by Stacy Reid
Chapter Seventeen
The cold that penetrated the walls of Castle Kildern could not dampened Phillipa’s spirits. She was now married in truth to Anthony, and she had never been happier.
Their honeymoon thus far had been an exciting experience. Every night, over the past two weeks, Anthony had taken her to sexual heights that caused her even now to blush. Their days of talking and touring several ancient castles in the southwest of England drew her more and more into his life and his past. She’d come to realize how much of himself he had hidden behind the charming rogue he presented to the world. The pain in his eyes was deep when he spoke of the man he thought had been his father and the isolation and criticism he had endured at his hands. Thankfully, their blossoming relationship with his mother and his real father, Lord Radcliffe, more than made up for the past and brought joy to all their lives.
Phillipa had seen the strength and kindness of her new husband’s character more each day, and she had not though it possible to be more besotted with him. Then, the week after their hasty marriage, he’d given her his belated birthday gift. A map. And he’d told her all she needed to do was mark each spot she would like to visit, and he would add it to their upcoming Grand Tour. She had been humbled, delighted, and had hugged him for unending minutes.
But now they were indulging a short, secret honeymoon, a calming respite before returning to London.
“I can hardly credit that two weeks ago I stood in my parents’ parlor terrified they would announce my engagement to Lord Hoyt, and now I am your wife,” Phillipa murmured contentedly.
Anthony grunted. “I do not think it wise to remind me that you were engaged to another man.”
“I wasn’t! I told you I’d planned on refuting their claims if they had made an announcement. ” She laughed and rolled out of his arms, drawing on the silk dressing gown resting on a peg by the bed.
Castle Kildern and the southwest of England were among the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. She loved the dense forest that surrounded the valleys, and she could feel the rich history of the castle to her very bones.
“Must we travel back today?” she asked as she performed her ablutions. She buried the unease she felt over her imminent return to her family. Over having to face Payton, to whom she had written and received no reply. Their rush to Gretna Green, being married, returning to Anthony’s castle briefly, and then their secret honeymoon days and nights of tumultuous loving, reading together, playing piquet and chess had erased everything else from her mind. Now the fantasy was coming to an end, and it was hard not to worry about the difficult reality of what lay ahead.
“We must. I have informed both our families of our whereabouts, but we can no longer delay our return to London. A couple days ago the Gazette published the notice that our wedding will take place in a few weeks. You must go back to your parents until that time and plan your trousseau. Though it is fairly certain few have truly been fooled by your pretense of rusticating in Dorset with your mother’s cousin, in the official eyes of society we are not yet married. You must act the part of eager bride, for your family’s sake, at least.”
She sighed gustily and leaned into the heat that came up behind her. He spun her gently around, dipped his head, and captured her lips in a soothing kiss.
“Let’s hope, with you tucked away and me supposedly in Baybrook preparing for my new bride, that Society has moved on to more interesting tittle-tattle for their prying eyes and wagging tongues.”
“Have you heard anything of Orwell?”
“He has fled, as we suspected. My agents will not miss his return to London, if he ever dares.”
She twined her hands around Anthony’s neck and tipped up, claiming another kiss.
She broke away long moments later. “I love you so much, my husband.” She doubted she would ever tire of telling him that, or of the sensual smile that curved his mouth each time she whispered the words.
“I love you, too, my sweet.” He pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “Let us ring for breakfast and prepare for our journey.”
“Yes. We should do that,” she murmured. But instead, she deepened the kiss and moaned softly, getting lost in the pleasures his body bestowed.
With a throaty chuckle, he walked her backward toward the bed, and she smiled.
Breaking their fast could wait a while longer.
…
Distracted by the sensual way Phillipa ate her croissant after they’d made love, it took Anthony three readings for the short notice in the Times to make any sense to him. And even then, it made no sense at all.
“Good God!” he finally exclaimed, nearly dropping his coffee cup.
