Willa’s imagination supplied words Leonie hadn’t spoken. “Obviously, the earl is in love with you. He has traveled looking for you and you must feel something for him, or else you would not have agreed to this match so quickly. No one can make you do something you don’t wish, Leonie. You are too strong. The rest of us can be cowed but never you.”
Cassandra nodded agreement.
How Leonie wished what they said was true. She was the biggest of cowards, but she would not tell them that. No, this was her secret . . . along with so many others that if they knew they would race each other to the door to escape her presence.
But they didn’t. And she was safe.
Only she and Roman knew the truth.
Roman wasted no time in posting the betrothal notice in the papers. Leonie could only surmise that he had walked straight from her house to the papers.
Always a touch cynical about Society, even Leonie was shocked at how quickly the ideas she had planted in Willa’s and Cassandra’s heads made the rounds of the gossips. It seemed everyone knew and accepted that Leonie and Rochdale had known each other at another time.
“Swept her off her feet,” some said.
“A love lost, and yet found again,” others whispered.
“They were meant to be together,” seemed to be the verdict.
If Roman knew Society had declared him love struck, he gave no indication to Leonie. Although, she had to admit, he did play his part of attentive suitor well, especially in front of others, and they were never alone.
From the moment the notice appeared in the papers, Leonie had callers. Her mother’s friends crowded around her, offering sage pieces of marital advice. Mothers brought their debutante daughters to bask in Leonie’s good fortune, and to pick up tidbits of new information. Gossip opened doors amongst the ton. Even her father’s business associates made perfunctory calls to wish her well.
There was no topic too personal. Leonie found herself listening to long-winded stories of the most intimate nature. When she said as much to her mother, she was assured it was much, much worse when one was pregnant with child.
“You will run from the house in horror,” her mother promised.
Leonie didn’t answer that she would run nowhere because she had no desire to have children. That was a conversation no daughter should have with her mother—or a father who now made it very clear he couldn’t wait for her to give him a grandson. It was all he could wax on about.
She began to believe she had liked her father better when he ignored her.
Roman called precisely at half past three every day. Both of her parents were there to receive him. It was as if they had decided to transform into the parents they should have been.
Her father, the least political creature in the world, made a huge pretense of discussing with Roman the details of whatever issue was before Parliament. Leonie noted that Roman did have good ideas. He took his responsibilities to his title seriously.
Her mother seemed to enjoy telling Roman of her plans for the elaborate wedding breakfast that would follow the simple, private ceremony. Her parents were intent on making the breakfast a Society event. Leonie wondered if the house could hold all the people they had invited.
Of course Roman was her escort for the evenings’ balls and routs. But her mother or her father were there as well. Her mother did not come in one door and duck out the next to meet a lover. They both behaved as if they were overjoyed Roman would be taking Leonie off their hands.
For her role, Leonie gave the appearance of being shy and dutiful. She always made certain she didn’t have any brandy on her breath when Roman called. She also smiled and performed as expected, something she’d done all her life, but whenever she had the opportunity to catch him alone, whether it was in the middle of the dance floor or while he was helping her into the coach, she would hurriedly whisper, “Do you accept my terms for this marriage?”
He was quite adept at evading the question while still playing the role of attentive swain.
However, there were signs he would not let her have the life she wanted. His gaze rarely met her eye. They traveled though receiving lines side by side and yet they were as far apart as strangers. Even when they danced, he could look past her while giving the impression he was paying attention.
Willa and Cassandra thought him very charming. There was more than a little envy in their voices, especially since no one had seen the Duke of Camberly at any of the latest social events. It was as if he had disappeared from London and Cassandra, especially, was downcast.
Leonie didn’t worry about the duke. She was busy wondering what game Roman played. She knew when a man found her attractive. She would have staked the dining silver that he wanted her. She’d seen signs of it that first evening at the marquis’s ball, and yet now, he acted somewhat disinterested.
Oh, he was polite. Gentlemanly. She caught other women watching him, saw their jealous glances at the way he deferred to her opinion or ensured she was included in conversations. Her mother might have been the most envious of all.
What they didn’t understand, and Leonie knew, was how practiced she and Roman were at only showing what they wanted others to see. It seemed as if they had already lived a lifetime this way. Marriage was just another milestone in the devil’s bargain they had made the night she’d eloped with Arthur.
The night before their marriage, over a family dinner for fifty that included relatives who had traveled to take part in the wedding festivities, Leonie’s aunt Ida asked Roman what his plans were for his and Leonie’s future.
“We shall go to Bonhomie, my family seat,” he said. He didn’t look at Leonie as he spoke because he obviously knew she would not be happy—and she wasn’t.
He was not going to honor her request for a separate life. She was going to have to be a wife to him. Worse, she was going to be buried in the country, never to be seen or heard from again.
She looked around the table. Everyone acted as if his was a capital plan, and she could almost hate him for maneuvering her to where she did not want to be. She smiled, she pretended, and she was furious.
