He gazed down on the woman he’d known all his life, the woman he thought he’d lost forever, the one with his rubies swinging from her ears. “I’ve never been happier,” he simply said.
She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, offered him a tremulous smile and nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” he said, jettisoning his facetious remark about the gallows for prudence’s sake. He dipped his head toward Aubrey.
“We are gathered here…” the bishop began.
* * *
Aubrey kept rigorously to Simon’s program, the ceremony so brief, Mrs. Hopper said afterward in the kitchen that if she didn’t know that the parson was genuine, she might have thought the duke was trying to pull the wool over the lovely lady’s eyes.
“But I saw the marriage license, I did, and the parson had Eaton and me sign as witnesses. So the duke married her right and tight, although you wouldn’t have known it from that double quick pace of that marriage.”
“Might there be a reason fer a right hasty ceremony?” one of the maids asked with a sly look. “Maybe the duke wants his first-born to be his heir, no questions asked.”
“She don’t look in the family way,” another maid countered. “I helped her with her wedding gown and she be right slender in the belly.”
“We’ll see now, won’t we?” a footman noted. “It don’t take that long fer her to show if n the duke’s got a bun in the oven.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Hopper exclaimed. “Can’t a young couple want to marry each other in a rush because of love?”
The murmured responses were noncommittal; no one was unwise enough to disagree with the housekeeper. But most of the staff were going to be more apt to count on their fingers than subscribe to Mrs. Hopper’s romantic notions.
The noble class didn’t as a rule marry for love.
Chapter 24
The bride and groom entered the dining room directly after the ceremony. The room was intimate, one of the lesser halls, Caroline noted with relief. A dozen footmen were standing at attention, the duke’s livery familiar and she gave him high marks for organization.
Or perhaps, young Gore was to be complimented.
“Did Gore arrange all this?” she asked, lifting her hand to the liveried staff and sumptuously appointed table.
“You say that like you think I can’t.”
“I’m not sure you know how many servants you have.”
“Good point.” He smiled. “Although, now I have you to count them for me, don’t I?”
She gave him a lowering look. “I haven’t gotten any better at running a household.”
For which she’d always had Bessie’s cousin. “Fortunately, Bessie and Rose are at Monkshood.”
“Rose!” Caroline spun around as much as her train would allow. “She’s with you?” she asked, a flush of excitement coloring her cheeks.
“All your staff are with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have married you in an instant.”
“Precisely the reason I didn’t.” He gave her a roguish grin. “I wanted to be loved for myself.”
“Not for your title or wealth or charm.”
He winked. “Or my good looks.”
“Arrogant man. I’ll have you know, I married you for these rubies,” she said, lightly, touching her earbobs with a fingertip.
He glanced sideways at the line of footmen. “I need slightly more privacy to tell you why I married you. And,” he said, listening to the sounds of activity coming from the entrance hall, “right now, I have to bid adieu to Aubrey.”
“He’s not joining us for dinner?”
Simon shook his head. “He has to leave.”
“At this hour of the night?” She looked at him suspiciously. “You’re driving him off, aren’t you?”
“No. Word of God,” he could say with a clear conscience. “He’s in a rush to get to a Tattersall’s sale.”
“You’re not serious.”
He nodded. “Aubrey’s been waiting for Glouster’s sale for months.” What he didn’t mention is that the Earl of Glouster’s stable would have been beyond his reach prior to his meeting with Simon. “It’s Tuesday next and the roads are bad as you know.”
“Then, I’ll come to say goodbye too.” She half-turned her back to him. “Help me take off this veil.”
They took their leave of the bishop a short time later, exchanging courtesies and offers to visit, as well as mutual thanks. Then Simon accompanied Aubrey to the coach, presumably to give the driver instructions.
Once Aubrey was seated inside, Simon handed him a note. The driver will stop at Netherton Castle first. If you’ll give this to Ian, personally, I’d appreciate it“
“Certainly.” The bishop took the missive. “Will they come after Lady Caroline?”
“They shouldn’t I’ve explained as much as can be explained and we are married. I’m assuming that in itself will nullify anyone’s objections.‘’
Aubrey nodded, the duke’s marriage was sure to make a strong statement concerning his sincerity. He didn’t expect anyone in London would have bet a shilling on the duke’s marrying anytime soon. “Your bride seems content… indeed happy,” Aubrey said, perhaps needing justification for his role in so unorthodox an event.
Simon smiled. “She just required a bit of convincing. You needn’t have misgivings. If Caro didn’t have such a temper, we would have been married long ago.”
Simon’s dissolute life had given no indication of an ambition to marry, but Aubrey tactfully remained silent on that point. “Just so, Your Grace. My blessings on you both,” he murmured. “Perhaps, we’ll meet on the turf next summer.”
“You can count on it. Caro and her father used to breed some fine racers. I expect she’ll take a hand in my stable.” Simon shut the carriage door, lifted his hand in salute and nodded to the driver.
As the carriage pulled away from the door, he ran his hands through his hair and slowly exhaled.
One hurtle down-the marriage was accomplished.
