A Matter of temptation- The Lost Lords Trilogy 02

by Lorraine Heath

  “Dear heavens, no. If a lady is fortunate, her husband will be finished in fewer than ten minutes.”

  “And if she isn’t fortunate?”

  “Then it becomes a matter of endurance. However, your young duke appears to be a most virile man. I’m certain he’ll require no time at all to get the job done, so I see no point in worrying over a situation which is unlikely to occur.” Her mother began waving her hands in front of her face, as though she’d suddenly become heated and needed cooling off. “Oh, I shouldn’t be speaking of such personal matters.”

  “But you should.” Torie spun around and faced her mother. “I have no earthly idea what to expect. I have a vague notion, but I’m not entirely certain exactly what transpires between a man and a woman after they’re married and the lamps are dimmed.

  Her mother began waving her hands more frantically. “It’s too private to speak of.”

  “Lovely. Now I’m terrified with the prospect of experiencing something that a mother can’t even speak to her daughter about.”

  Her mother stilled her hands, her brow pleating as she studied her firstborn for what seemed an eternity. Finally she reached out to cradle Torie’s cheek. Her smile was almost sad. “You’ll learn soon enough what it’s all about, but I assure you that you have no reason to be frightened. The act is merely an inconvenience that prevents you from going to sleep as soon as you might like.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Only a bit and only the first time or two as a woman’s body learns to accommodate a man’s.”

  “Perhaps there should be a school for such things,” Diana piped up.

  Torie’s mother heaved a sigh. “Diana—”

  “Well, honestly, Mother, if a body must learn, the best place is at school, is it not? What if a woman’s body can’t learn to accommodate a man’s? And what is there to accommodate?”

  Torie fought not to smile at her sister’s teasing, while her mother’s cheeks turned a bright red. “I’m really not comfortable discussing this subject. After all, it is your father with whom I do it, and it is a very private matter. I’m sure the duke will make everything most pleasant.”

  “But does he love me?” Torie asked, returning to the serious side of her concerns.

  “I believe he cares a great deal about you.”

  “But caring isn’t love.”

  “Try having love without caring, my girl. You’ll find that it doesn’t work so well.”

  Torie had no doubt that the duke cared, but she often worried that he cared more about the money and land that marriage to her would bring him. Her father was a landed gentleman who owned four thousand acres that provided him with a very comfortable income, comfortable enough that her dowry made her quite the catch and allowed Torie to wander in circles closed to her family until recently. Her mother had been quick to make certain that the aristocracy realized that her elder daughter brought a large fortune to a marriage.

  Torie had always wanted a suitable marriage, but now she feared she’d set her goals too low. Suitable. It sounded so boring.

  She couldn’t deny that comfort existed in her relationship with the duke, but not an ounce of passion. No true excitement, no wonderment. She’d experienced more joy in selecting her gown than in accepting his proposal of marriage. The past few months had been a whirlwind of meetings with dressmakers and stationers and cooks and florists. She’d hardly had time to take a breath, much less to realize that the anticipation she felt as each decision was made wasn’t experienced when she thought of spending the remainder of her life with the duke. And what if it was a long life?

  “Do you love Papa?” she asked.

  “I’m quite fond of your father. He has treated me well all these years, and as I’ve stated, that’s the most any woman can hope for.”

  “It doesn’t seem enough. Now that I’m standing at the threshold of marriage, it quite simply doesn’t seem enough.”

  Until that moment, Torie hadn’t realized that fondness wasn’t love. But then what was love? An elusive feeling she had yet to experience. Oh, she loved her parents, loved her sister, but she couldn’t say that she’d ever loved a man to whom she didn’t share a familial bond. Didn’t love require time to develop, to come to fruition? Shouldn’t one wonder how one might survive if the object of her affection were no longer there?

  Her mother heaved a deep sigh as though she were lifting a trunk filled with nothing but troubles. “I daresay you’ve been reading too much Jane Austen of late. You’re confusing the romantic love found in her silly novels with the reality of love in a marriage. It would be best if young ladies were not allowed to read books that created an unrealistic view of courtship.”

  “I must say that I absolutely adore Darcy,” Diana said, pressing her fist to her heart, a dreamy look coming over her face. “Such a tormented soul.”

  “He was a man with too much pride,” her mother said. “Which was the whole point of the story.”

  “I disagree. The whole point was for Elizabeth to fall madly in love with him and for him to fall madly in love with her.”

  “Nonsense. A woman does not seek love. She seeks an advantageous marriage, which your sister has accomplished far beyond my expectations. I’d hoped for a viscount, and here your sister has snagged a duke. If you were wise, girl, you’d follow her example.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Diana announced with resolute certainty as she plopped into a chair.

  An expression of unbridled horror crossed her mother’s face. “Don’t speak such rubbish. Of course you’ll marry.”

  “No, I won’t. Why settle for one man? How can you ever be certain which one is the one man with whom you should spend the remainder of your life? Each man is so very different from the others. Today I might want a man who is filled with gaiety, and tomorrow I might be in the mood for one who is a bit more pensive.”

