by Meara Platt
Climbing the steps that led to her bedchamber, she was forced to acknowledge that she knew very little, practically nothing, about this man to whom she’d just become engaged. As she rounded the corner, her body jerked when her dress caught on an ornamental knight standing guard. The corner of the shield had caught at her gown for the ten-thousandth time, drawing a mindless curse from her lips as she unhitched the material and continued to her chamber.
She had consented to marry a man she’d known for less than a week. And they would take their vows that very night!
Overwhelmed by her audacity, she strode across the room and, hugging herself, stared out the window. Having met Warwick, it was difficult to remember what had compelled her to apply for the position in the first place. Warwick seemed kind and gentle and everything that her stepfather had not been. Crawford had ruled his household with an unfair and heavy hand. He’d struck those who displeased him and harmed those who got in his way.
Lillian was doing this in order to protect herself from having to live as her mother had. She shivered.
It was a very good reason. A sensible one. A safe one.
The decision was a hasty one, but it might be her such only opportunity. Even if she married an old man, there was no guarantee she would ever have such freedom as Warwick promised her. With her luck, she’d marry the one old titled gentleman in all of London who surpassed the age of one hundred.
It was so very sad, though, Warwick’s condition. She blinked away some stinging in her eyes when her maid appeared in the doorway of Lillian’s dressing room.
Lillian informed Becky that she was not feeling well and then allowed the young woman to assist her back into her night rail and into bed. She felt quite the fraud, lying beneath the lightweight counterpane.
Lillian rolled onto her side after Becky had closed the drapes and quietly exited. Of course, she would not sleep—too many worries niggled at her. Would her mother be stubborn that she go with her that evening? Was he going to have difficulties obtaining a special license? Is all of this even real?
This might very well be the last time she would sleep in her own bed, in her mother’s home.
She would become a wife tonight and eventually, an independent woman.
For some reason, she did not fear the act of becoming a wife—not the physical act, anyhow. It was a rite of passage and millions of women had experienced it before her.
He’d indicated that he would not make any demands this evening. Hadn’t he? “…as for the rest, we can decide later. I will not expect you to… until you are comfortable.”
It was to be her decision.
She was nearly four and twenty. She had been courted by a respectable number of gentlemen; some handsome, some not—and she had allowed a few chaste kisses. Most had been nothing more than pleasant, but a few had resulted in her being repulsed by the man in question. No gentleman ought ever to kiss a lady following a meal heavy with garlic and onions, and even more importantly, after taking snuff.
Only one kiss had ever left her wanting more: William Carstairs. At the time, both of them had been all of six and ten and he’d lived in the village nearby. He was the son of a blacksmith, but he had been very handsome, dashing even. And oh, so very sweet.
It had been a fleeting crush, and yet she’d never enjoyed a kiss quite as much since.
When he’d completed his apprenticeship with his father, he’d moved to another village and married shortly after. She smiled at the fond memory. William had been a pleasant distraction from her home life.
The duke had not been able to make every aspect of her life unbearable. Not because he had tried, but simply because he hadn’t really cared about Lillian, Cora, or Martha.
Christian Masterson wanted to protect his sister, above all. A man who cared for his sister to such an extent could not be anything but a decent human being.
She wondered what he was thinking in that moment. Was he wishing he had married when he’d been younger, when he had not been compelled to make such a hasty decision? Was there someone he’d loved before being stricken with his illness?
Was he regretting his brash decision?
It was possible that her husband would never kiss her. She’d heard of such marriages; the type where the man did the bare minimum necessary in order to spend inside of his wife.
If that was the way of her marriage, so be it.
But if not… She shivered. Louella, her sister-in-law, had confided that lovemaking was one of her favorite aspects of marriage.
Lillian had been both relieved and disappointed when he’d backed away without touching his lips to hers. She smiled at her imagination. Likely, he’d only been leaning forward in order to see her more clearly—to assure himself that he wouldn’t mind staring at her face across the breakfast table for the remainder of his life, however long that may be.
So sad. He was too young. Too alive! It was not fair.
He had a few lovely creases at the outer edges of his eyes, as though he’d smiled often before he’d learned of his fate.
Melancholy settled on her.
And then she smiled.
Her betrothed had shown love and affection to the mutt who’d followed him into the room. The dog had been so comfortable that he’d rested his chin upon his master’s boots.
Her racing heart slowed, and her fists unclenched.
Her stepfather’s dogs had feared him. They’d avoided his feet at all costs.
She exhaled a deep breath and snuggled deeper into her pillow. She was not making a mistake.
Chapter Four
An Unexceptional Ceremony
“Your mother is like to be frantic when she discovers your absence,” Becky warned as she scurried to keep up with Lillian, who was striding along the sidewalk in a most determined fashion. They were leaving later than Lillian had expected and she did not want Christian to think she had changed her mind.
It was possible, she supposed.
The thought hit her with such force that her reticule slipped from her fingers. She shook her head. If he did, well, then… Lillian realized she’d have to find another way. She’d have to continue evading the lords her mother threw in Lillian’s path.
