She turned her gaze toward a nearby window and frowned. “The snow is coming down rather fierce, is it not?”
“Indeed, but this close to Christmastide, you’ll not hear me complain.”
Her lips quirked the tiniest bit before she said, “Then you enjoy a white Christmas?”
“Indeed, I do. It is my favorite holiday.” Giles smiled. “And what of you?”
She met his gaze. “I find it pretty to look at, but it makes an awful mess of my hems.” She glanced down, then smiled. “Still, if given a choice, I would request at least a dusting for the holiday, for hems are easily dried.”
He could not help but chuckle at her response. It showed a playful yet reserved nature. He would wager that she was great fun when she was not restricted by society’s mandates. It was a theory he would have to explore.
Juliet continued speaking, “I too adore Christmastide. The traditions and good cheer warm one’s soul and give hope for the coming year.” She turned speculative, her eyes warming and a tiny crease forming in her brow.
He could scarcely help but wonder where her mind had roamed. “You seem to be somewhere else all of a sudden.”
She smiled, a small laugh escaping her closed lips as she averted her gaze for a heartbeat. “I was merely recalling Christmastide’s past.” She smoothed her skirts over her thighs, drawing his gaze to her limbs, then said, “Do you have fond memories of the holiday?”
“My family is small… non-existent actually, but as a youth, it was one of the few times happiness ruled our home.” He instantly regretted his words. He’d not intended to give away so much so soon.
“How sad.” She pulled in her lower lip and nibbled the plump bit of flesh, her eyes turning soft. “I mean, I am glad for the happiness you had, but sorry for the rest.”
“It is nothing for you to fret over, darling. I much prefer to look to the future.”
Before she could say more, a maid entered with their tea. Giles studied Juliet as she watched the maid set her burden on a nearby table. She had that look about her again. As if she were deep in thought and wished to say more. He would ask what was presently on her mind, but he feared she pondered his admission and wished to know why the rest of the year was not so happy for his family.
“Is there anything else you require, my lady?” The maid asked.
Juliet gave her a smile. “No thank you, Annie, that will be all.”
So his soon to be duchess had a kind demeanor with servants. That boded well for their future. Hope built within him, for any lady who treated those of lesser station with kind regard, must have a pleasant nature. He could not recall his mother or father ever thanking the retainers.
After the maid backed from the parlor, Juliet rose and went to the tea tray. “How do you like your tea?”
“Black,” Giles said. He watched as she removed her gloves before preparing their tea. She moved with practiced elegance and precision. Her own mother had undoubtedly prepared her for the role of hostess with hopes Juliet would make an excellent match.
He accepted his teacup and took a small sip before bringing his gaze back to hers. “I called so that we might discuss our future. We have a great many things to determine.”
She nodded, then exhaled a small breath.
He waited for several heartbeats before deciding she would not be volunteering any opinions. Or, leastwise, she’d wait until he introduced the topics. Very well, Giles thought, he would lead the conversation.
“Given the scandal we have caused…” He paused when she arched one pale brow. Clearing his throat, he rephrased, “Given the scandal I dragged you into, I think it is best if we marry with haste. The quicker we do, the faster the gossip will cease. Our peers will lose interest in us and move onto the next juicy tidbit.”
“It pains me to admit that you are right. I have no wish to rush, but neither can I deny the validity of your argument.” She brought her tea to her lips and sipped. “I agree. A fast conclusion to this scandal would be in everyone’s best interest. What do you propose?”
“I will procure a special license, and we can marry in a sennight at St. George’s.”
“So soon?” Her eyes widened. “Should we not have the banns read?”
“As you agreed. It is for the best not to wait.” He sipped his tea.
“But there is so much to be done before the wedding. I must send for my parents and arrange a wedding breakfast, and the church must be scheduled. I will need a gown. And what of a guest list—”
“I will do my part to help.” He reached for her hand. “You can count on me to take care of the church and the license. As for the rest, you can delegate whatever duties you would like to me and my retainers. I am certain Olivia and Thorne’s sisters will help as well. Trust me, Juliet… we can do this.”
Her chest rose on a gentle breath, the creamy swell of her breasts pressed against the neckline of her gown, sending his pulse into a frenzy. “I suppose we must,” she said.
He admired her resolve and willingness to let him lead her. He would not go as far as saying he held her trust, but she was certainly amicable. Another good sign for their union and it lightened his heart.
He caressed the back of her hand, relishing the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips. He was glad she’d not replaced her gloves after pouring their tea. “I have something for you,” he said.
She shook her head. It was the slightest movement, almost imperceptible, but he noticed all the same. “There is no need,” she said.
“On the contrary.” He took the teacup from her hand and set it aside. “You deserve this. And what is more, I want you to have it.”
