by Donna Hatch
Tristan leveled a surprisingly intense gaze upon him. “I wouldn’t miss it.” His irrepressible grin returned. “Let’s go swim in the lake.”
“You’re mad.”
“You’re tempted.”
“Almost.” Richard pushed himself to a stand. “I’m going to bed.”
Tristan raised a brow. “With whom?”
Straight-faced, Richard said, “Doesn’t matter. I’m not sharing.”
Tristan laughed. “You’re playing the part well for the moment. Except I know better.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Tristan smirked.
Sobering, Richard gripped Tristan’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”
Tristan’s expression grew solemn. “I hope you’ll be happy.”
Richard nodded. “I know you do. I shall, never fear.”
“No hard feelings, then, about how it all started?”
“No. You didn’t mean to involve me. Besides, she’s been a truly pleasant surprise.”
Tristan’s expression closed over; he sipped his drink. “Glad to hear it.”
Richard paused. In all his irritation at how Tristan’s folly had affected Richard, and what his intentions were toward Elizabeth, he’d given little thought to Tristan’s feelings regarding, well, anything—Elizabeth and the prospect of losing her, and the object of his desire marrying his brother. He eyed Tristan. “You aren’t bothered by this marriage, are you? I mean you didn’t really have true feelings for Elizabeth—”
“Of course not. I told you, mere flirtation. Interesting diversion.” Tristan made a dismissive gesture.
Richard watched him through narrowed eyes but Tristan’s expression remained too tightly protected. That, alone, spoke volumes. Richard paused. If Elizabeth and Tristan were still infatuated with one another, what did that spell for his marriage? However, Tristan had vowed he had no designs upon Elizabeth. Twice. That should be enough. Tristan was honorable enough to be trusted. Wasn’t he?
“Good night.” Richard went upstairs alone to wrestle with his doubts and fears.
Chapter Seventeen
The wedding day dawned gloomy, with intermittent rain spattering against the windows. Richard scowled out of his bedroom window, wondering if this were some sort of ill omen for his marriage. Gritting his teeth, he chided himself for thinking like an old nursemaid.
Yet he couldn’t shake the gloom creeping over him. Did he have the mettle to rise to the challenge of husband and, eventually, father? He had witnessed the fallacies and vulnerabilities of love. His own parents hadn’t had the best marriage. His father couldn’t keep his mother happy. Or perhaps her character had simply been too flawed to create a faithful union with anyone. How could Richard hope to do better?
Wesley, his aged valet entered, and Richard subjected himself to Wesley’s meticulous ministrations. Wesley washed his hair twice, shaved him with more care than he had in months, and helped him dress in an immaculate superfine suit. By then, sunlight slanted down in gossamer rays through parted clouds, and Richard’s spirits lifted.
Wesley tied and retied the cravat, each time fretting that it wasn’t quite right. After removing the cravat and replacing it with a freshly ironed one, he tried again. Then, after stepping back to examine his handiwork, let out a moan of dismay and reached to re-tie it.
Richard pushed away the valet’s hands. “It will do. I’m not entertaining the royal family.”
“’Tis your marriage, my lord. Just as important.”
Richard bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Indeed, but I doubt my bride will change her mind on account of my cravat.” He turned to the mirror. “It looks perfect.”
Tristan entered and stared in horror at Richard’s necktie. “Good grief, you aren’t going out with your cravat in such a state, are you?”
As Wesley stammered, Richard laughed. “He’s quizzing you, Wesley. No doubt he overheard our conversation before he came in.” With a glance at his brother, added, “You oughtn’t tease him so. You know how he likes to fuss.”
Wesley looked indignant. “’Tis my duty to see you always dressed and groomed as befitting your station, my lord.”
“Indeed it is, and you are most committed to your duty,” Richard soothed. “I could never do it without you.”
“Just so.” Mollified, Wesley held his frockcoat while Richard slipped his arms into the sleeves. Wesley brushed Richard’s coat again.
