“Victoria is transforming into a remarkable young woman.” Sebastian’s tone was rich with pride.
Two women traveled across the large ballroom, arm-in-arm, snubbing critics and joining the Duke’s party. The elder woman, festooned in flamboyant orange, red and purple feathers wrapped Sebastian in a fierce hug.
“Hello, my dear boy!” Her sweet face, gray ringlets and playful expression made her appear much younger than her years. She released him then called to Victoria. “Victoria, bring your friend. I want a hug.”
Victoria ushered Gwen over to the sweet-natured woman who encircled Tori’s petite frame as if she were a precious porcelain doll. “How are you, my darling?”
“We are doing well, Fiona,” Tori answered as her brother bowed to the Viscountess’ granddaughter, a striking blonde with a porcelain complexion.
“How are you, Eve?” Sebastian asked.
“I’m fine thank you. Enjoying my grandmother’s companionship,” Her smile was sweet.
Her grandmother winked. “I’m keeping her young.”
“That I believe!” Sebastian’s tone was playful as he returned his attention to the elder woman. “Fiona, I would like to introduce you to Miss Gwendolyn MacAlistair. Gwen, I present to you Lady Fiona Weston, Viscountess of Haversham, and her granddaughter Eve.”
Gwen curtsied.
“Pish-posh,” the elder woman’s features were animated as she spoke, her feathers swaying to and fro with each word. “Enough with the formalities. I have no use for them, as you can tell by my attire. Come with me, dear, I have a question for you.”
The Viscountess strolled with Gwen until they were out of earshot of their party.
In contrast to her flamboyant plumage, Gwen found the Viscountess to be the epitome of grace and charm. She was the type of person rare in the ton, one who made you feel welcome and seemed unimpressed with someone’s title or lack thereof. The woman’s wit, however, was true in nature to her multi-colored feathers.
“Do you see these?” she asked Gwen with a mischievous glint in her eye, pointing to her plumes.
Gwen bit her lower lip to stifle her giggles. “I couldn’t miss them, my Lady.”
The elder woman eyed Gwen with a quizzical expression. “What do you think of them, dear?”
Although Gwen knew she could lie and pretend that the garish feathers were fashionable or even a fashion coup, she decided upon a more sincere response. “I do believe that many a dull, colorless bird would be jealous of your vivid feathers.”
Fiona’s head fell backward, her laugh triumphant. “From now on, my dear, you may call me Fiona. You have passed my test with flying …” she pointed to her feathers, “colors.”
Gwen’s shoulders shook with mirth.
The Viscountess looped her arm through Gwen’s then continued. “I am testing other guests, you see. Trying to ascertain if they are all nitwits or if at least one will tell me the truth.”
“What truth might that be?” Gwen asked.
“That I look like a peacock, of course.” Her raucous laugh reverberated through the ballroom.
“And the results thus far?”
“Take a guess, dear.”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she remarked, “Nitwits?”
“Smart girl,” the Viscountess beamed with approval then motioned to her granddaughter. “Eve resides with me on my late husband’s estate not far from Sebastian’s Kellington Manor. I’d be delighted if you’d call upon us.”
Gwen followed the colorful woman’s gaze and noted the beautiful young lady conversing with Tori. “Would you mind if Victoria accompanies me so she may also call on Eve?”
“Mind?” The Viscountess’ youthful face glowed with joy. “Oh, dear girl, I think that would be wonderful for both of them.”
The sweet woman hesitated then added with a wink. “Sebastian is fortunate to have found you. I know his mother would have approved.”
Gwen’s heart brimmed with emotion at the Viscountess’ poignant words. “Thank you.”
Sebastian approached from behind and, in a discreet gesture of support, placed his warm hand against the small of Gwen’s back. Shivers of excitement coursed through her body at his intimacy.
“What are you thanking this gorgeous woman with those ridiculous feathers for?” he asked.
“Ha! Hear that? Sebastian is the one noble with the courage to speak the truth.” The woman smiled with unabashed approval.
