Awakening the Duchess

by Eva Shepherd

  She would just have to resign herself to being married to a man who had countless lovers.

  And she would just have to keep that thought foremost in her mind at all times if she was to avoid humiliating herself.

  She had forgotten it when she had shamelessly thrown her arms around his neck at the engagement party and kissed him with an intensity that had surprised and shocked her.

  And even this morning she had almost forgotten who he was and what he was like. She had chosen her gown with such care and had even been tempted to apply a touch of rouge and lipstick, just to enhance her appearance. She applied make-up every time she appeared on stage, but never before today had she even considered doing something as risqué as wearing it in public.

  It had all been so ridiculous. She should not be trying to make herself appear attractive to him. After all, she did not want to attract him. Did she?

  No, of course she didn’t. These affectations were going to have to be kept well under control if this marriage of convenience was to work. If her marriage was to be a success, she would need to ensure she had no feelings for her husband and that any physical attraction she felt towards him was squashed down so small that she was able to ignore it.

  She glanced over at her husband-to-be. Except, squashing her feelings of attraction for him was going to be no small task. While she was pleased he wasn’t an old duffer like Lord Bufford, being married to a man as handsome as Oliver Huntsbury was going to have its own complications. He was undeniably the most attractive man she had ever met and she had met some handsome men working in the theatre. But it wasn’t just his stunning good looks that caused her to so easily forget her resolve. Nor was it just his easy, confident manner. There was something special about him. It was a quality that leading men strove hard to capture. It was a magnetism that caused every eye to turn in his direction and for women, even sensible ones like herself, to suddenly start preening themselves and acting in a ridiculously coquettish manner.

  Yes, his masculine appeal was undeniable. But she was most certainly not the first woman to feel its attraction and she would not be the last. If she was to deny its pull, she had to keep reminding herself of Lady Bufford, Lucy Baker and all his other very good friends. She could not allow herself to be lured in, just because he was handsome. It did not matter what effect his kisses had on her. It did not matter that she could hardly remember who she was, where she was and why she was doing what she knew she shouldn’t.

  It was not going to be easy, but this unwanted marriage would only work if she kept her distance from Oliver, the reprobate Duke of Somerfeld.

  Chapter Nine

  A wedding day should be the happiest day of a woman’s life. Isn’t that what everybody said? But when you’re being married against your will to a man who has been tricked into becoming your husband, happiness doesn’t tend to be an emotion in great abundance.

  A solemn Arabella stared at her reflection in the ornate mirror. It was like déjà vu. Just four weeks ago she was sitting in exactly the same place, staring at an equally sad reflection. The only difference was that time she was facing an engagement party. Today it was a wedding. And after today she would be a married woman.

  ‘Cheer up, girls,’ Arabella said with false enthusiasm, as an unusually gloomy Nellie dressed her hair, watched on by an equally despondent Rosie. ‘It could be worse. I really could be going to my execution, instead of just becoming a bride.’

  Her two friends sent her reassuring smiles.

  ‘You’re right,’ Rosie agreed. ‘It could be much worse. You could be marrying a man who wouldn’t let you act on the stage.’

  ‘And he could have bad breath and be desperate for an heir,’ Nellie added. ‘One thing about the Duke, he’s definitely easy on the eye.’

  Arabella smiled. There were some consolations, she supposed.

  Her hair completed, Nellie tightened the laces of her corset, helped her into her silk petticoat and removed the wedding gown from the wardrobe. Using a pattern from a French fashion house and hand-embroidered ivory material, the London dressmaker had created an exquisite bridal gown. Despite her reluctance to marry, she experienced a slight thrill of excitement as Nellie helped her into the flowing folds of white satin. She did a small twirl in front of the mirror and watched the soft fabric of the long train swirl gently around her ankles. The gown was the epitome of elegance and romance even if today’s wedding was nothing more than a business transaction.

  Nellie fastened the line of small pearl-coloured buttons at the back of Arabella’s gown, placed the gossamer-fine veil carefully on her head and secured it in place with a simple garland of orange blossoms. She removed a silver and diamond necklace from the jewellery box and placed it around Arabella’s neck.

  At the sight of the necklace Arabella bit her trembling lip. It had belonged to her mother, a gift from her father when they got married. Arabella couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would have thought of this hastily arranged marriage. Would she have approved? Or would she have forbidden it and insisted that her daughter marry for love, not for social advancement?

  Arabella would never know, but she could only hope that her mother would have been a loving parent who wanted the best for her daughter.

  As she buttoned up her lacy white gloves she looked at her sad reflection and sighed. The happiest day of her life? Not in the slightest.

  ‘Well, I suppose we should get this over and done with,’ she said to her friends. Rosie was dressed as her maid of honour and was wearing a flattering cream gown with a blue waistband. Unlike Arabella, marriage suited Rosie and every time she mentioned her husband her voice softened and her face lit up with pleasure. That’s what a marriage should be like. It should be a love match. It shouldn’t be about titles and improving one’s social status.

