down with a gesture when I got your father’s telegram.”
He pictured the housekeeper as he’d last seen her, gray haired, deep bosomed, motherly, and chatty. “Good evening, Mrs. Webber.” His hand hit the iron railing, and he made his way up the steps.
She latched on to his arm and tugged him into the house.
The sounds of footsteps on the walk and the thunk of bags hitting the parquet floor informed him that the baggage had been deposited. Coins clinked, and the cabbie muttered, “Thank ya, ma’am.”
Once more his wife had to do tasks that should be his, leaving him sidelined like a toddler in a world of adults.
Karen sighed, as if grateful to have arrived, and the fabric of her dress rustled. He pictured her removing her hat and gloves.
Mrs. Webber’s familiar lemon verbena scent surrounded him as she bustled past. “I’ll take the bags upstairs.” The housekeeper patted his arm again, and he just refrained from brushing her away. “Here you go, missus. You take the lamp and I’ll follow you up.”
Karen linked her arm through David’s. The faint odor of burning kerosene reached him. She stopped him when they reached the upstairs hall and directed him aside.
Mrs. Webber lumbered by with the baggage and deposited it on the carpet.
“Thank you, Mrs. Webber. That’s all for tonight.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” The housekeeper chortled and coughed, then padded down the stairs humming Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
Karen’s heart lodged somewhere in her throat and beat painfully, making it hard to draw a controlled breath. Her wedding night. She set the lamp on the bureau beside the door and stooped to move the bags so David wouldn’t trip on them. “What a lovely room.” Did her voice sound as nervous as she felt? “I suppose we can leave most of the unpacking for the morning, don’t you?” She crossed to close the navy velvet drapes.
David stood in the doorway. “You can leave my things.” He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb. “Your room is next door. The water closet and bath are across the hall.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her hands gripping the fabric. “My room? But, I thought I would sleep in here. After all, we did get married today.”
“That’s right. I married you. But this will be a marriage in name only. I have no intention of consummating our union. When the time comes that you realize your mistake in marrying me, you can apply for an annulment.”
The air rushed out of her lungs and her head spun. An annulment? “When are you going to understand that I have no intention of leaving you? Did you not hear me today? I promised to love, honor, and obey you until death parted us.”
“I heard your promise. Now obey me and take your things to the next room. I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed. It’s been a long day.” He stepped farther into the room and waited.
Numb at this turn of events, Karen gathered her valise and straightened. “David, can’t we talk about this?”
“This is not a matter for discussion. Go to bed.”
She gathered the lamp and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind her, shutting her out as effectively as putting out a cat for the night. The final humiliation came when he turned the key in the lock.
Tears blurred the flame in the lamp she held and smudged the shadowy outline of the carpet runner and the doorways that gaped open like eyeless sockets along the hallway. She went into the bedroom David said was hers and placed the lamp on the dressing table. With chilly fingers she turned up the wick. The furnishings and décor matched the master bedroom exactly.
Her feet sank into the carpet when she crossed to the bed. Cold satin pillowed her body as she lay back across the coverlet. Rejected and humiliated, she tried to make sense of why he would do this to her. Was he punishing her for pushing him into this marriage? And why mention an annulment?
The sobs burning in
He pictured the housekeeper as he’d last seen her, gray haired, deep bosomed, motherly, and chatty. “Good evening, Mrs. Webber.” His hand hit the iron railing, and he made his way up the steps.
She latched on to his arm and tugged him into the house.
The sounds of footsteps on the walk and the thunk of bags hitting the parquet floor informed him that the baggage had been deposited. Coins clinked, and the cabbie muttered, “Thank ya, ma’am.”
Once more his wife had to do tasks that should be his, leaving him sidelined like a toddler in a world of adults.
Karen sighed, as if grateful to have arrived, and the fabric of her dress rustled. He pictured her removing her hat and gloves.
Mrs. Webber’s familiar lemon verbena scent surrounded him as she bustled past. “I’ll take the bags upstairs.” The housekeeper patted his arm again, and he just refrained from brushing her away. “Here you go, missus. You take the lamp and I’ll follow you up.”
Karen linked her arm through David’s. The faint odor of burning kerosene reached him. She stopped him when they reached the upstairs hall and directed him aside.
Mrs. Webber lumbered by with the baggage and deposited it on the carpet.
“Thank you, Mrs. Webber. That’s all for tonight.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” The housekeeper chortled and coughed, then padded down the stairs humming Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
Karen’s heart lodged somewhere in her throat and beat painfully, making it hard to draw a controlled breath. Her wedding night. She set the lamp on the bureau beside the door and stooped to move the bags so David wouldn’t trip on them. “What a lovely room.” Did her voice sound as nervous as she felt? “I suppose we can leave most of the unpacking for the morning, don’t you?” She crossed to close the navy velvet drapes.
David stood in the doorway. “You can leave my things.” He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb. “Your room is next door. The water closet and bath are across the hall.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her hands gripping the fabric. “My room? But, I thought I would sleep in here. After all, we did get married today.”
“That’s right. I married you. But this will be a marriage in name only. I have no intention of consummating our union. When the time comes that you realize your mistake in marrying me, you can apply for an annulment.”
The air rushed out of her lungs and her head spun. An annulment? “When are you going to understand that I have no intention of leaving you? Did you not hear me today? I promised to love, honor, and obey you until death parted us.”
“I heard your promise. Now obey me and take your things to the next room. I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed. It’s been a long day.” He stepped farther into the room and waited.
Numb at this turn of events, Karen gathered her valise and straightened. “David, can’t we talk about this?”
“This is not a matter for discussion. Go to bed.”
She gathered the lamp and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind her, shutting her out as effectively as putting out a cat for the night. The final humiliation came when he turned the key in the lock.
Tears blurred the flame in the lamp she held and smudged the shadowy outline of the carpet runner and the doorways that gaped open like eyeless sockets along the hallway. She went into the bedroom David said was hers and placed the lamp on the dressing table. With chilly fingers she turned up the wick. The furnishings and décor matched the master bedroom exactly.
Her feet sank into the carpet when she crossed to the bed. Cold satin pillowed her body as she lay back across the coverlet. Rejected and humiliated, she tried to make sense of why he would do this to her. Was he punishing her for pushing him into this marriage? And why mention an annulment?
The sobs burning in
Similar Books
