by Gill, Tamara
He cleared his throat, and stood taller like a soldier as if he were about to go into battle. “I like you, I think that we will do well enough together. As for how you live, you must understand there will be limitations of course. I’m a duke, when you marry me you’ll be a duchess. Your place will be at my side, having said that,” he said at her gasp, “that does not mean that we’ll always be in Town. We shall return to Carlton Hall regularly, and certainly often enough to sate your desire for the outdoors.”
Mary stared at him a moment, lost for words. A week in Town was too much. London had always made her feel out of place. It was simply not who she was. If he forced her, their marriage would not be a happy one. “But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be in London most of the time. I want to marry a man who suits me and my character, my likes and dislikes. You do not.”
“We do suit. We suited very well not half an hour ago,” he whispered.
At his scandalous reminder heat shot across her skin. “Hush, my father will hear. And you know that is not what I mean. If I have to marry, I want to marry a man who prefers the country to Town. You do not and your standing within the ton would mean that I would have to be by your side all the time. Never mind the fact that you do not want a wife. I fail to believe that all of a sudden you’ve had an epiphany and now want a wife.”
“I have not had an epiphany, I’m merely doing what is right and you will marry me, Lady Mary. There is no choice. I think you understand as well as anyone the possible repercussions of our meeting earlier tonight.”
Oh yes, she understood very well all the repercussions of what had transpired between them. Of being forced into a marriage neither of them wanted, and the possibility that she might fall pregnant. “I’m too opinionated for you. If we were to marry, you would soon tire of me not wishing to follow you to London. I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
He blanched at the mention of such a thing, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. “We shall not quarrel if you behave like a duchess, the well-bred young woman that you are, we will get along well enough.”
She raised her brows. “I’m not one to be told what to do, your grace.” She took a step away, crossing her arms across her chest. “I will not marry you.”
“You have no choice.”
Mary swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The thought of being a social matriarch, of hosting and giving balls and soirées left her dizzy with dread. She could not do it. “Everyone has a choice.”
Dale turned back toward his lordship and Peter. “It is agreed. One month, my lord, and Lady Mary will be the new Duchess of Carlton.”
Her father burst into a smile, clapping his hands. Her brother, however, stared at the duke with deadly ire.
“Congratulations, your grace. Mary darling.” Her father shook Dale’s hand and pulled Mary into an embrace.
“I wish to talk to the duke,” Peter said, not using the duke’s given name. An oddity, for Mary had only ever known her brother to use the duke’s given name while at home these past weeks.
Her father readily agreed. “Of course. No doubt you wish to have a toast celebrating the newly engaged couple.” He pulled Mary toward the hall. “Come, Mary. Tell me of your wishes for your wedding day.” Mary glanced over her shoulder meeting Dale’s gaze as they left, so much still left unsaid between them. Did he believe she would not marry him or did he truly think them engaged?
Her father walked her upstairs, discussing how happy this news would make her mother and her throat tightened with panic. This was exactly the situation in which she did not want to find herself and for all the duke’s gentleman-like honor, it was not needed here. Not yet at least.
Her father stopped at her bedroom door. “We shall tell your mother together tomorrow. Now,” he said, opening her door and ushering her inside. “Off to bed, my dear. The next few weeks will be busy indeed and you need your rest.”
Mary stared at the door as it closed. Had they all lost their minds? What about what she wanted, what the duke wanted, what he really wanted. It was not her he really wanted, she was certain of that.
If there was one thing she disliked it was being managed, and she’d been utterly managed this evening. She stomped her foot, and growled at the door. It wasn’t to be borne and she would not be marrying anyone unless he loved her enough to allow her to be who she was. Always. And it did not escape her that if he had offered a word of love…of some gesture, she would have said yes. The ache in her heart bloomed to encompass her entire body. How could she really consent to marry a man she feared she had fallen so much in love with…but he only liked her?
Dale turned back to Peter after losing sight of Mary and her father. She was shocked, there was no doubt, and probably felt a little managed by him as well. In time he hoped she would thaw to the idea. He was not the type of man to hold anyone back from being who they were, and he would not start now with his wife. Only in society would he expect Mary to abide by society’s line.
She would have to be by his side when he went to London, for either the Season or when Parliament resumed, but when they were not obligated to be in Town, the idea of being carefree, home on his estate with Mary made him eager for the first time in as long as he could remember to go home.
He walked over to the decanter of whisky pouring both himself and Peter a glass. He held it out to his friend who followed him and placed it on the sideboard when he didn’t venture to take it. “Say it,” he said to Peter when he merely stood before him, glaring.
“How could you,” Peter said, pointing a finger in his direction and stabbing it at him as if he wished it were a blade. “Did you ruin her? Could you not, out of respect for our friendship, not leave my sister alone. Do you not have enough women to warm your bed that you had to take an innocent, your best friend’s sibling?”
