The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  He stepped into her path. “Is she correct?”

  “About the vicar, the duchess, or my financial state? And what business is it of yours?”

  “Kate,” he said gently. “I ask as a friend.”

  She surveyed him with irritation. “No, I haven’t turned down the vicar as yet, and I have no plans to do so anytime soon.”

  “Lady Stone has a point, you know—about you being cousins.”

  “Distant cousins. Neither am I trying to make myself the perfect companion for the duchess, because she’s made clear she needs me only until the wedding.”

  “And your shortage of funds? If you would prefer not to be beholden to Her Grace, I might help.”

  Kate knew it was silly of her to be embarrassed; her straitened circumstances would hardly startle anyone who had given the matter an instant’s thought. But her feelings were already raw, and the idea that Andrew felt sorry for her was humiliating.

  “If you are offering a loan, you must know how inappropriate it would be for me to accept. In any case, since I have no idea when I would be able to repay any funds you advanced, I could not possibly allow you to commit money you will no doubt need on your next adventure. If you will excuse me, Mr. Carlisle, I must carry out the duchess’s request.” Kate brushed past him and went down the stairs, doing her best to blink back tears.

  Eleven

  Penelope wanted to wrap herself around her husband and cling tight, begging him to keep her safe until the last of her tremors had died down—and then perhaps show her once more what husbands and wives did together. But she suspected he intended to hold to their bargain. Just once, she had said, and that was all he had agreed to.

  And her instinct was correct, for while she was still quaking inside, he disentangled himself from her and went to the washstand. He dampened a cloth in the basin and came back to where she still sprawled across the bed.

  At the first cool touch of the cloth between her legs, Penelope jerked away.

  “I’m sorry the water isn’t warmer,” he said, but he didn’t stop until he had thoroughly washed away every trace of their lovemaking. Then he covered her with the quilt and began to gather up his clothing. “I’ll send a chambermaid to help you dress.”

  Penelope bit her lip and wondered if there was a reason he wanted her to stay in bed for a while, or if he simply meant he had been bored with the whole experience and couldn’t wait to get away. She watched him as he dressed, trying to be discreet and not stare—while wondering if she would ever again see him this way.

  As he was tying his neckcloth, she mustered her nerve. “Is there anything I should do? Or not do? I would not like to harm the chance of…” Her throat felt dry. “Of there being a child.”

  He paused, the knot half-formed. “There will not be a child.” His voice was gentle.

  But how could he be so certain? Judging by what Miss Rose had said… Of course, even Penelope’s painfully limited experience made it clear that Miss Rose was no authority.

  Before Penelope could find her voice again to ask, the earl was gone. A moment later the chambermaid knocked and came in to assist her.

  When Penelope reached the foot of the stairs, the front door of the inn stood open to the sunshine and the horses waited just outside. The earl helped her up into the saddle. “It’s only a few miles now,” he said and set the well-rested horses into a steady trot that didn’t allow for conversation.

  As they skirted Steadham village, their path crossed that of the duke. They rode back to Halstead together with the three horses abreast where there was room, the men talking easily across Penelope while she kept her silence as she rode between them. In the stable yard, the earl lifted Penelope down from her horse as casually as if she’d been the inanimate saddle instead of the rider.

  They crossed from the stable yard to the house with him still talking to Simon, and only when they reached the top of the staircase and the duke turned toward his suite was Penelope able to take a deep breath and an even deeper risk.

  “Will you come into my room with me, sir?” She could feel his surprise, and she kept her voice even with an effort as she reminded, “You kept your end of the bargain, and I shall keep mine. I promised my jewels to you.”

  She opened the door, but instead of the quiet, cool, peaceful bedroom she had come to expect, her gaze fell on a row of open trunks with a cluster of maids unpacking under the suspicious gaze of her own lady’s maid.

