Returning with a snifter of dark-hued port in hand, Wyvern resumed his seat behind the desk. “Tell me, then, what is on your mind?”
“Titles.”
Tony drank a swallow of the liquor, curiosity gleaming in his intense, midnight-blue gaze. “Really? Whose title in particular?”
“Mine. I have decided to acquire one.”
“For yourself?”
“Yes, for myself. Did I not just say? Though, of course, I realize one doesn’t actually buy a title, but instead performs a service for the monarch. I thought a more-than-generous donation to the war effort would be an effective persuasion.”
The duke took another large swallow of port, then set down his glass with a quiet click. “I’m sure it will be. Forgive me for being astonished, though. How many years is it now that I have been trying to convince you to take a title?”
Rafe gave a wry smile. “Several, if I recall correctly. I believe your ‘suggestions’ began when you realized I had enough money to actually manage the trick.”
“I suggested it because unlike most of the wealthy Cits who try to muscle their way into the peerage, you actually have the manners and education to comport yourself once you arrive. God knows you’re as blue-blooded as most of the lords I know, and quite a bit more than some.”
“I thank you for the vote of confidence; however, I doubt I will be so warmly received by most of your brethren in the Ton.”
Tony frowned. “A great many of them are terrible snobs, I agree, but if you want this, I know you can make it work. And I will gladly see that you are received. Vessey will as well, I am certain.”
“Yes, you and Ethan are loyal friends. You always have been, and I thank you.”
The duke waved off Rafe’s statement with a hand.
“So why? Why now, when you have never wanted this before?”
And still don’t want it, if truth be known, Rafe thought.
But his life was about to change in the next few days. He would have a wife and child, and for them, he wanted more.
If he had a title, his son would inherit not only a solid financial legacy but an aristocratic name as well. The boy would not have to suffer the indignities Rafe had faced growing up. Oh, there might be the occasional sneer about his father’s lack of proper lineage, but the world would never be able to find fault on his mother’s side. And if he and Julianna should be blessed with a daughter instead, the girl would benefit as well. When the time came, her chances of making a good marriage would be virtually assured.
But more than the child, there was Julianna herself.
Even now, anger smoldered hot as ash inside him to think she had decided not to tell him about the baby. If her brother hadn’t interfered, Rafe might never have known. For that alone, he supposed he owed Allerton his thanks.
As for Julianna, he had to admit her refusal had stung. After the way she’d pleaded with him not to end their affair, he’d hoped she might be glad of his proposal. At the very least, he’d assumed she would be relieved that he was willing to take responsibility for their child. But then, as he had to remind himself, she hadn’t wanted him to know about the baby, obviously determined to keep him out of her life forever.
Apparently her tears that last day in Queens Square had meant nothing, her emotions based solely on passion. Perhaps her rejection shouldn’t have surprised him, but considering her choices—marriage to him or bearing an out-of-wedlock baby that she would never have been able to pass off as anything else—her acceptance had seemed certain.
Unless she’d lied and had been planning to marry Summersfield, after all.
Whatever the case, she’d left him no choice. Though he hadn’t enjoyed it, he’d been compelled to force her hand. When she’d said he wanted no bastard children, she was right. Their baby must have a name, and that name would be Pendragon.
Yet he couldn’t blame her for fearing the social repercussions of their union. Though she hadn’t voiced any potential distress, he knew she must be worried. Once she became his wife, her place in Society would be forfeit, her life as she had known it gone. The Ton thrived on rules and exclusivity, and many of her so-called friends and acquaintances would cut her the instant they discovered she had wed him.
But he could prevent her disgrace, or at least minimize its severity, if he purchased a title.
Personally, he didn’t give a flip for Society’s dictates, nor did he care about being a lord, content to remain exactly who and what he had always been. But Julianna would care. She would be hurt and isolated, left to dwell on Society’s fringes. Members of her own family might even decide to disavow her, shamed by her fall from grace.
He couldn’t do that to her, would not do that to her, particularly knowing he possessed the means to see to it she could remain in the Ton.
“Why now?” Rafe said, repeating his friend’s question. “For one very simple reason, I suppose. Congratulate me, Tony; I am getting married.”
The duke’s eyebrows winged toward the ceiling. “What! When? How did this happen? I had no idea you were even in the market for a bride. I thought after Pamela…well, forgive me, but I had some doubts you would ever decide to take the plunge.”
“I could say the same of you, my friend, and I don’t have a dukedom to perpetuate,” Rafe said in a dry tone.
“Don’t start with that. I get enough grief as it is from my grandmama, who never seems to tire of the subject of brides and babies. But we aren’t talking about me, are we? So how did this all come about?”
Rafe drew in a measured breath, thinking it best to leave out the majority of the details. “I decided it was time, and the lady agreed.”
After a few well-made threats.
A smile spread over the duke’s handsome face. “By God, but you are full of surprises today!” Standing, he rounded his desk, then reached out to clap Rafe on the shoulder and shake his hand. “Well, congratulations, and I wish you every happiness. So who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”
“Very possibly. It’s Julianna Hawthorne.”
