The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  “Nicholas, I suppose. Or Nick, as my family sometimes does.”

  “Nicholas,” she said slowly, testing the sound in her voice. She had thought of him as that, sometimes in unguarded moments, but still it felt strange to say it aloud. “Nicholas.”

  At last a tiny smile touched the corner of his lips. “That was not so difficult, was it?”

  She smiled, too. “Not terribly, I suppose.”

  “I brought something for you.” He reached inside his coat and brought out two small velvet jewel cases. “I should wait until after I speak to your father, I suppose, but now seems as good a time as any.”

  Emily took them carefully, as if they could bite her. “For me?”

  “For you—if you wish to accept them.”

  She opened them and peeked inside, and gasped in surprise. They were both emeralds, large and square-cut, surrounded by ice-like diamonds, one in a pendant and one in a ring. They were brilliant as summer leaves, flawless and glittering.

  “I have never seen anything like them, your— Nicholas,” she whispered. “They are wondrous.”

  “Do you like them? The jeweller said pearls were more the thing these days, but somehow these seemed better. They’re the colour of your eyes.”

  Her eyes? He had noticed her eyes were green? How very unusual. “I think they are too grand for me.”

  “Too grand for a duchess? Nonsense. They say my grandmother wore ruby tiaras to breakfast. Of course, they also say she was half-mad.”

  Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes she thought he was half-mad, too. She closed the boxes. “About this duchess business…”

  “What of it? I promise you don’t have to follow Grandmama’s example. You can wear whatever you like to breakfast.”

  Emily shook her head. When he teased her like that, she quite forgot the serious things she had to say. “It was most honourable of you to say we were betrothed at the ball. I would have been quite ruined otherwise.”

  Nicholas frowned. “Considering I was the one doing the ruining, it was the least I could do. Did you think I was the sort who would abandon a lady in such a situation?”

  “I— No, of course not. That is, well, I don’t know you very well, do I? Nor do you know me. It seems terribly harsh that you should be tied to me for your whole life because of a moment of forgetfulness.”

  “Two moments, if I am not mistaken.” He reached for her hand again, the one free of the jewel cases, and this time she let him hold her. The gold signet ring he wore was cold on her skin, but his hand was warm. “Is there perchance someone else you care for, Emily?”

  He meant Mr Rayburn, of course. “No! No, not at all.”

  “Then there is no reason why we shouldn’t rub along well enough,” he said. “My sisters tell me I should marry, and our families have known each other for a long time. You know all our Manning quirks and foibles. And I will try to make you happy.”

  Rubbing along well enough—yes, that was what marriage really meant, didn’t it? Family business, compromises, things of that sort. She had been taught that all her life. Why should she feel disappointed now?

  And yet she did, most unaccountably.

  She heard a burst of laughter from downstairs, her mother and Amy enjoying themselves as they chose wedding clothes. Her family was so happy. She had made them happy at last. She couldn’t ruin that now.

  “Then, if you are sure, I will marry you,” she said.

  “Very sensible,” he said with a grin. He took the emerald ring from the box and slid it on to her finger. It just fit, the stone heavy on her hand. Then he fastened the pendant around her neck, its green fire flashing. “I was right. They are the colour of your eyes.”

  Emily was so moved he had noticed the colour of her eyes, and had even matched her betrothal jewels to them. The necklace lay on her skin, warm and special, the most wonderful gift she had ever been given. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers. Then he turned it on his palm and kissed her wrist, the pulse that pounded there just under her skin.

  The bargain was well and truly struck. There was no escaping now.

  She was lying.

  Nicholas watched Emily as she made her way back down the stairs, until she turned at the landing and was out of his sight. She glanced back once before she went, and gave him a tentative smile.

  Their betrothal was settled now, for better or worse, and their fate was sealed. She seemed resolved to make the best of it, as he was. There was no choice, not now.

