Benjamin took one last look in the mirror to check that his cravat was tied properly before donning his hat and waistcoat. It was a strange feeling to know that, by this afternoon, he would be a married man and would return with a defiant Duchess on his arm, a woman he would tame in no time, he was more than certain. The thought brought a thrill to his soul.
A knock at the door had him turn and call out, “Come!”
Mrs. Caplin, the housekeeper for Bantry Estate, stood in the doorway, her large frame filling the space. “Your Grace,” she said with a curtsy that matched her succinct tone, “I have seen that Her Grace’s, or that is, Her Grace-to-be’s…well,” she shook her head. Benjamin had never seen the woman unsure of her words before, “her rooms have been readied.”
“Very good, Mrs. Caplin,” Benjamin said, hiding a smile. Mrs. Caplin had been the housekeeper at Bantry Estate for many years and was not one to make mistakes. It was a demonstration of uncertainty that she stammered at all. “See that Mrs. Bradley has dinner ready by seven. I see no reason not to be back by that time, and after a long day, my wife and I will be hungry. I would suggest a nice venison or perhaps even lamb.”
My wife. Benjamin wondered at this. He knew that he would have to marry eventually, but never had he truly taken even the slightest of moments to consider what that life would be like. His parents had had a reasonably happy life, and their marriage had been prearranged. They had not even met until they stood before the Vicar. At least he and Miss Birks had already met, and on more than one occasion, even if those encounters had been brief. The entire situation could have been worse, much worse.
Mrs. Caplin nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I will pass along the message straight away. And would you like me to add a nice bouquet of flowers to Her Grace’s room?”
Benjamin waved a dismissive hand at the woman. “Whatever you feel would be appropriate. I trust your judgment.” He cared nothing for flower arrangements or whatnot, especially when it came to a room he would rarely see. In his opinion, such trivialities were a waste of time, but if doing so fell under the requirements of his station when it came to a new wife, then the housekeeper would know best.
Flower arranging would be the perfect use of my wife-to-be’s time, in all honesty, he thought with a silent chuckle as he pictured Miss Birks worrying over a vase full of flowers. “Oh, and Mrs. Caplin,” he called after the woman as she went to close the door behind her, “I would like the staff to be waiting outside the front door when we return. The new Duchess will need to meet them as soon as possible if she is to take over the running of the house.”
Mrs. Caplin gave him a quick nod. “Yes, Your Grace,” she replied. The woman could be curt at times, or perhaps overly-formal was a better description, but she would be a great asset in this wondrous quest on which Benjamin had set himself: The taming of Miss Cecilia Birks.
Once he was certain he was presentable, Benjamin made his way to the foyer. For whatever reason, a twinge of nervousness assailed him. It resembled very much the type of feeling from which he suffered whenever he was to meet a man for a new business venture. It felt strangely out of place and he wondered if he was falling ill.
Daton, the butler at Bantry Estate, stood waiting at the door, Benjamin’s best overcoat over his arm. As the man helped Benjamin into his coat he said, “The staff wishes you all the luck with your wedding, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Daton.” The man had been with the family since Benjamin was a child, and his graying hair had receded so much that all that remained was a crescent around the back of his head. He had a similar formalness of that of Mrs. Caplin, except he had been known to smile on occasion, just as he did now.
The carriage was already waiting when Benjamin stepped outside, the family crest upon the door that depicted two white horses and two golden swords crossed at mid-blade. Every time Benjamin set eyes on it, he was reminded of the strength of the Thornbrook legacy and his place in that lineage. It was not until this moment, as he was making his way to be wed, that the importance of marrying and obtaining an heir to continue that lineage weighed upon him. The feelings it evoked were strong and sure, and it made him proud to be taking this important step, even if he had much work to do with his new bride.
Yet, as the carriage made its way down the long drive, the nervousness he had felt in his rooms returned. He had no doubt that Miss Birks would make a fine Duchess; she had shown on more than one occasion that she had the grace and manners to do so. What played in the back of his mind was what he had seen in the depths of her eyes, that bit of defiance. Would she embarrass him and bring him shame? Or had her parents done their job properly and taught her the ways a person of nobility should act, which meant hiding one’s true feelings at all cost?
Well, if she did shame him in some way, he would make certain she did not do so more than once.
***
When Benjamin arrived at Brightstone Manor, another carriage sat before the house, a simpler chaise that could only be that of the Vicar come to perform the ceremony. No noble in their right mind would be caught driving their own carriage let alone one in such a state such as the one that sat before him.
A liveried servant jogged over—from where, Benjamin did not know nor did he care—and placed a step before opening the door. Benjamin paid no attention to the man as he straightened the lace that peeked out of the cuffs of his sleeves. For some unknown reason, his heart beat against his chest, and he was unsure as to what he should do about it, or what caused it to react in such a manner. He reminded himself once again that this was simply a business agreement, an arrangement that would benefit both parties, each in their own way and nothing more.
The Brightstone Manor housekeeper, Mrs. Vickery if Benjamin remembered correctly, a spry thin woman of middle years, answered the door after a single knock. She had to have been waiting just on the other side of that door to have answered so quickly. She appeared nervous, though she was quick to take Benjamin’s coat and hat and lead him to the drawing room.
