secured a small, private room for their dinner but neither was doing justice to the well-cooked roast beef and baked potatoes, nor to the peach cobbler drowning in fresh clotted cream.
Lord Berrington sipped his wine pensively while Belinda sipped hers without looking up and wondered if he would notice that her hand on the stem of the wineglass trembled.
The Black Horse was a large establishment and the proprietor, a jovial red-faced giant had come over to their table to see that all was in order earlier on. After that they had been left alone, for that was the rule for newlyweds.
Lord Berrington made small talk at the table. Belinda was a little more at ease in his company and managed to answer his questions with more than a monosyllable, as she had done so before.
"I noticed that the gown you wore on the road yesterday seemed a little too heavy," he said. If you would like to obtain something from the larger trunk I will have it opened, it is no trouble to do so."
"Yes, perhaps the lighter Levantine," she answered. "The rose gown is a bit heavy. I did not choose it."
"I will have Mason open the trunk for you tomorrow morning, before we leave again. Just have Bessie get the gown for you."
"Yes, thank you."
During the rest of the evening, Lord Berrington continued on like this and dinner was more pleasant and cordial than usual. But even so, he as well as Belinda ate little of the hearty food.
After Lord Berrington had forced a few mouthfuls of the tender meat down his throat, which felt like dust and washed it down with the wine, he stole a glance at his bride.
"You should try to eat a little more," he said, "or you will feel hunger in the middle of the night."
Belinda felt the color rise in her cheeks at the mention of "the middle of the night" and sought refuge in the wineglass. Already, with little in her stomach, the wine was coursing wildly through her veins and getting her light-headed. She made an effort to converse a little more with him as the minutes ticked away.
Belinda savored her wine and her eyes sometimes looked up as he talked and now and then made a comment, as his brown eyes also settled on her now and then.
"Perhaps what I should do is to have this roast beef done up in sandwiches and sent up to our room, in case we should feel hungry later on. Would you like that rather than forcing yourself to eat?"
Belinda nodded and Lord Berrington motioned to the boy who hovered by the door.
Once this order was executed and a wine bottle packed with the sandwiches in a basket Bessie was called.
Belinda left him to his port and went up the stairs with Bessie, Bessie chattering all the way on a hundred topics over which she skipped lightly like a butterfly on a bush while a young boy followed behind carrying the basket.
Berrington felt tense with anticipation as he stared at his glass and wondered at himself.
Not one of the mistresses he had had over the years had ever made him tense with expectation. And here was a girl who had not attracted a first glance, let alone a second one from any of the passengers arriving and departing at this large establishment, who was thin almost to the unhealthy, and with whom he would—at all other times before—rather have been caught dead than in her company, this girl was making his body tingle all over with an urgent need to be again in that velvet blackness with her…
Why? She spoke little during in the day, much less at night. Where was the charm, and why the lure to go blindly into those soft velvet nights like a ghost? She was a virgin, but he had had several of those, for with his looks and position young barmaids and country wenches were forever throwing themselves at him. On one occasion he had been awakened in the middle of the night at a roadside inn to find an obliging virgin in his bed, completely naked. But his tastes had run more to the sophisticated experience of the Zolandes, Claudines and Annettes of the Fashionably Impure, as they were
Lord Berrington sipped his wine pensively while Belinda sipped hers without looking up and wondered if he would notice that her hand on the stem of the wineglass trembled.
The Black Horse was a large establishment and the proprietor, a jovial red-faced giant had come over to their table to see that all was in order earlier on. After that they had been left alone, for that was the rule for newlyweds.
Lord Berrington made small talk at the table. Belinda was a little more at ease in his company and managed to answer his questions with more than a monosyllable, as she had done so before.
"I noticed that the gown you wore on the road yesterday seemed a little too heavy," he said. If you would like to obtain something from the larger trunk I will have it opened, it is no trouble to do so."
"Yes, perhaps the lighter Levantine," she answered. "The rose gown is a bit heavy. I did not choose it."
"I will have Mason open the trunk for you tomorrow morning, before we leave again. Just have Bessie get the gown for you."
"Yes, thank you."
During the rest of the evening, Lord Berrington continued on like this and dinner was more pleasant and cordial than usual. But even so, he as well as Belinda ate little of the hearty food.
After Lord Berrington had forced a few mouthfuls of the tender meat down his throat, which felt like dust and washed it down with the wine, he stole a glance at his bride.
"You should try to eat a little more," he said, "or you will feel hunger in the middle of the night."
Belinda felt the color rise in her cheeks at the mention of "the middle of the night" and sought refuge in the wineglass. Already, with little in her stomach, the wine was coursing wildly through her veins and getting her light-headed. She made an effort to converse a little more with him as the minutes ticked away.
Belinda savored her wine and her eyes sometimes looked up as he talked and now and then made a comment, as his brown eyes also settled on her now and then.
"Perhaps what I should do is to have this roast beef done up in sandwiches and sent up to our room, in case we should feel hungry later on. Would you like that rather than forcing yourself to eat?"
Belinda nodded and Lord Berrington motioned to the boy who hovered by the door.
Once this order was executed and a wine bottle packed with the sandwiches in a basket Bessie was called.
Belinda left him to his port and went up the stairs with Bessie, Bessie chattering all the way on a hundred topics over which she skipped lightly like a butterfly on a bush while a young boy followed behind carrying the basket.
Berrington felt tense with anticipation as he stared at his glass and wondered at himself.
Not one of the mistresses he had had over the years had ever made him tense with expectation. And here was a girl who had not attracted a first glance, let alone a second one from any of the passengers arriving and departing at this large establishment, who was thin almost to the unhealthy, and with whom he would—at all other times before—rather have been caught dead than in her company, this girl was making his body tingle all over with an urgent need to be again in that velvet blackness with her…
Why? She spoke little during in the day, much less at night. Where was the charm, and why the lure to go blindly into those soft velvet nights like a ghost? She was a virgin, but he had had several of those, for with his looks and position young barmaids and country wenches were forever throwing themselves at him. On one occasion he had been awakened in the middle of the night at a roadside inn to find an obliging virgin in his bed, completely naked. But his tastes had run more to the sophisticated experience of the Zolandes, Claudines and Annettes of the Fashionably Impure, as they were
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