‘I felt as if he’d abandoned me.’ Her voice sounded small. ‘I never meant to disrespect his memory either, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to take care of my girls and I thought...’
‘I know.’ For the first time in almost a year, Cassius put an arm around her shoulders, letting her sob quietly into his jacket. ‘Perhaps it’s time for us both to stop dwelling on the past? Perhaps it’s time to look to the future instead?’
‘I’d like that.’ Sylvia gave a loud sniff. ‘And I will apologise. I’ll speak to Miss Fairclough and set everything right, I promise.’
‘Thank you. In that case, I wonder if Isolde and Hermione might like to be bridesmaids?’
Chapter Twelve
This couldn’t be right.
Millie stared at her white-satin-and-organza-swathed reflection in the bedroom mirror, battling with the ominous conviction that something was about to go wrong. If her life at the Foundation had taught her anything it was that life wasn’t fair, especially for women. Errors in judgement, particularly those involving men, had to be paid for. Any deviation, however small or unintentional, from the path of virtue would inevitably be punished. That was how the world worked and how it had always worked. And yet, not only had she deviated from the path and not been punished, but here she was, dressed like the Queen herself, about to marry a kind, handsome, intelligent and apparently sane marquess. She felt as if the whole world had turned on its head. Surely something was about to go wrong.
Unless... She pursed her lips at her reflection. Maybe this was a kind of punishment, marriage to a man who claimed to be incapable of love. Not that she loved him, at least not yet, but he struck her as the kind of man it would be all too possible to fall in love with. What would her life be like then, trapped in a one-sided marriage? On the other hand, maybe one side was better than no side at all? And if he really was incapable of love, then it wasn’t his fault. In which case, all she could do was guard her own heart and not let herself yearn for any more than he could give. Then they might get along together, after all...
‘Dearest?’ Her mother’s head appeared around the edge of the bedroom door. ‘Oh, Millie, you look lovely. Five days’ worth of sewing well spent, I think. You’ve always been so clever with a needle.’
‘You and Alexandra helped.’
‘We only followed your instructions. It looks wonderful. Your father would have been so proud.’ She held out a small bouquet tied with white ribbon. ‘I’ve brought you some myrtle. It stands for love.’
‘Love?’ Millie’s hand faltered in mid-air. ‘But this isn’t a love match, Mama.’
‘No, but I love you so I’m giving it to you. I carried one just like it on my wedding day.’
‘Oh.’ She reached for it eagerly this time. ‘Thank you, Mama. Do you think Lottie will be very upset that I haven’t written to her? Only I don’t want her travelling if she’s still feeling unwell and it all feels strange enough. I’d prefer to have as few witnesses as possible.’
‘I’m sure she’ll understand once you explain that, but...’ her mother looked anxious ‘...there was another reason I came up here.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You have a visitor.’
‘Now? But we have to leave in ten minutes. Who would call now?’
‘Me!’ Sylvia swept into the room suddenly, looking her usual pulchritudinous self in lavender silk. ‘I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this, but I was afraid if your mother told you who it was then you’d refuse to see me. Which I wouldn’t blame you for, by the way, but I’ve come to throw myself on your mercy and apologise.’
‘You have?’ Millie looked from Sylvia to her mother and then back again in amazement.
‘Yes. I’ve behaved terribly towards you. Worse than terribly, abominably. I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.’
‘Oh.’
‘But not just that. I need to thank you, too. Cassius told me what you said the other evening and it was true, all of it. How did you know?’
‘Well...’ Millie lifted her shoulders. ‘To be honest, it was just common sense.’
‘To another woman, yes, but to a man? It’s like common sense is another language. I’ve so much wanted to tell him myself, but I didn’t know how.’
‘Millie?’ Her mother looked confused. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘It’s all absolutely wonderful.’ Sylvia spun towards her, smiling radiantly. ‘Cassius is going to open up the town house in London and I’m going to live there, out of everyone’s hair so to speak, but we’re all going to be the best of friends from now on.’ She turned back towards Millie. ‘You will be my friend, won’t you?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘And you will forgive me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Sylvia looked visibly relieved. ‘And as an additional thank you, I’ll leave today.’
‘So soon?’
‘Yes, although I won’t go straight to London. I’ve been invited to stay with a friend, Lady Vanessa Fentree, for a few days. I don’t suppose you know her?’
‘Ye—es. We’ve met, but please don’t feel you have to leave straight away.’
‘Oh, but you and Cassius need time to get to know each other and you don’t want me and the girls, never mind my old aunt, getting under your feet.’ She paused and then peeked up through her lashes. ‘Speaking of which, Cassius thought you might let Isolde and Hermione be bridesmaids?’
‘I’d be honoured.’
‘Thank goodness! Because I’ve already raided the hothouse to make them flower crowns. They’re downstairs now, entertaining Lord and Lady Malverly and looking perfectly adorable.’ She grasped Millie’s hands. ‘I’ve left you a wedding present back at the hall, too. Several presents actually. I hope you won’t be offended, but I noticed your gown the other day looked a bit faded and since Cassius has given me enough money for a new wardrobe in London, I’ve left you a few of my old ones, just until you can get to town and order more. You might need to adjust them a bit, but we’re about the same height.’