  Yet he had seen how close she stood to George Rayburn in the drawing room, how they looked at each other so intently as they held hands. And she had slipped away along the streets earlier—to meet with him? Was she in love with Rayburn? Had she wanted to marry him, before she was swept away by Nicholas’s actions?

  He had seen with his own parents what happened when two people followed their family’s dictates in marriage rather than their own hearts. Scandal and sorrow were the results. He didn’t want that for himself, or for Emily, either. She deserved better than a husband who had lost all his joy and lightness in life.

  But if she would not confide in him and tell him the truth, he had to do the honourable thing and marry her. And hope one day they could be honest with each other.

  Nicholas faced the library door with heavy resolve. Perhaps it was best Emily had not told him the truth after all, for then he would have to tell her about Valentina. And he had promised himself never to mention his wife again. She was gone, and he would never repeat his mistake. The terrible mistake of loving someone so much their loss destroyed the whole world—and of hurting them.

  He would try to be friends with Emily and do his best by her. That was his resolution now.

  He knocked on the door, loudly so Lord Moreby could hear. “Come in!” the man bellowed. “It’s you, is it, Manning? I’ve been expecting you.”

  “I imagine you have, Lord Moreby,” Nicholas almost shouted. He shut the door against any hidden ears that might be listening. If this place was anything like Manning House, he knew there would always be listeners ready to pass on what they heard.

  “I have, yes,” said Lord Moreby. He pushed aside tottering piles of books and papers on his cluttered desk. “But there is no need to shout, your Grace. I can hear you very well.”

  “Indeed, Lord Moreby? I was told you might be somewhat…”

  “Deaf? Not at all. Just something I put about so I don’t always have to listen to Lady Moreby. That might be something for you to remember in married life.”

  Nicholas laughed, and sat down in one of the worn-out armchairs across from the desk. “I thank you for the advice. I think I need as much counsel as I can find for the married state.”

  “I don’t think you need fear with my Emily. The girl is not a chatterer, she never was. In fact, I seldom know what she’s thinking at all. Rather disconcerting, that. But she is a good girl, and smart. She’ll run your houses and raise your children with no trouble at all.” He suddenly pinned Nicholas with his surprisingly bright green gaze, so much like Emily’s. “You have come to ask for her hand, I take it?”

  Nicholas took a deep breath. “I have, Lord Moreby. I will be most honoured and happy if Lady Emily would be my wife, and, er, run my houses and raise my children.” Not that there would be any children, not after Valentina. But no one had to know that.

  “Excellent. I consent, of course. You seem patient enough, and honourable. You should make her a good husband.” He scowled at Nicholas across the desk. “I must warn you, though. I am fond of my Emily. She is my only daughter, and I won’t have you treat her as your father did your mother. He was my friend, God rest his soul, but I did not care for that.”

  Nicholas remembered his mother, weeping in her darkened room at Fincote Park. “No, Lord Moreby. I promise you I will never do that to Lady Emily. She will always be honoured and respected as the Duchess of Manning.”

  “Then we will have no quarrel, your Grace! W
elcome to the family, may God help you.” Lord Moreby pushed back from the desk, his warning obviously delivered and his business done. “Now, let’s have some brandy before we go downstairs into all that wedding fol-de-rol. I have a very fine bottle I’ve been saving for just such an occasion.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Oh, Emily, my dear! I cannot believe tomorrow is your wedding day,” Emily’s mother said with a sigh as she ran the silver-backed brush through Emily’s hair. She had dismissed Mary for the evening, saying she would help her daughter herself.

  Emily laughed. She pressed her hand over her dressing gown, where the precious emerald pendant lay against her skin. “I can’t believe it myself, Mama. The days have gone so quickly.” Too quickly, passing in a blur of lace and flowers and visitors. She had seldom seen Nicholas in all the confusion, and had never been alone with him at all. Even last night, at the impromptu dinner party that had become a betrothal celebration, they had only had one stolen moment together where he kissed her cheek and asked her once more if she was quite sure.

