“Only a fool gives his heart to a woman.”
His cynical words so distressed Tia that she had to pause before she could trust herself to say softly, “I collect you would never be such a fool.”
“No,” he said with brutal earnestness. “Romantic love is nonsense, the creation of fools who try to excuse their passion by disguising it as a more sublime emotion.”
This contemptuous dismissal of love attacked Tia’s heart like lye. Hastily turning away from him so that he could not see her telltale face, she pretended to study the hedgerow.
Why, since Marc did not—could not—care for her, was he so attentive and charming to her? Tia could think of only one answer. She had unwittingly challenged him to make her yearn for him and now he was determined to prove that he could.
Chapter 8
Tia so happy at Rosedale that when the month Marc had allotted for their visit ended, she hoped he would suggest extending it.
But he did not, Instead he seemed anxious to return to London. She wondered sadly whether this was because he missed one of his “other interests.”
Although Marc had planned a fast trip to the city, they journeyed instead in easy stages because the more rapid the carriage’s pace the more travel-sick Freddie became. Marc, to Tia’s surprise and relief, was most solicitous of the ailing boy. Not once did he suggest that she turn Freddie over to Nurse Gowan, riding in the second carriage with Marie, Coles, and the duke’s valet. Puck, however, was not so fortunate. He was banished to the other vehicle where he loudly vented his displeasure.
At last they reached the outskirts of London shortly before noon on the third day. Freddie was disappointed that their route into the capital did not take them across Hounslow Heath, that notorious habitat of highwaymen. His enthusiastic discourse on the exploits of Dick Turpin, Sixteen-String Jack, Black Bart, and other notorious rogues was so highly romanticized that Marc said with a grin, “I fear that I may have a future knight of the road for my brother-in-law.”
“The blame lies with Antony,” Tia said. “He is the one who filled Freddie’s head with all these dreadful stories.”
“Perhaps I did the travelers of England a great service when I bought your brother his commission,” Marc teased.
Tia laughed. “Most certainly you did him one. I am very grateful to you, especially now.”
Word of Wellington’s victory over the French at Toulouse, ending the long Peninsular War, had reached Rosedale the day before their departure, and she fervently prayed that Antony would now be out of harm’s way.
When the Castleton party reached the duke’s mansion in Piccadilly, frail little Freddie was so tired from the journey that after a nuncheon he voluntarily took a nap, something he normally resisted vehemently.
His sister, however, was impatient to see some of London’s famous sights so Marc drove her out in his curricle, leaving Freddie in Nurse Gowan’s Capable hands.
Tia watched admiringly as her husband skillfully guided the matched pair of grays pulling his equipage through the confusion of pedestrians, peddlers, horses, carriages, and carts that crowded Piccadilly.
The sun had come out with surprising warmth, and she lifted her face toward it, enjoying the beauty of the day and the pleasure of her husband’s company.
She and Marc conversed easily, as old friends would, on any number of subjects from politics to the London theatre.
“How I wish I might have seen Mrs. Siddons perform before she retired,” Tia said.
“I was at her final appearance two years ago. She played Lady Macbeth, and after the sleep scene she read a farewell address. The applause for her was so long and thunderous that the play could not continue, and we all went home. There is a new actor, however, at the Drury Lane
who is as good as any I have ever seen. His name is Edmund Kean, and he debuted in January, playing Shylock. He was brilliant.”
“Will you take me to see him?” Tia asked.
“Certainly, but his next performance is two nights hence and I fear we have guests for dinner then,” Marc said, grimacing.
“Unwelcome ones, I perceive.”
“Yes, my uncle, who was my guardian after my father’s death, and his wife have invited themselves.”
Tia had met and talked with this couple briefly at her wedding and had not liked them very much.
Marc laughed. “Your face tells me our guests are no more welcome to you than to me.”
