Page 7 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

They all must have known that she had been crying. Patrina tried to wipe her eyes surreptitiously, but it was no use. In a carriage of that size, one could not hide anything .

Everybody found a way to have their eyes elsewhere, while Patrina muffled her sniffs and dabbed at her eyes with an already damp handkerchief.

“It isn’t such a long journey, you know,” Lady Cynthia Tidemore said in a rush. “Three and a half hours is quite manageable. After a week or two, I imagine your family will be coming to visit with us all the time, and you travelling to them. We can have a carriage set aside for your personal use, whenever you like.”

She was trying, at least. Patrina gave her new sister-in-law a watery smile. “It has been a day full of emotion,” she said, a trifle unnecessarily. “I think I am just tired.”

“Are you cold?” Cynthia pressed. “Here, you must share my rug with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she draped a soft rug over their knees, its warm weight resting heavy across Patrina’s lap. The warmth was a little too much – the carriage was already growing stuffy – but the weight was reassuring, somehow. She leaned back against the carriage seat and surveyed her fellow travellers for the first time.

Cynthia was a pretty woman, with the green-gold eyes which Patrina was beginning to realize were the hallmark of a Tidemore, and thick, impeccably arranged black hair. She wore a deep pink gown which suited her colouring well.

The Dowager, Lady Emma Tidemore, was a little more serious, a little more haughty. She stared at Patrina as if trying to make a study of her. Which, Patrina supposed, she was. What woman wanted to meet her daughter-in-law for the first time on the day of her son’s wedding?

“Are you comfortable, my dear?” Lady Emma said at last. “May I call you Patrina, or would you prefer something more formal?”

“Patrina will do,” she responded.

“And you must call me Cynthia,” the other woman said at once, not to be undone. “We’ll be a family, after all.”

Patrina smiled weakly and turned her attention to her new husband.

She had been too nervous to look much at him before, besides the occasion where his hand shook so violently, she had thought he was going to drop the ring. It was oddly touching, and she was holding his hand to steady it before she even knew what she was doing.

He looked handsome, if pale and tired. His thick dark hair was brushed simply back, locks falling defiantly forward over his temples and forehead, and the glow of his green eyes was a little faded. As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced her way, and their gazes met.

Her initial reaction was to drag her gaze away, to stare out of the window, or pretend to be looking at something else.

No, Patrina told herself. I am a married woman. I am a Marchioness.

She held his gaze, and he looked away first.

Outside, the first fat, threatening drops of rain began to fall from a grey sky.

“Rain on a wedding day,” the Dowager remarked. “That’s bad luck.”

“Mama!” Cynthia hissed. “That is impolite.”

“It’s quite all right,” Patrina said. “I don’t believe in luck, bad or otherwise. I believe that we make our own good, one way or another.”

The Dowager turned slate-grey eyes to stare at Patrina. Again, Patrina did not let her gaze drop.

“Interesting,” she said at last. “An interesting opinion. Do you have many of them, my dear Patrina? Opinions, I mean?”

Patrina flashed a smile. She was already feeling better. “Oh, I have lots, Lady Emma. Quite a lot .”

Surprise flickered across the older woman’s face, just for a moment.

“I see. Well, I hope you’ll allow me to show you the way things are done in Morendale Manor, Patrina. Tradition is so important, don’t you think?”

“I believe it can be,” she responded. “But not always. After all, you say things are done a certain way at the Manor, yes?”

“Yes, for hundreds of years.”

“Then perhaps it is time for a change.”

Lady Emma looked vaguely nauseous at the mention of that hideous word, change .

“I suppose we shall see,” she said, without a hint of feeling behind the words. “You are the Marchioness now. You can do as you like.”

Patrina began to feel a little guilty. Perhaps it was the combination of fear over what awaited her ahead and grief over what she had left behind, but she had a feeling that she had been too harsh with Lady Emma. After all, the woman was only trying to make her feel at home.

I’ll never feel at home here, with these people, Patrina thought bleakly. She caught Lady Emma’s eye, and gave a small, nervous smile.

“Not that I mean to change things very much, of course. I suppose we all want to make our mark on the world, at least a little.”

Lady Emma hesitated, then gave her a small smile in response.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

They fell into silence as the journey continued. Nobody had much to say; it seemed that they were all too tired. Cynthia slumped against the side of the carriage and slept, Lady Emma took out what appeared to be a small journal and scribbled notes, while Lord Morendale turned towards the window, face shadowed.