“His Grace, Duke of Thornbrook, Mr. And Mrs. Birks,” she announced when she entered the room.
The drawing room was small in comparison to that of Bantry Estate, though it was unfair to compare the two residences. One could not make such comparisons when dealing with a family of the ton and that of the gentry, even if the lower family had moved far up in the world financially. The room had once been tastefully decorated with a variety of well-done, though not expensive, oil paintings and heavy oak furniture. However, although most of the more important pieces of furniture still remained—a long sofa with large blue flowers and two wing-back chairs as well as a dark coffee table—Benjamin noted the missing bureau and smaller tables that were more than likely sold during the recent financial crisis the family currently endured, much like the items that had once adorned the entryway.
On the sofa sat Mrs. Birks and her daughter, the woman to whom Benjamin would be married by the end of the day, or the end of the hour if he had anything to do with it. Any time spent dawdling here was time away from what was important, and Benjamin was not in the mood for idle conversation that typically took place after such events.
Miss Birks sat up straight perched on the edge of the seat, appearing very much the lady she would soon become in name. Although on the outside she appeared completely calm, that now familiar fire in her eyes burned brightly and it could have singed Benjamin where he stood if it was physically possible. Yet, that defiance kindled more than his ire; it aroused something in Benjamin, something deep within that he had never allowed to be ignited before.
A younger gentleman who Benjamin did not know sat in one of the wing-back chairs, and he rose when Benjamin entered. He was jittery and his eyes moved quickly between the room’s occupants as if he were a trapped fox wondering which of the hunting dogs would catch him by the neck and tear out his throat.
“Your Grace,” Birks said as he offered Benjamin his hand, “it is good to see you again. Please, have a seat.” The man mo
tioned to the second wing-back chair, and Benjamin sat. “This is Reverend Flatterly. I’m afraid the Vicar was unable to be here. However, you will be happy to know that the banns were announced without comment.”
The man appeared barely old enough to hold the position of curator, but he would have to do.
“Reverend,” Benjamin murmured. The fact that the Vicar had responded in such a way to the Birks family said much; if it had been a Duke who had requested the man’s attendance, Benjamin was certain the Vicar would have not treated him with so little respect as to send a man of lower ranking. However, this was not to be a formal affair, so perhaps it was for the best. If they had planned a large wedding, Benjamin would have sent the nervous man beside him to fetch said Vicar and demand he be in attendance regardless of what other obligations he had.
“Your Grace,” Reverend Flatterly said, “I am pleased to be here to perform such an important ceremony. As Mr. Birks stated, the banns were posted and no one came forward with any objection to your marriage, so we can begin whenever you are ready.”
Benjamin glanced over at Miss Birks. Her hands were grasping her skirts so tightly that her knuckles were white. What Benjamin found odd was that he was just short of grasping his own lapels in the same manner.
“Well, if you are ready now, I suggest we get this done,” Benjamin said as he stood. “We will need to return as soon as the papers are signed; I have much work that needs to be attended to, and any time spent here keeps me away from those duties.”
***
The ceremony took less than ten minutes and was performed in the drawing room. No decorations were put into place, no music was played, and the bride wore no formal wedding gown. It was a simple affair that was as stiff and formal as the bride. Benjamin was amazed at how crisp and curt Miss Birks’ words were; she should have been ecstatic that a man of Benjamin’s standing would be her husband. Her gratitude for what he was doing for her and her family should have been immense.
However, rather than smile, Miss Birks stood stiffly at his side, and a sadness overrode the defiance that had shone in her eyes when he first arrived at Brightstone Manor. Well, that had nothing to do with him. The deal had been made, the ceremony complete, and now Miss Birks was Cecilia Young, Duchess of Thornbrook.
“Do you have time to stay for tea?” Mrs. Birks asked as she dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief. Why on earth did women feel the need to weep at weddings?
“I am afraid not,” Benjamin replied with little attempt to hide his impatience. “As I mentioned earlier, I have work that needs my attention, and my new wife needs to acclimate herself to her new home. Waiting to do so will only lengthen the time it will take her to do so.”
Mr. Birks also wiped at an eye, although he tried to hide the movement by turning away from the group. When he turned back around, his eyes had a redness to them that had not been there before. He took his daughter’s hand in his and said, “I do hope you enjoy your new home. You will be able to attend the grandest of parties and become friends with the best families of Dorset.”
“Yes, Father,” the young woman replied, although her voice did not reflect any sense of excitement or expectation, but instead had a flat intonation.
The one person who seemed put out when he learned there would be no festivities was Reverend Flatterly. When the ceremony began, he stuttered through the first lines of the ritual, but once he began, his nervousness disappeared, more than likely due to the expectation of food and drink afterward. Now, however, he stood sullen in the corner, clearly uncertain what he should do next.
Mrs. Birks took her daughter in her arms, now openly weeping. “You will be very happy with the Duke, my dear. Always remember what we have taught you and be yourself, and everything will work out for you.”