He maneuvered the curricle between an oncoming phaeton and a parked coach. Tia hastily grabbed the side of the seat and hung on. After he safely negotiated this difficult passage with only two inches to spare on each side, she exclaimed approvingly, “What a nonpareil you are with the ribbons.”
He also proved to be an entertaining guide, full of historical tidbits, some of them quite scandalous, about what they were seeing. After they had been to Parliament House and Westminster Abbey, he turned onto a broad avenue lined with fine buildings. The most impressive of these had a Corinthian colonnade that extended the length of its vast front.
Before she could ask what it was, Marc said, “That’s Carlton House, Prinny’s residence.” His voice took on a hard edge. “He spent nearly thirty years rebuilding it to his taste at an exorbitant cost. Unfortunately his purse exceeded his taste. He overdecorated and over-furnished it.”
“I collect you don’t approve of our Prince Regent.”
“You collect correctly.”
“Why not?” Tia wondered how much of the unkind gossip she had heard about the prince was true.
“You’ll see when you meet him,” Marc said brusquely.
The prospect of meeting her country’s ruler momentarily awed her. Then she realized that as the Duchess of Castleton, even royal doors were open to her.
“This street is Pall Mall,” Marc said, “and that great pile of brick at the end of it is St. James’s Palace.”
Tia stared at the sprawling building, with its octagonal turrets and hodgepodge of chimneys, in disappointment. “But it’s so ugly.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” her husband agreed. “It seems somehow fitting that the preceding building on the site was a hospital for female lepers.”
A few minutes later, they drove through the gate to Hyde Park. For years, Tia had heard about the fashionable promenade there each afternoon, and she was bubbling with excitement at the prospect of finally seeing and participating in it.
Long lines of splendid equipages attended by footmen in powdered wigs and elegant liveries moved smartly along the track in both directions. Interspersed among them were horsemen in buckskin riding breeches guiding prime bits of blood.
Tia eyed the occupants of the passing chariots, curricles, barouches, and vis-à-vis, particularly the women in their elaborate beplumed hats, with the liveliest interest. Slowly she realized that their attention, in turn, seemed to be fixed upon her with an intensity that made her squirm uncomfortably.
Marc turned his attention from the road to her. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ll think me a peagoose, but I feel as though everyone is staring at me.”
“Of course they are. It is the first opportunity the ton has had to see my duchess. They are all agog to examine the creature who, after all my years of dedicated bachelorhood, finally managed to leg- shackle me.”
“I did nothing of the sort! It was you who shackled me.”
“I do not recall dragging you kicking and screaming to the altar,” he retorted with a grin. “I guarantee that you are the talk of the ton.”
This assurance only served to increase Tia’s unease. From the expressions on several faces, she was certain that she had been judged and found wanting.
They passed a curricle crowded with a half dozen women in the most lavish gowns and jewels Tia had yet seen. All but one of the women, a hatchet- faced creature of middle years, were young and beautiful.
Seeing her scrutiny of them, her amused husband said, “I told you that they could frequently be sighted in Hyde Park
in late afternoon.”
“But,” Tia exclaimed in shock as she caught his meaning, “they don’t look at all like... like...
“Like ladybirds,” Marc supplied helpfully. “But they are.”
“How green you must think me.”
“No, only charmingly innocent,” he replied gallantly.
“What is that?” Tia stared in disbelief at a diminutive stalk of a man decked out all in purple. Even his wig and his riding boots were dyed purple. Purple ribbons were woven in the mane and tail of his little white horse that was not much larger than a pony. The reins and saddle were purple, too.
Marc laughed. “That is ‘Purple’ Pruitt. He’s as rich as he is eccentric. Goes everywhere, even to balls, on that beast, and he wears no color but purple. He even tried to dye that poor horse purple, but the effort was a dismal failure.”
As they progressed around the track, Marc waved or nodded in recognition at various people he knew. They turned a corner, and Tia saw coming toward them a golden chestnut gelding with a flaxen mane and tail and a proud gait. It was one of the handsomest horses she had ever seen, and it was being ridden by a woman.
