But anticipating her protests, Adrian caught her in his arms and gave her a kiss that took her breath away. “Listen,” he said firmly, when finally he came up for air. “Last night we turned our betrothal into something we will not retreat from. I told you I didn’t want to spend another night away from you, and I meant it.”
“Jeffrey said he wanted to court me,” she said numbly. Strange that he hadn’t crossed her mind until now. Once she’d spent days dreaming about him, but another face occupied that part of her mind now.
“Jeffrey can want,” Adrian said. “You’re mine now. You gave yourself to me, and I to you. Why not marry quietly? We will marry, Livia, don’t doubt that. So let’s get the deed done, and you can save me from stubbing my toe on my stealthy way back to my room from yours. And freezing to death in those corridors.”
“Is that why you want to marry me?” She couldn’t help smiling.
He kissed her again, rougher this time. “You know perfectly well it isn’t. We’ll marry as soon as the ceremony can be arranged.”
What he said made sense. After all, he knew everything now. She’d asked him after they’d made love that first time and he’d said yes. He had not asked about the baby, though, and she had told him no more, not wanting to mar her perfect night. She still found herself unable to talk about the events of that time to anyone else. How could she when she had kept the secret for so long, holding her tongue against every provocation she’d received in ten years?
But he had seen it. That must be enough. And painful though it was, she had to put the past behind her. After ten years, she would never find her son, if he was still alive. He was gone, and she must learn to live with it.
One day she would tell Adrian the whole story. Perhaps she could gain the courage later today. “Will you come to my room tonight?”
He groaned. “The temptation is unbearable, but no, sweetheart. Not now I know I can claim you as my own legitimately. We will behave properly. To damage your reputation at this late date would be foolish. In any case, I found it unimaginably difficult leaving you last night. I want to wake with you in my arms, not sneak away like a thief in the night.”
* * * *
The only concession Adrian gave was to wait until Livia’s family had all arrived. They sent word to London. Society be damned, Darius should be here to see his sister wed.
Livia spent the next few days in a constant state of nerves, while her maid, thrilled that her mistress was about to become a duchess, made herself busy sorting Livia’s wardrobe and making a flurry of lists.
Her sister Drusilla arrived with her new husband a week before Christmas. While ordinarily Livia would be delighted to see Dru after a few months’ absence, she wished her gone because she took the suite of rooms next to Livia’s and she no longer had that part of the house to herself. That meant Adrian couldn’t visit her at night even if she could persuade him to. Which she had not succeeded in doing.
She hadn’t known anything like what she’d shared with him, and she wanted more. Longed for more. But did that just happen with him because he was experienced, or would it be the same with anyone? True, she’d had a hurried, fumbling experience with Jeffrey, but they had never had time to explore that part of their lives. Or, she realized with growing knowledge, he had not allowed it to happen.
Once Finch had helped her dress, she did the only thing she could think of doing. She went upstairs to find Claudia.
She found her twin in the midst of domestic bliss. From her state of undress, she had just fed her baby. Livia claimed the tiny boy while Claudia put herself to rights, and then handed the sweetly slumbering child to the nurse, leaving her sister to take her into the adjoining bedroom. “It seems strange to see you like this. My sister, a mother!”
Claudia laughed. “And so happy. Who would have thought it? I certainly didn’t.” She glanced at the door her nurse had just used. “And you too. Mama is so glad to be rid of us all.”
Livia joined in the laughter, but she didn’t feel like laughing.
“What is it?” As usual, Claudia had noticed Livia’s disquietude. “What’s wrong? Do you not wish to marry him? Are they making you do it? You know you can always make your home with us if you wish.”
While Livia warmed to her sister’s concern, Claudia’s words brought her dilemma into perspective. Looking at her sister was like consulting a mirror. Claudia was more reckless than Livia, or at least, her first attempts at recklessness had not had such far-reaching and devastating effects. That was true. Claudia’s eyes were a shade darker than Livia, but they both possessed that unusual hair color. They were of a height, and their taste in dress was similar. But more than that, they had shared the same bedroom until Claudia’s marriage, they had exchanged opinions and expressions daily. They knew each other as they knew nobody else.
Claudia’s leaving had come as a shock, even though Livia was glad for her sister. But now, facing her again, Livia realized how they had grown apart. Not completely so, they would never do that, but each had their own identity. “No, they aren’t making me do anything. Adrian—Preston—is insistent that we marry soon.” She bit her lip. “At first it wasn’t a serious betrothal. We signed the contract for six months, and we planned to let it expire along with society’s interest.” Except that Adrian had told her she would have to break the betrothal, because he would not. Had he planned his campaign?
Claudia shrugged. “That’s true. The king is in frail health, we’ve just declared war on Austria and Lady Davies is marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather and declaring it a love match.”
“You’re well informed. I imagined you tucked up with your baby and your husband, shutting the world out.” How could Livia have imagined for one moment that Claudia would not keep herself abreast of affairs?
“Letters, journals, and a husband who was closely involved in covert matters on behalf of the Crown,” Claudia said carelessly, as if everyone could discover for themselves both the salacious gossip and the political detail. Which was far from the truth. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“Only to wonder what the unmarried daughter of a marquess wears at a coronation.”
