Lord Belden's Baggage

The tour-both inside and out-was wonderful. She'd had no idea, really, of the sheer size of the house, to say nothing of their vast lands, filled with fields and sheep and tenant farmers and pasture, as well as a large area of manicured grounds around the manor, itself. It would be a bit like living in a museum that was set in a park, but she didn't intend to stay here any longer than she had to, considering the reception she'd received from someone she had naively hoped might be an ally and perhaps even a friend, considering that he was closer in age to her than his parents were.

Lord and Lady Littlefield were the most generous and gracious of guardians, although their son seemed determined not to follow their example, especially as pertained to her. But the best thing that had happened to her was that, when they'd returned to the drawing room, she was informed by his mother that the thorn in her side had departed for London and would be staying at his club for a while. Alisa refrained from getting down on her knees to thank the Almighty for small blessings, but it was close.

As it turned out, he didn't come back-between staying in at his club, using their London house, and traveling for business-for nearly four months. By that time, she was out of mourning and into the dresses the Littlefields had bought her. Going to the dressmaker with Charlotte had been an interesting experience mostly pleasant-but it was so unlike anything else she'd done along those lines that it was almost as if it was happening to someone else. They were brought into a beautiful salon and given tea and cakes while they perused the latest fashion magazines, as well as being given a bit of a show of what Madame had on hand in her prêt-a-porter collection-ready-made which was not really a usual event, especially not for such a high-end customer. It was prompted by the proprietress's unflattering opinions about the dress she was currently wearing, which she gave free voice to in Spanish while chatting with one of her assistants and walking around Alisa, who she apparently found "small, but adequate" but with "atrocious hair". Alisa was quite familiar with the language and understood every one of her unkind remarks, although she neither did nor said anything about what she heard.

It was quite a process-much more elaborate than when she'd had dresses made for her in Massachusetts. She had been measured in nearly indecent detail, then dressed like a doll and shown to Lady Charlotte for her approval, although she nearly always deferred to Alisa's opinion about the dresses they bought, to Madame Yvonne's dissatisfaction. Those were the ones that they were taking with them today, into which she was then pinned before she was set free to don another. As one was tried on, the other was being given to a room full of seamstresses, who would alter it to her exact measurements in an incredibly short amount of time.

If it hadn't been for the refreshments that were served and replenished regularly, Alisa thought she'd faint. Although the more public rooms were beautifully appointed, the area where she was taken to change dresses was quite a bit less so- much more crowded and stuffy.

She thought they'd probably bought out the whole place by the time they were done, outfitting her literally from the skin out. Alisa shuddered to think of just how much it was going to cost-a figure which she would never probably know since the bill would simply be sent to whoever managed the family accounts, whom she imagined as a poor, small, hunched figure in a dusty, dim back room somewhere in the bowels of London. Their carriage driver helped them with all of the boxes and bags, and even Charlotte took a few things out with her while Alisa deliberately hung back, supposedly to collect the rest of their plunder. But in truth, she had another purpose in mind entirely, ignoring the bag that Madame Yvonne held out to her in favor of catching the other woman's eye.

"Es siempre una mala idea despreciar a sus clientes, señora," she chided softly under her breath watching the proprietor's face turn pale as the bag she was holding landed on the counter. "I assume you realize that your rudeness has lost you not simply one potential customer, in myself, but also the patronage of Lady Littlefield who, when I inform her of your discourteousness towards me, is likely to impart the details of my experience here to all of her friends, too." She allowed herself a small smile at the other woman's astonishment. "Good day, Madame."

Of course, she had no intention of mentioning what had happened to her benefactress, but she figured that it should at least make Madame Yvonne think twice before she blithely insulted the women on whom she depended for her livelihood, in a foreign language or not.

As she was handed up into the carriage, and even though all they'd done was sit and look at pictures and fabrics, Alisa was exhausted, and she knew that they had the milliner and the shoemaker to go. In the back of her mind, she wondered if all of this effort—as well as the expense-was worth it. And then she remembered the gigantic, unpleasant Lord Belden and knew that it most certainly was.

***

That had been a very exhausting day-week, really-spent at the family's London house, where she expected to encounter Bram around every corner but didn't, as he was away for business.

She didn't see him again until he appeared in the drawing room at Belden Manor one evening, causing her to start a bit when her eyes landed on him. He stood, of course, coming over to greet her.

