The Unwanted Wedding

by Barbara Cartland

  “Are you ready?” she enquired. “You are taking long enough about it!”

  “I have been as quick as I could, Aunt Aline.”

  “You go now, Emily,” the Countess said. “You will find the brake waiting for you and I shall be extremely annoyed if any of the luggage is left behind.”

  “I’m sure I’ve remembered everythin’, my Lady,” Emily replied.

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Emily hurried from the room and the Countess walked to where Honora was sitting at the dressing table.

  She stood without speaking and Honora looked at her apprehensively, wondering what she would find wrong with her appearance.

  “You are married!” the Countess said at last. “Now, for Heaven’s sake do not bore the Duke with protestations of affection or plead with him, which is something he most dislikes.”

  Honora was surprised and, as her aunt apparently wished her to say something, she murmured,

  “N-no – of course not.”

  “The sooner you give him a child, the better!” the Countess went on. “He has to have an heir, but there will be no need for you to be overdramatic about it.”

  As she had nothing more to say, she swept to the door and therefore did not see the look of consternation on Honora’s face or the apprehension in her eyes.

  *

  Only when they had left Langstone House and were travelling at an incredible pace behind a team of four perfectly matched horses did she remember what her aunt had said and found it almost incredible.

  Because of the haste in which they had been married and because she had never been alone with the Duke, it had never struck her for one moment that she would be expected to give him children at once.

  ‘How can we be intimate until we know each other very much better than we do at the moment?’ she asked herself.

  She had no idea how a woman had a baby.

  It was something that had never been discussed at the Convent and, when her mother had died, she was still too young to ask her such questions, which had not then concerned her in any way.

  As they drove on, the Duke concentrated on his horses and, as the countryside flashed past them, Honora thought that her aunt was speaking about something that would happen only perhaps months or years later.

  ‘After all, he has never even kissed me,’ she thought, ‘and surely he will not – touch me until he has ceased to hate – me and we have become – friends!’

  This seemed so reasonable that when, after they had driven for nearly an hour, the Duke asked, “you are all right?” Honora was able to reply quite naturally,

  “Yes, of course, and I am so glad we are driving like this and not in a closed carriage.”

  “It is something I find intolerable at any time,” the Duke replied. “The only thing that could have prevented us from reaching London as quickly as we shall do now is if it had been pouring with rain.”

  “Then I am very glad it’s such a lovely day,” Honora said, “and your horses are superb.”

  “They are a team I bought six months ago,” the Duke replied. “They were expensive, but worth every penny I paid for them!”

  “I am sure they are.”

  They drove on in silence and now she told herself that her fears were groundless. The Duke was treating her casually and not as if she was a bride.

  She found when they arrived at Tynemouth House in Park Lane that the staff were lined up to greet them and, after Honora had shaken hands with everybody from the butler to the lowest kitchen boy, the Duke said,

  “Would you like a glass of champagne or would you prefer to go straight to your room?”

  “I would like to go to my room,” Honora answered him.

  She felt that he was relieved at her decision and the housekeeper, looking very much like Mrs. Morton in rustling black silk, escorted her up the stairs.

  Her room was very impressive with a huge four-poster bed, carved and gilded and with curtains of blue silk.

  “This has always been the Duchess’s room,” the housekeeper explained.

  “It is very lovely!” Honora answered. “Will you tell me your name?”

  “I’m Mrs. Barnes and I hope Your Grace’ll be comfortable. Beatrice, one of the maids here’ll look after you until Your Grace’s lady’s maid arrives.”

  “I am afraid that will not be for some time, because I don’t believe any horses could travel as fast as His Grace’s!”

  “I’m sure you are right, Your Grace, and you needn’t worry about your gowns as quite a number came here direct from Bond Street.”

  Mrs. Barnes opened a wardrobe door as she spoke and Honora saw that a dozen of the gowns that her aunt had ordered for her trousseau had been sent direct to Tynemouth House.

  She had a bath and afterwards put on a very elegant gown that was not unlike the one in which she had been married.

  Because Mrs. Barnes expected her to wear white as a bride, she did not argue, but allowed herself to be helped into a gown made entirely of lace and ornamented with small bunches of white roses.

  “I suppose, Your Grace, your maid will know which of these gowns to take with you on your honeymoon tomorrow?” Mrs. Barnes said.

  “H-honeymoon?” Honora repeated. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

  “I understood that was His Grace’s intention and that you’re going to his hunting lodge in Leicestershire.”

  Mrs. Barnes smiled before she added,

  “It’s a very attractive house, Your Grace, and you’ll be very comfortable there. The gardens are nearly as beautiful there as they are at The Castle.”

  “I shall look forward to seeing them,” Honora replied, “and I am sure that Emily will know what I should take with me.

  When she was dressed, she walked slowly down the stairs feeling once again a little frightened.