  “I think you should concern yourself with finding a man who is content with a woman who doesn’t know her own mind.”

  Torie bit back her laughter as Diana worked to lighten the somber mood that Torie had inflicted upon them. Her sister had such an uncanny gay outlook on life, and she so loved goading their mother, who was always so easily provoked.

  “Come now, Mama,” Diana said. “Having one man in your life is very much like having the same dish served at every meal. It becomes boring after a time, no matter that you began requesting it because it was your favorite. You grow weary of it.”

  “Good heavens! Whatever has gotten into you to speak of such ludicrous things?”

  “I just don’t know how a lady can determine today what she’ll be in the mood for tomorrow.”

  “You’re talking nonsense!”

  Torie, on the other hand, was beginning to fear that her sister had touched on the heart of the matter. She wanted something different from what she was being served, but the meal had already been prepared. She could hardly send the dish back to the kitchen without offending the cook.

  “What if after she’s married,” her sister began, “Torie meets a man she likes far better than she does her duke? What is she to do then?”

  “It is a chance one takes when one accepts an offer of marriage, which is the very reason one shouldn’t be hasty in accepting.”

  “But what is she to do?”

  “She forgets about the other man, the one to whom she is not married.”

  “Did you ever meet someone and wish you’d married him instead of Papa?” Diana asked.

  Her mother briefly closed her eyes. “You girls will be the death of me.” She opened her eyes and pinned each daughter with a hard-edged glare. “We will dispense with this nonsense immediately. Victoria is marrying a very likable fellow.”

  Torie didn’t miss the fact that her mother had failed to answer the question her sister had posed. Had someone else come along later? What would Torie do under a similar circumstance? If she wasn’t love with the duke, then it seemed likely that she could meet someone else…and she
would absolutely hate it because she wouldn’t be untrue to her vows or her husband, which meant she would be untrue to her heart. Neither choice seemed quite fair.

  “Likable because he’s a duke,” Diana chided.

  “You’re beginning to vex me, Diana.”

  “Would you be so keen on her marrying him if he wasn’t?”

  “I don’t understand why we’re discussing this today, rather than six months ago when the duke asked for her hand in marriage.”

  “Because now Torie has doubts where she didn’t before.”

  “Every bride has doubts on her wedding day. I daresay every groom has doubts. The reality of the moment is unsettling, because it is an enormous step to be taken.” Her mother looked at Torie and held her gaze. “Do you care for him?”

  Did she? She liked him well enough. She enjoyed his company, although there were times…

  “Sometimes he leaves me,” she admitted.

  “Well, of course he does, dear girl. He doesn’t live in our house. After today his departures will occur with less frequency.”

  “No, I’m not talking about his not being in a room with me. I’m referring to times when he is sitting right beside me, but he seems to have…gone away.”

  “You’re talking in taxing riddles. He can’t not be there if he’s there.”

  “I’m unable to explain myself adequately, Mother. But his leaving has been happening more and more often of late, and I find it quite troublesome. It’s as though he’s thinking such deep introspective thoughts that they carry him far away from me. Then he will turn to me, and a look will come over his face as though he’s almost surprised to find me beside him.”

  “It sounds as though you are saying he’s merely distracted.”

  “Distracted is as good a description as any, I suppose, although I’m not certain it’s quite that simple.”

  “He’s a duke, Victoria. With four estates to see after, and only God knows how many servants, tenants, worries…It’s quite understandable that the responsibilities weigh on his mind, and when they do, it appears he’s giving less thought to you. Your father often pays me no attention. It’s nothing to worry over.”

  “I suppose not, but still—”

  “Victoria, you’re wearing on my nerves. Your father and I have worked incredibly hard so that you might have a better life than the one we’ve had. My dreams have been realized beyond expectation. Be happy.”

  But what of her dreams, Torie wanted to ask. Except she feared she’d waited too late to give them much credence. It had all seemed so romantic when the duke had swept her off her feet, but now…

  “You’ll be presented to the queen,” her mother said, changing the subject, as she moved the veil a quarter of an inch to the right and a quarter of an inch to the left where it flowed past Torie’s shoulders. “It won’t escape her notice that you carry her name, and when you become close friends, as I’m sure you must, I shall be invited to the palace.”

  “Mother, I’m a commoner.”

  “After today, you’ll be a duchess, dear. She’ll want to meet you. I’m sure of it.”

  Another of her mother’s dreams. That her daughters should have the distinction of being presented to the queen. Torie was beginning to feel that her life was about fulfilling her mother’s dreams rather than her own.

  She looked back in the mirror and began to wonder who this lady was standing before her. Had she ever truly seen her before? Did she truly know herself?

  Or had she always simply been a reflection of her mother’s desires?

  Chapter 3

  O nly your wedding, Your Grace.

  His valet’s words had hit Robert in the chest with the force of a battering ram. Of the numerous things he’d considered as he’d plotted his escape and retribution, his brother being married—or getting married—had never once crossed his mind.

  But from the moment those fateful words had been uttered, Robert had carried on an internal debate with himself while his valet had prepared him for this most monumental of occasions.