"Miss Thurgood. It's delightful to see you again," he lied smoothly, not just kissing her hand but also bending down to kiss both of her cheeks.

"I'm sure I'm just as delighted to see you as you are to see me, Lord Belden," Alisa intoned sarcastically, earning her a glare from Bram.

"Isn't it wonderful to have him home, Alisa?" Charlotte enthused, both the byplay as well as the tension that filled the air between them having not registered with her in the least.

"Wonderful," Alisa repeated with markedly less enthusiasm.

They fell into the same seating arrangement as they had had before, with Bram sitting across from her, so she could hardly miss him every time she glanced up.

"I was just telling Bram that you've been invited to the Morrissey's Spring Ball, and I was encouraging him to come with us. He could act as your escort, Alisa."

Her head shot up, and the look she gave him was just as horrified at that idea as his was to her. She went so far as to mouth the word, "No!" at him exaggeratedly, even daring a small shake of her head as Charlotte had launched into a reminiscence about balls from days gone by and wasn't really paying any attention to them, thankfully.

The response she got from him wasn't exactly what she expected, although she had no idea why.

He seemed to be considering the situation carefully, which made her stomp her foot softly, trying to regain his attention and press her case, however mutely. She did not want to go to the ball with that man, and she had assumed that he would be on the same page as she was.

But despite the fact that he loathed the idea of being put into that kind of position with her, he thought it might have merits, too, since he could then keep a much closer eye on her than his mother and father were likely to do, thus preserving the family's good name if she besmirched it-accidentally or on purpose in any way by doing something untoward or unacceptable while in company other than the family.

While he was away, Bram had lamented his untenable situation to several friends, none of whom had offered him much sympathy except for Trevor Wilton, to whom he was the closest. It was Trevor who had pointed out that it might be an excellent investment of his time, no matter how much he detested it, if he kept a close eye and a tight rein on the girl, himself, for just that reason.

"You don't know her or how she's going to act and how that's going to reflect on your family. You should be eager to go to everything she does." Bram had groaned loudly at that prospect as Trevor had grinned merrily at his misery, continuing. "In order to keep her on the straight and narrow until your father can walk her down the aisle and she becomes someone else's headache."

And he was beginning to realize that his friend was depressingly right, as he often was, in pointing out a glaring problem with the policy of avoidance he'd been using with her. Having absented himself from his own house for the past few months because she was there, she could be, at this very moment, gleefully working her way through his family's fortune or besmirching their good name.

But he had seen the light, and thus, had high tailed it home, surprised to find that he quite enjoyed the idea of inflicting himself on the little pest. In fact, he grinned a bit maliciously at her as he said, "You know, Mother, I believe I will join you at the Morrissey's Ball," as he watched the girl's eyes narrow, her face pinching angrily and unbecomingly while she muttered something he wished he'd caught.

His parents-the both of them oblivious to his nefarious intentions were over the moon at his proclamation, of course.

Miss Thurgood was somewhat less overjoyed. She stared daggers at him for the rest of the evening, for the rest of the month, and even as she entered the ball on his arm, her hand tucked into the curve of it with such sheer reluctance that it was barely there at all until he glared down at her. Just before they were announced, he reached down to pull it more firmly into the crook of his elbow and held it there.

At least, this time, he wasn't trying to trot them into the ballroom as if she was a show dog on parade, and he had set his arm at a more comfortable height for her. Alisa supposed that was at least something positive.

She was introduced to so many people that it was impossible for her to remember them all, but then she found herself surrounded by a small clutch of women of her own age who were friendly and helpful and seemed to be eager to be her friend.

The occasional man joined them, in the body of a brother or uncle, father or friend, until Charlotte whisked her away to begin the real introductions, making certain that she met all of the most eligible bachelors who were in attendance that evening. It was well known that the Morrissey's Spring Ball was always a very popular place to find them.

Her dance card was filled to overflowing almost immediately, and Charlotte found a seat along the outskirts of the ballroom with other women of her age whom she'd known forever, where she'd be able to keep an eye on her ward. But she was a rank amateur in comparison to Bram's eagle eyed observation of everything the young woman did. He watched every man approach her for his dance, and if he didn't like him or he didn't think the man had an impeccable reputation, Bram cut in himself before the inevitably younger, smaller man had a chance.