  ‘I must try to behave naturally,’ she admonished herself. ‘It is what Mama would expect and we cannot go on for ever hating and resenting each other because we have been forced to marry in this precipitate way.’

  This was easier to decide than to put into operation and she knew when she entered the attractive room where the Duke was waiting for her that she could not help trembling a little.

  Because she had been at Tynemouth House for dinner parties she realised that they were not sitting in the large drawing room, but in a much smaller, more comfortable room in which there were a great number of books.

  Forgetting the Duke for a moment she exclaimed,

  “Oh, you have so many books here! How splendid! I was afraid I would find them only at The Castle.”

  “These are the books I have bought for myself,” the Duke replied.

  “Then you do like reading!” Honora exclaimed without thinking.

  Then, as she saw the question in his eyes, she explained,

  “It may sound – rude but I have often – wondered if all the books at The Castle were chosen by your forebears and you – yourself are not much interested in them.”

  “As it happens, I read a great deal,” the Duke replied, “and I suppose from what you have just said that you do too.”

  “Of course! Books mean so much to me and especially when I was at school.”

  She was afraid he might think that she was referring to her lesson books and added quickly,

  “I was left behind when the other girls went home for the holidays and, because the nuns then spent most of their time in prayer, it gave me a great deal of time to read.”

  She gave him a little smile as she said,

  “I am afraid I spent much more than I could afford on buying the books I wanted, for fortunately there was also a lending library in Florence, although not a very large one.”

  The Duke poured her a glass of champagne before he said,

  “I shall be interested to see what is your taste in literature.”

  “It is very varied,” Honora replied, “and stretches from Elizabethan poets to the French novelists.”

  T
he Duke laughed.

  “I can quite see I shall have to have more bookcases added to this room and certainly more than there are already in your boudoir.”

  “That will be a change from having them where they always were at home – on the floor! Papa and Mama read a lot too, so we always had more books than we could find room for.”

  “I somehow never thought of your father as being a great reader,” the Duke remarked.

  “Papa enjoyed everything he did, although it was Mama who encouraged him to read. He preferred books on horses, but we used to have animated discussions on all sorts of other subjects when he was – at home.”

  There was just a slight pause before the last word and the Duke said,

  “Did your mother always go with him when he was staying away with friends?”

  Honora was quick enough to realise that this was a pertinent question which concerned herself and she answered truthfully,

  “Mama always wanted to go with Papa because she hated being separated from him, but sometimes when there were racing or hunting parties ladies were not invited.”

  Her voice softened and she finished,

  “Then she would be left at home and missed him so much that the only way of consoling herself during his absence was to read.”

  The Duke was just about to say something when dinner was announced and they went into the large dining room where Honora had dined before.

  The table was decorated with white flowers and there was a special dinner with a large number of courses that the chef deemed appropriate to the occasion.

  Only when the servants were for the moment out of earshot did Honora say in a conspiratorial tone,

  “I cannot eat all this!”

  “Nor can I,” the Duke admitted, “but I suppose we shall have to make an effort.”

  “Yes, of course, otherwise your chef would feel hurt.”

  She looked down at the menu in front of her, which was supported by a gold stand bearing the Duke’s monogram and said,

  “I see there is a cake.”

  The Duke gave a groan and then he said in a tone of relief,

  “At least I shall not have to make a speech after we have cut it!”

  Honora laughed.

  “I thought the one you made today and, which was the shortest, was the best.”

  “Because it was the shortest?”

  “No, because I admired the way you put everything that had to be said so concisely and so wittily.”

  The Duke looked at her with what she thought was a twinkle in his eye and said,

  “I am gratified by your approval, Honora.”

  A faint colour came into her cheeks as she replied,

  “Perhaps – you think it – impertinent of me to – approve or disapprove, but what I said was very sincere.”

  “I suppose because you have been in a Convent you always tell the truth,” the Duke remarked, as if he was working it out for himself.

  “I tell the truth because I was brought up to do so,” Honora corrected. “Both Papa and Mama hated people who lied and they always knew, as I do, when someone was lying.”

  She thought there was a slight frown between the Duke’s eyes and wondered if she had said anything wrong.

  Then the servants came in with another course from which they must help themselves and they started to talk on other subjects.

  It was a relief when finally the dinner came to an end and, the Duke having said he did not wish for port, they walked together back to the sitting room where they had met before dinner.

  Honora went at once to look at the bookshelves, recognising many books she had already read and a great number she wished to read.

  She walked from shelf to shelf until she suddenly thought that perhaps she was being rude and she should, in fact, be talking to the Duke.

  He had seated himself in a comfortable armchair with a glass of brandy in his hand.

  She moved towards him saying,

  “I am sorry. I am being selfish and thinking about books when I should be trying to amuse you.”

  “Is that what you have been told to do or what you wish to do?”

