“I beg of you not to take my opinion personally. ’Tis an inbred abhorrence of marriage that facilitates my dour mood, not a particular prejudice against you. I further confess that I advised my good friend Atwood not to get into the carriage that brought us here this morning, but instead to mount his fastest horse and head in the opposite direction.
“When he failed to heed my warning, I knew there was no help for it, so I begged the honor of having your bridal bouquet crafted from the humble blooms in my hothouse.” The viscount presented the flowers to her with an elegant flourish. “They pale in comparison to your beauty, but I do hope they bring you some small measure of happiness on this most important and joyous occasion.”
Dorothea lifted the flowers to her face and took a deep breath. It was a stunning bouquet that smelled delicious. Yet finding no words to appropriately reply to such an odd statement, she answered Lord Benton with a wry smile of thanks. The viscount promptly withdrew and entered the church, leaving the bride and groom alone.
Dorothea felt calm and in control as she placed her hand on the arm Lord Atwood offered. The moment their feet landed on the marble-floored church vestibule, the sound of trumpets and an organ heralding their arrival filled the air.
Dorothea swallowed hard. She could see her sister, Emma, in the front pew, with aunt Mildred beside her and uncle Fletcher next to his wife. Naturally, Gwendolyn was not there, and the lack of seeing her older sister brought a well of tears to Dorothea’s eyes. How could she possibly get married without her beloved Gwen in attendance?
Hoping to distract her sudden distress, she clenched her fingers tightly around her bouquet. Carter must have sensed her nerves, or felt her trembling, for he abruptly ceased walking.
“Second thoughts?” he asked casually.
His question sent a shiver down Dorothea’s spine and made her feel a flush of panic. “Hell, no,” she whispered furiously. “Are you having second thoughts?”
He seemed startled by her question. Or maybe it was her answer? “I feel ready,” he said, and he smiled at her. “And flattered to hear you are so firmly set on this course. Hell, no, indeed.”
She laughed, the flutter of nerves draining away. “Perhaps that was not the best choice of words, considering the circumstances,” she said hastily. “And where we are standing.”
“Better to curse before the ceremony than after, don’t you think?”
“I will make no promises on that score, my lord,” she replied primly.
He smiled again and squeezed her hand. A swirl of calm surrounded her heart. This was the right decision; he was the right choice to be her husband. Had his kiss not told her so? Dorothea focused her eyes on the front of the church where her family was seated. Their encouraging expressions, coupled with Lord Atwood’s rock-steady arm, allowed her to gracefully glide down the aisle, her face open and smiling.
But her nerves returned the moment the vicar asked her to recite her marriage vows. She struggled to concentrate on every word, to keep her voice steady and strong as she repeated the vows that would bind her to this man for all eternity.
“Wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife?”
There was only an instant of silence before Carter answered, but Dorothea held her breath until he spoke the words, “I will.”
Dorothea’s voice was not as loud as she would have liked when she repeated her vows, but it was steady. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the vicar offered the suggestion that the groom seal the union with a kiss. There were a few mumblings of interest at this very progressive notion.
Puzzled, Dorothea turned her face toward her new husband. Carter smiled mischievously, put his arms around her waist, and kissed her possessively, full on the lips. The mumblings of the congregations rose in volume, followed by several gasps.
As the marquess escorted his new wife back down the aisle, Dorothea caught a glimpse of her father-in-law. The duke was sitting in the front pew, still as a stone. His expression was guarded, his eyes focused forward. He did not turn or glance in their direction as they walked past him.
A prick of unease skittered down Dorothea’s back. She probably should not have allowed the kiss, even though it was meant in good humor and sanctioned by the vicar. Which left her to wonder, was the duke most distressed over the kiss or the marriage itself?
Fortunately, there was no time to dwell on the duke’s ill mood. When the newly wed couple reached the end of the aisle, they were crowded with well-wishers. The gentlemen shook Atwood’s hand and slapped him on the back, then waited eagerly for their chance to embrace the bride.