Tony’s eyes flashed with obvious recognition. “Hawthorne? You mean Lady Hawthorne, the widow?”
Rafe nodded. “Exactly.”
The duke whistled. “Good God, she’s been an impossible catch for years. How’d you manage it? Come to think upon it, how do you even know her? Not to put too fine a point upon the matter, but the two of you don’t exactly run in the same circles.”
“You’re right, we don’t. And for the sake of the lady, I have nothing more to say on the subject.”
His friend gave him an arch look but obviously decided to keep further questions to himself.
“At least that explains your sudden about-face on the issue of titles,” Tony said after a moment. “Is she insisting on your ascension as a condition of the marriage?”
“No. Julianna knows nothing of my plans to buy a peerage. She agreed to wed me just as I am.”
A slow smile curved the duke’s lips. “A love match. I am truly happy for you, my friend.”
Rafe forced himself not to react. If only Tony knew the truth, he mused wryly, Julianna’s words reverberating in his head.
“If you do this, know that I will hate you.”
No, he thought, ours is far from a love match.
“I want to do this for her and our future,” Rafe said, knowing that statement was honest at least. “Which is why I came to you. We wish to be wed soon, very soon, and I was hoping your connections at court might speed matters along.”
Tony’s brows furrowed in consideration as he moved back to lean a hip against his desk. “Well, under normal circumstances such legalities take months, even years. But since you are already well known to the Crown, I suppose it’s possible the wheels of bureaucracy could be coaxed to move a bit faster. They’d have to be generously greased, however.”
“I thought half a million pounds. Will that do?”
Tony barked out a startled laugh. “Yes, I believe it will do brilliantly. For that kind of
money I think you can safely count on success. They’ll be falling all over themselves to accommodate you.”
“Good. Set it in motion, Tony, if you would.”
“I’ll ride back to London with you today.”
“My thanks. I have one more favor to ask.”
The duke reached for his port and took a drink. “Of course.”
“I need a best man. I would appreciate it if you would accept.”
“Surely. I would be honored. But what of Ethan?”
“I’ve asked him to stand with me as well. He’s in Suffolk at his estate, though, so I don’t know if he’ll make it back in time.”
“He will. When is the wedding, by the way?”
“Two weeks.”
“No rush there,” the duke quipped dryly. “You never do anything the easy way, do you?”
Rafe laughed. “I try not to, if I can help it.”
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
As the minister continued to speak, Julianna averted her gaze, unable to bring herself to look at Rafe now that the ceremony was under way. But then, she didn’t need to see him to recall how breathtakingly handsome he looked in his formal wedding attire, his dark blue tailcoat and light gray breeches molding his splendid masculine physique to perfection.
When she’d started her walk up the aisle of the small London church, her heart had hammered so loudly she’d feared for a moment the others assembled might be able to hear. But no one seemed to notice, not even Harry, who escorted her to the altar, then silently handed her over to the man who would soon be her husband.
Over the past two weeks she’d tried to find some way out of this marriage, but realized all avenues of escape were futile. So here she stood in her finery of pale peach watered silk with short capped sleeves and a gossamer overskirt of the best white tulle. Dyed-to-match satin slippers graced her feet, their narrow golden buckles winking in the morning light, while a tissue-thin tiffany veil spilled from her head to just below her waist.
She’d wanted to wear black, believing the color more in keeping with the true spirit of the day. In the end, though, she had decided such a rebellion unworthy. Her difficulties with Rafe were private ones and not for the consumption of others, not even her own family. She might resent Rafe’s actions, but to the world she vowed to present a cheerful front—or at least as cheerful as she could manage.
Luckily, the number of guests were few. From her own family, only Harry was in attendance. Maris and William were still on their honeymoon, and she knew Cousin Henrietta was too far away to travel on such short notice.
Needing an attendant, she had asked her friend Beatrice, Lady Neville, to act as her maid of honor. Understandably, Beatrice had been stunned when she had broken the news, full of questions that Julianna had managed for the most part to elude.
Having no family of his own, Rafe’s side of the guest list was equally sparse, with only two friends to serve as groomsmen. And what friends, she’d thought, catching herself staring for a long moment when she recognized the Duke of Wyvern and the Marquis of Vessey waiting at the altar next to Rafe. She didn’t know either man well, but their reputations preceded them, since they were generally considered two of the Ton’s most eligible and infamous bachelors.
Suddenly the minister paused and Rafe began to speak.
The deep, solemn cadence of his voice drew her thoughts back to the present. And then it was her turn, everyone waiting in expectation for her response.
Her heart fluttered like a cornered hare, her fingers turning as cold as icicles in January.
This is it, she thought, my last opportunity to refuse. Once the vows are said there will be no going back, not ever.
As she well knew, marriage was for life. Once she pledged herself to Rafe, they would be man and wife until death parted them forever. She’d known one loveless marriage; how could she possibly face another?
And this time will be far, far worse, she thought.
As lacking as her first marriage may have been, she’d had the comfort of knowing herself heart whole. Her union to Rafe would in no way be the same. As contrary as it seemed, she loved and hated him both, emotions that would surely tear her apart over time.
How will I ever manage to cope?
