Nothing. She had no memories, no connection to this place.
No home.
“Perhaps I’ll look upstairs,” she said, to escape his concerned regard. What must he think of her, coming from this place? She went up the creaking staircase while Warren called out to her to slow down and take care.
She stopped and peered into the first room at the top of the stairs. It contained the same ghostly, slip-covered furniture, including a shabby looking bed. Her mother’s? Her father’s? The adjacent dressing room was empty of everything but some wrinkled bits of lace, and a pair of dusty slippers that looked to be Josephine’s own size. She followed the dressing room through to the next room and found what must have been the nursery.
She heard Warren’s footsteps in the hall, and then his face appeared at the door. They both looked at the cradle in the middle of the room, and the discarded china doll slung over the side of it. She wondered why they had left the doll when they set off with her on their travels. Had she wished for it? Had she missed the comforts of her nursery room?
It was a small space, lit by a high-set window. A cozy room, in a way, with more slipcovered furniture in the corners that might contain baby clothes, or child-sized tables, or toys. A pink and yellow needlework on the wall spelled out Josephine Victoria.
She turned to him, the edges of her world turning as black as her lost dresses. “I wish to go.”
He looked once more around the room, then nodded and followed her down the stairs. At the bottom she turned, throwing out her hands to indicate the ghastly, crumbling disappointment of the place. “Did you know what a pathetic pile of rubble this was?”
“It’s not a pile of rubble, Josephine.”
“Did you know?”
“No, I didn’t know. I hadn’t spoken to anyone who’d been here.” He gazed at her, his lips tight. “Any house can be fixed up, you realize. This house has good bones. It’s mostly intact. After almost twenty years, what did you expect to find?”
She had found exactly what she hoped not to: more shabbiness and more frustration. Now they would ride back to his own glittering place, with its soaring corridors and smartly attired servants, and this shame would roil in her chest, this house and property that gave even more evidence of what she was not.
“I wish my parents had been proper people who kept a nice home, and stayed in England where they belonged.” Her voice echoed, shrill and angry, against the high walls. “I wish I had been able to grow up like those other ladies. I don’t know why they had to drag me around the world.”
“I don’t either.” He came to her and embraced her. “It’s not your fault, the way you were raised. But you’re in charge now, remember? If you wish to revive this manor—”
“I don’t,” she said, pushing away from the comfort he offered. “I wish it to go to the devil.” They weren’t ladylike words, but in this house, in this moment, she didn’t feel ladylike. She felt as if she were falling apart. “Please, may we leave at once?”
“Of course. I’m sorry to have caused you distress. I only brought you because I thought you might wish to see it.”
She said nothing, just turned and fled outside to wait by the curricle while Lord Warren wedged shut the sagging front door.
*** *** ***
Josephine brooded the rest of the day, lost in private misery. She kept thinking about the gowns, the visit to Maitland Glen, and Warren’s careful solicitude afterward. No matter how polite he was about it all, he must consider her property a disaster. She certainly did. She’d never imagined her baronial home might be a ramshackle shell of its former glory—which had never been much glory at all.
At last, Warren took her upstairs, ordering her out of the clothes that had caused her such distress. They bathed together and had dinner in bed, though nothing on the trays tempted her appetite. Warren told silly little jokes, and flirted, and refused to let her cover herself even when she grew chilled.
“It’s not that cold,” he chided. “It’s only that your hair’s still wet.” He brought over her hair brush to smooth her tangled locks, a ritual she had come to appreciate the past few days. He mussed it up in exertions of the most carnal type, and then fixed it back again, stroke by stroke.
“I would be warmer if you gave me something to wear,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest.
“Something black?” he replied acidly. “I want you naked a bit longer. Our honeymoon is not yet over.”
She reached beside her to pluck at the soft bedding. Their honeymoon? She could hardly believe he still desired her after today.
“Don’t frown so,” he said. “Once I’ve tamed your tangles, I’m going to warm you right up.”
“That’s not going to help. I feel awful. I feel I’m nothing but rubble, just like my house.”
“You said you’d be happy to live in a cottage,” he said, working through a snarl. “Now you’re upset that you own a manor house, however rough it is.”
“My cottage would have been pretty, and kept up in good order. There would have been flowers in beds by the entrance, and clear windows without any cracks.”
He put his hand on her cheek to still her head. “Is it your pride that’s hurt?” he asked. “I’m trying to understand you.”
“I’m just angry. I’m angry at them, I suppose. My parents.”
“You have to let go of that. They’re gone now. You’re holding tight to ghosts who never even cared for you properly. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you’re so frustrated with yourself.”
She twitched as he pulled at a knot. “I’m not frustrated with myself.”
“You said you were nothing but rubble, not even a minute ago,” he reminded her.
“Because I am. But that has nothing to do with being frustrated. It has to do with being a complete mess of a person who simply does not measure up. That is a fact. I don’t belong with you here. I belong…”
“Where?” he asked. “In a cottage? With flowers? If it will make you stop fussing, I’ll have one built on the property. Perhaps then I can have a moment of peace without you whining about how miserable you are.” The brush caught in a tangle as he scolded her.
“Ouch!” She shied away and turned to him. “If you’re going to pull so, I’d rather you didn’t brush it at all.”
“Turn back around.” He waved the brush at her until she complied. “I wish you wouldn’t fret. The condition of your home and property means less than nothing to me, Josephine.”
“Because your own is so grand.”
“No, because my regard for you is not based on your fortune or the value of your holdings.”
“Your regard for me?” Her voice trembled with indignation. “You only wed me because Lord Baxter forced you, so spare me your facile lies.”
He stopped mid-stroke and palmed the hair brush. “Come with me, then,” he said, guiding her off the bed.
“Come with you where?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”
“I should think that’s obvious. I’m going to spank you.”
“What! Why?”
When she tried to resist him, he lifted her bodily and hauled her toward a chair before the fire. “Because you’ve done enough sulking for one day, and you called me a liar just now, to which I take great offense.”
He pulled her across his lap, gathering her arms and legs and tucking them into submission. The more she tried to extricate herself, the more she realized his size and power far outstripped hers. Oh, she didn’t want to be spanked. This day had been awful enough with everything else that had happened.
“Be still,” he said. “When you earn a punishment, you’re going to get it, one way or another.”
“But I haven’t done anything! I’ll scream if you don’t stop. I’ll scream until the servants break down the door.”
“They won’t break down the door when they hear the sounds coming from inside. They’ll assume you’re being disciplined and they won’t interfere, although they may mill about and list
en if you make enough of a fuss. Now, I suggest you lie still and submit to this paddling, or things will go much worse for you.”
“I don’t know how they could go worse than they are right now,” she said, trying to wiggle away.
“Then you don’t understand me very well. I’m going to give you to the count of three to stop flailing and kicking. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible for what happens after that. One.” He paused, holding her struggling figure. “Two.”
Before he could utter “three,” she went still across his lap. “I think you are horrible,” she said. “I can’t believe you would do this.”
“Can’t you? That’s strange, because I’ve spanked you twice already before.” He gave her some warm up smacks, until her buttocks tingled very uncomfortably. “As I’ve told you, behavior has consequences. You’ve been cross and ungrateful. You’ve snapped at me and named me a liar when I was only trying to be kind. I don’t behave that way toward you.”
“No, you only spank me as if I were a child.”