  Etta wheeled around and her eyes narrowed. “Just two days on your own and look at you, my lady. You’re wind-burnt, sunburned, and a right mess. What have you been doing to your hair—stirring it with an egg whisk?”

  Penelope’s hand went to the back of her neck. Her hair was trailing down despite her bonnet, and her skin indeed felt warm—whether from the sun or sheer embarrassment, she didn’t know.

  “I knew nothing good could come of you leaving me behind in London.” Etta shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I’ll be embarrassed to show my face in the servants’ hall, I will. Come and let me work on you. Let’s see if there’s anything I can salvage.”

  Penelope opened her mouth, intending to silence Etta no matter what. But the earl said, “We’ll speak later,” and turned away toward his own bedroom before she could argue.

  She only wished she believed him. But she suspected that if the question was left up to the earl, later would be a very long time coming.

  ***

  Simon had told Olivia he would send the Somervale carriage for her, and he fully intended to do so. But instead, as the dinner hour grew near, he ordered his curricle to be brought around and drove himself into Steadham to the cottage.

  Olivia answered the door and looked him up and down. As her gaze came to rest suspiciously on the basket he carried, she asked, “Since when do you make deliveries?”

  Simon hefted his burden a little higher. “All the urchins in the village appear to have been called in for their supper and bed, so I had to leave my groom holding my horses.”

  “Is that food in the basket? If you’re planning another picnic—”

  “It isn’t for you.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. She smelled delightful tonight, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the aroma. What fun to investigate, following his nose to the crook of her elbow and the hollow behind her ear and all the other delightful places where she might possibly have dabbed her scent. The back of her knee sounded promising, and the spot right under her shoulder blades…

  “Your Grace?” she reminded.

  Simon pulled himself back to the subject at hand. “It’s hardly fair for the rest of your household to be left out while you’re feasting. Lead me to the kitchen so I can rid myself of this weight, and then I’ll greet you properly.”

  She didn’t move, so he took advantage of the opportunity to look more closely. She was dressed tonight in pale-blue muslin, cut in a modest style that would have been highly appropriate for one of the bridesmaids—though in fact, Simon suspected, those brazen maidens would likely have seen Olivia’s gown as far too sedate even to consider.

  For that matter, Simon thought both the color and the style were all wrong for Olivia. His fingers itched to tear the garment off her and replace it with something that better suited her. Dark green satin, perhaps, as smooth as the undersides of her breasts and as slick as the welcoming passage between her legs…

  No, he’d like to tear the garment off and not replace it with anything at all.

  He wasn’t accustomed to becoming aroused by the sight of a woman wearing a plain, ordinary, out-of-date dress that covered up everything a man was most likely to be enticed by. Except, no matter how alluring her body was, Olivia’s face was what he came back to. He could fall into the depths of her big hazel eyes, and he longed to explore new ways to caress her lips and her ears and her temples—all at the same time, of course, that he made certain the curves under her dress were still exactly the right size and shape to fit neatly into his hands. And there was territory yet to be
explored. Her toes, he suspected, were small and perfect, like a row of matched pearls…

  If only he could manage to get her truly alone, with all the time in the world to explore. Which, regrettably, seemed unlikely. The cottage was so small that even now he could hear voices from the kitchen… including a high, childish one.

  “Have you finished looking?” Olivia asked dryly. “I’m afraid this is the best I can do, so if I’m inadequate, you’ll just have to leave me behind.”

  The saucy wench was not only challenging him; she sounded hopeful that he would find her wanting and simply go away.

  So—just to prove to her that he could set her afire with a look—Simon let his gaze run slowly over her once more, from her smooth dark hair swept up into a knot atop her head to the tips of her slippers peeking out from under the ruffle that edged her hem.

  Picturing all the loveliness that lay under the pale-blue muslin, without being able to act on his desires, was a delicious torment. But as he’d expected, the inspection was just as tantalizing for her. Under the thin muslin her nipples peaked, and he had to restrain himself from palming her breasts to see if they really were as hard and excited as they appeared.

