Always the Bridesmaid

by E K Murdoch, Emily

  Without any warning, a thought of herself broke into her imagination as though it had always been there, waiting to be set free. Of her kissing Richard St. Maur, Duke of Axwick. His hands around her waist, hers entwined in his hair, his lips taking possession—and his tongue, ravishing her, pleasuring her.

  Tabitha gasped aloud at the scandalous nature of the thought and how much she wanted it.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Miss Chesworth?” Letitia asked.

  You are at a ball, she reminded herself, a private ball, but one packed with people. You must conduct yourself with grace.

  “I am quite well, thank you.” She smiled at her friend, but she had forgotten with whom they had been standing.

  “Ah, it must be all the excitement from the wedding last week,” nodded Lady Romeril sagely. “It can often take girls this way, if they are not prepared for the dignity of attention from so many. Tell me, Miss Chesworth, was it your first time being a bridesmaid?”

  It took a great deal of effort for Tabitha to hide her irritation.

  “No, Lady Romeril,” she said with a sweet smile belying the hurt she felt. “’Twas the third time.”

  “The third time!” Lady Romeril laughed. “My, my, well, you must have heard the old saying! Always a bridesmaid—”

  “Never a bride,” Tabitha chimed in, hiding her despondency.

  “Ah, you will have to excuse me.” Lady Romeril’s eyes had drifted away from them, spotting someone who had entered the room. “I must go and greet…”

  She walked away before she could give them the courtesy of explaining whose company was more desirous than theirs, and Tabitha slumped against the wall.

  Letitia shook her head. “If it bothers you, why do you tell people?”

  “Why do you not dance?” Tabitha retorted. “You love it so, but you have not asked a single gentleman whether he would like to take to the floor with you. Why not ask, if you despise being a wallflower?”

  Letitia smiled, but there was hurt behind her eyes, and Tabitha hated herself. Her friend had only tried to be kind.

  “If I had your courage,” Letitia said quietly, “I probably would have done.”

  Tabitha’s heart twisted. Letitia had not asked for shyness, and it was neither kind nor fair to blame her for being so.

  Taking her friend’s hand in hers, she said quietly so the gentlemen passing them to find the card room could not hear, “One day, the most incredible man, one who is kind, loving, and above all, gentle, will see the beauty in you and ask you to dance. And that will be the beginning of a story you will tell your children, Letitia.”

  The wan smile on Letitia’s face did not broaden, but the hurt disappeared from her eyes. “Even if you believe that, Tabitha, why should I? No gentleman has asked me to dance in my entire life, and I am a Cavendish! If my name and wealth are not sufficient to tempt someone, my features certainly will not be enough.”

  Tabitha was spared the discomfort of answering, for the end of the dance arrived, and applause rang out around the room.

  She was about to drop Letitia’s hand and join in the applause when instead, her eyes widened and her grip tightened.

  “Tabitha?” Letitia gasped. “What is it?”

  She could not answer. She had not expected this, not expected him. But then why should he not be here? Lady Romeril only invited those who were impressive after all. A duke would always be welcome.

  Letitia had turned to see a tall man with dark hair and an impressively cut coat enter the room.

  “Who is he?”

  He was even more handsome then she remembered, and here he was, as though he had walked out of her imagination and into the room.

  “That,” she whispered under her breath, “is Axwick.”

  “Who?”

  A gentle breeze might blow her over. It had been difficult in the last few days to force Richard—Axwick, she must remember to call him Axwick or he would have won—out of her mind. She had wanted to speak with him more, discover more about him.

  She was but a woman. A gentleman could go and call on a young lady who caught his eye, providing he was of good reputation and good intentions.

  But she? She was just a woman. Despite her teasing of Letitia, a young lady had to wait to be asked to dance, to wait to be wooed and courted, and even after marriage, would have little say in her life.

  No, the best she could hope for was seeing him again and that he would remember her. Her eyes did not waver from him as he smiled and greeted people as he entered the room.

