She nodded. “Will you mind if I still see my cousin Nora?”
“Why should I mind?”
She gave him an odd look.
“Do you have any other questions, Marianne?”
“I want you to tell me just how bad you have been. I think it odd that everyone knows things I do not.”
“Since I was perhaps fifteen years of age, I have sometimes—no, I have often—found myself in trouble, often situations of my own making. Fights. Duels. That sort of thing.”
“Drunkenness?”
“That, too, at times.”
“Indiscriminate fornication?” She blushed at that question, as well she might.
“Indiscriminate is perhaps too strong a word.” He searched for a better one, but found himself at a loss.
“Did you ever kill a man in a duel?”
“I did not.” This felt too much like being led through a confession.
“Do you expect to continue finding yourself in such situations in the future?”
“I cannot promise I will not. It seems to be in my nature. Do you have any other questions?”
“Just one. Forgive me, but I must ask it.”
“You are forgiven in advance, whatever it is.”
She avoided his gaze for a long pause. Then a bit of determination entered her eyes. “Did you kill your brother?”
He had hoped she did not need to ask. That was probably an unrealistic expectation. Their knowledge of each other had been brief, and not very deep.
“No.”
She believed him, apparently. Her expression lightened and the sun entered her mood and her eyes. “Then I accept your offer, if it still stands. I will marry you.”
He stood and leaned over her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I will call your uncle and mother in, and we will tell them. We will also arrange for the wedding. I would prefer one very soon, if you do not mind.”
He walked toward the doors.
“His name is Vincent,” she said to his back. “The officer. My old friend. He is Nora’s brother by their mother’s first marriage.”
Truly an old friend, then. She did not have to explain Vincent now, but he was glad she did. Jealousy was a new emotion for him, and he had not been spared its insidious gnawing since he saw her with that blond naval officer in the park.
“You must introduce him to me someday.” With that, he strode forward and opened the doors abruptly. Mrs. Radley and Sir Horace almost fell into his arms as their ears lost the support to which they had been pressed.
* * *
When he left Radley’s house, Lance found himself ill inclined to return to his home. He therefore went instead to a different house.
“I am glad you have not yet retired,” he said when he entered the library.
“It is only ten o’clock,” Gareth said.
“Yes, well, what with your marriage and such . . .” Lance threw himself into an upholstered chair. “Is Eva about?”
“She has retired. Her condition requires rest.” Gareth rose and went to the decanters. He returned with two glasses.
“Whiskey, thank God,” Lance said after a sip. “I was about to demand it, so you did not hand me sherry or some other sweet nonsense.”
“I thought whiskey would be appropriate.” He sat down again.
Lance looked at the account books and correspondence littering the floor near Gareth’s chair. “I have interrupted you.”
“For which I thank you. If this is a simple visit, I am glad to have your company. If it is something more, I am flattered.”
Lance stared into his glass. “The oddest thing just happened, and I thought I should share it with someone. I became engaged to Miss Radley.”
Gareth merely smiled, angelically. “I am doubly flattered now.”
“Is that all you have to say? No exclamations of shock? No hooded glances of disapproval?”
“She seems a fine woman. Why should I be shocked? As for approval, I am the last person whose approval you need.”
Lance relaxed in the chair. “I knew you would react thus. It is why I am here. If I had gone to Ives, he would have bored me with a long explanation about how this is not necessary, how we would do this or that to fix everything, how I need only be patient, et cetera, et cetera.” He took a long swallow of the spirits. “I always said Ives could talk with the best of them.”
Gareth was not a man to fill silences with small talk. They sat and drank together in companionable quiet.
Gareth finally spoke. “Is there a particular reason you concluded you could not be patient? Why you have given up your plan?”
He told Gareth about Carlsworth’s revelation. “I will still investigate the truth about Percy’s death, but I cannot count on learning anything fast enough. I need to take Radley up on his bargain, is how I see it.”
Gareth’s expression reflected concern now. “They would not dare make a move to try you. It isn’t done on such flimsy evidence.”
“Because I am a duke? I doubt most of the peers even see me that way yet. Nor have I endeared myself to them, have I? No, if they start down that path, and the lying informant is found—” He pictured it, as he had for several days now. “I do not choose to be the leading man in the public theater it would create. I will not risk it. Furthermore, I want to be done with this. The effects on my mind are not healthy.”
“I will not cajole you to think again, Lance. I hope, however, that you have some true affection for Miss Radley. You are choosing a lifetime with her.”
“I like what I know of her. As for a lifetime, your existence is proof that for a man, and especially for a duke, that need not be an unrelieved burden, should it become a burden at all.”
“Of course. Since I am fortunate to know better in my match than my father did in his, I assumed you had hoped for better, too, that is all.”
Had he? He could not remember forming any expectations. Like most dukes, his father had married an appropriate daughter of an appropriate peer, a girl recommended to him by his parents. It was how such things came about then. How they still came about. If the daily living of that marriage had soon proven impossible, if what little affection that existed died within a few years, if his father’s bride had proven herself vain and selfish and unkind—that was not unusual either.