The first time he did that, Alisa was furious and didn't bother to hide her anger as they danced, refusing to relax in his arms, although he was an exceptionally graceful dancer, despite his size. "What do you think you're doing?" she snarled up at him.

"Keeping you from making a mistake. The man you were about to dance with is Jonathan Renfield-the fifth Lord Canfield. He comes from a long, illustrious line of ignominious gamblers, profligates, and abusers of women."

She hadn't thought that he might be attempting to protect her, although she quickly realized that it wasn't she whom he was trying to protect.

"Well, although I have doubt as to your motives, Lord Belden, I nonetheless thank you for getting me away from him. I don't know any of these people or their backgrounds, really, and so I must rely on you your family's knowledge of them to guide me, although I confess I am quite surprised that it was you who ended up rescuing me."

Her heartfelt thanks caught him off guard. "You aren't angry as you were before when you hissed at me like a spitting cat then, little kitten?" he asked, and she suspected that he was playing with her so she refused to respond to his bait. But that didn't negate her feelings of gratitude towards him for what he'd done. Alisa allowed herself to relax in his arms for the first time unfortunately, very near the end of the song and despite the disparity in their sizes, they danced quite well together, although for a very short time.

"I take it you won't object if I cut in again, when I feel it necessary, this evening?" he asked, guiding her over to his mother, not that he was particularly concerned about her answer. He would do what he thought was necessary, regardless of how she felt about it.

"No, Lord Belden, I will not. I will, in fact, thank you, each and every time."

He bowed to her as he left her to be claimed by her next partner, who was a friend of his, about whom he had no concerns.

Not that his eyes didn't still follow her around the floor as men of various stations and various dancing abilities-guided her around the floor, doing so from a private, secluded corner, of course. Sometimes being the tallest person in the room had its advantages. He was nursing a cup of punch that was entirely too sweet and sorely lacking in alcohol when Trevor found him-another advantage, as he was always easily spotted by his friends.

Unfortunately, that also meant it was easy for eager, overbearing mothers to find him, too, although he had to admit to his surprise that he'd had a distinct downturn in those this evening, although he wasn't sure why, exactly. "So that's her? The woman you call a baggage?"

"Yes, that's her," Bram sighed in aggravation, his eyes still on her. "I've been reduced to being a glorified babysitter until I can get her married off."

"Well, I can't see why you're putting up such a fuss. She's adorable." "You've been introduced?" He didn't recall having done so yet.

"Your mother."

"Of course. You're one of the few friends I have of whom she actually approves. My condolences, but that's what you get when you're still single at our age-any single girl gets thrown at you like a sacrificial lamb." Trevor groaned. "I'm sure my mother already has us married with the grandchildren she's always moaning about not having."

"Excuse me, old boy," Bram said suddenly, pushing himself away from the wall and heading back to where Alisa was about to dance with someone he knew just by his mere existence was dead drunk, even this early in the evening. And, although it probably wouldn't put a black mark on the family's reputation, she would be very lucky if all he did was put his hands in places he shouldn't, and for some reason, he just couldn't have that.

In fact, the mere thought of it enraged him to an unnatural extent, but he managed to cut in smoothly, anyway, and the youngest son of a lowly baron barely noticed the interruption, carrying on dancing in a wobbly fashion as if he was still partnered with her.

This time, Alisa thanked him immediately, although she didn't meet his eyes as she did so. But she did allow him to dance with her, and he was annoyed at just how much he enjoyed the experience, turning her loose again as soon as it was over without a word, because he was angry with himself with his reaction to her and needed to get some air.

Unfortunately, air didn't help, and he knew he was being derelict in his self-appointed duty of watching over her, too, while he was out there, so he reclaimed his post again, and no sooner had he done so than Trevor pressed a glass of whiskey into his hand.

"Good man!"

"I have to say that I heard quite a few mothers murmuring approvingly-if reluctantly-about how nice the two of you looked out there while you were dancing."

"Were any of them my own, Heaven forbid?"

Trevor laughed. "No I don't think so. I wasn't anywhere near her, though, so possibly."

Although he was quite determined to stay on task, his friend got him talking about horses, a subject that Bram always found engrossing and distracting, and by the time he looked up again, she was gone. She wasn't standing near his mother, she wasn't dancing...