  Tabitha’s stomach lurched painfully as he took a few steps in her direction. Was it too forward, too wanton to hope he would look her way? Too much to hope he would see her and ask her to dance?

  “Who is Axwick?” Letitia repeated.

  Tabitha’s stomach clenched. “Shh!”

  The last thing she wanted was for him to think she had been trying covertly to gain his attention, but it was too late. He turned his head to see who had spoken his name, and a smile broader than she could possibly have hoped for spread across his face as their eyes met.

  Without waiting to listen to his current companion, Axwick made his way toward her.

  “You never said you had an admirer,” hissed Letitia, dropping Tabitha’s hand and gazing open-mouthed.

  “I do not!” Tabitha hissed back. “I have only met him once and… Good evening, Axwick.”

  She sunk into a curtsey and felt Letitia drop, too. Thank goodness she had not been alone when he’d spotted her, or would she have preferred to have him to herself?

  As she rose, a curl of dark hair dropped over Axwick’s forehead. If he had needed anything else to make him perfect, that was it.

  “Miss Chesworth,” he spoke in a low voice, gazing at her with the ferocity she remembered so well.

  Tabitha stared, drinking him in as if she would never be given the pleasure of laying eyes on him again. Not a single word, beyond their names, had been uttered; there was not a single thought in her head about what she could possibly say.

  “I had not expected to see you here,” she said, and immediately wondered why. He was aristocracy, where else would he be?

  “And yet I knew you would be here.” He grinned. “My sister sends you her best wishes, by the way. Have you a message to return to her?”

  Tabitha hardly knew what to say. That Lady Charlotte would even think of her, after two short meetings, was strange enough. That Axwick wanted to take a message back to her…

  “N-no,” she said to fill the silence. “Except my best wishes in return.”

  Foolish girl, she scolded herself. Are you but fifteen years of age and unable to understand the expectations of polite society? Say something, anything!

  “The musicians are talented.” Tabitha hated the insipidity of her statement, but she could think of nothing more.

  Axwick did not seem to mind. On the contrary, he smiled at her and with none of the teasing venom from before. “Yes, Lady Romeril borrowed them from Prinny, not that I think he has noticed.”

  Tabitha laughed. “The last I heard of Prinny, there was very little he noticed at all.”

  He laughed with her, and something painful stirred in her stomach. She would not allow herself to hope. He had been direct with her; she knew he was not looking for a bride.

  But if one’s person was flattered, was there any harm?

  “I did not know you were acquainted with our Regent.”

  “I am not,” she confessed, “but I read the newspapers like anyone else, and though I believe most of it to be false, some truth must be reported occasionally, even if it is by accident.”

  “You have strong opinions for one so young,” Axwick observed as the dancers came to the end of their set behind him.

  Tabitha flushed. “Not so young as I once was.”

  “Who is?” He shrugged. “But you have evidently put your time to good use, Miss Chesworth. I will admit, I enjoy conversing with you. And that is more than I can say for most of th
e chittering ladies in here.”

  A moment of understanding flitted between them, and heat rose in her chest.

  Flirtations she had had with a few gentleman, but nothing had emerged of any seriousness. This was different. She knew it could amount to nothing, but somehow that made it more wild, more adventurous. She could say anything to the Duke of Axwick and not lose him. She did not have him. She never could.

  Letitia nudged her.

  “Have you had the pleasure of being introduced to Lady Letitia Cavendish?” Tabitha asked, turning to smile at her friend.

  Letitia, never comfortable with new people at the best of times, stared back with equal panic, but her elegant breeding came to the fore. She smiled at Axwick nervously.

  Axwick gave her friend a perfunctory bow.

  “Lady Letitia, Richard St. Maur, sixteenth Duke of Axwick,” Tabitha said.

  A feeling crept into her heart never felt before, and it was fear, fear that Axwick would take one look at Letitia, a beauty and a Cavendish, and forget her.

