The Duke Who Loved Me
Page 22
She couldn’t help but compare Ada’s lively festivities with her own plans, about which she evaded all questions. She had decreed a small ceremony with just a few people in attendance. The date—tomorrow!—and place were not precisely secret. They simply hadn’t told anyone. The distinction without a difference made her smile. She’d decided on this course because she thought Prince Karl the sort of person who enjoyed revenge, and she did not want some disagreeable scene enacted at her wedding. Why give him opportunities when she needn’t?
Perhaps it would not be the lavish celebration girls dreamed of, but that didn’t matter. Her greater wish had come true; she would be James’s wife. She’d wished for that since she was seventeen, and the knowledge made her heart sing.
Yes, she had doubts. It was not exactly the love match she’d longed for. But the last few weeks had convinced her that something sweet could grow between them. And that was enough, was it not?
Cecelia pushed this concern aside. She’d taken her future into her own hands; that was the important thing. She’d reached out for what she wanted and secured it. She would find a way to success. Hadn’t she often done so in the past? This wasn’t some estate problem or financial issue, of course. She was still not certain what James felt, for example. Except that he had easily agreed.
She wondered if her mother had felt as if her heart was in her throat when she arranged her future. James’s blank look when she’d begun had nearly stopped her cold. But then he’d said that he’d spent half the night trying to find the right words to convince her. She clung to that. With a wisp of regret that she had not waited a little and let him speak.
“How do people bear the tedium of these things?” asked her aunt. “Chatter, chatter, chatter, all empty.”
Cecelia turned to the small fair-haired woman at her side. As she so seldom had been before. Aunt Valeria’s presence had actually caused a small stir, since she never appeared in society. “Well, you won’t have to endure it again. Your job is nearly over. After tomorrow, I shall be gone.”
Her aunt looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Now you can, and be glad,” replied Cecelia.
“Will your father wish me to leave, do you think?”
Aunt Valeria, and Papa, would always consider themselves first, Cecelia acknowledged. It was their nature. “He will need someone to manage the household,” she answered.
“Deal with Cook and the coal merchant and…all that sort of thing?” Her aunt frowned. “I suppose I could. A bit. You will be nearby to help out.”
This was not a happy prospect, and Cecelia nearly denied it. But she was silenced by the sudden realization that she didn’t know where she would be after tomorrow. She would be married. That was certain. But where would they go after the ceremony? Where would they settle? Not in the shambles of Tereford House surely? James couldn’t mean to do that. Did he have a plan? When had he ever had a plan? She was the planner everyone relied upon. But she hadn’t. She’d leapt without really looking, and now life was rushing forward at a frantic pace to…where? This was so unlike her familiar self. They should have talked. They should have discussed…everything. Something!
Charlotte and Sarah approached, each carrying two plates heaped with wedding delicacies. “Lobster patties,” said Charlotte, holding out one.
“Oh splendid,” said Aunt Valeria, taking the plate even though Charlotte had clearly meant it for Cecelia.
“Are you all right?” asked Sarah.
“I feel…sightly dizzy,” said Cecelia.
“Oh dear. It’s probably the heat. It’s dreadfully close in here.” Sarah handed a plate to Charlotte and took Cecelia’s arm. “Come and sit down.”
“I don’t think that will help.”
“Are you ill?” asked Aunt Valeria. “Can we go?” She ate two lobster patties in quick succession.
“I don’t know where,” muttered Cecelia, too distracted to notice their stares.
***
James tracked down Henry Deeping at his lodgings preparing to go out for the evening. “Henry, you’ve been a hard man to find lately.”
“I’ve been out of town for a few days. Stanley wanted to see a mill. My brother, you know.”
“Yes, Henry, I remember that your brother is called Stanley. One of them. The others are Cecil and Bertram, the youngest.”
“Well done, James.” Henry made a final adjustment to his neckcloth.
“I am going to be married tomorrow, Henry. I hoped you might stand up with me at the ceremony.”
“Is it tomorrow? I saw the announcement of your engagement, of course.”
“And sent a note of congratulation. Very proper. Diplomatically so. I answered it, with my request for your support at the wedding.”
“Oh. You did?”
“I did.” James examined his old friend. Henry’s gaze seemed evasive. “What is the matter?”
“May I ask you a question?”
This was odd. Did Henry not wish to stand by him at the wedding? James found that idea curiously lowering.
“Are you marrying Miss Vainsmede because of the prince?” Henry asked. “Out of a chivalrous impulse to save her reputation?”
“I am marrying her because I wish to. I told you that weeks ago.”
“You did. But much has happened since then.”
“Nothing to the purpose,” said James, pushing back a quiver of anger.
“That’s good then. Of course Miss Vainsmede is a fine choice.”
James thought of saying that it had not been entirely a choice, but he didn’t. Cecelia’s proposal would be a secret he cherished all his life.