“You missed a spot.” Tristan gestured to an imaginary speck.
As Wesley brushed Richard’s shoulder blade raw, Richard shot his brother a warning look.
Tristan only grinned. “So the banns were read in both parishes and no one dared to raise a challenge, huh?” His eyes glinted.
“Apparently no one has yet learned about my other twelve wives,” Richard rejoined.
“Or our nine drooling half-wit brothers and sisters.”
“One of whom is in my bedroom quizzing my valet.”
“The other of whom is getting married today.”
“Thus saving her from a more gruesome fate of marrying the village idiot.” He made a sweeping gesture toward Tristan.
“By the way, has she seen you in daylight, yet?”
Richard drew himself up. “She could hardly keep her eyes off me yesterday. Last night she threw herself into my arms.”
“Clearly she has no sense.”
He snapped his mouth closed as the unkind remark You are proof of that nearly escaped his mouth. Was his bride in love with his brother? He firmly slammed the door shut on such thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Have you seen Rhys Kensington yet?”
Tristan nodded. “At breakfast. A right likeable fellow, that. Cavalry didn’t ruin him as much as I’d feared. A trifle serious these days but perhaps that can be remedied. I invited him to join the Four Horse Club.”
“I thought you found that club had gotten too respectable.”
“It is. But it’s still a lark with the right bunch of reprobates. Perhaps with Kensington’s aid, I can return it to its former disreputable glory.”
Amused, Richard shook his head in mock disapproval.
“Sir.” Wesley held out the velvet pouch containing the Averston rubies, the traditional wedding gift to each new countess in the family. Soon Elizabeth would own the rubies and join the ranks of proud countesses in the family. He prayed she would wear them more faithfully than his mother had.
The rest of the morning passed in a flurry of excitement, and at ten o’clock in the morning, Richard found himself by the altar of the parish church, next to a great uncle who served as the vicar. A sudden onslaught of nerves attacked Richard, like a hundred tiny bugs crawling over him. Richard drew a breath to steady himself. It didn’t help.
Tristan gripped his shoulder. “Steady, ol’ man.”
Why his irresponsible younger brother could be a source of strength, Richard could not say, but his nervousness faded.
Then his bride entered the chapel, lightly resting a hand on the arm of her father. Lady Elizabeth was radiant. Her head high, her bearing regal, she glided toward him. In a few moments, she would be his. A level of joy he had never experienced overcame him, but he checked it. Best not care too much too soon. Courtesy and respect, not affection, should lead their marriage. He must not allow his heart to become too deeply involved until he knew for sure he could trust her.
The Duke of Pemberton looked solemn but pleased, and as he placed Elizabeth’s hand in Richard’s, Pemberton gave a discreet nod. Somehow, the gesture of approval from such an esteemed peer warmed Richard. He inclined his head briefly, hoping the duke knew Richard understood the trust placed literally in his hands. He met his future brother-in-law’s gaze. Without Lord Martindale’s threat to duel Tristan, Richard would never have come to this point with Elizabeth. He had the urge to shake Lord Martindale’s hand.
Richard looked down at Elizabeth’s uplifted face shining with radiant joy. At the moment, marrying Elizabeth felt so right. The thought ca
used vague panic to build up in his chest at the level of vulnerability such thoughts left him. Notwithstanding, he couldn’t deny the soft reassurance that he was doing the right thing.
Aware only of Elizabeth by his side with her warm hand in his, and her taunting fragrance caressing his senses, Richard heard little of the ceremony taken from the Book of Common Prayer. The vicar pronounced them husband and wife. Murmurs of approval came from the guests witnessing the wedding, but Richard barely heard them.
As they signed the register, Richard leaned down and whispered, “Have I ever told you how lovely you are?”
She blinked, and the happy smile she’d worn earlier transformed into one of pure adoration. Richard made a mental note to pay her compliments more often, especially if such would be his reward. Keeping a firm grip on her hand, he led her to his family coach for the short ride back to his home for the wedding breakfast.
