Read The Temporary Wife for Free Online Page B

and gesturing her toward the steep wooden staircase up which the innkeeper was disappearing. "It seems that the inclement weather has made this a popular hostel. We are fortunate to have arrived in time to take the last empty room."
    It was not a large room. The ceiling sloped steeply down fully half of it. One small window looked down upon the innyard. There was a washstand and a small table and chair. There was really no room for any other furniture, for the rest of the room was dominated by the large bed.
    "You may leave us." The marquess nodded curtly to the innkeeper, who withdrew without a word. "Well, my lady, this will have to substitute for the suite of rooms I have reserved at a posting inn fully twenty miles farther along the road. We must dine in the public dining room and trust that the fare will be tolerably edible."
    The bed was like an extra person in the room, unavoidably visible, embarrassingly silent.
    "I am sure it will be, sir," she said, tossing her bonnet and her gloves onto the bed with what she hoped was convincing nonchalance.
    "You will wish to freshen up and perhaps even to be down for a short while before dinner," he said. "I shall leave you, my lady, and do myself the honor of returning to escort you to the dining room."
    She had no idea where he would go in such a shabby little inn. To the taproom probably to imbibe inferior ale. Doubtless his jaded palate would object quite violently. But she did not really care. She was too busy feeling relieved that at least for the moment she was to be alone in this horribly embarrassing chamber. She had never before thought of a bed as an almost animate thing. She had always thought of beds as merely pieces of furniture upon which one slept. But then she had never before stood in a bedchamber with any gentleman other than her father or her brothers. She had never had to contemplate spending a night in a bedchamber—and in the same bed—with a gentleman.
    But she was married to this particular gentleman, she reminded herself, lying down on the bed—it was decidedly hard and rather lumpy, though it appeared to be reasonably clean—after removing her shoes and her hairpins. Philip would be thinking about her all through the day, imagining her getting to know Mr. and Mrs. Earheart, her new employers, and their three children. He would be hoping that they continued pleasant and that the children were not taxing her energies too much during the journey. He would be looking uneasily out at the rain, worried for her safety. He would be waiting for her first letter.
    What would he be thinking, she wondered, if he knew that she had been wed during the morning, that she was now Charity Earheart, Marchioness of Staunton, one day to be the Duchess of Withingsby? That during the coming weeks she was to be used as a pawn in a foolish quarrel between the marquess and the duke, his father. That after that she would be a lady of substance with six thousand a year in addition to a home and servants and a carriage. Papa had never kept his own carriage. They had only ever had Polly as a servant and she had stayed for the last ten years or so only because she considered herself one of the family and had nowhere else to go.
    Oh, Phil, she thought, closing her eyes. He would be able to have their own home to himself. He would be able to take Agnes there, and they could begin their own family. Without the burden of Papa's debts and the necessity of supporting and providing for all the children, he would be able to manage very well as a country gentleman.
    Oh, Penny. How was she managing at home alone, without either Phil's help or her own? Penny was just twenty. And pretty and sweet-natured. She should be thinking of beaux and of marriage. Were the children all well? Did they have enough to eat? Did they all have sufficient clothes? Were they missing her as dreadfully as she was missing them?
    Soon, she told both them and herself silently. Soon she would be back with them. All