Blair stared straight ahead, his eyes flat. “Yes.”
He glanced toward the approaching chaise as an awful thought struck him. Good Lord. There couldn’t be something about this marriage giving him pause, could there? Blair had conducted the marriage settlement negotiations on his behalf while estate business had kept Gareth in the country. Naturally, he must have seen Miss Grey and her family a fair amount. Alarm stirred in his chest. Perhaps Blair has seen something troubling but hesitated to bring it up now that the documents had been signed and the engagement announced. Blair would notice. Blair also would not want to embarrass him.
He cleared his throat. “You seem quiet. No reservations about the bride, I hope?”
At last Blair looked at him, albeit reluctantly. “No. Miss Grey is a very suitable choice.”
That seemed an evasive answer. “Were there any problems with Sir William?” he asked, lowering his voice even further. Blair shook his head. “Come, man, what is it?” he prodded. “You look positively grim.”
Blair’s chest filled as if he would speak, and then he sighed. “My apologies, Wessex,” he muttered. “It must be the storm.”
Gareth closed his eyes and mentally smacked himself on the forehead; he’d completely forgotten Blair had been frightened of storms as a boy. Perhaps he still was, and now Gareth had just gone and forced him to admit it aloud. “Of course,” he murmured quickly.
“I wish you and Miss Grey every happiness,” added his secretary with a forced smile.
Gareth nodded, happy to let the conversation lapse. The carriage was almost to the steps, and for a second he wondered what he might have done if Blair had confessed some wariness about Miss Grey or the marriage in general. He couldn’t very well just send her home, but it would have been gravely alarming had James found her wanting.
There was a rustle of silk behind him. “I hope I’m not late,” said his mother as she stepped up beside him.
“Your timing is perfect,” he said. “I presume Bridget had something to do with it.”
“As ever,” she replied under her breath.
Gareth shot his mother a quick glance. All three of his sisters were beside themselves with excitement over the impending celebrations and desperately eager to meet Miss Grey, the reigning toast of London. But while Serena and Alexandra were capable of proper, dignified behavior, the youngest had a true genius for trouble. If anything were to break, go missing, or inexplicably wind up on the roof, Bridget was sure to be found nearby, protesting—with a perfectly straight face—that the most incredible circumstances had caused it. Normally he took Bridget’s mishaps in stride, but he would be eternally grateful if she managed to behave properly for the next fortnight. Perhaps he ought to tell Withers, the butler, to post footmen outside the guest rooms to make certain Bridget didn’t accidentally inflict a broken leg or a black eye on the bride.
“She’ll be on her best behavior, won’t she?” he asked, praying that would be good enough.
“Yes.” The duchess gave him a confident smile. “I’ve told her she will be excluded from all the wedding festivities if she is not. For now, I’ve sent her to help Henrietta entertain Sophronia.”
His shoulders eased. “A masterstroke.” The only person more capable than Bridget of causing trouble was Sophronia, his great-great-aunt. Or was she a great-great-great-aunt? He tended to think of her in the same vein as the statues in the garden: ancient, crumbling, and utterly impervious to anything. Normally Sophronia kept to her own apartments with her companion, Henrietta Black. But if she and Bridget could occupy each other tonight, so much the better for everyone.
“Never let it be said I don’t know my children.” His mother turned to face him and her gaze sharpened. “Do you love this girl, Gareth?”
She only called him Gareth when she wanted to get his attention. His eyes narrowed, but he spoke calmly. “What has love got to do with marriage?” He knew it existed and that it was pleasant to find it in marriage, but he’d never met a woman who stirred him, even slightly, the way poets and romantics sighed about: the world upended, walking on air, being struck by lightning from a clear blue sky. Rubbish. Whatever else Gareth might have been amenable to, he preferred to keep his feet on the ground, and he most certainly didn’t want to be hit by lightning. If such a force even existed, he was just as happy not to know about it. His marriage to Miss Grey would be elegant, refined, and sensible: in a word, perfect.
“Don’t scoff,” said his parent. “You know I only ask out of concern. You’ve persuaded me the match is advantageous for both parties, but you’ve hardly said one word about your feelings for the lady herself.”