  “I forgot my shawl,” Olivia said.

  “Are you running away?” Simon asked softly. She didn’t answer, so when she went up the stairs, he took the basket to the back of the cottage.

  Though the sun had not set, the corners of the kitchen had already fallen into dusk. The table was a warm, bright island with a couple of candles throwing wavering yellow light across a pottery dish standing in the center. As Nurse dipped portions onto three plates, the aroma of shepherd’s pie filled the air and made Simon’s mouth water.

  Maggie looked up and gave a little shriek. “What’s in the basket?”

  “I’m not certain.” Simon set the basket in front of her. “But I suspect you’ll find the best of Halstead’s kitchen.”

  The maid dug past the towel that concealed the contents. Simon thought that if she could have climbed inside the basket, she’d have done so. “There’s a whole slab of ham,” she told Nurse breathlessly. “And there’s a cheese and a bit of trifle…”

  “What’s that?” Charlotte asked.

  “Trifle? It’s a lovely sweet dish, Miss Charlotte.”

  “Which you will not taste unless you eat your shepherd’s pie,” Nurse pointed out.

  Charlotte obediently picked up her spoon.

  “I told you, Nurse. Things are different at Halstead,” the maid said.

  Maggie was right, Simon thought. Things were different at Halstead—all kinds of things. She had, all unknowingly, solved his dilemma.

  “Pack Lady Reyne’s things for a visit,” he ordered. “And your own as well. I’ll take her ladyship with me now, of course, but a carriage will call for the rest of you later this evening. You’re all coming to stay at Halstead until the wedding.”

  By the time the news had a chance to register—Maggie shrieked even more loudly this time—Simon had already returned to the hall. Olivia was coming down the stairs with a light cloak over her arm and a plain gray shawl concealing even the little he’d been able to see earlier of those delectable shoulders and the inviting curve of her breasts.

  His fingertips tingled with the urge to unwrap her like a long-awaited Christmas gift. Later tonight, he promised himself, he would. Later tonight—at Halstead.

  ***

  The evening was still warm, so Olivia concluded that the way the duke carefully tucked her into his curricle and wrapped a carriage blanket around her was more an excuse to touch her than true concern for her comfort. She realized that distracting him from his task would only cause delay, so she waited until he had set his horses into motion before she spoke.

  “While I appreciate your thoughtfulness in proving a feast for my household as well as for me, Your Grace—”

  “It was nothing,” he said modestly. “I learned years ago that the very first rule in successfully managing an estate is to make a friend of the cook.”

  “The first rule? Surely… Never mind. The grape jelly was a thoughtful gift—but this is different. You must understand that I do not accept charity. In fact, if not for the waste, I would have insisted you take the basket back.”

  “I think the deciding factor was that your maid would have mutinied if she hadn’t been allowed to keep the basket.”

  Olivia couldn’t deny that Maggie’s shriek of satisfaction, ringing through the entire cottage, was the greatest reason why she hadn’t stood on her principles. “That’s why I’m making clear that you cannot fob me off with a food basket whenever you’ve done something particularly outrageous. Or when you want a favor, either.”

  “Rather than offering you something of real value? An annuity, perhaps?”

  Olivia bit her lip. “That is entirely different.”

  “Indeed, but now is not the moment to discuss the differences between gifts and payments. Very well, my lady—no more food baskets.”

  Concern still niggled at Olivia. Apart from the jibe about annuities, she thought his concession had come far too easily, and she didn’t feel entirely peaceful about it. Probably he’d agreed only because appearing to give in would quiet her protests for the moment, while he continued to do exactly as he pleased.

  However, she’d fight that battle when the occasion arose. In the meantime, she couldn’t deny that whatever had been in the basket, life would be more pleasant at the cottage for a few days at least.

  “As it happens, you’re quite right,” the duke went on. “Foodstuffs would only go to waste at the cottage when your entire household has moved to Halstead until the wedding.”