After some time – Patrina had no watch, and so could not trace exactly how much time had passed – he turned, glancing towards her.

“You have nothing to read, nothing to do, Miss M… Patrina. I suppose I may call you Patrina, now?”

She gave a small smile. “Indeed, I think so. And no, I did not bring anything. Foolish of me, I suppose.”

“I brought a book to read myself, but I find myself with too much to reflect upon to bother reading it. Here, you could have a look if you wish.”

“ Emma ,” she read aloud. “ By A Lady . Would this be the same Lady who wrote that marvellous novel, Pride and Prejudice ?”

“I believe so. I’m quite enamoured by her works, I must say.”

“You have fine taste. I haven’t read this one yet,” Patrina commented, flashing a wry smile and opening the book. There was an inscription on the first leaf:

To Neil, From Cynthia: Saw This In A Bath Bookshop, And I Had To Buy It For You! Enjoy, And Much Love From Your Sister.

She glanced up at him again. “Neil. Your name is Neil.”

He tilted his head. “Yes. Did you not already know that?”

“I don’t believe so. Or I may simply have forgotten. You’ve always been Lord Morendale in my head.”

“My apologies, I should have introduced myself properly. I am Neil, and you are Patrina. To the world, we are Lord and Lady Morendale, Marquess and Marchioness. But to each other, I hope we can be something more informal, at least.”

Something tightened in Patrina’s chest. He really did look ill. He was paler than before, if possible, and she remembered what Agnes had said about him being entirely too thin. His eyes were huge in his face, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“I hope so, too,” she said quietly, aware of Lord Emma and Cynthia just inches away, probably both pretending not to listen.

He smiled tiredly back. “We should be happy enough, you and I, I think. I have no intention to make you unhappy.”

“Nor I you.”

He nodded in response, and abruptly began to rummage in his pockets. He withdrew a small bottle with a stoppered top, hand shaking almost as hard as it had during their wedding ceremony, and carefully measured out a few drops onto his tongue. The taste must have been bitter, because he screwed up his face and swallowed with an effort.

“Medicine?” she asked, a little unnecessarily.

He nodded. “Our family physician prescribes them for me. They don’t seem to be doing much good, but he assures me that the fits would be a great deal worse without them.”

“Did your father have the same medicine?”

Neil paused, a frown appearing between his brows. “I cannot recall. He might have. Mr. Blackburn took care of him, too.”

“Hm. Well, perhaps it might be a time for a change in that respect. Could Mr. Blackburn not recommend other treatments?”

“I believe the physician knows what he is doing,” Lady Emma spoke up, quiet but firm. “Don’t overstep yourself, Patrina. Do not try to run before you can barely walk.”

Patrina’s hackles rose. She turned to Lady Emma, entirely ready to start an argument right there in the carriage, but Cynthia intervened. She laid a hand on her mother’s arm, smiling nervously around at everyone.

“Come, come, let’s not talk of changes and overstepping just yet! It’s Neil and Patrina’s wedding day. The weather is awful, but it’s nice and cosy in here, isn’t it? Can’t we just be a nice little family for a while? Just for today?”

Patrina blinked. There was something in that plea which felt as though it wasn’t about her and the wedding day at all, but something deeper, something she was not privy to.

“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say, sinking back into the seat. “I’m a little snappy.”

Lady Emma relaxed a little at this apology. “As am I, I think.”

There was a moment of silence, a little breath, and then the carriage abruptly lurched to a halt. Both Cynthia and Patrina were thrown forward out of their seats. Patrina very nearly collided with Neil, only saved by his hands on her upper arms. Their faces were very close together, as if they were about to share the kiss the rector had never asked them to take.

Clearing her throat, Patrina sat back at once, glad that the gloomy light hid the red of her cheeks.

It was no later than mid-afternoon, but what with the worsening rain and heavy grey skies, it seemed hours later.

“I’ll see what all this is about,” Neil said to no one in particular and climbed out of the carriage.

The three women were left to sit by themselves, glancing around.

“How much further do we have to go?” Patrina asked, breaking the silence.

“Two hours, I should think,” Lady Emma answered. “We haven’t made good time. The roads will be bad with this rain, too.”

“I hate travelling in the dark,” Cynthia muttered, sinking lower in her seat.

Suddenly, Patrina felt as though she had to do something. Sitting in the carriage and listening to the voices of the men outside was not to her taste. Not at all.

“I think I shall go and see what’s happening,” Patrina said aloud, half to herself.

Lady Emma glanced sharply at her. “I think it would be better if you stayed in the carriage, Patrina.”