Feeling numb, she bent down and retrieved the cloth bag. She was eager to begin this adventure!
She did not want him to die. No, not at all! But she wanted to do something worthwhile for once. The past few years she’d felt as though she was merely going through life without purpose or direction.
Lillian increased the length of her strides despite her maid’s occasional complaint and felt considerable relief when they turned onto Chesterfield Hill and the numerals 312 came into sight.
“It’s not too late to return to your mother’s home, Lady Lillian. Are you certain you wish to do this?” her maid asked from behind her as they stepped up to the door.
“I am, Becky,” Lillian assured her with confidence as the butler opened the door.
The intimidating gentleman’s demeanor was considerably different than it had been earlier that day as he bowed in her direction. “Lady Lillian, we’ve been expecting you.” He assisted her with her bonnet this time, and then another servant, a woman, appeared to welcome Becky before sweeping her away along with Lillian’s valise.
“I am Mr. Crane,” the butler informed her. “His Grace is this way, if you will follow me.”
Lillian nodded and clutched her hands in front of her as she ascended an elegant staircase behind him. Christian had not changed his mind then. Surely, she would not be met with such a welcome if he intended to call the ceremony off.
Mr. Crane stopped before a large wooden door with intricate carvings and opened it with a flourish. Lillian swallowed hard and stepped forward.
Christian glanced up as Mr. Crane announced her and she realized her dress was nearly the identical color of his eyes.
Her high-waisted sapphire silk gown had delicate flowers embroidered at the hem. It wasn’t fussy, but it certainly was not a
simple day dress. It was to be her wedding, after all.
“Lady Lillian.” Appreciation and perhaps… relief?... shone from behind his spectacles as he approached with an outstretched hand. His smile nearly took her breath. He somehow succeeded at looking intelligent and yet dashingly handsome at the same time.
Ah, yes. She was indeed attracted to this gentleman. “Your Grace.” She dropped into an easy curtsey and then placed her hand in his.
He squeezed hers gently. “I’d like to introduce you to my sister.”
A young lady stood stiffly behind him. With the same color hair as Christian and eyes that were almost as blue, the younger girl was taller than Lillian but very thin.
“Bernadette,” Christian said gently. “This is Lady Lillian, my… betrothed.” He nearly tripped on the word. “Lillian, I’m honored to introduce you to my sister, Lady Bernadette Masterson.”
Lillian curtseyed to the young girl, who dropped into a brief curtsey as well. Her eyes weren’t as friendly as her brother’s. They held more than a hint of suspicion.
Lillian did not blame her.
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
The girl’s nod was curt, which earned her a scowl from her brother. Despite the tension in the room, Lillian wanted to laugh at the interaction between the two siblings. She remembered all too well what it had felt like to be Bernadette’s age.
Christian then introduced her to a gentleman wearing a cleric’s collar, the Bishop of London—apparently an old family friend—who had risen from a high-backed chair near the hearth. Christian—her fiancé!—then led Lillian across the room toward a desk where a shorter man stood from where he’d been reading through a collection of papers: Mr. Hastings, the solicitor.
Lillian nodded solemnly but then smiled when, glancing down, she caught sight of the very average-looking dog trailing behind them.
“I didn’t catch your dog’s name.” She made an attempt at levity as she pointed toward her betrothed’s loyal companion.
“Horace.” Christian met her gaze with a smile before he furrowed his brows. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.”
Christian gestured toward the chair vacated by the solicitor and then slid some papers toward her.
“I want you to go over these. If you have any concerns or questions, Mr. Hastings will address them. If you require any changes, I’ve instructed him to act on your behalf.”
She didn’t want to keep everyone waiting. “I can read them later. Afterward…”
Christian shook his head. “I’ll feel better if you read them now. Take all the time you wish. The rest of us will have a drink and wait across the room. When you are quite satisfied with the provisions, and only when you are certain that you are, I will have your maid brought down for the ceremony.”
Lillian swallowed hard but nodded. Since the document seemed to be written in mostly indiscernible legal speak, she spent the next twenty or so minutes asking questions and then hearing explanations from Christian’s very forthcoming man of business.
The only misgivings she experienced were at the generosity in the annuity set aside for her. Her hand shook at the gravity of her decision when she signed on the line Mr. Hastings indicated.
Becky arrived shortly thereafter. Sending one last questioning glance in Lillian’s direction, she joined Lady Bernadette on the sofa. And then it was time. With no further reasons to delay, Lillian stood facing the bishop, the Duke of Warwick at her side, prepared to enter the sacrament of marriage.
She glanced at her groom nervously and then, in something of a daze, responded in the affirmative and then repeated words as required by the bishop.
Her throat felt unusually thick when she recited the phrase…”…for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.”
Till death…
He would likely not remain in good health for long. She’d not considered the solemnity of the vows until that moment. She did not love him as the vows promised, and yet, she thought that the two of them could become friends.
How long before his illness overtook him? Did he suffer already?
He slid a gold band on her finger and handed her a larger one to slide onto his. In no time at all, the Bishop declared them man and wife.
