Mrs Fenway was informed the next morning about his decision, and though she looked shocked, her mouth was curled up into a polite smile. “Should I prepare a larger meal than normal for this evening?”
Argyll had not thought about that. Would Miss Arnold want to come to the castle immediately? “Yes. Whatever her answer, I will invite her to dine. If she declines, the more food for the staff.”
“I’m sure they’ll be grateful,” Mrs Fenway said, amused.
Argyll tried to be as understated as possible in dress and bearing. He would never be anything but the Duke of Argyll to the town, perhaps even to Miss Arnold, but he did not want this marriage proposal to be anything ceremonial. He would ask her in the privacy of her own home, to make her more comfortable. Whatever her reply, he did not want to overwhelm her with people and force her into a decision she did not want to make.
Word had clearly travelled that he had visited Miss Arnold the day before, and while people greeted him and acknowledged him, they were less friendly than they had been. It did not affect Argyll in the slightest. He appreciated that the town had their own ideals, but he did not have to share them.
As he approached the vicarage, Reverend Arnold was waiting on the doorstep, looking apprehensive and intrigued.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Argyll didn’t quite know how to proceed. Reverend Arnold was a kind man. Argyll had attended a few of his sermons, and he had always preached on the goodness of man. “I wish to ask a favour of you.”
Reverend Arnold pressed his hands together in front of his stomach. “Of me, or of my daughter?”
There was no way that Mrs Fenway could have informed him this quickly, and Argyll had spoken of his plans to nobody. The man was perceptive, and Argyll did not question his knowledge. “As long as I have your permission.”
“Aye, you have it,” Reverend Arnold said. “Though I fear she may give you a different answer.”
Argyll nodded. “I have prepared for that. I would not wish to pressure her into marriage.”
Stepping back from the doorway, Reverend Arnold gestured for him to enter. “I will see to it that you are not disturbed. I will call her down.”
Stepping through to the sitting room, empty of people this time, Argyll stood next to the fireplace, arms clasped behind his back. He perused the pictures on the mantelpiece. Miss Arnold had been beautiful as a child, her russet hair had been redder, and it was always plaited or styled upon her head. Her smile was toothy, growing more refined as she aged. Argyll had a memory of meeting her at the church though he could not say for sure that it had been her.
“Your Grace.”
Argyll turned to see Miss Arnold in the doorway, arms curled protectively in front of her chest.
Though she was surprised, she entered the room anyway, standing in the centre of the room. “My father told me you wished to see me.”
“I wished to ask a question of you,” Argyll said, deciding the best action for them both was to get this over with as soon as possible. “I am here to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Miss Arnold’s eyes widened, and her hand rose to her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.” Taking a seat in an armchair, Miss Arnold broke eye contact, and Argyll could see that her hands were shaking.
“I apologise for my abruptness,” Argyll explained, taking the seat opposite. “I only wish to help.”
“I understand,” Miss Arnold said, her words faint.
Argyll was aware of what a shock this must be. He was a duke, and Miss Arnold, who had perhaps thought marriage was out of her reach now, would never have expected such a proposal. “I wish to help you.”
“My reputation?” Miss Arnold asked, finding her voice. Something looked troubled in her expression, but Argyll did not want to lie.
“You have done nothing wrong. You deserve to retain your honour, not have it besmirched by somebody else.”
Miss Arnold looked him in the eye as her hand dropped back to her lap. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. “I thank you for asking me,” she said, and Argyll braced himself for a refusal. When Miss Arnold opened her eyes, however, there was nothing but a conviction in her tone. “I accept.”
Relief flooded Argyll’s chest, and he clasped his hands together to keep from reaching for her. “Thank you, you have made me very happy.”
When it came, Miss Arnold’s smile was broad and welcoming. “It is I that should be thanking you.”
Argyll felt warmth flood his chest as he took in Miss Arnold’s happy demeanour. It would take time, he supposed, but she would be comfortable with him—and in his home.
Chapter 4
A Wedding of Change
The wedding arrived quickly.
It was to be held at Inveraray Castle, and while Letitia understood the need for a lavish ceremony, she was beset by nerves. Ever since the duke’s proposal, she had been terrified of making a mistake, however small, and having the proposal snatched from her.
Agonising over the marriage, she worried that the duke would treat it as a marriage in name only. For the sake of her reputation, she had started to think about everything she did and whether it would be appropriate for society. For that was to be her life now, was it not? She would be watched from every corner of every social position.
Duchess was a large title, made all the more impressive by the fact that she had never considered it within the realm of her lifetime achievements. She had dreamed, as all young girls did, of having the life of a princess, but she had never thought it could be a reality.
There was a knock on the door and Greta poked her head around. “Letitia!”
“Greta,” Letitia greeted her warmly, gesturing for Greta to sit beside her.
Greta was already dressed for the wedding, her beautiful frock a gift from Argyll. It had been lavish and expensive, and Greta had almost fallen over herself in her thankful curtsy. Her cheeks were red from the cold outside, but she was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Are you ready?”
