No, not just Geoffrey. Her husband Geoffrey.
“Come now, Serena,” Aunt Morley said, brandishing the toast. “You really must eat something.”
“There,” she said, taking an enormous bite from the offered toast to please her. “Are you nearly done, Martha?”
“Yes, Lady Geoffrey,” her maid said. “All that’s left is your hat.”
Serena paused, an earring dangling from her fingers, and grinned foolishly. She couldn’t help it. How wonderful it was to be called by her new name, linked forever to Geoffrey!
“I’ll see that the rest of your jewels are counted and packed back into their boxes,” Aunt Morley was saying, fussing over all the baubles that had been removed from Serena’s clothes and laid on her dressing table. “I’ll have them carried to you tomorrow, along with your clothes. I’m sure his lordship’s family has their own arrangements for safekeeping their jewels.”
“And none of those could ever be as valuable to me as the ones that Father chose,” Serena said, glancing back at the glittering display. Impulsively she picked up the turban ornament with the emeralds and diamonds, and wove it into the ribbons of her stomacher.
“For luck,” she said, bending down to admire the effect in the looking glass. It was a striking way to wear an unusual jewel, and with his appreciation of Indian things, Geoffrey was sure to find it beguiling. That, and the fact that the top of the curving boteh was nestled between her breasts.
“Oh, Serena, you cannot mean to wear that … there,” exclaimed her aunt with dismay. “It’s a queer sort of brooch by any judgment, but worn like that, it’s vulgar.”
“Diamonds are never vulgar, Aunt Morley,” Serena said, taking her hat from Martha and tying it on her head. “You’ve often said that yourself. And I’m certain that my husband will approve.”
“Your husband.” Aunt Morley sighed mightily. “I should wonder at that, Serena. I’ll grant that the stones are very lovely, but the setting is peculiar. Consider the beautiful pieces Her Grace must have, jewels set with true artistry.”
“Meaning set by London jewelers, not Hindi or Muslim.” It was not something she would have dared say before, never wishing to remind anyone, even her aunt, of her past. But she’d often thought such things whenever her aunt or grandfather or anyone else made snide remarks or found fault with India and Indians, and now, made brave by her new status as Geoffrey’s wife, she finally spoke the truth.
“I prefer settings like these, Aunt Morley,” she said, lightly touching the ornament. “They’re brighter, and not as solemn, and they remind me of Father. Besides, Aunt, recall that I’ve wed Lord Geoffrey, not Lord Hargreave. Whatever jewels Her Grace possesses will go to Lady Hargreave, not to me.”
“You don’t know that, Serena,” Aunt Morley said, glad to seize upon another, less troubling, topic. “If poor Lady Hargreave fails to produce a son, then you may still one day be a duchess.”
“That’s not why I married Lord Geoffrey, Aunt,” Serena said firmly, and she meant it, too. She wished a dozen sons to Lady Hargreave, because the last thing she ever wanted was to become Duchess of Breconridge. “Not at all.”
“Ahh.” Her aunt nodded, clasping her hands before her. “I’d rather dared hope that you’d chosen him because you loved him.”
Serena flushed, taken by surprise. Love was not a subject often mentioned by Aunt Morley. To be sure, Serena had endured several intensely uncomfortable lectures from her aunt over the last three weeks about what to expect from her new husband on their wedding night—lectures that had pointedly lacked the more pertinent details that Serena had long ago learned from the women in the zenana—but not once had love figured into the message.
“I care for him, yes,” she said slowly, carefully. “I never tire of his company, and I wish to be with him, always, and when he kisses me, it is the finest thing imaginable. But as for love—”
“I think you already do love him, Serena,” Aunt Morley said gently. “You may not wish to admit it yet, either to him or yourself, but you do. And from the way Lord Geoffrey looks at you, I should venture that he loves you in return.”
Serena pressed her hand to her mouth, struggling to keep back her tears. Her aunt was right. She did love Geoffrey, and she had likely loved him from that first night in the ballroom, when she had turned about and there he’d been. In her heart she’d known it, but because of her past, she had fought that knowledge, even as she’d taken greater and greater risks to be with him.