“That is because I have known you for far too long, Fiona.”
The Viscountess bridged the gap between them then whispered, “I expect an invitation to your wedding, darling Sebastian. This girl is perfect for you and you know it.”
“Not only will you receive an invitation but you shall be seated in the front pew, love.”
“Your mother would be proud of you.” The Dowager Viscountess patted his cheek once more before marching toward a group of stuffy-looking elders.
Watching Fiona work the room was like observing a skilled artisan. She showed her plumage to all advantage, moving and swaying, daring someone, anyone, to say something about her work of art; then, once unsatisfied with her present test victims, she’d move on to another party, followed by another.
Although Gwen had a suspicion of what response the flamboyant woman would receive, she nonetheless surveyed the scene, mesmerized. The Viscountess was a sight to behold.
Not only was the Fiona amusing, but she also proved to be quite an ally. Upon meeting Gwen, Fiona took her under her wing at once. As the evening progressed, Fiona and Sebastian introduced her to everyone in attendance. Upon seeing that Gwen had the seal of approval from both the Duke of Davenport and the Dowager Viscountess of Haversham, she was seemingly accepted by the rest of the throng.
Dancing with Sebastian was Gwen’s favorite part of the evening. During their second waltz, Sebastian tipped his head towards an ostentatious elder man. “Do you see the man to your left in the red velvet jacket?”
Gwen followed his gaze. “Yes?”
“Not only does he have a fabulous fashion sense,” Sebastian ribbed, “but he also has a crush on Fiona.”
“He does match one of her feathers tonight. Do you think he planned it?” Gwen teased.
Sebastian threw his head back, his thunderous laughter echoing throughout the ballroom.
No member of the ton had ever heard the Duke of Davenport laugh with such abandon. Over the course of the evening, all in attendance soon discovered that it was a frequent occurrence when the Duke was in the presence of Miss Gwendolyn MacAlistair.
Sebastian escorted Gwen and Tristan to their front door.
“Tonight was a complete success,” Tristan remarked, sounding quite relieved.
Sebastian shook his future brother-in-law’s hand. “I agree. Thank you for all you did tonight, Tristan.”
“Anything for my sister,” Tristan turned to Gwen and winked. “I’ll wait for you in the foyer.”
As soon as Tristan was out of sight, Sebastian caressed Gwen’s hand. “You were marvelous tonight.”
“It was you who stole the show.” She traced the cleft in his chin. “By the time we left, everyone in that room would have gladly danced on their tiptoes for you.”
“Only two dances mattered.” Sebastian referred to their dances.
She agreed with a heart-felt smile.
“We have a lifetime of dances ahead of us.” His promise was rich with emotion. He then kissed the back of her hand and bid her goodnight.
The swaying motion of the carriage ride home lulled an exhausted Victoria to sleep on her brother’s shoulder. Sebastian listened to the familiar clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and his sister’s gentle breaths. As he stared out the window, squinting into the darkness that enveloped the countryside, he imagined the lifetime of dances he would share with Gwen and the endless evenings he would spend gazing into her adoring eyes.
When she looked at him as she did tonight, he felt as though he alone caused the moon to set and the sun to
rise.
He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that her expression wouldn’t cool once she learned the truth.
One could argue that he liked seeing himself through Gwen’s eyes far too much for his own good.
The weeks leading to her wedding filled Gwen with a bliss the likes of which she had never before experienced. Not even her father’s foul mood or short temper could extinguish the flames of excitement and anticipation burning within her heart.
Tristan conducted all of his business at Ainsley until her wedding, allowing him to escort his sister to dinner at the Duke’s estate every evening.
Gwen dared to believe that her father would come around. Although she would love Sebastian regardless of his title, even if he were a pauper, she was not so naïve as to ignore what every parent wanted in a good match for his or her child – a respectable fortune and a prominent place in society.
Sebastian offered both in abundance.