“I wish to say yes,” Letitia said, acknowledging the butterflies in her stomach, “but I fear I am not.”
Greta sat down beside her, reaching over to grab Letitia’s hand. “It will be a wonderful adventure, Letitia. You are to be married to a duke.”
“I am aware,” Letitia said with humour in her voice. She sighed, looking over at the large mirror in her room. It had been set aside for her by Mrs Fenway, who was the kindly housekeeper. She had been kind and patient with Letitia and was her best guide to the life she now found herself in. “I am scared I will make the wrong impression.”
Though young, Greta was incredibly perceptive. She squeezed Letitia’s hand. “At least you will not be home with Mother.”
It was a childish sentiment, and one that should not have given Letitia as much comfort as it did. She laughed gently, leaning forward to give Greta a hug. “I apologise for abandoning you.”
“I have Father,” Greta said dismissively, though her smile was just the edge of cheeky. “I wish I could come with you.”
“As do I.” Letitia pulled away from her sister, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to address the day. “Come,” she said, tugging Greta up off the window seat. “We must prepare!”
She kept up a confident air in front of Greta and, later, in front of her father and stepmother. Inside, though, Letitia’s stomach was twisted up, a feeling of nausea rising within her. It had nothing to do with Argyll; he had been pleasant, kind, and attentive to her. He seemed to want to help her though he never seemed particularly caring. He kept a firm distance between them, and Letitia could not help but wonder why. It only reinforced the feelings she already had that he wished for this marriage to be affectionless and only protective of her virtue.
Letitia had been covering up her feelings for weeks; she had been devastated by the attack and even more by the village’s reaction to it. She had known, of course, the instant Argyll had bee
n found with her, that she would be tarnished. She was not prepared for how it would make her feel.
That was done. Now she would have to move forward and be strong.
Mrs Fenway was waiting for her outside of her room. She greeted Greta warmly and sent her on her way with a pat on the head. Greta laughed and skipped down the hall, stopping only when she reached the stairs.
“Thank you,” Letitia said, folding her hands in front of her dress. It was much more ostentatious than she was used to, but not overly so. She looked beautiful, she could admit that much to herself, but it was still beyond her normal dresses. It would take some adjustment. “I do not think I could have done so well without your guidance.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs Fenway said with a wave of her hand. “Give yourself more credit, Miss Arnold. You are far more aware of what this means for ye than ye wish to admit.”
Letitia was grateful for Mrs Fenway’s candidness.
“Let’s get ye married,” Mrs Fenway said, gesturing for Letitia to make her way downstairs, where her father would inevitably be waiting.
For the next hour, it was as if she were floating through time, everything happening around her, but she was powerless to do anything. She found her hands clasped within Argyll’s, his smiling face before her, and she could not breathe. Her chest was tight, and she had to swallow a couple of times to ease the pressure. Greta was seated in the front row, beside her father and stepmother, and on the other side, she could see Argyll’s sister and nephew. They were unimpressed with Letitia, she had known that right away, but had tried to appear unaffected. She did not wish to start her marriage by being hostile to Argyll’s family.
“Are you well?” Argyll asked her gently.
“I am,” Letitia said, giving him a weak smile. Truthfully, she wasn’t, but she did not wish to alarm him. “Nervous.”
“As am I,” Argyll admitted, his smile rueful. He squeezed her hands, turning his face back to the priest.
Letitia let herself look at him. She took in his strong bearing, his handsome features, his pride. He was indeed a trusted duke around Inveraray. She had long since been in awe of his handling of matters around their county. Now, she supposed, she was going to be looked upon with the same scrutiny. It was terrifying.
Married, Letitia thought, staring at the simple ring on her finger. It was a symbol as much as a treasure.
“I present the Duke and Duchess of Argyll,” Argyll’s butler announced the arrival of Letitia and Argyll, as he stood proudly in the dining room. Everyone was staring at her, the weight of their gazes impossible to ignore. She clutched Argyll’s hand as tightly as she dared, overwhelmed.
“It will be well,” Argyll assured her gently, guiding her towards the table.
Letitia nodded, smiling weakly as she took her seat. The day seemed never-ending. Her father gave her a customary kiss on the cheek and sat down beside her, his wife and Greta alongside him. Argyll’s sister and nephew took their seat to his right. The table was full of people Letitia did not know, but she kept her attention on her father, Greta, and Argyll. They were safer for her.
Eventually, Mrs Fenway appeared to guide the men into the drawing room.
“I will retire,” Letitia said to Argyll, keeping her face turned away from the table.
“As you wish.” Argyll pressed a kiss to Letitia’s cheek, the most contact she had with him since her arrival, and she accepted it with relish. She had not realised how much she longed for contact with him. Still, the kiss felt not unlike the one her father had given her: chaste and without meaning.
He bid her goodnight and left her with her family as he drew the other guests out of the room.
“Married,” her father said, holding her at arm's length. “I am proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Letitia accepted his embrace and took what comfort she could in such a limited space. “I will miss you.”