‘Oh.’ Millie looked at her mother in consternation. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say that you’ll accept them as an apology. It would make me feel a thousand times better. And I have to say you look perfectly beautiful today.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Millie peered anxiously over her shoulder at her reflection.
‘Yes! Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s just my hair... I wanted to do something more interesting with it.’
‘Let me see.’ Sylvia tipped her head to one side and scrutinised her face. ‘What about barley curls at the sides? Here, just over your ears?’
‘But we need to leave soon.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I told Cassius I was coming to visit you and he knows I’m always late wherever I go.’ She put her hands on Millie’s shoulders, pushing her down on to the stool in front of the dressing table. ‘Now we’ll need pins and a curling iron.’
‘I really don’t think...’
‘Trust me.’ Sylvia’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘If there’s one subject I know about, it’s hair. When I’m finished, the most honourable Lord Falconmore won’t know what hit him.’
* * *
Cassius gave one last wave to their assembled families and then climbed into the carriage beside Millie. It had been a long day. Long, tense and unexpectedly stressful. Waiting for any bride was surely nerve-racking enough. Waiting for a bride with martyrish tendencies and a long list of reasons why she ought not to marry him was nerve-shredding. He’d felt physically drained by the time she’d finally appeared at the church door, almost twenty minutes late, preceded by two little girls who looked as if they’d had the entire contents of a flowerbed flung over them.
Not that he’d spared many glances for the bridesmaids.
His eyes had gone straight to Millie, a vision in white on George’s arm, clasping a far more discreet bouquet of winter foliage with pink-topped stems. Her face was covered by a gauzy veil, but he could still see the auburn glow of her hair beneath, twisted into ringlets on either side of her head.
The ceremony itself had gone smoothly, though he’d only finally relaxed once the gold wedding band was on her finger. It had been a small and intimate affair with only Sylvia and her daughters, Mrs Moore, Millie’s mother and the Malverlys as witnesses. They’d returned to the Malverlys’ house afterwards for a long wedding breakfast, followed by a leisurely, albeit somewhat chilly walk through the village, something he’d insisted on to lay all the gossip to rest once and for all. That had been followed by another light meal, a few more toasts, and then they’d climbed into the carriage, ready to return to Falconmore Hall.
So that, as they said, was that. His conscience had been appeased and overall he felt satisfied as well as relieved. Not just because she’d showed up and he didn’t have another thing to feel guilty about, but because he’d fulfilled one of the two key tasks that were expected of him as a marquess. He was married. Now all he had to do was beget an heir and society would consider his job done. Which led his thoughts in a straight line to their wedding night.
He studied his bride out of the corner of his eye. The light outside was already fading, casting the carriage into semi-darkness, but he could still see her profile. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, as if the cushion opposite were of some immense interest, and she was sitting very upright, almost impossibly straight-backed with her small hands clenched tight in her lap. He had no doubt that the knuckles beneath her gloves were white. Briefly, he considered taking hold of one of her hands and then discarded the idea. Touching her hands would only encourage him to think about touching other parts of her and, given the circumstances, he probably ought to put all thoughts of their wedding night firmly out of his mind. It had only been just over a week since they’d first met and there was no need to rush. Which the rational part of his brain knew even if the rest of his body was tempted to ignore it.
If only she’d worn some kind of sack to their wedding instead of looking so stunning in her tight-fitting, yet somehow still modest, white gown. Now his imagination was running riot. Even the scent of orange blossoms was driving him to distraction. Considering how little interest he’d felt in the opposite sex for the past year, the feeling took him by surprise.
But it was better to wait. Any disruption to his everyday routine tended to make his moods more erratic. He’d slept reasonably well for the past few nights, but the last thing he wanted was for his nightmares to come back and frighten her. It was one thing for her to hear him break a bottle downstairs, another thing entirely for her to be in the same bed when he woke up shouting. It would probably be best if they slept in separate rooms for a while. Besides, no doubt she’d found their wedding day as trying as he had. The best, most gentlemanly thing he could do was to leave her alone. For a few nights anyhow. And there were plenty of things he could do that evening to distract himself. Play billiards, read a book, go over Linton’s accounts. Because what bridegroom wouldn’t want to study land management on his wedding day? Maybe he could go for a walk instead? At least that would expend some energy.
Or perhaps he could just talk to her?
He leaned forward, making a show of peering outside. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ She looked from him to the window and back again.
‘The sky hasn’t fallen, after all. Now that you’re a marchioness, I mean.’
She pursed her lips. ‘It’s not a joke.’
‘It’s true, though. Or are you going to tell me you feel like a different person now that you’re Lady Falconmore?’
‘I’m not sure who I am any more.’
‘You’re Millie.’
‘Am I?’ There was a plaintive note in her voice. ‘Because ever since that night we met I’ve felt...divided. Torn. It’s hard to explain.’
‘Try anyway.’