Phillipa glanced up at his outburst. She lowered her fork and gave him a quizzical look. “What is it?”
With a feeling of complete and utter astonishment, he read the notice aloud to her, still unable to credit the meaning.
“Lord Sebastian Thornton, the Twelfth Duke of Calydon, announces his marriage to Lady Jocelyn Rathbourne.”
Phillipa’s jaw dropped. “Good heavens. I had no idea he was betrothed. Is this the Lady Jocelyn you told me about? The one you gave your mother’s locket?”
He looked at Phillipa, wondering if hell had frozen over. Or perhaps he’d somehow entered one of Jules Verne’s fantastical worlds. Sebastian married? To Jocelyn? “Yes. It is she.”
“I wasn’t aware they knew each other.”
“They don’t.” Anthony read the notice for the fifth time. “This must be a joke. Some kind of prank. Sebastian does not believe in marriage. He vowed never to wed.” She scraped back her chair and moved to read the notice over his shoulder. “I doubt the Times would print such a serious announcement unless it came from the duke himself.”
He nodded slowly. “You are right, of course. But still… I just can’t believe it.”
Sebastian married? He thought about Lady Jocelyn’s fiery temperament and his brother’s infinite coldness and bitterness toward women. Good God. It was a disaster in the making, if ever there was one.
“The good news is,” he mused, “this development will certainly divert the attention of Society from us…and hopefully from my parentage, as well. Now that I may in due course cease to be Sebastian’s heir.” He suddenly smiled broadly. “Why, the dirty scoundrel!” Anthony murmured gleefully. “He’s gotten her with child. That must be the explanation!”
“What will you do?” Phillipa asked, giving him a curious grin.
He laughed incredulously, put the paper down, and pulled her into his lap. “Do? Not a damned thing, other than send a note of hearty congratulations.” He grimaced anew. “From as great a distance away as possible. Knowing both Jocelyn and Sebastian, the best strategy is to stay far away from the fireworks.”
Phillipa giggled. “Surely, the situation can’t be that explosive.”
“No, perhaps not,” he said wryly. “I’d wager that it is volcanic!”
He laughed at her astonishment. He loved the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. He would never tire of looking at her, of kissing her, of just being near her.
“Now you have me really curious. We must call on them.”
“Just a few weeks before Christmas? Constance and I normally spend the holiday at Sherring Cross. We will see them then.” He exhaled. “But for now, you must return to your parents, and I will speak with your father.”
She arched her brows, amused. “So, after you have compromised me thoroughly, whisked me away and married me. Kept me secluded in this castle fortress for two weeks… Then you’re going to speak with my father?”
The glitter in her eyes slowly dimmed.
He searched her countenance. “Why are you worried? He’s already given us his blessing, my sweet. Both the night of our elopement, and since, in our correspondence.”
She dropped her forehead against his and sighed. “It’s not him. I…I’ve heard nothing from Payton, and I am sure she received all five letters from me. If I have any regrets for my actions that night, i
t would be how they affected Payton. She truly loves Jensen St. John, and I may have made a muck of things for her.”
Anthony thought about everything he knew about the Jensen boy. Intelligent, eager, a little hotheaded at times, but honorable. “If he loves her, Phillipa, he will stand by her. I will speak with him.”
“Would you? Oh, thank you.”
He kissed her tenderly, wishing he could promise all would be well. But he had learned over the years life was everything but certain or fair.
The only thing of which he was certain was his deep, abiding love for his new wife. He would always do everything in his power to keep her healthy and happy. And knew she would do the same for him.
…
Anthony had been away from Phillipa for a little over two weeks, and it was hell. He’d taken her back to her family and spoken with her father. Mr. Jonas Peppiwell was smart and obviously possessed a grand vision for his family’s future. But he was also a puritanical, social-climbing prig. Anthony had met his sort before and despised their unbending espousal of lofty values with no thought to circumstance.