“She’s lovely. She’ll make a very suitable duchess and mother. You’ll adore her.”
“I wasn’t worried about adoring her myself,” replied the duchess. “I worry about you adoring her.”
His jaw tightened. What a time to ask that question. “I have the utmost respect for her, and I trust we shall be very content with one another.”
His mother only sighed.
Irked at her and at Blair for ruffling what had promised to be a perfectly smooth welcoming, he descended the steps as the carriage reached the gravel and slowed to a more decorous speed. There was nothing to reproach in his actions. He was a sensible man who made logical decisions. He thought he’d chosen quite well, despite his mother’s sentimental disquiet and his secretary’s grim silence. If they had some objection to this marriage, he thought darkly, they had better speak soon or forever hold their peace.
But this was not the moment to brood about that. Straightening his shoulders, he prepared to welcome his future wife and her family. Miss Grey, her parents, and her elder sister would spend the next fortnight at Kingstag, preparing for the wedding at the end of that time. Behind him, the butler, housekeeper, and a few servants waited at the ready to greet their soon-to-be mistress. The house had been cleaned and polished to a bright shine over the last month to appear at its best for the wedding. He darted a quick glance at his mother, but she silently stepped up beside him, her serene smile back in place, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The sky growled again as the coach pulled to a halt. A dust-covered servant jumped down to open the door, and Sir William alighted first. The baronet fairly radiated triumph. “A very great pleasure, Your Grace,” he boomed, sweeping a bow as the servant turned to help Lady Grey down.
“The pleasure is mine, sir. Welcome.” Gareth greeted the older gentleman. “May I present my mother, the Duchess of Wessex?” His mother stepped forward and graciously greeted the baronet.
Gareth turned his attention to Lady Grey. “Welcome to Kingstag Castle, madam.” He bowed over her hand.
Her pleased eyes climbed the façade of the house before she turned a beaming smile on him. “A pleasure it is to be here, sir. And for such a happy occasion!” She laughed, a little trill of delight. He smiled, then stepped forward to help his betrothed down from the carriage himself.
Helen Grey was lovely, he thought approvingly as she stepped down, her small hand nestled in his. He’d thought so from the moment he met her. Her dark hair was arranged in the latest style, her dress the picture of elegance. She looked as fresh and beautiful as the roses in his mother’s garden. The Greys must have stopped so she could change and refresh herself before arriving. “Welcome to my home, Miss Grey.” He raised her hand to his lips as he bowed.
She blushed, her cheeks a perfect soft pink. Her dark eyes glowed as she gave a little curtsey. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m delighted to arrive at last.”
Gareth smiled in satisfaction. She truly was the perfect bride. Her voice was just as lovely as he remembered, and her person even lovelier. Her manner was gentle and sweet. What more could a man ask for in a wife? He presented her to the duchess, pleased to see his mother greet her as warmly and graciously as ever. He knew she would never be rude or crass, but he wouldn’t put it past her to probe—in that delicate, almost imperceptible way she had—into Miss Grey’s fe
elings as well.
“How fortunate you arrived before the storm broke,” he said to Sir William. “It’s been threatening all day.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Lady Grey, fanning herself. “We were quite worried we would be caught in a downpour.”
“It looks to be a bad one,” observed Sir William, squinting at the sky.
“Indeed. Shall we proceed inside?” Gareth paused, remembering something. “But did you not say your eldest daughter would also be accompanying you?”
A moment of silence passed over the group. Sir William and Lady Grey exchanged a glance. Miss Grey wet her lips. “Yes. My sister did come. She wanted a moment to repair her appearance, I believe.”
“Ah.” Gareth nodded, and turned toward the carriage again, wishing the sister would hurry up and get down so they could step inside before the rain came and soaked them all. How long did she need to repair herself, anyway? Miss Grey managed to look as neat and elegant as any lady in town.
“I’m coming,” said a voice from the carriage. “Just a moment!” She appeared in the door of the carriage, her face hidden by a dark red bonnet. She gathered up her vibrant yellow skirt in one hand and reached out to take the hand of the footman waiting to assist her. “So sorry to keep everyone waiting,” she said a bit breathlessly as she jumped down and faced them all.
