Chapter 24
TWO WEEKS LATER
Thalia watched as the rich brocade wedding gown was carefully wound around her. It suited her. The modiste hadn’t been overly flattering when she said that green was a good color for her or that the heavy brocade looked very good on her.
It still doesn’t feel like my dress, though.
She supposed that was normal. After all, she didn’t feel like a bride. This didn’t feel like her wedding day, not in the least.
And yet here she was. The news had spread. The invitations had been sent. And now, the day was here.
She closed her eyes briefly.
I ought to be happy. Not many brides get to think of their grooms with the same prickling desire that I feel. But I’m not happy.
How could she be happy? Christian didn’t want to marry her.
The story of the maid, Sophie, and their child made her chest ache. None of them deserved such an ending.
If they hadn’t died, I wonder what Christian’s life would be like now. Would he have married Sophie in the end? Would they, even now, be happy and domestic in some quiet Scottish village?
There certainly wouldn’t have been any room for Thalia in Christian’s life. No room at all.
Laura, who’d been styling Thalia’s hair, took a step back and then gave an approving nod. “Yes, that’s perfect, I think. Perfect.”
Thalia made herself smile. It mustn’t have convinced Laura because her smile faded.
“You aren’t happy, Thalia?”
I turn three-and-twenty today. Does that count? It doesn’t matter. I can’t fight for much longer.
Before she could answer, the door creaked, and Augusta stepped inside. She was wearing a white-and-gold dress, suitably plain and modest for the mother of the bride. Well, stepmother.
“Would you give us a moment alone, Laura?” she asked politely.
Laura nodded and slipped wordlessly out of the room. The door closed behind her, and for a moment, Thalia and Augusta stood still, staring at each other through the mirror.
“You look beautiful, my love,” Augusta murmured quietly. “Your dress… is it comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you. Laura and Mabel made some alterations.”
“Well, I have an early present for you,” Augusta said, taking something out of a muslin-wrapped pouch. “Something borrowed.”
She revealed a necklace, a delicate green pendant hanging on a finely wrought silver chain.
“Emeralds,” she explained, clasping it around Thalia’s neck. “Green suits you. I’m glad you picked this gown to wear.”
A lump formed in Thalia’s throat. She touched the pendant, tears pricking her eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me to pick out the dress, Augusta,” she whispered. “Things just… they just happened so fast.”
“Oh, my darling girl, I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t mind. All that matters to me is that you are happy. And that brings me to my next question.”
Augusta gently took Thalia’s shoulders and turned her so that they were facing each other.
“Are you happy, Thalia?” she asked softly.
“Your brother is thrilled that you are marrying a duke. I’m sure he thinks that he’s quite discharged his brotherly duties now that you’re marrying such a distinguished, rich fellow, but I know that there’s more to it than that.
So, I’ll ask you again, Thalia. Are you happy? ”
“I’m not sad,” Thalia answered carefully.
That did not fool her stepmother, of course. Augusta’s hands dropped from her shoulders, and she eyed her narrowly.
“Really, Thalia. I am being serious, you know.”
“So am I. The Duke is not… not the sort of man I imagined marrying.”
Augusta’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. “No, I never thought that he would be. How does that make you feel?”
Thalia shrugged. “I never imagined I’d marry.”
“Well, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
She almost laughed aloud. Of course, it was too late. It was too late the moment she and Christian shared that kiss. In fact, it was probably too late earlier than that, perhaps the first time she had let him kiss her. Perhaps their intimacy in the conservatory marked a turning point.
She wished she could ask her stepmother about it.
That would do no good, of course. Augusta would be furious.
She’d probably try to stop the wedding, and that would lead to Thalia being ruined forever.
She would go straight to Jonathan, probably expecting that he would challenge Christian to a duel or something like that.
Jonathan was hopefully too clever to challenge anyone to a duel. She could only pray that he wouldn’t use the occasion as an excuse to put her in an asylum.
Many people in Society knew about some woman or other who was packed off to a convent or, more likely, to an asylum. There was always a semi-plausible reason, like a transparent veil drawn over the real reason.
The real reason was generally one of two things: either a male relative wanted her money, or she had disgraced the family in some way and become an inconvenience.
For example, Lady Prunefeather, a staunch, middle-aged woman, had married again after her husband died and became plain Mrs. Brown. However, Mr. Brown had thought he would get his wife’s thousands when they married and was greatly outraged when he found out that the money would remain hers.
A few years went by, and the marriage soured into unhappiness with debts on his side and loneliness on hers.
And then, quite without warning, he announced that his wife was insane.
Sleepwalking was listed as a symptom, along with melancholia and ‘unfeminine appetites’, whatever those were.
A pair of doctors, both of whom were old friends of his, agreed with his assessment, and Mrs. Brown went to the asylum while her husband joyfully descended upon her bank accounts.
The story had been extensively reported on in the newspapers until another acquaintance of Mr. Brown’s in the publishing world put a stop to it. As far as anyone knew, Mrs. Brown was still in the asylum, and Mr. Brown was still rich.
Even the memory of that sent a shiver down Thalia’s spine. She’d heard of other women, ladies engaging in extramarital affairs or unmarried girls sneaking off to the woodsheds with stableboys.
Why, hadn’t Lord Boles sent Lady Boles to the asylum for sharing her bed with the butler, when all along he kept a mistress and a whole host of lovers that he didn’t even try to hide?
