Earl of Oakhurst Read online

  5

  The management of the earldom was much more daunting than MacKenzie had anticipated. There were the accounts of the house, of course, as well as those at Oakhurst Manor. But there were also the tenants on his land to see to, as well as the complaints forwarded to him by his steward, Mr. Barclay.

  He flipped through the pages included with Mr. Barclay’s formal account of the estate’s dealings. There was a puzzling bit in the agriculture report, citing the progress of the Norfolk four-course system. What the deuce was the Norfolk four-course system?

  “You may want to make yourself presentable, James,” Gemma said from the doorway. “Your betrothed will arrive soon to take tea with me.”

  MacKenzie looked up at his grandmother, who was now out of her wheeled chair and back on her cane. Gemma had been elated with the news of MacKenzie’s betrothal to Lady Penelope and used every opportunity to refer to her as “his betrothed” with that keen glint in her eye. For her part, Lady Penelope had been by each of the last several days, seeing to Gemma and ensuring she was recovering well from her gout flare.

  He nodded to the cane. “Did she give ye permission to be using that?”

  “Of course she did.” Gemma strode into the room with her cane thumping over the thick Brussels weave carpet. “James, you do look a mess. I don’t believe you’ve even shaved.”

  She stated the last bit as though it was as appalling as him not donning a shirt.

  MacKenzie rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. Though he hated to admit it, Alistair had been right in his assumption that MacKenzie would detest the use of a valet. Gemma had forced him into hiring one, an older gentleman who did the job adequately, but it had been difficult to not follow behind him and fold the cravats just so or suggest a different direction of stroke while shaving.

  “I forewent the razor this morning as I knew I’d be locked in torment perusing Mr. Barclay’s reports,” he explained.

  “It isn’t all that bad.” She sank into the seat opposite him. “The reports are always wonderfully detailed. Mr. Barclay is truly a wonder.”

  MacKenzie grunted. Wonder wasn’t the word he would use. Verbose would work. Loquacious, garrulous, effusive. Any of those would be more applicable.

  “It doesna make much sense,” James confessed. “Details on incomes and expenses, aye, I understand those parts of it. But this agriculture report doesna make a whit of sense. A Norfolk four-course system sounds like a grand method of feeding livestock.”

  “It is, in a way.” Gemma reached for the report. “It’s actually a method of resting soil while still keeping it in use. The crops are rotated on an annual basis with the fields all placed in various stages of rotation to ensure they are profitable, and that the livestock have enough available food. We implemented the process six years ago and it has proven to have been a prudent choice.”

  MacKenzie stared at his grandmother as she went through the information with the precise detail of a steward. “How the devil do ye know all this, Gemma?”

  She scoffed, lifting her chin. “Do you really think Gilbert had any mind for such things? I learned what I needed to protect the Oakhurst legacy. For you, for your children and their children to follow.” A soft smile touched her lips as if she could picture those bespoken children at that very moment.

  Guilt pinched at MacKenzie. There would be no children in his union with Lady Penelope, but of course he could not tell his grandmother as much.

  “I think ye’re the wonder, Gemma, not Mr. Barclay.” MacKenzie reached across the table and reclaimed the report she had laid aside.

  “Women do what they can in this man’s world.” She pushed herself to her feet.

  MacKenzie considered her. “Lady Penelope said something of a similar nature,” he muttered absently.

  Gemma’s eyes sparkled. “I knew I liked her from the first. Lady Bursbury and I have been discussing details for the wedding. I may suggest a Christmastime theme with holly in place of hot house flowers. What do you think?”

  MacKenzie looked at Gemma over the top of the report with a grimace. “I think I’d rather learn more about the Norfolk four-course system than discuss flowers.”

  She laughed good-naturedly and a smile pulled at his lips. Gemma had changed in the short week since Lady Penelope had been seeing to her. Where once she had seemed too fragile, now she was stronger, happier, her sturdiness restored and the absence of pain transforming her back into the Gemma he remembered from his youth.