“It’s just that…”
“What is it, Henry? You’re not usually so…oblique.”
Henry sighed. “I’m not sure how to… You know I’ve become rather friendly with Stephan Kandler during their visit.”
“Who?” James wondered what this had to do with anything.
“Stephan Kandler, Prince Karl’s aide. I introduced you. He was at Lady Tate’s evening as well.”
James supposed he might have been. But he didn’t see why Henry wanted to talk about the fellow.
“He may be of some help with the prince.”
“I have no need of help, since I don’t intend to ever think of him again.”
Henry went on as if James hadn’t spoken. “This is not the first time Prince Karl has…behaved in a shameful manner. He has a habit of bullying people, particularly women, with false stories. He was sent on this trip to see the wider world, understand that he cannot ride roughshod over everyone, and modify his behavior. With a view toward becoming a wiser ruler when that time comes. But it has not worked.”
“Obviously,” said James. “And I don’t really care a fig about his future, Henry.”
His friend held up a hand. “His father is not pleased with his progress, and he has given Kandler permission to do something about it.”
“Take Prince Karl away from England, I hope.”
“He has no power to do that.”
“Too bad.”
“He will act, however. In case that should make a difference in your plans.”
James struggled with his temper. It seemed that Henry was trying to discourage him from marrying Cecelia. Why would he do that? Did Henry—Henry!—think that Cecelia had been tainted by the gossip? If so, he thought less of his friend. He didn’t want to do that. “I would be glad to see Prince Karl paid back for his infamy, through some other agency than mine,” James said carefully. “I shan’t have anything to do with it.”
“That’s very…astute of you.”
Did he sound surprised? “Were you still expecting that I would waylay him some dark night and beat him senseless?” asked James dryly. The man who’d struck Prince Karl after their fencing bout seemed distant to him now.
James waited.
Henry looked uncomfortable. “You began talking of marriage to Miss Vainsmede as a kind of…contest with the prince.”
That wasn’t right. He’d asked her before he knew the fellow existed. He thought he’d told Henry that. But Prince Karl had…altered his courtship. That much was true. As well as unfairly maligning Cecelia. Suddenly, James wondered if she’d changed her mind because of that. She’d refused him, rather firmly, and then she’d turned about and proposed to him after the prince tried to ruin her reputation. Many thought Cecelia very fortunate to have “snagged” him and redeemed her social position. He’d heard that said of her, perhaps had been meant to overhear it. She’d mentioned the rumors, of course, in case he wished to withdraw. But had it been a maneuver? To goad him into moving ahead?
No! Cecelia wasn’t that sort of person. She possessed the highest moral character. She’d changed her mind because…
James realized that he could not definitively complete this sentence, and that, unlike all the rest, worried him. She’d tossed his foolish arguments back at him and spoken of a deal, the advantages to them both. But she’d rejected those ideas the first time. Was she really marrying him to save her reputation? He was happy to do so, naturally. He would have eradicated the prince if that had been possible. But there was more involved in their union. Was there not?
He was having doubts, James realized. He wasn’t accustomed to doubts. He never had them. And he didn’t like them. At all. It was ridiculous. This whole match had been his idea. He refused to doubt.
“Hasty marriages do go wrong,” said Henry.
His match was not hasty. He’d known Cecelia for years. Yet never thought of marrying her until the responsibilities of a dukedom descended upon him, a dry inner voice pointed out. And a rival appeared. The last few weeks had felt rather…headlong. Henry thought James was marrying out of pique, or an irresistible desire to win a competition. He suspected his grandmother thought the same. And others? Perhaps. All of society thought they could have an opinion and exercise their wagging tongues, it seemed. Marriage was not simply an agreement between two people. “The prince has nothing to do with my wedding plans,” he said in an even tone.
His friend nodded. “All right.”
“Do you not wish to stand up with me, Henry?” James was conscious of a mournful annoyance. Why had Henry thought it necessary to roil the waters in this way? “If you would rather be excused…”
“Of course I would not.”
“You seem reluctant.”
“I just wanted you to know…to be certain.”
“And if I wasn’t?”
“Then I’d help you get out of it.”
How had Henry imagined that might happen? A gentleman could not draw back from an engagement. He’d procured a special license, engaged a parson. And he didn’t wish to cry off. He couldn’t imagine being married to anyone other than Cecelia. He would simply like to understand that she felt the same.
Seventeen
Cecelia woke late on her wedding day, though she was always up early. She came swimming up from a sea of dreams she did not remember. Thus it became a rush to dress in the sea-green gown she’d chosen for the ceremony, find bonnet and gloves, and ride over to the church. There was no time to wonder if she’d made the right decision or worry about the future.