What father wouldn’t approve of such good fortune? After hers had nursed his wounds from his disappointment, he would see reason. She just hoped he would live long enough to come to the realization.
A shudder wracked her body at the thought of her father’s impending death. Gwen considered the possibility that her father would never accept her union. Although the thought saddened her, she refused to change her mind. She loved Sebastian with her every breath, and her resolve strengthened with every spectacular smile he bestowed upon her, with his every husky I love you.
As if that weren’t enough, the fortnight passed in a blur due to Gwen’s many obligations, including her regular appointments with the late Duchess’ seamstress, Madame Lafayette, who took great pride in providing the future Duchess of Davenport with a wedding trousseau fit for a queen.
Sebastian spared no expense. The fabrics were exquisite and the designs were nothing short of magnificent. Madame Lafayette and her assistants were wonderful to Gwen, ensuring the fittings were pleasant experiences. The mornings and afternoons she spent with them were always bright in spite of the stress they were under by their fast-approaching deadline.
Victoria joined Gwen for all of her fittings. The young woman had already become Gwen’s sister in heart and mind. No one looking at them for the first time would ever imagine that they weren’t related by blood. In spite of her avowals to the contrary, Tori also possessed a keen fashion sense, her guidance and support further endearing her to Gwen.
Counting her blessings had become commonplace and Gwen had much to be grateful for. Nothing and no one could dampen her spirits, of that she was certain.
Sebastian was almost as happy as his betrothed, except for the secret guilt he harbored. It permeated his dreams. In each nightmare, Sebastian reached for Gwen only to watch as she evaded his grasp. He awoke alone calling her name, dripping in sweat in his darkened bedchamber.
Fear gripped him. He failed to convince himself that these episodes were nightmares and not a foreshadowing of events to come.
“Please, God, let her understand,” he regularly pleaded aloud as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Despite his restless nights, Sebastian visited Gwen each day, these trips refreshing him. The fervor in her eyes continued to make his heart slam against his chest. If quizzed, Sebastian could recite every shade her eyes would turn with any given emotion.
What shade would they turn the first time he made love to her? His impatience escalated at the thought. He would watch her – he knew he would – reveling in her naked splendor.
Mere months ago he never would have contemplated marrying anyone, let alone a woman he actually loved. Now he could imagine nothing else. After what seemed like an eternity, he, Sebastian Montgomery, the ninth Duke of Davenport, had reached the night before his nuptials.
He exhaled a sizable sigh of relief that his secret remained concealed, then prayed to God as he had done many a night before asking Him for forgiveness. He also prayed for Gwen’s forgiveness when he admitted his manipulations. It was his solemn vow that he would admit the truth to her. He owed it to her and to their future, the same future that would begin tomorrow. The thought sent a jolt up his spine, like lightning striking a sturdy oak and splitting it in two.
Sebastian wrapped his heavy comforter around his bare shoulders then turned on his side. His eyes remained wide open, staring into the pitch-black room. Having long lost track of time, hours passed in a murky blur while his mind worked at a feverish pace, contemplating every disaster that could possibly take place on his wedding day.
Thick fear settled in his chest. What if, out of spite, Gwen’s father revealed the pregnancy that Sebastian created, the lie he had conceived and nursed until it had grown into a full-fledged monster licking at his heels?
Lachlan was heartless, and he’d think nothing of hurting his own daughter. Perhaps the old man would disregard Sebastian’s threats and seek revenge upon him the best way he knew how – by taking Gwen away from him on their wedding day.
“Please, God,” he whispered into the silent room, “don’t allow anyone or anything to keep the ceremony from taking place. Please don’t punish Gwen for my duplicity.”
Neither the clouds darkening the sky nor her father’s acidic disposition could dampen Gwen’s spirits on her wedding day. As she leaned against the plush crimson squibs in the sleek black carriage displaying the Montgomery family crest, Gwen at last understood her destiny. She would be Sebastian’s wife, the Duchess of Davenport.