  She was not sure, of course, not in the least. But this wedding juggernaut was utterly impossible to stop. Her fate was decided and she had to make the best of it now.

  In the dressing-table mirror she glimpsed her pale blue silk and white lace wedding gown, hung on the back of the wardrobe door. It fluttered a bit, as if to entice or mock her.

  “You have been working so hard on all the preparations, Mama. You must be very tired.”

  “I am not tired in the least! In fact, I am more energised than I have been in years. My little girl is to be married, and to a duke. I knew when you were born, and I held you in my arms and saw how beautiful you are, that you were meant for great things. And I was right.”

  Great things? Emily doubted that. She had to learn how to be a good duchess, but she was a hard worker and she was quite sure she could do it.

  Her mother tied off her braid and kissed her cheek. “Come sit by me for a moment, Emily dearest. I want to speak to you about something very important.”

  Emily’s stomach clenched. Whenever her mother had that tone in her voice, Emily knew she wouldn’t like what she heard. “Oh, Mama, I am very tired, and tomorrow is such a busy day. Can it not wait?”

  “No, it cannot,” her mother said sternly. “This is very important. Now, come sit by me on the bed and listen to me carefully.”

  Emily went with her in silence, letting her mother hold on to her hand. Her fingers were very tight, pressing the emerald ring into Emily’s skin.

  “Now, my dear, a wife has many duties, especially a wife who is a duchess,” her mother said. “I have taught you to run a house properly, to dress fashionably and to remember to be charitable and kind. But there is one last, most important duty I must tell you about, as my mother did for me the night before my wedding.”

  Emily very much feared she knew what was coming now. “Oh, no, Mama.”

  “Yes.” Her mother’s lips pressed together grimly. “You will have your duty in the bedchamber. Now, Emily, I warn you it will not be pleasant. It will hurt, and be rather messy. You must lie back and do as your husband tells you, and it will soon be over.”

  “Mama!” Emily groaned. “I don’t really need to know—”

  “No, Emily, let me finish. There are ways to make it easier. I used to close my eyes and plan a party.”

  Emily stared at her mother numbly. “A party?”

  “Yes. I would choose the china and the silver, and design flower arrangements and guest lists. Then I would devise a menu, and decide on my gown. By the time I knew what to serve for dessert, it was all over and I scarcely felt a thing! As a duchess, you could plan very elaborate parties indeed. Balls, even. Manning House has a lovely ballroom.”

  Emily closed her eyes, trying not to shudder. She knew the rudiments of anatomy, of course; she often visited museums and galleries full of classical nude statues. And she knew the basics of the marriage act, what went where and so forth.

  But… “Mama, what exactly happens that I must fear?”

  “Oh, my dear, you needn’t fear! It is our natural duty, and we must bear it. The duke will show you what to do, and I am sure he will not demand anything—extra of you.”

  “Extra?” Emily choked out.

  “Yes. You must not—touch things, or move about too much. That just makes it last longer. You are his wife, not a hired mistress. All will be well, Emily dearest, and in the end you will have beautiful babies, as I did. That will make everything worthwhile.”

  Emily was utterly stunned. “Is that all, Mama?” It was surely quite enough.

  “Yes. Just remember—party planning. That is the key. Now, get into bed. Tomorrow is a very great day and you will need your rest! It would never do to have red eyes and a blotchy complexion for your wedding.”

  Emily slid under the sheets, letting her mother tuck the bedclothes around her and kiss her cheek. She blew out all the candles as she went, leaving Emily alone in the dark shadows. Her blue gown shimmered like a ghost.

  She clutched at her pillow, trying to drive her mother’s words out of her mind. Pain, and—and mess? It sounded appalling. She could hardly reconcile it to the pleasurable sensations she felt when Nicholas kissed her or the delight she felt when she saw a baby and imagined it as her own. How could they possibly all be part of the same process?