Her father and aunt, who accompanied her, added a sense of disconnection as the three of them so seldom traveled anywhere together. They commented on the fine weather and the sight of a climbing rose as if this was any carriage ride on any late spring day. They did not seem concerned that with this ceremony she was leaving them forever. Though Cecelia had felt rather differently about her father since his story of meeting Mama, he remained exactly the same.
They came to the church and found James and Henry Deeping waiting there. Cecelia hadn’t invited anyone else. Once she was married, at some future time, she would celebrate with all her friends. For now she preferred that word not get out.
The priest was ready. They stood before him and heard the familiar phrases of the wedding service. Cecelia spoke her vows clearly, as did James. She’d chosen this, she thought as she signed the register. There was no cause for unease. And yet, with a few words spoken and a signature on a piece of paper, she’d taken on a lifetime of duties and expectations. Perhaps pleasures and joys as well. Of course, those. She loved James. She’d dreamed of being his wife. But she hadn’t thought it would feel so…tentative even as it was also a personal revolution.
And then, in less than an hour’s time, it was done. In the eyes of society, her status was changed. She was a married woman and a peeress of the realm. Their small party came out of the church and paused on the cobblestones before it.
“Where are you off to now?” asked her father, once again as if it was any ordinary morning and she might be planning to make calls or take a walk in the park.
This was the other dilemma. Cecelia didn’t know. Ned had picked up a valise she and her maid had packed and taken it away, but he hadn’t known anything about James’s plan. And James had evaded her questions about it in the most vexing way. The immediate future was a blank. A touch of dizziness assailed her. She had never been in this position in her life. She was so accustomed to making order.
“Your chariot awaits,” James said. Looking terribly handsome under the midmorning sun, he offered his arm.
Feeling oddly in need of the support, Cecelia took it. He led her to a smart traveling carriage. The others trailed after them. “Why does it have someone else’s coat of arms on the door?” she asked.
“I borrowed it,” James said.
“Rather than hire a post chaise?”
“As you see.”
Did he sound irritated? She didn’t want that. Their years of disputes over a wide variety of issues came back to her. More than a few had ended with one of them—or, James really—stomping out and going off to cool down. He hated losing an argument. But they no longer had separate homes to retreat to. Or any livable home at all, Cecelia noted. What did that mean for discussion?
Suddenly, every word seemed more of a risk, weighted with signs for the future. Would she be less at ease married to him than she had been when single? Did one have to be more…polite once married? If she lost the ability to talk easily to a man she’d known, and debated, most of her life… That would be distressing.
He handed her into the vehicle and climbed up to sit beside her. They said their goodbyes, the coachman signaled the team, and they set off. Cecelia watched her father and aunt and Henry Deeping recede and then disappear as they rounded a corner. She turned back, and became acutely conscious of James’s broad shoulders against the seat back, his pantaloon-clad leg not far from her skirts. They’d sat as close as this on drawing room sofas, she supposed. But they’d never traveled alone together in a carriage. They would be side by side here for…she had no idea how long. “Where are we going?” she asked him.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Of course you do.”
How could he say that? Could he have failed to notice that most surprises in Cecelia’s life had been near disasters? Times when her father had neglected some important business matter, which had then become a full-blown emergency. Times when James himself had descended like a horde of marauders, full of exigent demands. If he didn’t know her any better than this, how were they to get on together?
“What about the jugglers on your birthday that time?” James asked. “You were delighted by them.”
“Because I arranged for them to come.”
“You did?”
“Yes. And then I pretended to be surprised.”
James stared at her. “That’s…a bit…sad.”
It probably had been. But she’d been missing her mother so much, and it was the sort of silly thing her mother would have arranged. So she had done it instead. It hadn’t helped with the grief, of course. It had surprised her father. And in the end he’d liked the performance more than she did. “Who did you think had hired them?” she asked.
“Well, I…”
She saw consciousness of the timing occur to him—the year after her mother’s death. She saw him recall her father’s heedlessness.
“I suppose I didn’t think about it,” he replied.
Of course he hadn’t. It wasn’t the sort of thing James considered. He’d called that day, she remembered, in the midst of the juggling and stayed a while to admire the performers’ skills. He’d given her a bracelet for her birthday, a gift more suited to a grown-up lady, which someone probably should have ordered her to refuse. Fortunately, no one bothered because she’d adored it. It was years later that she discovered his birthday visit had been accidental. He’d come to wrangle over some trust matter and found himself at her sparse festivities. The bracelet had been intended for someone else—the kind of female she was not to know about. She’d meanly enjoyed taking it from that faceless lady. But today she found a familiar annoyance with his self-absorption threatening to creep in. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“To the estate of a friend of mine. I thought the place would amuse you.”
Cecelia was puzzled by the word. How should an estate be funny? “Amuse?” she echoed.
“It’s a bit out of the ordinary.”
“Will your friend be there?” She hadn’t planned to share her honeymoon with a stranger. But then she hadn’t been allowed to plan anything!