In the next moment, a small tingling quivered deep in her womb, a sensation that was as odd as it was astonishing.
Is that the baby? she wondered.
Waiting a moment, she felt it again, the strange fluttering like the brushing of tiny wings.
Then she knew she must not waver for the sake of her child. She might resent Rafe, but she would never resent this baby the two of them had created.
Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders.
And, as if from a very great distance, she heard herself say, “I do.”
“A toast to the happy couple!”
Rafe leaned back in his chair and gave a nod of appreciation for Ethan’s warm salute. The others raised their champagne flutes and murmured best wishes for Rafe and Julianna’s future health and happiness before they all took a drink.
Seated together at one end of the Duke of Wyvern’s extraordinarily long dining room table, their small group was making merry, or as merry as possible under the circumstances. As part of Wyvern’s wedding gift to Rafe and Julianna, Tony had offered to hold the wedding breakfast at Black House, the duke’s elegant Grosvenor Square residence. Although only six of them sat at the table, Tony had in no way stinted on the celebration.
In addition to champagne and fresh hothouse strawberries, they dined on salmon and lobster patties, shirred eggs, Westphalian ham, and a Beluga caviar that had been delivered all the way from Russia.
Julianna’s complexion had paled a bit when one of the footmen offered her a spoonful of the roe. Knowing the scent might be making her nauseous because of the baby, Rafe had quietly suggested the servant move on. Her color improved soon after, and she managed to eat a few bites of the excellent fare.
He thought of Ethan’s toast and wished it were true, wished he and his new bride really were a happy couple. He thought back to a moment at the altar when he’d wondered if Julianna was going to refuse to wed him, after all. His throat had squeezed tight at her prolonged silence, wondering what he would do if she decided to bolt. But then an odd expression of amazement passed over her face, followed by a soft little smile. Seconds later, she had proceeded with her vows.
He thought about this evening, and the celebration of their marriage, and wished he could take her on a honeymoon trip away from the city. But now that he and Julianna were wed, St. George presented a greater potential threat than ever.
From all accounts, the viscount remained in Lancashire, but Rafe refused to take any chances with his new wife’s well-being. Over the past two weeks, he’d stationed men to guard Julianna’s townhouse in Upper Brook Street. Without her knowledge, her new bodyguards had accompanied her on her various errands and excursions as she prepared for the wedding. Now that they were married and she would be living in his house, he knew he could even more effectively guarantee her safety.
He would die before he’d let anything happen to Julianna or their child.
Wyvern stood, interrupting Rafe’s musings. The duke raised his glass. “I, too, wish my good friend Rafe and his beautiful bride every happiness. But there is news of another sort I also wish to celebrate.”
Rafe paused, a sudden scowl furrowing his brow. He hoped Tony wasn’t going to say what he thought he was going to say. Opening his mouth, Rafe started to interrupt him. But Tony, having imbibed a healthy measure of his own fine champagne, could not be stopped.
“Join me, everyone, in welcoming England’s newest peer.”
Beside him, Julianna grew still, her rosy lips parted, her dark eyes fixed on the duke with rapt attention.
“For his generous aid to the nation, the Crown h
as decided to grant Rafe a title. He had an audience with the Regent only two days ago and was duly accorded the honor. The new title will be gazetted and the Letters Patent prepared, but those are no more than formalities at this point. So raise a glass with me and drink to Lord Pendragon, the new Baron Pendragon.”
A marked silence followed, Allerton and Lady Neville clearly astonished, while Ethan openly grinned his approval. As for Julianna, Rafe couldn’t tell how she felt, her face utterly devoid of expression.
He knew Tony assumed he’d already told Julianna the news; it was his own fault, he supposed, for not warning his friend to keep his mouth closed. But with the hurried wedding arrangements, there simply hadn’t been time—or at least a good time—to tell her. Except for a few brief minutes here and there, he and Julianna had barely seen each other in the days leading up to the ceremony.
Even so, gaining a title was an important event and he’d wanted to be the one to tell Julianna, had wanted to watch her face brighten with surprise and pleasure and happiness. She would be a baroness, her position secure as the wife of a nobleman—even if he had come to the peerage in a manner sure to cause comment and the occasional haughty sniff. But with the support of a duke and a marquis, their acceptance in Society was virtually guaranteed. Julianna should be smiling. She should be happy.
So why isn’t she?
Reaching out, Julianna curved her hand around the wine flute’s delicate base and lifted it into the air. “To Lord Pendragon,” she murmured.
The silence shattered, the others raised their glasses. “To Lord Pendragon,” they repeated in unison.
Despite having initiated the toast, Julianna did not drink, quietly returning her glass to the table.
And as the wedding breakfast continued, so did his bride’s near silence, her smiles never actually reaching her eyes.
Chapter Twenty
WILL THAT BE all, my lady?” Daisy asked, as she helped Julianna into her favorite green silk robe.
Daisy, bless her heart, hadn’t said so much as a word about the fact that Julianna was wearing her usual nightclothes on this, her wedding night. In the two weeks leading up to the ceremony, the only new garment she had purchased was her wedding gown. New night attire seemed ridiculous under the circumstances, she had decided.
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