And now, of course, she’d taken the biggest risk of all, and was married to him. For love, she thought, and for love she would contrive a way to make their marriage succeed.
All for love, and for Geoffrey.
“Now, now, no tears,” her aunt said briskly. “You needn’t tell me. It’s between the two of you to sort out, and I’m sure you will, one way or another. Especially now that your grandpapa can no longer meddle in your affairs.”
Impulsively Serena threw her arms around her aunt and hugged her close. They would continue to see each other, of course, but it would never be the same. Aunt Morley had been as near to a mother as she’d had since she’d come to England. Her aunt had always been her champion, and she realized now just how much she was going to miss her.
“Thank you, Aunt,” she said, her voice unsteady with emotion. “Thank you for—for everything.”
“You are most welcome, Serena,” Aunt Morley replied, disentangling herself from Serena’s enthusiastic embrace. “Heavens, you nearly impaled me with that dreadful ornament! Mind you take care with Lord Geoffrey. It wouldn’t do to inadvertently stab your husband on your wedding day. Now, if you’re finally ready, it’s time we returned to the others.”
“I am ready,” Serena said. She gathered up her bouquet, and took one last glance at the looking glass to adjust the angle of her hat. She wanted to be perfect for Geoffrey when she came down the stairs.
Her aunt swept her hands through the air, shooing her onward.
“I will offer this last scrap of wisdom, my dear,” she said as Serena hurried ahead of her. “Love is all very well, but honesty must be the cornerstone of any marriage. Be honest in all things with your husband, Serena, and pray that he will be honest with you. The rest will follow.”
Abruptly Serena stopped, her happiness equally halted and her optimism chilled. Complete honesty was the one thing she could never give Geoffrey, no matter how much she loved him. She couldn’t do it. In most ways, yes, but in one very large matter, he must never know the truth.
“Come along, Serena, please,” Aunt Morley said. “People are generally forgiving of a bride, but there are limits.”
“One moment, Aunt.” Serena turned and ran swiftly in the opposite direction, down the hall to the back parlor.
The seldom-used room was gray with shadows, the wooden blinds drawn to preserve the carpet and chair-coverings against fading from sunlight, but she’d no trouble making out her father’s portrait over the mantel. She went and curtseyed before it, as she always did, then stood and gazed up at the handsome, painted face.
“I’m married, Father,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Today. I’m Lady Geoffrey Fitzroy now. I think you would approve of Geoffrey. He’s much like you. If you’d had the chance, you would have enjoyed a hookah together.”
She smiled sadly, imagining the two men lounging in the shade of her father’s garden. They would have liked each other; she’d no doubt of it.
“I wore your favorite jewel today, Father,” she said, lightly touching the emerald ornament tucked into her stomacher. “I’m wearing it still, much to Aunt Morley’s consternation. I do not know if it was meant for me, or for Asha, but I know for certain it was from you, and that—that made it special to me.”
She nodded for emphasis, and sighed. “I must go now, Father, and leave with Geoffrey. You sailed to Calcutta for your great adventure, and now I’ll begin mine in London. It’s all kismet, yes?”
She pressed her fingers to her li
ps and blew the kiss up toward the painting, wishing she could instead kiss his cheek as she used to do. Then she bowed her head, and with a heart that was heavier than any bride’s had a right to be, she went to rejoin the others downstairs.
From the landing she could hear the voices of the two families rising up from the drawing room, more jovial than they’d been earlier. She wondered if that was from relief that she and Geoffrey had finally been married, or simply the effect of the wine that was no doubt being liberally poured and drunk. There would likely be one more round of toasts in their honor, and then the final farewells before she and Geoffrey left in his carriage.
It was strange to think that this house that had been her haven was no longer her home, stranger still to think that Geoffrey’s house was now hers, and always would be. She couldn’t help but remember how she’d already left one life behind her in India to find a sanctuary, and now she would do it yet again. She took a deep breath to steady the nervousness that was suddenly welling up within her. She ran her fingers along the polished mahogany rail for the final time as she turned, and began down the last flight.
