by Anne Greene
“Please toss your bouquet to me,” Lorna whispered. “I so long to meet a handsome duke like yours.” Her effervescent friend flitted down the edge of the stairs, missed Cailin’s train by centimeters, and positioned herself in front of the chatting, laughing, pushing ladies. She raised her arms, hands outstretched.
Cailin’s bridesmaids, cousins, and friends stopped chatting and jostled for position. Other single ladies, including Aunty Moira and Aunt Aley, and several single lady friends of Avondale’s, joined the excited women.
With the satin toe of her shoe, a favorite older pair as tradition dictated, she pushed back her yards and yards of satin gown, shifted her bouquet, and let the flowers tumble over her other arm. She hated to part with them. Like saying goodbye to her innocence. Nevertheless, she turned to face the bright tapestry hanging on the stair wall, gazed at her favorite embroidered hunting horse jumping a hurdle, and tossed her bouquet over her shoulder.
A scream from below announced her spinster Aunty Moira caught the bouquet. A tittering laugh rose around the trim figure in navy. Aunty Moira merely smiled a secret smile.
Cailin turned, gazed down at the cluster of women and winked at the happy spinster. Although intelligent, still fresh-faced and pretty, the thirty-year-old had little chance to make good the bridal bouquet’s promise. The lively lady had no prospects and no dowry.
Out of the kindness of his heart, Papa had taken Mums’s baby sister to live in the castle. And when Aunt Aley’s husband died before she could bear a son, Mums’s newly penniless older sister moved into the castle as well.
But thinking of her aunts couldn’t distract her today. Her thoughts flew like homing pigeons back to what would happen tonight after the sun set.
Lorna scampered to her side and slid an arm beneath her veil and around her waist. “You’re blushing. I know what you’re thinking.”
Together they climbed the remaining stairs.
Lorna leaned close and whispered, “Tonight what we’ve been giggling over, and secretly dreading since we started wearing long skirts, will no longer remain a mystery.” Her mischievous face held a wide grin. “At breakfast tomorrow, you truly must tell me all about your wedding night.” Lorna squeezed her waist. “If you don’t find happiness in His Grace’s arms, there is no happiness to be had.” Lorna’s lips cooled a spot on Cailin’s hot cheek. “You will share all, won’t you? Promise.”
Alarm bubbled up and left a strange taste in her mouth. “I shall be too embarrassed.” Her smile quivered until her chin trembled. She gripped the stair railing and gave Lorna an uncertain smile.
Wispy hat lopsided, her eyes wide, her hands fluttering, Mums climbed the steps to join them at the second floor banister. “Dearest, let’s spend a few minutes in your room before I return to our guests.”
“As you like.” Cailin nodded.
Lorna led the way to the passageway that turned at a right angle away from the corridor leading to the family’s rooms. “It’s so exciting that your Papa gave you this entire corridor of rooms in honor of His Grace.”
Mums nodded, her hand reaching for Cailin’s. “You are beginning a new chapter in your life.” A tear sparkled on Mums’s cheek. “You are leaving childhood behind, and I could not be more proud of you, Cailin Mountebank, Fifth Duchess of Avondale.”
Cailin swallowed a lump that tried to clog her throat. She’d never before seen tears shimmering in Mums eyes. She squeezed her mother’s gloved hand. There’d always been some indefinable degree of reserve between the two of them…as if Mums knew secrets she wouldn’t share. Perhaps being wed would draw them closer.
Hand in hand, they entered the elegant suite of rooms furnished with velvet, linen, and silk, and hung with bright tapestries.
Mums carefully unpinned and lifted off Cailin’s veil, then draped the voluminous lace over the window seat. “Come, dearest, sit on the bed while I remove your slippers and hose.” She patted the kingly bed.
Cailin climbed the three steps to the massive bed, struggled with her train, and then smoothed her dress behind her before she perched beside her mother on the lush velvet spread.
Lorna scampered up and collapsed on her other side.
