“Why, you arrogant—”
“Stop while you’re ahead, Jane. That’s a lesson you need to learn, I fear. You might also beg my forgiveness for your sudden departure from my home, without informing me of where you were going, since you are still my charge. And then there’s the small matter of your mistaken beliefs.” Peter continued to advance upon her, forcing her to back away lest he run her over.
“Mistaken beliefs? I’ll have you know—”
Two more steps had her back pinned against the far wall, her wrist still locked tightly in his grip. “I will have you know that you’ll most certainly and irrevocably not survive the blow to your reputation that the impending scandal will cause if you follow through with your silly plan.”
“I most certainly will. Sophie agreed with me that the notoriety will cause the ton to be curious, and will only help me to grow and maintain a client base.”
“Is that so?” He turned to look at Sophie for the first time since he’d entered the shop.
She nodded.
Fiend seize it, his sister was definitely not helping his cause. One might think she had even been plotting and scheming against him.
“That is most assuredly so,” Jane said. “And she’s right. Once word gets out in Society about the so-called scandal, ladies will flock to my shop in droves, eager to see for themselves the mere miss who had the audacity to jilt the Duke of Somerton.”
“You are a fool. They will come, that’s a certainty. But they’ll come to gawk and make a mockery of you for your gauche idiocy.”
“Jane, dear,” his mother interrupted. “I’m afraid Peter is right this time.”
This time. It was pleasing to know his mother had such confidence in him.
Jane looked back and forth between Sophie and his mother. “It doesn’t matter. I will not marry him. And since he was so kind as to inform the beau monde of our betrothal—which, I’ll have you all know, I never agreed to—I’ll now be as good as black-balled for reneging on the arrangement. There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ll simply have to start up my shop and hope for the best.”
“I can’t allow you to do something so rash.” Patience was preparing to abandon Peter completely, further exacerbated by the fact that the cat was now butting its head up against Peter’s legs and rubbing all over him. “Your parents have entrusted you to my mother’s care, which essentially places you in my care. Whether you marry me or not, you will return to Hardwicke House.” Even if he had to drag her there by the hair.
The little halfwit opened her mouth to argue with him again. She didn’t know when to stop. But then Jane whispered something that sounded rather like “Drat” to his ears. She stared up at him, fighting to keep the tears pooling in her eyes from falling. “I’ll not marry a boor who could never love me.” The conviction in her voice started to wane. “You can’t deny that you see me as inferior—as someone unworthy to be your duchess.”
At least she was allowing him to see the direction her mind was traveling. “I won’t deny that I thought that at one point. But things change, Jane.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she frowned up at him. “What has changed?”
“For one thing, I remembered that my first wife was everything I expected in a duchess—but I still had a miserable marriage. I have no desire to repeat that failure.”
Her frown softened somewhat and the tension in her wrist went lax. Hopefully she would give up her fight soon. They still had a rather full day ahead of them.
“Another thing is that I have developed a rather odd fascination with you.”
She winced at the word odd, but refrained from interrupting.
“You see, I actually enjoy spending time with you...even if you do lack a few of the social graces most women of the ton are expected to master.”
“You mean to say even if I’m an utter and complete disaster in the eyes of the beau monde.”
“Far from it. There’s something peculiarly refreshing about your tendency toward committing a faux pas. I look forward to discovering not only what you might do, but observing how the ton reacts to you. And they love you, Jane.”
Peter specifically said they loved her—he hadn’t included himself in the they. He probably should have. That might help things. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit it to her yet. He needed to show her, because she wasn’t one to simply take him at his word.
She stared off into the empty storefront for several moments before responding. “If I marry you...”
“Yes? When you marry me?”
Another searing glare. “If I marry you, will you treat me as a wife, or as a responsibility?”
She truly had some of the most ridiculous questions he’d ever heard. “They are one and the same. My wife is my duty. It is my responsibility to see to all of your needs.”
Her frown intensified at that response. “And if I become your wife, what will be my responsibility? Other than the obvious, that is.” Jane’s eyes shifted to his mother and Sophie for a moment, then back to him.
“Other than sharing in the marriage bed, do you mean?”
She flushed a deep crimson almost instantaneously, and it took all of his concentration not to toss Mama and Sophie out of the shop and ravish Jane on the dusty countertop. He leaned in close to her ear, where the others couldn’t hear. “And you will marry me, because as much as you may wish otherwise, you feel a need to finish what we started last night.”
She shivered against the wall, her wrist pulling against his grip. Well. At least that had had the desired effect on her, even if nothing else had.
He had to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he ground out, loud enough Mama and Sophie could hear. Good God, he felt like a green youth around Jane. “Well, apart from those duties, you must care for our children and stand at my side at any society functions where it would be required. Other than that, if you desire, you can be responsible for overseeing the running of my home.”
“If I desire it…”
“Yes. If you wish. I won’t insist upon it.”
