To Love, Honor, and Obey...

by Dayna Quince

  She expected to see her mother waiting for her downstairs, but there was no one. No final words of spite or any sort of goodbye. She felt as cared for as a flea-bitten dog. “Where is the duke?”

  “He's already in the carriage,” Chance said. “I thought it best to remove him from your mother’s presence as soon as possible. I can tell he is tired.”

  “My family was appalling. Most would find it exhausting.”

  He handed her into the carriage where the duke was waiting. The duke patted the seat next to him, and she sat beside him. Chance took the seat across from them and the door closed. Obedience looked out the window as the carriage lurched forward and hoped this wouldn't be the last time she saw her home.

  Chapter 9

  Patience wandered through the halls, her eyes gritty and swollen. She searched for her mother—or anyone really—so she wouldn't feel so alone. That was how she felt now, alone. She wasn't upset Lord Willowton chose her sister over her. Truthfully, she didn't care. Her biggest fear was being alone, being shunned by family and friends. What would she do now? Where would she go? She needed comfort, she needed a shoulder to cry on, and a steady voice to tell her it would all be all right. She hoped she would find that in her mother. With trepidation, she searched for her, unsure of the welcome she would receive. After Lord Willowton had aided the duke to his carriage, her mother had stormed from the dining room. Patience had retired to her own room and dressed for bed, but the oppressing weight of her predicament got the better of her, and so she searched for her mother.

  She heard the shattering of glass from somewhere below and went downstairs to investigate. Turning down the darkened hall, she saw a shaft of light coming from the door of her father’s study that was open just a crack. She could hear mumbling, and as she moved closer, the voice was recognizable as her mother’s. She approached the door and pushed it slowly open. Her mother was sitting on the edge of her father’s old desk, a tumbler of liquor clutched tightly in her hand.

  “Mother?” Patience entered slowly, wary of the scattered pieces of glass on the floor from what used to be a crystal decanter. Her mother didn't move as she entered, only continued to stare at the empty hearth. “What are you doing?”

  “What am I doing? I'm lamenting the loss of my respectability. I will never be a respected matron in town, and I will never be welcome in the drawing rooms of the matrons here as well. I've lost everything.”

  “But what about me?”

  Her mother turned and sneered at her. “What about you? To think of the fortune I spent on governesses and gowns to turn you into a proper young lady, and this is how you repay me? At least Obedience had the foresight to whore herself to a duke for the hand of his son. You let your greatest attribute be stolen. It was all for nothing. You are ruined, wasted goods that no man wants to touch.” Her mother turned to the portrait of her husband that hung behind the desk. “Why did you burden me with such daughters? Harlots! Good for nothing but falling on their backs.”

  Patience cringed and stepped back. Her heel stepped on something sharp and she yelped. She sank to the floor and looked at her foot. A shard of glass was wedged in her heel, and it was bleeding profusely. She looked to her mother pleadingly, but the woman who looked back at her had no softness or compassion.

  “You're pathetic. When I was a girl of your age, my mother told me something very important. I thought it extremely harsh at the time, but now I realize I've been too soft with you. My mother told me that if I ever shamed her or disgraced my good name, I should take my own life to absolve myself. It’s because of her that I was everything a young lady should be and married well. I don't know what I did to deserve a daughter like you, but I will pass my mother’s wisdom on to you. I wash my hands of all of it.”

  Patience sat on the floor, stunned beyond her years. Her mother thought she should kill herself? She sobbed, her throat aching with the force of it. “I'm so sorry, Mother,” she pleaded.

  Lady Wickenham turned to her, her lip curling. “You’re dead to me now. Do not address me as Mother again. I want you out of this house. Your company is unfit for even the pigs in the mud.” She strode past her and left the study, her skirts swishing violently.

