Be My Bride by Regina Scott Page A

she would not have to lift a finger if she didn’t want to. She trailed behind the procession up the massive central stairway, gazing at the rich-hued tapestries, Oriental vases, and Greek statues that lined the long halls, until Evenson stopped her at the doorway to a large bedchamber.
    “Your room, Mrs. Lewiston,” he intoned.
    The name sounded surprisingly lovely on his lips, and she smiled as she stepped past him. Then her smile froze on her face. Staring at her in the center of the chamber was a huge box bed whose burgundy and gold hangings reached to brush the high ceiling. Twin dressing tables stood on either side of it, the elaborate carvings of twisting dragons on their fronts matching the headboard of the giant bed. The size and complexity of each piece of furniture was overwhelming enough, but what upset her far more was the tortoise-shell comb and brush set on one of the dressers, with all the accouterments a gentleman might need to shave and dress in the morning. A young woman in a black dress and white apron was setting Cynthia’s brushes and belongings on the other table.
    “This,” Cynthia said in icy tones, “is not my bedchamber.”
    Daniel was chasing Adam down the corridor that held the family bedchambers when he was pulled up short by Cynthia’s voice. It wasn’t so much that it was any louder than usual; if anything it sounded oddly stilled.
    “I assure you that there has been a mistake,” she was telling Evenson, who stood erect and proper just inside the door to the master bedchamber. “This cannot possibly be my room.”
    “Hey, ho,” he called, moving to his butler’s side. “Is something amiss?”
    One look at her confirmed his suspicions. Under the pale pink rose buds on the rim of the fetching straw bonnet she had worn to their wedding, her chin was as firm as Adam’s when he was determined to have his way. Even the lady-like flounce of her pink silk wedding gown failed to hide the fact that her dainty foot was tapping in her agitation.
    Evenson cleared his throat. “Madam does not find the bedchamber to her liking.”
    “Oh?” Daniel glanced around the large chamber. He didn’t immediately see anything that might trouble her in the heavy polished walnut furniture or burgundy bed linens; but then he’d seen it every day since he had been eight. “If it’s the decor that bothers you, Cynthia, we can easily have it redone. I suppose it is a bit on the manly side.”
    She was alternating between blushing and paling, and he knew something must be seriously wrong.
    “Evenson,” he remarked casually, “go see what the boys have found to amuse themselves with so quietly, would you?”
    Evenson bowed with obvious relief. “With pleasure, sir.”
    As his man hurried off down the hall, Daniel stepped to Cynthia’s side. “Now, then, suppose you tell me what’s troubling you.”
    She glared up at him, anger rising as she felt a tear trickle down one cheek. How could he stand there and pretend the only thing troubling her was the color of the bed linens? She had once thought him lack-witted, but now she wondered whether he was a lecher as well. “You promised!” she hissed.
    Daniel blinked. “Promised?”
    She stepped back from him, livid. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t remember. To think I trusted you. Call the carriage at once. The boys and I are leaving.”
    “Cynthia!” He caught her hands in his, and she pulled them quickly out. “I don’t understand. If you don’t like this chamber, you have only to pick another. Gads, there must be at least twenty in this monstrosity.”
    Arrested, she stared at him. “Choose another?”
    “Yes, please, if that’s what’s troubling you.”
    She stepped a little closer, peering up into his face but saw only earnest concern. He stood as still as possible, wondering what on earth had happened to make her so skittish. “Where are you sleeping?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
    “I asked Evenson to move my things down the corridor