Cailin’s heart fluttered. She was sitting on Avondale’s bed. Goose bumps danced across her arms. She tried not to think of her groom. Impossible. Every item in the room spoke of him in one intimate way or another. The huge bed and hand-carved wardrobe filled with his undergarments made her stomach flutter and her cheeks burn. She would soon discover what Avondale was like beneath his breeches. She shivered.
The room smelled of some indefinable male scent. Strange and mysterious, but incredibly enticing. She dropped her gaze to her hands, unwilling to let Mums see where her thoughts skimmed.
Sinking back into the soft mattress, she could scarce catch her breath enough to focus on why Mums was here.
At full dark, Avondale would arrive.
Cailin glanced out the window at the setting sun. Despite the tiered candles lighting his bedchamber, shadows already clung to the room corners.
She wriggled her bare toes and peeked at her flowing gauze bed gown lying ready across the red velvet settee.
“Here, dear, Lorna and I will unbutton your wedding gown and help you out of your stays.”
She slid from the bed and turned her back. Both women began unhooking the tiny buttons that ran down her back between her shoulder blades. Fingering the lace of her bed gown brought more heat to her neck. The lace ended just where the roundness of her breasts began. She fanned her face. She’d never worn such a revealing garment. Perhaps she could lie in bed with the coverlet pulled to her neck when Avondale arrived. Or perhaps she could blow out—
“Wasn’t Megan a beautiful maid of honor?”
Cailin jerked. She could have slapped Lorna.
But Lorna babbled on, oblivious to the warning look she threw over her shoulder at her friend. “Megan’s green silk brought out the alabaster in her complexion and set her hair on fire. I couldn’t gain any of the gentlemen’s attention until she disappeared.” Lorna unhooked the last tiny round button, and the wedding gown slipped down from Cailin’s shoulders.
Mums lurched to face Lorna. “What?”
“Did I say something wrong?” Lorna’s gray-green eyes widened, and then she shrugged and straightened the circlet of fresh flowers that had tipped askew on her forehead. “No woman this side of Perth has a chance at snagging a fine lord for a husband until Megan announces her betrothal.” She grinned at Cailin. “At least now, one of you two sisters is wed and out of the running.”
“Where is she?” Mums yanked the gown so hard the train slithered across the wooden floor like a writhing snake.
Cailin stepped out of the dress, reached behind Lorna, and selected a bottle of scent from the night stand. She smoothed some of the cool liquid onto her neck and shoulders.
Her mother’s puckered brow revealed her age like no amount of smiling ever could. “Leave it to Megan. She’s up to something.” Mums cocked her head. “Hmm, I don’t believe I’ve seen her since the wedding dinner.” She pursed her lips.
Cailin frowned at Lorna.
Mums certainly wouldn’t have missed Megan until tomorrow had bubble-headed Lorna not mentioned her.
“Don’t fret, Lady MacMurry. No doubt Megan’s snared the Earl of Mabry’s attention, and the two of them tripped off into the garden to get a breath of air.” Lorna’s eyes twinkled. “With Cailin married, Megan reels in the other rich catch. But then, that’s what your husband arranged, isn’t it, Lady MacMurry?”
Mums ignored Lorna’s saucy question.
“I’m most certain Megan would gladly hand Lord Mabry over to you on a silver platter if given the opportunity.” With Mums attention on hanging the wedding gown in the wardrobe, Cailin frowned at Lorna and put a finger to her lips. “She detests the man.”
Lorna’s brows rose, and she slapped a small hand over her mouth.
“That’s beside the point, Lorna. I am
sure Megan, like Cailin, will fulfill her duty to our family.” Mums lifted the sleep gown over Cailin’s head and pulled the fine, thin gauze down over her hips. Under cover of the nearly transparent garment, she unlaced Cailin’s new stays and slipped the undergarment off. “I don’t recall seeing Megan after we retired from the reception line.” Mums eyes narrowed as if trying to recall. “Oh yes, she danced the four-reel with that peacock, Reginald, Earl of Sutcliffe. But after that—”
“You wanted to talk with me while I change?” Cailin knew she must steer Mums to a safer topic. With the revealing bed gown clinging to her skin, she felt naked and grasped one of the huge fluffy bed pillows from the group on the bed. She held the round softness tight against her breast. The room seemed to chill, and the rose scent she had smoothed on suddenly sickened her.