Either he feared her reaction to his plans for them. Or her opinion did not matter.
Her only solace was that, now that she was to be married, she was allowed wine with dinner and she took full advantage of the luxury, using it to dull her quiet fury.
Roman left early. After all, it was the night before the wedding. Leonie was happy to see him go. She spent the rest of the evening in the upstairs study with cousins. One of them brought a bottle of wine. Leonie was pleased to imbibe. She told herself she needed something to help her deal with Roman’s deceit. She was certain he had known from the beginning he was going to take her to his estate, wherever that was. Being angry with him helped her deal with the apprehension that Roman expected her to be a wife in every way.
And then he would know the full truth of that terrible incident with Arthur.
She held out her glass for a bit more wine. Someone mentioned needing another bottle . . .
How she made it to bed, she did not know.
The morning of her wedding, rain came down in sheets.
And Minnie was far too cheerful. “Wake up, miss. You will become a countess today.”
Leonie felt as if her arms and legs had turned to lead. Her mouth tasted funny. She did not want to open her eyes.
She did not want to marry today.
Minnie threw open the drapes. Leonie managed to lift one eyelid. There was no sun to liven the room.
“I’ll bring a tray up with your breakfast, miss,” Minnie said. “Your mother ordered a bath prepared. The footmen will be up any moment.”
Leonie’s response was to put a pillow over her head.
There was a knock on the door and she heard the tub being set up and pails of water being poured into it. She stayed right where she was.
The door shut.
“They are gone, Miss Leonie,” Minnie said. “You need to bathe now. I
’ve brought your breakfast. We must hurry. The hour for you to be married will be here in a blink.”
Leonie groaned and sat up. That was a mistake. She must have moved too quickly. Her head felt as if two hundred bricks were sitting on top of it.
“You look as if you need a cup of tea,” Minnie said. She hurried to make it the way Leonie liked and carried it to the bed.
Taking a sip, Leonie made a face. Her tongue felt fuzzy and thick.
“The water is exactly right,” Minnie said, testing the bathwater.
“I will try it,” Leonie said. Minnie’s happy anxiousness was very annoying. “Is my dress ready?”
“Yes, miss. I pressed it myself this morning.”
“Thank you, Minnie.” Leonie tried another sip of tea. This was not going to help at all. Nor was Minnie’s humming as she busied herself around the bath.
“Minnie, I believe I need some time alone. This will be a very big day.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll leave you alone. You will eat your breakfast? Your mother wished me to ensure you would.”
“I will. Where is my mother?”
“Downstairs. She’s with the guests in the breakfast room.”
Leonie set down the cup and saucer on her bedside table. She forced a smile for her maid. “Go, Minnie. Go.”
“Yes, miss.” Minnie reluctantly left the room, and Leonie fell back on the bed. She would never make it through this day.
She should not have had the wine. Devil’s brew it was. Her head felt terrible.
She felt terrible. Especially when she recalled Roman’s announcement that they were leaving London. He would not honor her request of an agreement.
Her life as she knew it was over. And her head ached. Her bones ached. She did not like wine.
Leonie rose from the bed, needing a moment to steady herself. She took stumbling steps to the breakfast tray. Her stomach almost revolted. She sat down on the edge of the tub. That was not a wise idea. She almost fell in.
Standing again, she wondered what she should do. She had never felt this way on brandy—
An idea struck her, one that put purpose into her step.
Her parents both took a nip in the morning after nights they had overindulged. Perhaps that was what she needed. Just the thought lifted her spirits.
She put on a dressing gown and opened the door. The hall was empty. She padded toward the study—but saw her uncle inside reading the morning paper. She immediately turned around . . . and went to her mother’s room. She knocked on the door.
No one answered. Not even the maid.
Leonie cracked open the door and peered inside. The room was empty. She hurried to the dressing table and pulled on the drawer. The flask was right there.
She took a nip.
The brandy cut her fuzziness. It tasted delicious.
Leonie dared to carry the flask back to her room. This time, she had more control over herself on the trip.
She knew she didn’t dare keep the flask. Her mother might notice it missing. Leonie took the teapot from her breakfast tray. She lifted the window sash and tossed the contents. She then filled it with brandy.
There. No one would be the wiser. Her mother would just assume she’d emptied her flask herself.
Leonie had no trouble sneaking the flask back to its proper place.
Her headache disappeared and she was even able to eat her breakfast while sipping a cup of brandy. What a remarkable restorative.
Why, by the time Leonie was bathed, dressed, and ready to leave for the church, she was so mellow and at peace with the world she could have married a highwayman.
She chewed mint leaves for her breath, and no one was the wiser.
Roman found himself surprisingly nervous on his wedding day.
For the last week and a half, the idea of marrying Leonie Charnock had not seemed completely real to him. He’d gone through the motions, often with her at his side—and her silent disapproval, her overpoliteness, her infernal repeated question whispered impatiently at every private moment he could manage to steal until he wanted to shout in rage.