How Tia would have loved to ride such a horse. Marc would have passed the woman by, but she guided her chestnut directly into his path, forcing him to stop.
She was, Tia saw at a glance, a diamond of the first water, Her curvaceous form was displayed to great advantage by a carefully fitted azure-blue riding habit trimmed with gold frogging and epaulets. A matching wide-brimmed hat with two sweeping ostrich plumes framed a perfect oval face. She had pale-blonde hair, a sensual, pouty mouth, and arresting eyes of the same color as her habit.
Wondering whether any man could resist such a delectable creature, Tia turned to see the effect upon her husband. To her surprise, he looked not smitten, but decidedly irritated.
“Do I have the honor of meeting your new duchess, Marc?” The woman’s voice was low—artificially so—and caressing.
“Yes,” he said curtly. “Madam, this is Lady Todd.”
Tia, embarrassed by her husband’s brusqueness, expressed her pleasure at meeting her ladyship, then added, “What a fine horse you have. I envy you such a mount.”
An enigmatic smile played upon Lady Todd’s mouth. “Do you? If you wish him, I will sell him to your husband for you.”
Tia stared longingly at the chestnut. She wished she could own such a splendid specimen, but no doubt he would command a very high sum. She had heard such superb bloods ran several hundred pounds or more at Tattersall’s, the London auctioneer yard where the men of the ton bought their horses.
But when Tia asked the price, Lady Todd’s smile grew even more mysterious. Looking directly at Marc with the oddest gleam in her azure eyes, she replied, “I will sell him to the duke for forty pounds and another paltry consideration.”
“Forty pounds!” Tia echoed in amazement. She expected her husband to jump at the opportunity to acquire such a select bit of blood and bone so cheaply, but instead of being pleased, his icy blue eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Why, Tia wondered, did he look so furious?
“Your price is too high, Lady Todd,” he said sharply. “I will not pay it.”
The woman looked as though he had slapped her, and well she might after having her very modest offer so rudely rejected. Tia was as shocked by her husband’s response as her ladyship was, but before she could think of words to soften it, Marc said coldly, “Now, Lady Todd, if you would move out of our way, we wish to continue our ride.”
Abruptly, she guided her horse out of their path and rode off. Looking around, Tia saw that the track had become congested with halted vehicles and horsemen, all of whom seemed to be gaping at their curricle. At Lady Todd’s departure, they hastily started up again. Marc cracked the whip over the gray’s head and their equipage moved forward.
“You were uncivil to her,” Tia complained, “especially after she made you such a generous offer. I cannot conceive why you did not accept it. Her price was a bargain.”
Marc’s mouth twisted in a sardonic half smile. “You may think it cheap, but I found it exorbitant.”
“Exorbitant!” Tia cried in astonishment.
“Yes, and I am the one, after all, who would have to pay it.”
Tia sank back against the curricle seat, much distressed. The chestnut was a steal at forty pounds, and Marc’s refusal to pay even that was a clear indication of how little he cared for his wife.
She stared unhappily down at her hands, no longer interested in the passing parade. Marc had been so pleasant and attentive to her since their marriage that she had foolishly let herself think she was winning his affection, but the incident with Lady Todd told Tia how wrong she had been.
After a sidelong glance at her face, Marc said in exasperation, “For God’s sake, don’t sink into a fit of the sullens over that silly horse. I have a mare already in my stable that will suit you perfectly.”
No doubt it would be as docile and boring as the one he had provided her at Rosedale, but she said nothing.
“If you do not agree,” Marc said curtly, “I will find you a mount whose price is more to my liking.”
Tia forebode retorting that only candidates for a glue factory were likely to be more reasonably priced than the chestnut. Instead she said lightly, “We may dispute the worth of Lady Todd’s horse, but surely you will agree that she is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.”