  The musicians still played, the dancers still danced, a horde of guests were circulating the room, chatting, laughing, scolding, but they all fell away silently into the background when he was standing before her. Do not forget me.

  “And are you enjoying Lady Romeril’s ball, Lady Letitia?”

  His question was innocuous, but Letitia’s face turned beetroot red as she stammered incoherently.

  Tabitha moved quickly to rescue her friend. “We have both greatly enjoyed the evening so far. Lady Romeril’s entertainment is always first rate.”

  She glanced at Letitia. Nature was cruel to give her such beauty and shyness.

  “I do not believe I had the pleasure of seeing you at one of Lady Romeril’s previous balls,” the duke continued, seemingly oblivious to the sharp embarrassment he was causing in one young lady, and the fire of envy in the other. “Are you often in Bath, Lady Letitia?”

  Letitia turned her gaze pleadingly toward Tabitha.

  “We both come for the Season,” Tabitha said, more than a little pleased to have his attention. “Lady Letitia and I have been intimate acquaintances due to a happy accident a few years ago. A gown of mine was delivered to her. The ensuing confusion enabled us to grow close, and we enjoy our time in Bath prodigiously.”

  She watched the duke’s gaze move up and down Letitia’s form and felt an overwhelming desire to step in front of her friend and block her from his view. This was madness; she barely knew him, and yet she felt so possessive over him as though he was her husband.

  Her husband. What a wild thought—it shocked her to think of such a thing. He was not in the matrimony market.

  Another dance suddenly ended, and the musicians received their well-earned applause. Tabitha clapped, but when she turned back to Axwick, he was still staring at her.

  “Would you like to dance, Miss Chesworth?”

  His gaze was hungry.

  The musicians began their opening notes of the next dance, and gentlemen reached for the hands of ladies.

  Tabitha tried to breathe. “Dance?”

  Axwick smiled, and the handsome lines of his face only became more pronounced. “’Tis customary when one attends a ball to seek out the most beautiful woman in the room and elicit her permission to dance. You know me, Miss Chesworth. Ever a slave to decorum.”

  A prickle of delight crept over Tabitha, and she could not help but smile. It would be a mistake to become more intimately acquainted with a man who had told her that his intentions were certainly not marital. The very last thing she should do is entertain a connection to such a man.

  He was a gentleman who not only knew what he wanted but was determined to get it. Tabitha flushed at the suggestion.

  Her.

  The gentle refusal was already forming in her mind—careful, considerate, and best of all, certain—but it got lost on the way to her tongue. There was something about this man, something that drew her to him, something she could not resist. Did not want to resist.

  “Thank you, Axwick,” she said lightly, as though she had not been forced to conquer an internal struggle to accept him. She held out a hand.

  Letitia’s eyes and mouth were open, and Tabitha knew precisely why. To speak to a duke in such an intimate manner! To call him by his title, in complete disregard for society’s rules…and in public.

  It was hard for Tabitha to remember that this was only their second meeting.

  As intoxicating as the duke was, Tabitha was not totally insensitive of Letitia’s disappointment. She was to lose her companion by the wall, and Tabitha’s heart broke for her. In a family like the Cavendishes, one did not breed a wallflower.

  Concerns for her friend selfishly slipped away as Axwick took her hand and placed it on his arm, causing pleasant shivers up and down her spine.

  With each step they took, Tabitha felt more and more people staring, and by the time they reached the end of the set, it felt as though the weight of the world was upon them.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but there were a few whispers and glances of surprise at the striking but aloof Duke of Axwick taking to the dance floor. A lady pointed at her, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

  Axwick murmured, “Are you ready to call me St. Maur yet?”

  Tabitha smiled as he took his place in the set. “As I have still only spent a total of fifteen minutes in your company, I cannot help but feel Axwick is more appropriate.”

  The musicians struck up their introductory notes, and Tabitha dipped into a curtsey along with the other women standing in a row to her right.