Dale raised his chin, hating that Peter’s words were true. All of them. He was a cad. Known about London for his many lovers, his wayward nights on the town. But Dale also could admit to himself that his lifestyle no longer satisfied. He was sick of it, weary of keeping up an appearance when in truth his desires had shifted.
Having Mary tonight had been the moment he realized she made him feel complete. Satisfied beyond measure. A niggling of it had occurred when in the linen closet, but being with her fully this evening had proven the point. As much as he’d railed about marriage, he was simply railing against the institution because he’d not found the right woman.
His parents’ marriage had been a disaster because there were no feelings between them, other than annoyance and regret. He liked Mary at least, and she was an earl’s daughter, not wholly wild at heart. That he’d ruined her came into play. She could be carrying his child, and that alone forced his hand into offering marriage.
“I will be faithful to Mary. You have my word on that. I like your sister very much and her exuberance. She will keep me on my toes.” And it would be no hardship to have the little hellion in his bed at night.
Peter threw him a disbelieving look. “I find that hard to believe. You may have been one of my best friends, but should you hurt my sister in any way, I will make you pay.”
“I shall not hurt her. On the contrary, I shall try and make her happy.” Try and ensure that their home life was a happy one. A peaceful, calm place that they would never bicker in.
“You dislike confrontation, and Mary is the embodiment of all that. She is not a woman to be managed and if you try and force her you will find your marriage one of regret.”
The pit of his gut clenched at the thought of having an unhappy marriage. Mary was independent and opinionated. A slither of doubt entered his mind that he’d been hasty in acting the gentleman. But then, being caught kissing after he’d shagged her forced his hand in any case.
“I know you, Carlton, and I know how you suffered in your parents’ home. I do not want to find my sister has entered a similar fate as that of your mother.”
Dale clenched his jaw. The in
sinuation from his friend hurt and he took a couple of moments to cool his temper. “I would never abuse Mary or any woman. How could you think I would?”
“I do not think you would, but she’s my sister. My concern stands with her.”
Dale stared at Peter as he stormed from the room. Damn it, he didn’t want them to fall out over this. He’d broken Peter’s trust to be sure, but he would do all that he could to make Mary happy. He might not love her, but many marriages had started out on less solid foundations and survived.
He drank down his whisky and then not wanting to waste the second glass that sat untouched on the sideboard, he drank that down too. All would be well, he was sure of it, and in time he would prove to Mary, Peter, everyone that their misgivings on the match were unfounded.
Chapter 13
One month later
Mary stared at herself in the mirror in her bedroom, a bride starting back at her. She took in the dark locks pulled into line by many pins and a pretty veil that sat over the top of her curls, lying softly over her silk and embroidered light blue gown.
After her marriage today she would be the Duchess of Carlton. She stared at herself, her eyes too large it would seem, a frightened tinge to their appearance.
Her stomach roiled at the thought of marrying the duke. She’d not seen him these past four weeks. He’d left Christmas Day after their betrothal announcement stating he needed to return to London to prepare for their marriage and to notify his many estates that they would visit each one during their honeymoon.
She clasped her hands, trying to ignore the excited chatter of her mama and Louise who were in the room with her.
“Mother, I need to see the duke. At once,” she said, her voice but a whisper.
“What was that, my darling?” Her mama came over to her, her brow furrowed in concern.
“I need to speak with Dale. Before I marry him. I need to speak with him alone. I will not attend downstairs until I do.”
Louise and her mama glanced at each other, a question in both their eyes. Mary took a calming breath, knowing it would not appear well that she was asking for such a thing, but she needed to speak with Dale. Needed to know before she took her vows that he would not expect her to be the perfect duchess that she could never be.
“I will go fetch him,” her mama said. Louise came over and clasped her hand, squeezing it a little before too, leaving her alone. Mary went and sat on her bed, waiting for Dale. The heavy, determined footfalls sounded in the hall outside her door and her stomach fluttered knowing she’d see him again.
Her door opened and then he was there. The perfect, magnificent Duke of Carlton that made women’s heads turn at every event. If she had to marry at all she could never share him, and to think that their marriage could end as so many ton marriages did, with disillusioned couples that tolerated each other but little else would not do for her.
She had never wanted to marry, but to marry without some sort of affection, without some sort of promise that he wouldn’t box her into the life of a proper, respectable, biddable wife was no life at all. She’d rather be ruined than suffer such a fate.
Dale remembered to breathe as he looked upon Mary, whom oddly he’d missed the last month while away in Town. She was so beautiful, so different from the ribbon-and-lace wallflower that he’d met prior to Christmas.
The woman who sat before him was poised, elegant, a true duchess, but the glint of independence, or rebellion flickered in her green eyes and gave him pause.
“You look beautiful Mary,” he said, coming over to her. She stood, meeting his gaze with an unflinching strength that he admired. “You wanted to see me?”
She clasped her hands before her, biting her lip and his body hardened at the sight. He’d missed her, not just her lively conversations and blunt, to the point opinions, but also he’d missed being with her. Alone.
“I wanted to talk to you about us. About what you expect from me as your wife.”