Pride swelled in her heart as she smoothed her wedding gown. It was more beautiful than she imagined. Delicate silver flowers and leaves decorated the gauzy white chiffon of her dress and train.
Gwen stared through the window at the wooded countryside and traced the diamond and emerald necklace Sebastian had given her. The jewels matched her gown to perfection while her mahogany curls were pinned with zircon-encrusted combs atop her head to display the matching earrings he had presented to her as a wedding gift.
For the first time, she felt like Sebastian’s duchess.
From the moment she had seen his handsome face at the Stocktons’ ball, Gwen experienced an attraction toward him that could best be compared to an ocean current drawn towards the sandy shore. Fighting against it was fruitless. Such was destiny.
Gwen sighed from contentment, certain that no one could ever be as happy as she. Not today or any other day.
Tristan cleared his throat. “Gwen, I’m sorry to distract you.”
“I’m afraid I was distracted even before you cleared your throat,” she replied, turning to face him.
“I noticed,” Tristan drawled. “By the by, would you please stop smiling. You’re beaming so brightly that one might assume you are getting married today.”
Gwen arched her brow. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“I’ve been concerned about you, you know.” Tristan’s teasing tone grew solemn. “Father has been quite cruel toward you, especially by refusing to walk you down the aisle.”
“I understand the reasons for his behavior.” Gwen’s thumb and forefinger toyed with her flawless sapphire betrothal ring. “I accept Papa’s wrath with the knowledge that refusing to marry Keir, choosing to marry Sebastian instead and following my heart were my choices. Besides, Papa is attending the service just not participating in it.”
“Thank heaven for that, if you ask me.” Her brother’s tone dripped of cynicism.
“Even if Papa never approves of my marriage to Sebastian, I pray that someday he will understand my true motive is love.”
Tristan grimaced. “I wouldn’t count on that, dearest, but I shall hope so for your sake.”
“You have always been my staunchest supporter and I am so proud that you are my brother.” Gwen’s heart swelled with unbridled affection.
Tristan leaned toward her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We have shared everything since birth. How could I be anything but supportive?”
“I mean it, Tristan. I am blessed to have you as my brot
her.”
Tristan’s voice grew hoarse. “You mean the world to me, Gwen. Seeing you happy is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Gwen hugged her brother, grateful for all he had done for her throughout their lifetime, especially following their mother’s death. “I’m almost ashamed to say this, but I am glad that Papa refused to walk me down the aisle. In truth, I wouldn’t want anyone but you to do so.”
She caught sight of a single tear tracing a path from her brother’s eye to his cheek. He pushed it aside then straightened. “You must be careful not to wrinkle your dress or Madame Lafayette will have a fit and, above all else, do not cry. We don’t want your smooth visage resembling a beet by the time we walk down the aisle.”
Her laughter rang throughout the carriage as it rolled to a stop in front of the miniature cathedral on the Morley estate. Alexander and Constance had offered to host the ceremony at their estate so the bride and groom could experience a wedding night without a house full of guests and Gwen was grateful for their offer. She handled the ton’s scrutiny well thus far but was pleased she wouldn’t have to do so on this night.
Tristan helped her alight as Victoria sprinted down the cathedral steps two at a time. Tristan’s eyes widened at the sight. “How on Earth did you take on those stairs in that gown?”
“That, my dear sir, is my secret.” Victoria straightened then placed her hands behind her back, the picture of a demure lady.
“My God, you are just like my sister,” Tristan muttered.
Victoria tipped her head towards him. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as such,” Tristan said, winking.
Victoria’s cheeks glowed a healthy pink, matching her rose-colored gown to perfection.
Gwen smiled at her. “Tori, you look gorgeous.”
Victoria twirled then curtsied for effect. “I don’t hold a candle to you. You look like a princess in your wedding gown.”
Dance with Deception: Scandalous Secrets, Book 1 - Exclusive Edition (Scandalous Secrets - Exclusive Edition) Page 16
