by Diana Quincy
Understanding hit like a blast of frigid air. Of course, his father would never arrange this grand alliance for him. Cyrus had no real choice in the matter.
Traherne chuckled at the surprised look in his future son-in-law’s face. “I am a betting man but I am not an idiot. Despite your youth, you’ve developed a reputation for your clever mind and firmness of character. It is what I want for my Mirabella.” He looked toward his daughter, who had taken a seat in the front pew, her narrow shoulders rigid. “You have the correct temperament to oversee the dukedom until my daughter’s son can inherit it.”
His head swimming, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for your confidence in me, Your Grace. I will endeavor to live up to your high opinion of me.” He willed himself to ask the question which had troubled him from the first moment he set eyes on Mirabella Wentworth. “May I ask, Your Grace, how old your daughter is?”
Traherne gave the girl a fond look. “Bella is in her thirteenth year. Sadly, she is plain but the girl will be a peeress in her own right. That should be recompense enough for you. And she is young enough to be biddable.”
Practially a child. And she appeared even younger with her round face, pudgy form and complete lack of customary female curves. Nausea bubbled into his chest. Gulping a wretched breath, he swallowed down the sensation, his face breaking into a cool sweat. He darted a look at the girl, who stood to the side of the altar with her wide arms folded tight across her flat chest. Her full face pale, she focused on something on the floor, an unreadable expression on her face. He realized he hadn’t heard her speak. Did she even comprehend what was happening? He could learn to live with a dowdy for a wife, but what if she was simple as well?
Wrongly guessing at the trail of his thoughts, Traherne bared his crowded teeth in a knowing smile. “You impudent pup.” The smell of vodka blasted Sebastian’s face. “I know young flesh has its appeal but there is to be no wedding night until my daughter is ten-and-seven. Until then, you must slake your desires elsewhere. Has Stanhope not explained any of it to you?”
Perspiration scurried down Sebastian’s back. “He has not, Your Grace.”
Traherne’s generous eyebrows rose. “Then allow me to. For all intents and purposes, you become my heir after today. You will return to Cambridge post haste to continue your studies. Traherne assumes all costs of your education. Once you complete your university studies, a tutor will be employed to accompany you on a grand tour of the continent.” He clapped Sebastian’s shoulder again. “You will assume most of the ducal duties until my grandson, your son, comes of age. You will move at the highest levels of government. You must be educated in a way that does credit to your new station in life.”
He mopped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. His own father was merely the second son of a marquess, he himself was untitled but would now one day assume the reins of one of the largest dukedoms in the realm. The Traherne holdings were of enormous consequence, the political clout unparalleled. He should be pleased, honored even.
He discreetly tugged at his cravat, trying in vain to improve his air flow. Mirabella Wentworth was ushered to the altar. The duke’s firm hand touched his shoulder, urging him toward his bride. Sebastian’s fine lawn shirt clung to clammy skin underneath his waistcoat. Forcing his tense jaw to relax, he stiffened his spine and went to it.
Upon reaching his bride, it occurred to him that he should reassure her. He forced a smile but it did not have the desired effect. She squinted back at him, suspicion edged her gaze in a way that made her appear older than her years. She might be young, but perhaps life with a father like Traherne had taught the girl to be wary. Disheartened by the thought, Sebastian turned to face the vicar, barely registering the murmur of words which made them man and wife. All he heard were shackles snapping shut around his future.
When it was over, the groom headed back to university while the bride returned to the nursery. After a while, as memories will do, the events of the day faded into a gossamer sort of thing. In the years that followed, Sebastian sometimes wondered whether the dreamlike afternoon wedding had ever happened at all.