“I am not far,” her father promised, though her heart was heavy with the knowledge that she would not be staying at the country estate for the rest of her life.
“Goodbye,” Rebecca said, keeping up appearances in front of her husband. She drew Letitia into a hug that was stiff and formal.
As soon as Letitia was free, Greta pressed herself to Letitia, hugging her around the waist. “I will miss you.”
“As will I,” Letitia said, bending to hug her sister. “I will see you as often as I can. I will write always.”
“Promise?” Greta asked.
“I promise.” Letitia could see her father touching Greta on the back and reluctantly pulled away. “Be good for Father and your mother, yes?”
“I will.” Greta’s voice wobbled, her cheeks were stained with tears, and Letitia’s heart hurt.
Standing, she swiped at her face as her family took their leave, and she was left alone in the dining room. Mrs Fenway was standing in the doorway, looking sad.
“Your Grace,” she said, approaching slowly. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Thank you, Mrs Fenway.” Though, she mused silently, she wasn’t sure how she felt at being called Your Grace. It would come with time, she hoped.
Letitia allowed herself to be led up the stairs to her room. It was a room she could barely have dreamed of being allowed before, but now that it was hers and hers alone it felt too large and cold. Argyll had gifted her the room and told her that she would have whatever she desired. It was a generous gift, but Letitia would have been happier with something softer and kinder. Something she could share with Argyll.
Perhaps, she thought, staring at the bed, she would not get everything she wanted to be happy.
Chapter 5
A Shift in City
London was large and bustling.
Letitia stared out of the window of the carriage as they trundled along the main road, her eyes drawn to the masses of people moving down the pavements. It was a strange sight after the relative calm and quiet of Inveraray. Their journey had been long and arduous, but Argyll had strived to make her as comfortable as possible. She thought it was the worst thing about him; he was so determined to make sure she was happy that he could not see the one thing she needed to be happy was his affection.
Instead, she gave him as much as he requested of her and allowed him to think that she was satisfied. In truth, she was overwhelmed by everything. Leaving Mrs Fenway had been hard, acknowledging that she was in for a large shift in her daily life was harder. She could not imagine what awaited her in London.
Helena, Argyll’s sister, and her son Frederick had been dismissive as they left after the wedding. They had said goodbye and that they would see her once again when she made it down to London, but otherwise they seemed relieved to leave her presence.
Mrs Fenway had tried to explain that she was a threat to their inheritance of the title and Inveraray Castle, which accompanied it, so Letitia could understand their dislike. Though they had not tried to bridge the gap, their fears were without base. For all that Letitia could make out, Argyll was content to leave this marriage unconsummated. They had no threat from her, but she could not say so. She had no place to interfere in the family politics, no matter who she was married to.
Argyll shifted in his seat, joining her at looking out of the window. “Different, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Letitia agreed, eyes widening as she spotted a couple of children running across the street right in front of the carriage. They were dirty, their clothes ragged and stained. The driver yelled, but the children just laughed and kept running, darting under the feet of people on the pavement. “It frightens me.”
Argyll’s brows furrowed. “It will get easier. I would not see you distressed by this.”
It was a promise she wished he could keep. Still, as they pulled up outside of what was clearly Argyll’s home, he held open the door for her, aiding her down the steps. The house itself was beautiful. A white façade gave way to a lavish foyer and whatever lay beyond.
“This is beautiful.”
“I am
glad you think so,” Argyll said warmly. He kept hold of her hand up to the doorway where a footman opened the door for her.
“There is more staff here,” she said gently, trying to keep her voice low.
“Indeed,” Argyll agreed, nodding to the footman. “It is a more social place than the castle.”
Letitia was afraid of what that could mean though she had some idea. “What will be required of me?”
Argyll frowned again. His eyes were a beautiful brown, but Letitia felt so far from the warmth in them. Before he could answer, a maid bowed her head, and Argyll’s attention was pulled to her. “Anne. This is my wife, Her Grace The Duchess of Argyll. She will be in your care.”
“Your Grace,” Anne said, bobbing her head again. She looked at Letitia from under her lashes. “What are your requests, Your Grace?”
Letitia stared at Argyll, who nodded softly. Mrs Fenway had seemed to know what Letitia required before she had. Letitia was going to have to get used to finding her own way through London society. “I will call for you later.”
Argyll sighed as Anne walked away. “I am sorry. This must be quite a change for you.”
“I will adjust.” Letitia felt her own resolution as she said the words.
“Your rooms are upstairs,” Argyll told her with a smile. “You may have whatever you wish, you may go wherever you wish. We will have to put up appearances.”
“I understand.” Letitia let go of Argyll’s hand and curled her arms around her body, trying to get her bearings. “We will live separate lives?”
There was silence for a long while, and Letitia looked at Argyll out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be trying to find the right words to say though she couldn’t work out where his hesitation was coming from.
“I will let you live your own life,” he said finally. “This is a marriage in name. You may do whatever you wish.”
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