The Heir - Catherine Coulter [48]
Life had seemed to be a series of pities. She had hated her husband more than she’d believed it possible to hate another human being. At least he had given her Arabella. If he’d hated Arabella—another girl child—as he’d hated Elsbeth, she imagined that she would have brought herself to the breaking point and killed him. But he’d adored Arabella, adored her more than life itself. How odd of him, this despot who had wanted a son more than anything.
Lady Ann brought her mind back to see Justin, after a peculiar brief hesitation, slip a gold band upon Arabella’s third finger.
She had been humming. He could clearly hear her voice, soft and pleased with herself, humming as she’d come out of the barn. Humming even as she had pulled straw from her hair. Humming even as she had straightened her clothing. He saw her clearly leaning down and pulling a straw out of her slipper. The betraying bitch.
“By the authority vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The curate beamed at the young couple and whispered to the earl, “You are a very lucky man, my lord. Lady Arabella is beyond lovely. You may now kiss your bride.”
The earl’s jaw tightened. He had to look at her. She was his wife, forever. He forced himself to lean down and brush his lips against her mouth. God, she was soft, moist, eager, the slut. The radiant glow on her face sickened him. She tried to keep his mouth just a moment longer on hers, and just grinned wickedly up at him when he jerked away from her. He turned quickly away and gazed with hopeless intensity at the golden cross behind the curate’s left shoulder.
Lady Ann found herself praying silently that Justin would be gentle with Arabella. But that wish brought a wry smile to her lips. Only that afternoon, as she had bustled about Arabella, showing her each new article of clothing that she had paid little or no attention to, scolding her for her inattention as her maid toweled her damp hair, she had thought it time to do her duty as a mother. Nervously she had dismissed the maid and faced her daughter. “My love,” she began slowly, “tonight you will be a married lady. I think you ought to know that there will be certain changes. That is, Justin will be your husband, and that means many things. For example—”
Arabella interrupted her with a shout of delighted laughter. “Mama, are you by any chance referring to the imminent loss of my virginity?”
Oh goodness. “Arabella!”
“Now, Mama, I am sorry to shock you, but you must know that Father most superbly detailed the entire, well, let’s call it a process, though, to be honest, Papa called it mating. I am not afraid, Mama, indeed, I can think of nothing more pleasurable than making love with Justin. I think he will be very good at it. Don’t you think so? A gentleman should gain experience and, well, skill, before he weds. You don’t doubt that I will disappoint him, do you? Oh dear, I know little of nothing when it comes to the actual doing of things. Perhaps there are a few things you could tell me to make him, well, know that I believe him to be beautiful and not at all terrifying?”
Lady Ann didn’t know a single thing. A man, beautiful? Perhaps he had been beautiful, but she’d been so afraid, hated him so very much, that she’d kept her eyes closed as much as possible. A man, beautiful? She had never even considered such a thing. Perhaps . . . She just stared at her grown daughter, helpless, totally beyond her ken. Her father had told her everything? Had he told her that men were savage and brutal and cared nothing for the woman’s pain? No, evidently not. He’d only told her the process. The bastard. That was disgusting enough in itself. No, perhaps she should think about this more. She pictured Dr. Branyon in her mind and blushed a red as a stormy sunset.
“Mama, are you all right? Oh, I see, you think I shouldn’t know all that I happen