  Patience wrapped her arms around herself and cried. This was her greatest fear—rejection, abandonment. She had expected it from society but not her own mother. She had nothing now, and no one to turn to. The baby in her womb was a curse, the end of everything she had loved in her life. Yet in her deepest thoughts, she had almost wanted it, but not at the cost of everything she loved, the life she had once deserved. Her chest swelled with anger. She could no longer feel the bite of the glass in her foot and reaching down, she yanked it from her flesh, and a new gush of blood followed it.

  She pushed herself to her feet and stood, hobbling to the door and down the hall to the main stairs. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, but she took deep steady breaths as she opened the front door and went out into the night. Patience hobbled across the drive to the side lawn, down through the shrubbery that bordered the rose garden, and down the gravel path to the paddock. She pulled open the doors to the stables. It was dark inside. Everyone had already gone to bed. She found a lantern hanging by the door and a box of matches placed on top. Lighting the lantern, she squinted at the sudden brightness and hobbled her way down the stalls to the tack room. She pushed open the door and looked at the wall of saddles in confusion. She was an experienced rider, but she'd never saddled a horse before. She frowned, her anger pumping through her blood like scalding water. She turned away from the tack room and found her horse, Thistle. The mare nickered in greeting.

  Patience hung the lantern by her stall and opened the gate. “Come here, girl.” She held out her hand like she had treat. Thistle came forward slowly. Patience picked up the lantern and led the horse outside. She blew out the lantern and rehung it before closing the stable doors. Turning back, she was pleased to see her mare had patiently waited for her. She shivered, the cool air penetrating her determination and thin nightgown.

  She was scared, terrified really, but she was also resolute. The burden of her life was now lifted and it pushed her on. She walked over to the mounting block and Thistle followed her. Thistle looked at her expectantly, her hide twitching in the cool night air. “Don't worry, Thistle, I know you will find your way back home, but I don't have a home here anymore.”

  The horse nickered in response, and Patience could feel the terror of what she was about to do creep up again. She pushed it back in her mind and grabbed Thistle’s mane. With her free hand, she pulled up her nightgown and flung her leg over her back. Thistle sidestepped anxiously but Patience held on and adjusted herself at the new and uncomfortable sensation. Riding astride bare back was something Obedience would do—not Patience, but desperate times heralded desperate measures. Using her knees, she urged Thistle toward the drive. She was surprised the horse was so attentive to her directions. It was much colder in motion, her legs bare up to her knees. The nightgown billowed out behind her, allowing cold air to stream down her back. Within minutes, she was shivering and battling her own will to not turn back.

  The carriage pulled up to the manor, and Chance was the first to get out, turning to help Obedience down. The night was unusually cold, and he urged her to go inside and wait while he helped his father into his chair. Obedience headed inside, her stomach aflutter with nerves and her eyes bright with tears held in check. They hadn't said much on the way home. The silence had been comforting in an odd sort of way. She wasn't ready to talk. She didn't want to have to relive the moments of the dining room just yet, and they must have understood that. There would be plenty of time for talking now that she lived here. It was still so strange. She looked around the foyer with new eyes, hoping to feel a sense of rightness that still eluded her. This was her home now, Chance and the duke her only family. She clasped her shaking hands together behind her back and waited.

  Chance and a footman assisted the duke inside, supporting him u
nder each arm. Another footman followed with the chair. “We're going to take him upstairs. I'll meet you in the drawing room once he is settled.”

  Obedience nodded. “Goodnight, sir.”

  They slowed as they reached her, and the duke smiled at her fondly. “It is a good night. You're home at last. Sweet dreams.”

  Obedience returned his smile as they passed, but it faded as she went toward the drawing room. She wished this place felt like home, and usually, it did feel like a second home. But she was still rattled from tonight, still nursing the open wound inside her heart from her mother’s total rejection. She wished she could push these feelings out and just be happy to be here, where she was wanted and welcomed, but her mind was still in a state of disbelief.

  She sat on the sofa and stared at her hands. They were so cold, and even though she rubbed them together, she couldn't feel her fingers. The couch depressed beside her and a large warm hand covered hers. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. She could just feel his presence. It was Chance.

