should be paid before I depart Vienna. Except for the baron’s insistence on my participation in the details of our joining, I would never welcome Mr. Welt into my home again, but as it is, I must tolerate Wetl’s continued disdain.”
Miss Satiné closed her eyes as if in pain, and Isolde felt faintly bewildered. “As you wish, Miss.”
*
Three additional days had been required before his little party had set sail, and by the time the Western Moon weighed anchor, John’s nerves had been strung as taut as a harp; however, he had satisfactorily claimed Miss Aldridge as his wife.
Even that had not been without fault. When word came of the delay of their departure because of inclement weather, it was quickly followed by news of the employed clergyman’s taking ill, and a mad scramble ensued to locate an alternate minister to perform the service. John had paid a heavy price to an available clergy in the port city. In spite of the chaos, at eleven of the clock the previous day, the lovely Miss Aldridge had become Baroness Swenton. The only thing, which could have made the day more palpable, would have been if he could have claimed his lady intimately. Unfortunately, Doctor Berhardt had advised him to wait at least another three to four weeks before John demanded his husbandly privileges.
“The future baroness is a delicate lady,” Berhardt had insisted. “Even the hardiest of our women folk require a month to heal properly. Those of Miss Aldridge’s frame a bit longer.”
John had known disappointment, but he thought it a valuable lesson for their future. Moreover, he now held the legal right to kiss his lady as often as he chose. So as he made himself comfortable in his solitary bed on his wedding night, John had concentrated on his future–one filled with a beautiful wife and several children.
Onboard ship, he had done the honorable thing: John had placed his baroness and Miss Neville in the larger of the cabins he had secured for their journey. He had taken the smaller of the two rooms. He also had purchased a third for his mother’s remains. He knew how superstitious sailors were, and so John had an ornate box designed, as if part of his baggage, the gold-painted box rested in the smallest of the quarters, without company. Mrs. Tailor, the English nurse he had employed, and the boy had made a pallet on his wife’s floor.
The first day of their departure from Vienna to the coast had been the first time John had laid eyes upon the child: A pudgy face, which held John’s gaze with obvious interest. Blue eyes, but he thought they might turn darker. Likely to a smoky silver. Thick black hair, which curled about his nurse’s finger. This was the child he would declare to the world to be his. “Rupert,” he had whispered as his finger traced the child’s cheek. “I will do my best by you, Boy.”
It was a telling moment during which John visualized his children. He prayed Satiné would bear him a half dozen. He had been so forlorn as an only child: John did not wish his children to know the same profound loneliness. “I am anxious to have you and the others to call me ‘Papa,’” he had told the babe. “It will be the greatest moment of my life.”
It was on the third morning of their journey when everything changed again, and John wondered if the gods had cursed his marriage. He stumbled from his bunk to answer the persistent tapping on his door to find Miss Neville on the threshold. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and John thought the man who could run his fingers through the silken fire would know instant satisfaction. “Is something amiss?” he asked as he drew his eyes from his wife’s companion.
“It is the baroness, Sir. Come quickly,” she whispered.
Chapter Four
John grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair, dropping it over his head and shoulders as he followed Miss Neville through the empty passage leading to his wife’s quarters. Entering closely behind Satiné’s
Miss Satiné closed her eyes as if in pain, and Isolde felt faintly bewildered. “As you wish, Miss.”
*
Three additional days had been required before his little party had set sail, and by the time the Western Moon weighed anchor, John’s nerves had been strung as taut as a harp; however, he had satisfactorily claimed Miss Aldridge as his wife.
Even that had not been without fault. When word came of the delay of their departure because of inclement weather, it was quickly followed by news of the employed clergyman’s taking ill, and a mad scramble ensued to locate an alternate minister to perform the service. John had paid a heavy price to an available clergy in the port city. In spite of the chaos, at eleven of the clock the previous day, the lovely Miss Aldridge had become Baroness Swenton. The only thing, which could have made the day more palpable, would have been if he could have claimed his lady intimately. Unfortunately, Doctor Berhardt had advised him to wait at least another three to four weeks before John demanded his husbandly privileges.
“The future baroness is a delicate lady,” Berhardt had insisted. “Even the hardiest of our women folk require a month to heal properly. Those of Miss Aldridge’s frame a bit longer.”
John had known disappointment, but he thought it a valuable lesson for their future. Moreover, he now held the legal right to kiss his lady as often as he chose. So as he made himself comfortable in his solitary bed on his wedding night, John had concentrated on his future–one filled with a beautiful wife and several children.
Onboard ship, he had done the honorable thing: John had placed his baroness and Miss Neville in the larger of the cabins he had secured for their journey. He had taken the smaller of the two rooms. He also had purchased a third for his mother’s remains. He knew how superstitious sailors were, and so John had an ornate box designed, as if part of his baggage, the gold-painted box rested in the smallest of the quarters, without company. Mrs. Tailor, the English nurse he had employed, and the boy had made a pallet on his wife’s floor.
The first day of their departure from Vienna to the coast had been the first time John had laid eyes upon the child: A pudgy face, which held John’s gaze with obvious interest. Blue eyes, but he thought they might turn darker. Likely to a smoky silver. Thick black hair, which curled about his nurse’s finger. This was the child he would declare to the world to be his. “Rupert,” he had whispered as his finger traced the child’s cheek. “I will do my best by you, Boy.”
It was a telling moment during which John visualized his children. He prayed Satiné would bear him a half dozen. He had been so forlorn as an only child: John did not wish his children to know the same profound loneliness. “I am anxious to have you and the others to call me ‘Papa,’” he had told the babe. “It will be the greatest moment of my life.”
It was on the third morning of their journey when everything changed again, and John wondered if the gods had cursed his marriage. He stumbled from his bunk to answer the persistent tapping on his door to find Miss Neville on the threshold. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and John thought the man who could run his fingers through the silken fire would know instant satisfaction. “Is something amiss?” he asked as he drew his eyes from his wife’s companion.
“It is the baroness, Sir. Come quickly,” she whispered.
Chapter Four
John grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair, dropping it over his head and shoulders as he followed Miss Neville through the empty passage leading to his wife’s quarters. Entering closely behind Satiné’s
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