Chapter 18
“Icannot believe I missed the wedding!” Catherine exclaimed. “I would have liked to attend.”
“Well, you have made the wedding breakfast,” Bridget said, “so all is not lost.”
“You must persuade your husband to spend more time in London,” Dorothy teased. “It is unfair of him to keep you all to himself.”
“He will be forced to spend more time in London very soon,” Catherine said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “His sisters will be of age soon, and they will need to attend all the Season’s events.”
Bridget felt a sharp pain in her chest. She was a married woman, and the Season would never be the same for her.
No small part of her enjoyment of the Season had derived from its possibilities—that she might fall in love or catch the heart of some dashing man.
Now, no suitor would desire her, and she could desire no one but her husband.
She had the cold, sad sensation of having spent her youth too quickly.
“Ah! What a vision the three of you are,” Elias said, joining them. “My sweet sisters! Cat, how was the journey?”
“Long,” she said dryly. “William sends his regards. He wanted to come as well, but he had another commitment. The tenants have complained about a bridge which is in sore need of repairs, and my dear husband has taken it upon himself to rebuild the entire road.”
“Does your husband ever stop working?” Elias asked, shaking his head. “I cannot decide if I ought to admire the man or be concerned about his health.”
“He is in good health,” Catherine said. “Now, I am quite famished, so if we could move towards the breakfast table, I would be much appreciative.”
Elias grinned and led the way. They all settled around the table, His Grace’s staff moving quickly and efficiently.
Her staff. Bridget sat and fixed her gaze straight ahead, as the weight of what she had done really sank in.
She was the mistress of this household, and this staff was as much hers as it was his.
She was the Duchess of Wheelton. Her Grace.
Bridget sat to her husband’s right in the place of honor awarded to his new bride.
Her breath shuddered in her chest, as she gazed over the table.
The guests surrounding them were comprised mostly of her family members.
His Grace’s one friend, the marquess, had bid them a regretful farewell; it seemed as though he had a prior obligation which warranted his prompt attention.
The wedding breakfast would be the perfect opportunity for her to cause some mischief surrounded by people who supported her. Let them see how monstrous her husband was! She took a small sip of her tea, eyes drifting over the generous spread of fruits, tarts, and cakes.
“This is a lovely table,” Catherine said.
“So it is,” Bridget’s husband replied.
Bridget stared at him, uncertain how to feel about such a strange response. Most men would have responded with gratitude for the compliment.
“You have done well with your matches, Reeds,” Gerard said, turning to Elias. “It is no small feat marrying three sisters to Dukes.”
“I cannot entirely take credit for their success,” Elias said. “In truth, I did very little.”
There would be people who believed Bridget was unworthy of marrying a Duke.
As she ate a piece of toast covered in orange jam, she recalled Lady Susan’s criticism of her.
Bridget doubted that the spiteful young woman was the only individual who found her to be lacking.
Her heart sank, while she imagined what the next ball might bring—judgmental stares and cruel gossip.
Maybe it would be better if her husband did not wish to attend any of the ton’s events. Certainly, she would have to endure less judgment from his staff if they just remained at home.
“Do you have plans to celebrate the marriage?” Dorothy asked. “Bridget has never thrown a ball, and this would be a good opportunity for her first. I would be able to aid her in the endeavor.”
Once, Bridget would have been delighted to host her own ball, but now…
If she did, Bridget would have to invite the ton into her new home, knowing that they detested her. How could she not be vexed by that? She cast a quick glance at her husband, but he seemed entirely unbothered.
“I suppose a ball would be warranted,” he mused. “It is not every day that a man marries, after all.”
Bridget chewed her toast with more force than necessary. She could refuse or argue, both of which would doubtlessly embarrass His Grace. Worse, Bridget might even deign to tell her loving siblings about how detested she was among the ton. She swallowed.
She thought about doing it.
She could not.
“I could also help with the ball,” Catherine said, smiling. “I told William that I intend on remaining in London for a while longer, and he found that to be quite agreeable.”
Bridget’s chest tightened. Her sister sounded as though she was so deeply in love with the man she had married, and Bridget could, at best, summon a flicker of curiosity towards hers.
And in truth, it was not even the man himself who she desired.
It was the pleasure that he might bring her, which was a poor substitute for true love.
“Between the three of you, I am certain it will be the most magnificent ball the ton has ever seen,” Elias said fondly.
Bridget muffled a sigh. She could too readily imagine how the planning of that ball would go, and it did not seem magnificent to her.
Dorothy would be too present, constantly questioning Bridget and insisting on doing everything differently.
Meanwhile, Catherine would be all wild energy, moving from item to item—plates to music to refreshments—so quickly that Bridget was bound to be left behind.
In the end, it would not be her ball at all, but her sisters’.