She looked like her sister, but different. Where Helen Grey’s face was tranquil and composed, this woman’s face was lively and expressive. Her eyes sparkled and danced. Her features were sharper than Helen’s and her figure was fuller, almost lush. And as she tipped up her pointed chin and looked at Gareth with openly interested brown eyes, lightning struck.
Chapter Two
EVERYONE JUMPED AT THE THUNDEROUS CRASH and the burst of light that burned a streak across the sky. “Gracious!” cried Lady Grey, clapping a hand to her heart. “I thought it would strike us all dead on the spot!”
Helen’s sister turned her face to the sky as the first sharp drops of rain hit the ground. “It looks to be a good show,” she said mischievously.
“Indeed not, Cleo,” said her mother in an undertone. “Behave yourself!”
Gareth heard all this dimly, around the introduction. Mrs. Cleopatra Barrows, Sir William was saying, his eldest daughter. He thought he made the polite response but couldn’t be sure; once he took her gloved hand in his, he wasn’t quite sure what else went on in the world around him. It wouldn’t surprise him if his hair were standing on end, and he was most likely staring like an idiot. Mrs. Barrows put on a polite smile and curtseyed, but that excitement that sprang into her face at the crack of lightning stuck in his mind.
A soft noise behind him finally broke whatever spell he’d fallen under. He stepped back, remembering himself. “I’m delighted you’ve arrived at last. You remember Mr. Blair, of course?” Blair stepped forward and bowed.
“Capital to see you, sir,” said Sir William courteously, and Lady Grey gave him a benevolent smile.
“Mr. Blair,” murmured Miss Grey.
“Mrs. Barrows,” said the duchess, coming toward her. “What a delight to make your acquaintance. Welcome to Kingstag Castle.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She dropped a graceful curtsy.
“And you must meet Mr. Blair,” his mother continued, looking at Blair, who obediently stepped to her side. “He is Wessex’s secretary as well as our cousin.”
“How do you do, sir?” Mrs. Barrows gave Blair a sunny smile, and Gareth’s stomach clenched. He had to make himself turn away from her, unnerved by his reaction.
“Come, let us go inside,” he said, offering Lady Grey his arm. “The guests will begin arriving tomorrow. I thought you might like a day to explore the castle on your own before they lay siege to the place.”
Lady Grey gave her trilling little laugh again as she fell in step beside him. “How kind of you to arrange it so, sir! We are thoroughly delighted to be invited for such a stay, and to meet your mother and sisters! I vow, Kingstag Castle is every bit as lovely as I’d heard….”
She chattered on as they walked inside. Gareth was aware of Mrs. Barrows walking behind him with Blair. In the doorway he stole a glance back, catching sight of his cousin’s smile at something she said. Miss Grey followed, listening soberly to his mother, but her sister chatted quite amiably with Blair.
He felt a strange stab of discontent in his chest. Logically, he should hope Mrs. Barrows could revive Blair from whatever melancholy he’d sunk into lately. He should hope his cousin took a great enough liking to Mrs. Barrows to entertain her for the next fortnight, leaving Miss Grey to him.
Somehow, he didn’t.
The housekeeper stepped forward to show the guests to their rooms to refresh themselves and rest. Although, as Mrs. Barrows passed him with a swish of her brilliant skirt, he couldn’t help but think that the Greys didn’t look in great need of refreshing. Gareth watched as they climbed the stairs, Lady Grey in the lead with the housekeeper and his mother, followed by Miss Grey and Mrs. Barrows.
“Just as lovely as you remembered?” asked Blair quietly, coming up beside him.
Gareth tore his gaze off Mrs. Barrows’s figure, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling of having been knocked sideways. “Yes.”
Blair exhaled. He still looked a little ill, his mouth tight and his eyes shadowed. “That is a great relief.”
Gareth breathed deeply. The ladies had reached the turn of the stairs, and he watched Mrs. Barrows trail one gloved hand along the banister appreciatively. “Yes. It is, isn’t it? I can hardly stop the marriage now.”