His eyes swept the entire ballroom.

She was just gone.

"Oh, no."

Bram was about to abandon his friend again when he turned back to him, but Trevor pre-empted him. "I'll go look for her, too. She's keeping you on your toes tonight."

The bigger man growled when he pointed that out. "Thank you. I owe you."

He had a good idea what Trevor was going to ask for in repayment for helping him find her, too-for him to forgive the fact that he wanted to call on the baggage. As much as he wanted her married and he did he wasn't thrilled by the ideal of seeing her frequently, as he was likely to if she married his best friend.

Luckily, she ended up being in the first place he looked, which was out on the terrace, near the entrance to the gardens. She was with a group of girls he knew, having successfully avoided most of them for several years now, and somehow, his mind dwelt on the thought that she was obviously the prettiest of all of them.

Bram shook his head as he approached the girls, noting also that she was somewhat on the fringes of the group.

He was able to pull her away from them without anyone noticing-surprisingly-tucking her hand into his arm. "Where are we going?"

"Back to my mother, although I don't know why, since she can't seem to keep any better track of you than I can."

"I told her where I was going and she said it was all right, as long as I stayed with the others." She looked pointedly up at him. "And I wasn't aware that I was obligated to let you know where I was going, too. In fact, I get the distinct feeling, Lord Belden, that you'd be quite happy if I fell off the face of the earth."

The fact that she was right didn't make him feel any better about her uncomfortably accurate observation. Bram ground his teeth together. "Don't you have someone to dance with?" he asked. "Where's your card?"

"I did, but he never appeared, and I was glad of the break."

"There you two are!" Lady Charlotte exclaimed upon seeing them. "Alisa, this is Sir Robert Hornsby. He's your next partner."

The orchestra struck up a waltz at just that moment, and she put her hand in the old man's frail one, allowing him to totter her onto the floor.

"Isn't he a bit old for her?" Bram asked, his eyes never leaving her slight form.

His mother gave him a questioning look that he didn't see because he was too absorbed in following Alisa around the room.

"I'm surprised to hear that you think anyone is too old for her, and I'll remind you that Sir Robert is quite wealthy. He lost his wife just last year. I'm sure he'd make her a wonderful husband."

Bram was upset to realize that he disagreed severely, but he remained quiet. He could hardly complain when he'd been quite vocal about the need to get her off their hands. But he desperately wanted to, and that impulse worried him quite a bit, driving him to drink more than he might have as he continued to nanny her from afar-and not so afar.

Alisa appreciated that he was looking out for her, but he made the evening much less of a success for her than she'd hoped by his constant presence, which she could see gave some of the men pause who weren't willing to brave his obvious disapproval.

Well, Charlotte had mentioned to her that he didn't usually attend events like this, so she pinned her hopes on the idea that she'd have more success at ones that he didn't attend.

Lord and Lady Littlefield were effusive in their praise of her when they got home, calling her the belle of the ball, which was very nice of them, although she disagreed. She kissed Charlotte and David goodnight, being sure to remember to thank them for her beautiful dress.

Her goodnight to Bram was much less effusive, barely making it to strictly polite.

***

Several days later, she was in the library just before she went up to bed-by herself, as she preferred-trying to reach a book she wanted that was on a shelf well above her head. The ladder was right there, but having a deathly fear of them- she refused to use it. Just when she was about to do the inadvisable thing and climb up the shelves like the monkey her mother had always called her, someone's hand reached up above her and plucked it down for her.

But not actually giving it to her before he perused the title of the book, which made him frown, of course.

Everything she did made him frown.

"The Knight of the Road?" He then progressed to the ones she had in a stack to take back to her bedroom, which he took into his own hands. "The Mysteries of London? Lady Audley's Secret? The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Does no one oversee the quality of what you read, Miss Thurgood?" he asked in a reproachful tone, knowing full well that he was being a hypocrite in questioning what she was reading since he'd read them all himself, but then, he was a man. "Not since I was about ten, but thank you for getting them down for me." She put her hand out to him. "My books, please."

But he did exactly what she had worried he was going to do what her male cousins and the boys with whom she was allowed to play always did to her since she was inevitably the smallest and shortest of them all. He withheld the books from her, which infuriated her. He hadn't quite gotten there yet, but she wouldn't put it past him to hold them over her head, just out of her reach, as they always had, taunting her with them.