  George appeared in the doorway. “Excuse the interruption.” He bowed. “Lady Penelope is here to see you.”

  Gemma thanked the butler and beckoned MacKenzie. “Come, James. Bid good day to your lovely betrothed.”

  “I don’t look presentable,” he protested.

  She scrutinized him with a cursory look and pursed her lips. “You don’t, but you’re coming anyway.” There was the tone that he recalled from his childhood, the one that brooked no argument.

  He sighed and got to his feet, regretting having foregone his shave that morning, especially since he’d been at Parliament so often, he had not seen Lady Penelope since they had discussed their betrothal. Unfortunately, not seeing her did not mean she hadn’t entered his thoughts. She occupied far more of them than he cared to admit.

  His mind often wondered about the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin; all the things he would have liberties to as a husband. And all the things they’d agreed not to share. Or had they? He’d been so bloody nervous that he now couldn’t recall having decided on the consummation of their marriage.

  He led Gemma to the drawing room, steeling himself for the impact of Lady Penelope’s beauty. Not that preparation did him any good.

  She rose from the plush seat as they entered. Early afternoon light streamed through the window and caught at her hair, turning it fiery red with glints of copper. The smile she gave Gemma turned reticent when it fell on him, as though she didn’t know what to do or say around him anymore than he did around her.

  Erring on the side of polite conversation was a sensible start. “Good day, Lady Penelope. I trust ye’re well?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Her gaze lingered on his grizzled chin and he cursed himself once more for having forgone his shave.

  But then that perceptive stare of hers drifted downward to his lips where it paused before a blush stole over her cheeks and she swiftly met his eyes once more. “And yourself?” she asked.

  “Fine,” he replied with a nod. “Fine, thank ye.”

  He tried to set the observation from his mind, and yet he continued to go back to it. Was she curious about kissing him as well, then?

  The idea held considerable appeal.

  The room was scented lightly with the fresh perfume of roses and he found himself wondering what part of her smelled so heavenly. Was it her silky hair? The delicate insides of her wrists? The sweet curve between her neck and shoulder? He wanted to nuzzle his mouth over every inch of her creamy skin, discern its exact location so he could breathe her in.

  “This afternoon, we’ll be settling on a date for the wedding.” She fiddled with the handle of her black medical bag and ran a single delicate fingertip over the smooth leather. “I’m grateful my mother and your grandmother are so adept at planning such events. I confess I haven’t a mind for any of it.”

  “Nor have I,” MacKenzie admitted.

  They chuckled together and a companionable silence descended on the room. “I’ll leave ye to it then.” He bowed. “Good day, Lady Penelope.”

  She lowered her head. “Good day, Lord Oakhurst.”

  He turned then and took his leave. But even as he did, he found he could not as easily extract his thoughts from the exchange. Or from her.

  And thinking of one’s betrothed when entering a marriage of convenience, he knew, was a very, very bad thing indeed.

  Penelope had not been posturing when she told Lord Oakhurst that she had no mind for wedding planning. She attended the informal meetings her mother he
ld to discuss the preparations but offered only enough input to keep a steady smile on her mother’s face.

  In truth, Penelope suspected Lady Oakhurst and Lady Bursbury enjoyed the freedom to twist the event into whatever creation they deemed appropriate. All Penelope had insisted upon was that it be a private affair, away from the ever-vigilant gaze of the ton.

  It was decided the wedding would take place in December, so that a winter theme could be incorporated, adorned with touches of Christmas. Penelope had said that was fine.

  They wanted her in a white gown that sparkled like glittering snow. She said that was fine too and read through current medical journals while the modiste fitted her for a gown she scarcely saw.

  They wanted holly and other such holiday-appropriate foliage for decor and Penelope said that was also fine. For while they did the planning, she sharpened her skills on the most recent medical practices to ensure she would be of optimal assistance upon her return to St. Thomas’s.