Benjamin expected his new wife to break down in tears or cause a scene when it was time for them to leave—her defiance had suggested she would put up a fight one last time, one last attempt to convince her father that she should be allowed to remain in their home. However, much to his surprise, she walked out to the waiting carriage, and though clearly sorrowful, she held her head high and her back straight.
“Goodbye, my dear!” her mother called out to her daughter as the carriage moved away from the house. “Send a letter so I know you arrived safely. And write often.”
The new Duchess put her head out the window and waved half-heartedly. Then she returned to her seat, refusing to even look at Benjamin, which he found amusing. She would certainly be a form of entertainment for some time to come, and he looked forward to the challenge.
As they continued on their journey, the woman stared out the window. The light shining on her enhanced her features and Benjamin found himself taking glances at her. The defiance he had seen before was still there in the jut of her chin and the pursing of her lips, and he reveled in the idea of the challenge of molding her to be the woman worth of the title of Duchess.
Chapter Five
Cecilia felt numb inside as Brightstone Manor dwindled in size, her parents continuing to wave as they, too, became smaller and eventually disappeared from view. The tears that flooded her mother’s face had glistened in the sun, and even her father’s eyes shone with unshed wetness. However, whether the tears were shed for the loss of a daughter or the typical emotions expressed at a wedding, she was unsure, for not once did either mention a feeling of loss for her leaving them. How she wished they would have been more forthright with their thoughts; however, the deed was now done, and their debt was now paid; what could they have done otherwise? Would their distress have changed the fact that she was to leave her family and cleave unto her husband?
The idea that she was now a married woman—a Duchess no less!—left her head in a fog. All of her life plans, the future for which she had anticipated, meant to be filled with love and hope, were now gone. Her life had become that bramble patch that was left behind in her parents’ garden, a tangled web of prickles that cut off the sun from the viable life beneath.
Throughout the ceremony, Cecilia had attempted to take quick peeks at the man to whom she was married, but he had stared straight ahead the entire time, not once glancing in her direction. At least not that she had seen. It was as if he thought himself in some sort of business meeting rather than a life-changing event such as his own wedding. Perhaps that was how he viewed their union, but her dreams of this special day had not resembled her current reality in any way.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, when Reverend Flatterly had announced that she now belonged to the Duke, her frustration was replaced by an overwhelming sadness and questionings on her heart, the first of which was, why did this have to happen?
She wished she could place blame on her father; however, without this marriage, the entire family would have been destitute. Her father had done all he could to keep them living in the lifestyle for which they had become accustomed, and the failing of the mines had not been his doing. Mines do not have an understanding of the lives of their owners and how those owners rely on the substance which is removed from their depths. It is simply that, eventually, they run out of ore.
Not only did this marriage stabilize her family, but it also relieved another misgiving—she could not imagine another family living at Brightstone Manor. The house had been her home since she came to this world, and it was where her parents were meant to remain until they moved on to the next. Perhaps rather than being angry she should have been appreciative of what the Duke had done for her family, but she found it difficult to do so. He had a manner in which he carried himself that made her, if not uneasy, at least wary.
As the carriage moved further from her childhood home and continued toward her new residence—she could not see it as a home as of yet—Cecilia became more aware of the man sitting across from her. He had said nothing since they took their leave from Brightstone Manor and she wondered what he thought of their union. When he turned to look out the window, she studied him from the corner of her eye. This man wa
s her husband. It was strange thinking such a thing, especially of a man such as he.
“Why are you so quiet?” the Duke asked; the first words since leaving Brightstone Manor. “Should you not be excited to be a Duchess? I almost expected you to be fidgeting in her seat from the wondrousness of it all.”
She offered him a smile that belied how she felt inside. “I am finding it all a bit…daunting,” she replied with some honesty, but then quickly added, “However, I am appreciative for what you have done for my family.” Even if he was a bumptious man.
The Duke let out a boisterous laugh. “Appreciative is it? I suppose that is as fine a word to use as any.”
Cecilia ignored his laughter. The man was just as pretentious as ever, and she wondered if she would be able to endure being exposed to such arrogance for the remainder of her life. Was this the way all of the upper nobility conducted themselves? She had had very little interaction with someone of his station, but her few encounters with the Earl of Pamprous and the Baron of Upworthington had not been this unbearable.
Which brought her to mind her second concern. What would her life be like now that she was a Duchess? It was not that she lacked the understanding of social graces; her parents had taught her better than that. However, it was one thing to spend an evening in the presence of one such as the Duke of Thornbrook and quite another to spend the remainder of one’s life with such a man.
“I believe you will find Bantry Estate to your liking,” the Duke continued as if they were accustomed to conversation. “I assume you have at least an inkling of the inner runnings of a household?”
She pursed her lips to keep back the taut retort that she wished to fling at him. This was the first day of her new life; therefore, she must not cause strife so soon. She laughed silently at that thought. Had she already decided there would be strife? Then she looked at her new husband and knew that, indeed, there would be. If not now, surely eventually, for she was not a woman who would allow a man to treat her disrespectfully, no matter his rank.
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