Waiting alone at the bottom of the stairs was Geoffrey. His handsome face was impassive, almost stern, in a way she hadn’t seen before, and if she’d hoped to see in his eyes a measure of the love she’d just realized she felt for him, she was disappointed. That dazzled look he’d had when she’d walked down the aisle in the church was gone. Now his gaze raked over her, studying her from the toes of her shoes to the brim of her hat and lingering pointedly on her breasts, where the emerald-studded ornament was tucked.
She smiled, a bit tremulously, hoping he’d smile in return.
He didn’t.
Instead he held his hand up to her. “Come, Lady Geoffrey,” he said, the first time he’d called her by her new married name. “I am ready to leave.”
Swiftly she glided down the steps toward him, her skirts rustling. “I’ll say my farewells, and then—”
“I’ve said them for you.” He took her hand, his fingers swallowing hers. “We’re leaving now.”
Could he tell how uncertain she was from the chill of her hand? “But I should say good-bye—”
“They’ll understand,” he said brusquely. “This has already been the longest farewell in history.”
A footman, who must have been summoned earlier, appeared with Geoffrey’s hat and her pelisse. It was all arranged, then. That was the way of English marriages, or at least what she’d observed. She’d had no say in Geoffrey’s decision, and she must accept it now unless she wished to begin their life together with quarreling. Geoffrey’s expression was more daunting than his words, and disappointed, she nodded as the footman held her pelisse for her. The instant it was on her shoulders, Geoffrey began to lead her to the door held open by another footman.
But in the doorway, he stopped abruptly. A step behind him, Serena stopped, too, and gasped with delight.
Geoffrey’s neat dark-green carriage with the Fitzroy arms on the door had lost all of its usual stylish sobriety. Clusters of bridal-white ribbons and flowers were tied to the corners of the roof, with streamers fluttering behind in the breeze. More ribbons and flowers decked the bridles of the horses, and even the grinning footmen and driver sported white flowers pinned to the fronts of their dark-green livery.
“Oh, Geoffrey, how wonderful!” she exclaimed, linking her fingers fondly into his. “That you would have had this done for me—for me!”
“I did nothing of the sort,” he retorted crossly. “How the devil this fool’s mischief was perpetrated upon my carriage and people is—”
“It was Gus’s notion,” Harry said proudly, coming up behind them. “Although she was too close to her time to be here herself, she was determined to see that you were sent off in proper hymeneal style.”
Enchanted, Serena stared at the decorated carriage, while passersby in the street paused and gathered to admire it as well. It was the kindness of the gesture that touched her as much as the flowers and ribbons, that a lady she’d never met had ordered this done simply to please her. She couldn’t understand why Geoffrey should be so offended by it, and she didn’t want Harry to tell his wife that her thoughtfulness had not been appreciated.
“Please tell Lady Augusta how much her surprise pleased me, my lord,” she said, turning back toward Harry. “Give her my thanks, and tell her I look forward to when I may thank her in person.”
“You like this manner of carnival show?” Geoffrey asked, clearly dumbfounded.
“I do,” she said bravely. “It’s pretty.”
“Pretty,” he repeated, and shook his head. “Pretty.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pretty, Geoffrey,” Harry said in a way that was purposefully, overly helpful. “It pleases the ladies.”
Geoffrey glowered, and although Serena had no experience with brothers, she suspected these two Fitzroys were very close to exchanging blows. Silently she squeezed her fingers around Geoffrey’s, wishing she knew what to say to calm him.
Because obviously her hand wasn’t enough. “To the devil with prettiness,” he grumbled. “I don’t need you to tell me that, Harry.”
“Are they leaving now?” The duchess’s voice rose behind them. “Geoffrey, you’re not stealing your bride away from us so soon, are you?”