“It’s raining so badly. You’ll get wet,” Cynthia objected. “Why not wait? Neil will tell us what is going on. I’m sure he’ll manage it himself.”

I thought he was meant to be mad, Patrina thought, but did not voice the thought. She said nothing and reached towards the carriage door.

“Patrina!” Lady Emma said, voice sharp. “You’ll stay here.”

Patrina paused, glancing over her shoulder at her new mother-in-law. She grinned.

“Will I?”

With that, she opened the carriage door and slipped neatly out into the growing darkness.

Cynthia had been right about the rain. It was coming down heavier than ever, and Patrina was quickly soaked, despite holding her shawl above her head. She could see a second carriage behind them, a blocky shape through the curtains of rain. The lanterns hanging on the sides of both carriages provided enough light for Patrina to pick her way through the rutted tracks of the road, stepping over puddles which soaked her hems no matter how high she stepped.

The two coachmen stood on either side of Neil, arms crossed, staring at an irregular, dark shape stretching across the road. She moved forward, through the curtains of rain, and saw that it was a fallen tree. An old oak, by the looks of it, roots and all.

“Heavy rain and high winds,” one of the coachmen was saying. “Bound to happen sooner or later, it was.”

“It’ll take hours to clear all this away,” Neil said, heaving a sigh. “And then night will be here in earnest. This rain is set in for the night, and probably into tomorrow. The roads will be pitch black, bogged with mire…” he paused, and turned around to see Patrina approaching. “Oh. I thought you were in the carriage.”

“I was,” Patrina responded, holding her shawl above her head to keep off the worst of the rain. “I wanted to see what was happening.”

Neil didn’t seem particularly annoyed that she’d left the carriage, and Patrina was glad about that. A man who thought he could give the most careless of orders and have them obeyed implicitly was not the sort of man she wished to be married to.

He turned back to the fallen tree, gesturing helplessly.

“You can see what the trouble is. Our way is blocked, and this is the fastest way home.”

Patrina peered up and down the road, shading her eyes to keep out the rain. As far as she could tell, the road was a long, straight one, with no branches or turns that she could see. They must have been going straight for some miles.

“Can we retrace our steps?”

“We can,” Neil said, “but it will add an hour or two to our journey. As I was saying to Kenneth, by the time this tree is cleared away, we’ll be hours behind. It will be entirely dark, and the roads are too dangerous to travel in the dark at any rate, let alone in this weather.”

Patrina felt a flurry of fear. The cozy carriages suddenly didn’t seem very secure at all, and certainly not warm and comfortable enough to keep them safe through a long, miserable night.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll stop at an inn,” Neil said firmly. “It will be safer to stop a night at an inn than push on in the dark and reap the consequences.”

She nodded. “I think you’re right.”

It was hard not to agree with him. Neil spoke calmly and quietly, but with the cool confidence of a man who knew what he was talking about, and fully intended to take control.

Not very madman-like of him, at least.

Squelching footsteps caught their attention, and Patrina turned to see the red-headed steward approaching, collar turned up against the wind and rain.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, seeing the fallen tree. “I guess we aren’t going much further tonight, then.”

Neil nodded. “You’re right. Harry, I want you to turn your carriage around, and head straight to that inn we passed about a mile back. The Yellow Lion, I think it was called. It will do. Take three rooms: one for you and me, one for Lady Morendale and her maid, and one for Mother and Cynthia. Kenneth and Charles will be bedded down in the stables with the other coachmen, I imagine, but if the stables are too uncomfortable, we’ll have to take a fourth room. Order tea and hot baths to our rooms, and we’ll have food after we’ve bathed and rested.”

Harry gave a sharp nod, not even needing to ask Neil to repeat himself.

“Of course. We’ll go ahead of you, then?”

“That will be best. Ours is the bigger carriage and will be more troublesome to turn around. Once you get to the inn and have the rooms arranged, set about finding people to clear away this tree. We might be able to leave first thing in the morning, if we’re lucky.”

Harry gave another nod, bowed to Patrina, and then hurried back to the smaller carriage, the coachman following close behind.

Patrina blinked, eyeing Neil curiously.

Neil, perhaps sensing her eyes on him, glanced down at her, and gave her a weak smile.

“It’s not exactly the finest start to our honeymoon, spending our wedding night at an inn on the side of the road, but it will have to do.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. However, a thought kept rattling round and round in her head, like a marble in a cup.

He’s not mad. He can’t be.

But if he’s not mad, what is wrong with him?