Dorothea noticed several younger women dab at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs as they offered her congratulations. She idly wondered if they had been sincerely moved by the service or were expressing regret that Lord Atwood was now a married man.
As Dorothea embraced her sister, Emma, a tear trickled down Dorothea’s cheek. She couldn’t help it. This was such an emotional day.
“I never would have figured you to be a watering pot,” Emma teased, her own eyes suspiciously bright.
“I fear I may be more like Aunt Mildred than any of us suspected.” Dorothea laughed. It felt wonderful to share this private moment with her younger sister. It almost, though not quite, made up for the fact that Gwen was missing.
It seemed a bit surprising that she would miss her sisters so much, for Dorothea had always prided herself on her sense of independence. Growing up, the trio had clashed on various occasions, as sisters were wont to do. But the deep abiding love and strong sense of loyalty they shared was as impermeable as ever. On a day when so much had drastically changed in Dorothea’s life, this constant was a great comfort.
She would bring Emma to London the minute she turned seventeen and host the most sensational coming-out the ton had ever seen. It would be a delight to watch her lovely, artistically talented sister shine amongst the highest echelon of society. Now that she had successfully elevated her status as the Marquess of Atwood’s wife, it would be foolish not to take full advantage of the situation.
Aunt Mildred embraced her next. She was weepy and sniffly and could barely speak. Uncle Fletcher gave her a quick, awkward hug and Dorothea could tell from his eyes that he still felt a measure of guilt for pilfering and then spending her dowry several years prior. If not for the generosity of Gwen and Jason, Dorothea would be entering this marriage with nothing, though Lord Atwood had expressed very little interest in her modest dowry.
But this was not a day to dwell on the mistakes and hurts of the past. Dorothea bore no grudge toward her uncle, who seemed to genuinely repent for his transgressions.
There was a great deal of laughter and gaiety at the wedding breakfast that followed, hosted at the home of Lord and Lady Dardington. The chilled champagne flowed freely during the lavish celebration and the numerous guests imbibed with obvious relish. There were toasts to the bride and groom, which became progressively sillier as the party wore on, and lively music to enhance the festive atmosphere.
The three Dardington girls had attended the ceremony with their governess, sitting quiet and unnoticed at the back of the church. But they were in the thick of the celebration at the wedding breakfast, and Dorothea was glad to hear their happy, excited squeals.
Even the Duke of Hansborough seemed to be enjoying himself. He sat among a circle of older gentlemen, eating and drinking with gusto, his face breaking into a smile every now and again.
Dorothea was pleased. She wanted to be surrounded by happiness today. With a broad smile, she circulated among the many guests, basking in the attention. Separated from her groom, she chatted with several matrons, one of whom pointed out a small tear in the lace of her train. A few skillfully applied stitches by Lady Meredith’s maid in the privacy of her bedchamber soon repaired the damage.
On her way to rejoin the festivities, Dorothea turned the corner of the long gallery hallway and found herself face-to-face with Major Roddington. She quickly hid her surprise. She had seen v
ery little of the major since her engagement to Carter had been decided.
Major Roddington was handsome as ever, yet up close she could see the telltale signs of little sleep. For a split second she worried that she was the cause, but then he smiled with genuine warmth and Dorothea felt a great rush of relief.
“I wish you joy in your marriage,” he said quietly, breaking the long silence.
“Thank you, Major.”
Dorothea smiled a bit shyly, wondering how different things might have turned out if Carter had not interrupted them in the garden that night at the Dardingtons’ dinner party. The soft expression in his eyes seemed to indicate he was thinking the very same thing, but of course he made no mention of his thoughts. After all, it was her wedding day.
“Will you be taking an extended wedding trip, Lady Atwood?” the major inquired.
“Not at this time. We will spend a week or two at the family estate and then return to London for the remainder of the Season.”
“May I call on you when you are back in London?”
“I would like that very much. I have a feeling I shall need the support of all of my friends as I assume my new duties.”
“You may count on me.”