“Come,” Geoffrey said sharply. He pulled Serena forward through the door and down the marble front steps, so fast that she had to skip along to keep pace with his longer legs. He hustled her into the carriage and jumped in after her, barking at the driver to commence, before she’d barely time to settle herself. As the horses jumped forward, she fell back against the leather squabs with a startled little cry, her bouquet flying from her hand.
“There,” said Geoffrey, looking back at the house as they clattered off. “We’re away at last.”
“We most certainly are,” Serena said, unable to keep her indignation to herself any longer. “Faith, Geoffrey, if we weren’t already wed, I’d think you were carrying me off to Gretna. Why this haste? Why this ridiculous urgency? It’s madness!”
He dropped onto the other end of the seat and placed his hat on the cushion between them.
“I don’t know what you mean by madness,” he said, testy, his dark brows drawn together. “I was weary of waiting, so we left.”
“Yes, we did do that,” she said, bending to retrieve her bouquet from the floor of the carriage, “and as quickly as if a pack of bailiffs were at our heels instead of our families.”
He grunted, and leaned back against the squabs with his arms folded over his chest. Alone together in the small space, he seemed more imposing somehow, more daunting. She felt the tension in him vibrating outward to fill the carriage, as taut as overwound clockwork, and she hadn’t a clue why. He was staring directly ahead and not at her, almost if she weren’t there beside him. She supposed that was some small blessing, but she would have much preferred that he smile in her direction, as a happy bridegroom should.
Unless he wasn’t happy, she thought uneasily. He’d smiled at the church, but since then his mood seemed to have grown darker and darker until it had reached this present black state.
She raised her bouquet to her nose, watching him over the white flowers. She had to ask; she needed to know.
“What is wrong, Geoffrey?” she asked softly. “What has happened?”
“Nothing has happened.” He grumbled with wordless frustration. “I couldn’t wait to be alone with you to explain, and now that I am, the devil only knows how I am to begin.”
“Explain what?” she asked warily, fearing the worst. She understood secrets all too well, and this had all the earmarks of one. Had someone in his family preached painful honesty to him, just as Aunt Morley had to her? Perhaps he kept a favorite mistress, as Father had done, or he’d some dreadful infirmity, or he’d lost all his fortune gaming?
Or perhaps it wasn’t his secret at all. What if, instead, he’d somehow learned hers?
“Thing
s will be said of us,” he began, still avoiding her gaze. “No, they already are being said. Ordinarily I don’t give a damn—that is, a fig, about gossip, but I don’t want you hurt by it.”
She didn’t say anything, her fears twisting into a sickening knot in the pit of her stomach. He said he didn’t wish for her to be hurt. Now she might never have the chance to tell him how much she loved him: what could possibly hurt more than that?
He took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself, and still not looking her way.
“No one has forced me to marry you, Serena,” he said firmly. “Not your grandfather, and not your uncle, either. I want you to know that. I wasn’t trapped, like some hapless rabbit in a snare. There will be fools who’ll say otherwise, but it’s not true. I married you today because I wished to, and I don’t want you ever, not once, to think otherwise.”
Her heart fluttered with relief, scarcely daring to hope. He didn’t know her secret, and he didn’t have one of his own. All this manly stoicism was simply because he cared for her. For her.
“That is what you wished to tell me?” she asked slowly, hardly daring to believe it was so. “That you feared I’d doubt you, or your reasons for marrying me?”
He nodded. “God knows you’ve had reason to, given the circumstances of our wedding.”
“But that has nothing to do with you, or with us,” she reasoned. “To be sure, this was not how I had planned things to be, but now that it’s done, I’d never wish it otherwise. How could I ever doubt you?”
“You could,” he insisted. “Most ladies would.”
“Well, then, most gentlemen might say the same of me,” she said. “But you never would.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said gruffly. “Because beginning today, I mean to keep every one of those vows I made to you, and if—”
But Serena had heard enough. Dropping her bouquet, she twisted across the seat, flung her arms around Geoffrey’s shoulders, and kissed him.
A Sinful Deception Page 20
