Ella hoped that Nancy wouldn’t comment on the fact that the smell of burning hair would have still been reeking throughout the room. Happily, Nancy seemed too shocked by the sight of her to comment.
Nancy tutted and pushed the cup of tea into Ella’s hand. “Just you drink that, my lady. I will get scissors and put that… that mess to rights.”
***
“You know, that rather suits you.”
Ella gave Nancy a sceptical look, but the maid nodded, insistent.
“It does, truly. Look.”
Nancy held out the hand mirror Ella had been avoiding looking in, and Ella dared to peer into it.
“Oh,” she said, surprised, raising a tentative hand to touch her hair.
Her head felt odd, lighter and rather naked and she kept wanting to flick her heavy tresses, bewildered to find them gone.
She’d always thought her hair one of her better features. It was thick and glossy and dark with a natural curl, but she realised it had dominated her small face, rather like her blasted eyebrows. Now that Nancy had tidied up the dreadful mess she’d made of it, soft, short curls clustered about her heart-shaped face. Nancy had woven a little blue ribbon through it and it looked… rather good. Though it didn’t make her look any older, she noted with dismay.
No one treated her like a young woman, although she’d turned nineteen now. She was short and slight, and looked little over fifteen at the best of times. It was infuriating.
“You look like a pixie,” Nancy said, giggling.
“I wish I was,” Ella said, putting the mirror on the dressing table with a sigh. “Then I could magic myself out of this situation.”
“Now, now,” her abigail scolded, giving her a stern look. “You will be the Duchess of Rothborn. No need to lament too hard, is there? The duke is a handsome man and he obviously took a fancy to you,” she added with an amused if tart tone to the words.
Ella felt tears prick at her eyes. How she wished that were true. Oscar wouldn’t look at her in that way if she were last woman on earth. He thought her a foolish child; he’d made that abundantly clear. If she’d thought for one moment he took the slightest pleasure in marrying her, she would rejoice, despite the scandal and the embarrassment it would cause Pearl.
It was shameful, yes, but true.
We could be carrying your lifeless corpse off Rowley Mile right now. Do you think that would have pleased me any more than being forced to marry you? What a bloody mess you’ve made.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
Oscar may not have loved Pearl, but Ella felt sure he desired her. What man in his right mind wouldn’t? He would have been proud to take her anywhere, to be seen with such a beautiful woman on his arm.
What would he feel when he took Ella? Little more than shame and humiliation at being forced to marry her over her lovely sister. She had ruined everything, for Pearl and her own family, but especially for him, and he would hate her for it. Not that he would show it; Oscar was too good-hearted for that. Somehow that made it worse. He would do his best to shield her from any embarrassment, and he would be kind to her.
She wanted to die.
Ella jolted as a knock sounded at the door. Nancy hurried to see who was there and came back, grinning.
“The Duke of Rothborn is waiting for you downstairs, my lady. So, you’d best go and accept his offer.”
Ella’s stomach twisted itself into a knot as she made her way down the stairs.
Oscar was waiting for her in the study, alone, thank heavens. She supposed her father was still too furious and disgusted to even look at her. At this point, she counted that a blessing.
He looked up as she pushed open the door and, as predicted, gave her a kind smile. She held back a scream.
“Good evening, Ella. I hope you are recovered from your adventure?”
Ella gave a mirthless laugh. “From that, certainly.”
She stood a distance away from him, more awkward in his presence than ever before. It had always been so natural between them, such an easy friendship. Not now. He looked tense despite his smile.
“We’ll marry the day after tomorrow,” he said, the words matter-of-fact. “I am arranging a special license. It will be a quiet affair.”
Ella nodded, not knowing what else to do. They would be married in a rush to limit the scandal. How romantic.
“Don’t look so stricken,” he said, laughing a little, though the words sounded false to her ear, the warmth in them forced and unnatural. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
She nodded again, staring at the carpet and feeling a lump in her throat.
“Of course,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. They were friends. Nothing more.
“Well then,” he said, as if that solved everything. “You needn’t fret I will be a strict husband. We shall each carry on just as we always have; nothing need change at all. You’ll simply live at Chancery House instead of here.”
Ella looked up at that, wondering what he was implying. “What do you mean? Nothing will change? We’ll… we’ll be man and w-wife,” she said, her cheeks burning as she noted the way his eyes slid away from hers.
“In name only,” he said, his voice stern. “I….”
She watched as he paced towards the window and then stopped, running a hand though his hair in agitation.
“Good Lord, Ella, you’re like a little sister to me. The thought of… of….” He waved a hand at her, looking distinctly queasy. “I couldn’t!”
Well, then. There it was. Her humiliation was complete. If she hadn’t known it before, he had spelled it out for her. The thought of touching her not only didn’t stir him… it made him nauseous. For a moment she remembered that brief meeting of eyes in the stable, before he’d looked away. It obviously hadn’t been the revelation she’d believed it to be.
Ella reached out, clutching at the back of a chair as she felt the sudden desire to sit down and cry. She didn’t, clinging onto the remaining shreds of her dignity with a supreme effort.