  “Teddy.”

  “Porcupette,” he answered. His voice held a mixture of amusement and sobriety. “Your hands are cold.” He took them in his and chaffed them.

  Obedience tried to smile but she couldn't. She was exhausted, all her defenses defeated, all her walls crumbled around her. “What am I supposed to do here?”

  Chance stopped rubbing her hands but continued to hold them. “Just take some time to settle in. Tomorrow we can get things worked out. You've had a rough night, but the worst is over.”

  “Do you think I will ever see them again?”

  “Do you want to?”

  She looked up at him, fresh tears fighting to overcome her lashes. “They are still my family. I cannot just erase them, but I wish so much had been different.”

  “Perhaps in the future there will be a time to mend things between you, but for tonight... You need to focus on you, on being happy. We are so glad to have you here. I only wish to see the same joy in you.”

  This time Obedience could smile. He sounded so earnest. She felt a swell of emotion in her chest, but instead of cold and bleak, it was warm and fuzzy. “I know I will be. How could I not?”

  “I'll make sure you are. I can be very persuasive.” He leaned in, his forehead touching hers.

  “So you've said.” Obedience leaned into him, his warmth and strength chased the cold from her skin.

  “Mrs. Moore should have your room ready now. I can show you where it is, if you like.”

  Obedience nodded. “Sleep would be wonderful if it doesn't elude me.”

  “If it does, Mrs. Moore makes a wonderful toddy. It will put you right out.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Obedience took it and let him pull her to her feet and lead her from the room. He tucked her hand in his elbow, a less intimate gesture, but then again, they were already courting scandal with her presence in his home. She had little care for propriety at the moment, but it was best to keep things as innocent as possible until they were wed. A blessing and a curse. She wanted his comfort and touch, but she didn't have the energy to think of him and her family. She was drained of everything.

  They reached her room, and she had been so lost in her thoughts that she had no idea how they got there. Chance paused before her door and turned to her.

  “I'm one floor up and two doors down on the left. My father’s suite is at the end, if you remember.”

  Obedience nodded. She was so tired it took effort to lift her eyelids, let alone her head, to look up at him. He tipped her chin up, and she slowly focused on him.

  “This is where you belong. Don't ever doubt that.” He brushed his lips across hers in a gentle caress and then let her go. He opened the door and ushered her in. A maid was waiting with a bath prepared. He didn't cross the threshold into her room.

  “I'll see you in the morning. Get all the rest you need.” With that, he closed the door.

  Obedience blinked and turned to the maid. In a blur of activity, she found herself bathed, dressed, and tucked into a large and extremely comfortable bed, though in her state, Obedience was sure a bale of hay would have felt comfortable to sleep on. The maid whispered a soft goodnight and blew out the lamp before leaving. Obedience was swept into darkness, giving into the weight of her eyelids and falling into a deep sleep.

  Patience rode until her hands and bottom were numb. Her legs ached from gripping the horse, and she couldn't hold onto Thistle’s mane anymore. Luck was on her side, and she made it to the bridge. She slid from Thistle’s back, shivering and weak, stumbling as the cut in her foot crippled her gait. The bridge was old but in good repair. The wood felt smooth under her good foot and the railing soft from the caress of many hands. During the day, this bridge was busy with farmers and tradesmen moving between towns, but at night, it was desolate and haunting. The trees on either side were dark and looming, almost menacing, except on this night she had nothing to fear but herself. She hobbled to the center, Thistle following her, breathing heavy. Looking over the rail, the water was a black bottomless abyss, but she could hear it. It rushed against the pilings and moved swiftly under the cover of night. She climbed up onto the rail until she could sit with her feet dangling over the edge.

  She expected to feel more at this moment, to feel frightened of her own death, the snubbing of her life. But she felt nothing. She had nothing. Thistle nickered behind her shoulder. It almost sounded like a warning. Patience would have laughed at the absurdity if she had the energy. She looked back at her mare. “You can go home now, Thistle.”

