Carlton House was ablaze with lights, the mansion and the grounds packed with people, by the time Alyssa and Griffin and the other members of their little party arrived.
They stepped from their carriage onto a red carpet and made their way into the house accompanied by a great fanfare of trumpets. Red-liveried servants led them to the long gilt dining room.
Griffin flinched. The sound of the trumpets reminded him too vividly of things he would rather forget. “I hate this,” he murmured.
Alyssa reached over and took his hand. It was the first time she’d touched Griffin in over a year except for the merest brush of their fingers they had shared that morning.
Griffin had retired to his rooms as soon as they had returned to the Weymouth’s town house.
Alyssa hadn’t seen him again until they had met downstairs moments before they climbed into the carriage that brought them to Carlton House. “I know. I hate that you have to do this. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Griffin was surprised. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sorry because you have to do something you’d rather not do.”
Like leave you the morning after our honeymoon. He looked at Alyssa, and the heat between them was palpable. Griffin shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I know you don’t care any more for these types of gatherings than I do.”
Alyssa looked up at him and smiled a knowing smile. “Not like having dinner at Carlton House with the Prince Regent and England’s newest hero? What woman wouldn’t like that?”
“Lady and Lord Tressingham’s youngest daughter.” Griffin paused in the doorway of the Prince Regent’s fancy dining hall. “You married me to keep from becoming the Duchess of Sussex because duchesses are always made to bear such close scrutiny from the public and from members of the ton. And now, I’ve gone and made you the center of attention.” Griffin lifted Alyssa’s hand to his lips. “And that is why I’m going to do the best thing for both of us.”
Alyssa frowned. “Which is?”
“Let you go.”
Alyssa opened her mouth in shocked protest, but the Prince Regent’s majordomo interrupted by announcing their arrival. “Ladies and gentleman, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent invites all of you to join him in welcoming his guests, the Duke and Duchess of Avon.”
Griff and Alyssa glanced around for the duke and duchess, but all eyes were upon them.
The Prince Regent approached them, wineglass in hand. Signaling for a waiter, he stepped up on the dais and handed a glass of wine to Alyssa and then to Griffin.
“My lords and ladies,” the Prince Regent announced. “Let us toast Our Right Trusty and Right Entirely Beloved Cousin Griffin Abernathy, first Duke of Avon and Marquess of Abbingdon, and Her Grace, Alyssa, Duchess of Avon and Marchioness of Abbingdon.”
Griffin forced a smile as everyone present lifted a glass in his honor. Hell and damnation! He’d just become a duke. And Alyssa had just become the thing she had never wanted to be—a duchess.
The awarding of a ducal title was the sort of surprise the Prince Regent loved and at which he excelled. It was also a political coup. The Second Resolution of the Regency Bill of 1811 had restricted the Prince Regent’s right to create peers except as a reward for some outstanding naval or military achievement. The prince used Griffin’s heroic act that turned the tide of the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro to create his first peer and to annoy the prime minister and his Tory supporters.
There was no doubt that Viscount Abernathy had acted heroically and in Lord Wellington’s own words, “turned the tide of battle, enabling us to win the day and that most important village,” but elevating him to the rank of duke was unprecedented in recent history. Wellington himself had only been awarded his viscountcy following his victory at Talavera.
The Prince Regent was, perhaps, the most delighted person at Carlton House. Delighted with himself for finding a way to thumb his nose at the Tory leaders of his government and delighted with Griffin for providing him with the means to do it. He clapped Griffin on the shoulder and offered Alyssa his arm as he led them into the gilt dining hall on the upper floor, where he seated Griffin on his right and Alyssa on his left.
The dinner dragged on interminably before the final course was brought in at half-past one in the morning.
Unaccustomed to the late city hours, Alyssa fought to keep from falling face first into whatever course was put before her and to carry on a reasonably coherent conversation with the Prince Regent and with the Marquess of Something-or-other who was seated on her left.
Griffin was struggling as well. He had removed the sling from his right arm, but that decision had been made prematurely. His collarbone still ached as did the bayonet wound in his shoulder and the hole where a ball had torn through the flesh of his upper arm. The heavy gold flatware caused him no end of grief as he did his best to eat without spilling soup or causing some other embarrassing mishap. His hand shook when he lifted his wineglass, and he shifted in his seat whenever he thought no one was looking in order to relieve the pain and stiffness caused by his wounds.
He was nearly soaked through with sweat, and the noise from the crush of dinner guests and the rattling of cutlery and dinnerware had his nerves stretched taut. He needed peace. He needed quiet. He needed to go home, far away from these shallow and petty people who cared more about gossip and politics and the manner in which their food was served than they did about the army of brave men who were dying on the battlefields every day.
The meal over, the Prince Regent pushed himself to his feet, tapped his crystal goblet with a gold knife, and announced that everyone should remove to the terrace for the special surprise of the evening.