Claudia groaned. “Whatever it is, it will cost a fortune and then be relegated to an attic. Our attics are full enough already. Until the death of my dear father-in-law, we assumed we would be somewhere else, but now Dominic is the hope of his house, he has to take these things seriously. We receive regular reports on the health of the king. Covertly, of course.”
“Of course,” Livia answered just as dryly as her sister. Dominic was much more than a peer of the realm, but he was happy to remain that way. But very few people knew that and worked hard to ensure it remained that way. The information he still received helped him and the others in the same situation maintain their silence.
“I planned to buy a small house somewhere and live as a widow with my child,” she said wistfully.
That brought Claudia’s head up. “You’ve found the baby? No, wait, he would be nearly ten by now. Where is he?”
Livia shook her head helplessly. “I tried. How can I find him after ten years?”
“And what does Jeffrey think about all this?” Claudia was the one person who knew the identity of her baby’s father.
Tears filled Livia’s eyes. The hurt Jeffrey could have assuaged, just by telling her. She’d fought so hard to keep the truth from him, thinking the information wouldn’t help Jeffrey’s new life with the woman he’d married. “He knew, Claudia. He knew about the baby, and he didn’t tell me that he knew.”
From the cold, hard expression on Claudia’s face now, she had not relented in her opinion of the man who had fathered her child. “What did he do then?”
“He’s been trying to find the boy. He wants to court me, and marry me.”
Claudia set to refilling the tea dishes. Not a tremor marred the smooth st
ream of tea from the pot. “I daresay he wanted to get out of the arrangement with poor Maria once he’d snared a better prospect. But his father always hated us. A diehard Tory, that man. If Jeffrey knew about the child, or the possibility of one, he should have acted like a man and stood up to his parents.”
Claudia put the pot down on its stand and reached for the milk jug. “So what do you want, Livia? The man you once loved? A man who you cannot trust? Or the man who has helped you hunt for what you lost? The one who looks at you with desire? The man who will never be described as comfortable and quiet, however long he lives? You’ve lived your life for the last ten years as a quiet, unassuming woman. But you and I know better. You’re as wild as me, given the opportunity. Going to that foundling hospital on your own? Did you even tell our mother?” Her mouth curved slightly when Livia didn’t reply. “I thought not. I’m proud of you, Livia.”
She refilled Livia’s tea dish and pushed it over to her. “Choose, and hold to your course. The neighbor who let you down once before, or the man who wants you so badly he can’t hide it? The man who would get anything for you that you wished for?”
“Oh my goodness!” Realization hit Livia with the power of a hammer. “He gave me my brooch back. I lost it on the day I visited the orphanage. It was stolen from me. Mickey, the duel, the story that nearly broke us up…” All of them Jeffrey’s doing. He had stolen the brooch that Adrian restored to her, he’d provoked the duel and spread the tale about Adrian and Marcus at the St. James’s Club.
Only then did the seesaw hit the ground and Livia knew the answer.
* * * *
Doubts assailed Livia again on the morning of her wedding, but she ignored them. She was right, and so was Claudia. Love was worth fighting for, and she would fight if she had to. Her husband-to-be was not an easy man. Even now, after she had given in to his demands to marry soon, he surrounded himself with an invisible shield she had only seen dropped once—when they made love.
Examining her appearance in the mirror, she decided she would do and brushed Finch’s efforts to get her to the pounce-pot aside. “No, no powder today.” The wedding was to be a quiet one, family only. And early. They would inform people after the fact. Even the bishop had been reluctant to marry them during Lent so they were doing it now, on the day after Christmas.
Livia was to become Duchess of Preston in a small ceremony at nine o’clock in the morning on the twenty-sixth of December. Her uncle the bishop waited for them in the family chapel. Livia was glad they could use the chapel at Haxby, the place she had used for her worship all her life. The pews were scarred with the names of past Shaws, carved by children, and occasionally by adults, during tedious sermons. Hers lay at the very bottom of the front pew, scratched with a pin, but deeply enough that she knew it was there, and would be for many years to come.
All her family had arrived, even Darius, who had arrived late last night with his business partner, Andrew Graham. Andrew had brought the copy of the marriage contract up for the family records in the Muniments Room downstairs, in the oldest part of the house.
After today, Haxby would no longer be her home. She had not yet seen her new homes. Her only truth remained—she loved the man she was about to marry.
The shock of that realization remained with her. But her twin had brought her to it, forcing her to face reality. If Livia did not marry Adrian, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
In the meantime, her courses had come and gone, late but copious and painful. However, when she had discreetly told Adrian, he’d reacted with dismay rather than the relief she’d expected. In a quiet moment, he’d taken her shoulders and kissed her. “Then we will have to keep trying, will we not?” Then he’d brought her a pot of tea and bade her sit before the fire. His knowledge of precisely what she had wanted affected her almost as much as his bald declaration that they would marry before Christmas. Almost, but nothing could conquer that.
When she’d told her mother she was abandoning her search for her child, Lady Strenshall had beamed with relief. “I’m so pleased, my dear! I thought you would never get over your sad loss, but you are right. You have been grieving for too long and it is time to look forward, not back.”