He had wanted to plant a fist in Mr. Peppiwell’s face when he had stated his daughter was soiled goods, and that he was immensely grateful someone else would now have to deal with her strong will and unorthodox ways.
With most of the haute monde now retiring to the country for hunting, shooting, and the holidays, Anthony hoped he and Phillipa would be somewhat safe from the stultifying gaze of Society. He’d sworn to her aunt to keep his distance from her until they were safely—that is, publically—wed. No carriage rides, no evenings at the theater and absolutely no clandestine meetings. He’d agreed to set their wedding date for Boxing Day—the day after Christmas—at his newly renovated estate in Hampshire.
The wedding was to be an intimate ceremony followed by a small celebratory feast, with only family and close friends in attendance. His lips twisted cynically. Which wasn’t a big problem, since his formerly vast stable of acquaintances had dwindled to a mere handful.
His close friends had already written to him expressing their sympathies, and although he had been blackballed by his clubs, he was unconcerned about being forced to leave them. He expected fewer invitations from the upper crust, but knew his real friends would be supportive.
With Christmas less than a week away, he’d received Sebastian’s note informing him of his marriage, and also a formal invitation from the duchess to Christmas dinner. He’d also thought it best to greet the duchess now, not before a full gathering at Christmas dinner. He wondered if she’d told his brother of their…brief connection. Feeling more than awkward about it, he had yet to broach that topic with Sebastian.
They stood now in his brother’s stately library, sharing a drink before the fire.
“Are you sure Constance is well?” Sebastian asked him for the third time.
Anthony sighed, and moved to inspect a new volume he spied on the bookshelf behind the door. “As well as can be expected. She is still at Lord Radcliffe’s country home. She and Mother will return to London at the opening of the season. Connie is more than reluctant, but she’s a brave little thing and will go along despite her fears.”
Sebastian nodded grimly. “Lord Andrew Bellamy offered for her several weeks ago. He begged off, no doubt because of the rumors about her parentage.”
“He is a dishonorable cad, then, and not worthy of her,” Anthony snarled, snapping the book shut and replacing it.
Before Sebastian could reply, the door to the library swung open, nearly hitting him, and Lady Jocelyn sailed in. She was dressed in a pale pink tea gown with her hair swept high in an intricate knot.
She closed the door, clearly not aware Anthony was standing right behind her.
Sebastian asked politely, “How my I assist you, Jocelyn?”
“I am in love with you,” she announced without preamble. She leaned against the closed door, her hands clasped tightly around the handle.
Astonished, Anthony started to step forward, but Sebastian gave him a quelling look and he remained rooted.
“I am in love with you, Sebastian,” she continued agitatedly.” I love you. Your warmth, your generosity with your tenants, your intensity…your passion. Your—”
“Enough, madam!” Sebastian bit out furiously, seeming even more astonished than Anthony.
Jocelyn, however, persisted, and the conversation grew even more intimate. Anthony was horrified. Both at his part in the scene, and at Sebastian. He had never heard his brother’s voice so cold and forbidding as when he attempted to shut down his wife’s declaration of love. Anthony wanted to punch his brother. She was laying her heart bare and he just sat there, unmoved.
Anthony’s admiration for her soared when she did not back down, but soldiered on to outline exactly how things stood with her. But then he was not surprised, given her temperament.
When she was finished, she did not wait for his brother’s response, or even watch his reaction. She whirled, jerked the door open, and stalked from the room.
Anthony would have laughed at the look of shock that chased Sebastian’s face—if the situation were not so damnably serious.
He cleared his throat. “I do not believe Jocelyn was aware that I was in the room.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” his brother ground out.
Despite the awkwardness, Anthony was inordinately pleased to see how rattled his normally unshakable brother was. Sebastian needed a good shaking up, and suddenly Anthony was damn glad the irrepressible Jocelyn Rathbourne had snared the duke, no matter how it had come about. “Never have I seen you looking quite so at a loss, Sebastian.”