Dale sat on the bed, pulling her down to do the same. He took her hand, unable to stop himself from rubbing his thumb across the inside of her wrist. His ministrations brought a delightful flush to her cheeks and all he wanted to do was to kiss her. To take her into his arms and prove to her, that whatever concerns she might have about them, they were not warranted.
Over the past month he’d reflected a lot on his life, on his parents’ marriage. One thing was clear above all else. He was not his father, and Mary was not his mother. They had entered the marriage with no affection and as the years went by, their discontentment, their dislike of each other had turned toxic.
He was not that type of man. He would never be that kind of weak person who took out their frustrations, their rage on others.
“Go on. State your terms.” He schooled his features, willing to give her anything that she wished so long as she was his by the end of the day.
She looked down at their entwined hands, her brow furrowed. “You know my character. You know that I’m independent and opinionated, and also a bit of a bluestocking. After having been caught in a compromising situation with you and seeing that there was no other option for us to marry, I do think that we’ll do well enough as any other couple setting out on this marriage journey. But,” she said, pausing.
He lifted her chin, needing to see her eyes. “But what, Mary?” he asked.
Her tongue darted out and licked her lips and Dale fought to concentrate on the conversation at hand. He was totally besotted by a woman that in truth he hardly knew. He wondered at the emotions roiling throughout him, what they meant before pushing them away to listen to what she had to say.
“But I will not change who I am to suit your friends, your title or your expectations of what you may think a duchess should be like. If I see or hear something that I think is cruel, or untrue I will seek to repair the error. I will not like people to further your standing in the ton, and I will not stop my hobbies. Any of them, even climbing rocky outcrops that I do most summers.”
He bit back a bemused smile. She was perfect. “Is there anything else?” he asked, his tone severe.
Her eyes flared, but instead of crumbling under his supposed ire, she lifted her chin, her determination to get what she wanted overriding her fear of his opinion. “I will not share you, your grace. Not with anyone. Ever. If I ever heard word that you’ve been unfaithful to me, our marriage will be at an end. I may not be able to divorce you, but that is exactly what will happen without all the legalities of it. If I’m to be your wife, it is my bed and only my bed that you’ll find yourself in. If you’re unable to promise me my wishes, I will not marry you today.”
The duke stared at her, his face giving little away as to what he was thinking. His hand still held hers, his thumb making her insides quake with remembering how they were together when alone. How very clever his hands were when on her person.
She took a calming breath, waiting for him to speak. How had all her hopes ended up being tied to a man she knew very little beyond a month ago?
“They are a lot of stipulations.” He stood, walking a few steps from her. His back was rigid, proud and Mary knew what she asked was a lot. Possibly too much for a man of his rank and power to allow. But she could not give herself over to anyone unless they allowed her to be who she was. A rough and tumble girl from Derbyshire who didn’t play by the rules, and never wanted to.
“But I find myself at liberty to agree to your terms. I should not expect anything less from my duchess,” he said, turning toward her, a wicked grin on his lips.
Mary let out a relieved sigh, standing and throwing herself into his arms. His arms came about her, strong and fierce and within a moment she found herself kissing him. Their lips entwined, his hands over her back, her bottom and then one thigh as he lifted her up against his heat.
She moaned, kissing him with a fierceness that left her breathless, very much looking forward to tonight when they were alone. The idea frightened and exhilarated her at the same time. Whatever the du
ke evoked in her was new and absolutely wonderful.
“Do you really mean it?” she asked, pulling back and wrapping her arms about his neck.
He nodded, his eyes dark with unsated need. “Oh yes, I mean it. I did not think I wanted a duchess, nor one that I knew would push and pull me in all directions, but that was until I found you. I will never hurt you. I shall never dishonor you. You have my word on that.”
Mary smiled, her eyes smarting with tears. “I suppose we should go downstairs and get married then, your grace.”
He lowered her to the ground, kissing her softly once more. A kiss that seemed filled with a promise of forever. “I suppose we should.”
He stepped to her side, holding out his arm. “Shall we, Lady Mary?” he asked, the proper gentleman and duke once more.
Mary threaded hers arm through his, a rightness settling over her like a balm. “We shall.”
Epilogue
Spring 1801 - The Season
* * *
Mary stood beside her husband whose hand lay gently on the arch of her back. His thumb brushed slowly back and forth, and she smiled, knowing he was teasing her on purpose.
“Behave,” she said, smiling up at him.
He grinned back. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”
She shook her head, watching her friend Louise take part in a country dance, the first of many now that they were back in Town. It was bittersweet for Mary, as Louise would soon be off to York and no longer her companion. She would miss her friend dearly.
Mary watched with growing concern as Louise looked less than pleased to be in the arms of Lord Lindhurst. “She’s not enjoying herself. She looks positively bored.”
The duke cast a curious glance in Louise’s direction, his lips thinning in agreement. “So it would seem.” He paused, turning to look at Mary. “Are you sure she wants to go to York. You have stressed that she’s more than welcome to stay with us, have you not?”