“This is ridiculous, Oscar. You need an heir. If you can’t even…. You must marry Pearl.”
He waved an impatient hand at her.
“I’ve already told you, that is out of the question,” he said, the kindness in his voice falling away and replaced with something far steelier. “Yes, I will need an heir, but not for a few years. Perhaps, by that time…. Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
How she didn’t cry then she did not know. Yes, perhaps in a few years he could force himself to her bed. Well, there was something to look forward to.
“I see,” she replied, a little astonished that her voice sounded calm and reasonable.
She looked up as he crossed the room and took her hand.
“Don’t look so wretched, Bug,” he said, and she couldn’t bear to see the warmth in his eyes. “We’ll be quite comfortable, don’t worry. Being friends is more than a lot of married people ever achieve. Half of them hate each other,” he added, laughing a little. “We’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
She nodded, trying to believe him. Yet being married to the man she’d loved her whole life, and still being no closer to him… it seemed the worst kind of torture. She supposed he’d still keep a mistress or two. She’d heard of one glamorous Cytherian he kept in grand style in town. No doubt that wouldn’t change. She’d have to turn a blind eye. She couldn’t demand fidelity in the circumstances. No. Only his friendship.
“Yes, of course, Oscar. We’ll be fine.”
***
“Oscar!”
Bertie’s furious voice rang out from the front of the house. Oscar turned and braced himself as he saw his friend, white-faced with anger, striding down the front steps of his home. He’d not seen Bertie since before the race, hadn’t had a moment to explain himself, and his friend’s outrage was palpable.
Oscar waved the groom holding his horse away. “I’ll come to the stables when I’m ready.”
The groom no
dded and led his mount off as Oscar steeled himself to confront Ella’s brother.
“You’d better have a bloody good explanation,” Bertie said, his hands clenched, the desire to break Oscar’s nose evident in the pinched look about his mouth.
Oscar repressed the desire to laugh. It wouldn’t help.
“Oh, I do, Bertie. I promise you that.”
Oscar led his friend away from the house, filling him in on the events of the day. Bertie listened in horrified silence.
“By God,” he said, his voice faint. “Ella won the Craven Stakes… on Virago?”
Oscar snorted. With the extraordinary events that had followed her win, that most astonishing fact had almost passed him by. It occurred to him then that it wasn’t only Ella’s reputation at stake. If anyone found out it hadn’t been a professional jockey who had won the race for him he’d be at the centre of a scandal of a different kind too.
“She did.”
Bertie sat down with a thud on the steps that led to a topiary garden.
“What an extraordinary child she is,” he murmured, sounding a little dazed. Oscar couldn’t tell if he admired his sister or was appalled by her. Perhaps both.
Oscar sat down beside him. God, he was tired. This had without a doubt been the longest day of his life. The confrontation with Ella’s father had been beyond humiliating, but what could he say? The man believed he’d seduced his youngest daughter whilst betrothed to her sister. He could hardly blame the man for thinking him the worst kind of libertine. If he told the truth it would lay the blame entirely at Ella’s feet and… well, Oscar had too much honour to allow that.
“Thank you.”
Oscar looked up to see Bertie watching him, sympathy in his eyes. He shrugged, relieved that someone in the world knew the truth, at least.
“Do you mind very much?”
The question circled in Oscar’s head and he didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t been looking forward to marrying Pearl, far from it. Oh, taking her to bed had been a tantalising idea, he’d admit that much, but it had ended there.
He liked Ella, cared for her very much, and his words to her had been true. They could be happy together, as friends and companions. Yet, her being his wife in the true sense of the word….
Panic rippled down his spine.
Not that she was unattractive. She was a pretty little thing. Well, apart from those blasted eyebrows, but… she was a child in his eyes. Time would take care of that problem, he supposed, but it was more than that. He’d always treated her as Bertie did: as a sister. How could he take her to bed? The idea made him feel every bit the monster her father believed him to be.
“You didn’t love Pearl.”
Oscar didn’t bother disagreeing with Bertie’s statement; the man knew him better than he knew himself.
“No.”
“And you do like Ella.”
“I do.”
“Well, then,” Bertie said, a hopeful look in his eyes. “It’s not such a disaster. You know she thinks the sun shines from you, though why escapes me,” he added with a grin.
Oscar forced a smile to his lips, wondering why he couldn’t agree it wasn’t a disaster when he knew it was true. “No. Not a disaster at all.”
They were quiet for a while and Oscar watched the frown that darkened Bertie’s expression.
“Oscar?”
“Yes?”
“Can I come and stay with you for a while?”
Oscar’s eyebrows lifted as Bertie returned a rueful expression.
“Living with Pearl will be hell on earth for the foreseeable, not to mention my father.”
With a snort, Oscar clapped Bertie on the back and nodded. He could only imagine what Pearl would be like over the coming months. It wasn’t a pretty picture. She had so been looking forward to being a duchess. “My home is at your disposal, old man.”
“Thank God for that.”
***
They were married in the chapel on Oscar’s estate.