Grieving. Yes, that made so much sense. She had grieved for that baby, and refused to accept any other suitor, or any possibility at a new life. Jeffrey had continued with his life, even though his first steps had been forced on him. Now was her time. And not with Jeffrey.
He still wanted her; he’d made that clear by seeking her out when he’d come to dinner last week, but she’d made sure not to be alone with him. Finally her mother had named the emotion that had made Livia lose interest in everything except the baby and the loss of the man she had considered her love.
Finch opened the door for Livia and she stepped out of her room. She would not return to it alone. Already her mother had facilitated a discreet shuffling of rooms, so that Adrian occupied the one next door. He could easily get to her bed now, and she couldn’t wait.
Wearing her best ivory gown, printed and embroidered with red and blue sprays of flowers, and the matching petticoat, she felt very grand. White powder would not have suited this gown. The heavy sacque-back clung to her shape to the waist and flared out below. It made that sound that only expensive, heavy silk made, a kind of hushed swish. Shaking her ruffles into place, she made her way down to the chapel.
Everybody was waiting. Her siblings and their spouses. Even Darius and Andrew, who would leave immediately after the ceremony. Nobody could change their minds about that, although they’d tried. Marcus, her oldest brother, the future marquess, and his wife Viola, Valentinian with Charlotte, Darius and Andrew, Dru and Oliver, Claudia and Dominic. Outside this place they all had impressive-sounding titles, but here, they were family, and they needed no other names.
The chapel was old, always faintly smelling of damp. The oak pews, high-backed, were almost black with age, and the black-and-white diamond-patterned tiled floor bore the impressions of generations of feet passing over them.
The smell of damp laid under the stronger smells of lavender furniture polish and beeswax, but the overwhelming perfume came from the flowers that festooned the chapel. Not for her, but to mark the end of Advent and the celebrations of the festive season. They had gone to the village to join their neighbors for the Christmas service yesterday morning but had gathered here last night for prayers. Hothouse flowers decorated the rest of the house in glorious abundance. Here, white roses were wound around the pews and on the altar.
Her father waited for her. Dressed in his favorite brown velvet, his reassuringly familiar smile brought tears to her eyes. Her stomach tightened, but with excitement. He nodded and she smiled back, placing her hand on his arm.
No music heralded her arrival, where her betrothed waited for her. His hair was smoothly combed back, gleaming like a raven’s wing in the muted light of an overcast day. They’d had a sprinkling of snow, but for the most part it had gone now. Most likely they would see rain before nightfall.
Livia didn’t care. There, in dark green velvet, his waistcoat resplendent with gold jewelry, the man who represented the rest of her life waited for her.
He didn’t look around until she reached him. His dark eyes gazed into hers, as if trying to reassure himself about something. Livia floated serenely from her father to him, a smile flirting with her lips.
Together they turned to face the bishop.
In a remarkably short length of time she became the Duchess of Preston, and more importantly, the wife of Adrian Sterling. She learned that Adrian had only one name, that he could stand proud before the formidable personages behind him and that she loved him. She tried to tell him, lingering on the “love” part of the oaths, but he appeared oblivious, repeating his words as if by rote.
They had no separate vestry, so they moved to a table to one side, where the bishop had set the parish regi
ster for them to sign.
And that was it, done.
* * * *
Adrian tried not to panic, and then he discovered he did not panic at all. Seeing Livia settled him. She was radiant, happy, the woman he wanted, the only woman he wanted. That had come as a shock when he’d realized that. He wanted to get the ceremony over with as quickly as possible, so she could appear by his side.
Now he had a duchess to care for, one he could be proud of and show off to society. Of course he loved her. As they left the chapel he spared a thought for Anna, and a silent prayer that at last she could rest in peace. The constant effort to retain her unofficial title of “Most Beautiful Woman in England” had eventually killed her.
Livia was beautiful without putting in hours of effort. She was not afraid to display her true self. She had the background for that, with a supporting, loving family. Adrian had felt deeply alone, standing at the altar waiting for her, especially with the growing storm of the whole of the male Shaws glowering at his back. No doubt they would all warn him to take the greatest care of her. He could assure them all that he had every intention of doing so. But he would not allow them too close. Livia was his now, a Sterling, and his to care for.
Disappointment shaded his discovery that she was not enceinte, but they would deal with that soon enough. The marquess led the small procession to a room on the second floor, in the more modern part of the house. A breakfast parlor. Like the chapel this room had been decked out in festive glory. All the guests were assembled, not just the family, and they watched with wonder as Adrian entered, proudly escorting his new wife, her wedding ring on proud display.
* * * *
Livia’s life had changed forever in less than two hours. The thought made her shaky, even though part of her had suspected this might happen, whatever she thought about it.
Before the “What have I done?” panic set in, she forced her emotions down. She had made the right choice. With her hand hooked around her husband’s arm, she walked into the room, smiling. He tightened his hold, hugging her arm to his side, and leaned toward her to murmur, “Don’t look so worried.”
Boundless (The Shaws) Page 21