“Shut up, damn it.” His brother sent him a deadly scowl, shot to his feet, and stalked to the drinks tray. “How is Phillipa?
Anthony raised his brow at the abrupt shift in topic. “Very happy and contented. She will journey down with her sisters and parents in a couple of days.” He took a healthy swallow of his whiskey, not willing to let the matter go. He was dying of curiosity to find out how in damnation his marriage-phobic brother ended up in shackles. His note had only mentioned he’d acquired a duchess. “I thought someone was playing a prank when I read in the Times that you had wed Lady Jocelyn Rathbourne. Then I realized it must be true, because who would dare?”
His brother grunted and went to the windows. He opened them a crack, letting in the chill.
“Bloody hell, Sebastian, you and the damn cold!” Anthony rose and joined him, gazing out at the landscape that was blanketed white with snow. “How on earth did it come about that you married Lady Jocelyn?”
A muscle ticked in Sebastian’s jaw. She’d obviously gotten under Sebastian’s skin. It was about damn time. After the debacle with his last mistress, he had been too alone for the last several years, deliberately closing off himself from female companionship.
“She barged into my study with a derringer, claiming you had taken advantage of her, and demanding satisfaction.”
Anthony froze. “The hell, you say!”
Sebastian laughed. “She was quite amazing. So I thought instead of choosing one of the vapid, shallow misses who pepper the ton, I would prefer a bold and adventurous woman who is not afraid to speak her mind. Which, she certainly isn’t,” he added drily. “Although I’ve come to realize that my days would be far more peaceful with a more biddable wife.”
They exchanged a look and both laughed.
“But not nearly as interesting, I wager.” Anthony wondered if Sebastian saw how he came alive when he spoke of her.
He decided he should make a clean breast of it to his brother concerning his halfhearted pursuit of Lady Jocelyn. Anthony didn’t want any doubts on Sebastian’s part about how far things did or did not go between himself and the duchess. Just in case any of it played a role in that little scene moments ago. He concluded by explaining about the locket.
He felt Sebastian’s glance and thoughtful nod, and they went on to speak of other things. He was grat
eful the topic of his illegitimacy did not come up again. Anthony did not want every conversation to center on that and what they would do about it. They settled into their easy camaraderie, their conversation only becoming tense when Anthony mentioned their mother. That was one subject Sebastian categorically refused to engage in. Anthony wondered if he would ever forgive her. He was pretty sure his brother’s difficulty with love in all its forms stemmed from their mother’s dishonorable treatment of his father.
But Anthony had forgiven their mother, and had always kept himself open to the idea of love and family. As a result, perhaps, he had found a perfect love with Phillipa. The laughter, the joy, the companionship, the trust, that was what made life worth living.
…
Christmas Day
Phillipa stood in the bracing cold of the garden, fingering the resilient petals of a bloodred winter rose that lingered on a snow-covered bush. Tomorrow she would wed Anthony again, but this time it would be properly in a church. Which would make their union respectable for all the world to see and criticize if they wished. She hoped the news of their nuptials would dampen some of the scandal swirling about them.
She had missed her husband fiercely in the days they had been apart. But she had also welcomed spending a little time with her family. Time to explain the details they weren’t aware of. Time to heal their relationships.
Phillipa’s mother and her aunt, Lady Merryweather, had quickly forgotten their vehement objections to her marrying Anthony when the Duke of Calydon had let it be known in no uncertain terms, that he fully supported his brother and would sever ties with anyone who dared to cut Anthony. However, Phillipa knew the true test would come when the beau monde returned to London for the season. Not being ostracized by Society was a vastly different thing than being embraced…or even accepted.
There was one bright note, though. Sebastian’s sudden marriage meant that, with any luck, Anthony would soon be replaced as the duke’s heir apparent. Thank God for that. Neither he nor Phillipa relished the weight of that responsibility, and were overjoyed at the welcome development.