Ella wore her best dress. It was a pale green satin embroidered over the bust with darker green thread, worn with a matching dark green spencer. If the bride looked pale, no one remarked on it.
No one said much at all.
Ella’s father could barely look either of them in the eye and she appreciated Bertie’s cheerful presence with her whole heart. She had never loved her brother more.
He’d been angry with her at first, after Oscar had filled him in on the truth of what had really happened. Bertie could never stay angry with anyone for long, though. He was far too indolent to sustain such an emotion, and she knew he loved her and only feared her getting in a scrape. She thought perhaps he even admired her a little. He’d not said as much, but the way he’d stared at her muttering, “My little sister won the Craven Stakes….” with a rather awed tone to his voice had made her believe he wasn’t so much appalled as astonished.
If it hadn’t been for the scandalous aftermath, she thought perhaps he’d have congratulated her.
She couldn’t tell what Oscar’s mother thought of her.
The dowager Duchess of Rothborn was still an exquisite woman. Her hair was lighter and more golden than Oscar’s, but they shared the same hazel eyes. That she adored her only son was obvious and well known by all. The curious looks she kept casting at Ella were unsettling, and Ella wished she knew what the woman was thinking. No doubt she was disappointed not to see Pearl at her handsome son’s side. What a golden couple they’d made together.
Ella tried to swallow past the knot of misery in her throat.
Pearl remained confined to her bedchamber, but Ella knew they’d face each other at some point. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe Pearl wouldn’t try to exact her revenge.
Buck up, Ella, she scolded, forcing herself to stand straighter and paste something resembling a smile to her face. She was marrying the man she loved, her best friend in the world. Perhaps he didn’t love her, could never love her but… but at least they’d be together. Oscar thought they could be happy together, so….
The urge to cry was almost overwhelming, but she endured. This was all her own fault. Her own doing. As usual her own recklessness was her downfall. She’d acted without thinking it through and this was the result. With despair, she remembered her hope: that she would fall out of love with Oscar once he and Pearl had married. She’d planned go away for a while, to travel and see the world a little and forget about him. Perhaps even fall in love with someone else.
She’d lost those hopes and dreams now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t create new ones. She was the Duchess of Rothborn, and she could make a life for herself in which Oscar need not take centre stage. She’d also be the mother of Oscar’s children one day… assuming he could bear to take her to bed.
Ella swallowed hard, trying to attend to the words of the ceremony and repeating her lines as instructed. All at once, it was over and she lifted her face to look into the eyes of her husband. He was smiling at her, warmth and affection in his expression as he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Oh, God.
Chapter 7
“Wherein Ella discovers an ally.”
“Well, there’s little point in me showing you about. You’ve been running tame about the place since you could walk.”
Oscar’s voice sounded cheery and false as he handed his hat and gloves to his butler.
“Good day, your grace,” Mr Wilkes said to her, beaming. “May I say on behalf of all the staff, how very pleased we are to welcome you to Chancery?”
Ella felt a little of her tension dissipate at the obvious warmth in Wilkes’ eyes as he greeted her. That was something at least.
They’d dispensed with a proper wedding breakfast. Her father couldn’t wait to get her out of the house and Pearl would rather stab her in the eye with a fork than sit down at a table with her. Bertie had made his intention of moving into Chancery known and been roundly disapproved of by everyone but Oscar and Ella, who could only feel relief. Her
brother’s presence would make it seem more normal, like old times, and Ella already knew all the staff here. It was like coming home in that respect.
“Thank you, Wilkes. I… I’m afraid you will all have to be patient with me. I never expected….” She trailed off, a flush at her cheeks as she realised she couldn’t possibly finish that sentence.
“We will all do our very best to make you feel at home.” Wilkes held her gaze as he spoke, the words firm and reassuring.
They all knew why Oscar had married her… or at least they’d heard about the scandal that had replaced the actual scandal. Yet, despite that, they would support her and welcome her, even though she’d usurped her sister’s position.
“Thank you.” The words seemed inadequate though they were heartfelt, but Oscar was leading her on into the house, so she gave Wilkes one last smile and hurried after him.
His mother awaited them in the drawing room along with the Viscount Featherstone. Featherstone was known to all as “Fluff” or “Fluffy” less because of his name perhaps and more because he was incapable of being serious. He had been the dowager’s bosom companion for more than a decade, and the two of them were inseparable. That Oscar thought him a fool and bore with him only for his mother’s sake, Ella well knew. She, for one, liked the old dandy a great deal.
At fifty-two he was still a good-looking man with silver hair and a good figure, though he was thickening a little around the midriff. Today he was dressed in startling fashion as ever, with a pastel yellow–and-blue striped waistcoat and a coat of pale lavender which brought out the blue in his sharp eyes. Lazy and good-natured, he was an easy-going fellow, but one whom Ella suspected was rather brighter than Oscar gave him credit for.
“Viscount Featherstone,” she said, holding out her hand to him as he beamed at her.
He wagged one manicured, bejewelled finger at her. “None of that, none of that, we’re practically family,” he said, a rather wicked glint in his eyes. “You must call me Fluff.”
The Corinthian Duke Page 7