  “Will thirty minutes be enough?” He did not take his glittering eyes from her.

  It was all Tabitha could do to prevent her smile from broadening, but she was determined and shook her head. She would not fall victim to his charms, no matter what.

  “Sixty minutes?”

  Tabitha laughed, and the three ladies nearest them stared at her. “No, Axwick.”

  The dance began. The ladies stepped forward with their arms outstretched and turned around their partners. As Tabitha’s gaze circled the room, she could see with dismay Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke and Mrs. Bryant were both pointing and staring at her—two of the biggest gossips in Bath.

  “I appear to be causing quite a scene by standing up with you,” she murmured dryly, at a point in the dance close enough to converse without being overheard. “Should I be concerned of any dark secrets in your past?”

  She returned to her place in the set, and the gentlemen moved as one toward the ladies.

  “No,” said Axwick shortly. “As part of my vow never to wed, I have not danced for the last three years.”

  Her face tightened with shock as they clasped hands with the pair beside them.

  “I am…” She tried again in a low whisper, “I am the first woman you have danced with…in three years?”

  He nodded as they changed direction, and Tabitha tried desperately to concentrate on the dance as emotions churned within her, overwhelming her and forcing her into silence.

  The first woman he has danced with for over three years? No wonder the gossips of the ton could not stop staring at her! Why was he singling her out? He must have a reason. She barely knew him, but she could tell Richard St. Maur never did anything without due consideration.

  They parted and circled back to their places. Despite the slowness of the dance, Tabitha’s heart was pounding. Could this mean…was it possible Axwick was changing his mind about marriage?

  He stepped toward her with hands outstretched, and she took them, as was expected in the dance. What was not expected was the sudden shudder of heat between them. She looked quickly into his eyes. He had felt it, too.

  “Do you want to get married one day?” The question from Axwick was abrupt, and he dropped his gaze.

  There was not enough air in the room to breathe, but Tabitha managed to answer in a hoarse voice, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  It was impossible not to blush. They were p
arading slowly through the set, arms entwined, hands clasped, and it felt almost like a proposal. Her reason told her it was a mere question of curiosity, and that was all.

  Surely, that was all?

  As they reached the end of the set, they took their respective places, and while everyone watched the next pair, Tabitha and Axwick simply stared at each other.

  A question was burning in Tabitha’s heart. “Have you ever considered it? Since taking your vow, I mean.”

  She made a conscious effort not to hold her breath as she waited for his answer. Axwick did not move, and in the intervening seconds, she wondered if he had even heard her. His eyes moved purposely down her body.

  “No,” he said finally in a low voice, eyes returning to hers. “I will never marry.”

  “Why?”

  She wanted to rush toward him and take him by the hand, lead him somewhere they could talk in private. There was such depth to him. A depth she had never seen in another gentleman before. Something had happened to Axwick. Something dark and destructive, and it had destroyed a part of him, even if he did not know it.

  At the exact moment he opened his mouth, the dance ended, and the room erupted with applause.

  Axwick closed his mouth with a smile and bowed. Tabitha replied with a curtsey, but by the time she had risen, he was standing before her and had taken her hand in his.

  He did not speak. They walked away from the crowd, feverish mutterings and pointing following them as they passed. Tabitha had no idea where he was taking her, but something about the set of his jaw told her this was not the time to ask questions.

  They passed through the door into the hallway, mercifully quiet as the ball was at its height. A clock was chiming a quarter to midnight.

  Lady Romeril’s architect had spared no expense, and in the latest fashion, she had ordered pillars to be added to her hallway. Axwick led her to the one furthest away from the ballroom and pulled her behind it so they were hidden from those passing through the hallway.

  “I have no wish to lie to you,” he said in a low voice, staring at her as though attempting to read her mind.

  “I have no wish to be lied to,” she breathed.

  In the silence of the hallway, she could hear his ragged breathing. For the first time in their acquaintance, he was not controlled.