“Oh, yes.” Mums glanced at Lorna. “Would you mind giving my daughter and me some time alone together?”
Lorna giggled. “I shall see you in the morning, Duchess.”
When the door closed after Lorna’s rustling gown, Mums leaned close. “Don’t be frightened tonight, darling. I’m sure His Grace will be a gentleman.”
Something in her mother’s voice transformed the delicate shivers running down Cailin’s spine into pricks of ice. She shivered and climbed into bed. “Are some grooms not gentlemen?”
Mums smiled an enigmatic smile.
Doubts and conflicting thoughts tumbled through Cailin’s mind until she felt lightheaded. A new thought fought to the surface of her jumbled feelings. She fingered the soft gauze of her bed gown. “Did Papa make you happy on your wedding night?”
Mums twisted a corner of the coverlet in her hand. “Happiness has nothing to do with marriage. You will fulfill your duty to our family.” She cleared her throat. “The secret is to relax, dearest.” She turned to a tray sitting on the nightstand. “Perhaps this one night you should take a glass of port.” Mums’s warm hand cupped hers around a stemmed glass of sparkling wine, and then she lowered her eyes. “Whatever Lord Avondale wants...just do it.”
“What might he want?” She took a sip and returned the glass to the nightstand.
Her mother squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek and slipped off the bed. She stood with hands on her hips, regal as a queen. “I’m so proud of you.”
Before Cailin could respond, Mums rushed out the door, leaving lavender scent twining through the room.
Beneath the silken sheets, Cailin pulled her knees to her chest, her heart drumming so hard her head spun. What was this mysterious thing called marriage? What might Avondale want? Mums seemed so somber. Cailin pulled the satin coverlet to her chin and waited.
What if the whispers about Avondale were true? After they pledged their vows, why had he grown so cold?
Darkness gathered inside the chamber.
3
Avondale drew in a deep breath, let the smooth tobacco flavor fill his chest, blew out a perfect circle of smoke, and snuffed his cigar in the cut crystal saucer. He lowered his boots from his new father-in-law’s huge, hand-carved walnut desk and slowly rose. “I’ll take my leave now, gentlemen.”
The room full of men stumbled to their feet and bowed. Elbowing and subtly pushing one another for position, each tried to shake his hand. The sound of deep voices rose to a crescendo.
Drat, he hated all this attention. Hated all the bowing and scraping. Hated always being surrounded by nobles and gents pretending to be his friends, when each really wanted to pluck him like a chicken to be roasted. If they didn’t want money or favors, they wanted whatever his power could give them.
“No. No. Please don’t bother to accompany me. I’ll deem it a favor if you forestall any idea of coming along. Leave me to my own devices.” He turned on his heel, strode from the den, and shut the door firmly against the commotion inside.
Hand still on the doorknob, lively music besieged his ears. Was peace to be found nowhere?
His valet appeared.
“No, Hennings, I have no need tonight for your services. You may go on to the servants’ quarters. Perhaps they have a dance going on there as well.” He forced a smile through stiff lips. “Goodnight.”
“Very good, sir.” Hennings stood as if rooted to the spot like the solid oak tree of a man that he was.
Avondale grunted. It was no secret to him why his royal mother insisted on such a brute of a man to take care of his toilette. Well, tonight the man would leave his sight, or he’d have Hennings’s blood.
He grasped the hilt of his ornamental sword, glared the warning, pivoted and stalked in the direction of one of the doors he knew led to a garden. No footsteps followed.
With the first burst of cool air on his face, some of his tension eased. He unfisted his hands. If it wasn’t for his ducal responsibilities, he’d give his entire fortune to be alone. Though only night sounds surrounded him, the music and noise banged and churned inside his brain like a commoner’s shivaree.
Several couples, dotted here and there among the stone benches set among the trees, looked up from their apparent trysts and gazed at him.