“It will be sometime before we want to host a ball,” Bridget said. “Won’t it? We have only just married, and I imagine our time shall be occupied with other matters.”
She did not know precisely what those matters were but sensed that it would have something to do with the heat that kept growing in her core and the needy aches between her thighs.
“Yes,” the Duke of Wheelton said.
“Of course,” Dorothy said, eyes darting to her husband.
“But after you have settled into your married life,” Catherine mused. “I think you would be quite adept at the preparations, Bridget.”
If she was given the opportunity to make the preparations, for her sisters seemed to already have so many ideas!
Bridget knew that she ought to be grateful for them both, and most of the time she was.
It was only when it came to matters like this that frustration rose within her, as hot and merciless as fire.
She was forever living in their shadows, and now, she had the shame of being the only one of the Leedway sisters who had married out of desperation rather than love.
“You have always had a refined sense of aesthetics,” Elias said. “And the imagination for planning.”
Gerard whispered something in Dorothy’s ear, which made her smile. Bridget took an uncommonly large bite of eggs. She doubted the comment had anything to do with her, but she could not fight the instinctive concern that it had.
“That is good to know,” the Duke of Wheelton said. “I am still learning about my new bride, and it is pleasing to hear she is well-suited for being my duchess.”
“Did you have doubts?” Bridget asked. “I thought that was why you insisted on assessing me over the past weeks. You feared that I, the sister of a Duke, might be insufficient for your household.”
A coldness settled over the table. Bridget took a dainty bite of a honey cake, waiting for her husband to reveal his true self before the guests.
“One can never know,” His Grace said calmly. “Good breeding does not necessarily guarantee a good wife.”
Warmth filled Bridget’s face. She could find no fault in his answer, which had been actually quite pleasant.
“That is true,” Catherine said. “Elias, you should bear that in mind.”
Their brother smiled rakishly. “Sister, I will, but I have no intention of marrying soon.”
“No?” Dorothy asked. “You are the only one of us left.”
“And you are not getting any younger,” Gerard said, smirking.
“I am not older than Merlin either,” Elias said dryly. “I shall find my own bride in due time.”
“Perhaps she will find you,” the Duke of Wheelton said. “That would make the search easier.”
“Yes,” Bridget said.
His Grace’s gaze met hers with such intensity that Bridget shivered.
This imposing man was her husband. She was to live with him and obey him and be his wife.
Those all seemed to be insurmountable tasks, and Bridget was already drowning beneath the responsibilities that had been heaped upon her.
She had not even been the Duchess of Wheelton for an entire day, and it was already too much!
“It was a romantic meeting, or so I heard,” Catherine said. “Rescuing my sister from peril.”
Bridget nearly snorted at the absurdity of that statement. His Grace seemed to think it was the worst day of his life, the day that she had lured him into an unwanted marriage.
“I suppose it was,” His Grace said.
The liar. The hypocrite.
Bridget straightened in her chair. Her feelings were all a tempest inside her mind, screeching and blowing together until she thought she might burst.
“Maybe we should ask Lady Susan to shove you into a lake,” Dorothy said. “Hm, Elias?”
“I would have better luck if I waited for wayward damsels to fall in,” Elias said.
Bridget dug her nails into the palms of her hands.
A proper lady would bury her frustration deep, and she wanted to.
Her family was not at fault for her poor lot but hearing them tease one another about the incident at the lake was just unbearable.
Bridget’s temper frayed quickly, and soon, it was bound to snap.
“It was nothing,” His Grace said.
“Did you ever have your clothing laundered?” Bridget asked abruptly. “Were the expenses part of my dowry?”
“Bridget,” Elias said in a warning tone.
Her head snapped to him, her eyes wide and innocent. “I only wish to know if he is including that detail when he tells the story to everyone,” Bridget said.
“It is an irrelevant detail,” His Grace said, eyes narrowing.
“Just like the Dowager Duchess?” Bridget asked. “When am I to meet her, by the way?”
Silence fell over the table, and ice sank into Bridget’s veins.
Heart beating fast, she locked eyes with her husband.
His face showed nothing, which was somehow more frightening and thrilling than if he had looked openly angry with her.
Bridget recalled their last kiss. Before that little amorous encounter in the library, she had vexed him.
Would that happen once more? Would he take her to a dark room and kiss her until her body warmed, and she wanted like she never had before?
“I think,” His Grace said very deliberately, “the wedding breakfast has gone on for long enough. I should like some time alone with my wife.”
“So soon?” Elias asked, visibly startled. “You cannot possibly—”
“I do,” the Duke of Wheelton said, standing slowly. “It is evident that my duchess and I have much to discuss about this household and my family.”
Bridget swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She had taunted the lion once again, and now, she awaited his teeth.