The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  “Well, I am glad to see you, though I fear my brother would say it’s ill luck to meet with the bride before the ceremony.”

  Emily laughed, remembering Lord Stephen’s predilection for superstitions. “Do you believe that?”

  “I’m not so sure. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. If the wedding meal is burned or the vicar trips and falls at the altar, we’ll know it’s all the fault of our meeting. In the meantime, shall I see you home? My carriage is waiting just over there. Perhaps we could take a very long detour through the park on the way, and thus you would miss most of the preparations.”

  Emily glanced uncertainly down the street, which grew more crowded now. She remembered her plan to visit Sally and ask for her advice on the wedding night. But as Nicholas smiled at her, she began to hope it might not be so bad after all.

  She had to learn to trust him, or their future could never be bright. And she had to learn to trust in her self.

  “Thank you, your Grace,” she said, accepting his offered arm. “A drive through the park sounds most pleasant.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Will you take Nicholas to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

  Emily held Nicholas’s hand in hers, the vicar’s voice sounding far away in her ears. She felt as if she floated underwater, as if everything came to her all muffled and distant. His clasp on her, so steady and warm, was all that held her tethered to the earth. All that was real.

  Behind them sat her parents, her mother softly sniffling into her handkerchief, Rob and Amy, Jane and her parents, and Emily’s deaf old Aunt Lydia.

  Over Nicholas’s shoulder she saw his brother, Lord Stephen, trying not to look doubtful, and his half-sister Justine and her husband Brenner, Lord Linwall. They were Nicholas’s only family there, and for that she was grateful. She probably would not have been able to speak at all if they were all there, watching her, thinking her not right for their beloved brother. At least Justine had a gentle, easy air about her, a kind smile as she embraced Emily when they met. Lord Linwall seemed stern and quiet, but when he looked at his wife there was a soft, joyful light in his eyes.

  Surely no one would look at her like that now. She was binding her life to the man who stood beside her, so stalwart and serious.

  A sudden tense hush over the drawing room reminded her that she had not answered.

  “I will,” she whispered, and listened numbly as Nicholas repeated the same words, vowing to take her as his wife.

  “In the presence of God and before this congregation Emily and Nicholas have given their consent and made their marriage vows to each other. They have declared their marriage by the joining of hands and by the giving and receiving of rings. I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder. Amen. Your Grace, you may kiss your bride.”

  Nicholas’s hand tightened on hers and he bent his head toward her. His lips touched hers, dry and surprisingly soft. It was a kiss nothing like the heated, insane embraces they were swept into at Vauxhall and the Arnold ball. This was a gentle salute, a sealing of an official contract. A lifelong contract.

  He drew away, giving her an odd little half-smile, and she was engulfed in her mother’s tearful embrace.

  “Oh, my dearest girl!” she said. “Such a lovely bride. Who would ever have thought I would call my own daughter her Grace the Duchess of Manning?”

  Emily laughed. Had that not been what her mother had been hoping and working towards for months? “You have made a perfect wedding for me, Mama.”

  “I’m just sorry more of our friends could not see it,” her mother said with a regretful sigh. “St George’s would have been grand.”

  “Oh, Mama, only social-climbing mushrooms have large affairs at St George’s,” Rob said, kissing Emily’s cheek. “Better to have a private ceremony.”

  Amy also kissed her, and fussed a bit with the wreath of white rosebuds in Emily’s hair. Then she found herself embraced by Justine.

  “Lady Emily, welcome to the family,” she said, her soft voice ever so lightly touched with a French accent. “We shall try very hard to make you happy with us.”

  “We’re a strange lot, but not so bad once you get to know us,” said her husband. Emily remembered it had been his mother who eloped with Nicholas’s father so long ago, causing such great scandal and shattering two families. Yet he seemed such a part of the family now, despite all those old wounds. How had he done that?

