“I’m sorry, Alys,” Nell said, having the decency to look contrite. “I meant no offense. It’s just that yer mother knew about herbs and the like. I thought—”
“Ye thought what? That I brewed a potion to keep the pox at bay and my face unblemished?” Alys demanded. “Even Old Maude could do nothing to stave off the illness. I hear she’s badly disfigured.”
“And grateful for it,” Nell replied. “Proves she’s not to blame.”
“Blame for what?” Alys cried. “Everyone knows it was that peddler that came through that brought the illness to the village.”
“Do they?” Nell asked, her eyes narrowing.
“I think ye’d best be on yer way. I have work to do,” Alys said. She was angry and upset. And scared. People always needed someone to blame. She’d just never thought it’d be her.
Chapter 20
Jeremy
Jeremy trudged up the stairs to the bridal chamber, somewhat the worse for drink. The wedding had taken place at the private chapel this afternoon with only Mistress Ashcombe, Lord Lockwood, and Mistress Helmsley, the housekeeper, in attendance. With the smallpox outbreak, no one wanted to attend an elaborate wedding celebration, especially since several servants who had kin in the village had already died and a few others were ill. Jeremy and his father hadn’t arrived until this morning, having delayed as long as possible in order to avoid contagion and fear of bringing the sickness to Bedford Abbey. Even Walter had declined to come, mindful of infecting his family.
Thankfully, Mistress Ashcombe and Marjorie had been spared. Mistress Ashcombe had been ill with smallpox in her youth and Marjorie had locked herself away, praying for the pestilence to burn itself out. She seemed to have succeeded. There had been no new cases in nearly eight days, according to Mistress Helmsley, who had no family in the village but liked to keep abreast of the latest happenings. Even Reverend Gilcrest of St. Botolph’s had not been invited to attend, the marriage performed by Phineas White, a close friend of the Ashcombes.
Jeremy knocked on the door of the bridal chamber to announce his presence and waited patiently to be invited in. When no response came, he entered without permission. Marjorie was on her knees, her pale neck exposed as if she were readying herself for the executioner’s axe. Her forehead rested on her clasped hands. Jeremy had hoped she would at least let her hair down, but she wore a plain linen cap and was clad in her chemise, which covered her from neck to ankle. She had worn a gown of brocaded blue silk for their wedding, but it had been modest in the extreme, with an unfashionably high neckline and a simple lace collar. Her hair had been severely pulled back, with not a ringlet or curl to soften her stony countenance nor a warm gaze directed at her new husband. Even now, Marjorie pretended not to see him and continued to pray, her lips moving silently and quickly as if she had to get it all out before Jeremy interrupted her.
Sitting down on the opposite side of the bed, Jeremy kicked off his shoes, then removed the handsome new doublet his father had presented him with this morning, followed by breeches and hose. He decided to keep his shirt on, to spare Marjorie the sight of his naked body. She’d likely never seen an unclothed man before and most certainly not in a state of arousal, which he had yet to attain.
At last, Marjorie got off her knees and climbed into bed, pulling the counterpane up to her chin. She didn’t look at him or say anything, her gaze fixed on the dark green tester. Turning on his side, Jeremy raised himself on his elbow and moved his other hand up and down Marjorie’s arm, lightly, so as not to alarm her. Still, she refused to look at him.
“Marjorie, I know you’re afraid,” Jeremy began. “But there’s no shame in lying with your husband, and the act can be quite pleasurable if both parties give themselves up to it.” Jeremy nearly kicked himself for his choice of words. He’d only meant to reassure her, but it sounded as if he were freely admitting to lying with other women before her. He had, as any nobleman his age would, but there was no need to rub her nose in it.
“I’m sorry. I only meant that it needn’t be a source of anxiety for you. I will do everything in my power to avoid hurting you. And next time—”
“I know what you meant, my lord,” Marjorie cut across him, finally turning to face him, her expression inscrutable. “I’m ready to submit to you,” she said. She sounded tense and scared, as if she were giving her executioner permission to proceed.
Despite all the wine he’d consumed at supper, Jeremy felt stone sober, his body refusing to rise to the task as he looked at his bride, whose defiant expression did nothing to arouse him. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned his wedding night, but Marjorie was young and frightened, and it was up to him to try to make her first experience bearable. He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against hers, the kiss gentle and tender.
Marjorie shut her eyes, bracing for the inevitable. Jeremy tried again. She allowed him to kiss her but didn’t kiss him back, keeping her lips pressed firmly together. Jeremy cupped her breast through the fabric of the chemise and ran his thumb over her nipple, hoping to arouse something in her, but she remained stiff as a plank, her