Her attempt to turn the conversation from the chestnut to a less volatile subject was rewarded by an angry hardening of her husband’s face.
“No, she is not,” he snapped.
He seemed so determined to be disagreeable that Tia’s own temper frayed. “Name me one who casts her in the shade,” she challenged.
“Jennie Martin.” Marc’s face unconsciously softened and his voice took on a gentle note as he spoke the name, betraying that he cared deeply for this beauty
A peculiar pain took up residence around Tia’s heart. The day no longer seemed as sunny and bright to her as it had only a moment before.
Marc had warned her before their marriage that there would be other women in his life. She had agreed to accept them without demur, even professed to welcome them, but that had been before their month at Rosedale. Now she no longer felt so generous about sharing him.
He said scornfully, “Lady Todd cannot hold a candle to Jennie. I have never seen another woman who could.”
The pain around Tia’s heart deepened. “Who is this Jennie?”
For a moment, she thought he looked almost embarrassed, but then he wrapped himself in that icy hauteur she so disliked. “No one who need concern you,” he said gruffly.
She longed to press him about Jennie. To do so, however, would violate her promise that she would ignore his other connections, and she was determined not to do that.
Chapter 9
By the time Marc’s overbearing aunt and uncle departed after their dinner at Castleton House, Tia had never been so happy to be rid of anyone. Their chief concern seemed to be that everyone pay proper deference to their enormous consequence. Worse, the aunt was a rigid, disapproving gorgon who found fault with everything and everyone. Tia’s heart went out to Marc for what his life must have been like when he had been their ward.
As he and Tia went upstairs, he echoed her own sentiments, saying fervently, “Thank God, they are gone.”
He followed her into her bedchamber, wanting to hear her opinion of their visitors. Tia had her Aunt Augusta’s discerning eye for character, and her shrewd observations about his retainers and neighbors at Rosedale had delighted him with their acute insight. Now he asked sardonically, “What did you think of my esteemed aunt and uncle?”
“Esteemed certainly in their own eyes, but not in mine. They are both so high in the instep that they make their nephew seem positively humble by comparison,” Tia added, unable to resist twitting her husband a bit.
Marc laughed. No one except his brother had ever risked teasing t
he forbidding Duke of Castleton before, and he enjoyed it. “Then their visit was of some value if they succeeded in raising my wife’s opinion of me.”
“How miserable you must have been in their guardianship.”
He was moved by the deep compassion he saw on her face. “It was worse for Paul,” Marc replied, his face unconsciously clouding as he spoke of his late brother. “My aunt was always a little intimidated by me. I did my best to protect him, but… His voice trailed off.
“I understand,” she said softly. “It was the same with Freddie and me. I tried to shield him from my father, but…”
But in the end, Marc’ thought, she had been forced to marry to save the boy. Yet, for a union that neither spouse had wanted, their marriage was working better than he had expected it would.
In fact, he was well pleased with his bride. Her frankness and lack of guile fascinated him. So did her laugh, as clear and pure and delightful as the peal of a perfectly cast bell.
When he made love to her, her wild, untutored responses were not sullied by calculation or deceit, but were as natural as Tia herself.
She had not the usual frippery female mind, interested only in fashions and gossip. She could discuss politics, history, and literature with an understanding that eclipsed most of the males of his acquaintance, and she did not hesitate to differ with him.
It was rare that anyone, male or female, dared to argue with the Duke of Castleton. Since he had succeeded to his father’s dignities at the age of twelve, he had been surrounded by toadeaters eager to agree with whatever he said. Having someone dispute him was so novel an experience that he occasionally relished playing devil’s advocate, debating with her even though he agreed with her view.
Isolated by his title, upbringing, and distrust of women, he had never before known the companionship that he enjoyed with Tia. But, though Marc discovered he had sadly misjudged the pleasure marriage could bring him, trust did not come easily. He could not forget that his father and brother had died because of their wives.
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