She narrowed her eyes, her blue gaze appraising as he stood, pulling her to her feet. “Truly, you needn’t give me anything. I am well aware that ours is not a love match.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
The corners of her lips turned up in a cute little smirk. “I’m… well… no. I do not believe that I am stubborn at all.”
Grinning, Giles released one of her hands and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the small velvet box he’d tucked away there earlier this morning. “I denied you a choice in your husband and a proper courtship. I will not deny you a proper proposal as well.” He lowered himself onto one knee and held the box toward her. “Lady Juliet Gale, I swear on this token of my affection that I will make you happy. Please accept my ring.”
Her eyes rounded when he popped the box open to reveal the family heirloom nestled within. “It’s lovely,” she said, her fingers twitching as though she fought the urge to reach for it. “But it is too much. A simple band would suffice.”
“Nonsense,” he said, “You are to be my duchess, and I want you to have my ring. A ring fit for your station.” He stood, then took the diamond encircled sapphire ring from the box. She smiled brightly as he slipped it on to her finger.
After staring at the ring for several heartbeats, she met his gaze. “I shall treasure it always. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“There will be no more of that.” He placed one finger under her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. “You will call me Giles when we are in private. In public too, if doing so, pleases you.”
“As you wish, Giles.”
His name had never sounded so sweet.
Chapter 8
London, a sennight later…
December 19, 1811
The wedding preparations kept Juliet so busy that she and Giles had scarcely seen one another during the past sennight. He’d called on her each day, but the visits were brief as she always had something, or someone, in need of her time.
True to his word, he’d helped her with the many tasks involved when having a society wedding, and she was grateful for it. But it had not all been work. They had shared tea a couple of times and even enjoyed a walk in Thorne’s garden. Still, there was always someone nearby or accompanying them, so they had no time to develop a deeper relationship.
Juliet may not have chosen
this match, but over the course of the last seven days, she’d come to appreciate Giles. The limited time they spent together showed her another side of him. The side that was not a drunken rogue. True, he had a rakish reputation, and she still feared his ability to remain faithful, but she also saw that he was a hardworking, caring, and considerate man.
The dread she’d felt the night of the Christmastide ball had slowly given way to hope for the future. A fact she was glad of now that her wedding day was upon her. Dare she admit that she was even pleased with the prospect of spending time alone with him?
As she readied to take her father’s arm, Juliet admitted as much to herself. The doom and gloom she had experienced initially had indeed given way to the kindling flame of hope.
Juliet took her father’s arm and gave him a smile. Mother and Father had arrived three days past and were over the moon that their daughter had caught a duke, as Mother put it. Juliet had expected Father to be furious and Mother to be beside herself over the scandal of it all. Apparently, when one became compromised by a duke, all was forgiven.
Father returned her smile. “Are you ready?”
Juliet nodded. “Yes.”
She allowed a cursory glance around the church as Father led her up the aisle. Boughs of evergreen, red and white flowers and holly transformed it into a merry space. It smelled of Christmas and nature and new beginnings. All of which Juliet wasn’t sure she was ready to embrace.
She moved her gaze to the aisle she now traversed. White organdy draped the pews with evergreen arrangements pinned to the ends, and white flower petals coated the aisle like freshly fallen snow.
Her gaze met Giles’s, and her heart did a little patter when he smiled at her. She had to admit that Giles had outdone himself where the church was concerned. He’d obviously put a great deal of thought into the decorations, and his consideration pleased her.
He cut a dashing figure standing at the altar waiting for her, too. From his combed back blond hair to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, he was something to marvel at. Her cheeks warmed as she glanced toward her attendants.
Olivia stood off to one side of the altar in a pale green gown. Her chestnut curls gathered at the back of her head with white roses pinned just behind her ear along with a jewel-encrusted comb. Her husband, the Duke of Thorne, stood off to the opposite side of the altar, a slight grin playing at his lips as he stared at his wife.
Guests filled the pews, which she found quite unusual given that Christmas was nearly upon them. But then, she supposed everyone wanted to witness the conclusion of their scandal. The curious gazes of the ton’s elite followed her as she moved toward her waiting groom.
Anxiety bloomed as she drew closer to the altar. There would be no begging off now. She turned her attention to the front pews, where their closest friends and family had been seated.
Thorne’s sisters Louisa, Catherine, and Elizabeth sat in the front row with Juliet’s mother. The four ladies beamed at her, and all four clutched silk handkerchiefs. The sight lightened Juliet’s heart, and she smiled back at them, grateful for their support and well wishes.
As she approached the altar, her gaze met Giles’s. He winked at her, and heat flooded her cheeks. Would he always be such a rogue? And what was wrong with her that she reacted in such a way?
Truth be told, she would not mind his behavior a bit as long as he directed all of his roguish tendencies toward her.
What a startling thought! And yet, there it was. She enjoyed his attention. The way he made her feel—warm all over, pulse thrumming, and belly fluttering—was quite exhilarating. She must be a wicked woman, for she desperately wanted to be alone with him.