No, there would be no forgiveness, no sympathy for Thalia. She couldn’t tell her stepmother. She couldn’t risk it. Augusta thought that Jonathan was a different man than he truly was.
“I don’t want to change my mind,” she said.
It was, to some extent, true.
Augusta eyed her for a long moment. “Well, as long as you’re sure. Now, to a more awkward business. I believe we have spoken before about the act between men and women? How married folks produce babies?”
Thalia cleared her throat, trying not to think of Christian’s fingers on her skin, the scratch of his stubble against her thighs.
“Yes, yes. I remember, you needn’t worry.”
Augusta looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, those were the bare facts. When a woman is married, things might be a little less… clinical. There are different things to be concerned about, you see.”
Thalia said nothing, so her stepmother continued.
“Concern is the wrong word,” Augusta muttered, frowning. “To consider. For example, the act might… might not only take place to produce a baby.”
Thalia cleared her throat again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have a sore throat and a hoarse voice by the time she had to say her vows. “Yes, I know that too.”
“What? How?”
Uh-oh.
“I guessed,” Thalia responded mildly. “And I hear the maids talking, sometimes.”
“Oh, dear. Well, as I said, it can be a very lovely thing. It ought to feel very good, and if a man is telling you otherwise, well, he is simply not very good at it, if you follow my meaning. You must not put up with pain or degradation. You do not owe it to your husband, despite what others say. You have a right to be clear about what you want and do not want. And if your husband ignores your requests or hurts you in any way, you can come to me, and I will keep him away from you. I promise you that.”
Thalia stared at her stepmother, fierce and earnest, and her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Augusta,” she whispered, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around her. “Mother. I am lucky to have you.”
Augusta’s arms went around her. “Oh, my love. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could make her understand.
A silly hope. There was no chance of that.
Wiping away her tears before they could make her face red and blotchy, Thalia smiled at her. “I will miss you a great deal, you know.”
Augusta’s face scrunched up. “My darling girl. I will miss you, too, but you’ll live with Laura. Won’t that be nice?”
“Yes, I suppose it will.”
And Christian. He will be there, always, in the back of my mind. A perpetual reminder of the thing I cannot have. I don’t know if I can bear it.
“I’m not unhappy,” Thalia stated firmly. “I feel safe with him. He’s not the heartless rake the world thinks he is.”
That seemed to mollify Augusta a little. “Well, if you’re sure. I will say, he’s a decent man for any woman to marry. You’ll never worry about money or power. There’s security in that at the very least. Once I see you happy with a child, or at least settled, I will be content.”
There won’t be any children, Thalia thought miserably. He’s made that clear. Unless he changes his mind, of course.
There wasn’t much time to worry about what may or may not happen in the future. It was time to go.
The wedding itself passed by in a blur. Thalia remembered pieces of it, framed like portraits.
She remembered seeing Sister Abigail and a selection of the nuns, along with a full three rows at the back taken up by the children of St. Sarah’s.
Alex waved the hardest at her, and Sophia whispered too loudly.
Nicholas, to her amazement, sniffled miserably.
“I will see you soon,” she whispered as she passed by. “I’ll visit you just the same as always. More often, I should say.”
Yes, because I’ll be a duchess, and if I tell the board not to send Sister Ethel and Sister Doris away, they’ll have to listen.
She recalled Christian’s face, smooth and passive, his eyes lingering on her as she approached. His voice was deep and confident when he spoke his vows, hers a little more tentative.
It was over in the blink of an eye. Now, they were back at Thornhill Abbey.
The wedding breakfast was taking place in the dining room and ballroom.
Guests thronged the halls. Jonathan and Augusta were among them, and Laura too, but Thalia’s head was spinning, and she decided she’d rather have a little peace and quiet.
The butler, Hooves, who pretended not to recognize her from her first visit here, had graciously shown her to her rooms.
“These rooms have always been the Duchess’s quarters,” he explained. “They were cleaned and aired especially for you. Of course, if you’d rather move to another room, that can be arranged tomorrow.”
“This is perfect, thank you,” Thalia murmured, glancing around wide-eyed as the butler left.
The room was at least three times the size of her old bedroom. There was a washroom attached, a private parlor, and even what looked like a reading room. She could already imagine the walls lined with shelves. She could have her own private library!
I could organize lessons for the children here, she realized in a rush. The nuns could bring them over. They could have suppers, parties, and celebrations. I could buy the best schoolbooks and keep them here!
She’d learned her lesson about buying good things for the orphanage to use. Last year, she had saved up her allowance to buy good, new schoolbooks for the girls, tomes on Latin, Greek, and mathematics. Not precisely interesting but important.
About a month later, Sister Abigail had met her at the door, wringing her hands.
The board had visited, all men. They’d seen the fine new books, and their eyes had lit up.
They’d seized them, taking them all away to be sold to a boys’ school.
Since Thalia had donated them, they now belonged to the orphanage, which in turn belonged to the board.
The books had been replaced by a few dirty, torn, dog-eared books on various subjects. No Latin, Greek, or mathematics.
Not this time. They won’t do that again.
She put her hands on her hips, surveying the room. A fire burned in the grate, and wine, cheese, bread, and fruit waited for her on the table.
I’ll change into my nightgown once the guests have gone. Then I’ll—
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and she stiffened. Then there was a slow, thoughtful knock on the door.
She swallowed. “Who is it?”
“Who do you think?” came a dry, amused voice. “It’s me, dear wife. May I come in?”