Chapter Ten
Jacob was right. The next time he saw Miss Whitmore she was walking up the aisle towards him. He couldn’t see her expression as it was covered by a lace veil, but suspected it was not a happy one.
Just as he had promised her father, Jacob had immediately applied for a special licence, allowing them to marry within the week.
A small chapel near his London home had been chosen for the hasty ceremony.
No invitations had been sent out, and only Margaret’s family and her two friends acting as bridesmaids were in attendance.
Jacob had no family he’d wanted to invite, and did not wish to ask Henry or any of his other cohorts to be his best man, their attitude to marriage being even worse than his own.
Unbeknown to Miss Whitmore, he had visited her father prior to the wedding day and tried to convince him that this marriage was not in his daughter’s best interests and something she wanted even less than he did.
He’d apologised profusely. Had assured the man that no one would hear of what had happened.
He’d even suggested they continue with their fake engagement so his daughter could meet someone she really did want to marry.
Someone who could give her what she surely deserved—love and a happy home.
Unlike her, he had no experience of such things and he had no idea how a good husband would behave.
She deserved to be with a man who wanted children, not one who flinched at the mere thought.
It had all been to no avail. Mr Whitmore had stated repeatedly that he knew his daughter better than anyone.
That she would not kiss a man she did not wish to marry.
Nor would she allow any man to kiss her unless she wanted it.
Presumably that was a reference to the attack on the Earl of Covington with her lethal parasol.
So, here they were, one week later, standing at the altar.
He was dressed in a dove-grey morning suit which his tailor had quickly made for the occasion, and Miss Whitmore was dressed in the white gown she had presumably worn at her coming out, and gripping a bouquet so tightly she was in danger of ripping the pink flowers to shreds.
The two bridesmaids stood behind her, looking as surprised to be in this chapel as everyone else. Only a smiling Mrs Whitmore gave the appearance of being exactly where she wanted to be.
The vicar conducted the service with the required solemnity.
When it came to the vows, Jacob did as expected and promised to love and to cherish till death do us part, although in reality the best he could do was promise to try.
The honour should not cause any problem.
He admired Miss Whitmore immensely and held her in the highest esteem.
He would also attempt to cherish her whenever it was needed, but love, well, that might be asking more of him than he was capable of giving.
Having never known love, the giving or the taking, he had no idea what it actually entailed.
Unlike Miss Whitmore, he had not been raised by loving parents.
One parent he hardly remembered but he’d been told she’d never wanted him.
The other had made it clear at every opportunity that nothing about him was deserving of love.
The vicar turned to Miss Whitmore and asked the same questions, including a vow to obey.
The quiet chapel became completely silent as they all waited for her response.
‘I will,’ she mumbled.
Jacob expected her to add a defiant not at the end, or at least to enter into a debate over the obey part of the vow.
She did not.
The vicar then proclaimed them man and wife and informed him he could kiss his bride.
It was done. He was married. He lifted her veil tentatively and braced himself in preparation for the sight of an unhappy bride.
Instead of seeing an angry young woman’s icy expression, as expected, he looked down on a woman whose beauty all but took his breath away. It was as if every time he saw her she became more attractive. How she managed to do that he had no idea.
She lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked into those hazel eyes, flecked with gold, and detected an unfamiliar shyness as she waited for the kiss that would seal their union.
His heart yearned to do what he had just promised, to give her comfort, to make this better for her, but, not knowing how to love, he was uncertain how one achieved that end.
‘It will be all right, I promise,’ he said quietly, before leaning down and lightly caressing her lips with his.
Then he drew back but continued to gaze down at her, hoping he had not just told her a lie. All he could really do was try, and hopefully he would succeed in making this all right for her, although what all right would be he had no idea.
Neither of them wanted to be in the situation they now found themselves, but there was nothing they could do about it, apart from trying to make the best of things, and for him that meant doing nothing that would make marriage to him even more intolerable for her than it undoubtably was.
He gently took her arm and they walked out of the church, followed by her family. He exchanged a few pleasantries with the members of her family and was introduced to the two bridesmaids, Alice and Primrose, both of whom eyed him with suspicious, assessing looks.
No wedding breakfast had been arranged. There would be no speeches. Instead, with almost as much haste as they had been married, they were boarding the night train up to his estate in Northumberland to begin their life together.
Feeling as awkward as a teenage boy in the company of a girl for the first time, he led her to their private compartment. They sat on opposing benches and looked across at each other, her look of stunned disbelief no doubt mirroring his own.
‘Well, Miss Whitmore…’ Jacob began, ‘although I suppose I should call you Margaret now that you are no longer a miss.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And you must call me Jacob.’
‘Jacob,’ she repeated and the sound of his name caused an unexpected stirring in him.
That was something else he would have to come to terms with.
He was becoming increasingly attracted to his new wife, and that would never do.
Despite being married, they hardly knew each other, and she had made it abundantly clear on as many occasions as she could that she did not want to be with him.
That kiss they’d shared in the carriage had surely been a momentary lapse in judgement, one for which she had been soundly punished, and now the feisty Miss Whitmore had turned into a timid Duchess of Rosedale, all because she had been forced into this marriage.
That was so unfair and would never do. It was time to address her fears and provide some of that comfort he had promised at the altar and put her mind at ease.
‘Miss… Margaret, now that we are married, we should discuss the terms of this arrangement.’
‘Terms?’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, surprisingly embarrassed about what he needed to say. ‘We both know you do not want this marriage.’
‘I believe that is mutual, Your Grace… I mean, Jacob.’
‘Hmm, well, yes.’ He ran his hand around the back of his neck, unsure how he should phrase this. ‘I dare say your mother gave you a talk about what to expect on your wedding night.’
