notice that the food lacked flavor. By half past one, he weaved his way to the front door, bidding the married couple fond best wishes and farewell.
    They watched his departure from the doorway, and once he was out of sight, Darcy turned to his bride with an unmistakable air of anticipation. “I shall be leaving at once, my lady, for time is short. Must present the marriage lines to your grandfather’s Mr. Smithers.” He wasted little time, and less than a quarter hour later, he was gone.
    No longer confined to her room, Sarah thought at first that it would be fun to explore the old house, but she soon gave it up as a lonely, dreary prospect. Upstairs, several of the rooms had beds and one or two even possessed a chest or a chair, but everything was under Holland covers, and many of the rooms were entirely devoid of furnishings. The only one besides Sarah’s own that could be considered truly habitable was Darcy’s.
    This chamber, down the corridor from Sarah’s, was furnished with a masculine flavor, and she entered quietly, feeling almost as though she were invading his privacy. But she suppressed the feeling. After all, this place was going to be her home for the rest of her life. She had a right to look it over. Besides, she meant to make changes. There was no reason that it should continue to look so uncared-for. Even though this bedchamber was furnished, it still carried the same shabby, neglected air as the other rooms she had seen. Frayed, peacock-blue velvet curtains hung at tall windows overlooking the expanse of woods on the south side of the house. Off in the distance, one could catch a view of the common, and sunshine splashed across the floor. The windows flanked a large fireplace in which, at the moment, the ashes were cold. Sarah crossed an ancient Axminster carpet in muted shades of blue, dark gold, and green, to inspect shabby bed hangings that reflected the same colors in a tapestry pattern worked long ago by undoubtedly loving fingers.
    Abstractedly, she smoothed the fluffy feather comforter encased in faded blue watered silk that covered the great carved bed, and cast a disinterested eye over two worn leather armchairs, similar to the pair in the library, that faced one another across the hearthstones. A low chest stood under one window, while a large, ornate wardrobe filled the east wall, but the only article of furniture that truly caught her fancy was a dressing table with a mirror that folded down cunningly to make a writing surface. A tapestry-covered stool was drawn up before it. But once she had figured out how the dressing table worked, she glanced around again with an appraising eye. If nothing else, there was certainly scope for change here. She