“I would prefer it,” Marjorie said unapologetically.
Jeremy offered his arm to Mistress Ashcombe when the steward announced that the meal was served. Marjorie walked behind them, her expression stony, her back ramrod straight. She hadn’t smiled once, Jeremy noticed, wondering if he was a disappointment to her. Was she angry about the proposed marriage? Frightened? Worried he wouldn’t make her a good husband? He wanted to reassure her, which was why he’d hoped to get her on her own, so that they could speak openly with each other.
Chapter 10
The food was uninspired, and the conversation quickly stalled. Mistress Ashcombe tried her best, but Marjorie wasn’t one for witty repartee, staring down into her plate as if all the answers in the universe could be found in her slice of boiled mutton.
Jeremy sensed her discomfort and hoped he wasn’t the reason for it, but given that he’d just met her, it was difficult to tell. As he listened to his future mother-in-law with half an ear, he tried to imagine a life with the young woman seated across from him. She seemed so dour, so aloof. He tried not to form harsh judgments on first meeting someone, but Marjorie Ashcombe did not strike him as a desirable companion or a willing bedmate. Of course, at this stage, he could hardly back out. The die had been cast, and he had to make the best of the situation.
Jeremy laid down his eating knife and tilted his head, trying to catch Marjorie’s eye. He was being unfair, he chided himself. She was nervous. It was only natural. She’d just met the man she was going to marry and was overcome with shyness, probably trying to envision a life with him as well and finding him lacking. It was up to him to draw her out and put her mind at ease.
“Do you have any ideas for the wedding?” he asked. They were to wed in three weeks’ time, and it had been agreed that the celebration would take place at Ashcombe Manor. “A favorite song perhaps?” Jeremy suggested. “Do you enjoy dancing?”
“I do not dance, sir,” Marjorie replied stiffly.
“Why?” Jeremy asked, shocked. He was very partial to music, as was his father, who kept his own band of musicians to play for his pleasure at their family home, Bedford Abbey. Jeremy’s mother had been fond of dancing, or so he’d been told, and would dance well into the night whenever there was a celebration. He missed his mother and wished he could ask for her advice, especially now.
“Because it is sinful,” Marjorie replied.
“Surely a bride can dance with her new husband before a company of family and friends.”
Marjorie shook her head stubbornly. “Such licentiousness is an offense to God.”
“Same goes for music, I suppose?” Jeremy said.
“Indeed, sir. Music invites dissolute behavior,” Marjorie said, her gaze daring Jeremy to disagree.
“Marjorie,” Mistress Ashcombe interrupted. “Surely the outcome is not always as dire as you imagine.”
“I disagree, Mother,” Marjorie argued. For the first time, Jeremy saw a spark of passion in her eyes. “Most people start out with good intentions, but the Devil is ever-present, always waiting for a moment of weakness to seize upon, and we must be vigilant and not allow him in.”
In theory, Jeremy didn’t disagree with her. Strong drink and physical proximity set to music were a powerful combination, often breaking down the barriers of propriety and resulting in acts one regretted come morning. Or remembered with great fondness. It had been at Walter’s wedding, eight years ago, that Jeremy had danced with his new sister-in-law’s widowed cousin, a woman eight years his senior, who had relieved him of his virginity later that night, using the velvety shadows of the nighttime garden to hide their tryst. Ursula had remained at Bedford Abbey for several weeks, as companion to Mary, and had made the most of her time, taking a fifteen-year-old Jeremy into her bed almost nightly and giving him an education he’d never forget. He still thought of her with great affection and was glad she was now happily married to a man who adored her.
“There’s little enough joy in the world that people should feel the need to purposely exclude gaiety from their lives,” Jeremy said. “I enjoy music, and I am fond of dancing. I agree that sometimes it can lead to immoral behavior,” he said, smiling at Marjorie, “but it really does depend on the company.”
“Of course Marjorie will dance with you on your wedding day,” Mistress Ashcombe said, casting a pleading look in Marjorie’s direction. “And I’m sure there will be nothing improper in it. Isn’t that so, Marjorie?”
Marjorie sighed miserably, admitting defeat. “If you wish it, my lord.”
“I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you don’t wish to do,” Jeremy replied.
“Then may I ask you to have the ceremony in our private chapel?” Marjorie asked.
“Will it not be performed by the parish priest?” Jeremy asked, surprised by her request.
“No. Father was on excellent terms with Reverend White of All Saints’ in Chesterfield, and I’d like to ask him to perform the marriage ceremony, if you have no objection.”
Jeremy turned to Mistress Ashcombe, but she fixed her gaze on her congealing mutton. Asa Lockwood would not like the turn this conversation had taken one bit, but this was Jeremy’s one chance to build a bridge between himself and his future bride, and he would be wise to take it.
“Of course. Please ask Reverend White to officiate.”
Marjorie’s dark gaze met his, and she smiled for the first time. It wasn’t a wide smile or a joyful one; it was a smile of triumph. “I thank you for your understanding, my lord,” Marjorie said, and pushed away her plate.
Jeremy followed suit. It was high time he got on the road, and, in