“I had formed no hopes at all. Not before I inherited, and certainly not since. Miss Radley will suit me well enough.”
Gareth raised his glass. “Then I congratulate you on your engagement, Lance, and hope that fate surprises you with more than well enough.”
CHAPTER 16
Marianne stood utterly still while the servants fastened her wedding dress. Mama had gone immediately to the modiste and demanded the best of the new wardrobe be finished within two days. On hearing some of the garments would be worn at a duke’s wedding at week’s end, the modiste had put all of her seamstresses on the chore.
Now the dress, creamy and lacy and luscious to see and touch, all beribboned and embroidered, flowed down her body.
“You look like a princess,” Nora said from her chair in the dressing room.
Nora’s willingness to share this ritual touched Marianne. Her cousin refused to attend the wedding, however. Nor had Nora expressed true happiness about the engagement. She had not said anything at all, if truth be told. Since Marianne had feared the news would send Nora into one of her turbulent spells, Nora’s blank acceptance had reassured her.
At least she was here. She served as a reminder, however, that this marriage would start under more than one cloud. Although Marianne no longer felt that she betrayed Nora through her relationship with Aylesbury, his history with Nora was never too far from her mind.
She sat at her dressing table, so the final touches could be done with her hair and her headdress could be attached. In the glass’s ref
lection, she saw Mama enter the dressing room, resplendent in her own ensemble.
Mama came over to inspect her hair, then handed over a little box. “This just came by messenger. From Aylesbury.”
The box contained a beautiful and expensive necklace. Carefully worked gold links formed a chain from which was suspended one exquisite diamond in a simple rope setting. A note was tucked beneath the stone.
A diamond of the first water, for a woman who matches its clarity, purity, and worth.
Aylesbury
Mama exclaimed over its beauty and cost. Nora barely took a look at it.
“Such a lovely note too,” Mama said. “And to think you were inclined to reject his offer.”
Marianne hoped to one day forget the argument with Mama after she left Uncle Horace. They had both been in tears by the end of it. Abject poverty, that is what we face. Do not doubt he will cast us out, daughter. Would you do that to me?
“If she does not want to marry him, she should not have to.” Nora voiced the opinion in a dull, bland voice. “Men are so crude and cruel by nature, it is a wonder any woman wants to marry. Except Vincent, of course. He is not like that.”
Mama turned to her. “A lot you know about any of it, Nora. You should keep your ignorant opinions to yourself.”
That dragged Nora out of her private reverie. “I know more than you think. I think you and Papa browbeat Marianne into this, for the money. Look at her. She appears terrified, not happy. And well she might be, being forced to give herself to such a wicked man.” A spark of panic entered Nora’s eyes. The spark that often heralded one of her fits.
“I am not terrified, darling,” Marianne lied. The truth was she feared she might throw up. “It is normal for a bride to be nervous. Isn’t it, Mama?”
“Indeed it is. Nora, you should leave us now. I want to speak with my daughter alone.”
The maids needed no such instruction. They departed with Nora, and closed the door.
Mama fastened the necklace, then made an inspection of Marianne’s appearance. “Perfect. Beautiful. No daughter of the ton would surpass you.”
“You exaggerate.” She did feel beautiful, though. Expensive, perfectly fitted dresses did that to a woman. The diamond now hanging below her chin did not hurt either.
“Now, before we go down to the coach, I need to explain a few things to you, regarding your behavior as a wife.”
Marianne could not suppress a laugh. “I am not a girl. I will not be shocked when it comes to the marriage bed.”
“Really, daughter. To think I would speak aloud of such things! I was going to explain how to manage your pin money, and how to wheedle more funds out of him.”
“Ah.” She stood and draped the strip of silk that would serve as her wrap, then picked up her silk and lace reticule. “That is something I do need to learn. You can share your considerable expertise on the topic while we ride to St. George’s.”
* * *
The wedding proved less small than planned. Word had spread. Even before Marianne took her place for the ceremony, the nave of St. George’s had filled with attendees besides those invited. The stream of people only caused curious passersby to wander in too. Right up front, having procured the best views, three men watched and scribbled, much the way Marianne did when she attended events as Elijah Tewkberry. She assumed they were from newspapers or scandal sheets.
Aylesbury took his place at her side, and suddenly the crowd distracted her no longer. The rector approached in his vestments. Panic shook down her center, like a plucked harp string sounding a loud note.
She glanced over her shoulder, at the crowd and at her mother and Uncle Horace. And at the door, heaven help her, to see if she could dart out before anyone caught her.
“Do not look at them. Ignore them,” Aylesbury’s voice came low and soothing. “They are all mere observers. Only you and I matter.”
He did not appear at all nervous, or worried. He definitely did not look like he wanted to run away. No doubt he had fortified himself the way men were allowed to do, with a quick gulp of spirits. It really was not fair that women were denied that solace.
