She’d misjudged Fitzwilliam. What if she was wrong about Sebastian? They’d been friends once. Could they be more?
If not, would friendship be enough for her? For them both?
“I fear we know so little about each other anymore. What if we don’t suit?”
“I should think the kiss in the garden indicated that we will be well suited to each other.”
“That was only the physical. I need more. I need your heart.”
His jaw clenched. “I can’t promise you that.”
She released a sad laugh. “At least you’re honest. But what if one day you do meet a woman who steals your heart?”
“Do you honestly think a woman will look at what I’ve become and love me?”
She had to believe that, had to believe there was something in him worth loving. “Yes.”
He laughed harshly. “You’re blinder than I.” He cupped her chin. “What choice do you truly have? Your reputation is in tatters. What sort of life will you have when you return to your father’s estate? And when he dies, who will watch over you?”
“I can watch over myself. I could become a governess or a nurse. I could take my dowry and invest it. Find a small cottage.” Live out my life in loneliness, with no children, no love.
“I owe you,” he said quietly, “more than I can ever repay. I will be as good a husband to you as my father was to my mother. I will never stray. I will never beat you. I will give you a generous allowance.”
They’d been friends once. She knew his childish heart had belonged to her. She refused to believe that she couldn’t possess his adult heart as well. She took a deep breath, released it, and hoped she would not live to regret the words. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Once again he slipped his hand into his pocket, only this time he withdrew it to reveal the dangling emerald.
With a soft smile, she took it from him. “I hated sending it back to you, you know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because Fitzwilliam asked.” Demanded. But he didn’t need to know that. “Would you have returned it if I’d said no to your proposal?”
“Of course.”
Licking her lips, she watched as his gaze dropped to her mouth. She wondered if he would kiss her.
Instead he said, “Well, I suppose I should see to getting a license.”
“Yes, I suppose you should.”
Chapter 21
As Mary waited in a private room at St. George’s, she wondered if she should be this calm. She almost felt nothing at all.
“I wish your mother were here to see you,” Aunt Sophie said as she adjusted the veil one more time. She alternated between fiddling with the veil and the train, as though each time Mary moved didn’t undo what had just been done. She wanted to tell her aunt to just leave everything alone until the last moment. Instead Mary tolerated her fluttering, drew reassurance from it.
Alicia came in through the door, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “The church is packed to the rafters.”
Mary had been a pariah, a woman shamed, a woman scorned. Now it appeared she was a romanticized figure. “Of course. Scandalous Lady Mary and the barbaric Duke of Keswick.”
“This wedding shall polish your reputation, m’dear,” her aunt predicted. “And his as well.”
Not that their reputations would matter after today. They’d be holed away at Pembrook. A far cry from the parties and balls of London. She would miss them, but not the gossip. No, she could do without that for the remainder of her life.
A knock sounded on the door. Alicia opened it.
“It’s time,” her father announced in a tone Mary imagined a guard used when telling a condemned man the moment had arrived to pay for one’s sins and head to the gallows.
Her aunt gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, adjusted her veil once more, and headed out the door after Alicia. She would take her place in a pew while Alicia would serve as Mary’s maid of honor. She had no bridesmaids, even though Lady Hermione had offered to stand with her—to be closer to Lord Tristan no doubt. Mary had politely declined. Her cousin would serve her well enough.
Her father stood in the doorway, looking no more comfortable than he had any other time when Sebastian had called. She knew he was here not for her but for image. People would notice if he wasn’t there, and who knew what speculation would follow.
She wanted him to say something. Tell her she was pretty or that he wished her happiness or that the Duke of Keswick was a good choice as a husband.
“Let’s get this done,” he said.
So much for wishes.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried not to be disappointed that all of this was a result of poor judgment. If only she’d held her silence on what she’d heard at Pembrook, she’d have not been sent to the nunnery; she would have had a Season when she was of a more marriageable age. If only she hadn’t followed Sebastian into the garden. If only she hadn’t traipsed into his residence.
It should have been a day filled with joy and instead, it was simply an attempt to undo harm. Sebastian didn’t love her. Perhaps he never would. Pembrook held his heart. She would always be second fiddle. But that didn’t mean she was doomed to unhappiness. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than contentment.
She placed her hand on her father’s arm and allowed him to lead her into the vestry. She could hear music playing, could see Alicia. She didn’t understand why Alicia had not been spoken for this Season. Perhaps next year without her troublesome cousin at her side, she’d have more luck. She deserved happiness.
Alicia smiled at her. “Ready?”
Mary nodded.
Alicia stepped into the church and the music changed, announcing the bride’s arrival.
“Be happy for me, Papa,” she pleaded.
“What is happiness, daughter? You will not want for anything, he promised me that. He said I was to have your dowry set aside. That it was yours to do with as you pleased. He has no need of it. It is a rare man who will take a woman to wife without a dowry.”
“Yes, it is,” she rasped.