She glanced at him dubiously for a moment and then sat up even straighter. ‘It’s just that when I left London I was Amelia Fairclough. I knew who I was and what my purpose was. Then that night at Lady Fentree’s, I felt so sick of everything. I told myself it was the people around me, but mostly I think it was of myself. It was like something inside me rebelled. I wanted to be my old self, the person I was before my father died, someone adventurous and daring.’
‘I remember. You said that you felt trapped, that you were tired of everyone expecting you to be virtuous and self-sacrificing all the time.’
She looked surprised. ‘You remember that?’
‘Of course. If I recall correctly, you said that you’d become someone you didn’t want to be.’
‘Yes, but I still knew I had to go back. Being Millie was only supposed to be for one night. Then I met you and...’
‘And?’ he prompted her as her brow crumpled.
‘I never imagined that there would be any consequences. Then when you came to propose, I tried being Amelia again, but you called me Millie and...’ She gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘I know I’m not explaining this very well. Everything happened so fast that I got confused, but she’s the one who accepted your proposal. Millie, not Amelia.’
‘I see. That’s why you were so upset at me for calling you Miss Fairclough the other day?’
‘Yes. Miss Fairclough is Amelia. It just felt wrong.’
‘Ah. So now you’re Millie?’
‘I think so. Yes. But maybe I shouldn’t be.’
‘Why not? Weren’t you happy that night you rebelled?’
‘Until I almost froze to death, you mean?’ She gave a barbed smile. ‘Yes, I was.’
‘Then why would you want to go back to being Amelia again?’
‘Because I was only happy as Millie because I decided to be reckless and selfish that night. I can’t live my whole life like that.’
‘A lot of people do.’
‘But I can’t! I’m used to having a purpose in life.’
‘And you think a marchioness can’t have purpose?’
‘It’s not that. It’s just a big change and it doesn’t make any sense either. I did something wrong, sinful even, and it feels like I’ve been rewarded.’
‘Sinful?’ Despite his earlier resolve, he reached for one of her hands and folded his own around it. ‘My memory may be flawed, but I don’t remember anything particularly sinful about that evening.’
Her gaze flickered to his mouth and then away again. ‘We kissed.’
‘We did, but surely a kiss isn’t so very wrong?’
‘For an engaged couple, no, but if that maid hadn’t seen me leaving then we would never have seen each other again.’ The flush of her cheeks was visible even in the darkness. ‘I kissed you thinking that I’d never see you again.’
‘Ah, so you’re afraid of remaining Millie? You think she might lead you into a life of debauchery and vice?’
‘Now you’re making fun of me.’
‘No, I’m not. I just don’t understand why an intelligent woman is so afraid of happiness. And I vehemently disagree with the part about your being selfish. You didn’t just think of yourself that night. You came to rescue me with an umbrella, remember?’
‘Yes, but...’
‘And you listened when I told you about Edward.’
‘Ye—es.’
‘And you tried to comfort me, too.’ He rubbed his thumb slowly across the palm of her glove. ‘I wouldn’t call any of that selfish.’
She didn’t answer for a moment. ‘I still don’t know who I am.’
He tipped his head back, resting it on the cushion behind them. ‘Do you realise that over the past few days you’ve tried every possible way to dissuade me from marrying you? You’ve said that you’d prefer t
o marry someone else, that you don’t belong at Falconmore Hall, that you don’t want to ruin my life, that you don’t deserve to be a marchioness and that I must be in love with Sylvia. Did I miss anything?’
‘I was trying to help you, to ease your conscience.’
‘Or you were trying to punish yourself.’ He stopped rubbing her hand and gripped it instead. ‘I believe that if you could, you would have sacrificed yourself to public opinion and been a social pariah for the rest of your days. The only reason you didn’t is because I said that it would damage my reputation if you refused. So you sacrificed yourself by agreeing to marry me, for my sake, instead. Only since most people wouldn’t consider becoming a marchioness a punishment, you still feel guilty about one night of extremely mild sin. Maybe marriage to me doesn’t feel like enough of a self-sacrifice. Which I’m pleased to know, by the way.’
She jerked her hand away. ‘Stop it.’
‘I’m not trying to upset you. All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be a choice between self-sacrificing or selfish. Most of us find a path between the two. You’re a good person. You’ve done good here already.’
‘I have?’ Her forehead creased in surprise.
‘For Sylvia.’
‘Oh...yes, she said you spoke to her.’
‘And as it turned out you were right about everything.’ He lowered his head towards hers. ‘For which you have my eternal gratitude.’
‘She said she’s going to stay with the Fentrees for a few days.’
He laughed. ‘Problem solved.’
‘I’m not sure it’s very gentlemanly to call her a problem, but, yes, I suppose it is.’
‘All thanks to you. So perhaps you ought to stop thinking about who you are and whether or not you deserve to be happy and just relax for a few days. Maybe then it will all seem clearer.’
‘Maybe.’
‘When had you intended to go back to London?’
‘In another week, just after Christmas.’
‘All right then, why not consider the time in between as a holiday? A honeymoon, if you will? Don’t think or worry about whether you’re Millie or Amelia, just...’ he spread his hands out ‘...be.’
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