This time, though, she wasn't going to allow herself to be bullied into making a show of herself to try to get them, as she would have when she was younger. But, despite her age and the supposed maturity that came with it, she couldn't quite control her anger as well as she would have liked, either.

Her mother had always warned her against losing her "red-headed temper" and that doing so was going to get her into trouble sometime.

"Please give me the books," she asked, more politely than she wanted to, but also, in a manner that let him know that her patience was wearing very thin.

"I don't think so. I think I had better give these to my mother. She'll know even better than I whether or not they are suitable reading material for a female of this household. Unfortunately, she has gone to visit her cousin for a day or two. You will have to wait until then for her decision."

Alisa drew in a long breath, although it wasn't nearly as effective at calming her temper as everyone told her it would be. Anyone who knew her would be warned simply by the quietness of her tone, but the man in front of her didn't know her, and she had that advantage over him. "I asked you politely to give me the books, Lord Belden," she said, softly but tightly. Her emphasis on the "Lord" left no doubt that she thought he didn't much deserve the title. "If you do not, then you shall suffer the consequences. You have been warned."

Bram couldn't help but smile down at her with a look of condescending indulgence. "Yes, miss? And what consequences might those be?" he asked, obviously doubting that she would be able to do anything more than whine at him and beg for the books, as she had so often been reduced to as a girl, knowing that doing anything more than that would get her a tongue lashing about always exhibiting proper behavior.

But her mother wasn't around to scold her for doing what she intended to do.

So, she drew her foot back as quickly and as far as it would go and let fly with all her might against his shin, causing him to emit an extremely satisfactory grunt of pain and reach down to hold the offended part. Not only did she have the element of surprise, but she was wearing new, stiff boots that landed the blow much more effectively than if she'd been wearing slippers or her old, worn boots.

Her move had the added bonus of making him drop the books, which she then bent over to retrieve triumphantly off the floor. Unfortunately, she ended up dropping them when she found herself lifted well into the air by his arm around her waist.

"I'm sure you're feeling quite self-satisfied at the moment. But if you're going to act like a child, Miss Thurgood, then you are about to quickly come to learn that I will be only too happy to treat you like one," he growled as he walked with her over to where he could sit down on the bench on which he would normally be facing the piano. But this time, he faced outwards, instead, laying her over his lap, tipping up her skirts and even going so horrifyingly far as to pull down her knickers to bare her behind.

It didn't help Alisa in the least to realize, in that moment, that if she'd listened to her mother, she probably wouldn't have found herself in this position.

And before she'd had a chance to react to anything he was doing-or even apologize for what she'd done, although she'd certainly hate doing so she felt the full effect of his own considerable efforts, which caused a loud cry to escape her lips before she forced her mouth shut, for her own sake. It wouldn't do at all for anyone to find them like this. His reputation would survive such a scandal. Hers wouldn't.

And so, she had to lie there and remain as quiet as possible as he lit into her bum with considerable fury, his hand cracking down loudly as she did what she could, which was precious little, to avoid the blows. Between stifled yelps that leaked out even from beneath the hands she had clamped over her lips and the tears that appeared almost immediately as he relentlessly stung every inch of her flesh, she did try to get away from him, even though it was ridiculously easy for him to keep her in place. Kicking up did her no good at all, and her hands were very necessarily-otherwise occupied, so she couldn't even reach back to try to shield herself from his searing, embarrassing wrath.

But she continued to attempt an escape through nearly the entire horrible episode. By the end, though, she was too exhausted and in too much pain to do much besides surrender to him, having been given no choice but to drape herself humiliatingly over his thighs as he continued to spank her.

Bram didn't know how many swats he'd given her. He hadn't been keeping track-he'd just wanted to teach her a lesson after she'd kicked him. She'd kicked him, the little brat! The thought drove him to scourging her a few minutes longer than he might have before he stopped, gazing down at the mess he'd made of her bottom.

Not really knowing why, he kept her where she was, perhaps because he liked the feeling of her so intimately-so indiscreetly-close to him. He'd never done this to any other woman but one he'd had to pay for the pleasure. Spanking her was quite different from his previous experiences-distractingly, dizzyingly so-to the extent that he worried that he was going to have to hide his body's blatant reaction from her.