Christian did not kiss her, but he squeezed her hands before releasing them and then turning to shake hands with the bishop while Mr. Hastings brought forth what Lillian surmised must be the marriage license.
Her husband—her husband!—signed his own name and then handed Lillian the quill. Next, Lady Bernadette stepped forward to dash her name off rather quickly and then, when it was Becky’s turn, the maid did so with the utmost solemnity and care.
“Many thanks.” Christian shook the bishop’s hand again as well as his solicitor’s. Lady Bernadette excused herself and Becky curtsied and said she’d await her ladyship—Her Grace, rather—in the mistress’ chamber.
Which left Lillian and Christian alone with nothing but the ticking of a clock on the mantle sounding between them. As though nothing of great import had occurred only moments before, Lillian dropped onto the leather settee and Christian lit a flint and then walked around the room, touching it to the wicks in the sconces on the wall. The light coming in through the windows had nearly disappeared. The summer days were long, but the hour had grown late.
Was he nervous too? She didn’t know him well enough to guess his emotions in that moment. When he sat down beside her, however, he began shaking his leg, just as he had on their first meeting, until Horace sauntered over and placed his chin on his master’s foot.
“When you didn’t arrive as we initially agreed upon, I believed you had changed your mind.” His voice sounded strained, and she realized that he had put up a front with the others present. A brave one. “Although, I could not hold it against you.”
Lillian turned her body so that she could study his face. “My mother took her time leaving the house.” And then she wondered, “Would that have bothered you if I had? Would you have been disappointed?”
Meeting her gaze, he frowned. “You are more beautiful than I remembered.” He didn’t wait for her response but answered her question. “And yes, I would have been disappointed. But I could hardly blame you. But of course, I would not wish for you to go through with it if you had misgivings.”
His spectacles only partially hid his eyes. He appeared tired. He’d accomplished a great deal while she’d slept the afternoon away.
“I had some misgivings.” For the first time that evening, she was able to get a proper look at him. She smiled. “I did not change my mind.”
“You did not.” She suppressed a grin at the absurdity of their conversation.
His rich chestnut hair was fashionably combed and his face freshly shaven. She rather liked how he looked in his spectacles. They gave him a scholarly look, made him appear less of a rogue. Tonight, his clothing was diligently pressed, his shoes shined to a high polish, and his cravat tied into something many might consider a work of art.
“You are lovely—“ He cleared his throat. He’d been studying her as well. “I hardly recognized you when you entered the study.” Although he sat beside her, they were not touching. He’d said they would decide how they would proceed later that evening.
“Thank you. You as well. I mean. Your clothes—“
The smile he gave her was more genuine than any she’d seen from him all evening. “I’m surprised you took me seriously this morning. When I returned above stairs, my valet was most disapproving. And thank you.”
Lillian laughed nervously but then wondered exactly how one broached a conversation such as the one they needed to have.
His leg began jumping again, and she couldn’t help but drop her gaze toward it meaningfully. “This is a rather unusual situation; would you not agree?”
His eyes went to his knee as well and the jumping stopped. “My apologies. My sister complains that it is my most ann
oying habit.” He met her eyes again. “It is most unusual indeed.” He glanced around. “Have you eaten yet? I considered having my staff serve a formal meal but wasn’t sure you would be up to it.”
“We have a good deal to learn about one another.” She found some relief in knowing she wasn’t alone in her discomfort. In answer to his question, she had not eaten anything all day but didn’t fancy a heavy meal. Especially if they were going to begin their quest for a child that night… “I have not, but I am glad we will not be forced to sit through a drawn out affair.” And then a thought struck her. “Is your sister expecting us to take a meal with her?” Already, Lillian recognized some resentment, and she didn’t want to do anything that might exacerbate that.
He shook his head. “Not tonight.” The faintest hint of red crept up his neck. “If you are not opposed to the idea, we may take a meal together, in your chamber… in your sitting room, that is.”
Lillian didn’t realize her eyes had opened wide until he spoke again.
“You are not obligated. As I promised earlier—“ he began.
“That sounds perfect,” she interrupted him. She had a duty to fulfill and she intended to do everything she could to uphold her end of the bargain. To delay would only likely only cause both of them unnecessary anxiety. “We mustn’t waste time. Unless you are too tired.”
He sat up straight, as though her decision surprised him. “I’ve learned to function with or without sleep.”
Lillian wondered if he suffered already. She would not make him wait. The sooner she conceived, the better. “I will change for the night, if you’d care to join me in… one hour?”
His eyes met hers searchingly. “If you are sure?”
Waiting would benefit neither of them. “Yes.” She would not change her mind. She was nearly four and twenty; it was time she experienced something other than that which only a well-behaved daughter and a responsible older sister knew.
Christian sat on the cushioned chair in his chamber and glanced at his timepiece for the hundredth time. Simmons moved in and out of the dressing room, doing whatever it was he did, having already dispatched of Christian’s evening clothes and assisted him into a silk banyan. Christian had only endured yet another shave because his valet had pointed out that even the shortest of whiskers would leave abrasions on his bride’s fair skin.