“He has more spine than Fitzwilliam. I’ll give him that.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
He nodded. “As I said earlier, let’s get this done, shall we?”
Before she could even think of a response, he was leading her into the church. She was vaguely aware of the vast number of people standing as she strolled down the aisle. Hundreds crowded onto pews.
At the altar stood the man she was going to marry, facing her completely, because he had no choice if he wanted to watch her approach. His place put his scarred side toward her, toward everyone.
He, who strived so hard to keep his scars hidden, was revealing them now with the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. He had to have known that they would have a grand audience. Had to have known that he would be denied shadows.
They could have traveled to Pembrook and been married there in a small church in a quiet ceremony. But as she neared and could see him more clearly, she realized that they weren’t being married here because it was convenient, because all the plans had already been made.
No. This was his gift to her. The wedding she’d been dreaming of for months. The gown she had selected, the ceremony she had envisioned. It was more. It was a public acknowledgment that regardless of how tattered her reputation, he would stand proudly beside her.
As she moved her hand from her father’s arm to Sebastian’s, she smiled brightly, fought back the tears. Perhaps theirs would not be a marriage filled with great love, but she realized that they would have moments such as this one when she was ever grateful that he was at her side.
Chapter 22
It seemed appropriate that it should be raining when they arrived at Pembrook, Mary thought. Gray skies unleashed a cold drizzle that threatened to turn the late afternoon into night. Mud worked up by the hooves and wheels slapped against the coach in an erratic rhythm, as it traveled along the d
rive toward the looming castle.
The wedding ceremony had provided a moment of unrealistic happiness and expectation. But as soon as the wedding breakfast had ended and they climbed into the coach, all pretense that theirs was to be a happily ever after vanished. Sitting across from her, Sebastian had become moody and sullen. They barely spoke. When they stopped at an inn for the night, they slept in separate rooms. Three inns, three nights of not knowing her husband’s touch.
Where was the fire he’d unleashed in the garden? Where was the tenderness he’d bestowed upon her in his bed when he was recovering from his wound? Had it all been pretense? Had he lost interest in the hunt?
“How do you know your uncle is not here now?” she asked.
“We have someone watching him in London, so we know where he is.”
“But what if he slips away?”
“I know a few soldiers who didn’t remain in the army. I hired them to keep watch, to ensure Uncle didn’t strive to take up residence while I was in London. I should have hired more servants to set matters to rights. I fear there is a great deal of work to be done.”
Two coaches carrying servants followed. Many were from the London residence. Some had been newly hired. Her father had given permission for Colleen to come with Mary. She was grateful to have a familiar servant within the ranks.
“It will give me something with which to occupy my time,” she said.
“I don’t wish it changed overmuch.”
A reminder that it was his, not hers. She was an intruder.
“I don’t wish to feel as though I’m a guest,” she told him.
“I would prefer that you discuss with me any plans you might have before implementing them.”
“Of course, Your Grace. We can discuss them now if it pleases you. I thought to have the floors scrubbed, the draperies taken outside, the dust beaten from them, the windows washed, the furniture polished—”
“You’re angry,” he interrupted.
“No.” Hurt, more like, but she was not going to be a whiny wife and admit such a thing. “I want it to be our home. I don’t want to feel at Pembrook the way you felt in London—as though you didn’t quite belong.”
“You belong here, Mary. You’re my wife.”
She released a small laugh. “Am I, Sebastian? It’s funny, but when we exchanged vows, I thought I would feel like a wife afterward, but I feel no different. Our relationship feels no different. Nothing has changed.”
“Something has. We’re no longer in London.”
She forced a smile. He seemed to have missed the entire point of what she was saying. “No, we’re not.”
They were silent for several moments before he said, “I don’t want you to feel like a guest here, Mary, but until you know what is of importance, don’t do anything drastic.”
“What of your uncle’s things? He’s bound to have left some behind.”
“I intend to burn them.”
The harshness in his voice unsettled her. It was ever-present when he spoke of his uncle, and it bothered her to know he still had so much hatred simmering inside him. While a part of her understood—he’d suffered immensely because of his uncle’s machinations—another part of her worried that the bitterness would steal from their lives whatever happiness they might have been able to find.
“Perhaps coming here is not the best thing,” she said softly, cautiously.
He tore his gaze from the window and she felt it land on her with a weightiness that demanded an answer even though he asked no question.
“So many bad memories are associated with Pembrook. You have other estates. Perhaps it would be better if we moved to one of those.”
“Pembrook is the ducal estate. It has always been so. I am the duke.”
“I’m not questioning your title, rather what will haunt us here.”
“We will face it. Together.”
She wondered how that would even be possible when they sat on opposite sides of the carriage, had during the entire journey. They were husband and wife now. They could sit beside each other. Yet they didn’t. Even when she fell asleep it was the plush interior that provided a pillow for her head rather than her husband’s shoulder. She’d not expected him to be so distant, so uncaring.