Juliet wanted his kisses. She craved his touch and wanted to touch him, too. And soon she would be able to do that very thing. So long as he welcomed her touch. What if he did not? Could an inexperienced wallflower measure up to skilled paramours? Or would he find her lacking?
Father delivered Juliet to Giles, then kissed her cheek before he stepped back. Her pulse ticked up as she stared into Giles’s blue-green gaze. She beheld playfulness in their depths, but also something else—warmth, and tenderness, perhaps.
The clergyman glanced at the leather-bound copy of the Book of Common Prayer in his hand and cleared his throat.
Juliet worried her bottom lip as the minister began reading. So many what-ifs and questions swirled through her mind that she barely heard the clergyman’s words.
“Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God…”
Paying little mind to the words spoken, Juliet’s attention roamed elsewhere—to her soon to be husband. Giles must be the most handsome man in London, dressed in his crisp white shirt and cravat topped with a sapphire waistcoat and black cutaway tailcoat. His eyes sparkled, and a small smile played at his lips.
She almost allowed herself to believe that he was happy. But how could he be? He’d been forced to marry her. Juliet would not let herself to be foolish enough to believe that he would have chosen her.
Still, she found some measure of happiness despite the circumstances that led them here. Perhaps Giles did too.
“Into this holy union His Grace, the fifth Duke of Cleburne Giles Fortescue and Lady Juliet Gale now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now, or else forever hold your peace.”
Juliet could scarcely help from holding her breath as she half hoped someone would object, and at the same time prayed no one would. She exhaled on a swallow when the clergyman started speaking once more.
Her pulse sped when the clergyman turned his attention to her and said, “Lady Juliet Gale, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
She stared into Giles’s eyes as she considered the weight of the oath she was being asked to take. One word stood out apart from the rest—love. Could she stand before God, family, and friends and swear to love Giles for the rest of her days when she feared trusting him with her heart?
Giles swallowed hard as he stared back at her, his gaze imploring and warm. Perhaps she could love him. Maybe he would treat her heart with kindness. Did it even signify at this point? She had to marry him, he’d ruined her.
Finding her voice, she said, “I will.”
Her nerves dissipated when Giles favored her with a joyous smile. Maybe, just maybe, everything would work out. At the least, he did not blame her for trapping him. And rightly so, considering it was he who did the trapping.
She really had to let all of that go if she wished to forge a promising future with him. Blaming him would only lead to negative things—anger and resentment—and she did not want to have such feelings in the middle of her marriage, mucking everything up.
The clergyman turned his attention to Giles and asked him to answer the same question. Giles’s gaze never left Juliet’s, and he replied, “I will,” without hesitation.
She thought it odd that he did not seem to share her reservations, but somehow, she was glad for his show of confidence. He’d vowed before God, their family, and friends to keep and care for her, and she believed he would honor his vow.
Perchance love would follow.
Giles took Juliet’s hand in his, and her traitorous heart soared as he said his vows. “In the Name of God, I, Giles Fortescue, take you, Juliet Gale, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”
Giles released her hand, his fingers trailing across her glove covered palm as he did. Sparks of desire shot through her, and she swallowed hard. Now was not the time.
Lord, but he had a powerful effect on her sensibilities. And was it her imagination, or had he emphasized the word love? And why the devil did her heart make a gleeful jump as he’d spoke?
She had no time to ponder it, for the time to recite her own vows was upon her. As was expected, she took Giles’s right hand in hers and braced for the feelings she knew would come with touching him. Juliet repeated the vow to him. To her surprise, the words came easier this time.
The rings were blessed and exchanged two simple gold bands. The one Giles slipped onto her finger rested against the stunning sapphire he had placed there a sennight earlier. Then the vicar said, “Now that His Grace and Lady Juliet have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He closed the prayer book and looked out at the crowded pews.
“Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.” His last words rang through St. George’s.
Juliet did not know whether she wanted to smile with joy or cry for all her lost dreams. What did it matter anyhow? It was done. They were married, and she would forevermore be his wife. Now she had to make the best of the hand fate had dealt to her.
Giles faced the congregation, then proffered his arm. Juliet curled her hand around his elbow and pasted a smile on her face. All she could do now was make the best of her marriage—her future at his side.
And at that moment, she determined to do all she could to make their union a happy one. Regardless of how he behaved, she would stand at his side and do her utmost to be a good wife.
“It is my great honor to introduce to you His and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Cleburne,” the clergyman announced.
The words wrapped around her, warming her like a favored blanket as Giles led her back down the aisle. She was now his wife. His duchess, and she would someday be the mother of his children.
Her head spun as she absorbed the magnitude of what they had done. She was, for better or worse, his wife. He owned her now, and they would be forever bound together. Someday, they would make little people that would share bits of them both. And through their children, they would be eternally bound. Small pieces of themselves would live on forever.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 54