  But maybe the kissing was meant to lull an unsuspecting woman into complacency, so she would not run away screaming from what happened next? She certainly didn’t enjoy party planning enough to thoroughly distract herself.

  She pulled the blankets over her head, completely frightened.

  She had to escape.

  Emily hurried along the street as quickly as she could without running like a hoyden. Her parents’ house was filled with the bustle and noise of wedding preparations, servants rushing about to hang garlands of flowers and greenery along the banisters and over the doors and fireplaces. The heady scents of roasted meats and sugary cakes wafted up from the kitchens, and with the sweet smells of roses and lilies it made Emily lightheaded.

  Her mother and Amy rushing about, giving and countermanding orders and fussing about with her hair didn’t help.

  So she pleaded an “urgent errand” and left to visit Sally at Mrs Goddard’s for an hour. She was on her way there now, and even the relative quiet of the streets after the chaos of the house made her feel steadier. It was too early in the day for many people to be out, and the air felt cool on her face.

  She had almost convinced herself that all would be well in the end, that she and Nicholas would find a way to rub along together. That this wedding could be a beginning, and not a disastrous end. Then her mother’s voice would echo in her mind again. “It will not be pleasant. It will hurt and be rather messy.”

  And all her optimism turned grey. She did want to be a good wife and do her duty, but—messy? And hurt? She couldn’t quite reconcile that horridness to the delicious way she felt when Nicholas kissed her at Vauxhall.

  She certainly didn’t enjoy planning a party enough to help her get through anything unpleasant.

  “Surely Mama must be wrong,” she whispered to herself. She would ask Sally, who surely had more experience of such things and could be more helpful. But first she had to find the courage to say the words aloud.

  She stopped to study a shop-window display of fabrics and feathers. One of the bolts was a rich swath of gold-shot green silk, bright and bold. It made her think of the beautiful emerald pendant Nicholas gave her. It was certainly the most exquisite thing anyone had ever given her, and not just for its value. It was as if he found a jewel to match her and her secret desires to be confident and sparkling. A duchess to reckon with.

  The pendant gave her a hope that she really could be that duchess, that Nicholas believed in her and they could come to truly know each other.

  But that would never happen if she couldn’t even get through the wedding night.

  Emily studied the gre
en silk again. It was too bright for a young miss, but surely it would be just the thing for the Duchess of Manning. She weighed her reticule in her hand, and felt the weight of the precious coins her father had given her as she left the house. Perhaps it was enough to buy at least a small amount of the silk. It could be a sort of talisman for the future.

  Or maybe imagining dressmaking, rather than party planning, would get her through The Act.

  A half-hour later she stepped from the shop with a package of the silk tucked carefully under her arm— and found herself face to face with Nicholas himself. He seemed to have come from the building across the street, Gerard’s Saloon for Gentlemen, where Emily had heard men of the ton engaged in the wild behaviour of swordplay and fisticuffs. Nicholas’s golden hair was damp and brushed back from his face, revealing the sharp, elegant angles of his aristocratic looks. His blue eyes were narrowed, his lips turned down at the corners in a slight frown, as if he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.

  Did he, too, struggle with doubts today? Somehow that thought made her feel more hopeful rather than less. Perhaps they could learn to conquer those doubts together. If she could learn to trust him, trust her own feelings—and show him he could trust her.

  He looked up and saw her standing there across the street. That frown transformed into a bright smile and he waved at her.

  Emily waved back, torn between wanting to see him so much and wanting to run away from that first delicate touch of tenderness in her heart. She couldn’t leave, though, as he hurried towards her, dodging carriages and horses until he stood by her side.

  “Lady Emily,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Such a nice surprise to see you here this morning. I thought there were a thousand things to do to prepare for a wedding, or so my sisters always said.”

  “Oh, yes, so there are, your Grace,” Emily answered. “But my mother and sister-in-law have all that well in hand. I just seemed to be in the way, so I decided to do a little shopping.”