Two hurtles left.
Both of which would generate controversy.
He slowly turned to the door.
This time though, he wasn’t going to let her run.
Caroline was waiting for him in the entrance hall, seated in the porter’s chair, the skirt of her gown a pouf of lace and shimmering gold, its train trailing over the black and white marble floor.
That didn’t take long. Did you assure him I wouldn’t sue him for his part in this marriage?“
Simon grinned. “I did, of course. He was relieved. Are you hungry?” he asked, opting for a less controversial topic of conversation.
“Starved.”
He was surprised after she’d eaten half a cake, her answer not reassuring in terms of one of the hurtles facing him. But he smiled politely and held out his hand. “Come then, we’ll sample the chef’s work.”
As she placed her hand in his, she met his gaze squarely. “Don’t forget our wager.”
“After we eat,” he replied, pulling her to her feet. If she lost, she’d be sulky and if he did-that possibility didn’t bear too close scrutiny. They might as well enjoy the food and champagne first.
And to that end, Simon dismissed the servants once they reached the dining room. They could serve themselves from the numerous dishes arrayed on the sideboard. And he was capable of opening a bottle of champagne.
* * *
While the newlyweds were partaking of champagne and the various specialties of the chef and sous-chef at Kettleston Hall, Ian was closeted in his study with the Bishop of Coultrip.
Everyone had been in bed when the servant had come for Ian. Fortunately, Jane hadn’t wakened, twelve days of celebration having taken their toll. Ian met Aubrey in his study, the bishop immediately assuring Ian that Caroline wasn’t being kept against her will. She and the duke were in fact, married. He handed Simon’s note to the earl.
Ian read it quickly. “Married,” he bre
athed. His gaze snapped up and he looked at Aubrey sharply. “Are you real?” He indicated the clerical collar with a flick of his hand.
“Yes.” But Aubrey’s voice indicated a small measure of his unease.
“Did he make you do this?” Ian challenged, taking note of the cleric’s discomfort.
“No.” If Aubrey were a religious man, he would have had to pray over the ambiguities in his answer.
“You say she wasn’t forced?”
“She seemed very happy when I left,” Aubrey replied, choosing his words carefully; there was no point in stirring up unnecessary debate.
Ian tapped the note. “He says I’m not to visit for a fortnight.”
“Perhaps-I mean… their, er, honeymoon… might-ah…”
“She’s fine now?” Ian dropped into a chair, a faint frown creasing his forehead. “You’re sure?”
“I believe they’d planned to marry several years ago, but had some disagreement”
“Simon no doubt refused.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
Ian’s expression registered surprise. “She refused him?”
“It rather seemed that way according to the duke.”
“Good God!… er, beg pardon. But Simon rejected? As long as I’ve known him, he’s been fighting off the ladies.”
Aubrey cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps fighting off matrimony would be more precise; his reputation reflects a rather different approach to… er, the ladies.”
Ian suddenly smiled. “‘Pon my word. So, he was finally caught. I think that awe-inspiring event calls for a drink!” He came to his feet. “Care to join me, parson?”
“Perhaps a wee dram.”
Ian looked back on his way to the liquor table. “You like our whiskey?”
“I grew fond of it while studying in Edinburgh.”
“Our Northumberland stills are first-rate. Let’s see,” he murmured, surveying his choices. “Why don’t we try the whiskey from Talbot vale first?”
Chapter 25
The wedding dinner didn’t remain long in the dining room.
Simon had more pressing interests on his mind.
Although, he was infinitely polite when he suggested, “Why don’t we have the servants bring some of this food upstairs?”
Caro grinned. “You’re afraid I’ll spill on this gown.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid I’ll spill on your gown.”
She slanted a glance his way. “You always were impatient.”
It had been four weeks, three days, and twenty-one hours he wished to say, hardly an instance of impatience. “I’ve good reason,” he said instead, rising from his seat. “I’ll ring for the servants. Pick out what you want; I’ll have some champagne.”
The footmen were given their directions. Picking up Caro’s train, Simon draped it over his arm and offered her his hand. “So far, this marriage is going very well,” he said, his smile affectionate as he led her from the room. “I’ll have to write my mother and tell her she was wrong.”
“Oh, Lord.” Caroline made a small moue. “Do I have to take orders from Isabella? If so, I may consider an annulment” A not entirely facetious remark.
“Relax, darling. I won’t let her touch you.”
Her brows lifted faintly. “I’m not sure you have sufficient authority.” Caroline knew Simon’s mother. They’d both avoided her whenever possible during their childhoods.
“Remember who controls the exchequer, darling. She’s relatively manageable.”
“I hope you don’t consider me in the same light.”
His guffaw echoed through the high-ceilinged corridor. “Darling, you’ve never been manageable.”
She flashed him a smile. Thank you.“
Once they reached Simon’s apartment, Caroline suggested Simon wait for the servants in the sitting room. “Tell them to put all the food in here. I’m going to freshen up.”
He glanced at her, her tone as odd as her mannered phrase. But maybe women had some esoteric rituals they performed on their wedding night-freshening up a case in point, “Yes, dear,” he replied.