And he had to wonder however much he knew he shouldn't-whether her body was reacting in the same manner as his. He'd heard in certain circles-that there were women who actually enjoyed being disciplined, although he'd never been lucky enough to encounter one, himself.

It was that tantalizing thought that spurred him to make certain that the rest of her was quite secure on his lap before he allowed her legs to fall open, and then, stealthily, watching and waiting for her to raise holy hell about what he was doing, he let his hand wander down over those poor bottom cheeks to where he found access to that beguilingly warm, soft flesh.

Alisa was too involved in trying to sort out what had already happened the acute stinging that seemed to multiply on itself as if he'd scalded her rather than just spanked her, even when he wasn't doing so. She felt her leg drop and knew she'd revealed herself even further to him, but what did that really matter now?

When his hand moved, all she knew was that it hurt like the devil, but she was too worn out from her previous exertions to be able to do anything about it.

It wasn't until he slid a big finger into that pristine area where no one had ever touched her before not even her doctor-that she stiffened and croaked at him in protest.

Not that he even seemed to hear her. Instead, that digit seemed emboldened by her response, delving into some kind of wetness that she literally felt drip onto it as it sailed by, not stopping until it discovered and immediately began to fluster something new about her person that she was horrified to realize was making her feel an intense, sharp pleasure flowing through her entire body that was undeniable and indefinable.

And it didn't seem as if he intended to stop any time soon, either. She could feel the rest of his finger and part of his hand moving back and forth and up and down ever so slightly down there, where it most definitely didn't belong, but it was the end of that finger that made her pant again as if he was still punishing her. Only this was rampant ecstasy, rather than incredible discomfort!

Still, it scared her, and she wondered if he was making her sick or something, considering the fact that the bliss she was feeling only increased the more he continued to touch her there, as if he knew what he was doing to her. But she also knew that she had no way of stopping him from doing it, either. She was just going to have to lie there and let him do what he wanted to do to her and hope that he let her go soon. And, within a few more minutes, hope, too, that he never removed his finger from where it was!

Soon, she had to clutch at something, and one hand found the leg of the bench while the other grabbed at his calf to steady herself as he created a wild, vicious storm within her that she was afraid was going to tear her apart, to kill her dead with the intensity of her own feelings.

At what she didn't know was the end, her breathing was hard and ragged, and she couldn't stop moaning from behind tightly clamped lips, until...until...her entire body seized, as if in a new kind of fever that he'd brought on, and she had to let go of the leg of the bench to use it to cover her mouth because she so desperately wanted to scream as ecstasy poured through her, concentrated mostly right where his finger was.

And Bram didn't stop there, continuing to stroke her more and more gently, coaxing as much pleasure out of her as he could manage, his own body relaxing as if it had happened to him, too-and it very nearly had!

He wanted to hold her and hug her in the aftermath-she must've been so confused-but as soon as she felt his hold relax in the slightest, despite how tired and disheveled and horrified she was by what he'd done to her using two polar opposite methods, Alisa shot off his lap like a scalded cat, using the cover of the back of couch-which was across the room from him-to shield herself while she righted her clothing, unable to prevent the hiss that escaped her clenched teeth as she brought her drawers back up and over her abused flesh.

When she was covered again, he rose and came towards her, watching her literally run to the door and escape out of it, knowing that she was heading for her own room, the books long forgotten behind her.

Bram ran a hand through his hair, making it look like an even wilder mess atop his head and sighing in exasperation at the same time, having to restrain himself from the improper desire to run after her. What good would that do? And what's more, he was the injured party at least, at first. Although that didn't quite hold true any longer.

He shouldn't have done that, he readily admitted to himself as he poured himself a bigger glass of whiskey than he'd consumed since his school days-especially not the last part. He had taken liberties with her person that were absolutely inexcusable and incredibly, mind-numbingly magnificent, not to mention the fact that there was no telling who might have overheard them, although she did an exceptional job remaining quiet, despite the fiery connection of his palm to her cheeks and how badly she was sobbing throughout, not to mention the heights he'd driven her to before she'd bolted at the first opportunity.

And what was more, Bram knew that he was going to have to confess his misdeed to his parents. He had compromised her in irreparable ways, and he knew that, in doing so, he was going to make them extremely happy about the outcome, if not his actions he had just found himself a wife.