The Chadwick Ring by Julia Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page B

into her palm, she gasped.
    He was teasing her, charming her, and when he repeated his question, she wrinkled her pale brow and answered reluctantly, lest she spoil their momentary rapport. She said thoughtfully, “I think what disturbs me most about our marriage is the way I have been used in this arrangement, as ... as security for a bad debt. I know I am not the first girl to ransom her family’s good name in this manner, yet I feel demeaned by it.”
    Chadwick shook his head. “No, Ginevra,” he said urgently, “you must not think that way. You are not responsible for your father’s malfeasance. I assure you that I regard you with the utmost respect.”
    Ginevra studied the marquess’s face. He was a very handsome man, she conceded with a sigh, and when he was in this unfamiliar, almost tender mood, he seemed younger and well-nigh irresistible. No wonder the London ladies doted on him.
    She ventured, “My lord, may I ask a question of you?”
    “Of course, Ginevra. Anything.”
    “I was wondering...” She hesitated before proceeding awkwardly, “We both know why I have accepted your proposal, but ... but why did you extend it in the first place? This I do not understand at all. You have admitted that you could have your pick of any woman you want, so why marry me? I do not believe that Dowerwood is so important to you. You are a wealthy man, and the prospect of acquiring one small property, no matter how lovely, can hardly be enough to sway you. Therefore, what do you gain by marrying me?”
    Chadwick stared at Ginevra, and a shuttered look fell over him. The merry, teasing light died out of his blue eyes, leaving them dark and impenetrable, and he dropped her hand. Ginevra sensed his withdrawal, and she shrank back, hurt and bewildered by his abrupt change of mood. Ridicule dripped from Chadwick’s voice as he ran his eyes insolently over her slight figure and jeered in an undertone, “What shall I get? Are you so utterly innocent that you don’t know? I find that hard to believe.” He watched the color drain from her face, and he mocked, “Of course you know, Ginevra, you’ve known all along. I’ll get you. Don’t you think that will be enough?”

 
    3
    Ginevra huddled in the window seat, saying good-bye to her home. She was clad only in her chemise and white silk stockings, but the half-open draperies shielded her from prying eyes as she gazed down at the garden glowing in the sparkling morning light. Through the open window she could smell the rich, heady scent of musk roses wafting upward on the warm June breeze. She sighed wistfully. She had always loved the way her bedroom overlooked the garden. In high summer the chamber was redolent with the essence of the flowers, and she used to lie awake in the perfumed darkness, weaving her girlish fantasies of adventure and love everlasting ... Now she had spent her last night in this room, it was hers no longer. The wardrobe was empty, its door ajar, and the dressing table looked strangely alien wiped bare of the girlish bric-a-brac she had collected over the years: a seashell from Bournemouth; a desiccated camellia tied with white ribbon, relic from the wedding of the vicar’s daughter... Her possessions had been carefully packed into chests and bandboxes and even now were waiting downstairs in the boxroom, to be loaded after the ceremony onto the baggage coach Lord Chadwick sent. All that remained of Ginevra’s in the room where she had spent most of her life were her daffodil-colored going-away outfit spread on the bed—and the wedding gown itself.
    Behind her Emma said gently, “Miss Ginevra, it’s time to dress.”
    Reluctantly the girl rose from her perch at the window and went to the maid, who was removing the gown reverently from its wrappings. When she raised her arms to help Emma slip the dress over her head, the slide of cool silk against her bare skin made Ginevra feel as if she were donning a mantle of ice. While Emma fastened the row