Dorothea’s smile widened. She reached out to take his hand in gratitude, but a female voice interrupted.
“Ah, there you are,” Emma called out. “Lord Atwood asked me to help him find you. ’Tis nearly time for the two of you to depart.”
The major glanced down the hallway. At the sight of Emma he bowed toward Dorothea and quickly retreated, almost as if he were avoiding an encounter with her youngest sister. Which was ridiculous, since they were not acquainted.
“I just repaired my wedding dress and now need to change into my traveling costume,” Dorothea told Emma with a sigh. “If I had realized the lateness of the hour I would have not wasted the time having the repair made.”
“I’ll come with you while you change,” Emma offered. “It will give us a few minutes for some private conversation.”
The two sisters hurried to Dorothea’s bedchamber, where a maid was waiting.
“I won’t have to return to Yorkshire after the wedding,” Emma confided as the maid helped Dorothea remove her lovely gown. “Aunt Mildred and Uncle Fletcher are allowing me to stay with Gwen and Jason. I’m planning to be there when Gwen’s baby is born.”
Baby? Dorothea frowned. Apparently Gwen was still keeping her suspicions that she was carrying twins to herself. “I know Gwen will be glad of your comforting presence when her time comes,” Dorothea answered. “And Jason, too.”
“Actually, he was the one who extended the invitation,” Emma said. She placed Dorothea’s blue bonnet on the top of her traveling case and handed the maid the elegant white one. “He thought it would help ease Gwen’s mind if I were with her during the final weeks of her confinement.”
“I’m sure it will help. I shall visit too before the baby arrives,” Dorothea declared, hoping Emma would be able to find a way to cope with their emotional, unpredictable eldest sister.
Emma knit her brow in puzzlement. “You will be rather busy, Dorothea. I doubt your new husband will grant you permission to be away from him so soon after your wedding.”
“I am a married woman, not a slave. Atwood will not object to my being with my sister,” Dorothea said confidently, though in truth she wondered if he would allow it.
How strange to think that the restrictions on her life were still as strong, still as confining. She somehow hoped that being married would afford her more choices, more chances to make her own decisions about her life. Yet in some ways so little was different. She had merely exchanged the dictates of a male guardian for the dictates of a husband.
Ah, but one can learn to manage a husband. The thought popped into her mind and Dorothea smiled. Therein lay the great difference. A final pinch on her cheeks to restore their color and she was once again ready to greet her new husband.
Carter was waiting for her in the gravel drive, surrounded by most of the guests. Dorothea took her time saying goodbye to everyone, saving Lord and Lady Dardington for last.
“Be happy,” Lady Meredith whispered in her ear as she gripped Dorothea in a tight hug.
Lord Dardington took her hands in his. “Atwood seems like a fine man. Yet if you should ever find yourself in need of help, know that you can come to me.”
Dorothea squeezed his hand, smiling through the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”
With a final sniff, Dorothea put her hand on Carter’s forearm and allowed him to escort her to the carriage. She climbed the two steps, but before settling herself inside the elegant coach, Dorothea turned and tossed her bridal bouquet. Directly at Viscount Benton. He caught it automatically, his expression puzzled.
“’Tis said that the individual who catches the bride’s bouquet will be the next one married,” Dorothea announced with a smile.
There was a great roar of laughter from the crowd, most of whom were very aware of Benton’s view of the subject. He gazed down at the bouquet with obvious distaste, looking for all the world as if he held a nest of vipers. Then wrinkling his brow, the viscount surveyed the throng surrounding him.
Bypassing several pretty, eager young misses casting him coy glances, he handed the flowers to the Dardingtons’ eldest daughter. Stephanie’s face broke into a happy grin as she held the prize reverently in front of her.
“Well done, Benton,” Carter joked, before he entered the carriage and sat beside his bride.
The newlyweds turned toward the window and waved as the coach pulled out of the drive. There were shouts and cheers that could be heard until the carriage turned onto the busy street. And then a hushed silence filled the coach.