Then the ceremony began, and to her surprise it really did become only about them. She forgot about her family and the onlookers, and even about those men scribbling right behind her. She did not hear much of the ceremony, either, however. A daze descended on her like a sparkling cloud.
It heightened her perceptions of all the wrong things. Of the texture of the rector’s garments, and the timbre of his voice. Of the stones in the church’s walls, and the dust dancing in the light flowing in the windows. Of Aylesbury standing beside her, of his height and strength and mostly of his sheer presence.
He overwhelmed her in every way. Yet, as they stood side by side within the daze, and said the words that bound them, she found some peace because he was there. His strength supported as well as dominated. She wanted to believe he willed that to happen, in order to help her.
Then it was over, and he was kissing her. The bright fog disappeared, leaving her in front of a crowd of strangers being kissed by a duke who was, unbelievably, her husband.
* * *
“At least Tewkberry wasn’t here,” Ives muttered as they walked out.
Marianne’s head snapped in Ives’s direction. “Tewkberry?”
“A correspondent to the Times from Gloucestershire,” Lance explained. “One of his letters caused a stir for me here in town, that is all.”
She frowned. “What kind of stir?”
How charming. His new, little wife already displayed loyalty on his behalf. “Renewed gossip about my brother’s death. Do not concern yourself.”
Her mother came over to embrace her then. Sir Horace took the opportunity to catch Lance’s eye and give a big wink.
Lance took that to mean that with the bribe now paid, Sir Horace would complete the bargain.
The wedding breakfast lasted hours, through most of the afternoon. Lance enjoyed the company more than he had in memory. When not chatting with the others, he watched Marianne. Her poise impressed him. He thought she looked lovely, and happy enough. She would indeed suit him well enough.
Happy enough. Well enough. Those were the foundations of this marriage. He supposed it was all most couples had. Whether enough was enough for him remained to be seen. At the moment he was not inclined to wonder about it. Mostly because he wanted her. Not just enough, but a lot.
* * *
Marianne found herself wishing her mother had given more advice than how to spend Aylesbury’s fortune for him.
After the breakfast ended, close to dinnertime, she retired. The housekeeper brought her upstairs and gave her a tour of her new home. The duchess’s apartment consisted of five chambers. In addition to one for her bed and another for her dressing, there was a private drawing room, a withdrawing room, and an entire chamber just for her wardrobe.
Her trunks had been delivered already, and they awaited her attendance. The household provided a maid, but she intended to call for Katy to join her if they stayed in town long.
The housekeeper behaved with unwavering deference. All the servants treated her like—like a duchess, she realized. Because she was one. Only she did not feel like one. She felt out of place, and lost in that apartment, and terrified—yes, Nora had been correct in that word—terrified of her marriage night.
“Would you like to rest, Your Grace, while we unpack for you?” One of the servants asked the question while she began to turn down the coverlet on the enormous bed.
Was she supposed to rest? She had no idea. When she saw Mama again, she intended to scold her for neglecting to explain all the rituals.
They helped her out of her dress and into the bed. She stared up at the drapery of the tufted silk canopy. From the adjoining dressing room, she heard the servants dealing with her wardrobe.
Was
she supposed to just lie here until it was night and Aylesbury joined her? It could be a few hours still.
Exasperated, she rose from the bed and walked over to the dressing room door. “Have you unpacked the yellow muslin yet? The one with long sleeves? I want to wear it now.”
They found the muslin. One of them got her into it. She stuck her feet into shoes, and left the apartment to explore the house. From the looks the maids gave her, she guessed she was not expected to do that, but she needed to do something, or she would go mad.
It was a very big house. It had two drawing rooms, one very big and one not so much, and a library that could swallow the cottage in Cherhill several times over. She thought the public rooms old-fashioned in their decorations, all full of gilt and heavy fabrics.
They had eaten the wedding meal in a nice-sized dining room. She discovered it was not the only one when she found the official dining room. She had never seen a table so big. She did not know such tables even existed.
“What do you think of it?”
She pivoted to the voice. Aylesbury stood just inside the door. Dark, handsome, and intently interested, he watched her. In that instant, the reality of the day cleaved through the festive theatrics created out of lace and silk and ceremony. Even speaking the vows had not made the change in her life so starkly real.
Married. His. Forever.
What had she done?
“It is very large,” she stammered. “This could be a ballroom.”
“The ballroom is much bigger.” He gazed around. “There will be dinner parties that fill this table. Or there are supposed to be.”
She tried to imagine herself hosting a party here.
“Does it frighten you, Marianne?”
“I feel more a trespasser right now than I ever felt that day we met, when I truly trespassed.”
“You will rise to it. I do not doubt that. I would not have married you if I questioned it at all. It will be strange at first, and then it no longer will be.” They strolled around the large chamber. “If you have questions, ask me.”
The Wicked Duke Page 17