Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“ P hoebe dear, you must sit still, or I shall not be able to get the flowers just right and then you will have to endure it for much longer!”
Phoebe pursed her lips as her mother busied herself with pinning some flowers into her golden hair. She did not know why her Mama had to spare so much effort when the wedding ceremony was so small, and the only other guests had already seen her hair in a much rougher state.
“I know you do not think much of all of it, but we must make a little effort,” Lady Townsend sighed as though reading her thoughts. “I had hoped so much for your wedding someday… I suppose I just want it to be a little happier than the situation allows us.”
Phoebe reached up to clasp her mother’s hand and smiled at her from their reflection in the mirror.
“But you see, Mama, I am quite happy. Lord Wentworth appears to be a good man, and he has a gorgeous estate. What more can I ask for?”
Despite her soft smile, she knew just what her mother wanted for her—to be married for love, just as she had with her father. Even as a spinster at five-and-twenty, Phoebe still harbored secret fantasies of falling in love and she had often used the image of Lord Wentworth in her imaginings.
And those whimsical flights of fancy, the very ones that she had secretly written in her diary, were what led her to this very moment today.
If she was of the mind to write a romance novel, she could not have thought of a more ludicrous plot, but this was her reality now.
“Just do not settle for anything less than respect from your husband,” her mother told her in a firm voice. “Lord Wentworth seems to be a reasonable man, but you still do not know him as much. A woman may long for warmth and affection, but respect is much more familiar to men. If he can respect you, my darling, then you just may grow to love each other. Eventually.”
Eventually. That word should have had a more foreboding tone to it, but it only seemed to unfurl in her chest, like a shy bloom kissed by the soft spring sunshine. Like a world of endless possibilities had just opened themselves up to her and all she had to do was take one step after another…
The wedding ceremony was finished without much fanfare, which was sure to have irked her Mama to no end. She knew how much Lady Townsend wished for her daughters to each have the wedding of their dreams. The Duke of Cheshire, Lord Wentworth’s father, was not even in attendance as he was too ill, although he did send his congratulations.
I suppose His Grace would have done it either way, to avoid further embarrassment for his son , she thought to herself as she clutched at the bouquet her sisters had hastily cobbled together for her.
Even then, Phoebe surmised that this was as good as it could possibly get for someone who had already cast aside any matrimonial prospects.
Well, at least I shall not be a burden to my parents in their old age , she consoled herself. Instead, I shall be a burden to my husband, although I do not think I relish the thought of that.
Women, after all, came under the protection of their husbands after marriage and as much as the ton disdained spinsterhood, Phoebe could not deny that she did enjoy the little freedoms it allowed her.
Freedoms that she now had to give up with her marriage to Lord Wentworth. She could only hope that he would be just as lenient with her as her parents had been, although she did not have very high hopes for that, either.
She tried her best to project the very picture of a happy and contented bride, even as her stomach churned dreadfully from beneath her stays.
Chin up, Phoebe! You only get married once—if you are fortunate , she tried to cheer herself. Besides, you are now married to the Marquess of Wentworth, the dream husband of everyone in the Club!
And speaking of the Spinster Club, should she not send word to them that she would no longer be able to attend their weekly meetings? After all, she was hardly a spinster now, but she should at least have the decency to inform them of that fact, right?
“Phoebe, you look absolutely radiant!” Daphne gushed as she fixed a drooping flower from her crown. “But the Marquess…” She cast a furtive glance at her new brother-in-law. “He seems to be a little ill at ease.”
Phoebe sneaked a look at her husband and found him standing stiffly to the side with an expression that could be considered glacial.
He does not seem to be pleased with the situation at all …
And now, she found that all the false bravado she had been building up since she decided to accept his offer was coming undone at an unprecedented pace. The roiling in her belly returned until she thought she was truly going to disgrace herself.
“Have some wine.” Minerva pushed a full glass into her hand. “I read that it fortifies the spirit.”
“But Mama says it makes fools out of sensible women,” Phoebe protested.
“And I heard that it makes sirens out of virgins, but what do I know?”
Phoebe should have questioned her sister’s logic then, but she still took the offered glass and managed to finish the wine in one go. The liquid was slightly sweet, even as it burned down her throat, and she had to keep herself from coughing it up.