  Yes. Yes. Yes. It was all fine.

  Until the limited sands of a week’s time trickled through at an ephemeral pace and ran out completely. Penelope had been enjoying an early breakfast, the hour of professional workers as she was wont to do, when Lady Bursbury had entered and cheerfully chirped that the day of the wedding had finally arrived.

  Penelope lowered the paper she’d been reading and regarded her mother in shock. “Already?”

  Lady Bursbury laughed. “Already? Darling, this week has dragged on at an interminable pace until this very moment.”

  Penelope regarded the uneaten toast points on her plate. A greasy smear of butter glistened atop the bread, no longer as appealing as it had been only moments ago. “Is Lord Oakhurst aware?”

  “Aware of his own wedding?” Lady Bursbury chuckled and shook her head. The red curls on either side of her face fluttered about as she did so. “I would imagine he would be. Come, Penelope. I want to ensure we have an ample amount of time for you to be just perfect before we make our way to the church.”

  “But it is only half past eight,” Penelope exclaimed.

  Lady Bursbury was undeterred. “This is the first step in having him fall in love with you.”

  The way she said it implied there might be several steps. Perhaps many. Enough for Penelope to already dread having not discouraged her mother.

  “Come along now.” Lady Bursbury sailed out of the room with the obvious expectation that Penelope would follow.

  And, of course, she did. As good girls do.

  For a small, private wedding, there was certainly a lot that had gone into it. Starting with the gown, which even Penelope had to admit was exquisite. Silver tissue sparkled over the gown, giving it the impression of glittering snow on a sunlit morning. It was simple yet beautiful, thankfully without Brussels lace dripping from every available inch of fabric.

  The waist was fashionably nipped in at the center, and white rabbit fur lined a hooded short cloak to give the gown a “more wintery feel” per Lady Bursbury. The modiste had fitted it perfectly to Penelope’s trim body, with the cinched waist and ruched bosom making for an admittedly flattering cut.

  As it turned out, Lady Bursbury was also correct in starting Penelope’s preparations so early. Even Penelope’s coming out had not required so much attention to detail. After the gown was put on, her hair was curled and styled with gems twinkling throughout, followed by a touch of rouge applied to her cheeks and lips.

  At long last, Lady Bursbury declared her nothing short of sheer perfection. All that remained was a short half hour to get to the chapel where Penelope would wed the Earl of Oakhurst.

  They arrived with time to spare, of course. Lady Bursbury had planned every part of the day down to the smallest detail. And it showed.

  The tiny chapel had been adorned with gold ribbons and clusters of holly. The pointed dark leaves and sprigs of brilliantly red berries were the ideal complement to the glossy ribbons and gleaming, polished wood of the chapel.

  Penelope’s favorite decorations, however, were the cut outs of various organs mingling with the gold paper stars. Nancy had clearly remembered the time Penelope had done that several years back at Christmas and had incorporated the memory into the decor of the church. It was a personal touch that only her mother could provide and it touched Penelope’s heart.

  The congregation was thin of company, but Penelope would have it no other way, wanting only her closest family. Aside from her parents and the dowager Lady Oakhurst, Uncle Noah and his lovely wife, Helen, were in attendance. Eugenia stood as Penelope’s bridesmaid, wearing a simple white dress with twists of golden wire shining through her curling auburn hair. She beamed at Penelope and gleamed with girlish excitement at her role in the event.

  Penelope, however, was not as eager for her own role. Nervousness spun a nauseating dance in her empty stomach, and she regretted not having eaten the toast points at breakfast. Eugenia might be looking forward to marriage with her fanciful notions of romance, but Penelope was decidedly not.

  Panic charged through her veins, as cold as the wind howling outside and just as fierce.

  It was a mutually beneficial marriage, one with little expectation. But what if that changed? What if Lord Oakhurst decided he wished to have children? Or became determined that she quit her work at the hospital? Or what if—

  The door to the chapel banged open.