Blair shook his head slowly, still watching the women climb the stairs. “No. I don’t suppose you can.”
“GRACIOUS, HELEN, you never said he was so handsome!”
Cleo burst into her sister’s room, too full of energy to rest. Helen was lying obediently on the bed, but at Cleo’s entrance she sat up at once, just as she had since they were girls. Of course, this time their nurse wouldn’t come scold them for not resting like proper young ladies, thought Cleo with a grin, since she was a widowed lady and her sister was about to become a duchess.
“Do you really think so?” Helen’s face lit up with a luminous smile.
Cleo laughed. “Of course! Such broad shoulders! Such brooding eyes! Such a lovely home!” She laughed again. “Did Mama see Kingstag Castle before you accepted his offer, or after? I thought she would swoon with delight when the house came into view.”
Helen sighed, her glow fading. “After. You well know she would have liked him had the house been a fright. He’s a duke, Cleo, and very wealthy,” she said in perfect imitation of their mother’s voice. “What more does a girl want?”
“Mmm, and handsome, too,” Cleo added. “A mother might want a title and a fortune, but a girl wants a handsome face.”
Helen tried, and failed, to repress her grin. “Cleo, you’re wicked.”
“Of course I am,” she exclaimed. “That’s why you love to have me about. But hush—” She lowered her voice and glanced around. “I did promise to be on my best behavior this fortnight,” she whispered. “So you mustn’t let on when I’m my usual awful self, or Papa will send me packing.”
Helen’s smile disappeared. “It was dreadful that Papa said that to you,” she said in a low tone. “You are not awful.”
Cleo lifted one shoulder. “To them I am. The stench of trade, you know. I suppose someday I might give away all my money and take up embroidery or some other suitable pursuit and live out my days in respectable poverty.” She gave a theatrical sigh and collapsed backward on the chaise as if in a swoon, throwing up one arm over her head in a fit of drama. “Perhaps then I’ll be acceptable. Poor and dull, but acceptable.”
“You could never be dull,” said her sister. “I’m ever so glad you’ve come, because if you’re here, at least it won’t be dull.” She shuddered.
Cleo uncovered her face and looked at Helen curiously. “Do you think it will be? Why? You’re reunited at last with your b
etrothed husband, about to meet his family and become his wife.”
Helen rolled her lower lip between her teeth and plucked at the lace on her sleeve. “I don’t know him that well, Cleo,” she confessed. “I’ve only seen him a few times this year. And last year … well, he didn’t distinguish himself from my other suitors in any real way. It seems odd, doesn’t it, that I’m to marry him in two weeks’ time and I barely know his name.”
“Gareth Anthony Michael Cavendish,” said Cleo. “How could you not know his name, when Mama’s been practicing saying it every day? ‘Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Wessex,’” she mimicked her mother, just as well as Helen had done. “‘Wessex of Kingstag Castle.’ ‘My son-in-law, the duke.’ ‘My daughter, the Duchess of Wessex.’”
Helen laughed again. “Stop! Perhaps I do know his name, but otherwise….” She shook her head. “The wedding just seems so near, all of a sudden.”
This time Cleo looked more closely at her sister. It had been clear to her that Helen was nervous their entire journey, but she’d thought it was only bridal nerves. Helen wasn’t usually a nervous sort, though. “Don’t you want to marry him?”
Her sister’s face turned bright pink. “Of course. Who would not?”
Cleo couldn’t argue with that, and yet…. “Perhaps he invited us early to get to know you better,” she suggested. “To steal away into the garden with you and kiss you senseless.” Helen’s eyes went wide. Cleo grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, don’t be like that. It’s not at all a trial to be whisked into the shrubbery for a clandestine kiss from a handsome man.”
Helen’s smile was a trifle wistful. “Isn’t it?”
“No doubt you’ll soon find out.” Cleo leaned forward, unable to resist prying a little. She didn’t see her sister very much anymore, and she missed her. She and Helen had never had secrets from each other, once upon a time, before Cleo’s marriage and subsequent widowhood had horrified her parents and made visits to the family home uncomfortable. “Don’t you want him to?”
Seven Wicked Nights Page 10