“That was strong!” she gasped.
“I heard that Papa kept it for this particular occasion,” Daphne told her while rubbing her back. “How do you feel?”
Phoebe made a face. “Like a foolish virgin still.”
“You do not suppose that the Marquess can, er, help with that?”
In all honesty, Phoebe doubted he would be much inclined to help her with anything at all. She was grateful for his offer, really, but when she looked at his cold expression, she could not help but shudder a little.
“I suppose it does have a particularly nasty side to it,” Minerva mumbled under her breath. “You do not suppose Mama will be angry with me for this?”
“No, I do not think so,” Daphne replied with a frown. “Brides are allowed to have a little wine at the wedding.”
“But Phoebe has never had more than just a few sips…”
Both her sisters turned towards her with twin expressions of concern. Phoebe shook her head and pursed her lips.
“I think I feel better now,” she muttered. “My head does feel a little heavy…”
Minerva beamed at Daphne in relief. “See? It did help.”
The youngest of the Townsend sisters, however, did not look too convinced.
That did not matter much to Phoebe, who was now beginning to feel the effects of imbibing a little too much alcohol. Daphne was right in that she had never had more than a few sips before, and that was after dinner in the absence of guests.
But she was a married woman now. She could have a little more if she wanted to.
And if it did help with bolstering her courage and allay her fraying nerves, then she certainly was not going to refuse it.
“I think that should be enough,” Daphne chided her gently. “You have had a little too much. Your husband will not like it if you become sick on your wedding night.”
She cast a furtive glance at the brooding Marquess, who stood a little to the side, observing the rest of the wedding party as if he was a mere bystander and not the groom himself. She turned to her eldest sister and sighed.
“He is very handsome, if you must know. Just a little odd.”
Phoebe giggled at that. Odd did not even begin to scratch the surface when it came to Lord Wentworth. She had observed him long enough and even fancied herself in love with him at some point. However, she was not delusional enough to deny that he had his own idiosyncrasies.
“Well now, darling. The feast is almost over, and you should be heading back home with your husband…”
Phoebe frowned as she glanced up at her mother, whose voice sounded as if she was talking underwater.
“But Mama!” she protested. “I do not want to leave just yet!”
“Do not be a silly girl!” her mother admonished her with an uneasy smile. “Your husband is already waiting for you…”
“Yes, I suppose I am a married woman now.” Phoebe pouted. “I am now Lady Wentworth.”
“Yes,” an icy voice replied. “You are now the Marchioness of Wentworth.”
She turned around to find her new husband staring down at her, his eyes like shards of ice. He neither frowned nor expressed displeasure, although she could see that the ends of his lips were beginning to quirk just the slightest bit.
Or was that just her imagination?
Phoebe shook her head. “No. I do not think I want to go just yet.”
“It is getting rather late, dear wife,” he reminded her as he approached. “We must be off to Wentworth Park now.”
“But my sisters—!” she protested as she reached out for Minerva’s sleeve. “I do not want to leave my sisters!”
Daphne had a look of horror on her face. She turned towards Minerva, who looked just as horrified as her younger sister was.
Gently, she began to pry Phoebe’s fingers off of her sleeve before she managed to tear the fabric from her shoulder.
“Dear sister,” she smiled through gritted teeth. “Wentworth Park is just next door . You can hardly be considered to be moving away…”
Daphne nodded emphatically. “Indeed. You can always come visit us…” she trailed off as she looked at the forbidding expression Lord Wentworth wore.
Phoebe sighed and then smiled sadly at her sisters. Lord Wentworth might be eccentric, but he was going to find that she had her own ways as well.
And did she not successfully scale the wall that divided their properties twice? She could very well do it again, if she was of the mind to!
But for better or for worse, she was now the Marchioness of Wentworth and as she looked up to him, she could not help but feel enthralled that this man, Charles Montgomery, was now her husband.
She had only ever written of the secret fantasies she had of him in her diary and that was the very same diary that landed her in this rather unorthodox marriage.
It might not be the most conventional start to their union, but nothing about them was conventional in the least.
In any case, she had always been of the mind that convention led to the stagnation of the soul.
“Let us go home then, my Lord.”
And for the first time since they met, she caught sight of what might be a hint of a sincere smile on his lips and her heart just seemed to soar .