  Maybe she could learn from him. Perhaps she could never really be one of them, fit in with them and their fun-loving ways. But she could be an exemplary duchess and set a good example. Show them how hard she was willing to work to be perfect for their family name.

  “Oh, I just realised!” Justine said. “We cannot call you Lady Emily now. You are the Duchess.”

  “No, just Emily, please,” Emily begged. “I think it will be a long while before I accustom myself to ‘Duchess’.”

  “You are quite monopolising my wife, Jussy,” Nicholas interrupted, taking Emily’s hand in his again.

  “You will have her to yourself long enough at Welbourne,” Justine said with a laugh. “I must get to know her now. Annalise and Charlotte will want a full report when I write to them. They are so desolate to miss the wedding. We thought we would never live to see this day!”

  Emily had been relieved his whole family could not come on such short notice, but now she almost wished they had. They would keep Nicholas from leaving too soon for their planned honeymoon at Welbourne— and what came next. Terror and duty, according to her mother.

  She noticed Lord Stephen standing by the fireplace, and she excused herself to go to him. She wasn’t entirely sure why; he didn’t seem to like her very much, and she was usually paralysed with shyness around such a jokester. But right now he seemed oddly wistful.

  “What a lovely, quiet spot you’ve found, Lord Stephen,” she said. “Isn’t it strange how even small weddings feel like such a crush?”

  He smiled at her, putting her a bit more at ease. He was not so fearsome when he smiled. “It’s the weight of family expectations, Duchess. The whole rest of our lives pressing in on us.”

  Duchess—she was already fed up with the sound of that word, and it had only been her title for less than an hour. “Do you think you might call me Emily?” she asked.

  “Of course. You are my sister now, and you must call me just Stephen.” He reached into his coat and took out a tiny box. “A small wedding gift for you—Sister.”

  “Oh, no! Your family has given me too much al ready.” The wonderful emerald pendant from Nicholas that she wore, pearl earrings from Justine, a painting from Annalise and the ducal ruby tiara, which Nicholas said his grandmother had once worn to breakfast. It had been brought to the house under guard, and her mother wanted her to wear it for the wedding. Emily insisted on the flowers.

  “It is only a small token,” he said, holding out the box to her. “I’m sure you will like it more than what Charlotte is planning to send.”

  Emily studied him warily, remembering Charlotte running around Welbourne with her hair flying and her snorting pug dogs at her heels. “What would that be?”

  “A puppy,” Stephen whispered. “One of her blasted pugs is to have a litter any day now, just like Charlotte herself. But don’t tell Nicholas, it’s meant to be a surprise.”

  “Indeed it will be.” Emily took the box and shook it lightly. “No snorting or barking. You’re right, I do like it better.”

  Stephen laughed. “Open it, then.”

  It was a tiny gold horseshoe, set with an emerald chip, hung on a thin gold chain. “How very pretty!”

  “It’s for good luck. You should wear it all the time. Everyone needs a good-luck charm, especially when they embark on something as perilous as a marriage.”

  “Will you help me put it on?” she said.
>
  “Certainly.” As he fastened the little clasp and the horseshoe fell beside the emerald pendant, he said, “Our family has not always had the best of luck at marriage. But I hope you know, Emily, that my brother has a good heart. He cares about us, and I think he works very hard to take care of us all. He never thinks of himself.”

  Emily pressed her palm over the horseshoe, and remembered that terrible day at the park: Nicholas rescuing the child, diving in front of a carriage to snatch her to safety. Nicholas saving her at the ball, saving her reputation at the expense of his own freedom.

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered. He was a good man—and now he was trapped with her, a woman he did not love, who did not know how to be a good wife to him.

  “He needs someone to look after him, to be kind to him,” Stephen said.

  Emily stared up at him, at his handsome, earnest face that looked so much like his brother’s, and she remembered her promise to herself. She would learn to be a perfect duchess. Even if his family could never like her, they would respect and accept her.