  Olivia choked. “You can’t—”

  “Of course I can. I’ve no idea why I didn’t think of it earlier, for it’s the perfect answer to make everyone happy. By the time the moon rises tonight, your maid will be back in Mrs. Greeley’s service, your nurse will have all the help she requires, your daughter will be perfectly safe and entertained, and you…”

  “I will be always available as your mistress,” Olivia said under her breath.

  He looked at her with a smile that threatened to singe her bones. “I was going to say that for a while you will not be tied to the duties of keeping a house, and so you can concentrate on convincing my mother you’ll make a perfect duchess. But I must say I prefer your description to mine.”

  The curricle made a great sweeping turn through huge, heavy gates that boasted the Somervale crest. No time at all seemed to have passed—the ride had been so smooth, the horses so quick, the curricle so well sprung.

  “You must have seen Halstead before, of course,” the duke said, “but I have always thought the place loveliest in the evening light.”

  Far down the long lane bordered by lime trees, Olivia could catch only a glimpse of the house, little more than she had seen on the few occasions when on a long walk in the countryside she had passed by the gates. But as they drew steadily closer, the manor loomed up above them.

  Even from the distance, Halstead was imposing—but from the crushed-stone carriageway directly in front, where the duke pulled up his horses, it was overwhelming.

  The central block of the house was a full four stories tall, built of red brick trimmed in pale cream stone. A row of ionic-style pillars framed the main entrance under a stone pediment. Off to the sides, a pair of nearly symmetrical two-story wings curved out from the main section. To Olivia’s surprise, they looked like a pair of welcoming arms, arching out to gather her in.

  Welcoming was the last impression she would have expected to get when standing directly in front of the main facade of a house the size of Halstead. She was still pondering the oddity of the sensation as the duke turned his team over to the groom and offered his hand to help Olivia alight from the curricle.

  She was surprised he didn’t seize the opportunity to lift her down and hold her close, until the front door swung open and the butler appeared. Then she was startled to fin
d herself longing to be alone with the duke, instead of about to face a crowd of new—and probably unfriendly—faces. If the rest of Halstead’s guests were anything like the bridesmaids…

  Much of the company was already gathered in Halstead’s drawing room, and Olivia felt as if she was running a gauntlet as she entered. Had the bridesmaids really formed a line as if closing ranks against her?

  She saw only a couple of friendly faces—Kate, of course, smiled at her from beside the fireplace, where she was standing with an elderly gentleman of military bearing, with the beady-eyed Lady Stone on his other side. From a long sofa at the far end of the room, a young woman with curly dark hair inspected Olivia at length. The young, slightly shabby-looking gentleman who was leaning over the back of the sofa to talk to the young woman seemed to realize he’d lost the lady’s attention, and he too looked closely at Olivia.

  The duke took Olivia straight to his mother, who was seated in a tall-backed chair that managed to look like a throne. “Ah yes,” the duchess said coolly as Olivia made her curtsey. “I remember you and your little girl. You were harvesting grapes at the time we met, I believe.”

  One of the bridesmaids tittered.

  “You’ll have an opportunity to get to know them both far better, ma’am,” the duke said easily. “I’ve invited Lady Reyne to stay at Halstead through the wedding. And her daughter as well, of course, since she’s such a devoted mother that she refuses to leave the child behind.”

  The duchess’s face turned to stone. “That is quite impossible, Simon. I don’t mean to be rude, Lady Reyne, but we simply have no space for more guests at Halstead.”

  “Of course I understand, Your Grace.” So much for Simon’s plans, Olivia thought. He hadn’t bargained on his mother—and though technically he was the master here and his word was law at Halstead, Olivia wouldn’t care to go up against the duchess when she wanted her own way. “The duke did indeed invite me to join the house party, but I had not yet given him my answer. How silly it would be to inconvenience your household when, as you point out, I already have a perfectly good cottage in the village.”