She turned to him with an intensity he’d never seen in her eyes. “Richard, I want you to know that despite the reasons for our marriage, I have every intention of being a good wife to you.” Her words rang with a sincerity that begged to be believed.
“I will endeavor to be a good husband to you.” Could he be a good husband without giving her his whole heart right away?
As the coach pulled to a stop he stepped out and offered a hand to steady her. The servants had outdone themselves. Swags of flowers lined the front entry, and bouquets and baskets led the path to the dining room where crystal sparkled, silver shimmered, and atop crisp linens sat an intricate ice sculpture of a swan. The French menu for the wedding breakfast included Jambon de York, patés, hot and cold roasts, viands, salades a la russe, and fruits.
He made a note to add an additional few pounds to Mrs. Brown’s wages the next time he paid her. She’d done a brilliant job of putting together the celebration, and she’d done it without having a lady of the house to consult.
After the guests consumed the meal, they mingled, some indoors and others in the gardens, laughing and enjoying themselves. While Elizabeth conversed with guests on the lawn, Richard stood on the terrace and spoke with each person who wished them well.
Kensington approached. “You must visit soon. I purchased a small place in the lake country. Nothing grand, mind you, but pleasant.”
“I’d be delighted,” Richard said. “Are you giving up your bachelor apartment in London?”
“No, I’ll still spend enough time there to give it some use. Let me know when you come into Town.”
They made their farewells and Kensington strolled toward his waiting coach. Smiling, Richard looked around for Elizabeth. When he spotted her, his heart dropped. Next to a tall hedgerow, and apart from the guests, Elizabeth and Tristan stood close together—intimate, even. Everything inside Richard went still.
Tristan handed her a package. What it was, Richard could not see clearly, but after opening it, Elizabeth hugged it to herself as if it were precious, and rewarded Tristan with a dazzling smile visible even from a distance. Tristan touched her cheek. The pure adoration shining in her expression as she gazed at Tristan could not be misunderstood.
Aghast, Richard stared. Loss and betrayal slammed into him. Jealousy, dark and ugly, coiled inside.
She was still in love with his brother.
He curled his hands into fists. He wanted to throw something. Preferably his fists. Through his brother. After he shook his bride until her teeth rattled. She had seemed genuinely to like Richard. She’d even pledged to be a good wife less than an hour ago. All along, she’d been toying with him, lying to him! The dark and ugly place inside Richard festered like a sore. He’d been a fool to hope. No doubt, Tristan would seduce her at his first opportunity and she clearly would accept him. Closing off all the growing affection he’d held for his wife of only an hour, Richard donned his cool façade and vowed to protect his family reputation, his honor, and especially his heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth stood in the garden apart from the others, exhausted from greeting so many guests during the wedding breakfast. Guests lingered, enjoying the weather and each other’s company, but Elizabeth needed a moment to collect herself.
Tristan found her then and greeted her. “Welcome to the family, Elizabeth.” Though he smiled, that unrestrained manner he once had with her had become visibly tense.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth tried to smile but so much history between them left her off-balance. He was her brother-in-law now and could never be anything else.
She’d vowed to be a good wife to Richard and she fully intended to keep her vow. Richard was capable of such charm and tenderness, and she was attracted to him. She owed it to him to be a worthy wife—warm, comforting, and above all, loyal. Her wedding band burned her finger as if mocking her marriage vow and taunting her lingering affection for Tristan. Did one ever stop loving one’s first love? Perhaps a tiny part of that new flame would always burn in a secret place in her heart. Regardless, she would not let it interfere with her duty to her husband.
“I wanted to give you a gift.” Tristan slipped a package tied with string into her hand.
Elizabeth unwrapped Tristan’s package to reveal a small, leather-bound book, and ran her hand reverently over the embossed title. “Shakespeare’s Sonnets. It’s lovely. Thank you.” She opened the book to find a message written on the first page.