“I’m glad that’s over,” Atwood remarked.
“I thought it went rather well,” Dorothea replied, deciding she was not going to be sensitive over his obvious relief. Most men did not enjoy weddings, especially their own.
Summoning a pleasant expression, Dorothea turned to her husband. A lock of his dark hair had fallen over his left brow. Captivated by the teasing eyes, she drew closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his lean, powerful body. His clean, masculine scent seemed to surround her, intoxicate her.
Carter’s gaze lowered to Dorothea’s mouth. His eyes darkened, his breath hitched. She leaned in a little closer…
The carriage hit a deep rut and they were thrown apart. The spell was immediately broken. A sigh whooshed out of her lungs as Carter leaned back in his seat, turning away from her. Dorothea felt a keen rush of disappointment that she immediately struggled to conceal. A bride should be happy and smiling on her wedding day.
She mentioned the food at the wedding breakfast, inquiring as to which dishes were his favorites. He responded in kind and they spoke of inconsequential matters for the next few miles. Upon reaching the outskirts of Town they made a brief stop at a posting inn.
Atwood left the coach and to Dorothea’s great surprise did not return. Instead, he mounted a spirited gray stallion and continued the journey on horseback, leaving his bride to her own company.
As she sat alone in the coach, Dorothea caught an occasional glimpse of her groom riding past her. She wondered constantly what thoughts were crowded into his head. Was he happy? Pleased he had chosen her for his wife?
These worries were her only companion for the remainder of the journey. After what felt like an eternity, the carriage came to a stop at the top of a hill. Dorothea gazed out her window to the valley below. Nestled in the center was a magnificent stone mansion, surrounded by parklands and intricately designed gardens, and beyond that thick woods.
Even at this distance, Dorothea could see sprays of water shooting high in the air from the marble fountains, spotted also the diminutive figures of several gardeners as they toiled in the many-colored flower beds. Normally she would have been entranced by the sight of such a beautiful place, but her nerves had st
arted to fray with each mile they drove.
“Ravenswood Manor,” Carter proclaimed, drawing his horse beside the carriage window.
“’Tis magnificent,” Dorothea responded.
“Oh, hell, I was afraid of this,” Atwood muttered beneath his breath. “It appears we have a welcoming committee.”
Stupefied, Dorothea peered closely at the house, noticing the two rows of staff neatly lined in front of the main entrance. Oh, dear, this was the very last thing she needed. She was tired, out of sorts, and trying to cope with a brand-new husband. Now there would be servants to gawk at her.
When they reached the manor, Atwood himself assisted her down from the carriage. He introduced her to the upper house servants, the butler, housekeeper, cook, and head footman, then turned to lead her away. But Dorothea tugged gently on his arm. “I should like to meet all the staff, if you please.”
A corner of his mouth edged upward and his eyes glittered with an emotion she could not identify. It might have been an annoyance, but frankly Dorothea didn’t care. No doubt the staff had been standing outside for at least an hour, perhaps longer. She felt it was her duty to acknowledge them with a personal greeting and a smile.
Dorothea fully expected the butler, or housekeeper, to take over at that point, but again she was surprised. Carter continued down one row and up the next, calling each servant by name. Dorothea was vastly relieved to find so many kind eyes and shy smiles as the staff bowed or bobbed a curtsy.
“It has been a long journey and a most tiring day,” Carter said as the staff began to file inside the manor. “I’ll have Mrs. Simpson show you to your rooms. I’m sure you would like to rest before supper.”
Dorothea struggled to contain her shock. They had just arrived and once again he was planning to leave her on her own?
“Naturally I should like to freshen up, but I doubt I will nap,” she answered.
He smiled charmingly. “Nevertheless, I’m certain the rest will do you good. Mrs. Simpson.” He made a motion with his left hand and the housekeeper materialized at Dorothea’s side. She had not even realized the woman was so near. “Please show Lady Atwood to her chambers. I will see you at dinner.”
How To Seduce A Sinner Page 16