  The mare stared back at her blankly. Patience looked back at the river. In the distance, she could see the moonlight glinting off the water. It looked peaceful and beautiful. It was soothing to look at. She kept her vision focused there as she scooted forward until her toes touched the very edge of the planks. She looked down into the blackness and was hit with a sudden wave of panic. A dry burning sob erupted from her, and her ears filled with the roar of the river. She let go of the railing, and she felt suspended over the black abyss. She felt the rush of cold air and then a blast of frigid water as she was submerged. She was tumbling and rolling, and then pain infused her body like lightning.

  Chapter 10

  Obedience woke as the sun filled her room. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the bright light and the curtains billowing softly with a fragrant breeze. She stretched, remembering everything that had happened last night, but the weight was lessened somehow. She looked around her room with pleasure. The walls were painted white and hung with floral landscapes. The room was light and airy, the furniture primarily rosewood pieces, not overly ornate or heavy. There was not one overriding color, but instead a complement of many colors inspired by the floral paintings. Before the large window, there was a plush rosewood double-sided window seat with plump pillows. The room was larger than her old room, boasting a dressing room, water closet, large cheval mirror, vanity, a writing desk, and a wing chair next to a white marble fireplace.

  She slipped out from under the coverlet, her bare feet touching a thick Axminster carpet of light blue with crisscrossing floral garlands. She made use of the water closet, a decadence she only experienced when visiting. The mantel clock chimed the tenth hour, surprising Obedience. Never before had she slept until such a late hour. Finishing her toilette and dressing herself in one of her more manageable gowns, she went down stairs searching for Chance. She went to the drawing room, the library, and then his study, slowing when she heard multiple male voices, including Chance’s pleasant baritone. She could hear the duke’s gruff mumbling and a voice she couldn't recognize. She hesitated as she approached the door and knocked softly on the jam. The door was open, so she peeked her head around the corner timidly. “I beg your pardon, I was looking for Lord Willowton.”

  “I'm here, Miss Wickenham, do join us.”

  Obedience entered the room. The duke sat behind his desk looking years older than he had last night. Chance stood from a chair before
his father’s desk, as did a very formidable looking man wearing robes and a wig.

  “I present His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury.” He waved Obedience forward. Obedience curtsied, presentably she hoped, and stepped forward.

  “A delight to meet you, Miss Wickenham. You've been the topic of our conversation this morning.” The Archbishop smiled politely.

  “Oh?” Obedience walked forward nervously. Chance offered her his chair and moved to stand next to her as she sat. The Archbishop took his seat and continued to smile at her.

  “This is a rather odd situation, I admit, but I am happy to aid you in any way I can.”

  “Given the circumstances, it would be best to proceed immediately,” the duke added.

  Obedience turned to him, her gaze roaming over his face and noting the circles under his eyes and the odd pallor of his skin. “Proceed with what, exactly?”

  The men chuckled. Chance cleared his throat and placed his hand on her shoulder. “The Archbishop brought the special license himself, Obedience. We can be married as early as this afternoon. He has even agreed to honor us by performing the ceremony.”

  Obedience looked back to the Archbishop with wide eyes. “The special license? Oh yes—I mean, of course, thank you.”

  The Archbishop laughed and slapped his knee. “I hope you're not getting cold feet, Miss Wickenham. You are here of your own volition, are you not? I wouldn't put it past The Bear Duke to kidnap a bride for his son.”

  The gentlemen chuckled, much to Obedience's chagrin. She made an attempt at a convincing smile but wasn't sure she succeeded. However, the duke’s laughter quickly turned into a gurgling cough, and that pulled everyone's attention away from her. Chance offered his handkerchief, but the duke turned it away and used his own. All the amusement was quickly sucked from the room. Obedience could see the worry and concern in the eyes of both Chance and the Archbishop. It was growing more and more apparent that time was the enemy. She swallowed down a lump of emotion in her throat as the duke took a sip of water and wiped his brow.