He ducked inside the maze hedge. Here shadows were darker, and light from the torches burning outside the castle didn’t penetrate. He stopped and listened. No footsteps from Hennings that he could discern. He leaned against the prickly branches and gazed up at the night sky. The wind had blown away the rain, but black clouds obscured the moon. A fit night for his wedding.
Was his bride waiting?
Some of the muscles in his chest loosened, but the nape of his neck remained as rigid as if he wore an iron neck shackle. And so he did. Chained by duty, and now by vows.
Mind boggling, what a title could buy. For once the accident of his noble birth benefited him. His bride’s ethereal beauty had stolen his breath. Under her veil, golden curls cascaded to her slender waist.
He grunted. He needed a son. Would her delicate body bear such a burden?
If the girl were as intelligent as she looked, his royal mother had pulled off a wonderment. Mother had said the locals named her the Golden Goddess of Castle Drummond.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He needed more than unbelievable beauty. He needed more than a goddess. He needed a miracle.
He’d give her everything he could, but she had a right to so much more.
How long before the trust faded from her great sky-blue eyes?
4
Cailin woke slowly. Smiling, she reached across the huge bed to touch the warm silk of her new husband’s nightshirt. Her hand felt only the cool satin hollow of his empty pillow.
She stiffened. A feeling of loss crept over her as if Christmas had passed, and she missed the celebration.
Wide awake, she arched her back and stretched her legs. Perhaps she overslept. Except the sun slanting yellow rays through the long bank of deeply-recessed windows told her that wasn’t so. Still, wherever Avondale was, she’d see him again soon.
She rolled over and kissed the empty hollow of his pillow.
So, this was what being a wife meant. Savoring a remnant of the relaxed nest of joy she’d fallen asleep with, his arms around her, her head snuggled against his muscular chest, she pushed upright against her double stack of satin pillows. She slipped out from between the rumpled satin sheets, slid down from the bed, and pirouetted around the room.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror each time she passed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy, she was totally unembarrassed with the extremely low-cut transparency of her bed gown.
He’d said she was beautiful.
Already she loved this massive room with the different shades of cream and white pouncing on the splashes of brilliant red. Avondale’s bedchamber. And hers.
She ran her hands beneath the long, full sleeves of her gown and stroked her arms. Today, she would have preferred breakfast in bed, shared with Avondale. But wedding guests awaited her appearance.
That must be it! Avondale had gone downstairs to extend hospitality to their guests.
Conflicting emotions of joy and loss ran through her. After their closeness last night, she felt as abandoned as a stray kitten.
His absence this morning marred last night’s glorious sense of the two of them being one.
She so desired to see Avondale’s dear features in daylight. Had she pleased him even a fraction as much as he pleased her? Though he was gone, he’d left his warmth and masculine love bursting inside her heart.
Marriage was so different from what she’d expected. She was a woman now, complete and loved. There had been nothing to fear. The duty to be performed had turned out to be a delight.
She burned to talk with Megan. To be wed on the same day had really been a touch from God. She couldn’t wait to compare experiences. She could never share what happened last night with Lorna. Nor with Mums. Only with Megan.
She frowned. Raised in a house full of women, she and Megan had known so very little about men. How had Megan fared last night? Had she been as surprised? And had her Highlander made her as unexpectedly happy? Had he left her glowing all over?
Oh, I hope so! Who knew duty could be so pleasurable?
Hoof beats thundered from the stable and grew fainter as they crossed the moor. The distant blast of a hunter’s horn sounded. So that’s where her new husband, and probably most of the wedding guests, had gone.
Because she’d slept so soundly, Avondale had thoughtfully not awakened her.
Very well. She could eat breakfast in peace. She scooted across the room, digging her bare toes into the thick carpet, and pulled the bell cord.
In a much shorter time than usual, Jenny, her plain Irish features bright with questions, flounced in to help her dress. The nosy lass must have been waiting just outside the door.
Cailin couldn’t keep the triumphant smile off her face as she wiggled her bare toes in the silky softness of the red Oriental rug.