  “Mama always said it was very rude not to talk to a guest,” Honora replied.

  Then after a little pause she added,

  “But you are not my guest, are you? In fact, I suppose – I am yours.”

  “I don’t think that is right either,” the Duke argued. “After all, I distinctly remember saying today that ‘with all my worldly goods I thee endow’, so I presume we share this house. In any case, you should think of it as your home.”

  “Yes – of course,” Honora said, “but it feels – very strange at the moment.”

  “You will get used to it,” the Duke said lightly, “and doubtless you will soon be telling me of all the improvements you wish to have made.”

  Honora shook her head.

  “I think that is unlikely. I thought that The Castle was perfect in every way and like an exquisitely acted play where everybody knew their parts to perfection.”

  “Including yourself as the leading lady?”

  There was just a slightly mocking note in his voice that Honora did not miss.

  “If I thought about myself at all while I was there,” she replied, “it was as a member of the audience – who had very little part in what was – taking place.”

  “If that was how you felt, then I should apologise.”

  “No, no! Of course not!” Honora replied quickly. “I was only speaking the truth and you must realise that this is all very strange and unusual to me after being at school for two years and before that living very quietly in the country.”

  She gave a little sigh as she added,

  “I expect I shall make a lot of mistakes and you must try not to be angry with me.”

  The Duke looked at her as if he was about to say something. Instead he glanced at the clock and remarked,

  “It is growing late and you have had a very long day. I think, Honora, you should go to bed.”

  As if he had given her an order, Honora rose to her feet as he added,

  “I shall not be long!”

  For one moment she thought that she could not have heard him aright.

  Then, as he opened the door for her and she went out into the hall, everything her aunt had said to her came rushing back into her mind.

  She knew with a sense of horror that seemed to seep through her that the Duke intended to come to her room and give her a baby, although she had no idea what that entailed.

  ‘He must not do such a thing!’ she thought and turned her head intending to go back into the room and tell him so.

  Then somehow she realised in a way she never had before that she was his wife. She must behave as he expected her to and there was no one to help her, no way in which she could escape!

  ‘He cannot do this, he must not!’ she thought frantically.

  Once again she felt as if there was a heavy weight within her breast and it was impossible to think.

  Instinctively her feet carried her towards the staircase, when, as she reached it, she saw lying on a chair the cloak which she had brought with her in the phaeton, but which it had been too warm to wear.

  She supposed it had been left there for the morning when they would be leaving for Leicestershire.

  As she looked at it an idea came to her.

  She had to think, she had to consider what to do about tonight and what she could say to the Duke.

  It was almost as if the walls of the house were closing in on her, creating a prison from which she could never escape and in which she lost her identity so completely that she was no longer herself.

  ‘I must think – I must – think!’ she thought desperately.

  She picked up the cloak and put it over her shoulders, then walked to the front door.

  When she reached it, she realised that the footman in attendance was looking at her in surprise.

  “Please open the door!” she said quickly
.

  “Do you want a carriage, Your Grace?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The door was opened and she walked outside and down the steps to the pavement.

  Just across the road was Hyde Park and she thought she would go and sit under the trees and think what she should do.

  It would be easier to think in the open than in the house, where the Duke was intending to come up to her bedroom at any moment and perhaps would not listen to what she had to tell him.

  There was no traffic about and she crossed the road, but only when she reached the pavement on the other side did she see the iron railings that surrounded Hyde Park.

  She knew there were gates that led into it, but she was not certain whether they were open at night. However, she walked down Park Lane thinking that when she came to the gates she would find whether they were open or closed.

  As she walked, she was turning over and over in her mind what her aunt had said and hearing the Duke remark in what she thought was a dry tone,

  “I shall not be long!”

  Quite suddenly she was arrested by a woman’s voice saying furiously,

  “’Ere, wot d’you think you’re a-doin’ of? This be my beat and you’ve no right on it!”

  Honora came to a standstill.

  She saw facing her a woman who she thought looked very strange until she realised that it was because her face was painted. She had pink cheeks, eyelashes black with thick mascara and a crimson mouth.

  She looked so different from anybody Honora had ever seen before that for a moment she could only stand and stare at her.

  Then, as her eyes went to the gaudy feathered bonnet she wore and the crimson cloak trimmed with cheap fur, she said,

  “I-I am sorry – but I do not understand what you are saying – to me.”

  “You understands orl right,” the woman said angrily.

  Her voice was coarse and she had a cockney accent.

  Honora did not reply and she went on,

  “This be where I works, so clear orf and find somewhere else and be quick about it!”

  “I-I was going into the Park,” Honora explained.

  “As if you didn’t know it’s closed up at night!” the woman said scornfully. “Come on, ignoramus, don’t try them tricks on me!”

  Honora thought the woman must be mad and decided that the best thing she could do would be to cross the road to the other side.