  The two girls made their way down the grand staircase of Somerfeld Manor, followed by Nellie, who was still fussing about the gown and straightening out the train.

  Arabella took a few minutes to compose herself before walking out of the front entrance.

  Her father was waiting for her, standing beside an open carriage decorated with garlands of flowers. The liveried footman moved forward. He offered his hand to help Arabella and Rosie into the carriage that would take them to the local church where the supposedly happy event would take place.

  Her smiling father climbed in beside them. Dressed in a formal grey morning suit, a white orchid in his buttonhole, she had never seen him look more pleased with himself. This wedding might not be the happiest day of Arabella’s life, but it was evidently the happiest day of her father’s.

  He had stopped her from marrying Arnold Emerson, the man she’d thought she loved, because he wasn’t going to waste a potential asset on a man who would bring neither money nor prestige into the family.

  Arnold had not loved her and had been easily bought off. Her father had inadvertently saved her from making a match that would have been a disaster. But that had not been his reason for offering Arnold money so he would withdraw his affections. If Arnold had possessed a fortune, or better still a title, they would now be wed.

  And now her father had found someone with both money and a title. So, whether they were in love or not was of no matter to him, her father had what he wanted.

  As they rode down the long, oak-lined driveway, the leaves rustled in a slight breeze and the carriage wheels crunched over the gravel. It was another perfectly sunny day. But that was the only thing perfect about this day, the weather.

  The closer they got to the church the more Arabella’s nerves jangled. She was about to be married. Her life was about to change for ever. She had no idea what it was going to be like to be married to the Duke of Somerfeld. He had promised her freedom, had said that nothing would change for her, but she had known him for such a short time. She knew virtually nothing about him. Nothing, that was, except the rumours she had he
ard and that did little to still her rampaging nerves.

  The temptation to throw herself out of the carriage and make a run for it was becoming all but overwhelming. But where could she run to? Nowhere. She was in the middle of the Surrey countryside and dressed in clothing that was hardly suitable for fast escapes. And if she knew her father well, and she did, he probably had burly men stationed along the path to drag her kicking and screaming back to the altar.

  There was just one possibility left, that Oliver might have even colder feet than she did. Perhaps he had already decided to flee, back to the arms of one of his many mistresses. After all, there was nothing in this marriage for him. He said he didn’t break his word, but how was she to know if that was true? He might have kept his word in the past, but he had presumably never been faced with the prospect of marriage before.

  She shivered, as if the weather had suddenly turned cold, even though the sun remained shining in the cloudless blue sky.

  Would it really be a good or a bad thing if Oliver didn’t turn up? It would be good that she wouldn’t have to get married, but bad as her father might withdraw his funding for the theatre. It would also be bad to once again endure the humiliation of being jilted, albeit this time by a man she didn’t want to marry in the first place.

  And all it would do was postpone the inevitable. Her father would find some other hapless member of the aristocracy to marry her off to and he would find some other method of tricking her into walking up the aisle. With a small dejected sigh Arabella knew she just had to accept the inevitable.

  No matter how she looked at it, she was doomed. Doomed to become a wife.

  The carriage pulled up outside a quaint stone church, surrounded by happy villagers, all eager to get a view of the bride. No doubt many were wondering what sort of woman had actually captured the notorious rake, Oliver Huntsbury.

  Arabella tried, with all her might, to look happy for their sake.

  To the sound of an organ playing the wedding march, she entered the church on her father’s arm, with Rosie walking behind. The sweet scent of roses from the flowers bedecking the church filled the air as they made their slow funereal walk up the aisle.

  The congregation stood in the wooden pews and every head turned in her direction. Some were smiling, some were scowling and many had bemused expressions on their faces, as if they, too, could not believe this was actually happening.

  Oliver turned to look at her and Arabella’s slow progress momentarily faltered. Her husband-to-be looked magnificent. Dressed in a dove-grey morning suit, with a cream waistcoat and white cravat, he was more sublimely handsome than she remembered. Even from this distance she could see that seductive spark in his eyes. He was smiling with reassurance and Arabella tried to feel reassured. But how could she possibly feel calm when she could feel the blood pumping through her body and the hammering rhythm of her heart was so loud it was almost drowning out the sound of the wedding march?

  And tonight would be their wedding night, their first together as man and wife. If Arabella’s nerves weren’t jittery enough already, reminding herself of that fact was enough to send them into agitated spasms.

  She reached the altar and, like the possession she was, her father handed her over to Oliver. He smiled down at her and a frisson of awareness rippled through her. This man was to be her husband. This man with his laughing eyes and his devilish smile was to be her husband. This man, with a seductive charm that made him notorious among actresses and aristocrats alike, was to be her husband. Once again, she wondered whether it wouldn’t be better to be forced into a marriage with a man who wasn’t so attractive. Then she’d know exactly how to feel about this situation. She wouldn’t be standing beside a man who caused her to feel disorientated every time he looked at her. A man whose kisses caused her to respond with a passion she had not thought she was capable of. A man who she knew she should never, ever fall for.