“Very well,” she said with a scowl that would level a lesser man. “And what else would be included in my responsibilities?”
Christ, wasn’t that enough? Mary had never wanted to have even half of that in her care. “You may also be responsible for organizing a ball or other entertainment each Season.” The details of those always entailed a great amount of care in planning. Surely all of those things could keep the minx busy.
“Fine.”
“Fine? Is that your acceptance of my terms?” He would never understand this woman. Not in a lifetime of trying.
“Yes.” She picked up her cat and headed out the door to his waiting carriage.
Splendid. Now he would have that lifetime to try.
He only wished she didn’t look quite so squeamish at the prospect.
~ * ~
And so she was damned for the next eternity. Drat, how had she allowed any of this to happen?
Jane stared out the window of the carriage as London passed her by. Or perhaps she was passing London by. She didn’t know, nor did she particularly care.
What mattered at the moment was that she was on the way to her wedding.
To Peter.
The bloody Duke of Somerton.
Good gracious, what a pickle she was in.
“Are you terribly upset with me?” asked Sophie, seated next to her on the bench. They rode alone, making their way to Jane’s wedding...though it felt more like a sentencing.
“You promised you would help me.” Jane’s voice sounded flat, emotionless, even to her own ears.
“I know you may not see it that way, but I really have helped you.” Her friend—no, her sister-in-law—fiddled with the lace overlay of her imperial green gown. “Peter is right.”
“Then why did you encourage me? Why did you tell me the scandal would pass over and no one would care?” She hated having such an accusatory tone. “Why did
n’t you stop me from leaving? You should have convinced me to stay.”
“It was selfish on my part,” Sophie said.
“Selfish. Ha.”
“No. It was. Look at me.” She waited until Jane finally complied with her request. “I wanted to believe that you could do it—that you could become a woman of independent means. Because if you could do it, then I could, as well.”
“Why would you want such a thing? You have everything. You are Lady Sophia Hardwicke, the toast of the ton, the most eligible lady in the marriage mart. Gentlemen of means practically fall at your feet and beg you to marry them.”
“Which is precisely what I don’t want! Why should I be forced to marry some addle-brained marquess, just because we would make a good connection? Or because he has seven estates? Or because it would make Mama happy? What of my happiness?”
What, indeed? And what of Jane’s?
The white kid gloves Jane wore constricted her hands, and she flexed her fingers to restore circulation. The gloves belonged to Charlotte, whose hands and arms were daintier, more delicate than her own. But Cousin Henrietta had insisted she wear white to go with her white satin and lace gown and white slippers. White everything. It all made her feel like a giant, white cloud.
“I apologize,” Sophie said. “I shouldn’t upset you.”
“Would you marry for love?”
Sophie sighed. “Yes. Or for...”
“Or for what?” This was certainly an unexpected response.
“Nothing. Never mind. But you—you are marrying for love, Jane.”
“Fat lot of good that will do me,” she mumbled. Yes, she could admit to loving the man. Actually, she loved him so much it ached in her stomach. But he said nothing of love—only of duty, responsibility. Would it be enough that she loved Peter without being loved in return?
Only time would tell.
That love—that inexplicable desire to be with him, even when he aggravated her almost beyond tolerance—had eventually convinced her to marry him. Now she had to make the best of the situation.
Maybe someday he would come to love her. If he could recognize that love meant more than obligation, that is.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the church, and Jane took a deep breath. Today, she was a bride. Today, she would become a duchess. Terrifying thought, that.
Peter climbed down from his barouche and moved to assist her to disembark the carriage. The time had arrived.
His strong hand held hers in a vise-like grip. “Ready?”
No tender words of romance. She shouldn’t have expected any. The only response she could muster was a single nod.
He led her up the steps and down the aisle to stand before the rector. The Hardwickes filed in behind them, taking their seats in the pews. No one else was present.
Standing before the minister, the only thought in Jane’s mind was how terribly odd it was to marry in the afternoon. Her father had not performed an afternoon wedding at the vicarage in Whitstable for almost as many years as she could remember.
And then they all stared at her until she said, “I will.”
I will. She’d done it.
Jane Matthews was no longer Jane Matthews, but Jane Hardwicke, Duchess of Somerton. Mother would be ecstatic.
She, however, felt ready to cast up the contents of her stomach.
~ * ~
Jane said her goodnights to the female members of her new family as they made their way up the stairs.
Earlier in the evening, Mama Hardwicke had told Jane that she and the girls would move to a new lodging as soon as something suitable was arranged. The newlyweds would need time to themselves. In the meanwhile, they would all make themselves as scarce as possible in the house.
Jane hadn’t been worried about that, at all. Actually, she’d prefer they stay.
No one in the family worried about Neil. He was rarely at home any time they would see him, anyway. For that matter, he hadn’t even attended the wedding ceremony. Jane was told he’d headed off to the country and likely wouldn’t return for at least a week or more.