And yet, he had maintained the pretense of doting suitor, despite it all . . . or perhaps because of it all.
He knew he was good for Leonie. He was the right man for her. He always had been. He was now going to prove it to her by being the husband she deserved—
The door swung open in the back of the chapel. He stood. He was alone. No friends; no family. The Reverend Davis waited on the bench across the aisle from him. He also rose to his feet.
Roman had not yet told his parents or his sisters of his marriage. He’d chosen not to because he did not want their disapproval of his marrying for money. The Gilchrists were an opinionated lot. They would speak their mind on the matter, and he’d rather hear their denouncements later rather than sooner. The letter announcing his marriage was on its way to them, posted two days ago.
Besides, he could not have managed his family and Leonie’s sullen reluctance to marry. For all he knew, his sisters Dora and Beth would have taken her side, God help him.
The Charnocks were not quiet people. William Charnock was complaining about something to his wife. His voice broke off when he saw Roman and the rector.
He came up the stone aisle. “I’m sorry that we are a few minutes behind our appointed time, my lord,” he said, smiling and holding out his hand—blocking Roman’s view of his bride. “You know how the women are.”
“William,” his wife chided in that bored tone of hers. “We have arrived in plenty of time.”
They were a half an hour late, another reason Roman was glad his family was not here. His mother was ruthlessly punctual.
Roman took Charnock’s hand, but then everyone moved and he had his first look at his bride.
His breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. Venus could not be lovelier.
Leonie wore her hair down, the way he liked it. A band of what appeared to be diamond roses held a lace and gauze veil in place that seemed to float in the air behind her.
Her dress was a marvel of delicate lace and layers of the same finely woven muslin shot through with silver. Her firm breasts rounded over the bodice and around her neck she wore a string of pearls as creamy as her skin. No woman had ever looked more enticing.
Roman let go of Charnock’s hand. He took a step toward Leonie and knew the truth. He wasn’t marrying her for money. He wanted her. He’d always wanted her.
She’d stopped at the first row of chairs. She gave him a tentative smile and he could have fallen to his knees and crawled to her.
Instead, she moved toward him. She walked as if she was in a dream. Her skirts emphasized long, strong legs.
This woman was to be his wife and he was very pleased.
Charnock was babbling about something to the reverend. Roman didn’t pay attention. He only had eyes for Leonie.
She stopped when she was beside him and offered her gloved hand. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers.
Her smile at the small, gallant gesture was tenuous as if she, too, had been full of doubts and concerns.
“We shall do well together,” he promised her.
Leonie nodded as if too nervous to speak.
“Well,” Charnock said, clapping his hands together, “shall we be on with it?”
“Yes,” his wife agreed, “the first guests will arrive at half past twelve.”
Roman didn’t care what Charnock wanted or when guests would arrive. “Are you ready?” he asked Leonie. He found himself anxious to be certain she was at peace with the marriage.
She nodded.
“Step this way,” Reverend Davis said, taking over and directing them to the altar.
Roman took her hand and tucked it in his arm. Over the past week and a half, they had stood side by side without touching. Now, she leaned slightly toward him, the movement almost imperceptible, and yet it brought her body heat close to his.
Yes, they woul
d be good together.
The rector opened his book and began reading, “Dearly beloved, we have gathered in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony . . .”
One word leapt out to Roman. Joining.
Had Leonie noticed? She gave no indication. Nor did she react as the rector read, “The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children.”
Union in body. The procreation of children.
Roman was about to have a wife who could provide him solace with her body and could prove herself a helpmate as well as a lover.
He wanted children. Bonhomie would go to his heir and, standing in front of this altar, he prayed God blessed him with many healthy sons and daughters. He wanted the walls of his home to ring with their laughter.
And he wanted Leonie to desire those things as well.
Although she had never said so in words, he’d known Paccard had debased her. He’d seen it in her eyes that night and in the way her hand holding the pistol had trembled with fear and anger.
Now, it was up to him to treat her kindly, to undo the damage his rival had inflicted.
He repeated his marriage vows in a firm voice to let her know he meant the words. He would always be by her side. He would cherish and adore her.
Roman already believed he loved her.
She said hers quietly and with what he felt was much deliberate thought, as if she savored each word before she spoke it. He caught the scent of mint on her breath. That pleased him. She was already thinking about kisses. He certainly was.
“Do you have a ring, my lord?” the rector asked.
Roman hurried to pull the ring from his coat and proudly held it up. It was a star sapphire that he’d purchased in India years ago. The band was simple because it was all he could afford but the sapphire was a true treasure. It was an unusual stone in London and one only those who had been to India could appreciate. He watched for her reaction or some recognition of the type of stone . . . and was disappointed.
She looked at it without a hint of interest.
If Ever I Should Love You Page 9