To Elizabeth,
May your heart be filled with poetry and love, now and always.
Tristan
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I…don’t know what to say.”
He touched her cheek. “I hope you’ll be very happy.” He smiled sadly and said in a clear attempt to be light-hearted, “Richard’s not so bad once you get to know him. Doesn’t have an ounce of fun in him, of course, and obviously missed out on both good looks and charm, but I’m sure he makes up for the deficit with his, er…responsible nature.”
Elizabeth tried to laugh, but sounded forced. “It must be difficult to have walked away with all the best qualities.” Still, she had to admit, her heart didn’t pound with quite the force it once had while in his presence. Her burgeoning affection for Richard had nudged aside her once-focused love for Tristan.
Tristan shrugged. “It’s a heavy burden, but one I bear just as he must bear the weight of the title.”
Richard appeared at her side, took her hand, and wound it through his arm, glaring at Tristan. “Just as you bear the burden of entertaining parlor maids and widows.”
Elizabeth stared at Richard, surprised at his harsh words.
Tristan’s grin faded. “As you say.” He inclined his head and strode toward a group of guests where women’s laughter rang out.
Fighting to keep her countenance serene, Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Tristan’s retreating back and prayed her expression didn’t betray her still conflicting emotions. Before Elizabeth fully recovered her composure, Leticia Wentworth and her parents came to pay their respects.
As Leticia’s gaze rested upon Richard, her tortured love shone through. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
Richard’s expression remained neutral, but his tension clearly revealed that he still harbored tender feelings toward Leticia. “Thank you.”
Leticia smiled, but sadness touched her eyes.
Elizabeth almost mouthed Thomas Moore,
…And such is the fate of our life’s early promise…
Still, the prospect of life with Richard had become a welcome union with potential for a measure of happiness. He appeared to have feelings for Elizabeth, at least on some level, but probably nothing approaching what he must feel for Leticia.
As if fearing her love might be showing, Leticia quickly turned away from Richard to Elizabeth. “You simply must come for tea, Countess. I would consider it a favor if you would allow me to acquaint you with everyone in the parish.”
Giving a little start of surprise at her new title, Elizabeth’s gaze flicked uncertainly between Leticia and
Richard, but she smiled warmly—at least, she hoped it appeared warm. “Gladly. Thank you for coming today.”
When Leticia had gone, Richard’s dark eyes turned to her. She faltered at the lack of expression there. His mouth pressed into a hard line. Gone was his former tenderness. Without a word, he turned and stalked toward the gardens, his footsteps pounding the walkway.
Stunned by the change, Elizabeth stared after him. No doubt, he’d made a quick comparison between her and Leticia and found Elizabeth lacking. Richard must despise her! Perhaps it was no less than she deserved, after her confusion about who had the greater possession of her heart.
As she twisted her wedding band around her finger, she drew a breath and reminded herself of all Richard’s fine qualities. He did indeed have much to recommend him. More importantly, he was her husband. She might not be Leticia, and he might not be Tristan, but Elizabeth would do everything in her power to ensure his happiness. Somehow, she’d banish her lingering affections for Tristan and focus her energy on building a life with Richard. With time, perhaps, Richard might transfer his love from Leticia to Elizabeth. She must be patient and understanding until that day.
Father stepped up to her while Duchess lagged behind speaking to another guest. He put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm, and in a rare display of affection, kissed her brow. “Be happy, daughter.”
Emboldened by his tenderness, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Father, for everything.” If they had been alone, she would have thanked him out loud for raising her as a legitimate daughter, for educating her, for providing a place for her in the world, and for caring enough to arrange a marriage with a good and honorable man. She had grown to share his opinion of Richard. However, she couldn’t speak so openly with others nearby. Instead, she poured all her affection and gratitude into her smile.
By the answering quirk of his mouth and the way he tapped her chin, he seemed to understand. After one last nod of approval, Father turned to give instructions to the coachman.