  Penelope sucked in a breath. No. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not now.

  A warm hand curled around hers. She looked down and found her fingers entwined with her mother’s. Lady Bursbury smiled and nodded encouragingly. Just like she had done when Penelope attended her first private tutoring lesson for medicine and was worried that she wouldn’t be up to snuff. And then again when she had her come out and feared everyone would find her lacking. And then later still when she went to St. Thomas’s for the first time, when she’d assisted Mr. Graston through the nightmares in his mind those three years ago.

  As with all those previous occurrences, the confidence and the love in that simple nod told Penelope all would be well. She straightened her back, lifted her chin and turned to face the man she would marry.

  6

  MacKenzie knew Lady Penelope to be a beautiful woman, but he hadn’t noticed exactly how exquisitely stunning she was until the day of their wedding. Her gown showed off a sensual figure with delicate curves he hadn’t noticed before due to the current fashion of high-waisted gowns. The one she wore now was none of those things. No, it was fitted to her slim body, revealing the flare of her hips and a waist so cinched, he found himself tempted to span his hands around it. And though his heart was suddenly racing at an extraordinary rate, she appeared completely serene.

  She approached the altar where he stood waiting for her, with Kendal at his place beside MacKenzie as his best man. God, but she was lovely.

  “Ye look beautiful,” he said softly.

  Someone behind them in the nearly empty pews sighed. He scarcely noticed, for at exactly that moment, Lady Penelope’s cheeks flushed in a gentle blush. In the short time he’d known her, he hadn’t expected Lady Penelope would ever be a woman to blush. But there it was, staining her smooth, porcelain skin the bonniest shade of pink.

  It made him wonder if he could make all of her blush so, with his hands, his mouth…

  “Thank you.” Her light blue gaze flicked over him briefly, paused on his lips, then slid shyly away. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

  The vicar took that at his cue and began the ceremony. MacKenzie hardly listened to any of it. Once one had attended a wedding, one knew exactly what would be said at the next one. Instead, his mind embraced the very real idea that he would have a wife, someone more than Gemma dependent on him. He would have to redouble his efforts to learn the Norfolk four-stop system or whatever the bloody hell it was called. As well as making the most out of his new parliamentary seat.

  Concern for their future well-being was not the only path MacKenzie’s mind trod. His attention
continually wandered toward Lady Penelope, marveling at her beauty the way one does a painted masterpiece. Her words slipped into his mind from the prior conversation when they had agreed to wed.

  There will be no lovers. I have no interest in such things.

  He would not touch a woman who did not welcome his affections. Meaning, he might spend a lifetime thus: always looking, never touching. Forever wanting.

  She shifted her stare toward him and spoke the words that would forever tie her to him.

  Kendal pushed a small gold band into MacKenzie’s palm, which MacKenzie promptly slid onto Lady Penelope’s slender finger, and repeated his series of words from the vicar. And so, it was done. MacKenzie had married the most beautiful woman in all of London, a woman he knew he would be spared from loving.

  The vicar brought out the registry and handed the quill first to MacKenzie to sign, then to Lady Penelope.

  No, not Lady Penelope…Lady Oakhurst. His wife.

  She accepted the pen and signed with a slight tremble that belied her calm exterior. Once the necessary papers had been signed, she straightened and smiled brightly at him. “And we’re married.”

  “So we are,” he concurred and offered her his arm.

  The whole of their party relocated to Oakhurst Place for a celebratory breakfast, where it was discovered Gemma and Lady Bursbury had once more outdone themselves. There were various rolls, eggs done in every way imaginable, bacon, kippers, ham, pastries— anything any person could want, along with tea and hot chocolate.

  “We may have been rather excessive,” Gemma confessed.

  “And I was just thinking we could have done with some strawberry jam as well,” Lady Bursbury muttered.

  His grandmother and Penelope’s mother were elated at the union, their eyes practically glowing as they shared secret smiles between one another. As if silently congratulating each other on a match successfully made.