A blush exploded on her cheeks and even moved down to her neck, making it apparent that such a conversation had indeed taken place.
‘I can assure you, Miss… Margaret, that under the circumstances, I will not expect you to…’ he swallowed, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable ‘… I will not expect you to perform your wifely duties in the bedroom and will never, ever put you under pressure to do so.’ God, he sounded like a pompous old parson who saw sex as an abomination.
‘I see,’ she said, looking out of the window as if the passing scenery held much more interest than this conversation.
He could add, unless, of course, you want to, but suspected that might constitute putting her under pressure.
‘So, we are to be husband and wife in name only,’ she said, her cheeks still burning.
‘Yes. I assume that suits you?’ Because if it doesn’t, I’m more than happy to perform my husbandly duties, if such a pleasure could ever be described as a duty.
‘Yes, it does,’ she said, still staring out of the window.
‘I thought that would be the case, so I have booked separate sleeping compartments for tonight.’
She nodded without looking at him.
Jacob had never made love on a train, and suspected the rocking motion would add another dimension to the experience, but that was something he was not going to discover, at least not tonight and not with his wife.
‘That is very respectful of you,’ she said, still not looking at him.
‘Good,’ he said, for something to say, hoping this was not what marriage was going to be like, a series of stilted conversations as if with a stranger. He’d much rather go back to how they’d been when they were unmarried and sparring off each other.
Like her, he turned to stare out of the window at the passing countryside.
‘Look, Margaret—’
‘I know you’re—’
They spoke at the same time. Jacob indicated for her to continue.
‘I know you’re trying to make things as easy for me as you can, with that talk about…well, duties and such…and I do thank you for that.’ She looked down at her gloved hands, clasped in her lap. ‘Because…well…from what Mother said, it is your legal right to expect me to perform…well…you know.’
‘Oh, God, no, Margaret, no,’ he said, shocked by her words, even though what she was saying he knew to be correct. ‘Who cares what the law says? In this case the law is most certainly an ass and should be changed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, Margaret, you have nothing to thank me for. I know you think me a cad, but I am not like Covington.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I never told you his name.’
‘No, but I know of no other brute who was dispatched to Australia. What he did was unforgivable and your father was right to make him pay for what he did. If anything, he got off far too lightly.’
She gave a small humourless laugh. ‘Yes, Father could have forced him to marry me.’
Jacob drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, hating that she could ever see him in the same light as Covington.
‘I’m sorry, that was unfair,’ she said, raising her eyes to look at him. ‘And you’re right. You’re nothing like the Earl of Covington.’
Faint praise indeed.
‘So, what were you going to say to me when we spoke together?’ she asked.
‘I was going to say that even though we are going to be man and wife in name only, perhaps we should try and be friends.’
She said nothing, as if considering his words, then nodded slowly and smiled. Once again, he was struck by how a smile transformed her face. It was so warm and genuine, containing not the slightest hint of artifice and all the more attractive because of it.
He wanted to make her smile as often as possible, even if the effect of that smile might challenge his resolve to just be friends.
The steward knocked politely on the door and informed them that dinner was now being served in the restaurant car.
Margaret stood up immediately, as if wanting to escape the confines of this small compartment, or perhaps it was him she was anxious to get away from.
Jacob wasn’t particularly hungry, but dinner would provide a diversion from thoughts of what their marriage would and wouldn’t be. And he too would be more comfortable if they were surrounded by others, although he would have to get used to them being alone together at his Northumberland estate.
That was something else her father had insisted upon, saying they needed to give this marriage a chance, and time alone together was the best way to achieve that.
Jacob had no choice but to agree, certain that her father’s opinion of him was so low that he suspected that if he was not sequestered away in the countryside, Jacob would go straight from the marriage altar to another woman’s bed and completely humiliate his daughter.
He slid open the door of their compartment and as she brushed past him her feminine perfume wafted over him.
His body instantly recalled what it had been like to hold her in his arms, to be surrounded by the scent of rosewater and her own feminine essence, to taste her sweet lips, to feel her soft body moving against his.
He coughed, while simultaneously trying to hold his breath so he would not breathe in any more of that enticing aroma.
Just friends, remember. You are not a complete lowlife. You do have some redeeming features. Although at that moment Jacob was struggling to remember what they were.
She walked ahead of him down the narrow corridor. Was it the movement of the train that made her hips sway from side to side in that seductive manner? Whatever it was, that was a part of her body that should not be drawing his gaze.
They approached the restaurant carriage and he reached out to slide open the wooden door, remembering not to breathe in so her scent could not cause inappropriate thoughts to invade his mind.
The train made a sudden lurch. She stumbled backwards. His arm encircled her slim waist, pulling her in towards him to stop her fall. The train continued its steady progress. Neither of them moved. His arm remained around her waist. Her body remained pressed up against his.
Under his hand he could feel the rise and fall of her breath and the warmth of her skin through her dress. His chest was flush against her back and his heart was beating so hard he was certain she must be aware of its pounding.
He glanced down at the curve of her neck. So close. So tempting. All he had to do was lean down and he could kiss that soft, delicate skin.
The sliding panel was pushed aside and an elderly man stood in the doorway to the restaurant carriage.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, causing Jacob to drop his arm. They both stepped back as the man edged past them.
Attempting to act as if nothing untoward had just happened, Jacob swept his hand towards the open door to signal for her to enter.
He followed behind her and they took their seats.
Their marriage had only just begun and already it was abundantly clear that thinking of Margaret as just a friend was not going to be easy.
But it was a challenge he would have to rise to, and that would entail doing all that he could to ensure one impulsive body part did not do some rising of its own, no matter how great the temptation.