  A wedding. His wedding.

  No, his brother’s wedding.

  Not really, not any longer.

  But should it be? Should it be John’s wedding?

  Or was it merely the wedding of the Duke of Killingsworth?

  The distinction was small, but incredibly important, and had weighed heavily on his mind, influencing his assessment of the situation. In the end, he’d decided that he had no choice except to follow through on the plans already made.

  Robert now stood at the front of the church, reconciling himself with the decision he’d made to go forth with the blasted ceremony. He’d reasoned that most marriages among the aristocracy were based on many factors, none of which involved love. Political gain, monetary gain, a father desperate to rid himself of a daughter, a man in need of an heir. He had little doubt that the lady, whoever she might be, had consented to marry the Duke of Killingsworth because of his title, his position, not because of the man himself. In other words, she’d consented to marry the duke, not John, and therefore she would acquire exactly what she, or her father, had bargained for.

  She would marry the Duke of Killingsworth.

  The fact that a different man would stand before her as the duke today than had yesterday was merely a minor inconvenience that should cause her no distress. It was inconceivable to him that she could actually hold any affection for John, and while Robert didn’t dare hope that she might come to care for him, he also recognized that from the time he was old enough to understand his duties as the heir apparent, he’d known that marriage was expected, required, and that he would base his selection of a wife on the suitability of the woman to become the Duchess of Killingsworth, not on any romantic notions of love as spouted by poets.

  Marriage was a duty. Finding a lady who complemented his status among the peerage was imperative. That John had undertaken the task in his stead saved Robert the trouble of doing so himself. Of course, it also left him in the precarious position of knowing nothing at all about the young lady—he assumed she’d be young—and wondering what she might know about John. Presumably very little, since she’d consented to marry him.

  So tonight he would have a wife, and as his body had yet to be sated, he was filled with expectation, relief, and anticipation. He would welcome his new role as husband—and he would see to it that his wife welcomed him.

  Beside Robert stood a tall, dark-haired man near his own age whom he was fairly certain was the Marquess of Lynmore. Since the man had assumed Robert was who he thought he was—and the man was serving as his best man—he’d seen no need to introduce himself.

  And Robert couldn’t very well nudge him, wink, and whisper, “I say, old chap, you look rather familiar. Who are you again?”

  The uncertainty was but a small disadvantage to be endured and overcome.

  The advantage to this day was that John had set everything in motion, and all knew their respective roles and his. Robert hadn’t been forced to give a single command. His valet had known exactly what he was to wear for the occasion—a wine-colored frock coat, the trousers several shades lighter—and had helped him get dressed after giving his hair a proper trimming. The driver of the coach bearing the ducal crest had known precisely when and where to deliver him and, upon their arrival, had pointed to the open carriage parked nearby and explained that it would be used following the ceremony to carry the duke and his new duchess away. A man had met him on the church steps and escorted him to where he needed to be. All in all, this day might be incredibly easy to pull off.

  While waiting for his bride’s arrival, he surveyed the crowd bunched up within the church and experienced a moment of dizziness. So many faces, so many people. Sitting on open pews without walls separating them from one another. Staring at him. A few leaning over to whisper to the person sitting beside them. It was a sight he’d seen numerous times in his youth, but suddenly it seemed strange, disorienting.

  What were they sayin
g? What were they thinking?

  He had to remind himself that all was normal around him, that people were supposed to sit in the open, not be blocked off from viewing each-other. People were meant to have the freedom to whisper to each other. They weren’t to be denied the pleasure of another’s company.

  Many of the people looking at him were elderly. Some he thought he recognized as friends of his father’s and grandfather’s. Men like them, who had approved the building of Pentonville in 1842, who had agreed about and advocated for the separate system of confinement. Men who considered themselves modern-day thinkers.

  The irony of their beliefs and how they’d affected him didn’t escape him. These men would never experience what they had wrought on others. Robert had, and once he no longer needed to worry over proving who he was and could safely take his place in the House of Lords, he was going to become an advocate for those imprisoned during this enlightened age—which, in his humble opinion, was anything but enlightened.

  The isolation didn’t reform men as argued. It drove them insane. Unfortunately he often felt that it had carried him right up to the precipice of madness. He didn’t think he’d crossed over, but he experienced moments when he wondered, when he had doubts, when he wasn’t certain how he’d managed to hold on to his sanity in that madhouse of desperation.

  Suddenly the organ music rose in crescendo, the unexpectedness of it taking the very breath from Robert’s body. A Gray’s organ had provided the music in the chapel at Pentonville, and for a heartbeat, he was transported back to the horror of isolation and loneliness…

  He found himself breaking out in a cold sweat, unexplainably feeling exposed and vulnerable. He hadn’t realize how accustomed he’d become to hiding his identity, to people not knowing who he was, to people not seeing his face, to looking at the world through peepholes that until that moment he’d not realized provided a certain amount of security. Everything with which he’d become familiar during the past eight years was no longer surrounding him. He’d thought he’d welcome shedding the vestments of captivity. Instead he found himself longing for the comfort of the familiar.