  “I will try my hardest to be a good wife and duchess,” she said. “I will never hurt your brother, or make him ashamed of his wife.”

  “Thank you, Emily.” He kissed her hand. “That is all we can ask.”

  “Are you monopolising my bride, Stephen?” she heard Nicholas say.

  Emily turned and smiled at him. He smiled, too, but the look in his eyes reflected her own feelings of the day—relief, fear, a brittle, tense expectation. The wedding was over, the dice were cast—what would come next?

  “Your brother gave me a gift,” she said, showing him the charm. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “Ah, Stephen, you and your amulets,” Nicholas said, laughing.

  “I fear that she will need all the luck she can find, married to you,” Stephen retorted. “I should have given her a dozen.”

  Emily took Nicholas’s hand and held it very tightly. She feared not even a dozen horseshoes, ringed around with spells, could protect her heart now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nicholas paced the floor of his bedchamber at Manning House, the hem of his black-brocade dressing gown sweeping in a wide arc every time he spun around and stalked back the other way. He felt a bit like the brooding villain of one of the romantic novels his sisters loved, lurking and scheming outside the heroine’s chamber.

  From behind the door that connected his room to the duchess’s next door, he could hear soft feminine voices and laughter. Emily’s maid was helping her change from her wedding gown, and there were mysterious rustles, gasps and laughter, and bursts of some fresh, rosy fragrance under the door.

  He had only been married a few hours, and already his house—and his life—were being transformed.

  Nicholas strode to the window and stared out into the night, the darkness that spread out over the garden and on to Green Park beyond. It was cloudy tonight, threatening rain, and there were no guiding stars to be seen even with his telescope. He was on his own, with his new bride.

  A burst of wind swept past the window, rattling the old glass and making the draughty chamber even danker. Manning House certainly needed to be transformed by a mistress’s guiding hand, refurbished and made into some sort of home. But maybe he was wrong to bring Emily here for the wedding night. He didn’t want to frighten her away before they even began.

  He thought of her as she had looked during the ceremony, her face pale as milk, her hand cold in his. It seemed she was already frightened even then, and would bolt at any moment.

  But then it looked as if she resolved on something in her own mind. Her shoulders stiffened, her back straightened and her jaw was set in a determined line. She looked like a soldier in her fluffy silk-and-lace gown and white rosebuds.

  “I will,” she had whispered, and they were bound together.

  Nicholas drew the old, dreary, brown-velvet curtains across the window. If she was resolved, then he would be, too. He had not been a good husband the first time; there had to be a way he could atone for that by making Emily happy, and by keeping her safe from the curse of being Duchess of Manning.

  But how was he to make her happy? Titles and jewels didn’t seem to excite her. Manning House was unlikely to entice her, with its dark gloominess and chilly hallways. But tomorrow they would travel to Welbourne Manor. Welbourne was small and pretty, filled with good memories. They would be relatively alone there, and he could start to get to know Emily. To try to decipher what would make her happy.

  In the meantime, he had a task to perform. Nicholas tightened the sash of his robe, feeling a bit like a soldier armouring for battle, and went to the connecting door.

  All was silent now on the other side. He knocked, and heard her call softly, “Come in.”

  He slowly turned the handle and pushed it open. Aside from the last few days, when he had inspected the room for cleaning and the installation of new curtains and hangings, he hadn’t been in the duchess’s chamber since he was a child. Then it had belonged to his mother, and no one had used it since. Not until tonight.

  Like the duke’s chamber, it was a vast, high-ceilinged, echoing space, barely warmed by the marble fireplace. He had tried to make it less gloomy than his own room, which had not been changed since his father last used it in the unhappy final days of his first marriage. There were new yellow-taffeta curtains at the windows and draped from the old carved oak bed. The triple-mirrored dressing table was hung with green satin tied with yellow bows, and a yellow-velvet counterpane with green satin bolsters and cushions was spread over the bed. Emily’s trunks and bandboxes were stacked by the silk-papered wall, ready to go to Welbourne.