So Jane was now very much alone in Hardwicke House with her husband—at least it felt that way—and had no idea what she was supposed to do with the man.
In the library, Peter seemed content to continue sipping from his port in an armchair and reading the book he held close to the flame. She sat on the sofa near the hearth, running her fingers through Mr. Cuddlesworth’s fur and wondering what she should do next. It would all be so much easier if he would simply tell her what he wanted, give her some direction.
After all, this entire marriage sham had been his idea.
He turned the page and read some more.
She cleared her throat, hoping to gain his attention. That tactic failed.
Her husband turned more pages, and still she sat.
The silence would soon drive her to distraction. “What are you reading?” she asked.
He glanced up momentarily. “A book of proverbs.” Then almost immediately, he returned his attention to the book.
“Oh. I see.”
But she really didn’t see at all. Didn’t he intend to bed her tonight? Drat the man, she had been both dreading it and anticipating it since the moment he mentioned her primary duty as a wife this afternoon. The least he could do was to get on with matters.
Perhaps he simply needed a stronger hint.
Jane let out a robust yawn and stretched her arms. “Oh dear, I’m growing quite tried. I believe I shall head up to bed.”
“Rest well,” he said with a cheery smile. “I’ve had your belongings moved to the duchess’s suite. Meg will be waiting to assist you. I’ve already ordered a bath drawn for you.”
“Of course. I see.” This didn’t sound like he intended to join her. And did he think her incapable of requesting her own bath? “Well, I suppose I’ll be off then. Should I expect you soon?”
His eyes remained fully trained on his proverbs and his right hand stroked his chin. “No. I won’t retire for a while yet. Good night.”
Good night? “You will not...er, I mean won’t you require...” Surely she was mistaken. Wasn’t she?
“Jane, I’m not the boor you insinuated earlier. We both know you only married me because you were essentially forced into it by circumstance. You didn’t want to be my duchess by any stretch of the imagination. I already have an heir, so there’s no rush to fill my nursery.” He looked her full in the eye. “When you’re ready, you may come to me. But I won’t bed you simply because I’m allowed to as your husband.”
“Oh.” Well. That was rather unexpected.
Peter set his book on the table and moved to stand before her. “Good night.” With a hand gently against the nape of her neck, he pulled her close and kissed her. It was soft. Chaste. Teasing.
She wanted more. But she most certainly didn’t want him to know that she wanted more.
“Good night,” she said. She picked up Mr. Cuddlesworth’s basket and backed away.
Halfway up the stairs, she tasted a faint hint of port on her lips.
He’d granted her a reprieve. How unexpected.
If only she was glad for it.
Chapter Eighteen
Allowing Jane to walk away from him had nearly killed Peter. But it had been the only decent thing he could do.
Of course he was her husband—he could bed her at will, irrespective of her wishes on the matter. That was his right. Seeing her embarrassment earlier in her shop, when she’d asked him about such a prospect, had convinced him of her ill-prepared state of mind for nighttime activity.
Also weighing on his decision to give her time was the fact that she clearly abhorred the idea of being his wife. Christ, she’d gone so far as to run away in the middle of the night in order to avoid that very fate.
If they were to have any chance at a reasonably happy marriage, as he intended, then he had to allow Jane to proceed at her own pace. Coercing her into the marriage itself had already placed a blig
ht upon her image of him.
So, until she was ready and willing to seek him out for coupling, he would wait.
Peter already knew he could survive in a near-sexless marriage. Mary had despised the act. She had only willingly agreed to it for the purpose of procreation. As soon as she was with child, she’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.
He could have taken a mistress—he’d thought about such a prospect on more than one occasion—but in his mind, that would mean he had failed.
Since the day Mary had informed him she was carrying a second child—his sweet Sarah—Peter had been all but celibate. There had been an occasion or two, after her passing, that he’d made use of the pleasures freely offered by a widow.
But there was never any sort of relationship. No expectation upon him. Just a mutual give and take.
With his wife, there would undoubtedly be expectation. And—he hoped—a relationship.
So, Peter would wait. He would give Jane time and space, and he intended to make himself as agreeable to her as he possibly could. He would grant her the independence she so desperately sought, by allowing her to choose. In the meanwhile, she wouldn’t have to lift a finger in his home—servants would see to many of her needs, and he would personally take care of a number of others.
Jane would want for nothing. He had already promised her that, but more important in his mind, he’d sworn it to himself. Peter intended to work so hard at this marriage that she had no choice but love him. She must.
He couldn’t fail. Not again.
Another loveless marriage was simply out of the question.
~ * ~
Jane felt rather inconsequential in her new surroundings. Her new bedchamber was easily three times the size of her previous lodgings at Hardwicke House, and the attached dressing room would house an army of maids.
And that was just her part of the master suite. On the other side of the dressing room sat an enormous sitting area, which must be connected to Peter’s dressing room and private chamber.
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