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd as the throng of people moved through the great opened doors and onto the terrace.
The first explosion sent Griffin’s heart racing, and the dazzling display of fiery sparks lighting up the night sky increased his sense of rising panic.
“Fireworks,” the Prince Regent announced. “To honor our most gallant of heroes.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Griffin.
Griffin bared his teeth in what he hoped was a semblance of a return smile and reached blindly for Alyssa’s hand. His whole body began to shake, and he reacted instinctively as the next barrage of explosions lit up the Mall.
Seizing Alyssa’s hand, Griffin shoved her behind him, then pressed her against the shelter of the nearest stone column, shielding her with his body.
It was fortunate that nearly every pair of eyes in the place was looking upward. The unexpected sight of the nation’s newest hero hiding behind a stone edifice would have been enough to make the Prince Regent rescind the honors he’d just bestowed on him. As it was, only five people witnessed his reaction and they all stepped forward in unison to cover Griffin’s moment of panic.
Lifting his head, Griffin scanned the crowd and the distant horizon, searching for the cannons and the line of grenadiers, unable to comprehend the fact that Jarrod and Colin and Weymouth and Lord Tressingham and the Duke of Sussex had formed a ring about him. Didn’t they realize the danger they were in? Didn’t they understand the horrible things that could happen when cannon balls rolled through the lines? Or the damage done by shells and shell fragments that rained from the sky? His father and Lord Tressingham were too old to be sent into battle, and his friends were too young. Too young to die. Too young to have their bodies ripped apart and their limbs scattered all over the battlefield. He had to warn them of the danger. Had to save them…
“Get down!” he screamed. “Take cover! For God’s sake, get down!”
“Shhh! Shhh, Griffin. It’s all right,” Alyssa spoke softly, hoping to soothe the violent shudders that racked his body with each explosion.
He didn’t move. He sat frozen in place, shielding her body, protecting her from unseen horrors as his friends and their fathers protected him from prying eyes and vicious tongues.
Alyssa wrapped her arms around him a
nd held on as he struggled against his paralyzing horror. “Shhh, my darling, you’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen.” She pressed her lips to his, quieting his anguished cries, swallowing the high-pitched keening that sounded like the whimpers of a wounded animal, as the extravagant fireworks display continued. Her heart broke at the sight of her strong, proud husband brought to his knees by the horror of what he’d suffered. But she refused to let him see it.
As the last skyrocket ripped through the sky, Alyssa coaxed Griffin’s lips apart and began to kiss him in earnest.
Awareness returned with a vengeance as Griffin realized he was soaked with perspiration and that he was holding his wife’s upper arms in a white-knuckled grip and kissing her as if his life depended on it.
The Prince Regent turned back to the new Duke of Avon to gauge the young man’s reaction to the honors he’d received and the magnificent fireworks display and discovered the Earls of Weymouth and Tressingham, the Marquess of Shepherdston, Viscount Grantham, and the Duke of Sussex standing where the new Duke of Avon and his wife had been.
“Lord Weymouth, where is your son the young duke?” the Prince Regent asked.
Lord Weymouth moved one step to his left.
The Prince Regent chuckled at the sight of the new duke and duchess kissing in the shadow of the stone columns. “Ah, young love…”
“Indeed, sir,” Jarrod remarked. “It appears your most extraordinary fireworks display has sparked an additional display of fireworks.”
Lord Weymouth spoke for the first time. “My son has been serving on the Peninsula for over a year, sir. And as you no doubt recall, he married Her Grace only three days before. They barely managed a honeymoon.” Lord Weymouth gave the regent a smile. “We are hoping they might produce a family heir. We appreciate the honors you’ve bestowed on our family, sir, and the efforts to which you’ve gone to entertain us this evening.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If you would kindly grant permission for my son and his bride to withdraw from this evening’s celebrations…”
“Grant a by our leave so that they might celebrate in private?” The regent smiled broadly.
“Exactly, sir,” Lord Weymouth said.
The regent turned back to Griffin and Alyssa. “Your Grace, we’re hereby granting you and your bride permission to withdraw from our festivities in order to attend to your own celebration.”
Alyssa broke the kiss in order to answer. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Go.” The regent waved his beringed fingers at Alyssa. “So we can pursue our own pleasures.”
“Please,” Griffin murmured against her lips. “Get me out of here.”
Alyssa let go of Griffin long enough to drop a graceful curtsy, then took hold of her husband’s hand and backed out of the regent’s presence.
“Go on,” Lord Weymouth urged. “Lady Weymouth and I will beg a ride from your parents.”
Alyssa nodded.
Although his demeanor gave no indication of it, Griffin leaned heavily against her as Alyssa led him to his father’s carriage.
Griffin sank down into the cushions of his coach and heaved a sigh of exhaustion.
Alyssa spoke to the driver. “Take us home.”
Myrick lifted an eyebrow in question.
Alyssa nodded. “Home.”
Barely a Bride Page 52