“What does that mean?”
Maybe they both were on edge. He kept his voice exquisitely noncombative. “It means, yes, dear, I will tell them where to put the food.”
She looked at him. “That’s all?”
He opened his arms. “I swear.”
“Sorry.” She exhaled softly. He smiled. “Go. I think I can take care of this.” The footmen arrived a few moments later with the food, an extra table to hold it and several bottles of champagne on ice. Simon oversaw the disposition of the items and once the servants had withdrawn, he went to fetch Caro.
On opening the bedroom door, he came to a stop, a slow smile forming on his lips. “What do we have here?” he drawled. “Am I a pretty package?”
She was lounging nude against a mass of pillows, all the jewelry he’d given her artfully displayed on her voluptuous form. Bracelets sparkled on her wrists and ankles, several necklaces were layered at her neck, her fingers glittered with rings, a long string of pearls was wrapped around her waist and the ruby tear-drop earrings shimmered in her ears.
He hung in the doorway, his hands braced against the door frame, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen you like that?”
“But now this jewelry is mine, not your mothers.”
“I always thought mother’s jewels looked better on you than they did on her.
“Do you remember the ones you couldn’t see?” His eyes shut for a fraction of a second and when they opened again, a visible heat glowed in their depths. “I remember,” he murmured.
“You can come closer. I won’t bite,” her voice dropped to a silky whisper, “unless you want me to. And if you find the hidden jewels, you win an additional prize…”
He didn’t move or speak for a moment.
“Frightened?” she murmured.
“On the contrary.” He smiled. “I was debating my options. Do you like your jewels?”
“I adore them.” She adored more that he’d taken the trouble to care. Or had Gore selected these? Don’t ask, she told herself. You may not like the answer. “Did you buy these?” She touched her earrings. “Or did Gore?”
“Does it matter?” He let his hands drop and stood in the doorway resplendent in full evening attire- including ruffles on his shirt front in honor of the occasion.
Be polite, some inner voice reminded her. “I suppose it does,” she replied, ignoring her voice of discretion. “Actually, it does. Odd, isn’t it, considering the manner of your proposal?”
His mouth quirked faintly. “I thought my proposal was courteous. Your acceptance on the other hand,” his lashes lowered marginally. “And yes, I bought them,” he added, understanding the answer mattered, like it mattered to him that they were married. “I knew you liked rubies and the rest”-he half-lifted his hand- “were for your amusement.”
“When did you buy them?”
His brows arched as he moved toward her. “Why the catechism?”
She shrugged, her need to know as ambiguous as her feelings that fluctuated wildly.
“I bought them in London four days ago. I wanted you to have jewels of your own.”
“You say that to all your paramours, no doubt.”
His gaze went shuttered for a moment “I’ve only said it to a wife once,” he said in a deliberately casual voice, choosing to ignore her provocation in the interests of conjugal harmony. “And I must say, I find it enormously pleasing”-his hand came up in a lazy gesture-“looking at you so festively arrayed.”
“I was hoping to impress you.” She responded to his pleasantry with equal cordialness.
“And well you have.”
“You have time, I hope.”
“If I didn’t, I’d damn well make time. But seeing as how it’s my wedding night, you have my undivided attention.” He pulled his cravat loose.
�
�Can you tell what’s missing?”
He shook his head. He’d purchased whatever the jewelers had brought to Hargreave House and he’d not been attentive to the manner of her gifts when Caro had opened them.
“Would you like me to undress you?” she asked. “Sometimes you like it.”
He dipped his head in deference to her allure. “When I can stand to wait.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only out-of-control person.”
For a man who had spent a great deal of time playing at love, he recognized one of the more pertinent motives behind his marriage. Only Caro made him frantic. She always had. “You noticed,” he said with a smile. “But we have all the time in the world now. We needn’t be out of control. Undress me if you wish.”
“If I were your harem houri, I would have to undress you.”
At her tone of voice, his gaze narrowed and he took in her sudden shifting movement. Rolling onto her side, she lay propped on one elbow, her plump breasts suspended in soft, elliptical mounds, the sweeping curve of her hips gently oscillating.
“You can feel something inside you.” He watched her small rocking motion. “It must be large enough to make a difference.”
“It’s making a vast difference.” She briefly shut her eyes. “I may not be able to undress you… after all.”
“If you’re incapable of carrying out your duties tonight, my sweet houri,” he drawled, an undefined edge to his voice, “should I call for another of my harem ladies?”
How many times had she seen him like that- dark and handsome, ready for sex and play. And while he was not, in fact, some pasha or caliph with a harem, in his own way, he had one. Although his ladies were captive only to his great beauty and sexual expertise. “No, please, my lord,” she said, breathy with need. “I didn’t mean that. Please, let me stay. I haven’t been allowed in your bed for months.”
“I’ve been gone.” His dark gaze holding hers was self-willed and commanding. “You know you’re my favorite wife when I’m home,” he said, a kind of disengaged promise in the mildness of his tone.
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