He didn’t reach across to hold her hand or to even squeeze it in reassurance. For all the comfort he provided, she could be arriving here alone. It was too soon to have regrets, to consider that she’d made a huge error in judgment.
He’d told her that Pembrook was all that mattered. Yet somehow she had imagined that she did as well—if only a bit. Why else would he have been concerned about her reputation? Because he was a gentleman, because he took responsibility for his actions. His action, however, had only been to kiss her. She was the one who had prattled on about it.
He turned to look out the window, facing Pembrook as he seldom faced her—fully. She was not going to be jealous of stone and mortar. The moat had long since been filled in with dirt. The outer walls had been torn down. The looming castle keep with its turrets stood magnificently against the darkening skies. A flash of lightning silhouetted the tower that rose up behind it, made it seem more ominous, a building where murders were commonplace.
The ugly past, so much sorrow dwelled here. How could she possibly make it a joyous home? How could they find happiness when the memories of betrayal would always batter them?
Yet as she watched her husband, she saw peace settle into his features. Pride. Ownership. Satisfaction. He had usurped his uncle, reclaimed what was his, what had been in his family for generations.
He whispered, “Pembrook.”
And she refused to acknowledge how dearly she wanted him to whisper her name.
The coach rattled to a jarring halt.
“It is all that has ever mattered,” he said with conviction. “Welcome home, Duchess.”
Mary watched as two men rushed out from the shadows, and her first terrifying thought was that Lord David had sent them to kill her husband. Then she remembered he’d mentioned hiring a couple of men to watch over things.
A footman opened the coach door, and Sebastian stepped out into the rain. She could hear it beating on his hat and greatcoat, but he ignored it. More important things were on his mind.
“Saunders,” he greeted the first man to reach him. “How goes it here?”
“Everything is as quiet as men before battle.”
“Good. See my duchess to the residence.” He turned to her, where she hovered in the vehicle. Leaning in, he pressed something into her gloved hand. A key she realized. “I’ll join you there in a moment.”
Then he was gone, but she could hear him barking out orders. Someone produced an umbrella. The man he’d called Saunders handed her down and held the umbrella over her head as they made a mad dash through the rain to the portico. Her hem was soaked and the air chilled her by the time she arrived, but she turned and watched all the activity in the drive. A dozen servants brought from London scurried about. Most of the trunks were hers. They contained a trousseau that she had lovingly put together expecting a trip to Italy. She’d kept a couple of her favorite ball gowns—surely they would entertain here—and given the rest to Alicia.
The darkening skies had very nearly turned the late afternoon into night.
“Shall I unlock the door?” Saunders asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll wait for my husband.”
Neither as tall as nor as broad of shoulder as Sebastian, Saunders still had a soldier’s bearing. She heard herself asking, “Did you serve with my husband in the Crimea?”
“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t know he was a duke, though, until he sought me out and hired me to watch over things here. He just seemed regular. Never let on he was a lord.”
She watched as Sebastian ordered servants about. How could anyone look at his commanding presence and not realize he was of the nobility? It was carved into every inch of him, in the way he presented himself, the way he addressed those around him. She
pressed her lips together but in the end, she couldn’t hold back what she wanted to say. She peered up at the man standing guard over her. “In London rumors surfaced that he was a coward in battle.”
Saunders appeared horrified. “Never. Not even with three bullets in him. It was the cannon fire that brought him down. He’d have kept fighting otherwise.”
“I never believed the rumors,” she assured him. “The battle was an awful thing.”
“We knew right quick that someone had mucked it up, but we followed our orders. Cowards we were not, but fools we might have been.” He gave a brisk nod. “I should see what else I’m needed for.”
“Saunders, I’m glad you’re here to watch over him and the estate.”
“Wouldn’t be here to do either if not for him.” Not waiting for her to respond, he trotted down the steps. She suspected their conversation had made him uncomfortable, but it had given her a bit of insight into her husband. She’d never thought for one moment that he was a coward, but neither had she considered that men were alive because of his actions. She’d never given much consideration to the specifics of war, only the general horror of it. Was it any wonder that Sebastian found parlor games to be silly nonsense?
He darted up the stairs. “I gave you the key so you wouldn’t have to stand out here in the chill.”
“I wanted us to go in together—husband and wife.”
He seemed surprised, as though it hadn’t truly dawned on him that they were married. She certainly didn’t feel married. They could be merely friends considering all the passion that had passed between them since they exchanged vows. She wondered if he might at least kiss her before they went inside but he simply took the key from her, unlocked the door, and shoved it open.
He looked at her with impatience. “Go on.”
“I believe a husband is supposed to carry his bride across the threshold.”
“Why? You’re perfectly capable of walking.”
“Tradition. It’s good luck. Oh, never mind. I know it’s sill—”
She released a tiny screech as he swept her into his arms. Water dripped from his hat onto her. She studied the seriousness in his face, and wished she could believe that he’d married her because he wanted to, not because he felt an obligation.
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