  The counterpane and the new, lace-trimmed linen sheets were turned back invitingly. But Emily didn’t rest under them. She sat perched on the edge of the high bed, her feet in their kid bedroom slippers resting on the steps. Her hands were folded on her lap, her fine, pale hair brushed over her shoulders.

  Nicholas stared at her in startled fascination. How very beautiful she was. He had always known that, of course, but now, in her pale-green dressing gown trimmed with waterfalls of white lace, she looked like an ethereal fairy princess.

  A pale, delicate fairy princess. Valentina had been tall and robust, yet even she had not been able to survive childbirth. How could a dainty fairy?

  Her lower lip trembled, and she quickly bit down on it. Her hands tightened in her lap, the knuckles white. Nicholas remembered his resolve to make her not regret their ill-begun union. He wasn’t making a very good start to that resolution, staring at her like a callow schoolboy.

  He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and slowly went to sit beside her on the bed. She did not move away, but he could feel the stiff wariness of her body.

  “I’m sorry we had to come here to Manning House tonight,” he said. “There was no time to see about much refurbishment, and I fear it’s not very comfortable. When we return to London you must make any changes you like.”

  “I’m not sure I would know where to begin,” she said softly. “This room is very pretty.”

  “New fabrics were brought in, but there was no time to replace the furniture.”

  “I like it. And I do hope the wedding was to your taste, and that of your family. My mother would have preferred something more elaborate, but like the furniture there was no time.”

  “Would you have preferred a bigger wedding?”

  Emily shook her head. “Not at all. Everyone is talking about it quite enough as it is. But I would not want your family to think it was not done properly.”

  Nicholas laughed. How adorably earnest she looked, his serious new duchess! “My family has never given a moment’s care to what is proper. They’re just happy I am married at last. They will love you.”

  “Will they?” she said doubtfully. “Your brother said Charlotte is going to send us a puppy. Is that love? Or some sort of warning?”

  He laughed even harder. “One never really knows with Cha
rlotte. I can tell her not to send it. Her dogs do shed a copious amount.”

  “No, don’t do that! I don’t want to offend her when she is being kind.” Emily glanced around the dark room, the crackling fire doing its gallant, futile best to warm the space. “Besides, a dog might liven up the place a bit.”

  “Emily.” Nicholas gently took her hand in his. It was still cold. Her emerald ring and a thin, new, bright gold band sparkled on her finger. Stephen’s good-luck gold horseshoe flashed amid the lace ruffles at her neck. “I know we have not started well, but I want you to know I will do my best to make sure you are content. Whatever you want, you must only tell me and it will be yours. I don’t want you to regret this bargain we have made.”

  Emily stared at him with her wide, solemn green eyes, her fingers curled around his. “You mean, if I want a carriage or a diamond necklace?”

  “I suppose so, yes. Whatever might make you happy.”

  Her hand tightened. “I don’t want those things, though I will admit that when you gave me a ride in your carriage I thought it was very fine indeed! All I want is to do my best as your duchess, to never make you ashamed.”

  He gently brushed his fingertips over her soft, white cheek. He watched in fascination as a pink, warm blush followed his touch. “How could I ever be ashamed of you? Look at you—there could be no more perfect duchess. I would just think you would be ashamed of us, as harum-scarum as we are.”

  Emily shook her head, her hair rippling down her back. “I will work very hard at this, Nicholas, you’ll see. I am ready to do my duty.”

  She slowly laid back on the bed and untied the ribbons of her dressing gown. The green silk drifted away to reveal a thin, low-cut, white-muslin chemise that clung to her slender body. It was a body as lovely as the rest of her, tiny-waisted and long-legged, with high, white breasts that pressed against the lace neckline. He could see the berry-pink shadow of her nipples through the fabric, and he remembered how it felt to kiss her at Vauxhall. The heady heat of it, the sweet taste of her.