  Arabella closed her eyes. She had to keep reminding herself of that fact if she was not to lose all sense of reason. No matter how much Oliver’s charm and seductive manners disorientated her, she had to remember her resolve to keep her distance from him. She was not a real wife and she did not want to be one of the many women in his life. She did not want to be like his mother, in love with a man who was incapable of fidelity.

  No matter what happened on their wedding night, and every other day and night that followed in their marriage, she would not let herself fall under his spell.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at the vicar, dressed in his ornate vestments. Despite her determination to focus and not be distracted by the man standing beside her, she hardly heard a word the vicar said, apart from when he asked if anyone had just cause why this man and this woman could not be joined together in holy matrimony.

  Arabella waited for someone, anyone, to say yes, because it was a joke, a farce, that it wasn’t holy matrimony, it was a holy mess.

  But the congregation remained silent.

  She also heard Oliver promising to love and honour her, two things she doubted he would do. And as for forsaking all others—well, they had already agreed that would not be happening. But then again, she also promised to obey him in her own wedding vows. Something she had no intention of doing.

  The vows completed, the best man held out the wedding ring for Oliver to place on Arabella’s finger. Arabella removed her gloves, lifted her left hand and was horrified to see that it was shaking. Oliver gently took hold of it and covered it with both his hands, as if trying to calm her down and allow his strength to flow into her. But the touch of his skin on hers had the opposite effect. A rippling sensation rushed up her arm, causing her heartbeat to increase its furious tempo and her already agitated nerves to strain further until she was close to fainting.

  She closed her eyes, took in a series of steadying breaths, then looked up at him and sent him what she hoped was a composed smile. But the tremor at the edges of her lips made a lie of any such pretence to composure.

  ‘It’s all right, Arabella,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Try to see this as a victory over your father. Once you’re married you will be a free woman.’

  Arabella nodded slightly and tried to smile with stiff lips.

  The vicar coughed and sent Oliver a pointed look, reminding him to continue with the service.

  Oliver picked up the ring, gazed down at Arabella and smiled. ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow,’ he said as he gently slid the ring up Arabella’s finger.

  With my body I thee worship.

  A blush rushed to Arabella’s cheeks. The last thing she wanted to think about right now was Oliver’s body and she certainly didn’t want to visualise him worshipping her. An image of being held by him, kissed by him, invaded her thoughts. Her cheeks grew hotter. Her heart pounded harder. She had to get her reactions under control. She just had to. She turned to face the vicar, who smiled at her benevolently and proclaimed them man and wife.

  It was over. They were now married. Her fate was sealed.

  ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ the vicar said. No, it wasn’t over. She had one more ordeal to endure.

  She looked up at him and could feel her lips trembling. In fear? In anticipation? Arabella was unsure.

  Oliver sent her one of those devilish smiles that always seemed to make her body react in the most inappropriate of manners. Although perhaps it was no longer inappropriate to react in such a way, now that he was her husband. Arabella pushed that thought away. He was her husband in name only, so, yes, it was still inappropriate.

  He leant down and lightly kissed her on the lips. She closed her eyes. Despite herself she loved the touch of his lips on hers, even if it was just a formality.

  She parted her lips slightly, willing him to kiss her more deeply. But unlike herself, he had the sense to remember they were in a public place and his kiss remain
ed light. Or was it because he was being watched by a congregation that included at least one of his mistresses and possibly several more?

  The church bells rang out joyously and, as if in a trance, Arabella was led back down the aisle on the arm of her new husband.

  A cascade of red rose petals descended on them as they stood in the entrance of the church and the full reality of the situation hit Arabella. She was now married to Oliver Huntsbury. Married until death parted them. No matter what he said about nothing changing, her life had just changed for ever in a fundamental way. She was now a married woman. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  * * *

  Oliver tried to smile as the rose petals danced around them, caught in the light breeze. He was now married, married to Arabella van Haven. A woman he hardly knew. Just one short month ago, he had no intention of marrying anyone, ever. And now he was a married man. He had promised to honour this woman in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and that, at least, he would do. But it was all so much to take in. What sort of marriage would they have? Would they really be able to work out an arrangement that suited them both?

  Oliver hardly noticed the many people who shook his hands, slapped him on the back and congratulated him. All he could think was, I’m now a married man. I’ve done what I vowed I would never do.

  And he had good reason for making that vow. He knew he was incapable of committing to one woman. He had discovered as a young man that he was exactly like his father. He loved women, but it was all women he loved—it would never be just one woman. And if he couldn’t commit to one woman, then he wouldn’t ever get married. It was a simple solution that had worked well for him in the past. But now he was married and to the type of woman he never, ever got involved with.

  His gaze moved from his young bride to his smiling, happy mother.